#i use it for writing angst because what the FUCK

[pinkolve]

Paging Doctor Y/N ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Summary: You find Eddie getting beat up by a group of jocks, of course you have to come to the rescue and save him.

Genre: Fluff, angst for like two seconds

CW: Fem!reader, reader carries a purse, reader has an unusual amount of things in said purse, second person point of view, mentions of fighting, blood, bruises, swearing, use of a taser, inaccurate descriptions of weed, (I don't smoke enough to know what the fuck I'm talking about), violence, reader drives a pickup truck, reader is a total bad ass because why not?, and I really hope that's it! Let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1,095

A/N: My first time writing in a second person pov, I think it's much better this way, let me know what you think! I might start writing all future fics this way. (I also write the words 'purse' and 'bag' far too many times in this, my deepest apologies.)

You walk out of Hawkins High, the cool night air nipping your skin. You wrap your jacket further around yourself as the door clicks shut behind you.

“Fucking freak!” A voice yells from next to you. You turn your head but see nothing, but there are grunts and groans emanating from somewhere. You peek around the corner, finding a group of jocks beating up another, skinnier boy.

“Let go.” He tries to fight back but a harsh punch lands in his gut. You quickly reach in your purse, grabbing hold of the light pink taser. You keep your hand in your purse, grip firm.

“Hey.” You round the corner, putting yourself in their line of sight. “Let him go.” You don’t look at the boy, just the jocks, standing your ground. You needed to show them you weren’t afraid, leave them powerless.

“Just mind your business.” He turns to punch the boy again.

“Now!” You yell louder this time. He turns back to you, eyes wide, and a vein popping in his forehead.

“Yeah,” He lets go of the guys shirt, making him lose his balance. He walks towards you creepily, until he’s close enough to touch. “And what are you gonna do about it?” He smirks, not realizing what a mistake he’s made. You quickly pull the taser from your purse and stick it to his stomach, turning it on and shocking him. He blubbers and shakes before you turn it off, making him fall to his knees.

“Hey!” One of the other jocks marches up to you, ready to defend his friend’s honor. When he’s close enough his fist pulls back. You grab it before it can hit you, moving to the side and tasing him in the neck. You pull his arm forward, making him fall to the ground.

“Anyone else want some?” You ask venomously, waving your taser in the air. The rest of the group runs over to grab their friends, dragging them away. You shake your head as you watch them scamper off. “Pussies.” You spit, before finally turning to the poor guy they were torturing. He looks up at you as he leans his back against the brick wall, needing the stability.

“Eddie?!” You yell, shoving the taser back in your purse as you run to his side. “I didn’t realize it was you! I’m so sorry, are you okay?!” You run your hands all over him, eyeing him down for any wounds that need urgent tending to.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” You look back up at his face, unconvinced. That’s when you notice a small, deep gash on his cheek.

“You have a cut right there, you aren’t fine.” You state, grabbing his forearm and pulling him along. You lead him to your beat up truck.

“It’s not a big deal!” He tries to laugh it off. You push him to sit on the cargo bed, throwing your bag next to him before you rummage through it.

“It is to me, now shut up so I can patch it up.” You say simply, pulling a first aid kit from your purse.

“You just have that in your purse?” Eddie speaks up, eyebrows furrowed. He moves to look inside, curious to find out what else you could possibly have in there.

“I have almost everything you could ever need. That’s why it’s so big, I pack it full of shit. I like to be prepared, and this whole situation proves it comes in handy.” You smile, pulling a small, travel size bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the kit.

“Got any weed in there?” Eddie laughs, expecting the answer to be ‘no’. You reach in and pull out a small metal tin with pre-rolled blunts. “Holy shit!” He grabs one and looks up at you, making sure it’s okay if he takes one. You set the tin down and grab a lighter, handing it to him, giving him wordless permission.

“My hero.” He sighs as he puffs out a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah yeah.” You roll your eyes playfully. “I’m gonna clean the cut now, it’s gonna sting.” You push the cotton pad to his cheek, making him hiss. You pull it down and away, wiping any blood off. “Sorry.” Your voice is soft and sincere. You grab some neosporin and place a glob on his cut, before sticking a small bandage over it. “Good as new.” You grin wide, admiring your handiwork. You reach in your bag once again, and pull out a cherry lollipop. Eddie’s eyes widen like little kid’s.

“Holy shit, candy too!?” He snatches it from you greedily.

“For being a good patient.” You giggle, packing up your things and throwing them back in your purse.

“Thanks, sweetheart. I owe you one.” He hops down from the truck and stands in front of you.

“Why’d they gang up on you anyways?” You ask, turning back to face him after throwing your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m not even really sure.” He laughs. “It doesn’t matter.” He waves you off.

“It does matter, Eddie.” You scowl at him, making his smile fade. “Stop acting like this is no big deal, because it is!” Your voice is raising slightly.

“Woah, woah, okay!” He raises his hands in surrender. He drops the blunt and puts it out with his boot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me! It’s all these fucking assholes who think it’s okay to beat you up, just because they want to!” Your hands flail around a little, anger rising inside you.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“I do worry about you!” You almost scream. “I always worry about you, how could I not?! The guy I love is getting beaten and bruised just for existing! It makes my blood fucking boil!” You go quiet, anger still present. You look back up at Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, his face ghostly pale. “What?” You ask softly. He swallows.

“You uh…You said you ‘love me.’” He swallows again, the lump in his throat still remaining. You still, body freezing in place.

“I, well…I mean I don’t, well I do, but I didn’t-”

“Did you mean it?” He cuts you off quickly. You look at him with confusion.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, Eds.” You whisper. Before you can say anything else, or even move, his lips are on yours. You let out a soft squeak of surprise before kissing him back. He pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips.

“I love you too.”

[tkomptgoedluv]

toothpaste kisses.

joost klein x f! reader

request: “could you write a fic with joost x reader where they get intimate and everything is fine and then the reader starts crying, but not because of sadness, but because of how safe the reader feels in their relationship, how loved he makes the reader feel and etc..(just overwhelmed with positive emotions). a lot of angst, but also a lot of fluff, comfort, happiness… like they dont stop being intimate, they continue and its like the best therapy. also aftercare!!!”

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, established relationship, literally the most in love two people have ever been, like if twin flames are a thing then it’s them, two freaks get freaky but it’s romantic <3, lil sprinkle of angst, lots of hurt + comfort, even more fluff, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 5,497.

warnings: mentions of past abuse, a very very vauge + brief description of sa, smut, rpf.

notes: hello my lovelies!! i hope you enjoy this one just as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 thank you so so much to the anon who requested it, i hope you don’t mind that i put my own lil spin on it!! and also a big thank you to my gorgeous gorgeous @joosthead for already being this fic’s number #1 fan ��� i love you my junipoo!! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

your fingers itched with the urge to rip out your own hair as you felt your stomach twist itself into another knot.

you’d done this to yourself, completely. you’d gotten yourself into a total, utter mess because you’d seen him again, after so many years of trying to pretend that he never even existed at all.

five years ago, you’d been seeing this guy, this absolute asshole of a man, and it had almost been the death of you. as always with guys like him, the first few months had felt dream-like; he was an angel incarnate and yet somehow, he was all yours. the perfect man, heaven sent, and yours.

you had been so sure of it — you were going to marry this guy one day.

but by the time that those rose-tinted glasses of yours had started to fade and you were finally starting to see him for who he truly was, it was too late. you had just moved to a whole new city for him, left your job for him, cut off each and every single one of your friends for him. “they just wanna see us fail, baby.” he’d said, “you’re better off without them.”

and for far too long, you’d believed that. for almost two years, you had put up with his bullshit willingly, because you’d loved him. even after all of those fights he’d started over nothing, all those things of yours that he’d broken because “it’s either that or i give you a fucking black eye or something.”, you still loved him. you only left once he eventually ran out of things to break and staying true to his word, started putting his hands on you instead.

looking back, that was the only promise of his that he’d ever fucking kept.

being without him had made you realise that you actually knew nothing about where you lived now, even though it had already been years by this point. that was why you had gotten so lost that day, that one and only birthday of yours that you’d spent all on your own.

venturing out of that shitty little studio apartment you used to live in had been brave, considering you had no idea where to go or what to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay indoors anymore. knowing you, it should have been a disaster and it honestly almost was, had it not been for that pretty blond stranger you’d stopped for directions. without him, you probably would’ve ended up god knows where.

luckily for you, though, you just wound up in his bed instead, and three years later you were still there. three years later, you’re celebrating your anniversary with him.

there was never any need for those rose-tinted glasses when it came to joost. no excuses or exceptions that you ever had to make for him. there were no more nights spent crying, locked away in your bathroom, far too afraid to come out because you had no idea what he would do if you did. no more days spent laying in bed because you were still far too sore to move after what he’d done to you the night before.

now your entire life is just travelling around the world with someone you never thought could be real, someone who’s talked you down from just a few too many ledges for you to count, determined to undo all of the damage that the guy before him had done. truly, joost was your best friend; the only person you’d ever met with such a pure heart of gold. the absolutely undisputable love of your life.

and he’d done everything possible to make today as special as he could for you, considering it was obviously also your birthday.

every year you tell him the exact same thing; that the day’s just as much about him as it is you, and that he really doesn’t need to make such a big fuss. and every year he never listens, always clearing out the whole day despite how hectic his schedule always is, just so he can make it all about you. one year he even turned down a spot on a festival lineup because the dates clashed and he deemed you far more important.

earlier in the morning, joost had woken you up with an orgasm so strong that you couldn’t walk for the first hour or two that you were awake. as always, he’d carried you to the bathroom after and gotten you all cleaned up, giggling at how your legs were still shaking, and helped you get ready. you’d laughed with him when he insisted on trying to do your makeup for you too, and had then proceeded to somehow get your eyeshadow everywhere.

cleaning up all of your now pink-stained towels had taken a little longer than expected but you still both made it in time to get breakfast at your favourite cafe. you’d had no idea that booking out an entire section of the place, just for the two of you, was even an option, but that’s exactly what he had done.

then it was back to the marketplace where you’d first met, and joost had let you browse every single one of the stalls. he’d bought you every single little thing that had caught your eye, only stopping when neither of you could carry anything anymore. you’d headed home only once the summer air had started to turn colder and spent the entire uber ride back gushing over the silly girl-stitch plushie he’d bought you in secret, just so you could have one to match his own.

in a way, that was kind of what had led to all of this. why you had gotten yourself so worked up, all teary-eyed and in such a state, whilst joost had you pinned down underneath him.

you really hadn’t seen him in years, not since you’d broken up with him, and he’d looked unrecognisable to you as he’d sat down just a few tables away. because that was just your luck, wasn’t it? seeing your ex at the same restaurant joost had taken you out to for dinner, dressed up all nicely in the suit that you had bought him all those years ago.

from that moment on, you’d been stuck with this dark, bitter feeling that had your stomach tied into all of those knots. your fingers itching with that urge to rip out each and every single strand of hair from your scalp. every bite of your ravioli suddenly started to taste off, almost sour, and you really hadn’t wanted to be there anymore.

it wasn’t because you missed him, because of course you didn’t — not even a little bit. you hated him, despised him actually. you couldn’t stand the very thought of him because for as long as you had been with him, he’d put you through hell and then some. it had taken years of therapy to get to this point where you weren’t having so many nightmares about it all anymore.

it was just that seeing him all of a sudden with someone new, a girl that he was absolutely fawning over, it had done something to you. from the corner of your eye you had seen how he was holding her hand on the table, looking at her with so much adoration that you’d realised that not once had he’d ever looked at you like that. not even once, not even at the beginning.

it never should have bothered you as much as it had. from the inside out, like a parasite, it was eating you alive.

and then joost, in the most wonderful way possible, went ahead and made it all so much worse without even meaning to.

because despite how disappointed he was that you so badly wanted to skip dessert, the milk chocolate cheesecake on the menu having already caught his eye, he’d taken you home the moment you’d asked. he’d been so soft with you as he’d helped you out of your dress, slipping the burgundy silk so carefully down your shoulders and holding your hands as you’d stepped out of your heels. he’d picked you up and laid you down on the bed that you shared as though you’d break if he was too rough, and kissed you everywhere that you’d needed him to.

he already knew that something was wrong — had done since the restaurant because more than anything or anyone else, joost knew you. you weren’t one to ever leave a plate half finished and you’d barely made a dent in your pasta. in a blink of an eye you’d gone from all giddy and energetic to solem, only just about managing to keep up with the conversation that you had been the one to start.

you just weren’t yourself anymore and he had no idea why, so whatever it was that was on your mind, he was going to do everything he could to help you forget about it.

and in the end, it was all too much.

the feeling of joost on top of you, weighing you down as he took such good care of you. the way he was being so unbelievably gentle as he fucked you, his strokes slow but still deep enough to hit all of the right spots. how he was holding himself up with one of his hands as the other grasped your hip and pulled you down onto him with every thrust.

at first it had you whining, mewling, and your nails carving straight lines down the skin of his back. you’d been louder than the creaking of the bed-frame, whimpering sweet, dirty sounds right into his ear. he always loved it when you were vocal like that — he’d told you so the very first time he ever had you caged underneath him like this.

but for the past few minutes you’d fallen uncharacteristically quiet, those near-pornographic moans of yours quickly turning into sniffles as tears began to wet your cheeks.

they weren’t the happy kind. they were the tears that people only ever shed when they’re too caught up inside their own heads.

how kind he was being with you, how kind he always is with you, all it did was remind you of just how safe you are with him. that to joost, you’re something so unbelievably precious and worthy of all this warmth. you’d been so silly earlier to get so upset over your ex, so stupid to have let it almost ruin your evening together.

joost had been too distracted to have heard your first couple of cries, too concentrated on watching it slide in and out to have noticed all of the tears spilling out of your eyes. he was a bit of a perv like that; always will be when it comes to you.

but then he lifted his head up, a grin tugging at the very corners of his lips, desperate to see that doe-eyed, cock-drunk look on your face. he wasn’t expecting to see you look so sad of all things, your eyes already all red and watery as you wept. he stilled immediately and moved his hand from your hip up to brush the hair out of his worried eyes.

“hey, what’s the matter? you okay?”

he hoped to hear you laugh then, reassuring him that you were alright and you were just feeling too many good things all at once. he didn’t like that you tried to hide away from him then, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you mumbled a quiet plea for him to keep going, because you were ‘fine’ and he didn’t need to stop.

“honey, no, you’re crying.” as gently as he could, joost pulled out of you and rolled off, leaning back onto his side of the bed. “what’s going on?”

you were sobbing into your hands now, still laying flat on your back with the duvet all bundled up around your waist. there was still so much of you out on display for him but for a reason that you couldn’t quite explain just yet, letting him see you cry like this felt like far too much. even as he gently tried to pry your hands away, you were fighting to keep them there.

“you’re scaring me, baby. what did i do?”

“no no no, jesus, no, you haven’t done anything, i promise.”

only then did you let him see you, not bothering to stop and wipe your eyes before you dragged him back down to you and curled up as far into him as you possibly could. you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you almost entirely on top of him, letting your legs all tangle together with his own. thick fingers raked through your hair as you laid your head down on his sternum, listening to the strong, heavy rhythm of his heartbeat.

“then what is it, schat? what are you feeling right now?”

a small, blubbering giggle came out when you went to speak, a few more of your tears falling and dampening the blonde hairs on his chest.

“i just…i really love you a lot and i don’t always know what to do with that.”

the short pause that followed had you holding your breath, knowing that he wouldn’t but still expecting him to be at least just a little annoyed with you. with how badly you’d spoiled the moment, you wouldn’t blame him if he was.

“damn, i must be a lot better at the boom-boom than i thought.”

joost couldn’t even finish his sentence without laughing and how you groaned at it, nestling your face in the skin between his pecs, turned that laughter into a high-pitched squeaking.

“joost! i’m being serious.”

“i know, honey, i know, i’m sorry — was just trying to lighten the mood.”

you felt his fingers back in your hair, tucking random pieces behind your ears and brushing loose strands away from your eyes. each movement of his was somehow softer than the last until his hands were cradling your jaw and tilting your head up, your chin resting on his chest.

now that you could see how was he looking at you, with stars all in his eyes and an aching smile on his face, you felt your bottom lip start to quiver again.

“you know i love you too, right? so much.”

the noise that you’d made as you tried to nod your head, a quiet “mhm.” mixed with a sudden, sharp hiccup, made joost laugh again. he swiped each of his thumbs along the very tops of your cheekbones, wiping away all of the water that was still trickling down your face. you were yet to look away so you saw how something in his eyes changed and how that soft smile of his waivered.

“so then why all the tears, baby?”

you stiffened, your muscles tensing under his touch as you finally broke and turned your face away. “i saw koen today — back at the restaurant.”

and just like you had joost also froze, because he knew exactly who koen was; knew every last detail about the guy, in fact. he knew that koen was the reason why you hardly slept during the first few months that you were together, those nightmares of yours keeping you awake for far too many days straight. why you used to never really eat anything, either, because he’d conditioned you to believe that it was somehow ‘unattractive’ if you did. joost also knew that koen was the reason why you’d had hand-shaped bruises around your neck that very first day you’d met.

“that’s why i wanted to leave. as soon as i saw him i just…i couldn’t stay there knowing that he’s not rotting in that shithole apartment like i thought he’d be.”

you took a moment to sit up, the duvet falling off your shoulders as you wiped your runny nose on the back of your hand.

“i know it’s stupid, but seeing him there with a girl and the both of them looking so happy, i just, i never thought that he would change, you know? that he could change, because if so then why not for me? why wasn’t i enough to change for?”

joost copied your movements and sat up as well, taking your hand in his just to play with your fingers as he listened to every word.

“but then you happened, like, you’ve been so perfect to me today, just like how you always are, and it made me think about how lucky i am to have you. i should have never, ever cared, not for a second, about whatever the fuck koen’s up to now because i have you and that’s more than i’ll ever fucking deserve. i meant it when i said i was only crying because i love you too much to know what to do with the feeling -”

your little monologue, your sappy, word-vomit rambling was cut short when joost kissed you hard, his hands holding you steady on either side of your face. as gently as he could he guided you to lay back down, your spine meeting the mattress as his silver chain started to dangle in your face.

this was his way of shutting you up because you were doing it again. you were getting so caught up in the little things, so overwhelmed by your feelings, that you were just upsetting yourself, really. and you do that a lot. for good or for bad, you always let yourself feel such big things that it pulls you apart at the seams sometimes.

like that one morning a couple months ago; you saw a mouse on your walk to work. it’s little pink tail was missing, small clumps of it’s grey fur had been ripped out of it’s skin, and it had just been laying there, unmoving. you’d cried so hard over it that you got sent home before you ever made it in.

or like last year, when joost showed you an early demo of ‘last man standing’ and you’d wept in his arms for god knows how long afterwards. everything he expresses in that song the two of you had talked about before, you knew that was exactly how he felt, yet hearing him sing it had felt far more catastrophic.

“mijn meisje, you don’t ever have to do anything, okay? you’re already ‘it’ — you’re my dream girl.”

with a wobbly bottom lip you nodded, only barely holding yourself together as he grinned down at you, each of his hands beside your head, holding himself up.

“i mean it, baby. can i prove it to you?”

you could have melted right then and there. the way he was talking to you, his voice all low and breathy in your ear as he kissed you up and down your jaw, it was making your head spin. you nodded again, running your hands up and down the skin of his sides until he pulled back a little, that silver chain of his hanging in your face again.

“need to hear you say it, schat. we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“no no, please. i’m alright, please don’t stop.”

sitting up on his knees, joost took each of your thighs in his grasp and pulled you down closer to him, wrapping one of your legs around his waist and resting the other on his shoulder. with that gentle grin still plastered across his face he held his pinky out towards you and wiggled it, his eyes softening when you giggled.

“okay, but if you change your mind at any point, you gotta promise me -”

“- i promise i’ll say something.” you hooked your pinky around his and squeezed it before bringing his hand up to your mouth, planting a kiss across his knuckles.

you were going to be the death of him one day.

letting your head fall back against the bed, a small moan slipped past your lips when joost pushed himself back inside, easing himself in all slow and steady. he left soft, wet kisses along the skin of your calf and drew small circles on your clit as he quickly found his rhythm again.

it was cruel, really, the way he was moving oh-so painstakingly slow — how he was purposefully going too slow because he knew that it would have you like this. sweat already dripping down the sides of your forehead, handfuls of the white bedsheets in a tight grasp, begging him to give you more as you writhed on his cock.

you were just so sensitive to it all, weren’t you? so reactive to each and every single one of his touches. you didn’t exactly make it hard for him to taunt you like this, for him to keep dragging it in and out with a thumb still rubbing circles on your clit, knowing full well what it was doing to you. joost could see just how wound up you were getting, could feel you trying to pull him in closer by your leg that curved around his hip.

“fuck…you’re…you’re being mean, joosti.”

with that smile still firmly on his face he chuckled and stilled inside of you, moving his hand away from your clit to readjust both of your legs. your ankles were resting on his shoulders now, and the warm palms of his hands were caressing the skin of your shins.

“am i, baby? i’m sorry.” he placed another kiss onto each of your calves, his hands trailing down until they were squeezing your thighs. “how do you want it, baby? tell me.”

every muscle in your body clenched then, as a singular, sharp breath caught in your throat.

“h-harder.”

you felt him start to move again, his hips thrusting at that same, agonisingly slow pace.

“yeah? think you can handle it? think you’re ready for the boom-boom?”

the noise you managed to produce, something in between a snort and a cackle, was unlike anything you had ever made before. joost was in utter stitches over it above you, his head thrown back in laughter as he wheezed, tears welling up in his eyes. in a mere matter of seconds, both of your faces were bright red, your laughs turning silent as the pair of you struggled to breathe.

bringing your legs down and your knees up to your chest you wrapped your arms around your stomach, feeling that tightness in your tummy grow the harder you laughed. with your eyes squeezed shut, you hadn’t seen joost make a reach for his phone — hadn’t seen him snap a quick picture of you all red in the face and smiling, before playing the song on full volume.

he could barely hold himself up as he began to sing along, hiccuping over every other word as he giggled.

“this is my boom-boom; my love and desire!”

“no, no stop — you can’t do this.”

shaking your head, you were trying to push him off of you before he tossed his phone to the side and caught your hands, holding them together and keeping you firmly in your place.

“this is my boom-boom; set it on fire!”

“absolutely not! you can’t…you can’t sing that song whilst you’re still inside of me.”

he pouted, feigning a quiver in his lips. “but i haven’t even gotten to the good part yet!”

you tried to be stern, tried to stare him down with a frown on your face and a furrow in your eyebrows, pulling your hands free to cross your arms over your chest. you tried to pretend to be annoyed, but after a single moment of silence, the both of you broke. all over again, you were laughing hard enough for it to hurt.

making another reach for his phone, joost finally turned the song off as you wiped the last few stray tears of joy away from your eyes. you wrapped your legs back around his hips and pulled him down until you could weave your arms around his neck too, and moaned when he immediately attached his lips to that sweet spot of yours behind your left ear.

“hey.” his voice was quiet, coming out all muffled as he sucked, licked, nipped at the skin of your neck. “think you can give me one more?”

you felt him smile against you as you shuddered, your nails digging their way back into his spine. “make it two.”

you were waiting to hear him say it, some kind of sassy remark about how ‘you should be careful what you wish for’ or something along those lines, when he knocked a breath out of you. with a hand now holding one of your knees back as the other stayed beside your head, holding himself up, he slammed his hips against yours over and over again.

the sounds were obscene. you were biting into his shoulder, whimpering and whining from every thrust as other parts of you squelched around him, sucking him in. there was no begging for him to go any faster this time around, not when he was already pounding himself into you hard enough to have the headboard banging against the wall.

you were close to delirium as your eyes rolled back inside your head, the rest of you falling limp against the bed. the air around you was hot, almost too hot, and joost’s warm breath fanning against your neck really wasn’t helping. with how wonderfully out of it you were, you had to grip onto each one of his biceps just to feel as though you were still in the room.

“how you doing, honey? talk to me.” joost was grinning again, having finally parted from your neck now that he had left behind a dozen heart-shaped spots along your pulse-point. “does it feel good?”

he already knew that it did; he could tell simply by the look on your face. that gorgeous, brainless, cock-drunk look that he had been so, so desperate to see all evening.

you only just about managed to cry out his name, having long forgotten every single other word in your vocabulary. your mind was blank besides that because all you could think, all you could feel, was him. you felt him drop your knee and slip a hand underneath the base of your neck, cradling your head as he gave you no other option than to meet his eyes.

“you still with me?”

you couldn’t answer him — couldn’t form a sentence, couldn’t even nod your head ‘yes’. at first it worried him, made him call out your name as he slowed down just the slightest bit, until he felt it. you were squeezing him tighter than you had been all night, your legs all tensed up and shaking, still locked firmly around his waist.

small, babbling noises fell from your lips as your stomach began to twist itself up into a much different knot than before. the crease in your eyebrows deepened, your eyes widening as you stared back at a beaming joost. something inside of you, something new, was building up, and up, and up, and you were doing everything you could to keep it all in, too scared to find out what would happen if you didn’t.

“no no no, baby, shh, no it’s okay.” joost had seen the fear start to creep its way into your eyes, the corners of your lips start to droop down into a frightened little frown. prying it away from his arm, he took one of your hands in his and laced your fingers with his own, giving your knuckles a sweet kiss and your palm a soft squeeze. “i’ve got you, it’s okay. you can let it go.”

you hesitated; the cramping in your tummy making you wince.

“let it go for me, schat.”

and with a squeal, you did. you let whatever that thing was inside of you snap as you screamed out his name, clutching onto his hand tight enough to have both of your knuckles turn white.

the sheets were sodden from where you had gushed all over his cock. your lower back quickly began to feel all warm and damp the longer that you stayed laying in the puddle of your own mess, your legs twitching and your chest still heaving. you couldn’t hear him over the ringing in your ears but joost was talking to you, whispering gentle, saccharine praises as he smoothed your hair back and away from your eyes.

“i’m so proud of you, mijn meisje. look at you — you did so well for me.”

the best you could do was hum in response, your cheeks all wet again from the tears that you hadn’t even realised were falling. though you still managed a small hiss when joost pulled out of you as carefully as he could, still half-hard and leaking from his swollen, red tip. confused, you grabbed his wrist when he sat up and went to reach for his boxers, immediately shaking your head ‘no’.

“but you haven’t…i promised you one more.”

you were so good to him; honestly a little too good. even after all of that, after you’d just given him the biggest ego boost of his life by doing the hottest thing known to man and squirting all on his cock, you were happy to give him more. you were already starting to doze off as you tried to pull his underwear out of his hands but was still so eager to continue, just so he could get off too.

joost just smiled down at you, holding his boxers out of your reach as he bent down to kiss you, his free hand grasping your jaw as he gave you a big ol’ wet smooch right on your lips.

“hey, don’t worry about that, okay? you’ve already done so much, been so perfect for me. just rest now, baby — you’ve earned it.”

by the time that he finished speaking, your eyes were already fluttering close.

you fought your hardest to stay awake as joost took the chance to stand up, only a slight stumble in his step as he slipped back into his underwear and a random pair of sweatpants. in fact, you were so focused on not falling asleep, you hadn’t even noticed that you’d drifted off until you suddenly felt an arm slip underneath your knees and another under the curve of your back.

you hadn’t been out too long, just long enough for joost to have gotten you all cleaned up. with one of the only towels from earlier that he hadn’t managed to stain with your makeup, he’d wiped up whatever mess remained between your legs and helped you into something a lot more clean and comfortable. despite all of the pairs of cute pyjama sets that you own, he’d decided that his old ‘i (heart) joost klein’ t-shirt and nothing else was better.

how you’d stayed asleep through all of it was a mystery to you, usually you weren’t such a heavy sleeper like that. but it had taken joost picking you up off of the bed, holding you tightly to his chest as he carried you out of the room for you to come back around, your eyes already heavy with sleep.

“where are we going?”

you yawned and tried to stretch, whining when you felt just how sore and achy your legs really were.

“we’re gonna go for a nap on the sofa, baby — bed’s too messy to sleep in tonight.”

even with how tired you felt, you still felt a pang in your chest. your sofa wasn’t uncomfortable by any means; it was big enough for most of your friends to all sleep on at once and comfy enough for them to not complain about it the morning after. but still, you’d made a mess. ruined a set of perfectly good sheets, probably stained the perfectly good mattress, too.

“sorry.”

“don’t say you’re sorry, oh my god.” joost wasn’t having any of it. if you hadn't of shut your eyes again, you would’ve seen him glance down at you, absolutely bewildered that you felt the need to apologise for such a thing. “i’m not kidding, don’t even try it.”

the soft cotton of the sofa cushion dipped underneath your weight as he laid you down on it, carefully manoeuvring himself beneath you before pulling one of the blankets down, tucking the both of you in. with his chest as your pillow now, you were already barely conscious when you heard him whisper in your ear, his arms wrapping around the dip of your spine.

“love you, goodnight.”

you were going to have to wait until the morning now to get his full, in-depth explanation as to why it was now his mission to have you do what you did tonight, every night.

“love you too.”

[sillylittlespam]

she got, she got away

percy jackson x daughter of hecate!fem!reader ( childhood friends/crushes to enemies to lovers , SLOW BURN , ANGST , multi-chapter series )

summary : percy hadn’t seen (y/n) since she betrayed him after his quest to save annabeth and artemis. when she corners him in the labyrinth, he can’t help but notice she seems a little…different. what the hell happened to her, and why is she so convince that it’s nothing?

AUTHORS NOTE : (y/n) is a daughter of hecate with magical powers! i’m not exactly an expert on hecate magic so i kinda made it up because this is fanfiction

and for anyone who cares (i’m not expecting you to) here are some of the songs i was listening to while writing this!

race by alex g

motion sickness by phoebe bridgers 

everyone adores you (at least i do!) by matt maltese 

this isn’t helping (ft phoebe bridgers) the national

birds don’t sing by tv girl

knives out by radiohead

more parts of this series coming soon!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Didja miss me, Bambi?”

Percy’s reaction to the familiar voice behind him was delayed by the violent flinch that went through his body

 After he gathered himself, he whipped around, sword raised as he came face to face with his best friend.

Ex-best friend, he had to remind himself. It was so easy to forget how (y/n) betrayed him as he looked upon her smirking face. She had no weapons in her hands, but he knew that didn’t matter.

He had gotten significantly taller since the last time he had seen her. They used to be about the same height, but now she looked up at him. Her face had gotten a bit slimmer as well, and her eyes held heavy bags of exhaustion. The grin on her face, however, was just as he remembered. Paired with the teasing look in her eyes and the way her head tilted to the side, it was the exact same look she had given him when she had cornered him in Capture the Flag.

And here she had captured him again, this time in the Labyrinth. 

He had known the risks of splitting off from the group, especially with Luke and his army wandering the Labyrinth’s corridors, but it was the perfect distraction. If (y/n) knew he was here, he knew Luke would know soon, if he didn’t already. All he could hope was that Annabeth and Rachel hadn’t been caught trying to find a way around Anataeus’ arena, which was being occupied by Luke.

“I did. I missed you a lot,” he finally responded to her question, his sword unwavering despite his long moment of silence. (y/n)’s grin widened, and Percy did his best to ignore the way his heart swelled.

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” she gushed, her tone far too casual for the situation. Her eyes looked past the blade in front of her and instead focused on his eyes, which were fixed on her arms. Her hands were tucked behind her back, but Percy watched for any movement as a sign that she was casting a spell, “I missed you too, Perce.”

“You know,” he started slowly, carefully, as his eyes drifted up to meet hers, “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you just came back to Camp,” he quickly realized his mistake as the smile dropped from (y/n)’s face and was replaced with a cold stare. He kept going anyway, “We can forget this whole Luke and Kronos thing and just go back to the way things were. We can be okay again-“

“The way things were?” (y/n)’s voice was calm as she repeated his words. Too calm, “Percy, do you remember the way things were for me?”

He remained silent, readjusting his grip on his sword. Despite the empty coldness of the corridor, his palms were slick with anxious sweat.

“I had nobody,” (y/n) continued, a layer of cold rage creeping into her voice, “They threw me into the Hermes cabin with half the fucking camp and expected me to be grateful to the Gods! The same Gods who send their own children off to sacrifice ourselves in their name! Does that not sound wrong to you? My mother is considered kind because she decided I was worthy of being claimed only after I got my powers, but has never cared enough to ever actually meet me.”

Percy swallowed the absurd amount of saliva that had pooled in his mouth. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew (y/n) was right. 

He would never forget his early days at camp, before he was turned into some mighty hero. Back then, he was seen as just another scrawny kid who just happened to be a child of the Big Three. A bit unusual, but nothing that anyone wanted to pay too much attention to. 

He always enjoyed being around (y/n), since she made him feel normal. The two demigods got along quickly, as they were both looking for a person. And for a couple years, they were each other’s person. The camp almost never saw one without the other. (y/n) knew everything about Percy, and Percy knew practically everything about (y/n). At least, he thought he did.

The worst moment of his life would always be that night last year when he got back from the quest to save Annabeth and Artemis. Not only did he have to tell Nico that his sister had died, but that was also the night when he learned that his best friend, his person, had been working with Luke and Kronos the whole time.

Percy had never been very good at regulating his emotions, and almost flooded the Camp several times following that night. Nobody blamed him. There’s no way to deal with something like that in a normal way.

“That’s not true,” he said, finally lowering his sword, and his steady voice surprised him. He felt as if he was going to cry, “You had me. We had each other. You decided to throw that away. Luke doesn’t give a shit about you, (y/n), he’s just using you for your powers,” Percy nearly missed the way (y/n) flinched at his words, “Once he gets what he wants, he’ll just throw you to the side-“

“You’re a liar,” (y/n) hissed, and Percy was able to detect a purple aura around her that made him take a step back, “Luke has told me about his visions. Visions of great things, not just for him, but for me as well! And if you join me, Percy, great things can come for you too.” Somewhere in the middle of her rant, she had gone from angry to practically pleading with him.

Percy’s mouth pushed itself into a frown as he felt the tears begin to form in his eyes, realizing that the girl in front of him was different from his friend. Something had happened. He wasn’t sure what, but this was not the same girl that he had picked strawberries with.

“(y/n)-“ he said her name for the first time since that night, stopping for a moment to fix his shaking voice, “Witch, you know I won’t do that. I can’t. If I did, I.. I wouldn’t be me anymore.”

(y/n) watched him, and for a moment, Percy liked to believe that she was how he remembered her. No crazy mood swings. No radical ideology that set them on opposite sides of the war. Just (y/n).

“I know,” her voice was quiet. Her eyes got a far off look to them, as if she were lost in thought.

“I don’t…” Percy paused once again as her eyes snapped to him, a bit surprised at their sharpness, “I don’t really think you’re you anymore, if we’re being honest.”

(y/n)’s eyes immediately dropped to the floor, and Percy knew he had struck something. The problem was that he wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“I don’t think so either,” (y/n) practically mumbled, looking anywhere but Percy, “Lately I’ve been feeling… Well, I don’t really know. I just feel weird. Like something’s not right.”

“Witch, I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. The torch behind him casted a ray of light onto her face, illustrating the stress lines that she definitely didn’t have a year ago. The glint in her eyes was gone, and replaced with a dull tiredness. Her hands, which he turned his attention back to, looked a bit odd.

He reached down and grabbed one, much faster than she could pull it away. Holding her wrist, he examined her fingers in the firelight, his eyes widening as he took in the charcoal-like color that had devoured the skin at her fingers and seemed to be creeping up to her wrists.

“What the hell is this?” He demanded, and (y/n) yanked her hand away, her eyes wide with what Percy recognized as panic. Without answering, she turned and began walking down the corridor that she had just followed Percy down.

She made it almost halfway down the corridor before a strong hand found her arm and made her stop. As she unwillingly turned back around, (y/n) found herself face-to-face with the same green eyes that used to reassure her any time someone made a snide comment about her abilities. Except now these eyes were filled with enough concern to make her feel nauseous.

“(y/n),” Percy repeated, firmer, with far more power than before, “What is going on with you? Is this because of Luke? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” (y/n) insisted, whatever was left of her confidence continuing to chip away. She had forgotten what Percy’s sad face could do to her, “This is my own doing. Just… don’t worry about it-“

“Your own doing?” Percy’s brows furrowed with such intensity that under any other circumstance (y/n) would’ve asked if he finally had a thought circulating in his head, “(y/n), is this because of your powers?”

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t just lie. Percy didn’t care about her. Not anymore. He had chosen to defend the Gods, and therefore he did not give a single shit about how horrible she had been treated throughout her life. At least, that’s what Luke had told her.

But this was Percy. Percy had been her best friend for years. He used to visit her every time she was sick, and he always made her bracelets during arts and crafts. 

(y/n) realized that her silence was answer enough as Percy’s worry lines grew deeper.

“(y/n),” Percy’s voice wavered as he took a step towards her, “Please don’t tell me that you’re killing yourself just to help Luke.”

“I’m not killing myself,” she replied, taking a step back, softly shrugging off his warm hand. She hadn’t realized how cold it was in the Labyrinth until she encountered another person, “It will go away. This is temporary. It’ll go away soon. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Percy noted the way she seemed to be trying to convince herself as well as him, “(y/n), I need you to know that-“

A loud cheer erupted, its muffled sound signaling it to be a bit further in the Labyrinth. Judging by the way (y/n) stood straighter, head perked like a cat, Percy figured that was Luke and his gang in the arena.

“Shit,” (y/n) muttered, and she seemed to be speaking more to herself than to Percy, “I was supposed to be following you. I mean, I was following you, for quite a bit actually. But I was supposed to corner you and knock you out. Then take you to the arena where Luke could watch you fight someone to the death while half-conscious.”

(y/n) nearly laughed at the startled look that appeared in Percy’s face.

“Relax, Bambi,” she rolled her eyes, “Obviously if I was gonna do that, I would’ve already. I just needed to distract you so you would forget where you came from and where your friends are.”

Percy’s mouth fell open. Shit. He had chased her down the corridor, completely losing track of which hallway he had just come down, as well as what little sense of special awareness he had in the magical maze.

“I’m sorry, Percy, I really am,” (y/n) said, her lips pressed together in a small frown, “I told Luke I couldn’t hurt you. He said he didn’t care about my moral code, but that goes both ways I suppose.”

When Percy looked down at (y/n), he could almost pretend that they were back at camp and he had just arrived for the start of the summer session. (y/n) always took a couple days to readjust to having a friend around, and it broke Percy’s heart to see her anxiously checking to see that he still cared about her.

“(y/n),” he started, and then stopped. What was there to say?

“I have to go,” she said. He knew it was an encouragement to continue.

But what could he say? Don’t go? Come back? There would be no point.

“I love you,” he surprised himself with how easy the words came out, “And I’m not mad at you. I never was. Please take care of yourself. For me.”

(y/n)’s head tilted to the side, and in the torchlight Percy could see the shine of tears in her eyes. Instead of saying anything, she walked into his already opening arms, wrapping hers around his torso. She felt his arms close around her, and for a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and live in the warmth. He still smelled like salt water and the strawberries from the field that they used to hang out at. His body heat almost seemed to burn against her cold skin, but she ignored it.

“I love you too,” she said into his chest, a strange sense of guilt and anxiety beginning to pile up in her chest, “I’m so sorry for leaving like that, Percy. I’m so fucking sorry, I wish I cou-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair, “We can save this for another time, yeah? You have to go and I need to find my friends.”

“Okay.”

And so (y/n) allowed herself a moment of comfort, of which she knew damn well she did not deserve for a multitude of reasons. And Percy allowed himself a moment with his person, who had already abandoned him and was seconds away from doing it again.

But the Labyrinth provided a sense of security. No watching eyes, nobody to accuse them of fraternizing with the enemy. They both knew the other was thinking the same thing, but they also knew that this would be a one time thing. 

“I actually have to go now,” it broke (y/n)’s heart all over again to break out of the hug with Percy, “But, uh, thank you.”

Percy merely nodded in response, not trusting his voice.

“And be careful,” (y/n) added, her eyes holding a sense of urgency, “Not just physically, but with who you trust, too. There’s a lot of things you don’t know, Percy.”

She turned and began walking away, getting closer and closer to a hallway that would take her Gods know where. All Percy knew was that was not where he wa supposed to be heading, and that once she turned the corner, she would be gone.

“(y/n),” he called, “Thank you.”

She returned his nod.

A few seconds later, and Percy was left with only his thoughts and his horrible sense of direction.

[myownwholewildworld]

oh my fucking god freya where do i even start???? 😭

this has split my heart in two. ripped it off my chest and now the freaking seagulls are nibbling away at it and i can't get it back, HOW DO I GET IT BACK???

in all seriousness though, i know i'm like a fucking broken record but i swear the way you write angst... is just amazing, it engulfs the reader strainght into this world you have created and i don't want to leave, i want to stay with these two tucked away in a corner so they don't know i'm there, stalking. hands down, your my favourite angst writer, i want to be like you when i grow up.

the bit where we learn that frankie actually proposed to her is probably what got to me and had me crying. through your words you can feel her desperation, trying to downplay it saying they were just kids with a post-orgasm haze and frankie is like "right, but i meant it"??? FUCK ME.

i love the parallels you draw with the actual storm brewing outside and the figurative storm that's about to break between frankie and pen. how the thunders outside start clapping when pen begins crying in the laundry room. UGHH PERFECTION!

also, hate is the wrong hand to shake??? i loved that metaphor, how frankie's gotta remind himself that, in a way, he can't hate himself if he's about to make amends. because if you don't forgive yourself for the mistakes buried in your past, how can you expect someone else to forgive you, right? and then towards the end, when he yanks her by the nape of her neck and hugs her, and she thinks:

New, however, is the way he holds your head. That cradling hand that you love and resent at the same time. That it means to comfort you and succeeds—and it does, because your crying stops and so does his, and you should despise him for all of it.

THIS. THISSSSSSSSSSSSS. see, that's not a hand that hates, it's a hand that loves. now they only have to realise that and i hope they do! (clinging onto eventual happy ending tag so bad rn).

sorry my thoughts are all over the place but all this to say i love this, i love you, i love them and i can't wait to see where this goes (fucking living for the "chapters 3/?" YESSSS). frankie has a lot of shit to unpack and apologise for. and maybe this is mean on my part but i also want to see him break worse than she has, perhaps by talking more about his addiction, how it fucked up his relationship with her and then his marriage, perhaps by opening up about his deployment and how it messed him up? i know we are in good hands either way.

this was painful (i cried) and beautiful (i cried some more) and there's so much yearning and angst... PLEASE GIVE US MORE <3

MORE THAN LETTERS

PART II: FORWARDING ADDRESS

a frankie morales mini-series inspired by this mootboard by @yopossum

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Frankie Morales x ofc (reader format/pov) WORD COUNT: 12.9k CW: Reference to / conversations about drug use, addiction, NA, and divorce. Implied DA of a background character, one brief (vague) mention of it - NOT against reader, NOT described, and NOT shown. so much angst I'm sorry in advance.

read from the beginning | series masterlist | masterlist

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You and Frankie navigate your reunion as the storm closes in.

PREVIEW:

You oughta get your punches in, Pen. He’d let you. He’d take it. Instead you walk with your jaw locked shut, your arms folded tight over your coat as the leafs of it whip and crack in the headwind, both of you pushing through brick and stone alleys, leaning into the bullying weather. Granted, the wind’s gotten so bad you’d have to shout to be heard, but still. He already misses the sound of your voice, now matter how stupid that is. You could say anything and he’d be grateful for it. Frankly it’s fucking alarming, how desperate you make him even now, when everything feels wrong but you still look just the right size to tuck into his arms. Stupid. He shakes his head at his feet and knows that you see it, but you don’t ask. You just walk. 

READ PART II ON AO3.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

💌 you can follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications or subscribe on ao3 to get alerts for future updates!

[sundarksposts]

'what a fool'

Author's note:

hello! i never thought i'd be writing again but here i am.

i would like to clarify, i'm used to writing angst so probably most of my stories are gonna be angst and underlining that this is just a story! also, i'm sorry if i'm not good at writing. this is my first time back after 7 years.

warnings: alcohol consumption, angst, swearing, make out (stuff), and i don't want to make harry the bad guy here but it's just a story!

i'm sorry if there are some mistakes because English is not my first language.

btw, enjoy!

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

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon. You were at the Sidemen Studios, where you had been working for almost a year. You still couldn’t believe that you were part of one of the biggest YouTube groups in the world as their camerawoman. You had your parents to thank for putting you through film school—and James, your best friend since college, for helping you land this job.

You and James were in the studio, chatting about the upcoming holiday trip with the entire staff and the boys. ‘Are you excited for the trip?’ James asked as he carefully packed his precious camera into his bag.

The two of you had just finished filming Sidecast with Simon, Harry, and Ethan. You weren’t scheduled to work today, but James messaged you, needing an extra hand since John couldn’t make it due to a family emergency. ‘I’m so excited! This is my first work holiday trip, and I still can’t believe it!’ you said, feeling giddy.

"I still can’t believe the boys have time for this trip. They’re so busy with their schedules, and I thought the trip was just for the staff,” James said. You glanced at the blonde boy sitting on the Sidecast set. He was talking with Simon and Ethan about something, but you couldn’t stop stealing glances at him.

"You’re drooling,” James said in a low voice, chuckling. You quickly turned away from your gaze and rolled your eyes at him. Nobody knew you had a crush on Harry—except James. No one was supposed to know that you had a crush on your own boss, but you had to admit, it was hard to ignore your feelings when your boss looked that good.

"And you’re annoying,” you huffed. You had to stop this feeling before it got any deeper. You knew your place—you were a nobody to Harry. Even though he knew you and the two of you always had playful banter, there was no way he would ever reciprocate your feelings.

James smiled before letting out a loud giggle. The boys stopped their conversation, now looking at the two camera staff with curious expressions.

"what's so funny, mate?" Ethan asked.

Great. Now all three of them had noticed.

You mentally slap your forehead before turning to the three Sidemen.

“Nothing, nothing! Just having a conversation with Y/N,” James quickly answered, brushing off their curiosity.

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“Have you guys packed yet?” Simon asked, snapping you out of your thoughts—though your eyes still lingered on Harry.

The set lights are still on, and you still can’t get over his features—his sparkly blue eyes, his toned build, even though he’s hidden beneath his blue Sidemen hoodie, and his pink lips.

I wonder if he’s ever washed that hoodie? you mused to yourself, noticing he’s been wearing it for days now.

"Yeah, yeah, we’ve packed, but Y/N here still has some things left to sort out,” James answered.

You quickly snapped out of your daydream at the mention of your name. “Uhhh, y-yeah. There are still a few things I need to pack, but I’ll be fine,” you replied.

Ethan and Simon shouted, “Nice!” before diving back into their conversation. Meanwhile, Harry lingered for a moment, glancing between you and James before eventually returning to the discussion.

"fucking hell" you muttered while James just quietly giggled.

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

It was the morning of your trip, and you were waiting for James to pick you up from your apartment. You double-checked everything, making sure you had packed everything you needed for Greece. It was going to be a sunny holiday, so you made sure to bring plenty of sunscreen, moisturizer, and lip balm—you didn’t want to dry out while you were there.

After zipping up your suitcase one last time, you heard the doorbell ring. That’s gotta be James, you thought as you walked to the front door

James appeared in your line of sight—and… Harry?

You froze, completely taken aback. What is Harry doing at my apartment?

“Hey, sorry we’re a bit late,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Someone texted me last minute, asking for a ride to the airport while I was already on my way here.” He glanced at the blonde-haired guy beside him.

"Wha—wha—wha—what do you mean?!” Harry sputtered, looking at James, clearly annoyed. “I told you last night I needed a ride! I can’t drive, and getting an Uber or taxi to the airport would’ve been a hassle!”

You giggled at the two of them bickering as you grabbed your suitcase and slung your camera bag over your shoulder.

“It’s fine,” you said, dragging your suitcase along. “It’s not like we’re gonna be late to the airport anyway. Plus, I was just double-checking to make sure I didn’t forget anything.” You quickly patted your pockets, confirming you had your passport.

James rolled his eyes, fully aware of your crush on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry flashed you a smile—the cutest one you’d ever seen, and you had to admit, it made your heart skip a beat.

“See? Y/N doesn’t mind! No need to fuss,” Harry said, grinning. “Do you need help with your suitcase?”

You nodded, thanking him. What a gentleman, you thought.

James rolled his eyes again but chose not to say anything. He couldn’t believe you had bought Harry’s excuse so easily. Honestly, why had Harry even asked him for a ride? He could’ve easily gotten a lift from Tobi or Simon—or, let’s be real, he could more than afford an Uber.

James liked Harry as a friend, but he didn’t want you getting your hopes up. He knew you too well, and the last thing he wanted was for you to think, even for a second, that maybe—just maybe—Harry liked you too.

The three of you walked to James’s car, loaded your suitcases into the trunk, and got in. You took the passenger seat in the front, while Harry settled in the back.

The ride to the airport was… interesting. That was the only way you could describe it. At one point, Harry asked a question so unexpected that it left both you and James in fits of laughter. “Are you guys dating?” he blurted out.

You and James exchanged a look, then turned to Harry, then back to each other—before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. "No, boss. We’ve just been friends for a long time,” you answered, using the nickname you always called the Sidemen.

Harry had told you before that he didn’t like it, but you kept using it anyway because you found it funny—and, deep down, you were pretty sure he secretly liked it too.

After an hour-long drive, the three of you finally arrived at Heathrow Airport, where the rest of the group was waiting at the meeting point. Josh had already been asking about you guys, wondering why you were late. Seeing the flood of messages in the group chat, you, James, and Harry broke into a run, weaving through the crowds.

When you finally reached the meeting point, you spotted the boys, the camera crew, and a whole bunch of other people. Your eyes landed on Kirsty, and you made your way toward her to say hi. Meanwhile, Harry joined the boys, and James went over to Kon.

"Kirsty!” you called out, rushing over to hug her.

You and Kirsty had grown close quickly—both of you being photographers and often the only women on set made it easy to bond.

“Y/N! I missed you!” she said, hugging you back.

The two of you immediately started chatting about how excited you were for the trip. But before you could get too deep into the conversation, Ethan’s voice cut through the noise, addressing an unexpected guest.

“Where were you, Bog? We’ve all been waiting for you. I thought you were gonna ask me to head to the airport with you,” the ginger-haired man said, looking at Harry, who was busy tying his shoelaces.

"No, I didn’t want to burden you. I know how far it is from your place to mine, so I asked James for a ride, and we picked up Y/N along the way,” Harry explained.

The boys exchanged confused looks—this was unusual for him.

“So, was your prediction correct?” Simon asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

You frowned. What prediction?

You tried to focus on what Kirsty was saying, but multitasking was proving difficult.

“Nah, they’re just mates,” Harry replied casually.

Ah. So that’s why he was asking about my relationship with James.

You tried not to seem like you were eavesdropping, but curiosity got the better of you. Glancing over at Harry, you caught the subtle smirk on his lips as he said it.

That was weird, you thought.

After everyone had gathered, you all walked to the check-in counter and then to the boarding gate, waiting for your flight to be called.

You and James decided to grab some food, and before long, the boarding announcement came. Everyone made their way to the plane, quickly found their seats, and soon, you were taking off—leaving behind gloomy London for sunny Greece.

On the plane, you thanked Josh for giving you a window seat. He had asked everyone on the crew about their seating preferences, and he made sure to accommodate them.

To ease your nerves about flying, you and James ordered some alcohol, hoping to relax a bit before landing.

"Wish we could do this every day,” you said, sipping your drink.

“We do this every day—just without the drinking at work,” James chuckled.

You giggled at his remark.

While James was scrolling through the in-flight entertainment, you noticed Harry making his way to the toilet. You gave him a small wave, and he returned it with a subtle nod. That tiny interaction was enough to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Four hours later, the Sidemen and the production crew finally arrived in Greece. The sun, the ocean, and the beach were already calling your name, and you couldn’t contain your excitement—you were finally on a well-deserved break.

All of you had arrived at the villa, and you couldn’t stop admiring the breathtaking scenery. Ever since you left the airport, you’d been taking nonstop videos and pictures, eager to capture every moment.

While Josh spoke with the villa owner, you noticed Harry standing in the lobby, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. An idea popped into your head—taking a candid picture of him. It won’t hurt, right? No one’s going to see it anyway.

You discreetly snapped the photo, and to your surprise, it turned out great. Smiling to yourself, you decided to keep it private.

“Okay, guys, gather around” Josh called out, explaining the room arrangements and today’s itinerary. You learned that you’d be sharing a room with Kirsty, which made you even more excited for the trip.

After the small announcement ended, you walked over to Kirsty. “Are you sure you’re okay sharing with me? I know you’d probably prefer to share with Kon,” you said, watching as Kirsty snapped pictures of the boys for future reference.

“God, no! I’d much rather share with you than Kon,” she laughed. “He snores in his sleep, and I actually want to get some rest on this vacation. I need some me-time.”

You felt relieved knowing you had someone to keep you company other than James.

As the two of you made your way to your assigned room, you started unpacking while chatting about random things—just classic girl talk. It was nice to have a girl friend in this kind of situation.

Out of nowhere, Kirsty smirked. “So… do you have a boyfriend?” You chuckled at the unexpected question. ‘Why is everyone asking me that today?’ you thought, shaking your head.

“I haven’t found the one, and honestly, I’m too busy as it is. Being in a relationship would just be a headache,” you said as you changed into fresh clothes after your shower.

Kirsty nodded in understanding. “I feel you. It’s hard to date someone outside of our work—unless you’re working with them.”

You agreed with her.

As the day went by, everyone got ready for dinner. You took tons of pictures—your food, the restaurant, and your co-workers—for yours and the Sidemen Instagram.

After dinner, Tobi mentioned that some of them were heading to a club and asked if you wanted to join. You said yes, and now, you were all on your way.

You couldn’t wait to have a few drinks and dance to the music. Spotting Harry, you smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, adjusting the sleeves of his Childish hoodie.

God, he can even pull off a hoodie, you thought, nodding. “I rarely get a chance to go out back home, so this should be fun,” you said.

The two of you kept talking, laughing easily as the conversation flowed. Harry’s gaze lingered on you—your blue floral sundress, your wavy hair, the way your red lipstick stood out under the soft lighting. He smiled, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. You could feel him staring.

By the time you arrived at the club, you were already feeling a little buzzed—whether from the alcohol at dinner or from talking with the blue-eyed boy, you weren’t sure.

Without a word, Harry took your hand, guiding you through the crowded venue toward the table. His touch was warm, and for the first time, you realized how much you liked it. You didn’t want him to let go.

And for a while, he didn’t.

"I’m going to order us a drink. What do you like?” Harry asked. “Vodka and Coke, please." He nodded before making his way to the bar.

As he walked away, you felt a pair of eyes on you—grinning like a Cheshire cat. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. “He’s just being nice,” you mouthed to James. He simply shrugged, sipping his drink and bobbing his head to the music.

A moment later, Harry returned with your drink, placing it in front of you. “You like vodka?” he asked, settling into the seat beside you. “Yeah, I do. But I like it with soda so it’s not too strong.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his own drink. The conversation flowed easily as you both drank, the music pulsing around you.

"Sambuca’s here!” Simon yelled, handing out shots to everyone. You were given three. You didn’t like Sambuca, but for the culture? You had to. Harry and you took the shots together, the strong taste making you wince. The warmth spread through your chest, and you could already feel the alcohol kicking in.

“You wanna go to the dance floor?” Harry asked, leaning in slightly so you could hear him over the music.

You nodded, and before you knew it, he was taking your hand again, leading you through the crowd. The music was loud, the bass thumping in your chest as the two of you danced and sang along to whatever song was playing. He didn’t let go of your hand—not until you were facing each other in the middle of the dance floor.

Harry was awkward when it came to dancing, but with the alcohol running through his system, he seemed a little more confident. The two of you were lost in the moment, just enjoying the night—being young and carefree in another country.

You threw your arms around his shoulders, jumping up and down to the beat, and he chuckled at your antics, shaking his head but letting you do your thing.

After a few songs had played, the two of you returned to the table, taking sips of your drinks. You were thirsty after all that dancing.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” Harry sniggered, amusement clear in his voice. You laughed, waving your hand dismissively. “I rarely go out. Please don’t judge me.”

Both of you chuckled before making your way back to the dance floor for round two. This time, you spotted Simon, Josh, Tobi, and Ethan dancing together, clearly having a blast. As you and Harry approached, the four of them cheered.

“How are you enjoying tonight, Y/N?” Ethan asked, noticing you and Harry together. He raised a curious brow—he hadn’t seen much of Harry tonight, and now, it was clear why. A smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced between the two of you, teasing the youngest of the group.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I’m loving it! Thank you for the opportunity, boss!” you yelled over the music, which was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself. Ethan laughed, nodding before turning back to the others.

You leaned toward Harry. “I’m going to the restroom for a bit." His fingers were still loosely wrapped around your hand. He nodded, letting go as you slipped away, while he made his way over to the boys. You left for the toilet, but as you walked, you suddenly tripped and fell. A sharp pain shot through your ankle, and you groaned.

Great. What a way to ruin a night out, you thought, wincing as you tried to stand. Slowly, you limped your way back to the table, hoping no one would notice.

As you arrived, you saw Josh, Harry, and Kon sitting together, drinks in hand. “Uh, boss, is it okay if I leave early? I just tripped, and my ankle kinda hurts,” you asked Josh, who was just about to take a sip of his drink.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Do you want me to get James?” Kon offered, already looking around for him.

You quickly shook your head. “No, it’s fine. I can tell he’s enjoying his night. I’ll be fine going home alone.” Josh frowned. “No. Someone needs to go with you.”

Before you could protest, Harry raised his hand. “I can go back with you.” You immediately shook your head. “No, you don’t have to, Harry. Just enjoy your night.”

But he was already finishing his drink. “No, we need to make sure you’re okay,” he insisted, taking your hand.

You sighed but didn’t argue as you waved goodbye to Kon and Josh before letting Harry guide you out of the club.

On the ride back to the villa, you still felt tipsy, and you still couldn’t believe you had tripped. “How’s your ankle? And how did you even trip?” Harry asked, his voice laced with concern.

You giggled. “I tripped and fell. I think I’m drunk,” you admitted, laughing at yourself.

Harry shook his head, chuckling.

When you arrived at the villa, the silence was almost eerie. The only sounds filling the air were distant crickets, making it clear that you two were the first ones back. Harry opened the front door and held it for you.

“Thanks,” you murmured as you stepped inside.

Before you could take another step, Harry’s hand found your arm, steadying you as you wobbled slightly.

“Do you want me to take you to your room?” he asked. You shook your head. “The night’s still young. There’s some alcohol in the fridge—we could hang out in the living room,” you suggested with a giggle.

Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright, but only if you promise not to trip again,” he teased, guiding you carefully to the couch.

You plopped onto the sofa while he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with two drinks, handing one to you before settling down beside you.

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip. As the alcohol buzzed through your veins, you suddenly realized just how close he was. His arm draped casually around the back of the couch, fingertips barely brushing against your shoulder.

And for some reason, you didn’t mind one bit.

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it. The air between you grew heavier, the faint buzz from the alcohol mixing with the tension in the room. You hated awkward silences, but this? This wasn’t just silence—it was charged, electric.

You didn’t even realize you had been staring at him until Harry smirked. “What are you thinking in that head of yours?” he teased, his voice low, amused.

Your eyes widened. Shit. Busted.

Your face burned as you quickly turned away. “Uh, n-n-nothing!” you stuttered, desperately hoping he’d drop it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, you felt a gentle touch on your chin, guiding your face back toward his. Your breath hitched as you found yourself staring into his piercing blue eyes, now just inches away from yours. “You know you can tell me, right?” he whispered, his gaze locked onto yours.

Your throat went dry.

Oh, you were in trouble.

Somehow, a sudden wave of courage washes over you. Your heart pounds, but for once, you don’t care. You forget that he’s your boss. You forget the risks, the consequences. Fuck it. You’re on holiday.

“I want to stay with you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. Harry freezes for a moment, as if making sure he heard you right. Then, without hesitation, he kisses you.

The taste of alcohol lingers between you, but the kiss grows desperate, needy. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and heat floods through your body.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms and carries you to his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind him.

He places you gently on the bed, hovering above you, his blue eyes searching yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs.

You nod. “I do.”

That’s all he needs to hear. His lips crash onto yours again, and soon, hands are exploring, breaths are mingling, and soft moans escape between kisses. You trail your lips down his jaw and neck, and a deep groan rumbles from his throat.

The world outside fades away as you both get lost in the moment, tangled in sheets, until the first light of morning peeks through the curtains.

The soft chirping of birds filters through the open window, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the villa. Beside you, Harry sleeps soundly, his arm draped over your waist, snoring softly. He’s snuggled into you, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile, your mind still reeling from last night. Did that really happen?

Carefully, you slip out of bed, making sure not to wake him. As you quietly gather your clothes and dress, reality begins to sink in. I slept with Harry. I slept with my boss.

And as if on cue, a dull ache pulses from your ankle. Right. I was supposed to ice that… but how could I remember when I was too busy forking my boss?

Suppressing a groan, you tiptoe out of the room, shutting the door gently behind you. You make your way to your own room, pushing the door open to find Kirsty still fast asleep.

Sighing in relief, you quickly change into more comfortable clothes before grabbing your phone. The screen lights up.

30 missed calls from James

10 missed calls from Kirsty

7 missed calls from Josh and Kon

5 missed calls from Simon, Tobi and Ethan

Shit.

Everyone had been looking for you. The sheer number of missed calls on your phone made your stomach churn. You felt bad—really bad—but what were you supposed to say? Sorry, I was too busy sleeping with Harry? Yeah, not happening.

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the bed, hoping to catch a little more sleep before facing the inevitable interrogation. But just as your body starts to relax, you hear a rustling from the other side of the room.

You freeze.

Maybe if you stayed perfectly still, she wouldn’t notice—

“Y/N?”

Shit.

Your heart pounds as you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending to be deep in sleep. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe too loudly.

Silence.

A few seconds pass, then a minute. You don’t hear anything else. Maybe she bought it. Maybe she went back to sleep.

You exhale slowly, relief washing over you. You were still exhausted, still sore, and the last thing you needed was Kirsty’s questions right now. But you needed an excuse. fast.

you did got enough of sleep and wake up at the same time as Kirsty. And she did asked you question of where you've been but you just said to her that you got lost and ended up somewhere far away. As much as you were relieved that Kirsty didn’t push further, a part of you knew she didn’t fully believe you. But you were grateful she let it slide—for now.

You focused on packing your things, trying to ignore the lingering thoughts of last night. The way Harry’s hands felt on you, the way he held you close… You shook your head. Not the time.

Kirsty sighed as she zipped up her suitcase. “I can’t wait to just get home and sleep for a whole day.”

You forced a small laugh. “Yeah… same.” But deep down, you weren’t sure you were ready to go back to reality just yet.

both of you packed your things as you're already prepared to go home yet you feel heavy hearted. you don't want to return to your reality yet. you heard a knock on your door and yelled, "it's open" and revealed James who's been worrying sick.

"Where were you? We tried to called your phone but you didn't answer it" he yelled like a worried father. you grabbed his hand and dragged him to the hallway and close the door so Kirsty won't hear both of you. "I was with Harry. On his bed" you whispered. James let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Are you serious?” he whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

You groaned, still hiding your face. “Yes, James. I know, okay? You don’t have to freak out.”

“Freak out?” he hissed, lowering his voice so Kirsty wouldn’t hear. “Y/N, you literally just slept with Harry. Your boss. One night in Greece, and you’re already moving mad.”

You peeked through your fingers, glaring at him. “I know! I don’t need a lecture right now." James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So what now? Was it just a one-time thing, or…?”

That question made your stomach twist. You wanted to say it was just a drunken mistake, a heat-of-the-moment thing. But when you thought about the way Harry had looked at you, the way he had held you…

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “But I don’t regret it.”

James’ expression softened, but he still looked concerned. “Look, I’m not judging you. I just—be careful. If the boys find out, especially Josh, things could get messy.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. “I just need to act normal.” James gave you a skeptical look. “And do you think Harry can act normal?”

That was the real question.

As you and James made your way downstairs, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. At least James knew now, and he wasn’t mad—just concerned. But the real challenge would be facing Harry and pretending like nothing happened.

The dining area was already bustling with the boys and crew, everyone chatting and eating. You spotted Harry sitting with Simon and Ethan, looking as relaxed as ever. When his eyes met yours, there was a brief flicker of something in them—something only you would notice—but he quickly went back to his conversation like nothing had changed.

James nudged you slightly. “See? If he can act normal, so can you.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, sitting down with James and the others. “Morning,” you greeted, trying to sound casual.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Ethan teased. “Where the hell did you disappear to last night?”

You laughed nervously. “Got lost on the way back. Had to call Harry to help me find the villa.” You could feel Harry glance at you, but he didn’t say a word.

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Lost? In Greece? Y/N, we were literally a few streets away from the club.”

“Yeah, well, alcohol does that to you,” you shrugged, stuffing a bite of food in your mouth to avoid more questions.

Simon smirked. “You and Harry, alone in the middle of the night? That’s suspicious…”

Your stomach dropped, but before you could say anything, Harry rolled his eyes. “Relax, Minter. Not everything is a conspiracy.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. James leaned closer and whispered, “You two are so obvious.” You kicked him under the table, making him yelp.

James, being the good friend he was, quickly changed the subject. “Anyway! What’s the plan for today?” Josh sighed “We have a few hours before our flight, so we’re just chilling. Maybe a last walk by the beach if anyone’s up for it.”

You nodded, pretending to be focused on your breakfast, but you couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Harry. He hadn’t looked at you once, which was unusual. Was he regretting last night? Was this his way of pretending it never happened.

You focused on your food, chewing slowly as the conversations around you carried on. You could still feel Harry’s presence beside you, his phone acting as a shield between the two of you.

Why was he being like this? Last night, he was holding you close, whispering sweet things against your skin. Now, he couldn’t even look at you.

You sighed, pushing your plate away as you lost your appetite. Kirsty, who had just joined the table, noticed and nudged you. “Not hungry?” she asked.

“Just tired,” you lied, offering her a small smile.

After breakfast and free time, everyone gets ready to head to the airport. As James helps you walk, you spot Harry. You know you need to talk.

“Wait a minute, James. I won’t be long,” you say. He nods, sensing that you need to clear the tension with Harry. As you approach, Harry is still on his phone, busy with God knows what.

"I told James," you whisper to him. Harry looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

Is he for real?

“About where we were last night. That we spent the night together… in your bed,” you murmur, lowering your voice so no one else can hear.

He looks puzzled. “But we didn’t do anything last night. I don’t remember anything—I was so pissed,” he says before turning and walking off.

You’re stunned. You can’t believe what you just heard. It feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach. The ground beneath you might as well open up and swallow you whole.

Was he really that hammered that he didn’t remember anything?

James walks over to you and nudges your arm. “Well?” You shake your head, trying to blink away the tears welling up in your eyes. “He said he doesn’t remember,” you whisper, but James hears you loud and clear.

His expression shifts to shock, disbelief washing over his face. He clenches his jaw, fists tightening at his sides. For a moment, he looks like he wants to march over to Harry and punch him, but he knows that would only cost him his job.

James reaches out to comfort you, but you flinch away. “I need some time alone,” you mutter before limping toward the car, your ankle still aching from last night.

James watches you walk away, then turns his gaze toward Harry, who is laughing at a joke Ethan just made—completely unaware of the damage he’s just caused.

Y/N feels embarrassed. Of course, he just thought it was a one-night stand. Who did she think she was? She was no one.

The entire ride to the airport, she sulks in silence, trying to hide her sadness and confusion. Was he really that embarrassed to admit he slept with her?

The journey home feels like hell. James stays by her side the entire time, offering quiet comfort as they sit together on the plane. It isn’t until Y/N puts on a sappy romantic movie that the tears finally spill, her emotions too heavy to hold back any longer. James doesn’t say anything—he just lets her feel, lets her grieve whatever it was she thought she had.

Yet even with his support, she still feels like trash. Oh, what a fool she had been.

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

Author's note: Oh my gosh! it's a long one. I'm sorry it's not good. Please let me know if you guys want part 2 because I already have some ideas for it. And i'm sorry I never wanted to let Harry to be the bad guy but again it's just a story.

i stayed up until 4am to continue to write, reviewing and finally posting this story.

i hope you guys loved this story!

Anyways, I love you guys and take care! x

[ireadwithmyears]

Hey, Shay! Congrats again on 300! Thanks for writing us stories! It's such a sweet idea to make personal ones.

I'm not picky. I'm currently writing for Dogma, Fox, Hardcase, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair, but really any clone is fine even if you want to make up an OC clone.

Could I get a fic where the reader feels she doesn't matter? She feels taken for granted by her family and forgotten by her friends—an afterthought. She doesn't think she's anyone's priority, and that's where the clone comes in.

Female reader please, but it can be SFW or NSFW, whichever way your imagination goes.

If You Love Me for Me

Pairing: Echo/Fem Reader

Word count: 3 K

For my 300 follower milestone event (Now closed) 

Tags/warnings: Angst, mentions of familial issues, anxiety and insecurity, friends to lovers, getting together, kissing, brief mention of very minor injury.

Summary: In a world where your family has made you believe that you are everyone’s last priority, Echo makes sure that to him, you will always be his first.

Authors note: So I named a fic after a Barbie movie song, to which, I say, what about it 🤷‍♀️ I really hope that I could capture all of those feelings that you were experiencing when you sent me that ask, Amber, and I really hope you enjoy this story.

No one notices when you quietly slip out the back entrance of your parents’ house and leave. 

And maybe, you think, shimmying yourself up to hop the low garden fence, not wanting to risk unlatching it so that someone might hear the indignant, rusted whine the gate makes as it opens, that’s the part that stings the most.

They don’t notice, and a sharp, bitter and intrusive part of you can’t help but think it’s because they don’t care.

That, you concede, is definitely an oversimplification. They care enough, you try to tell yourself. Enough to make sure that there will always be food in your fridge and that you’ll always have a roof over your head. They care enough to, mostly, support your career endeavours even if they don’t totally understand them. They care enough to love you, or at least say that they do, even though sometimes, the sentiment rings hollow in your ears coming from them.

Maybe it’s because you’re selfish, your traitorous mind whispers as you wander the walkways beneath Pabu’s setting sun. Isn’t that what your mom had called you, in a fit of anger when you had gotten into some stupid argument about something or other that you couldn’t remember now long ago when you were still a teenager. Selfish, ungrateful, overly sensitive and, apparently, still needs to fucking grow up. 

All they are is words, you try to remind yourself, words from a long, long time ago. Words that, if you brought them up to her now, she’d probably claim she never actually said. 

Again, you think, hearing your mother’s voice in your head. Grow up, get over it.

Your eyes smart, and you frustratedly kick out at a loose pebble that’s gotten caught beneath your shoe on the pavement, listening as it bounces and quietly skitters away.

You had tried to stay for family dinner tonight, because that’s what normal, functional and supportive families were supposed to do. You had stayed, even as they passed you over in conversation. You had stayed even as they had celebrated your recent achievements in your career as an art vendor with the most cursory of congratulations. You had stayed even when, with difficulty, they had chatted and gushed at length about your brother's new shiny career as a lawyer, you had still stayed because you were a good, supportive daughter and sister.

You’re not sure what, exactly, was the thing that pushed you over the edge and had you quietly sneaking out the back door. All you know is that you feel taken for granted, forgotten and alone. And worst of all, like your family doesn’t even know you, or care to know you and your interests, your passions, the things that make you smile, the facets of yourself that make you, well, you.

And that, most of all, is the thing that twists like a knife in the pit of your stomach now, the tears openly sliding down your cheeks in a slow, silent stream as you let your feet carry you up and around the island’s spiralling staircases, unsure of where you’re going until you find yourself quietly mounting the steps to his porch.

You shouldn’t be here right now. 

You snap back into reality with a jolt so hard that you have to reach out a fumbling hand to grasp onto the wooden railing, lest you should stumble backwards off the steps of the porch and fall into the dirt directly on your butt.

He shouldn’t have to see you when you’re like this. 

Not Echo, who you’re convinced might be the one person in the world who looks at you with something more than a bland, passing interest  or indifference. He can’t see you when you’re unhappy, tears rolling down your face, because what if that makes him step away? What if, like your family, he finds the sight of your tears discomforting. What if, when you explain yourself, he thinks you’re just as ungrateful, just as selfish, as they all think you are.

A sob claws its way up your throat and you stumble, thankfully forward this time as you turn around to leave, to disappear into the night without him ever knowing that you’re here, and then creak…

The sound of the door opening in the quiet of the night scares you so bad that you trip, and your hands flail uselessly as you cry out, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood as you feel the rough and uneven pavement bite into the skin of your knees when you hit the ground.

“I thought I saw you sneaking around outside,” says Echo, and his voice is warm, jovial, even as he moves to help you up from the ground. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he continues, looping your arm through his. “But seeing as I did, and it looks like you’ve banged up your knees as a result, the least I can do is help you patch them up.”

You let him pull you to your feet, suddenly lacking the energy to protest, blinking as you look down and catch a glimpse of torn jeans, a small collection of scrapes decorating the skin beneath. Great, you think, both exasperated and subdued. Now you’re burdening him.

“It’s cold out there,” he hums, steering you over to an armchair. “Did you forget your jacket?”

The fireplace is blazing, and only now that the heat of the flames is lightly caressing your skin from where you sit, do you realize how cold you are. Your arms prickle with goosebumps, and you belatedly realize that you must have left your jacket on the hook at the front door of your parents’ house. Mutely, you nod your head, and Echo clucks with disapproval.

Nonetheless, moments later, he’s quietly instructing you to lift your arms and when you do, he slides one of his, much larger, sweaters over your head, helping you gather your hair to gently pull it free of where it’s caught inside the hoodie almost without conscious thought.

“What would I do without you?” you ask, burying your hands within the baggy sleeves and holding your arms close to yourself as you look up at him.

“Probably forget your own head, if it wasn’t already attached,” he says wryly, giving you a playful tap on the nose, his scomp resting on his hip..

He settles on the floor, carefully lifting up one of your feet so that your leg is propped on an ottoman in front of you, letting out a low whistle as he moves carefully to snip away at the already ripped fabric at the knee of your jeans. 

“Am I gonna live?” you ask sarcastically, and have the satisfaction of watching as Echo tries to restrain his lips from pulling upward into a small smile.

“It’s bleeding a bit, and there’s also some debris,” he says, rising to his feet and moving towards the kitchen sink so that he can wet a washcloth. “But yeah, you’ll live. Shouldn’t even have to amputate,” he adds, not bothering to hide his grin this time.

You snort, even as you instinctively flinch when he starts cleaning the scrapes. He gives you an apologetic smile, even as he shifts to rest his scomp over your leg to keep you still. For a while, it’s quiet, the only sounds in the room your combined breathing, the gentle dabbing of the damp cloth against your skin, and the occasional chink of tweezers as Echo carefully removes small rock fragments from the wounds.

So,” he ventures, after the silence has stretched out for too long. “Family dinner really that bad?”

“How could you tell?” you ask with an exhausted sigh, leaning back as your eyes roll up towards the ceiling.

“I know you,” he states simply, and you startle a bit when you feel his thumb against your cheek, until he pulls back and holds up his hand, the tip of his finger smudged with something dark. Your mascara, you realize, your cheeks going pink with embarrassment. The lingering evidence of your tears.

“And I know that they’re the only ones who can make you cry like that.”

You sniff and his eyes, when you dare to turn yours away from the ceiling to actually look at him properly, are two pools of soft, amber warmth and compassion that nearly push you to dissolve into a fresh wave of tears all over again. Gritting your teeth, you force it back, straightening and trying to recover any shred of dignity that remains within you.

Still, the treacherous voice that lurks in the back of your mind still whispers. 

He doesn’t want you here. 

He’ll listen to what you say with passive interest, he’ll be nice to you because he feels obligated and still, all the while, he’s secretly waiting for you to leave. Because you’re unremarkable, you go quiet and make awkward pauses in conversation because you want, so much, to be liked, loved, valued, and at the same time you have no idea what you have to do to make people look at you with anything other than a detached apathy for your presence.

And here he is, fresh off a long stretch of missions working for the burgeoning underground rebellion, returned home, eager for a rest, and probably some quiet, and time where, for once, he doesn’t have to worry about other people, and can set aside his deep-rooted sense of duty to focus on himself.

Instead, you’re here, showing up unannounced because you’re too clingy, too sensitive, too reliant on others to deal with your emotions, because you can’t just be normal and take it all on the chin like everyone else does. And he’s here, he’s listening, but probably not because he wants to, but more because you, selfish, needy as you are, have taken advantage of his kindness, and he’s listening because he feels obligated to.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, abruptly rushing to get to your feet and hastening to get to the door. “I’ve intruded on your night long enough already. I know you have much higher priorities that you probably need to sort out so I’ll just.”

“Hey,” his voice, quiet but stern, brings your rambling attempt to make excuses straight to a halt, his hand catching your wrist insistent as he turns you around to face him, looking down at you, his expression almost inscrutable.

“I,” you blink, looking up at him, confused. It’s then that you notice the sleeves of his sweater have fallen down over your hands and you blink, startled, then realize that this must be what he wants before you go. “Oh, your sweater, sorry. Here, let me just.”

“Stop.”

All of a sudden his hand falls away and his arms hang limply at his sides. He takes a step back, letting out a breath, exhaling softly in the quiet of the room. You freeze, looking up at him with widened eyes. His eyes keenly take you in, seeming to search for something that he doesn’t appear to find before he next speaks.

“Do you want to leave?” he asks, his voice carrying an underlying tension that you struggle to place the origin of.

“What?” you ask, bewildered, slightly taken aback and confused at the seemingly abrupt shift. “No, I, I just.” You shake your head from side to side, as if the action might help shake free the words that are quickly becoming lodged in your throat.

He once again steps closer, moving towards you in a similar fashion to how he might approach a wounded animal. Only once he’s there, he stops being timid. He steps into your space, lightly pushing until you’re pressed up against the door. Observing no further resistance or protest on your part, he then reaches down, lightly taking your chin between his fingers and guiding it upward so that you’re looking into his warm, honey brown eyes, his expression still unreadable.

“Whatever you’ve been thinking,” he says, his voice so quiet that it’s barely above a whisper. “Whatever I have done to make you feel like you are anything less than the first thing I think about every time I return home to Pabu... then I must apologize for not making my intentions clear.”

He strokes your cheek, and you absently saver in the feeling of his fingers trailing along your skin, your mind struggling to follow the thread of his words.

“Echo...I,” you stammer, because apparently those are the only words that your brain is capable of coming up with. You swallow, and, mortified, you feel your eyes beginning to burn with the sting of unshed tears. One drops, glistening on your eyelash a moment before falling to the tips of Echo’s fingers. He blinks, eyes widening as he looks down at it. Then, shaking his head, he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin as he lightly sways the two of you back and forth.

“Listen to me,” he speaks after a long moment, your silent tears dampening the material of his shirt as you bite down hard on your bottom lip to contain the sounds that are fighting to escape. 

You’re not even sure why you’re crying at this point. All you know is that he’s here, steady, solid muscles combined with the cool, foreign press of metal and steel as he holds you gently.

“You are my first priority,” he says, his voice low and soft, but almost firm in its promise. “My first, you hear me?”

You nod your head, not trusting yourself to speak and his arms tighten, pulling you closer just a fraction, so that you can feel his heartbeat, thumping steadily against your ear.

“And I am so sorry,” he continues, his voice falling into almost a saddened whisper. “That so many people have made you feel like you’re their last.”

A quiet sniffle forces its way from your throat and you tremble, struggling to hold the dam together as it breaks. Echo holds onto you, metal arm carefully tucked around your waist, his free hand slowly gliding up and down your back. He doesn’t speak, knowing that words would most likely be meaningless at best, and at worst, force you back into your shell of trying to keep yourself together purely for his comfort. He certainly doesn’t want that, and so, he holds you, simply allowing you to cry into the material of his shirt as he shifts on the balls of his feet, rocking the two of you back-and-forth until you calm.

“E-echo?” you ask after your tears have mostly subsided, looking up at him with still watery eyes as you blink.

“Hm?” he asks, reaching to wipe your tears away with his thumb. 

His eyes are soft, filled with an adoration that you feel is out of place, considering the state of you. But his fingers remain gentle, his hand still warm and soft, as he slowly brushes it over the crown of your head, smoothing back your hair. You can’t help the way you find yourself blushing, unable to explain it beyond the way he’s touching you, the way that he is looking at you right now feels almost... reverent? Which doesn’t make any sense to you at all.

“I’ve messed up your shirt,” is all that you can think to come up with, glancing down at the evident tear stain on the centre of his chest.

“That’s alright,” he says, giving you a small shrug before his eyes turn mischievous. “What, you looking for an invitation for me to take it off, meshla?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you groan, your eyes rolling towards the ceiling even as you feel your cheeks turning to a shade of bright red.

“And you’re blushing,” he says, sounding smug as he grabs your chin, tilting your head to look at him as his fingers brush against your heated cheek. “Now isn’t that sweet.” 

You look up at him, feeling lost, because he still has that look on his face. The one that says that he very well might want to kiss you right now and, startled, you realize that in the same breath, you very much want him to do just that. A part of you still hesitates though, always waiting, always cautious, always wondering when the other shoe might drop. Echo notices the changed expression on your face and he stills, sobering immediately.

“A-are you sure you want me to stay?” you ask, your voice soft, breathless and nervous with restrained want, with held-back hopes and longing that pulls at all of the strings within his heart.

“Do I want you to stay?” he asks, his voice sounding incredulous as his eyebrows raise. 

He leans forward, his forehead lightly bumping against yours as his fingers gently thread into your hair. There’s a breath, a warm brush of air against your lips as he pauses, watching you for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, he brings his lips to yours, kissing you softly, but wanting, eager and by no means delicate, pressing his lips against yours in a manner that suggests that he’s been wanting, needing to do that for a long, long time prior.

When he pulls away, you’re breathless, and he smirks, pleased and, probably, also a little bit smug, the corners of his lips twitching as he attempts to contain it as he looks down at you, blushing and unable to form words. He leans in, brushing his thumb against your parted lips, his voice a soft, low rumble of amusement as he asks you.

“I think that probably answers your question, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you say, stepping forward and rising up on your toes.

You press a kiss to his cheek, and then another one to his lips, unable to resist your own pulling upward into a broad smile. You’re surprised, filled with an almost overwhelming sense of giddiness that feels foreign, but it makes you want to dance or jump up and down or start flying. 

You can’t, though, so instead, you settle on kissing him again.

“Yeah,” you say again, gazing up into his warm, softened eyes. “I definitely think it does.”

Thank you  @saradika-graphics for these dividers.

If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment. I would really appreciate it :-)

[everlastingephemera]

the monkey-sphere | Spencer Reid

— or the one where the ephemeral comfort of alcohol cannot possibly silence your demons the way that the constancy of Spencer’s affection for you can. [Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader]

Word Count: 5K. Proof-read.

Content Warnings: FLUFF (No, really) + ANGST. SECOND-PERSON POV. No use of Y/N. Mutual pining, idiots in love (not that they’d admit it), case details, slight gore, alcohol mention, a lot of self-deprecation, vague mentions of facial features but nothing too specific, light/darkness imagery, barely any dialogue because how the fuck are writers good at that part?, written with (pre-addiction) S2/Glasses!Spencer in mind. Let me know of anything else that should be mentioned.

Author's Note: Bit the bullet and decided to start posting my writing on Tumblr after a decade of trying to master the art of writing fanfiction because nothing can satisfy the Spencer Reid brainrot like this can. This is very self-indulgent and may actually not make a lot of sense, but honestly, I feel proud of it enough to make it my first post on here. Hopefully, someone else can enjoy it just as much as I do!

You didn’t mean to drink so much. 

Truth be told, you didn’t even want to be in a bar right now. Surrounded by music that was infinitely louder than your aching head could tolerate, people who were much too joyful for your liking. You were completely lost as to how the world kept spinning around, how life seemed to always go on, no matter what you’ve seen. No matter what you’ve known. It’s just what you were, you were always so lost.

But Penelope, ever so bright and charming, had insisted that a night out was exactly what the team needed after such a brutal case. It never failed to make you feel better, the lengths that she’d go to ensure that all of you managed to bounce back well enough after exceptionally tough cases. You appreciated the sentiment, were always grateful for her ability to make you smile and forget, to make you notice that the world could and did go on. Because of everything. Despite everything.

But it just wasn’t that easy all the time.

You guys had spent far too long this week examining headless corpses in rural Washington, chasing after an unsub who had managed to evade capture for more than a month. You deserved a break for being the good sports who brought him to justice. And while the team’s company had always managed to offer you that peace after such heavy cases, tonight felt different. 

You had been at this long enough (almost a year now) to understand that some cases would hit harder than others. Whether it was the amount or the force of violence you were faced with, or the inevitability of empathising with the victims and their families, some parts of this job would always haunt you more. It was just the way it had to be.

And so that’s what you blamed the amount of shots you had downed on — the way things had to be. Because you didn’t know what else to blame it on, you didn’t know just what made your heart keep sinking after the case had wrapped.

While anyone would argue that six headless male bodies were more than enough reason, you were afraid that it wasn’t as simple as that. After all, in less than a year with the BAU, you had seen worse, and if Hotch’s words on your first day were any indication of it — This job takes a lot out of all of us. You’ll need a solid support system to keep strong. You’ll see things that you could have never imagined possible. — then you were always going to see worse.

It wasn’t that, it wasn’t just that. So what was it?

With your arms folded in front of you, the strong aftertaste of tequila still burning in your throat, all your mind seemed to go back to was something that Spencer had shared on the flight out to Washington. While you were all looking through the case file, scanning the details and exchanging theories on the unsub’s motive and victimology, the population of the rural town had come into focus. Discussing the unavoidable connections existing in a town of less than 2,000 people, Spencer, in true Spencer-Reid fashion, had explained that it wasn’t necessarily like that. 

You could still hear his high-pitched, lively voice in your head, just like you could still picture the soft smile playing against his lips, and the enthusiasm that his tone was always laced with when he went off on one of his tangents.

There was a study conducted in the 1990s by British anthropologist Robin Dunbar in which a cognitive limit of close interpersonal relationships was suggested. He studied the brain size of primates, as well as their average group size, and then extrapolated his findings to propose that humans can comfortably maintain at most 150 stable relationships. Informally, he used the paradigm of the number of people you would not find it awkward to spend time with if you happen to casually bump into them to explain his study— 

It had turned out that the monkey-sphere, as Spencer had called it, referring to a later blog entry on the theory when you’d asked him more about it during your lunch break, actually had helped you in pinning down the unsub and his MO. In a broad sense, at least. The men that he had killed and beheaded were men that he saw as threats to his already deteriorating relationship with his ex-wife and estranged son. 

For all of the violence that you had so far encountered, you hadn’t become desensitised enough to mentally flinch at the lengths people would go to feel important. To ensure their place in someone’s life. Wasn’t that the curse of manhood? The need — the struggle — to resist change, to cling to any illusion of steadfastness? 

But nothing lasts forever, and everything changes without notice.

That’s what it was, you settled. The fear of being dispensable. The thought of not being good enough, not special enough, to be part of a statistic. Okay, not a statistic — someone’s statistic. Someone special’s statistic.

Someone like the man standing in front of you, with those hazel doe eyes, and that honey-like voice, and an innate gentleness unlike any you had ever known before.

You hadn’t realised you’d made it out of the bar, denying the otherwise friendly bartender’s offer for another couple of shots, until the rather frigid late-February DC air hit your face. 

You were fiddling with your phone inside your coat’s pocket, shifting your weight uncomfortably in a failed attempt to warm yourself up, rushing to send a text announcing your early departure Penelope’s way, when a familiar voice caught your attention.

“Sorry. Yeah, excuse me, I’m sorry—Hey!” You turned around once your name was called, coming face to face with none other than Spencer, who was exhaling heavily and dusting off his signature black coat from the heavy bar air still lingering on it.

“Spencer?” Your brow furrowed in confusion, a faint, rather tipsy smile present on your face as you watched him fix his glasses, “I thought you’d gone home already.”

“I—Yeah, I was going to, but then Morgan challenged me to play darts with him, and when I kept winning—“ Of course he did, you thought, head slightly tilted to the left as you tried to follow his every word, “—I had to come to the bar to get the drinks that he lost in the bet, that’s when I… when I, uh, saw you trying to leave, and…” 

He trailed off, his eyes squinting in that particular way they did when he was paying attention to something. Really paying attention to something. 

In your inebriated state, you didn’t have it in you to swoon over the fact that he was paying such close attention to you. Usually, the mere thought, let alone the knowledge that he could and did do that, was enough to get you flustered. 

“Huh?” You hummed, snapping back into focus, realising that not only had Spencer said something else, but that he was also standing closer to you now. Close enough for traces of his cologne to fill your senses — sandalwood and amber. Comfort and warmth. It had brought you close to tears more often than you’d like to think.

“I just asked you if you were feeling okay.”

His voice was soft as he gathered you, and despite how quiet it seemed compared to the sound of the music echoing through the bar’s walls and the much louder conversations of attendees hanging outside of it behind you two, it was all that you could focus on. All that was clear to you. 

Wasn’t it always like that? Hadn’t it been like that since the start? With gunshots fired, and law enforcement officers bickering, and even the simplest of conversations in the bullpen? 

The moment that Spencer spoke, all else faded away. 

God, you were screwed. You had made your peace with that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? You seem a little out of it, you’ve drunk a lot tonight…”

There it was again. That gentleness which clawed at your insides and settled heavily across every fibre of your being. Sweet, sweet Spencer, who always seemed to care, who always made it known that he did. Could you ever be part of his monkey-sphere? Could you be special enough to remain part of it? 

“Mhm, yeah, I’m just… I’m just, you know—“ Scared. Terrified. Cold, cold, cold. Always so goddamn cold. “I’m just tired.” You settled, again, like you’d always learned to do.

His expression softened almost imperceptibly. He knew. You knew that he knew. Fuck, didn’t he always?

Feeling way more defenceless than you liked to be faced with his understanding, you averted your gaze from his, choosing to scan the closed shops lining the street aimlessly.

Until he spoke once more, anchoring you to the present moment, to his presence, and suggesting that you take the train home together.

“Wh—You live on a different line than I do.”

His smile only got bigger when he shrugged at your words, “I think that the longer transit might do me some good tonight. Uh, help me clear my head and all.”

You blinked up at him, pondering over his words silently. You didn’t have to, not really. You already knew that you didn’t want to decline his offer, just like he knew that he’d never be able to clear his head the way he so desperately wished he could. It didn’t mean that you both wouldn’t try, wouldn’t choose to fight against the constant, overwhelming current anyway.

“Are you sure? I mean, really, I’m alright, and you don’t have to—“

“No, I don’t have to,” He shook his head, gesturing to his right, towards the nearest metro station, “But I want to.”

And you didn’t say anything then, and you didn’t mind the gust of wind or the smoke of a passer-by’s cigarette hitting the side of your face as you turned to where Spencer’s pointing towards. Because he wanted to make sure you’re truly alright, even if it meant spending an extra half hour returning home tonight. Because in being the recipient of his gentleness, you started feeling less cold than you had since you faced that first headless corpse in rural Washington three days ago. Because right then, you were part of his monkey-sphere. He wanted you to be part of his monkey-sphere, and goodness, so did you. So did you.

And Spencer didn’t really mind that you weren’t your usual talkative self during the train ride to your apartment. He was always kind like that, sweet like that. Sure, he found it hard enough to remain silent for long periods of time, but that was only when silence felt hostile, something it never did with you. He also knew well enough that if he asked, you’d say it was because you were tired, which you obviously were, both of you were, but it wasn’t just that which clouded your features. 

So he stuck to comforting you the way that he usually found himself doing, by gravitating towards you. Standing between you and anyone else who might have tried getting too close to your hazy self in the (thankfully) sparsely-filled train, walking on the outer part of the sidewalk as you circled towards your apartment, tailing after you as you walked up the few stairs to your unit. Even by unlocking the door when he saw you fumbling with the wrong key twice.

It wasn’t the first time that Spencer had been to your apartment. He had found his way there before to drop off case files when you had called-in sick to work, had even spent a night curled up on your couch watching a film with you after a particularly bad case just so that neither of you would be alone. 

In a way, entering your personal space had always felt peaceful in a way that was impossible to deny. Maybe it was the bookcase filled to the brim with your favourite editions taking up most of the space of your living room’s corner. Maybe it was the few artworks lining the nearest wall to it, pieces that you had shared your love for to him before. Maybe it was the persisting scent of your burnt vanilla candles and the cluster of papers spread on the coffee table. Whatever it was, everything about it was so inherently you, and he was grateful for the intimacy that being around you, with you, in your home, came with.

Admittedly, he hadn’t noticed how lost inside his own head he’d got once again, standing by the entryway to your kitchen space. Not until he noticed your silhouette sneaking inside the bathroom on the opposite end of the hallway to his right, your shoes left behind messily.

Spencer didn’t really know if it’d be better to just leave right then and there. After all, you were both exhausted from an awful case, and you had barely even felt like talking to him on the way here. He knew how much you valued your personal space, wearing your solitude like a crown, and truly, he didn’t expect to get you to open up to him about whatever it was that had bothered you enough to drink so much.

But he was also your friend. 

Oh, that he was. 

He had been your friend for so long, since the very first day, it seemed, the connection between you instant and undeniable. 

Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever paid attention to him quite like you seemed to ever before, listening to his more-often-than-not burdened stream of consciousness and engaging in your own, special way. Maybe it was the fact that his heart seemed to skip several beats whenever you found yourself by his side, whenever you actively sought his company out, both at and outside of work. He’d not forgotten that one morning during one of your rare day offs when you’d made your way to his apartment, with books and baked goods, inviting yourself for an impromptu breakfast — Come on, doc, you’re not going to say no to me, are you? These donuts practically called to me, they’re yours, if I say so. As if he’d ever say no to your boldness and your brightness and the delicate way with which you’d announced yourself stepping inside his home. He was just glad you’d not found him as disheveled as he usually was most weekends off, hair unruly and mismatched pyjamas from his college days, a rare choice for comfort over looking smart, as you always put it.

It didn’t matter that Spencer had gradually, since you’ve found your way to the team and to his life, come to realise that he didn’t see you simply as a friend. Not at all. He knew better than to let it matter. He knew better than anyone what happened when you let such audacious feelings and thoughts matter. So, he swallowed it all down in the hopes that it wouldn’t one day spill everywhere and make a mess out of a good thing like you. So far, he was doing well enough.

That’s what he kept telling himself as he silently put your shoes away at the designated space by your front door, before taking off his coat and deciding to be the good friend that he was by making you a cup of your favourite tea. You’d need it, if your stifled yawns and your flinched expressions at every loud noise during your commute were any evidence of it. Skimming through your selection in your cupboard, he knew he was lucky enough to credit that eidetic memory of his for remembering everything he’d found out about your space during his scarce visits. He was a good sport like that, it helped to rationalise the fact that every detail about you was saved into an inventory that was named after you inside his mind. If it was up to him, he’d never run out of things to include there.

He’d only just finished stirring the hot water in your favourite mug when he heard a loud noise coming from down the hall where you must have been, making his way there perhaps a little too fast.

He lingered by the half-ajar door briefly for fear that he’d screw anything up if he just barged in. Until he spotted you sitting on the closed toilet seat, with your make-up bag half-empty down in front of you.

Your eyes were much too soft when you glanced up, finally noticing him. Half-embarrassed, a small groan slipped past your lips, but you didn’t make a move to grab the scattered things from the floor. “I, uh… dropped the bag by mistake.”

Spencer tried really hard to bite back the smile that was already creeping at his lips, “I can see that.”

A beat of silence passed before he had made up his mind, seeing you try to blink away the exhaustion from your eyes. He took a deep breath, not quite moving from his place by the doorway. “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”

“You would?”

Spencer didn’t respond to that, instead instantly moving to kneel in front of you. Fixing his glasses, he desperately tried to focus on putting everything back in your make-up bag and not on how your eyes were practically burning the side of his face. 

It wasn’t your fault, though. How could it be when he was inches apart from you, close enough for you to notice his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, to feel the warmth of his breath hitting your face. From this close, hints of stubble were evident across his jawline, and you noticed the rim of his glasses was slightly crooked the way the knot of his tie was.

You snapped out of your trance when you saw him tip some of your make-up remover onto a cotton pad, and it suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Surely, he wasn’t going to—oh.

You tried not to flinch when he pressed the cloth against the apple of your left cheek, but the contact was so soft, so barely-there, so feather-light, that your eyes fluttered shut without you realising it. “You don’t have to do that…”

“Well, it’s not good for you to sleep with make-up on. It doesn’t allow for your skin to breathe properly, and it can also cause breakouts.” Spencer frowned, wiping at the excess mascara under your eye.

“How worse can it make me look?”

He paused, not missing the cutting self-deprecation in your tone. It wasn’t unusual, he knew how often you resorted to bringing yourself down, even if it was unintentional. It was second nature for you. He didn’t like it one bit. “You know that I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I know.” You opened your eyes then, a self-effacing smile plastered on your closed lips. Under the almost clinical white light of your bathroom, Spencer looked far warmer than you’d care to admit. You decided that you’d let him have his way being soft with you just this once. He was always so eager to help, even when there was nothing to help with, but you barely ever gave him the chance. Now, you needed it. And it had nothing to do with the cleaning the traces of foundation and mascara staining the cotton pads in his hand. “Spencer?”

He hummed imploringly, immediately pausing his ministrations. He threw the used cotton pads in the bathroom bin, before returning his attention to you, not standing from his crouch despite the dull ache already present in his knee muscles.

“The theory that you talked about during the case… The, uh, statistic, the monkey-sphere…” You trailed off and he nodded, encouraging you as always, his closed fist ghosting the space near your thigh, “Am I a part of yours?”

If the question was silly after Spencer had already explained the theory to you, he at least had the decency not to hold it against you. Certainly not in your current state. Then again, he never would. He would gladly explain everything he could to anyone, take time to break down the intricacies of each topic happily, however long it took him. Especially with you — you who always listened, you who were always interested in him and what he had to say since the moment he met you. But there was a strange kind of comfort in the sight of your vulnerability, in seeing you strip yourself off of your usual armour, the constant fight or flight mode that you always seemed to be in since he first met you. There always had been. And so he welcomed it even more, despite the circumstances.

Spencer’s brow furrowed, the corners of his lips twitching faintly, “Yeah. You are, yeah.” His eyes searched yours, the frown on your lips confusing him, “Of course, you are. We literally work together.” The way you narrowed your eyes at him, as if his explanation was not good enough in the slightest, had him practically smiling. “We are friends, aren’t we?” 

You shrugged, visibly deflating under his ability to see right through you, but still unable to hide the gratitude you felt for it. “No, I know, yeah, I just…” Your right hand was millimetres apart from his closed fist. He didn’t try to move away. He secretly hoped that you wouldn’t, either. “But what if… What if time passes, and you end up meeting 150 new people, and then there’s no place left for me in your monkey-sphere anymore?”

Spencer tried not to chuckle, he really did, but your worrying, however impossibly sweet, was delightfully absurd. As if he could ever imagine a time where you wouldn’t be a part of his statistic, of his tight-knit group of cherished people, of the couple of souls that he wished to know as intimately as humanly possible. Truthfully, he couldn’t imagine a world where you weren’t at the very top of his list. Not that he could ever admit that to you, of course.

“Don’t laugh, that’s not nice!” You pouted, your tone gently admonishing.

“I’m sorry, I’m not—I didn’t—“ He shook his head, practically crooning at your half-hearted attempt to cover your growingly flustered face with your hand, “I just… Your faith in me that I could manage to form 150 new close relationships on top of ours is… uh, amusing, to say the least. I can promise you that won’t happen.”

The tiny yet mischievous smirk now playing against your lips was enough to alert him to the fact that you were about to put him on the spot for his choice of words. 

“We have a relationship?” And there it was, your wit making its return, your ability to always turn the tables on him, to make his admittedly fragile eloquence disappear.

”We—I mean, yeah? Not like, no, you know that I didn’t mean it like—“ 

You did, even in your tipsy state. It didn’t matter that being around him as long as you had this past year, getting to know him as much as you had, made you wish that he could ever mean it differently. You tried and tried and tried not to think about that. Women like you were never allowed to think about men like Spencer, they were never allowed to indulge in the wishful thinking of being enough in such a way. Of hoping that they could ever be enough.

You just liked messing with him. You stuck with that explanation. It worked for both of you, because truthfully, Spencer seemed to like it, too. Even if it left him a flustered, stuttering, but rather charming bespectacled mess, he didn’t seem to mind. Or if he did, he had never made a comment on it. Maybe because he knew that you would immediately spare his feelings, that you would be your ever-kind self and stop offering him your undivided attention more often than not — and that was the last thing that he wanted. So, for both your sakes, you decided to put him out of his misery.

“I know, doc,” You nodded, finally standing up, “I know.”

Spencer followed you with his wide doe-like gaze as you exited from the bathroom, not moving to do the same until you were already hiding behind your bedroom door. He should’ve realised sooner that the case had taken quite a toll on you, that you had been far more invested in what tidbit of obscure knowledge he had chosen to share with you this time around. But to his defence, he never thought that anyone would ever care to be a constant part of his life the way you seemed to do. He didn’t know what to do with it, what to do with you, without constantly fearing that he’d ruin everything. How could he ever know? No one had ever taught him how to deal with such feelings. The countless books that he knew by heart didn’t prepare him for anything quite like your sharp wit, and your earnest glances, and the mellifluous tone of your voice whenever you acknowledged him. 

Spencer had been entirely unprepared for you. 

That was all that he could think about as he paced back to your kitchen, set on getting the tea he’d made for you by your bedside before he could leave. 

He opted for a small knock on your bedroom door, but if you’d heard it, you didn’t respond to it. Eventually, his need to assure you were safely tucked in your bed and not indulging even more in your usual self-torment won him over, and he stepped inside the room.

At first glance, anyone could have thought you were asleep, but Spencer knew better. He had studied your breathing pattern as you dozed off enough times on the jet rides home where you usually nestled in an armchair next to him. Still, he approached your bed as quietly as he could for fear of disturbing you in any way, fixing the untucked covers over your body after he left the still-somehow-burning-hot mug on your bedside table. Debating whether you’d purposefully left the lamplight on, or if it’d be a good idea to remind you to get out of the clothes which still carried hints of dirt and smoke and depravity, he ultimately decided against it.

He also decided against lingering in your personal space far longer than he should. Despite his palpable, innate curiosity, and goodness, was that hard. He wanted nothing more than to take harmless advantage of seeing your safe haven for the first time by studying the number of books left on your desk, the framed photographs decorating any surprisingly empty bookcase space, the small radio which seemed to play almost on mute from the window sill. He hoped that he’d be able to do that, even as a friend, some other time. If he was lucky enough.

Against his better judgement, he did find himself taking in the dimly-lit details of your semi-obstructed profile where your face was half-buried in your pillow. He was almost sure he’d never noticed a particularly clear adornment of freckles lining your the side of your jawline. He made note to search for them again another time, when you’d be conscious, and he’d perhaps find yourself close enough in your personal space again. He was almost certain that they made up a constellation. The thought made his stomach flutter.

Once he had satisfied his silent pining enough without feeling like a total creep, and you’d assumed the position of sleep, he decided that his time was up. He had already made it to the bedroom door when you called out his name.

Once again, turning the tables on him. Always turning the tables on him.

“Spencer?”

He didn’t make his way back to your bed for he didn’t trust himself not to stay behind and ruin the comfort that you needed. He stilled, his fingertips grazing the door handle. “Yeah?”

From the corner of your eye, his silhouette half-shadowed, half-highlighted by the orange lamplight and the silver moonlight glow where he stood by the door, reminded you of a time when you felt brave enough to believe that no monsters were hiding in the dark. Now, after what you’d seen and what you’d known, you weren’t quite so sure. 

Still, you clung to the remnant of hope, the promise of affection that he embodied desperately. 

“I promise you’ll be part of mine, too.”

Spencer didn’t say anything. He knew that he didn’t have to, that you didn’t want him to, that you’d pretend you’d fallen asleep if he extended the gratitude for your return of his promise. 

He lingered by the door for a few more silent moments, ignoring the contradictory sensations of the goosebumps dancing across his skin, and the heat rising from his neck to his face. Luckily, he was able to. You were in no place to remind him of your effect on him right now. 

You and your turning the tables on him.

He wouldn’t be satisfied if he hadn’t acknowledged your promise in some way before he left, though. 

So, as he slipped out of your room, he made sure to leave the door more than half-open, enough so that the orange and silvers in your bedroom would bathe the rest of the night in your apartment as well. 

In his mind, he found it fitting enough. The promise that you wouldn’t feel quite so stuck in the darkness once you were left alone, once he wasn’t around to try and silence those demons that made you think you’d ever be dispensable. 

He hoped that he had done enough for the night. He hoped that you’d find it easier to believe his promise. To at least try to. Because he knew that he’d already found himself believing yours. Whatever it looked like, whatever it entailed, it was enough for him. The permanent spot you’d hold for him in your monkey-sphere was more than enough for him. It would have to be, if only to quench his wishful thinking, his hope that he’d someday occupy the top spot of your list, too. 

Spencer had been entirely unprepared for you, that was the truth — and maybe that was the best part of it all. The promise of light drowning out the darkness. The possibility that it could. 

It was enough.

It was more than enough.

[lovebyhyun]

spark lost

genre : angst (no happy ending), one-sided love, non-idol!felix x f!reader

synopsis : when the spark once so bright, now is just burnt out.

warnings : swearing, crying, cheating, unhealthy coping mechanisms (drinking), felix is very delusional, reader is an ass

a/n : i accidentally deleted this halfway through writing and im actually so sad :( i have a few hyunjin pcs on the way tho muehehehe so just wanted to share that. enjoy! ^._.^

masterlist

It was all so hard to watch. The way Felix was so hopelessly devoted to you was sickening. And how you could pull at that poor man’s heartstrings, making them snap so easily, it was terrifying, but in some kind of a weird way impressive.

The worst part is, Felix was so oblivious to that little game you were playing on him. No, not even playing. You straight up just didn’t care about him.

And he always thought he was the problem. That he was too clingy and didn’t give you enough space, or that he just simply wasn’t enough. And the process of it always looked the same.

The hands that once cupped your face in an affectionate and loving manner, now are only used to wrap around full vodka bottles, shot glasses if he’s feeling fancy.

Not tonight tho.

Gulping down the substance at an accelerating speed, all of your shared moments were flashing in his head like shooting stars. Because you were his star once.

Every sip reminded him of a different memory.

Your first date together, and how your smile made everyone else in that same room disappear.

Your first trip as a couple, when you would walk around for miles together in Italy just because you wanted a specific flavour of gelato.

And of course, the sweet domestic moments. Something as simple as your hand ghosting over his while you were both washing your teeth on a sunday morning.

But of course, the sips with a bitter aftertaste also came.

The first crack in the glass, at least the first one that he noticed. When he invited you to his aunt’s wedding as a plus one and when your hand would be brushing over his cousin’s chest just a bit too much, and your touch lingering just a bit too long.

But how could he ever hate you? You were always so considerate and helpful towards other people. You were always willing to stay at work for a few more hours because your coworker needed help with a few things, or when you met up with your colleague from high school. Even though Felix and you had dates planned for those evenings, that didn’t matter. He loved seeing his angel so happy after coming home later.

That’s what you were to him. A sweet, pure, innocent and a nothing but loving soul. He couldn’t say a bad word about you, no matter how badly he tried. It was physically impossible for him.

“I love you” your words rang in his head as he lazily lied in his bathtub in his endrunken state. Even though he hasn’t heard them in a while, he still considered the love between you two a sure thing. Either he couldn’t or was too scared to, Felix couldn’t see past the love goggles he always had on when it came to you. Doesn’t matter. For him, All that matters is that you love him. Supposedly.

“Hey love! will you be at my birthday party?” a few days later, he types out on his phone happily. Birthdays were always so important for Felix, so he couldn’t help but let the excitement bubble in his chest at the thought of having the love of his life by his side on the special day. So he waited for your reply.

“yes ill be there” you coldly reply a few hours later, since you were probably busy fucking your male friends. Felix’s birthday almost flew past your mind, not that you cared, but for some reason you decided to show up anyway.

“Yay!!! so happy, ill see u soon!! i love you :D” Felix replied in the speed of light with a huge grin on his face. You obviously loved him so much!

Message read

He was so oblivious.

The day of his birthday party came shortly after that conversation. You two didn’t talk much, you didn’t see each other either. You must’ve been so busy - Felix thought to himself as he was laying out plates and snacks on the table. He loved having his birthday celebrated so much, so he did it with a pathetically large smile plastered on his face.

And his excitement got even worse while getting ready. Choosing his outfit, fixing his hair and all. Everything he did, he did for you specifically. So he could be perfect, because that’s what you were for him. A perfect angel sent from above.

He didn’t know whether you sinned or became a fallen angel, but he didn’t understand why would they sent you on earth to deal with him.

While humming softly to the music surrounding him and swaying around to the rhytm, he started receiving messages about his friends being on their way. He shut the music off and waited. Not for the guests. He waited for a message from you.

Well, he never got one. And even a few hours later, when the party was in full-swing, he was still waiting. He just couldn’t really focus on anything without you by his his side, which means he didn’t focus much these days.

But then, somewhere through the aggresive bassline pulsing through the house, he heard the doorknob twisting and the sound alone made him feel like he ascended to heaven on the spot. Felix quickly made his way towards the front door and he saw you.

He saw how you applied glitter on your eyelids, he saw your beautiful red lipstick, smudged ever so slightly on your chin for some odd reason, and he saw the beautiful dress you wore for the evening. You truly looked like you were sculpted by gods.

He noticed everything about you that night. He pretended that he didn’t notice the faint purple hickey mark on your neck though.

You flashed him a forced smile and patted his shoulder, not bothering to answer the kiss he blessed your forehead with or the hug he pulled you into. You made your way to the living room where all the guests were having fun and Felix followed you around like a lost puppy.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch next to one of his old high school friends, Jake. Felix, too caught up in admiring you, didn’t even notice how touchy you and Jake were getting. Right next to him. He snapped out of his trance when he noticed you winking at the other boy. Felix tried to convince himself at maybe your eye twitched, but his mind was slowly realizing what the hell was going on now, and what the fuck has been going in for a long time.

His lips part slightly and his smile drops just enough for people to notice, not enough for people to intervene. He’s only now realising how pathetic he looks, in his stupid birthday hat, on his stupid birthday party, staring at his girlfriend who is clearly interested in his friend.

He tries to shake the feeling off but it’s just not working anymore. What was even more grounding for him, was the unease untying in his chest as he noticed you and Jake getting up. By muscle memory, Felix also stands up, yanking his dumb birthday hat off. He’s ready to go with you, he would follow you even if you wnated to walk across the whole globe.

“Hey, stay here for a minute. I’ll be back in a moment.” were the last words he heard before you and Jake went away to a separate room, giggling and whispering into each other’s ears.

Oh.

[maroonmused]

i need everyone to know that The Frost by Mitski is,, without a shadow of a doubt, a parksborn song

[thekingofthenameless]

Just a reminder that if you don’t have anything nice to say THEN DON’T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL!

“And you don't see how you're incapable of writing happy things?” (after I told them what I thought TKN is in one emoji)

“Me personally I wouldn't want the emojis people would describe my story with to be literally all of the sad looking ones”

[mcybree]

man I wanna get in fh related fandom discourse but in like a quiet way where we all go around and directly share notes with one another. maybe a power point presentation is involved

[mutt3y3]

Ough. I've fallen down another rabbit hole. Someone please help me. Well- actual I've fallen down this one before so I know I'll eventually get back out. Just, you know, have maybe a new trinket stuck into my ass to remind me I never truly crawled out of the rabbit hole unscathed.

Art is gonna be taking a hot minute because I'm trying to figure out how the hell does one draw papyrus. I gotta go on a reference, mood board, Pinterest digging spree later on.

[highlifeboat]

Heh, remember, when you just made this blog into RE Village one you would receive so many asks, you would skip half of them, just because there were so many🤣

Bruh this blog was hot shit back in 2021 during lockdown era because nobody had better things to do and almost everyone loved RE Village at the time.

My timing was just great pfff.

Well "Hot Shit" meaning I usually got more than one ask at once and I there was the odd multi-ask that I always enjoyed. A lot of Bela and Mia angst. Back when I used to actually write fanfiction instead of just throwing ideas into the void.

Fun Fact I made this blog after I got high one night and deleted my Steven Universe RP blog (fun times that was. I remember having a really nice Yellow Diamond RP partner that I did a lot of shippy stuff with. Very fun. I hope they're thriving.)

[kakusu-shipping]

Finally decided to jump in AO3′s Mariocest collection, which is really good btw I recommend Priorities Rewritten by Karatecake, easily my favorite one I read all night

Anyway I accidentally ended off on an Angst/Unrequited Love/Dark fic because I apparently cannot read warning tags so now I’m sad and it’s 5am so I have to go to bed sad

[vveissesfleisch]

.

[synonymroll2121]

well I feel like shit now I just had a dream I finally got to meet this girl I used to be friends with who moved away like four years ago, and then she fucking got possessed and died