#so of course my anxiety is jumping to ‘oh you’ve done something wrong and you’re getting fired or there’ll be a stern discussion’

[mochiwrites]

anxiety my mortal enemy I will explode you 1 million times

[getlostsquidward]

I Wish (Part 2)

Carol Aird x fem!reader

A/N: Here you go!! Hope you like it <33

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: Mention of a slight anxiety attack

Summary: You and Carol settle your feelings for each other.

Part one

The hug was all Carol thought about for the next two days and the way you called her formally again. If you had just completed your confession, she would have risked it all for you. Not that she wouldn't, but she needed to know you're in the same boat.

The older woman didn't feel like doing anything. Avoided everyone as much as possible except calling Rindy once in a while. Florence was on vacation, and her daughter was at Harge's parent’s house. They probably won’t be back until tomorrow, she thought.

It was Monday, so you have to go to the Aird residence. You’re somehow agitated to see Carol again, afraid that you had overstepped your limit on that hug. That damned hug. You promised yourself not to indulge in any alcohol when you are in the presence of Carol so you wouldn't do anything stupid that you might regret later.

You knocked at the door, expecting Carol's beautiful face, but only silence answered you. You knocked again, "Hello? Is anyone home?" Silence. Confused, but mainly worried, you tried opening the door and it wasn't locked. Normally, Carol welcomed you, or if she's doing something, Rindy or Florence would open the door for you. There's not a sign of them in the living room. You went into the kitchen, no luck.

"Anybody home?" Carol heard someone from downstairs. Assuming it was Abby, she ignored it and turned her back to the door, in hopes of her friend won't bother her because she was ‘asleep’.

Still no answer, you went upstairs. Her car is parked outside and Harge's wasn't, so you went to the guest room, the room you know she sleeps in when her husband isn't home.

"Carol? Are you there? It’s Y/N." You called softly. Silence once again engulfing you, you proceeded to go back downstairs until you heard some shuffling from the room. Carol abruptly opened the door. Her hair was disheveled, has dark bags under her eyes, so worry flooded your chest. You held her shoulder, "Are you okay? Are you sick?"

Seeing concern paint your features, she replied "I-I'm fine. Just a little headache." She hated lying to you but she couldn't tell you either that you caused her unusual behavior the last two days.

"Have you eaten? Drink medicine? I'll make something if you-"

Carol shook her head, "I just-" "Can you get me a glass of water, please? Thank you." Nodding your head, you all but sprinted down the stairs to get her water. Knowing that she hasn't eaten yet, you made her a sandwich in haste so you go can go back up immediately.

When you get to her room, she's sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with her thumbs. You set down the tray on the nightstand and sat beside her. You sat in comfortable silence and wait for her to speak first.

“Rindy is with her grandparents today. They wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. I should’ve called you earlier. I’m so sorry for wasting your time-” You cut the rambling woman by squeezing her shoulder, “It’s fine, Carol. I have nothing better to do anyway. Since Rindy isn’t here I might as well babysit you instead, if you don’t mind my company.” You chuckled lightly, trying to soften the mood. I’ll be glad to spend all of my time with you.

You stood up and went to the window, missing the faint blush on the blonde’s cheek. “I don’t mind, darling. I'm much better now that you’re here. Thank you for gracing me with your presence.” Carol replied. You always found it pleasing how conversation easily flows between you two. Sometimes she will shoot you a flirty remark that made you flush, and some days you step up and subtly flirt back.

“How’s college, sweetheart? I hope you haven’t been slacking.” She joked, and you playfully scoffed at her. You know what? I have been distracted lately because there’s this person that occupies my mind 24/7. “What? Of course not.” You rolled your eyes lightheartedly. “A little distracted but it’s alright, I guess. We have research ongoing and it’s a bit stressful, but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Distracted? I hope going here three times a week isn’t taking much of your time.”

“No, it’s not.” You opened the window slightly to feel the breeze of the air outside. You closed your eyes and inhaled the fresh air that surrounds the countryside. The tranquil atmosphere in this area always gives you the solitude you seek. You didn’t notice that Carol had moved until she ducked her chin on the top of your head. You shot your eyes open and tensed at the contact. You can feel her faint heartbeat on your back that made your breath hitch.

“Hmm, if it wasn’t because of work, was it perhaps, because of a lover?” You can feel her teasing grin against your head. Feeling a little brave, you might as well tell her into a tiny and vague detail, since you were about to confess to her two days ago.

“It is, actually.”

“Oh? Tell me about this man, Y/N.”

You elected to ignore the bitterness in her voice and that she thought it was a man. “This person is... very charming. The elegance that oozes out of them captivates everyone in the same room as them. They look at me like I hung the stars. Sometimes I think they enchanted me or something.” You smile, losing yourself in the thought of Carol. “Even the way they smoke is mesmerizing to me. If they told me to jump a cliff, I know I would.” You chuckled to yourself. “I just hope they know they can count on me. If it comes down to the time that the world would be against her, I would hold her hand and stand by her side.”

“So it’s a her.”

That brought you out of your daydreaming. You got away from her hold and put as much distance you could, still facing her. The look on your face was like a deer caught in a headlight. Words were stuck in your throat. “I- I uh- I was-” You looked at every corner of the room, anywhere except her face and crossed your arms to your chest to shield yourself from the woman’s gaze. You chewed your lip and started clawing and scratching your left arm as if an insect has bitten that spot. Carol knew that that movement was one of the tells that you were getting anxious.

The blonde gestures you to sit at the bed. She cupped your cheek gently, “Breathe, sweetheart, breathe.” You leaned into the touch, held her wrist and pressed your thumb at the spot where her heartbeat is. The calm beat made you relax, heaving out a deep sigh.

“I understand, darling. You don’t have to be afraid.” A tear slid down from your eye but she caught it with her thumb. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman loving another woman.”

It’s now or never. Better tell her what you feel and face the rejection right now than bottle it all up then explode later. You tightened your grip on her wrist, soft enough to not hurt her, and met her loving eyes.

“I’m in love with you, Carol.”

“I’m in love with you, darling.”

You both said at the same time. The shock from each other’s confession mirrored your faces. Neither of you moved until Carol leaned in to kiss you. She glanced at your lips, then your eyes, and you nod once giving her consent to close the distance. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips and pulled away, leaning her forehead to yours. The limp arms on your side seemed like they’ve been alive and slipped their way to Carol’s waist and pulled her close again. The kiss was getting heated as Carol swiped her tongue on your bottom lip seeking entrance. You let her in as you both fight for dominance. Teeth and tongue clashing. Every word you haven’t been able to tell before is now spoken through this moment. Carol isn’t just the missing piece, but she completed your puzzle pieces together. You didn’t know when you moved but you’re now straddling her lap, her tongue still in your mouth. This is nice. This feels right.

Feeling light-headed, you pulled back and Carol brought her attention to your jaw. You let out a soft moan that made her nip at your pulse point.

You finally solved the riddle of your heart. It was Carol all along. You can clearly remember the times you spent in each other’s presence. The way you look at each other like you’re the only person in the room. The simple gestures from her; making you a cup of tea and draping you in a blanket when you and Rindy cuddled and sleeping by the fireplace waiting for them to come home. You didn’t know how Carol kissed your forehead one too many times she catches you asleep on the sofa. It’s all visible to you now. You’ve been too blinded by your self-doubt to see what’s in front of you all this time.

You giggled at this realization. Instead of pining after one another, you could have had Carol in your arms long ago. Carol pulled away from your neck and cocked her head, “What’s so funny, darling?” Flashing you a playful smile.

“Nothing. It’s just that,” Carol poked the side of your waist making you jerk sideways. “We could have done this before if I have been brave enough.” You said, still giggling but seriousness was laced in your voice. She tapped your thigh so you got up and plopped across the bed.

“Hush now, darling. None of that.” She laid next to you. “You are one courageous girl, and I admire you for it. In fact, you’re braver than me, sweetheart. Plus, we can always make up for the lost time,” Carol faced you and she now had that expression that you always find hard to read. “You know no one must know of this, right? As much as I want to hold you all of the time, darling, there’s..”

“I know, Carol.” Your eyelids are now getting heavy. “I know it will be hard, but as long as you’re by my side..” Carol’s alluring features was the last thing you saw before succumbing to slumber.

***

You woke up with an arm across your stomach and entangled limbs. Turning your head to the side, you see your lover peacefully sleeping with a small smile on her lips. Her problems are now at the back of her mind, now focused on another good thing that has happened to her.

You were a turtle finding its way back to the sea and Carol’s waves have guided you home.

[mammonshuman92]

- It Takes Two -

(Mammon x GN!MC)

Genre: angst/hurt/comfort

WARNINGS: alcohol, drunkenness, cheating, **

** There is a moment where a character is drunk, and someone makes moves on them, character is too drunk to realize it’s not who they thought it was. Groping and making out, no penetration; character doesn’t consider is SA. I apologize if it is offensive.

Ya better hurry up, or we’re gonna be late!” Mammon was pulling you by the hand down the hallway to your first class of the day.

“I wasn’t the one who overslept because they kept saying “just lay with me for 5 more minutes.”“ You said, giving your best impression of him.

You’d become best friends rather quickly after your arrival in the Devildom, practically becoming attached at the hip instantly. It didn’t take long for that light, warm feeling to invade your heart. Now you’d been dating for a few months and had become even more inseparable.

“Details, details!” He responded, laughing.

The two of you came barreling through the door with only seconds to spare before the bell rang; hand-in-hand, laughing like fools.

You took your seats across the room from each other, being the professors current punishment for Mammon talking to you during class.

As you sat down you felt eyes on you and looked up.

A few succubi were not so casually looking at you and whispering.

It wasn’t uncommon though. I mean, you are a human in the Devildom. You also live with the 7 rulers of the underworld. You’d gotten quite used to people whispering about you. You decided to ignore them, and pay attention to class. Whatever they were whispering about was surely nothing you hadn’t already heard circulating throughout the gossip mill.

Throughout the day, you noticed the same group of succubi whispering and giving you looks. They even giggled a couple times. You tried your best to keep your cool, but it had been going on all day and it was really getting under your skin.

What is so damn funny? You thought to yourself.

The final bell rang and you couldn’t be happier. Now you got to put the day behind you and go home with Mammon. Tonight is movie night. Cuddling and eating junk food is just what you need after a day like today.

You rushed to the usual spot where you meet Mammon. Seeing his face would definitely make you feel better right now, but he wasn’t there yet. 

He must have gotten hung up in class or something.

You leaned against the wall, pulled out your D.D.D. and started surfing Deviltube to pass the time. You were so engrossed in your video that you barely noticed that same group of succubi walk past.

Until they made sure you noticed them, that is.

One girl bumped into you on purpose, sending your D.D.D. to the concrete, via crash-landing.

“Stupid human.” She sneered.

You rolled your eyes and bent down to pick up your D.D.D. It’s nothing you haven’t heard, quite a bit actually, since coming to the Devildom. She’d have to try a lot harder than that.

When you stood back up, the succubus in question was standing in front of you, arms crossed with a smug grin.

“Do you think you’re special?” She asked, looking you up and down. You didn’t respond and resumed your scrolling through Deviltube. Ignoring her made her mad.

“As soon as he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to the next one.”

Excuse me? 

“I don’t think MY relationship is any of your concern.” You said sweetly, slapping on your best fake smile. You looked around them, desperate to see Mammon walking up, but he wasn’t there.

Where is he? 

She was practically laughing in your face. 

“He made me feel special too.” Her words, full of venom as they left her lips, triggered something in your brain.

Flashbacks of your first day in the Devildom came rushing back. Specifically what Satan had said after Mammon made his grand entrance.

“Whenever he takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. But from what I hear, if he decides to break it off with someone, that wealth evaporates. They’re left without a Grimm to their name.”

The memory made your chest feel heavy. 

Could that pertain to people as well? They said a pure soul is like a shiny gem. What if..

“Everything he’s said to you, he probably already said to me.” She spat.

Your head was spinning, a knot forming in your throat. Her earlier words replaying in your mind.

“As soon as he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to the next one.”

What if..? No.. He wouldn’t do that...would he?

You quickly got so lost in thought as anxiety started to take root, plaguing you with ‘what ifs’ and hypotheticals, that you almost didn’t notice when someone stepped between you and the succubus. Putting a hand on either side of your face, he tilted your head up to look at him. Irises the color of tropical waters, instantly melt away your anxiety, calming the angry sea inside you.

“Let’s go home.” He whispered with a smile. His voice was soft, but you could see the anger in his eyes. He slung an arm around your shoulders and turned to start walking toward the House of Lamentation.

“We weren’t done talking.” She said vindictively.

“Don’t ya have anythin’ better to do?” Mammon snarled, glaring at the succubus.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, leaving with her friends.

By the immense tension you could feel between them, you could tell that they had indeed been together at some point.

The walk home was quiet, which left you with ample time for your thoughts to run wild. 

Did she know him like you do? His little habits and his favorite things? 

Did she stick up for him when his brothers were dogging on him? Or afterward when he was down, did she try her best to drown out their hateful words with affirmations of love?

Did she play with his hair while he laid on her stomach, arms wrapped tight around her middle after he loved her? Hold her in his lap as he rubbed soothing circles on her back when she was sad? Whisper sweet nothings to her when he thought she was asleep?

...Did he love her?

-

“Whoa! Did ya see that, MC?!”

The two of you were curled up on the couch in Mammon’s room, watching a movie on his projector, just like you did every week.

Did they do movie night?

It shouldn’t be bothering you. Of course he’s had other partners. He’s been alive for thousands of years.

And you’ve had other partners. So what? No biggie. That wasn’t the issue.

The thought of him saying the same things, doing the same things with someone else...loving someone else, is what bothered you. It hurt to think that maybe you really weren’t that special; another weak, insignificant human, just like all the rest.

But the things she said kept playing on a loop in your head.

“As soon as he gets tired of you, he’ll move on to the next one.”

“He made me feel special too.”

Could she be right?

“Babe, are ya okay?” He had paused the movie and was now staring at you expectantly.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I’m fine.” He saw through it quickly.

“Ya know, you’re not good at lyin’. What’s wrong? If ya don’t like the movie we can watch someth-”

“That girl earlier, at RAD? Is she your ex?” You didn’t want to bring it up, but you had to know before your thoughts could torment you further.

His face fell and he sighed heavily. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna say somethin’..”

You remained quiet, watching his face, waiting for him to begin talking.

“We were together a long, long, time ago. Nothin’ serious. I broke it off when I realized she was only around for what she could get outta me. She didn’t take it too well.” He explained, his expression turning sour. “She had a different story, huh?”

“She didn’t say much really, except once you get tired of me you’ll move onto the next one. That I’m nothing special because everything you say to me you’ve probably said to her.” You said, keeping your eyes down as you fidget with the hem on your shirt.

He started laughing.

Your head snapped up, looking at him in shock.

“What’s so funny, Mammon?” You asked, getting a little irritated by his reaction. He stopped laughing when he looked at you and realized you were serious.

“Ya don’t actually believe her, do ya?” He scoffed, getting offended.

“No? I don’t know..” You replied, not meeting his gaze. Of course you wanted to believe him, but you already felt like you weren’t good enough for him, and that succubi’s words just watered the seeds of insecurity in your brain and helped them flourish.

You had always been the opposite of his brothers. You always believed Mammon, even when everyone else was against him. You were always on his side. Ready to stick up for him no matter what. To hear you now, was like a slap in the face.

Mammon’s face distorted in pain. And anger.

“What? Whaddya mean ya don’t know?” His voice was soft, “Ya don’t trust me?” He asked, meeting your gaze.

“Mammon, that’s-”

He shook his head. “No, I get it. A few bitter words from some random demon and now my words mean nothin’. “ He jumped up from the couch, making a beeline for the door.

“What about the last few months, huh? After all the time we spent together you think I’d do somethin’ like that to ya?” His voice cracked on the last sentence. He paused; hand on the knob as he stared at the door. You heard a small sniffle as his other hand came up to angrily wipe his face.

“I thought ya knew me better than anyone.” His voice was barely audible, but you could hear the hurt. He felt betrayed.

And with that he left, slamming the door behind him.

When he didn’t come back after an hour and wouldn’t answer your calls, you grabbed a few things and headed to your room. You still felt uneasy about the whole “his ex confronting you” thing and after what had just happened, you just wanted to be alone. 

Your bed seemed huge and your room felt odd. It’s not like you didn’t spend time in there anymore, you just didn’t usually do so alone. The silence was deafening.

I shouldn't have doubted him. He used to try and hide his feelings, although he was bad at it. But since we got together, he doesn’t hide how he feels about us to anyone.

You thought of all the times his cheeks had flushed scarlet when you caught him staring at you. How he sits and endures scary movies because they’re your favorite. The way he will randomly bring you your favorite snacks or other little gifts because he was thinking about you. Relentlessly tickling you just to hear your bright, uninhibited laughter. That even in his sleep, he has to be constantly touching some part of you, or he gets restless. 

You slowly drifted off to sleep, with tears staining your cheeks.

-

“Have you seen Mammon?” 

He never came looking for you last night and he wasn’t at breakfast. He even skipped RAD.

Asmo shook his head, “Not since yesterday. Did something happen?”

You decided to fill him in with all the details. He is the Avatar of Lust after all, so surely he could give you some advice regarding love.

He gasped dramatically, “No she didn’t! What a tart!”

“I know I shouldn’t have doubted him. He’s never given me a reason to, but I don’t know. She just got in my head, I guess. Poked at some insecurities.” You explained. “I haven’t seen him since he stormed off.”

“He won’t pout for long, he never does.”

“It’s more than just pouting. I hurt him just like everyone else. He feels betrayed.” You said, voice small.

You just wanted to pepper his face with kisses and profusely apologize for ever doubting him. Why did you ever let some random succubus get to you like that? To make your trust for Mammon falter, even slightly. Did you honestly believe he would toss you aside after he got what he could out of you? Really? 

Satan said it too though, in the beginning. That when you’re with him you find yourself drowning in gifts and the like, but once he outgrows you, you’re left with nothing. That’s the Greed.

You refuse to accept it though.

You know Mammon, better than anyone. He has changed so much since you came here. He’s not the same demon he used to be. He is more than just his sin.

“When he is ready, he’ll come back. He always does.” Asmo said, placing a hand on your shoulder, giving you a warm smile.

“Now, let’s go and change! You are depressing me and it’s ruining my skin. We are going out tonight!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. You, not so much.

“Ugh, no way Asmo. I’m not in a party mood.”

“Nonsense! It’s exactly what you need. We will have some drinks and dance and you’ll feel better. You’ll see.”

You relented, knowing that once Asmo got his mind set on something like this, there was no getting out of it. Maybe a few drinks really would make you feel better.

-

“Trouble in paradise?” She said, motioning to the drink in his hand.

His clothes were dishevelled, his hair mussed, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He looked like he’d been through the wringer. Felt like it too. He’d been in the private lounge at the club for a little while now, nursing drink after drink, attempting to drown his sorrows.

“Go away.” He growled, turning his attention back to his drink.

“Is that anyway to greet an old friend?” She asked innocently.

“Nah, but it is a good way to greet a snake.”

“Ouch.” She put a hand over her heart, feigning hurt feelings.

“Haven’t ya caused enough problems? Leave me alone.”

She scoffed, plopping down onto the couch next to him.  “Oh, come on Mammon. You’re this hung up over a human?”

“Don’t talk about MC.” He snarled. In one big gulp, he swallowed the remainder of his drink. No matter what kind of situation the two of you were in, he wouldn’t let someone, anyone, say anything cross about you. At all.

“Oh, come on. You can’t seriously say you don’t miss being with me. A demon.” She leaned in close, her lips next to his ear, “Not nearly as fragile as a human. You can be as rough as you want..” She purred.

He jumped up from where he’d been sitting, attempting to get away from the succubus. “Get the fuc- Whoa.” He slurred, staggering slightly before quickly sitting back down, head lolling back to rest on the back of the couch. His vision was pretty blurry; the room spinning. He closed his eyes, hoping it’d help. 

Even in his deeply inebriated state, you were all that was on his mind. The feel of your hand running through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. The warmth of your body pressed against his, your lips; soft and delicate like rose petals, leaving small kisses across his face before finally meeting his lips. The bubbly sound of your laughter, beautiful like music. The way your eyes shine every time you see him, even if he only left your side for a tiny moment. 

After the fight you had and leaving the way he did, and now being away from you a whole day, not hearing your voice, feeling your touch, he was ready to go crazy. And although he did sneak back into the house after he was sure everyone was asleep, and slept in the backseat of his car so no one would find him, it wasn’t the same as sleeping next to you. He missed you.

But, it was more than that. He felt so incredibly stupid for reacting the way he had. If he were in your situation, and felt how you did, he would’ve had questions too. You love him, and all you wanted was a little reassurance that he in fact does love you. Man, does he love you. More than he’s ever loved anyone or anything.

With the attention span of a tuna sandwich, mixed with the levels of alcohol in his system, and being so deep in his thoughts of you, he hadn’t noticed the sudden shift of weight in his lap.

One hand found its way to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. The other hand resting on his chest, slowly moving down his stomach, intently feeling every muscle. His mouth opened slightly, a breathy sigh escaping. He had missed you so much, your touch lighting his skin ablaze, craving you more and more.

Your hand moved lower, earnestly caressing his growing stiffness. Your lips crashed into his suddenly; hungrily, your tongue brushing his bottom lip. His hands moved up your thighs before firmly gripping your hips, grinding you against him.

Small alarm bells were going off in his head, something didn’t seem right. You didn’t giggle like you always do when he grabs your hips. Your kisses seemed sloppier than usual too.

He tried opening his eyes, blinking lazily several times. The room was still swirling around in his drunkenness, making it nearly impossible to focus.

Your hand moved to his pants, undoing the button and zipper. He removed a hand from your hip and grabbed your wrist, but didn’t attempt to move your hand from his swollen boxers. As he was about to break the kiss and suggest heading home and picking up with this make up where you left off, he heard a voice nearby.

“What the hell?!” They shrieked. 

Asmo?

“Mammon..?” You barely choked out.

That was your voice. He’d recognize it anywhere; the musical sound gently floating into his ears as it always did. But you sounded like you were crying..

And it didn’t come from the figure straddling his lap. How is that possible? He’s been making out with you, getting pretty heated actually, for the last several minutes.

He broke the kiss with you, confusedly turning to his left and blinking several times until his surroundings started to come into focus.

There you stood in the doorway of the private lounge with Asmo next to you, your eyes wide as s tears streamed down your cheeks, gaping at him in horror.

The alarm bells that had been going off, the red flags popping up trying to warn him that something wasn’t quite right, were about to become very clear.

- part two coming soon! -

[after-witch]

Sketch Memory [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: Sketch Memory [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: Chisaki lets you indulge in your little hobbies. But he’s starting to suspect that you’re taking advantage of his “generosity.” 

For request: @hello-lucky-luka​ said: Remember that one ask about overhaul’s angel having a boyfriend? Can I request a scenario where she misses her boyfriend a lot that she draws pictures of him to the point where overhaul got his attention and get jealous?

Word count: 2700ish

You’re not lying, you reason. You’re not, technically speaking, hiding anything. Overhaul never asks to see your sketchbook. And he never said you couldn’t draw someone you know. So the fact that you have been drawing your boyfriend every day since your captor gifted you the hefty, nicely bound thick sketchbook is something you force yourself not to worry about. 

Sometimes you find yourself sketching just a bit of him--his hands holding onto his favorite coffee mug, the profile of his face, looking up, staring at a movie marquee on a date night.

Sometimes you draw his face in all its glory--smiling, frowning, annoyed. When you have lots of energy, lots of drive (which is not often, you feel so tired now, all the time; the lack of movement and weariness of captivity is getting to you) you draw an entire scene. Your favorite is the one you’re doing now, though to be fair, every new drawing is your favorite because it’s new. This one, you admit, is exceptionally special. You’ve drawn him sitting in the park, with a book in his lap.

The park, like everything else, is from memory. You wavered on where to put the tree behind the bench, because you can’t quite remember if it’s off-center or not, and whether or not it had a knot in the trunk towards the bottom or the middle. But it’s realistic, and that’s enough for now.

It’s your boyfriend that gives you the most pride in this piece. You’ve outdone yourself, you really have. He looks… alive. Weighty. Real. Real enough that you wish you’d done this in color and not just with your sketch pencils. Real enough that you close your eyes and imagine you’re in the park, that he’s sitting there with his book, engrossed in a story, so engrossed that he doesn’t see you coming. You stop in your tracks and admire his face, preserve the way he looks so focused, so far-away, to memory. You admire the way the breeze gently blows his hair, and a hand absentmindedly pushes his bangs (he needs a trim, or a style) away from his face before he flips a page.

Finally you can stand it no longer, and though you hate to break his concentration, you glide up to the bench and sit next to him. He jumps, but once he sees its you his body tension melts away and he slides closer until your thighs touch. “Good book?” You ask. He nods, then looks ahead. He looks concerned. Or focused. You’re not sure. “Are you okay?” He gives you a look of surprise, of worry, then a smile. “Of course. I just…” His hand fiddles in his pocket. There’s something there, something bulky and square. “Wanted to ask you something…” Your heart is hammering because you know what’s in his pocket and his hand is moving and he’s about to ask you and you’re smiling--

“Who did you draw?”

You’re not in the park--you’re not in the park--and your boyfriend is not here, and Overhaul is looming above you and he’s looking right at your sketchbook.

You slam the book closed and you know in the instant that you do that it was the wrong move. Defensive. Obvious. Shit, shit, shit shit.

You stare ahead and will yourself not to shake.

“I asked you a question, angel.”

“I…”

You don’t know where it comes from, but the courage to lie comes from somewhere, and you deliberately, slowly reopen your book to the exact page.

“Sorry,” you say, finally, looking up at him. You laugh, breathy and light. His face is impassive, as always. “You scared me. I was really focused, trying to, you know, think of what’s missing.” You pick up a pencil and fiddle with it, make a line here and there, useless things really, to make it look like you want to keep going.

“Mm.”

Your heart is beating so hard that it almost hurts.

“You didn’t answer my question. Who did you draw?” To anyone else, his tone might seem casual, neutral. Bored, even. But you know there’s something simmering underneath, the low threat of perceived bad behavior, the low threat of him sitting you down for “a talk,” or the distant promise returning to a particular small room and confinement. 

You force yourself to smile, nervously. No point in hiding the anxiety that he knows is there, after all. “Oh! It’s,” and in a split second the idea comes to you, genius--”just a character from that book I was reading the other day.” You set your book down and casually--you hope it looks casual--reach up to the shelves installed along the walls behind your desk to pluck the book out. “The one about the guy who came home from war and no one remembered him, so he starts a new life in a new town.”

You set the book back in place and glance up at Chisaki, who stares down at you. You’re about to blurt out something, anything, to fill the silence when he nods. It’s a tension-cutting nod, a nod that tells you you’re okay, you haven’t fucked up, he believes you and you can stop feeling like you’re going to throw up now.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the book.”

He’s fine. You’re fine. It’s fine. For now, you think, for now. You want him to leave before he starts asking more questions.

“Kai?”

“Yes?” His eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly. A smile, you think, behind the mask. Maybe.

You smile in what you hope is a sheepish, not nervous, expression. “Could I take a nap today? I’m feeling kind of tired.”

He doesn’t answer right away, which makes your fingers curl on the hard back of your sketchbook. Does he know?

He reaches out with a gloved hand and there’s a split second of fear--you’re done for--before he simply brushes your cheek. One of his rare, yet increasingly common, touches.

“Of course you can. I’ll set a timer so you don’t sleep too long.”

He turns and leaves your room through he unassuming door that connects to his office and you mumble a quiet thank you as it shuts. He’ll know if you don’t nap--you swear he has cameras in the room, though he denied it when you asked--so you tuck your sketchbook into the drawer of the desk and decide to hop into bed. A nap might help you feel less anxious, anyway. Your captor doesn’t let you nap long enough to dream, so you’ll be spared a nightmare.

**

You wake, almost jerking up, to the sudden, loud beeping of Overhaul’s watch--which is strange, because he usually sits in his office while you nap and wakes you up in a condescendingly gentle manner.

You open your eyes and Chisaki is standing silently next to your bed.

“Um?” You rub your eyes, the gentle rest of the nap falling off you abruptly as you take in the unusual circumstances.

You sit up and oh.

He’d holding your sketchbook.

He’s flipping through your sketchbook.

And he’s really, really pissed off. The air suddenly feels heavy and there’s nothing of the cold staleness that usually permeates your mundane interactions with your captor, the awkwardness replaced instead with the gravity of your situation. For the first time in a long time, you remember who has you captive. You remember what he can do. He could hurt you. He might hurt you. Did you anger him enough to break down whatever barriers that have kept him from hurting you so far?

He flips another page and another and lets out a sarcastic hum of approval. You feel your heart beat faster at every sound.

“Is that his hand? Remarkable shading, but…”

He rips the page out and crumples it, tossing it into the large trashcan before flipping the page. “Ah,” he says, voice low and cruel. “Another one of his face.” He rips that one out with particular gusto but it doesn’t crumple--it explodes, pieces of paper flying into the air. Some of them land on you, in your hair, and you furiously bat at them and your heart hurts and you know you’re tearing up and you don’t care.

“Stop,” you say, weak. A whimper. “Stop it.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks and it’s hard to see.

“Don’t argue with me.” His tone is quick and curt, and you know there will be no mercy, no coddling. No soft hushes and shushes. Only coldness. “You’re already in enough trouble.”

At the word ‘trouble,’ you wrap your arms around your chest. Trouble, trouble, trouble. The word carries memories and connotations. Isolation. Anxiety. Boredom. Helplessness. All things you experience on a daily basis, amplified, rolling together in a thick ball that rests at the bottom of your stomach. You can’t go back in your punishment room.

“Look at me,” he says--and you do. You want to get out of trouble. If that’s possible.

Chisaki doesn’t glare at you, not precisely, but his eyes are stern and unforgiving. You wonder if he’s frowning behind the mask, but maybe it’s better not to know. Once he’s satisfied that you’re paying attention, he continues.

“You are going to get out of bed.  You are going to stand next to me. And then you’re going to rip out every drawing you’ve done of this… trash. And you will throw them away.”

You can feel the bitter, acrid taste of your lunch threatening to rise up to your throat.

“Please.” You’re whispering. You don’t have the strength to talk. “Please don’t make me do that.”

Somehow, you know--you know that if you rip up these pages, you’ll start to forget what your boyfriend looks like. The earliest drawings have the strongest features, the ones you flip to when you’re not sure about something. If those are gone, if every study you’ve done from memory is gone, you’ll forget. Just like you’ve forgotten the combination to your locker at work and the street your favorite bakery was on. You’ll forget, without the pages, without the reminders.

You know this. And Chisaki knows this, too. He always knows what you’re thinking, somehow, someway. If you could get a few steps ahead of him for once, keep yourself guarded, maybe he wouldn’t be able to effect you so much. 

“If you don’t want to destroy drawings of this garbage, I can always pay him a visit.” Your entire body goes rigid and you want to cry out and beg him--no no no--but nothing leaves your throat, thick and tight and trapped. Chisaki’s eyes practically glint as he continues. “It might be more satisfying to destroy the real thing, now that I think about it.”

Something in your throat loosens and you stand up, nearly tripping over your own feet.  You grab the book and he lets you, lets you hold it out in front of you like a burden. “I’ll do it,” you murmur, your body trembling. “I’ll do it, just… just don’t hurt him. Please. Please?” You look up and there’s no softness in his eyes, no agreeable smile that you sometimes see when he’s agreeing to give you a treat (because that is your life now, your captor agreeing to let you watch a movie is a special treat to be celebrated)--just passive coldness.

“Do what I told you, and we’ll see.”

It’s a start.

But now you have to do it.

Your drawings. Your work. Your memory of him. All pages and pencil and smudges and tears. Your entire body is trembling--you feel like the ground is moving, swaying beneath your feet. Your hands shake as you flip open to the nearest page.

An early sketch. One where your boyfriend’s face was so clear in your mind that if you had the skills to make photo realistic work, you might have been able to do it. You try to capture it to your memory but the second your hand moves, rips just a little, it seems to fly away. You pull harder and quickly wrinkle the paper in your hands before tossing it towards the trash bin.

You pause too long, apparently, because Chisaki speaks up.

“Keep going. I won’t tell you again.”

And you do. You tear out page after page, your tears flowing freely. You begin to feel numb, after a while, even as you rip out drawings that took you hours--drawings you poured your soul into, whatever is left of your soul after months and months of captivity.

One more to go.

Your hand gingerly touches the sketch that you’d been so proud of earlier. The last page. The last visual memory left--the only one not ripped apart or crumpled or shredded and nestled in your hair.

 You want to lose yourself in it again. You want to close your eyes and pretend you’re at the park and he’s about to propose and your life will be nothing but sweetness and planning for the future. But the air is too thick and Overhaul is staring and he can’t read your thoughts, but he’ll figure it out anyway.

So you rip the page out of the book and tear it in half, jagged and uneven, before throwing it into the garbage.

Your hand recoils from the ghost-like memory of the paper on your fingers and you press them against your chest, above your heart.

Your boyfriend has probably moved on by now. Maybe he’s months deep into a rebound relationship, finding himself brushing away tears at new firsts with another woman, a woman who can’t replace you but who will heal the wound you left in his heart. Who will heal your wounds?

Chisaki is staring at you, you realize, and you drop your hands. You don’t want him to think you’re fondly reminiscing. He could always change his mind about leaving your boyfriend--your ex? What do you call him? What does he call you, you wonder?--alone.

“We’re going to have a long talk about this later,” he says, voice leaving no room for argument. He pauses, and your chest feels tight. Will he tell you that you’re being sent to the quiet room? The thought of being there for days, alone, unable to do anything, barely able to move in the tight surroundings makes you shake and you dig your nails into your arm.

“You can stay in your room. You listened well.”

You swallow, throat tight, and nod. You almost want to smile. You don’t have to go back there, if you listen. You know how to listen, when it comes down to it.

Chisaki glances down at the trash bin and picks it up with his gloved hands, dragging it towards the door.

“One more thing,” he says, glancing back at you.

“Go wash your hands. They’re filthy.”

[wonlouvre]

Yayyy i absolutely love your writing!!

I would like to request a Hoshi × gn!idol! Reader angst+fluff imagine where Soonyoung cheers/takes care of his reserved s/o who has been having a hard time and has opened up to him about it for the first time. S/o is someone who can't say no easily and because of that their workload had increased a lot. But in the end they can't hold themselves any longer and breaks down.

strength | k. sy.

pairing: hoshi x gn!idol reader genre: fluff, angst, then fluff again warnings: mentions of anxiety, physical and mental tiredness (please tell me if i missed anything!) word count: 1.8k+ (i honestly don’t even know anymore)

💌: thank you very much for requesting! i made some tweaks here and there and i hope you still like it! thank you for loving my writing as well :’( it really means a lot that <3 i hope you like this!

Soonyoung was aware that you’d be coming from Japan for your collaborative magazine photoshoot. He just didn’t know that you’d be going straight from the airport at four o’clock in the morning. 

He thought he read your message wrong saying that you’re on your way to the assigned shooting location. As far as he’s concerned, the call time was at seven a.m. He had to do a double take while squinting his eyes over the brightness of his phone but when he saw another bubble pop out saying you’re already there, he immediately jumped off his bed to shower. 

He misses you. You’ve been going in and out of the country because of promotions and the chances of getting to see you has been slim to none. If he ever meets with you, it will be short because either one of you has to go back to work or has to go back to bed because there is a flight to catch the next day. It’s obviously tough. But your relationship perseveres. 

Soonyoung will do everything to make it work and you are together with him on that. So if it means he has to shower half-asleep and wear his boxers backwards just to see you, he’d never mind.

Your Japanese album tour started and ended successfully but work didn’t stop from there. You were just getting started. Before leaving the said country, you were fully booked for live television performances, interviews, variety shows and the like. It was exhausting but, it was an opportunity that you couldn’t miss out on for the world even if you wanted to. 

Soonyoung is proud of you and he will always be. Heart eyes were formed whenever he got the chance to watch your performances whether it be from a paid livestream event or from kind fans sharing and uploading their videos or photos on Twitter or Instagram. He’s even more in love when it’s in person and he gets to watch your performance plus enjoy it with your never failing supportive fans. 

However, Soonyoung is also worried because he knows you’re also tired. He knows how fulfilling it is to do what you love the most, but he’s no stranger to the physically and mentally tiring part of it. He wasn’t even surprised to catch you asleep on the couch when he arrived at your dressing room. 

Your manager’s eyes brightened when they saw him, quickly standing up from the chair to give him a hug. 

“They told me they just need a fifteen minute nap,” they whisper against Soonyoung’s shoulder as he hugs them back. “But we both know they need more than that.”

Soonyoung sadly smiles while his eyes never leave your curled form. He mutters a simple “I’ll take it from here” while your manager excuses themself to buy everyone breakfast. 

It’s a challenge to take you into his arms without disturbing your sleep because he doesn’t want that from happening. He just wants to hold you for the remaining time without interruption from other people. He just wants to hold you and share this moment of calm before the lights and camera get into action later. 

Soonyoung’s thankful you didn't, although he still felt your lips lightly ghost against his jaw, telling him that you know that he’s here. He brings your legs over his lap while he cradles your head close to his neck. He wishes to lay down, but the couch is too cramped for two bodies so he’d have to settle with this position. He guesses it’s fine with how you deeply inhale his scent and snuggle closer and closer, locking your arms around his waist with no intentions of letting go. 

Just like you, he falls asleep, completely comfortable and content in finally having you in his arms again. 

Your tangled bodies were shaken to wake up at least an hour later. Both of your managers have food in their hand, ready to energize the two of you up before moving forward with the hair and makeup. The agenda for today includes a photoshoot with several changes of outfit, a short shoot for an audio video presentation and lastly an interview or question and answer of some sort. 

Your relationship has been publicly known for two years already. Some fans have been supportive while some have been angry. It’s nothing new and it’s nothing the two of you could care about at this point. 

Countless projects have been offered to the two of you during the course of those two years whether it be a song or dance performance, a guesting on a famous variety show and even a three second cameo appearance on a drama. They’re all lovely offers and you would love to participate, but the two of you made a decision to keep the relationship private. Sure, you’ll accept it from time to time. But, it’s still very limited to one to two songs to sing or dance to together and some magazine photoshoots. Just like now. 

By far, this is the third time the two of you would be featured on a magazine cover. Your respective publicists already know how to communicate to the publishing company your terms and conditions. Questions about your relationship are allowed, but to a certain number only. The rest will be about what’s mostly seen by fans and the rest of the public which is automatically your music. 

The concept is not necessarily daringly romantic. After all, what you’re trying to promote here is the clothes. But your chemistry is maintained with a few fleeting touches here and there. In one shot, you two were holding hands and the other has his arm is loosely wrapped around your neck. 

You and Soonyoung are careful to not get lost in each other’s eyes during the short breaks in between because the cameras were still rolling. Although, his soft touches on your hand and arm still lingered. On the other hand, you help him fix his hair whenever he gets excited and jumps from time to time. You could kiss him right now, but again, you want to be careful. 

The shoot concluded faster than you thought and the next thing you know, the two of you are sitting side by side with a camera blinking red in front, ready to record the interview included in the contract. 

The interview consisted of questions that’s nothing out of the ordinary. The magazine asked about your favorite go-to styles lately, your look inspirations, a little bit of this or that, your recent music releases or favorite music releases at the moment and of course something about your relationship that you're comfortable and willing enough to share. 

But one particular question caught you off guard that you had to hold your tears and brave through the rest of the interview without showing any signs that you’re about to cry.

“How have you guys been lately, individually?”

“I’ve been great,” you quickly answer with a smile that didn’t even reach your eyes. The camera may not have noticed, but Soonyoung did. It took a lot of patience and restraint for your boyfriend to stop himself from cutting the interviewer off to ask you again how you really have been. 

Everything that was in store for the two of you today ends and when the cameras are gone, you and Soonyoung hand in hand walk back to your dressing room. It’s a relief that this is the last project for the day and you’re glad you could get some rest for the coming week.

Your body slumps on the couch while the staff pack up. You puff out a breath before closing your eyes. You wish you could yell out how tired you are lately. Work piled up over the course of six months and you couldn’t have at least two days away from the makeup and flashing lights. 

Soonyoung bites his lower lip as he settles beside you. He’s contemplating whether he should ask you now or later because he doesn’t want you to grow conscious and shut yourself away. He knows how brave and strong you are. But he also wants you to know that you can trust him and that if you ever need a shoulder to cry or at least lean on, his are more than welcoming. 

“You okay, babe?” He asks in the quiet as the staff leaves one by one. “Anything bothering you?”

You surprise him by sitting up straight and opening your eyes, welling with tears. That makes him shoot up and instantly hug you close. “Oh baby.”

You finally cry and set free the tears that you’ve been locking deep within you. You thought you could brave through this pain and anxiety without having the need to shed any vulnerability. You thought this shall pass soon. You thought you could do this. 

But here you are now letting go with sniffles and shaking shoulders as Soonyoung gently caresses the top of your head. 

He hates to see you cry. But it’s only right to let you. 

“I just feel like I’m going to miss out on everything if I turn down any project offered to me.”

Soonyoung pouts when he hears what’s been bothering you. It took a while for you to calm down and finally talk, but it’s okay. He doesn’t mind. He will never mind. 

“I understand, honey,” he assures you and wipes your tear stained cheek. “And there’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.”

Your lips shake again and crying makes you want to hide. Without hesitation, you crawl to your boyfriend’s lap and wrap your arms around his shoulder. Soonyoung doesn’t complain and just keeps you close, protective arms around your waist.

The dressing room is empty except for the two of you. The staff got the message once Soonyoung pleaded with them through his eyes to give you some time with him since you’re already done for the day.

“It’s also okay to work and work,” he continues, soothing hands rubbing against your back. “But at some point, it’s also okay to take a break for them.”

You pull away and rest your hands on his neck. “Even though I’m going to miss out?”

Soonyoung nods and leans his forehead against yours. “Yes and there’s also nothing wrong with that.”

“I seriously want to go on a trip with my family,” you say and sigh. “And of course, with you too.”

Soonyoung can’t help but giggle. “I’d love to. How about next month? Let’s go somewhere with your family or friends. Where do you want to go? What do you want to do?”

Your boyfriend’s enthusiasm puts a smile on your face and this time, the smile reaches your eyes. “Let’s go somewhere quiet first. I want to take a long nap before we proceed to do anything that needs an awake body.”

“You got it, babe,” Soonyoung promises and kisses your lips.

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 1/5 - AO3 - Next

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen... only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None?? Maybe... I'll add them later if I remember any.

(Written as a prompt that got way out of hand for @dani-dandelino and beta'd by @professorjaskier)

____

The path up the mountain was steep, treacherous and fucking cold. Jaskier felt himself slipping on the loose rocks underfoot. He yelped, ready to meet his maker but Geralt’s strong arms wrapped around his waist before he could hit the floor. It was all very reminiscent of a lover’s embrace.

One could only dream.

Geralt had been particularly stoic on the trek up The Killer, barely responding to even direct questions and grunting orders when they set up camp for the night, but there was none of their usual banter. Unfortunately, Jaskier’s fingers had been too frozen to pluck at his lute, leaving a deafening silence between them. To top it off Geralt was now glaring at him from across the campfire.

Jaskier sighed, stuffing his hands under his armpits, pulling his hood closer around his ears. “Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes widened as he seemed to finally register their surroundings, and he let out a low hum.

“Have- have I done something wrong?”

The crease between Geralt’s brows deepened, his jaws clenching. “No.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, scoffing haughtily. “Oh sure. Sure. So that’s why you’re acting all…” Jaskier trailed off, gesturing at Geralt’s direction with a flick of his wrist.

“Hmm.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. We are not doing this!” Jaskier tried to put his hands on his hips but the motion let a biting cold breeze into the thick woollen travelling coat that Geralt had insisted he buy for the journey to Kaer Morhen. “You’ve been grumpier than usual and honestly, I wasn’t sure that was possible. What’s going on, Geralt?”

Geralt let out a long heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wore a weary expression that Jaskier thought was utterly adorable; not that he would ever tell Geralt that. He’d learnt the hard way how much a witcher’s punch to the gut could hurt. Instead, he rested his chin on his knees and pouted at his friend. “Come on, Geralt, you invited me here. No pretending that we aren’t friends anymore.”

Geralt smiled faintly at that and then sighed once more. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

“About us being friends?” Jaskier laughed “I stopped caring about that years ago. Your actions speak louder than words, my dear.”

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut. He was barely able to conceal his gleeful smirk. This felt like coming home after the stone-cold silences of the last few days. It almost warmed the chill in his bones; almost. It would take a veritable miracle at this stage to fend off the frost bite.

“Done?” Geralt growled and Jaskier nodded. Pressing his lips together. “We have an old tradition at Kaer Morhen, ever since…” Geralt trailed off with a growl. “It’s to protect us, our home.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrow, tongue flicking out to lick his lip, a habit he’d picked up to prevent himself from interrupting Geralt. His witcher often took longer to find the right words, and Jaskier had learnt it was better to be patient.

“Only significant others are allowed.”

Jaskier blinked and Geralt’s words hung heavy in the air.

“I’m. I’m sorry, what?” he gaped.

Significant other?

“You heard me, bard.”

Jaskier let out a nervous laugh, wringing his hands in his lap. “But. but we’re. we’re not?”

Oh, if only they were.

“I know that.”

“Then why?!” Jaskier wasn’t proud of the way his voice squeaked, jumping two octaves.

“I. I trust you.”

Jaskier scoffed. After nearly a decade of friendship he sincerely hoped that the witcher trusted him. He had been absolutely delighted when Geralt had extended the invitation to his elusive home in the mountains. He hated leaving Geralt over winter, the cold making his dorms at Oxenfurt seem even lonelier… but to pretend they were dating?

It was a little too close to the truth for comfort.

He was surprised Geralt had asked him at all. The witcher rarely admitted they were friends. Jaskier couldn’t imagine he’d be particularly thrilled about pretending to be lovers, and he had a brilliant imagination!

Unless, of course, Jaskier had gotten the wrong end of the stick. He could be jumping to conclusions. Geralt probably hadn’t meant for them to pretend to be lovers at all. It was just a pre-warning that Jaskier might not be entirely welcome until he earned the other witcher’s trust. They were breaking the rules. That was it.

“So…” he trailed off, not knowing how to voice his question. Geralt, helpfully grunted in response. Jaskier rolled his eyes and tried again. “Are you nervous about breaking the rules?”

Geralt frowned, that adorable little crease on his forehead deepening and Jaskier yearned to smooth it out with a press of his thumb, but alas the witcher remained grumpy and unobtainable. “They won’t know,” he huffed.

If Jaskier had been eating or drinking at that moment, then he certainly would have choked on it or spat it out all over the floor in his shock. As it was, he almost fell off the log he was perching on. “I’m sorry?”

“They’ll make assumptions. We won’t correct them.”

Jaskier was sure that his jaw would never leave the floor. “We. we won’t?”

“No.”

“Alrighty…”

An awkward silence fell over the camp. The crackling of the fire suddenly sounded louder than any tavern in Oxenfurt. Jaskier could hear every breath like a hurricane blowing through the camp, the howling of distant wolves clawing down his spine. What felt like hours was probably only seconds when the silence became too much to bear.

“Oh ho ho, no. No, no, no. No. I’m sorry. What the fuck, Geralt?”

Geralt sighed and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “I should have asked sooner.”

“Do you even know what you’re asking of me?” Jaskier peered suspiciously at the witcher, wringing his hands in his lap and flexing his fingers. He desperately wanted his lute, his notebook… something, anything.

“Just don’t correct them?”

Jaskier snorted. “Just don’t correct them?” he asked incredulously “Oh sure, it’s that simple. Geralt, my dear, you’re asking me to pretend I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier barely managed to conceal his flinch.

Pretend.

Hah!

If only it were that simple. He was a pretty decent actor, most graduates of Oxenfurt were, but to act like he was only pretending to be in love with Geralt? That would be perhaps his toughest role to date.

And it would fucking hurt. Especially since Geralt hadn’t seemed to have realised he would have to do the same.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier tilted his head at the witcher, brushing his fringe from his eyes, his hand shivering from the cold. The penny had apparently dropped; finally.

He smirked, “Well, I was thinking we’d only have to kiss but if you insist?”

Geralt growled and pushed him onto the floor.

____

That night had been a particularly awkward one. The biting cold meant that Jaskier had to curl up into Geralt’s side to prevent himself from freezing to death. Geralt would normally wrap his arms around Jaskier in his sleep, making it more comfortable for both of them. But when he woke Geralt was lying rigid next to him; only staying as close as absolutely necessary and nothing more.

They ate their breakfast in silence, with even Jaskier’s normal chatter and noise absent. Jaskier was starting to get really sick of silences but he knew that Geralt needed a chance to process. The witcher would only blow up in his face if he said something now. It was a struggle for both of them. Jaskier was always desperate to fill the silence. He never enjoyed being left alone with his own thoughts and chattering about everything and nothing helped to calm the anxiety inducing void, and yet he knew that Geralt sometimes needed time. He would normally be scribbling away in his notebook, or carving patterns into the dirt with his boots, anything to keep busy, keep moving. Instead, he tapped out silent lute fingerings on his leg beneath the cloak and chewed on his lip, only stopping when he tasted the sharp tang of blood.

It was only after they had packed up camp and been walking for a few minutes that Geralt finally spoke, seemingly calmed by Roach’s reins in his hand.

“We should plan.”

Jaskier, still shivering under his cloak, snorted; a cloud swirling in front of his face like he was some kind of draconid. “Plan?”

“Hmm.”

“Pray tell me, dear witcher, what are we planning?”

Geralt grunted, gesturing between them, a trace of a blush on his cheeks which utterly delighted Jaskier. The blush meant that Geralt could only mean one thing, and Jaskier was having a ball!

His grumpy, allergic to feelings, witcher wanted to plan how they were going to convince a keep full of witchers that they were not only dating but seriously involved. Geralt wanted to talk about it. That was a first. Perhaps the witcher was treating this like just another contract to prepare for. That thought made Jaskier’s heart clench in his chest.

Just another contract.

Fuck.

He plastered a bright smile on his face before Geralt could notice his inner turmoil and clapped his friend on the back. “What’s there to plan?” he asked cheerfully, voice full of fake camaraderie. “We’re pretending to be in love, should be easy! I’m a bard, a troubadour, a graduate of the famed Oxenfurt academy!”

“Jaskier, shut up.”

Jaskier gaped and shoved Geralt in the chest. “You wanted to talk, Geralt!”

“We need boundaries.”

Jaskier’s heart sank and his smile faltered. “Right, yes, of course. I was. I was joking, last night, when I said…”

“I know.”

“We probably will have to kiss though.” he mumbled, his cheeks were a blazing fire and he probably resembled a tomato. Hopefully Geralt would just think he was cold, which he really really was. Honestly, he was starting to think that he might never be warm again. What was heat anyway? He swallowed, digging his nails into his palm. “Maybe just on the cheek. Think your family will buy that?” Geralt shook his head. “Well… bollocks.”

Geralt chuckled and Jaskier looked up at him with a sheepish smile. Geralt actually had the decency to look apologetic for the mess he’d gotten them into. “It’ll be just enough to convince them, nothing more.”

Nothing more. Of course it was nothing more. These were the boundaries that Geralt was talking about. He didn’t want Jaskier to think it was anything more than an act. Well, message received loud and clear! He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He should be ecstatic, finally a chance to kiss Geralt… but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he wanted.

It wasn’t real.

Geralt grunted, his own hands were buried in Roach’s mane as they walked side by side up the perilous mountain. He paused suddenly and began fussing with Roach’s saddlebags. Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself, shuffling from one foot to another to keep moving. He had to keep moving or he might freeze to death. He could already feel his toes going numb and the perpetual stinging in his fingers. Oh he was definitely getting frostbite. He watched Geralt for a few moments. The witcher’s shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched. Jaskier sighed and placed a hand on Geralt’s arm, enjoying the soft warmth that radiated from the witcher, letting it seep into his frozen bones.

“Do. Do you want to practice?”

“What?”

“Kissing,” Jaskier said with a flick of his wrist. “You want boundaries, so let’s practice. That way we’ll know what we’re comfortable with”

“You want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, brow furrowed and arms crossed in front of his chest.

Jaskier scoffed at Geralt’s emotionally constipated antics. He was nearly at his limit with stupid witchers and he hadn’t even reached Kaer Morhen yet. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest. “You suggested it!” he pointed out “and I’m never going to refuse the opportunity to kiss such a gorgeous person. You, dear witcher, are no exception!” He hoped that Geralt would be fooled by his nonchalant flirting. He did this all the time in taverns and courts all around the Continent and Geralt had witnessed it on many occasions. This was just what Jaskier did, nothing out of the ordinary… nothing to worry about.

He swallowed, a bubble of fear rising up in his chest and he couldn’t calm his racing heart. Oh gods, this was really far too close to the truth.

Geralt just gave a hum but let go of Roach’s reins. He gripped Jaskier’s shoulder and cocked his head, giving Jaskier the fondest of smiles. “Last chance to back out, bard.”

Jaskier grinned, raising his chin. He had a stubborn streak that would serve him well here. He never could say no to a challenge. “Just kiss me, you coward.”

A lie. Geralt was no coward. If anyone were it would be Jaskier. He couldn’t even tell Geralt the true depth of his feelings. They were concealed in songs for the whole Continent to hear but he couldn’t tell the one person that really ought to know. It was pathetic, pining over his best friend for years and years instead of moving on or just… admitting the truth?

Luckily Jaskier’s joke seemed to break the tension between them. Geralt hummed and cupped his cheek with more tenderness than he’d expected. Chapped lips pressed against his, warm and gentle as Geralt’s thumb stroked his cheek, calloused fingers brushing against the stubble that was beginning to prickle up through his skin. Jaskier wasn’t sure where to put his hands. He yearned to cup the nape of Geralt’s neck, to pull his lover closer and never let go. In a more passionate affair, his hands would land on his partner’s arse, squeezing cheekily as the kiss deepened.

Jaskier wanted to cry. It was all so sweet, so perfect, and none of it was real. This was his fate. Like a character in one of his ballads, a flower doomed to wither away without the heart of his beloved.

But this was Geralt.

This was his friend.

He settled for holding onto Geralt’s waist, his fingers digging into the wool of Geralt’s cloak. The kiss was over all too soon, leaving his head spinning. He felt breathless, like all his soul had been poured into the kiss. He pulled back from Geralt’s embrace in a hopeless attempt to calm his beating heart, but it was too late. The damage was done. With a single kiss Geralt had ruined Jaskier for all other love. Before it had been pitiful yearning but now…

Gods…

He was utterly done for.

His fingers itched for his quill. Oh, the poems and ballads he could pull from just a single kiss. A buttercup crushed under the paws of a great wolf as he roamed through the forests. Okay, that one might be a tad obvious. He preferred to at least try and hide in plain sight.

A dandelion perhaps?

Geralt would never need to know that Jaskier had almost chosen a different flower as his namesake.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier blinked and looked up at Geralt. Normally Jaskier was able to pick up the most minute changes in Geralt’s expression and his eyes were usually an open book. The witcher’s face gave away nothing and it was bloody infuriating.

“That…. that went well?” he stammered, pulling at a loose thread in his cloak.

“Hmm. We’ll be fine,” Geralt turned from him, looking more and more like the Butcher of Blaviken of old, and less like Jaskier’s darling White Wolf. “It’s not long now. We should get going.”

And get going they did.

[ladydimitrescuspet]

În Viață Și În Moarte - In Life And In Death

ao3 link! you have every right to yell at me over on @homoo-wan-kenobi! I'm sorry for the sad fic, inspired by this ask by @schnuffel-puschel. tell me what you all thought, and please enjoy. mild violence and reader dies, I'm sorry. if it's any consolation, I cried writing this.

tu esti totul pentru mine - you're everything to me

***

Alcina had instructed you to stay in one of the rooms in the east wing of the castle, telling you not to open the door for anybody that was her, her daughters, or your handmaiden.

“I don’t care what commotion you hear outside this room, do not open this door for any reason. I need you to stay right here, draga mea, and I need you to take care of yourself and the baby.” Alcina said before she kissed your forehead.

“Come back to us, please.” You said softly as you squeezed her hand tightly, a move that she reciprocated.

That was four days ago. There wasn’t much commotion to be heard outside the door, just the wind howling outside your window. Your handmaiden brought you your meals whenever she could, often leaving you something to snack on just in case one of your meals was late. You’d often try to open the door, but soon realised that it was locked from the outside so despite Alcina’s words, you couldn’t let anybody in any way.

Pacing back and forth didn’t help with your anxiety over what was happening. What exactly was happening? Alcina didn’t tell you as she rushed you slightly to the other side of the castle. You jumped when the door to your room opened, hiding under the covers.

“Hello?” A voice called out. It definitely wasn’t Alcina. No, the voice was unfamiliar, but it sounded like a man’s voice. “Is anybody here?” The voice asked.

You slowly came up from under the covers, revealing your presence in the room. “Who are you?” You asked.

“My name’s Ethan Winters. What’s yours?” Ethan replied as he walked over to where you were on the bed.

"My name's Y/N. May I ask what you're doing here in the castle, Mr. Winters?" You asked.

"I'm looking for my daughter, Rose, they're keeping her here. Have you seen her?" Ethan asked. You shook your head. "I see you're having a baby too, right?" Ethan gestured to your protruding belly.

You smiled. "I am, she'll be born quite soon, actually." You replied.

Ethan nodded. "Well, we best get you out of this place. I'm sure the news of those monsters in this castle having my child worry you about them taking yours." Ethan replied as he grabbed your hand to pull you out of the bed, you resisted. "Y/N, what's wrong?" Ethan asked.

"The Lady of the castle has instructed me to stay here for my own safety." You replied. "She's taken very good care of me for well over a year, Mr. Winters."

Ethan scratched his head. "And you trust her?" You nodded your head. "Are you under a spell of some sort? Don't you see that she's just keeping you safe until she can get her hands on your child?" Ethan asked.

You slowly got out of the bed. "Alcina would never do anything to harm me or our child, Mr. Winters." You replied. "I'd really like it if you left the room or better yet, left the castle. Your daughter is not here, I'm afraid you've been misinformed." You explained.

"Maybe I have, but I can't just leave you here." Ethan said before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room.

You struggled against him. "Mr. Winters, please, I'm perfectly safe. I appreciate your concern." You tried tugging your arm free but his grip was too tight. "Mr. Winters, you're hurting me." You whimpered slightly.

He stopped and let go of your wrist. "Sorry." Ethan said before he started walking again. You followed after him. "How do you get out of this place?" He muttered to himself.

"I can help you find the way out." You replied. "The front door should actually be open and then you're good from there." The two of you walked down the stairs. A maniacal laugh rang out. "Just keep going. That's probably Daniela."

You'd been right. "Y/N?" Daniela asked.

"Hi, Dani. I was just showing Mr. Winters the way out. He won't be bothering us anymore." You replied. You tried to open the front door but it wouldn't budge. You frowned. "Dani, why does Alcina have the front door locked?" You asked, turning back around to face her.

"To keep him from going out. Why aren't you in the room, Y/N? Mother's going to be very crossed with you." Daniela replied. "Cass! Bela! Mr. Winters is by the front door, if you're around." Daniela called out before she went to grab your hand.

"Don't touch her." Ethan said as he pulled out his gun.

You gasped. "Mr. Winters, what are you doing? Put the gun down." You said. "Please."

"Y/N, you really shouldn't witness what I'm about to do." Ethan replied. "Take this key, it'll lead you to the Courtyard. Whatever you do, don't turn around for any noises that you hear." Ethan handed you the key.

You shook your head and dropped the key to the floor. "No, I won't leave you alone with her." You replied. "Everything's going to be fine, Dani, I'm just going to help him leave the castle grounds and then I'll be back." You said.

"No, Y/N, you're not allowed to leave the castle, not with the baby on the way. Just go back to the room before Mother finds it empty." You nodded your head and turned to leave, but then you heard Ethan fire his gun, the bullet missing Daniela. "You son of a bitch." Daniela gritted through her teeth as she lunged forward towards him. You heard another two shots fire and then you heard a ringing in your ear and the faint sound of someone saying your name "Y/N? Y/N? Hey, stay with me." Daniela held you in her lap.

"What hap-" You couldn't get the whole question out.

"Cass! Bela! Mother! Please, come quickly!" You heard Daniela yell as loudly as she could. "You monster. Why the fuck would you shoot her?!" Daniela screamed at Ethan.

"I'm sorry, she got in the way. It was for you, only or you." Ethan was paralysed with shock, realising what he'd done. He dropped his gun.

You could hear the faint sound of buzzing and then faint clicking and clacking of heels. "Da- Dani, the b-ba-baby," You croaked out.

Daniela spoke to you through tears. "Shh, Y/N, Mother's almost here. She'll help you. You'll be fine. And the baby will be fine." Daniela rambled as she held onto your body tightly.

"Daniela? What happened?" Alcina asked. Daniela looked up at her. Alcina's eyes came upon your body and she turned to Ethan. "You fucking rat! What have you done?!" Alcina was furious. She wanted that man dead. You could hear the sound of blood squelching as she impaled Ethan with her claws, not stopping until her dress was covered in his blood or one of her daughters pulled her off.

"Mother, Y/N's losing blood fast, and the baby..." Daniela trailed off.

"Call Mother Miranda. Have her and Heisenberg get here as quickly as they can. Take Y/N to the sitting room and put her in a comfortable position." Alcina instructed her daughters. Alcina picked up Ethan's bloody body. "By the time I'm done disposing of his body, they should be here." Alcina left the room without another word.

You always thought a gunshot would kill someone instantly. You'd gotten hit in the shoulder and the chest. The shot to your chest should've been fatal, but here you were being carried by Daniela to the sitting room and being put into a comfortable position as her Mother had instructed. True to her word Mother Miranda and Heisenberg had gotten to the castle a few short seconds before Alcina came back.

"Mother Miranda, Heisenberg, she's in the sitting room." Alcina said as she guided them to where you were. Your breathing was quite shallow and it hurt to breathe. "Relax, my dear, Mother Miranda will do what she can to help you." Alcina ran her over your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Alcina, my dear, I don't think this'll work." Mother Miranda replied.

Alcina's face hardened. "Alci, think about Y/N and the baby." Heisenberg said. "We might not be able to save both of them."

Alcina eyes filled with tears at the thought of only one of you living. "No. No, we must help them both." Alcina said. "We can, we can deliver the baby and then tend to Y/N's wounds. Yes, yes, we'll give her the virus if we must." Heisenberg let out a deep sigh, Alcina scowled at him.

"Oh, Alcina, I'm afraid Y/N's lost more blood than I can work with. The virus won't take with the lack of blood." Mother Miranda replied. Alcina opened her mouth to protest, but Mother Miranda raised her hand. "However, I can deliver the baby if we can keep Y/N awake long enough. It's too risky to have her push with the blood loss so I'll have to cut into her."

Alcina nodded her head, taking your hand in hers. "Do what you must." Alcina replied. "I'm so sorry, iubirea mea. I've failed to keep you and our child safe, I failed at the one thing I promised you when you first came here. I failed at protecting you." Alcina pressed a kiss to the hand that she was holding.

You let out a small groan. "Al?" You asked.

"Yes, draga mea?" Alcina replied.

"The baby. Take care of her." It took you a while to get the sentence out but you managed to say it.

Alcina nodded her head. "Of course, my darling. I will protect her with everything I have in me. I won't break my promise to you twice, I wouldn't dare." Alcina could feel the tears falling down her face as Heisenberg's hand came upon her shoulder.

"You'll have to say goodbye now, Alci. It's likely that she won't wake up after the procedure." Heisenberg's word left a bitter taste in his mouth. The thought of you dying hurt him. You were like family to all of them even Mother Miranda. Heisenberg gave the hand Alcina wasn't holding a light squeeze before he walked over to the other side of the room. He couldn't find it in himself to say goodbye to you.

You could see the blurry outlines of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela as they kneeled down beside you. You tried to give them a small smile but you just ended up grunting in pain at the attempt, coughing a bit.

"We'll miss you." Bela said. She placed a kiss to your cheek before standing up, the wetness of her tears lingering on your cheek.

Cassandra sniffled. "Terribly so. But we'll look after the little one, promise." Cassandra stroked your arm before standing next to Bela.

Daniela picked up your hand and looked up at her Mother. "It should be me lying here. His shots were meant for me, not you, you stupid little human. Why would you do that? It's not fair, you were supposed to be with us forever." Daniela wiped at her tears. "You said forever and now you're leaving us. Like two peas in a pod, you and Mother broke your promises. You stupid, stupid human, it should've been me." Daniela muttered those last few words to herself.

You gave her hand the tightest squeeze you could muster. "S-s-sor-sorry." Daniela brought your hand up to her mouth, her tears hitting the back of your hand. "Sorry."

Daniela pressed a kiss to your hand and then your forehead. "You better come back to us. I don't care how, just come back." Daniela whispered in your ear before she pushed herself up and went to stand with Bela and Cassandra.

Now it was Alcina's turn to say goodbye. You were fading faster, as your body was succumbing to your wounds.

"Y/N, my dear, tu esti totul pentru mine. Your spirit will live on in our child, I'm sure. She'll have your humour, your wisdom, and she'll have all of the love I can give her as I gave to you." Alcina placed one more kiss upon your forehead. "Goodbye, my love, may we meet again someday." Alcina went to rise but you moved your hand around to find hers. You could see her eyebrow raise through your fuzzy eyesight.

"Anastasia." You said softly. Alcina frowned. "Baby." You wheezed out.

Alcina smiled. "Anastasia. She who will rise again." Alcina said. "Sleep well, my darling. Our Anastasia will be taken care of." Alcina caressed your cheek before moving out of Mother Miranda's way.

You felt your eyes flutter close and you felt your breathing start to hurt less and less. Feeling the faint coldness of something against you as your breathing started to slow down. You heard soft cries as your hearing started to diminish. You felt at peace knowing that you were surrounded by the ones you called your family, knowing that they'd take great care of Anastasia. You felt at peace as you took your last breathe, your world now dark and quiet. As Mother Miranda had said while she sat beside you, "In each loss there is a gain, as in every gain there is a loss. and with each new ending comes a new beginning."

[twinklelilstarkey]

Second one - Frederik Andersen

Words: 1.6k+

Type: Fluff

Summary: After a lot of trying for your first baby, your second pregnancy happens to come by surprise.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Dad!Freddie, a whole softie for his family. Unplanned (second) baby. Mentions of pregnancy symptoms.

It has been a little bit over a year since you had your son. You still remember how happy you felt when you discovered that you were pregnant. You and Freddie had been trying to have a kid for months, to the point that, quite honestly, you had started losing hope.

Truth be told, all your friends that are planned parents did say that whenever you stop worrying about the whole thing, it ends up happening. Which it is true, in your case. Yet it was still a surprise that made the two of you hysterical.

And now, you got a giggly redhead one year old running up and down the house with a miniature hockey stick in hand, which he uses to destroy the stuff on your hallway - that’s at his reach.

Freddie is absolutely obsessed with his son. But due to his job, he can’t be present all that much. So, he always tries to overcompensate for his lost time. And that means: doing absolutely everything that he asks him to, always holding him and cuddling with him, buying him all sorts of stuff. 

Just overall being a whole softy with his kid.

Whenever he’s in a roadie, you can tell he’s suffering a bit. He continuously tells you that he misses you when you call, as well as how he can’t even sleep sometimes because his brain has grown accustomed to how chaotic your house is - a joke he loves to say just to see/hear you scold him for it.

When he does come back, he does not leave your side. He always has his arms wrapped around you. Whenever he’s laying down, he has to have you on one side and the baby on the other, or over his chest. Even when he’s sleeping, he just has this kind of iron grip on you.

He has just become the biggest family man ever and you honestly can’t even complain about it.

You’ll never forget how when on a facetime call, which is almost everyday before he goes to sleep or into a game, he just has this soft look every time his eyes land on the baby boy crawling up your bed and laying beside you or over your chest. 

You just can always tell he misses you two but doesn’t really say it.

Freddie’s coming back today from a roadie that wasn’t all that long, just a week, but you can tell that he’ll make as big of an entrance in the house as any other roadie.

Now, here’s the more interesting part. 

You’ve been feeling weird lately. Every morning, your lack of appetite due to slight nausea has grown massively. You’re not one to have any breakfast in the morning ever since you were younger, because the idea of food never sounds all that well - kind of depending on the night, to be quite honest. But now, you can’t even drink coffee. Which is weird.

You also have been peeing a lot. But again, not that weird, you always assume that you probably just drank more water than normal.

And lastly, your sense of smell has been on its highest, making you sensitive to strong perfumes and colognes, and, specially, when changing a diaper.

You grew tired of those symptoms rather quickly, even though you felt more confused than anything. But everything seemed to start making sense when you got a notification on your phone this morning.

PERIOD LATE. 3 weeks

You swear that your eyes almost jumped out of their sockets right as you read it. 

You look over at your son, playing in the center of the living room, before you stand up and run full speed to your bathroom.

Could it be?

You leave the bathroom door slightly open, just so you can hear if anything goes wrong with the child you just ‘abandoned’, and practically dive into your cabinets to look for a pregnancy test. 

And God, the urge to go back in time and kiss the past-you is just too big. There’s two tests. Two!

After a big deep breath, you open the boxes and start doing what you got to do.

Destiny must be on your side because you didn’t have a toddler pushing the door open mid-peeing - something that happens too often for you to not find slightly weird.

After doing the two tests, you put the caps back on and flush the toilet. Reopening the bathroom door to hear if everything is normal back on the other side of the house.

Right as you’re washing your hands, you hear a very familiar voice down the hall.

“Oh, I missed you so much, my baby boy!”

Freddie’s home.

Your eyes widen again and you stare at yourself in the mirror for a bit. It will still take a few more minutes for the tests to be done, so, you can just act like no suspicion as happened in your mind until you’re sure.

“Where’s mama, uh?” You hear him ask.

Your breathing heavies as anxiety starts to intensify and your heart also begins to speed up. You hear Freddie’s footsteps down the hallway and you act on impulse, standing by the door and leaving it slightly closed so he can’t see what’s on the counter.

“Y/N?” You hear him call out.

“Bathroom!” You answer back.

You put your actress mode on and act as if you’re just walking out of the bathroom and soon Freddie appears on the bedroom door. Your son is being held against his chest as he grips onto his dad’s hoodie and lays his cheek over his shoulder.

“Hi!” He says with a sweet smile.

“Hi.” You say, mimicking his smile.

“You okay?” He asks while walking towards you and you nod, “You look a little... uneasy.”

How in the hell? Are you that bad of an actress?

“No, I’m okay. Just didn’t expect you to come home so early.”

He finally stands in front of you and leans down to give you a kiss. You smile at him brightly and he wraps his arm around your waist, making your son lift his head from his dad’s shoulder to look over at you.

Freddie lays kisses on your head, over your hair, continuously and you wrap one of your arms around him to welcome his tight hold.

“What have been up to today?” He asks against your forehead.

“Not much. Just watching over him and preparing stuff for lunch. Saturday things.” You tell him with a shrug and his beard tickles your skin as he smiles against your forehead.

“And work?” He asks.

“Like I told you throughout the week,” You start and he chuckles, “It hasn’t been too bad. Quite calm, actually.”

As you continue to exchange words and information that you already know about each other’s weeks due to Freddie’s infinite calls, something stops you mid sentence.

Your alarm (!).

It’s already been the few minutes. How in the heck?

“Give me just... one second.” You say to Freddie, holding up a finger at him.

Freddie gives you a confused look and lets you go back into the bathroom by unwrapping his arm off your waist. He then looks over at the toddler laying over his shoulder as if he could give him any answers, but no, just a babble.

Not very informative, but it’s the intention that counts.

You close the door, and almost trip over the carpet to get to the other side of the counter. Your hands are shaking already, yet they snatched the tests back perfectly.

Before your eyes could even focus on what’s in front of you, you hold the tests up close to your face.

Pregnant and Pregnant.

“You okay in there?” Freddie asks and you hold your breath.

“Uh- uh, yeah.”

You walk back to the door and hold the tests behind your back. He needs to know. And you are going to tell him about it right god damn now.

Freddie looks back at you as you reopen the door and he notices your hand behind your back.

“I have something to show you.” You whisper at him and he frowns.

“Okay...?” He says, “You’re not going to show me like a dirty diaper, right?”

You chuckle through your nerves at him and you shake your hand.

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. You did that to me when he was younger. And surprises that come from a bathroom can’t be much different.”

He has a point.

“No. It’s not a diaper, babe.”

Freddie feels a little bit of relief run through him and his heart stops as he sees you bring your hand to your front and he notices the very recognizable blue and white stick.

“No way.” He says before snatching them from your hand.

You giggle at his reaction and he turns them around in his hands so quickly to the point where he almost lets them fall, almost unable to stare at the word in them. Your son lays his hands over his dad’s cheek as he notices his shock and you smile at him.

“You’re not kidding, right?” He asks and you shake your head. “Oh my God.”

Before you could register it, Freddie wraps his arm back around you and pulls you into a hug. You laugh at how quick he is and he starts littering kisses all over your shoulder, to your neck and cheeks, meanwhile tickling you with his beard.

“Oh, I love you so much.” He says when he leans his head back to look at you.

“So, you’re excited about it?” You ask teasingly.

“Of course, I am. Are you kidding me?” He asks and you smile at him, again. “We’re going to have another kid, baby!”

He lays a peck on your lips and you kiss him again when he pulls away.

Freddie looks down at the kid still holding him, obviously finding your excitement very confusing, and he smiles down at him.

“You’re going to be a big brother, buddy!” Freddie tells him while making him move up and down on his hip.

The toddler smiles at his dad and lets out a giggle before snuggling back into his chest. Freddie kisses his red hair and looks over at you.

“Thank you.” He tells you before pulling you into another kiss. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you...” He says by each kiss he lays on your face.

Hope this was good. This was kind of a random idea that came up randomly, so I really hope it doesn’t seem rushed or something like that.

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that's all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There's nothing deeper at work here. There's nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,040)

(first part) (second part) (fourth part)

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

Part Three

She knocks twice before opening the door, and he barely has time to look up before she’s there. Slightly hesitant, perhaps, but the look on her face is one of resolve as she steps into the room, and nudges the door closed behind her.

It takes a second to find his voice. He can’t remember if she’s ever visited him here. Surely she has, at one point or another. Anyone is free to come find him whenever they choose. He makes himself available, or at least, as available as he can be. The door is never locked, and he is always here.

“Niki?” he asks. “Is something wrong?” He puts down his pen. He hadn’t actually been using it, had instead been twirling it between his fingers and staring off into space. He finds himself doing that incredibly often, and sometimes, he catches himself wondering if it’s worth getting out of bed at all, if that’s all he’s going to do with his time.

She smiles at him, then, but like so many of the smiles she’s directed towards him lately, it seems strained, thin, and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Not for me,” she says. “But I would like to talk to you for a little while, if that would be okay?”

She’s already reaching for a chair, one of the ones he keeps in here, set up so that he can carry out meetings across this desk. None of them are very comfortable, but before he can offer to find her a better one—there has to be one somewhere in this building—she is sitting, perching on the edge, crossing one leg over the other and resting her forearms on her thigh.

Anxiety is already rising. He doesn’t know why she’d come here, doesn’t know what she’d want to talk about, if nothing is wrong on her end of things. Not with that look on her face. Except, there was the whole thing yesterday, and he was very rude to all of them, so perhaps that’s the subject matter. He gave an apology, but it was rushed, and then he all but ran away. He wouldn’t blame her if she had a piece to say on that, little though he wants to discuss it.

So perhaps he should go ahead and get in on it.

“About yesterday—” he starts, but she’s saying the exact same thing, almost in unison, so he cuts off. But she does too, and for a second, they just stare at each other, neither sure how to proceed.

“Go on,” Niki says, after a moment, and he nods, somewhat tentative.

“Right. I just wanted to say, about yesterday, I really am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to lose my temper there. I was just feeling a bit stressed, ended up snapping. But I’m sorry. It wasn’t anything you did.”

Niki draws in a breath. He can see her steeling herself, visibly, and his trepidation grows; what could she possibly have to say to him that would take so much mental preparation?

“I accept your apology,” she says, “but, actually Wilbur, I wanted to apologize to you.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I pushed you yesterday, even when it was pretty obvious you weren’t feeling comfortable talking about it,” she says. “I think—I think we do need to talk about some things, and that’s why I’m here, but I shouldn’t have confronted you like I did. Especially in front of others, since it was a conversation that we had with just each other. So I’m very sorry about that.”

He isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Some part of him feels a bit mollified, because it is true that he felt uncomfortable with the direction the conversation took. But at the same time, that doesn’t really excuse how he reacted to it. He could have handled it better. Should have handled it better, in fact.

“Oh,” he says, and scrambles for something else. Talking is his thing, is what he’s good at. He can’t just be saying oh to people. He needs a response. Needs to be well-spoken, eloquent, because that’s what is expected of him, and he has to fulfill expectations. “Well, that’s alright, then. You really don’t have anything you need to apologize for.”

She frowns. Why did that make her frown? What did he say?

“Okay,” she says, and that doesn’t help him figure it out at all. “Would you mind if we talked about something, though?”

He doesn’t know what else she would want to talk about. At least, not like this. Not coming to his office, expression serious, body language tense. Not saying this, that nothing is wrong with her—because if she doesn’t have a problem of some kind, he doesn’t know why she would be acting this way. Unless there’s another problem with him. Or she thinks there’s another problem with him. But—no, he’s been doing well, lately. Yesterday’s outburst aside, he’s made all of his recent meetings, he’s finished all the paperwork that urgently needed to be done, and he’s been meticulous about his appearance.

Mostly. His coat still hasn’t made it into the wash. But he’s done everything that he’s had the time and energy for, and he thought that it was all holding up.

“Of course,” he says. “What is it?”

She draws in another breath. That’s the second time, now, that she’s steadied herself in so obvious a fashion.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I’d really, really like it if you’d answer me truthfully,” she says, and he can feel his pulse quickening already. “Wil, are you alright?”

She puts a strange sort of emphasis on the final word. He’s not sure why. For a second, he’s lost, adrift, has no idea at all how to answer, because—because of course he’s alright. He’s fine. Just fine. He’s keeping his head above water, steering clear of the circling sharks, and that’s what’s most important. So why do the words linger in his mouth before he can force them out? Why does it take so much effort?

No. He needs to pull himself together.

“Yes,” he says. “Niki, I’m perfectly well.”

Her face crumples. He jolts, hand jerking forward, his instinct to comfort her, but his desk is in the way.

“Wil,” she says, voice soft. “You’re not sleeping.”

The way she says it, so frankly, so matter-of-fact, as if she knows, takes him aback.

“I—” he starts, but she’s already gone on.

“Your eyes are always bloodshot, and I know I joked about the bags under them, but—they’re really bad. Really dark. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but sometimes, when you walk, you kind of—sway, a little bit. Like you’re too tired to stay upright properly.”

He hasn’t noticed. He hasn’t—that can’t possibly be right, can it? Because it’s true, he’s not getting as much sleep as he would like, but it can’t be that bad. It’s not as if he never sleeps at all. So it can’t be that bad. Can’t be that noticeable. Niki has to be looking too hard, jumping at shadows that aren’t there, because the alternative is worse. Is unthinkable.

Because if what she’s saying is true, who else has seen?

“I sleep,” he refutes, but it sounds weak to his own ears. Meek. And Niki shakes her head.

“Not enough,” she says. “And—” She cuts off. And then, she reaches out for him. He watches as she closes her fingers around his wrist, feeling almost outside of himself. His head is buzzing. “Wil, you’re too skinny. I’m really worried that you’re not eating enough.”

He eats. He does. Maybe not a lot, since food has become increasingly hard to choke down—this morning, for instance, he tried, and almost threw it all back up on the spot. But he does eat. And it’s not like he wouldn’t, if he could. He just sort of—can’t. Not much, at any rate. But it’s not as though he doesn’t eat at all.

“I think you might be reading too much into things, there,” he says, and tries a smile. “I eat, I promise. How could I not, with you around?”

“You’ve been by twice in as many weeks,” Niki states. “And both times, you left in a hurry, before I could give you much of anything at all, because the conversation turned to something you didn’t want to talk about. No, you can’t tell me I’m wrong,” she adds, raising a finger at him. He leans back, away from it. “I’m not wrong. That’s why you left. Both times. And I—I really am sorry, Wil, if this isn’t something you want to talk about. If you don’t feel comfortable with it. I don’t want to hurt you, or pressure you, or anything like that. But I’m scared you’re hurting yourself.”

She’s—what.

Now that—that truly is a ludicrous idea. That is—

No. He wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t—by itself, the risk of someone noticing is more than enough to dissuade him, though—he is self-aware enough to realize that if that’s his first reason for—abstaining, then that might not be a good sign. Of. Things. He’ll think about it later.

Or not. Or maybe never. This seems like a good thing to not think about, actually.

“Not in the way you’re thinking of,” Niki says, and he’s left it too long again. Too long without a reply. He keeps doing that, keeps getting lost in his own head. He needs to stay more present, needs to keep his head in the game. It’s just hard, when everything feels so far away, when he’s constantly thinking through a thick fog. “Not unless—not unless you are, but—”

She sounds like she might actually cry, at that, and that is enough to force him to focus.

“I’m not,” he says, and to his relief, his voice comes out firm, steady. “I swear to you, I’m not.”

“Okay,” she says. “That’s good. I’m—I’m really glad. But—you’re overworking yourself. You’re not sleeping or eating enough, and you’re always in here, and that’s—none of it’s good for you. None of it is healthy. And then, your hair—”

Annoyance bubbles up. Just a bit.

“Do we have to be on about that again?” he asks. “We’ve been through this. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know you don’t think it is,” she says. “But I’ve heard about things like this, Wil. It’s not that—it’s not that it looks bad, or anything like that. It’s just that hair doesn’t do that without a reason. Not when you’re twenty-four years old. That’s why I keep bringing it up. You’re stressed, even if you try to deny it.”

“And what if I am?” he asks. “It’s a stressful job. I’m running a nation here. But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m not capable of doing my job.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Niki says. “Who—I know you’re capable. I never said that you weren’t.”

He may have overplayed his hand a bit, with that one. There’s a bit of confusion in her tone now, where there wasn’t before, stacked on top of an increasing amount of worry. He’s not doing very good work of assuaging her concerns. But even still, this conversation is bothering him, now. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep a straight face, and he brings his hands together, folding them on top of his desk. Her hand falls away from his wrist, and—it’s because he’s so tired, that he has to catch himself before he grabs it, moves it back to where it was. He’s not that needy.

“Then I’m not quite sure that I understand the point of this,” he says, and tries his best not to bite out the words. Just because his temper is on a short fuse doesn’t mean that he can take it out on Niki. She’s just trying to help him. “I am stressed, it’s true. But it’s not as if there’s anything to be done about that. And as I’ve been saying, it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

“The point is that you’re working yourself into the ground!” Niki says, her eyes flashing. “It doesn’t matter if you can handle it, it’s about whether you should!”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he snaps. “Aren’t I the president? Isn’t this my job?”

“Not if it costs you this much!” she snaps back.

And—she doesn’t mean it like that. He’s almost certain that she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t mean it like it came out, doesn’t mean she thinks he shouldn’t be president. The thing is, he would accept it, if that were the case. If his people banded together and decided that someone else would do a better job than him. If they thought he was no longer deserving of the position. He would accept it. He would step down, retire to private citizenship. He just doesn’t know what he would do afterward. Doesn’t know what he would do with himself, if the country he founded decided he was no longer good enough for them.

But of course, he has never been good enough. Not really. He’s hanging onto his pretense by bloody fingertips.

Has Niki realized it?

“It’s not worth it if this is what it does to you,” Niki continues, voice softer. “Nothing is. Nothing matters if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

He doesn’t—that’s not right. It can’t be right, because the country is more important. L’Manberg is more important, has been since the day they declared their independence, staked everything on a van and a dream. He started it, and so it is up to him to continue it, because the prosperity of his people must come first. His nation must come first.

What is he, in the face of that?

For a second, Niki goes blurry. He blinks, hard, and she comes back into focus, but his eyes are prickling. Stinging. His chest has gone tight, his breaths coming shorter, and he doesn’t want this. This can’t be happening now. He needs to—to shove it all away, down in a box, never to see the light of day. Only to be opened when he’s alone, in his quarters, safely ensconced where there is no one else to watch him break down. No one else to watch his shame.

He’s not doing this in front of Niki.

And yet, the sensation doesn’t subside, so he stands abruptly, surprising her, he thinks, and he walks to the window, shoving the curtains away and staring out over what he can see of the country from here. It’s not much; the window is not very big, but he can see the walls, the black and yellow ramparts. Standing tall, standing strong. This is why he does this, why he works so hard, why he refuses to show vulnerability. This is why. This is what he is protecting, what he must continue to protect, for as long as he is allowed.

His eyes sting again, the world wavering. There is a sob trapped behind his ribcage, clawing at him, trying to tear him open. He breathes, deeply, and doesn’t let it. Now is not the time, and here is not the place, and he will not lose his composure. He will not. Not over—and what is he reacting to in the first place? Niki’s words? He has no real reason for the tears welling up. He’s just weak. Emotionally. That’s what this is. And that’s why he can’t let it show.

Another deep breath. He pretends it doesn’t shake.

“Wil?” Niki asks. Behind him, now, and he doesn’t turn to look back at her.

“L’Manberg is worth everything,” he says. “You do understand that, right?” His voice doesn’t waver.

“I love L’Manberg,” Niki says. “We all love L’Manberg. But we don’t love it more than we love you.”

He winces, and he’s glad he’s turned away from her, glad she didn’t see.

Perhaps she believes that’s the truth. But it can’t possibly be. He could understand them loving him in connection to loving L’Manberg, this city, this nation, this wonderful place that they’ve built together, that he’s poured his sweat and blood and tears into. He and L’Manberg are irrevocably intertwined, and he could understand loving him, simply by virtue of loving the other. But separately? He hasn’t done anything. L’Manberg is his crowning achievement; besides that, what does he have to offer people? What reason? What virtue?

In a way, he is L’Manberg, and he cannot remove himself from it, no more than a bird can remove its own wings.

“Wil?” Niki says. Her voice has gone sharp. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, he lies, and—his voice breaks. Just a little bit. It would probably be unnoticeable, if the circumstances were any different. If Niki weren’t already paying so much attention to him, scrutinizing him, spotlight turned up to its maximum brightness. Like he’s on stage, and she’s in the audience, and he’s fumbled the line and she’s only noticed because she knows how the play is supposed to go.

Metaphors. Spiraling away from him. Just like this conversation.

“Wil,” Niki says again, more insistent. And closer. She’s stood up, stepped toward him. He still doesn’t turn, because the prickling has only gotten worse, and he’s scared to blink, lest that send the tears spilling over. If she looks at his face, she’ll see them. There’s no avoiding that. “Wil, please. Don’t lie to me.”

Ah. She knows.

He’s not sure why that’s the thing that breaks him. Why that’s the thing that pushes it all over into being too much.

The sob escapes.

Only partially; he tamps down on it on instinct, and his fist flies up to his mouth. Habit, that, to muffle his sounds. But that almost makes it worse, because the sob comes out sounding not quite like a sob, but instead more of a strangled whimper, bit off and weak, like the dying call of some small, hapless animal.

He doesn’t let another one out. He presses his fist against his lips, though he doesn’t part them, doesn’t bite down. But the damage has already been done, and then, Niki is there, right by his side, and he doesn’t dare to look directly at her, but he can imagine what expression she’s making. Some variation on the same one she’s had this whole time. Concern, deep and abiding and wholly undeserved, wholly unneeded.

“Hey,” she says. “Please talk to me. What is it? What can I do?”

His throat is too thick, too clogged. He has no hope of evening out his voice.

“You could go,” he manages, hoarse. Blunt, and he hopes she doesn’t mistake it as anger. He’s not angry. Not at her, at least. “I might need a moment?”

He didn’t mean for that to be a question. But Niki just steps closer, shaking her head.

“I’ll do anything other than that,” she says. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not if—oh, Wil.”

She has a good angle, now, to see his face fully. So the jig is up, and he knows there’s no hope of getting her to leave now. That’s how Niki is. Too kind. Too caring. And sure enough, she reaches out toward him in the next moment, and his usual reaction would be to flinch away, but instead, he just watches through obscured vision as her hand nears his face, and cups his cheek, tilting his head toward her.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers. Part of him wants to jerk away from the contact, and part of him wants to stay there forever. Or for a good, long time, at least. Just because it really is nice to be touched in a way that is not meant to harm him.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing.” But he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, so he blinks, and there go the first tears. Dripping down, out in the open, no disguising them. There are more sobs building up, but these, he forces down, keeps in his chest, out of his throat. Even if it makes his breathing unsteady, makes his chest jump and hitch every few seconds, it’s better than the alternative.

“It’s not nothing,” she says. “If it’s hurting you, then it’s not nothing. Please believe me.”

He can’t. He can’t do that. Not even for her sake.

“Is it what I said?” she asks. “I swear, I’m not angry with you. I just want to help.”

He shudders, and turns his face away from her. Her hand falls from him.

“Is it—is it that?” she asks, and oh, how he wishes she wouldn’t. “Why does that upset you?”

He—he can’t. He can’t answer that. He can’t talk about this. He can’t.

“If you would—if you would rather I go get someone else, I could do that,” Niki says, slowly, and he can tell that it pains her. He might be hurting her feelings, with this. He wishes he could explain that it’s not her in particular that he can’t trust with this. It’s everyone.

For a moment, he entertains taking her up on the offer, if only because she would have to leave to retrieve someone, which would give him time to escape his office and go—where? Where would he go? To his room, to scream into his pillow once again? A bit late for that. And the idea is foolish anyhow; she doesn’t need to leave at all, can just talk to someone on her communicator and stay with him until they arrive, and no, absolutely not. He doesn’t want that. As bad as this is, as shit as he feels right now, he doesn’t want anyone else to see. It’s bad enough that it’s Niki but—what if it were Tubbo, or Tommy? One of the people who looks up to him as an example and not just a friend or brother?

No. Bad enough that it’s Niki, but better her than someone else, and he’s done it again, has taken too long to respond because his brain refuses to think any faster than a slow, plodding pace, a trot rather than a gallop, and—

“Please don’t,” he says, and it comes out both whisper and plea. And then, because he has to try again, because he won’t be satisfied unless he does, he says, “Really, I just need—a moment. It happens sometimes, it’s fine, but if we could maybe pick this up later—”

“I’m not leaving you while you’re crying,” Niki says. “Please get that through your head.”

“But you should,” he says. He fights to get the words out past the lump in his throats, past the pressure that continues to build up. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. And I’m fine, because I can, I’m used to it. So if you’ll just give me a minute, I can—I can compose myself, and we can keep on.” He bites out each word, wary of letting something loose that he doesn’t want to, but that has the downside of airing his frustration again. He’s not trying to snap at her, he really isn’t, but better that than to dissolve into full-on crying. A few tears are manageable. He can get this back under control.

“Wilbur,” Niki says, “why on earth do you think you’re something that I have to deal with?”

He looks at her again, something in her tone compelling him. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright.

And this is not going to be the right answer, not going to be what she’s looking for, but he’s so worn out that he just—

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Oh,” Niki says. “Oh. No, Wil, no, that’s not right. You’re not—is this why you haven’t told anyone? Because you’re—oh, Prime, Wil. You’re not something I have to ‘deal’ with. You’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want you to be okay.” And before he can even begin to think of how to respond to that, she steps forward, and then her arms are around him, and she’s hugging him.

That’s when his knees decide to buckle.

“Oh, shit,” Niki says, but she guides them both down to the floor, so that they’re kneeling, kneeling and she’s still hugging him, still has her hands splayed on his back. “Okay, you’re okay. Are you with me, Wil?”

He intends to say yes. What comes out instead is a small, “Mhm.” Not even a word. And he’d be angry with himself, except all of a sudden, his chest is heaving, and the tears are coming quicker, and scrunching up his eyes doesn’t help, and it sort of hurts, now, to hold back the sobs that want to wrench out of him, hurts in his ribs. And he’s shaking, and despite all of that, he’s starting to feel cloudy again, distant from himself, and with that realization comes another: at this point, he’s lost control. His body has decided to shut down on him, and he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.

The sobs start coming out. Loud, broken things, like shards of glass twisted and half-melted until there’s no putting the pieces back together the same.

His mind feels detached. Impartial. Numb. So he no longer bothers to try and stop it. Just floats, a bystander within himself, as he has a complete break down on the floor of his office, with Niki holding him.

He’s not sure how long it takes for the tears to stop. He’s not counting. Not taking notice of much of anything, really. His body wears itself out, and he’s left there, slumped against her, like an empty shell.

She’s been talking to him this whole time, a stream of platitudes, comfort words, tumbling after one another, but now, she stops. For a moment, there is silence. He can hear himself breathing, rough and ragged.

“Hey,” Niki says. “Are you still here?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. He doesn’t feel very present, and frankly, he likes it that way, right this second. If he were feeling any more present, he’d be dealing with far more than he thinks he’s equipped for. But he is here physically, and he has enough presence of mind to respond to her, at least, even if it all feels so very far away, and he is so very tired.

He has been this tired all along, he thinks. This was a breaking point. Does it make him feel any better, that this was probably inevitable?

“Yeah,” he murmurs. His head is resting on her shoulder. He keeps it that way. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes.

“That’s good,” she says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Are you actually asking,” he mumbles, “or are you going to make me anyway?”

She sighs. That was the wrong thing to say. It’s harder for him to care.

“I don’t want to make you do anything,” she says. “That’s not why I’m here. If you really, really don’t want to talk about it, then—we don’t have to. But I think you need to. I think you’re hurting, and you’ve kept it to yourself, and I think that’s not a good thing.”

“‘S better than the alternative.”

“Okay,” she says. “What’s the alternative?”

Is he really going to do this? Is he going to tell her? Every instinct he has cries out against it, but the thing about that is that his instincts are rather dull at the moment. Easier to push aside. And his logical reasoning informs him that he’s already cried all over her, so really, he owes her an explanation at this point. Doing so might make everything worse, but if that’s the case, it’s no more than he deserves, for being unable to keep it together.

“Niki,” he says, “I’m a bad president.”

His voice is muffled by the fabric of her shirtsleeve. But he knows she understands him, because she stiffens.

“What makes you say that?” she asks.

“‘M not any good,” he tells her. “I’ve got all this work to do and I can barely do any of it. I don’t know what I’m doing at all. I’ve only been pretending this whole time, to know what I’m doing. I’m a shit leader.”

“You’re not,” Niki says, “but if you really think that, why didn’t you ask for help?”

He shakes his head, still holding his face on her shoulder. He doesn’t want to see her expression. “Can’t,” he says. “‘M supposed to be able to do it. I didn’t want you to know I’m a failure.”

Niki doesn’t respond. For a full three seconds, and he wonders if this is the part where she leaves. Finally. And then, she stops hugging him, and the part of him that is still awake enough to form coherent sentences thinks, yes, this is it, this is what you have sowed. Except then, she doesn’t leave at all, makes no move to get up, and instead grips him by the arms, and moves him backwards, so that she can stare him right in the face.

“Wilbur Soot,” she says, and she sounds more upset than he has ever heard her. “You are not a failure.”

“I am,” he says. Why is he trying so hard to get her to believe it? Maybe he just feels like he’s committed, now, to pulling the rug out. “I am.”

“You’re not,” she insists. “You made this nation. You took a drug van and turned it into a country where everyone is happy and free. Everyone looks up to you. We all love you.”

And there it is. The problem, in a nutshell.

“And what happens when you stop?” he murmurs.

Niki is completely silent, completely still. Staring at him.

“What happens when it turns out I’ve never been good enough?” he continues, voice weak. “What happens when the man you look up to lets you down? What happens when you know that all I am, in the end, is a pathetic shell who can barely get himself out of bed in the morning, much less make any of the moves that would lead to actual prosperity? What happens when you all learn that your president is shit at his job?” His voice strengthens as he goes on, rises to a more normal tone, fueled by his own disgust.

In a way, it’s freeing, finally saying all of this aloud. Whatever the consequences may be.

“What exactly,” Niki says, “have we done to make you think there’s anything you could do that would make us stop caring about you?”

She actually does sound a little bit angry, now. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her nostrils flared. He opens his mouth to respond, because the answer to that should be fairly obvious at this point, but she continues before he can.

“Do you really think we only love you because of—because you’re president? Or because you’ve made a country? We love this country because you made it, not the other way around. Why would you—Wil. Have you been thinking like this the whole time?”

Suddenly, he finds himself unable to respond. Paralyzed. Stricken dumb. Blinking, working his jaw. She shakes her head, tossing her hair, and—are those tears glittering in her eyes? Surely not.

It’s another second before she keeps talking. She was waiting on a response from him, he believes, but it’s one that he is incapable of giving.

“Oh,” she says. “You really do believe that.”

And the way she says it—he wants to cry again, for putting that pain in her voice. That expression on her face. Her hands are still on his shoulders, have not yet been pulled back, but suddenly, his skin is crawling, the contact too much.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for. For his numerous inadequacies, maybe. For the fact that he’s not strong enough for this, and never has been. For the way he started this country and so foolishly believed that he would be able to lead it well, that he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the paperwork and struck with the desire to lie in bed all day and do absolutely nothing, a desire that’s harder and harder to fight. For the manner in which his body has betrayed him, time and time again, for his hair turning white and his inability to prevent his outbursts and the way that it shut down on him just now, let everything out in the most unbecoming method possible. For the fact that he was weak enough to let it all show, too weak to press on and get through it.

For hurting her, certainly. He never wanted to do that.

But then, to his surprise, she yanks him forward, swift and insistent, into another hug. His mind shouts in alarm, but his body, once again, has a different idea, and he finds himself slumping into her hold again.

“You are worth more than L’Manberg,” she says. “If this place went up in flames tomorrow, I’d be most concerned with making sure you were alive.”

No. No, she can’t just say that, can’t say it and mean it, because if she does—

“Stop,” he rasps.

“No,” she says. “We don’t love you because you made this nation, or because you’re the president. We love you because you’re our friend, and you’re our friend because you’re good and kind and clever and funny, and you’re you. Not because you’re good at making speeches or signing papers or building walls. You’re just you. I promise that’s enough, Wilbur.”

He shudders again. Full-bodied.

“I don’t believe you,” he admits. What’s one more mark against him, at this point? “I can’t.”

“Then let us help you so that you can,” she says. “Don’t shut us out.”

That’s another thing that he can’t answer. His mind is spinning. He doesn’t know what to believe. He wishes this whole thing hadn’t happened in the first place, wishes she hadn’t stepped in here at all. And yet, some part of him feels safe. Safer than he’s felt in a good long while. He’s not so stupid as to think that it’s not because she’s holding him.

“How about we start with this?” she says. Her voice has softened. “How about you take a nap, and then, when you wake up, we get you some food. Something nice and simple, like soup.”

That—is easier to comprehend. Physical needs. Needs that he’s not intentionally neglecting, but that he can’t seem to make himself take care of. He can—he can do that, especially if it makes Niki feel better, and he is tired. Exhausted. His eyes are drooping shut already, though he shouldn’t fall asleep on Niki. He should go—back to his room. To his bed. That’s where he should sleep. Except he’s almost never able to get good sleep, there, and he still feels safe. Right here, right now. Safe, and he can’t remember the last time that happened. Can’t hope to anticipate the next time it will.

“Alright,” he mumbles. Niki isn’t pushing him off yet. Maybe she’ll wait until he’s out.

There’s still a portion of himself screaming not to do this. Screaming that he just keeps digging himself a bigger hole. That with everything he continues to reveal, with every weakness he puts on display, he’s only going to make the inevitable fallout worse. Because there will be fallout, no matter what Niki says. Perhaps she is telling the truth. Perhaps. But she doesn’t speak for everyone else, and he doesn’t want—

But he’s so tired, in the end.

“Don’t let anyone else in?” he says. He’s unsure if the words come out understandable. He’s slipping. He’s letting himself.

“Just sleep, Wil,” she answers, and that’s the last thing he hears.

[nhlandotherimagines]

Everything About You- Mitch Marner

@natbarzal @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @jonnytoews19 

And they blurbs continue! Here is number 10 of the Up All Night series, with the one and only Mitch Marnie ❤️

I had a lot of fun writing this one, but just a heads up it contains a lot of crying, infidelity (not by Mitch or Y/n but still), anxiety/panic attacks, loss of a loved one, and of course some friends to lovers fluff in there too! I hope you all enjoy it ❤️❤️❤️

You know I've always got your back, girl, so let me be the one you come running to, running to, running

Today has not been your day at all. Work totally kicked your ass, and now this! “Isaac what the hell?” Your voice cracks a little, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. All you feel at this moment is rage, because your boyfriend of two years is sitting in your shared living room with some other girls’ tongue down his throat.

“Y/n! You’re home early!” He practically pushes the girl to the floor in an attempt to look innocent.

“Oh I’m sorry! Was that inconvenient for you? Please ignore me and go back to business, I’ll just be in OUR bedroom!” You’re yelling now, moving with purpose towards your bedroom. Slamming the door behind you, you pull your phone out of your pocket. Eyes filling with tears, you press on his contact as fast as you can trying to keep your composure.

“Hey Y/n! What’s up?” Mitch’s voice is sing-songy like it always is, but today it does little to make you feel better.

“I need you to come get me...” your voice trails off as your whole body begins trembling. “Isaac c-cheated and I just, I need to go. Please.” You’re crying now. So much so that you don’t register much of Mitch’s response, aside from him promising he’d be there soon.

———

“Where is she?” Mitch is angry, you can hear it from down the hall. Mitch doesn’t get angry though, and you quickly realize this might become a much bigger problem very quickly.

“Get lost Mitch.” Isaac spits at him, and your breath hitches in your throat. You don’t make out the words that leave Mitch’s mouth next, but you do hear a crash as your feet carry you towards the front door as fast as they can move.

“Mitch don’t!” The words leave your mouth faster than you have time to take in the scene before you. Mitch is gripping the collar of Isaac’s hoodie, and has him pushed up against the wall. Both men turn to you when they hear your voice, and you’re thankful, because it looked as though Mitch was ready to swing. “Please let’s just go.” Your voice and eyes plead with Mitch, and it has his heart breaking. He lets go of Isaac, but not without giving him a shove first.

“You’re not going with him.” Isaac announces, sending Mitch a dirty look.

“Watch me,” you shoot back at him before turning to Mitch. “Can you come help grab my bags please?”

And he does. The whole while Isaac cursing and swearing under his breath, and you easily ignore him. That is until you’re slipping your jacket and shoes on. “I don’t see what your fucking problem is! You’re the one whoring around with the entire leafs roster.” His words have you seeing red, and thankfully Mitch can read you like a book. He wraps a hand gently around your bicep, but hard enough that in your attempt to lunge at Isaac he holds you back.

“For the record asshole, Y/n hasn’t so much as looked at anyone on the team in a suggestive way. So some time in between being a dipshit, get your facts straight.” Mitch’s voice is cool and collected, and it eases your mind as he pulls you and your bags out of the apartment.

As you make your way to Mitch’s car, you feel numb. The whole situation runs through your brain over and over, but somehow you remain emotionless. Slipping into the front seat, you wait as Mitch loads your things into the back. You’re so in your head, you barely notice him get in and start the car.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, but Mitch hears you loud and clear. He immediately pulls the car back into the spot he just pulled out of, slamming the car right back into park causing your body to jerk forward slightly.

“Do not apologize to me, are you serious?” You turn to him, and he sends you a sad smile taking your hands in his. “I am so happy you called me! I want to be the person you call when you need something. Anything! I will come running anytime anywhere if you need me! Do you understand?”

The emotions that you hadn’t been able to find just moments ago find you now in full force. Tears steadily stream down your face, and all you can do is nod as Mitch pulls you awkwardly into his chest. The centre console digs into your ribs, but the pain doesn’t compare to the ache in your heart. Besides, in the comfort of your best friend’s arms, you’ve never felt more safe.

I see it's just a matter of fact, girl. You just call my name, I'll be coming through, coming through, I'll keep coming.

Living with Mitch was the easiest, yet hardest, thing you’ve ever done. Your plan was to move back home to your parents place, but Mitch pouted and complained about not being able to see you. So after hours of lighthearted arguments, you decided to stay. You fit well with Mitch, but there is one thing that is starting to become an issue. His teammates.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Will chirps the moment Mitch and a few of his teammates arrive to pregame before going out for drinks. Somehow Mitch’s place always gets offered up as a place to host these get togethers. Sure, you love all the guys, and they are your friends too, but the whole ‘girlfriend’ chirp was getting old fast.

“Still not his girlfriend!” You call out, peaking around the corner to let the boys know you’re in the kitchen. You got a head start on the drinking, and are currently pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine.

“Great, so you’re free to go on a date with me then.” Will winks at you as he leans against the counter beside you.

“Absolutely not!” Mitch pipes in before you even can formulate a response. Everyone’s head snaps towards Mitch, and his cheeks seem to turn a shade darker. “I’m not letting her date any of you, she could do a million times better! No offence Willy.”

“Oh none taken.” Will manages to get out while stifling a laugh.

———

The bar was packed, you knew it would be. You had insisted you would just stay home, because it was the boys night to celebrate their win, but Mitch wasn’t having it. So here you were trying to find your way to the bar for another drink. Bodies all around you, bumping into you, spilling drinks, and it felt hard to breath.

As your hands start to shake, you abandon the idea of another drink and instead turn to head back towards the group. Your breath hitches in your throat as you turn to see a sea of people. You try and push your way through, but with every step you begin to feel smaller. Your entire body begins to shake, every small brush of a limb against you has your head spinning. Panic sets into your bones, as your heart begins to race. Your eyes frantically scan the crowd looking for Mitch, as you begin wringing your hands together anxiously.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Where is Mitch?” You begin muttering to yourself. Obsessively repeating his name to yourself as if you’d forget who it was you were looking for if you stop. Of course you had to ask him to hold onto your cellphone for you!

Tears sting your eyes, and the anxiety wracking your body manifests itself into fear now. It feels as though everyone is staring at you like you’re crazy, and you don’t feel safe here. Unable to find your bearings in a room that seems to be spinning around you, you do the only thing you know how to. You call out for Mitch.

His name falls from your lips, and you know how pathetic it sounds, but you don’t care. You’re just praying that he hears you, so you call out for him again. “Mitch! Where are you?!” People are definitely staring now, but you feel like you’re moments away from passing out.

A hand grips your shoulder causing you to jump back. As you whip your head around to see who grabbed you, your eyes are met by a very concerned Mitch. You fall against his chest, and he holds you close as you try to not fall apart.

You barely register the fact that Mitch is leading you through the crowd, aside from the fact your feet are moving. You still have your face pressed into his chest as the two of you step out of the bar.

“Hey what’s wrong?” His voice is soft as he runs a hand through your hair softly. You can’t respond with words. Instead you squeeze your fists tighter in his shirt, as your body begins to tremble against him. The tears, mixed with your makeup, will surely stain his shirt, but you can’t stop. “Woah! Shh don’t cry, it’s okay I’m here.” Mitch rubs your back in slow circles as you desperately cling to him. You stay like that for awhile, but soon enough you come to your senses and feel like a total idiot. You pull away from Mitch abruptly, and turn away from him aggressively wiping at your face. “God I’m sorry Mitch! I’m such a baby!” You groan. You’re angry at yourself, and super embarrassed. So much so, that if it weren’t for the fact your phone was still in Mitch’s pocket, you would have just ran away.

“Y/n?” His voice sounds so unsure, yet so soft. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet, but you do turn back towards him. “I shouldn’t have let you go to the bar alone, I’m sorry. Did someone hurt you? Because I swear to god I will go in there and fight for you no questions asked.” He adds a little chuckle at the end, but his tone gives away the fact he’s telling the truth. You have no doubts Mitch would fight for you, it’s why you love him.

Holy shit. You love Mitch!

“N-no one hurt me Mitch I just, I don’t know. I got overwhelmed, and scared. I didn’t have my phone, and I couldn’t find you a-and I just shut down. God I’m so stupid! I’m an adult and I can’t even get a drink for myself.” You stare at your feet, willing the tears away that once again threaten to fall down your cheeks. In a moment, Mitch has your face in his hands tilting your head up, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Stop that.” His eyes are looking into yours like he’s trying to read your mind. “You are so far from stupid! I’m sorry I didn’t find you faster, I’m sorry I let you go alone. You’re okay now though alright? Let’s go home yeah?” You nod, but neither of you dare to move. His face is only inches from yours, and you use this moment to just take him in. He’s absolutely beautiful. His hair falling over his forehead, his perfect skin, his blue eyes, his lips. He’s perfect. You realize you’ve been staring at his lips a beat too long when he licks his lip. The action pulls you from your daze, and you let your eyes wander back up to his, which are focused on your own lips. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes meet yours again.

“We should go.” You awkwardly clear your throat, completely ruining whatever that was. Mitch slowly drops his hands back to his sides, shaking his head lightly.

“Yeah let’s go.”

On the other side of the world, it don't matter, I'll be there in two, I'll be there in two, I'll be there in two

Loss is something that everyone will experience at least once in their life. You have had your fair share, but none to date hurt quite like this one. Losing someone so close to your heart, and being completely alone. Your family all in a completely different province, your best friend is in a completely different country playing hockey, and you are laying completely still. Unable to move from the spot you collapsed into after the conversation with your mom.

Death wasn’t new to you, but being alone certainly was. So all you could do was cry.

You only lift your head from the pillow when your phone rings. A picture of you and Mitch flashes on the screen, letting you know he wants to FaceTime.

“Hey Mitch, how was the game?” You ask after accepting the call, but keeping your camera off.

“The game was good... did you not watch it?” He asks, rightfully confused, because you had told him you’d watch it.

“Oh well uh- something came up I’m sorry.” Your excuse is poor, but not entirely untrue. Mitch might have even let you away with it, if it weren’t for the small sniffle you let out at the end.

“Y/n are you crying?” You see the concern written on his face, as a fresh batch of tears start falling. “Please turn the camera on.”

You listen to him, no energy left in you to argue. As you see your face pop up on the screen you immediately regret it. You look awful, and Mitch’s eyes soften when he sees you. “I’m fine Mitch I just- Mom called me, and I’m just having a rough night. It just sucks being alone.”

“Is everything okay?” He questions, but you can tell he’s trying not to be pushy. All you can do is shake your head, more tears falling down your face. Mitch feels his heart break in two as he watches you fall apart on his phone screen. “I’m coming home.”

“I know you’ll be home tomorrow night, I’ll be okay. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” You aren’t sure how you manage to string coherent sentences together, but you do. You feel silly telling Mitch you don’t like being alone, it’s not his fault he has to travel so much for work.

“No I’m coming home now. I’ll be there in 4 hours okay? Just hang in there for me alright?” You look at the screen and realize Mitch is frantically throwing things into his suitcase. After he manages to stuff everything into the suitcase he zips it up and looks back at his screen. You still haven’t responded, so he speaks again. “4 hours, and I’ll be there. I promise.”

And he kept his promise. 3 hours and 56 minutes later he crawls into your bed and holds you until you fell asleep.

I still feel it every time, it's just something that you do. Now ask me why I want to.

“Wow he’s really smitten with you isn’t he?” Audrey, Justin Holl’s wife gushes. You had just filled her and the other WAGs in on why Mitch had flown home for you just over a month ago.

“He’s a really great friend.” You smile shyly, eyes searching for the topic of conversation himself. When you find him, he’s smiling at you, him and Justin leaning against a wall both sipping beers. You send him a small wave, and he winks back at you.

“Oh come on! A ‘really good friend’ doesn’t pack up a work trip on a moments notice and fly home to you like that. This boy is totally gone for you! Honestly I assumed you two would have gotten together by now.” Audrey gestures between the two of you dramatically, and your cheeks heat up.

“He doesn’t like me like that.” You insist. If they could feel how fast your heart is racing though, they’d know just how badly you wanted what they were saying to be true.

———

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Mitch asks as he closes the apartment door behind him. You have just gotten back from Justin and Audrey’s and you’ve hardly spoken a word to him.

“Just thinking.” You mutter, hanging up your jacket and throwing your keys on the desk.

“Care to share with the class?” He chirps, smiling widely as he hangs his coat on the hook next to yours. The moment is so incredibly domestic, and your stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of it.

“Just something Audrey said.” You pause for a moment unsure if you really want to tell Mitch what’s really going through your head. “Can I ask you something?” You flop down onto the couch, watching him over the back of the couch as he grabs you both a beer from the fridge.

“Shoot!” He grins, handing you a beer and taking a seat right next to you. He pops open his beer, and leans back against the couch throwing an arm around your shoulders. He looks at you expectantly as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Why are you so nice to me?” His brows knit together in confusion, so you choose to elaborate. “Like I get that we are friends, best friends even, but you go out of your way to always be there for me. Stepping out on work to fly home to me because I’m sad, isn’t really something a best friend does. So why are you so nice? I don’t need you to take pity on me if that’s what this is. I don’t want to be a charity case.”

Mitch sits forward on the couch now. His arm no longer around you, instead both elbows are planted on his knees. He’s picking at the label on his beer like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. This isn’t a side of him you see often. Mitch Marner is nervous.

“It’s not like that at all! You aren’t a charity case!” He still hasn’t looked at you, and the distance he’s putting between you has you panicking.

“So tell me what it’s like. Come on Mitch, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You tease, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. Your attempt to lighten the mood even just a little works momentarily, as a small smile breaks out on Mitch’s face.

“You really want to know why I do all of that stuff for you?” His eyes search yours now, hoping he finds the answer he’s looking for. He’s hoping that you are ready to hear what he has to say, and when you place your hand on his arm with a smile he knows it’s going to be okay. “It’s because I love you.”

It's everything about you, everything that you do. From the way that we touch, baby, to the way that you kiss on me. It's everything about you, the way you make it feel, new. Like every party is just us two, and there's nothin' I could point to. It's everything about you.

“Mitch-“ your voice is a warning. Or maybe it’s a plea. Even you aren’t sure, because your heart is in your throat right now.

“I’m serious. I love you. I think I always have, I mean what isn’t there to love? You always make me feel important, like no one else matters and I’ve been trying so hard to make you feel the same way. To make you feel like you’re worth it, because you are so worth it. I love everything about you. I love how funny, sweet, strong, and caring you are. I love how you are just so you. There is not one single thing that made me love you, it was everything. I’m sorry if this is weird for you, but I’m just being honest.” His whole body seems to relax a bit after he finishes speaking. It is almost as if you can see the weight lifting from his shoulders. A weight you hadn’t realized he carried with him, and you want so badly to apologize to him. Tell him you’re sorry for not realizing sooner, and that you wish he hadn’t carried that weight for you. You want to tell him you’re not perfect, and that he has you all wrong. Mostly though, you just want to tell him you love him too.

The only way you know how to tell Mitch exactly how you feel about him isn’t by telling him all of those things with simple words, you have to show him. So, taking a deep breath, you lift your hand from Mitch’s arm, and place gently on the back of his neck. You gently dance your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel a shiver pass through him. He slowly lifts his eyes to yours again, and without another second of hesitation you’re pulling him into you.

When his lips reach yours, you kiss him with all you have. You pour yourself into him in hopes of showing him how grateful you are for him, and how much you love him. He smiles against your lips, as he pulls you into his lap. He hugs your body to his own, and you grip his hair like you’re scared to let go.

After kissing for what feels like forever, but also not nearly long enough, you pull away to catch your breath. Your foreheads are pressed together, both of you breathing heavily, and both sporting mile wide grin.

“Wow.” Mitch breathes out, causing you to giggle. “Add that to the list.”

“List?” You ask curiously, sitting back in his lap to get a better look at him. His hair is messy, lips swollen and red, and his eyes have never looked more blue.

“The list of things I love about you. The way you kiss me, I can add that to the list of everything.” The happiness you feel in this moment has you feeling warm. Sure, maybe the way you found Mitch wasn’t conventional, but there was a reason you called him all those months ago. However it happened, you’ve never been more happy to call someone yours.

[midgardianweasley]

GEORGE WEASLEY X PLUS SIZE READER MY SOUL NEEDS IT IT NEEDS IT NOWW

ofc ofc bestie, i hope it’s okay <33

All of your bodies are absolutely beautiful guys <33 

All of you

George Weasley x Plus Size fem!Reader

Summary: It’s summertime and Y/N is spending her weeks at the Burrow with the Weasley family, invited by Molly and her boyfriend of 5 months, George. The family all decide to go to the local lake to cool off from the sun, Y/N isn’t confident with her body/stretch marks and says she just wants to stay home to avoid anyone else seeing them. George notices and convinces her that her body is beautiful the way it is.

Warnings: Body insecurities, stretch marks, anxious thoughts

Word Count: 1769

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist lovelies <3

Over the past week at the Burrow, the sun had been blazing, heat becoming a common frustration in the home. They had all tried everything they could to try and cool down, extra ice in their drinks, standing in front of fans, they’d even played quidditch so that they could feel a slight breeze, the air proving to be unhelpful by being at a complete standstill, the humidity was unbearable. Everyone was gathered in the living room, scattered around the room to avoid any possible extra body heat. Even Y/N and George who were always sitting together at any given opportunity had sat themselves a good couple of feet away from the other, the thought of being cuddled up with George had made Y/N grow incredibly warm. Upon hearing Fred groan about how boiling he was for what felt like the millionth time in the last half an hour, Ginny had had enough.

“Fred, for the love of Merlin, will you shut up?”

“I can’t help it! It’s like a bloody fire in here” He argued, tilting his head back against the sofa, quickly regretting it when feeling the fabric against his neck.

“We’re all feeling it Fred! we’re all hot, we’re all bored, we’re all agitated, you repeating the same thing over and over, isn’t helping.” You could hear the frustration in her voice, quickly replaced by the sound of Arthur Weasley standing up and walking around frantically

“Right, we’re not sitting around here for any longer, everyone, pack some swimming gear, we’re going to the Lake!” He announced, everyone cheering, everyone except Y/N. The thought of showing more skin than normal, sent a bolt of anxiety through her. She hadn’t felt comfortable in her own skin for a long time, imagining herself in a swimsuit had made her internally cringe. She was so used to wearing jeans and at a push, a short sleeved t-shirt, knowing what lay beneath. Y/N had never been a fan of her stretch marks. Her parents had always told her that they were signs of her growing, that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. She had always viewed them differently. Over the years, she had seen plenty of girls show their stomachs, their legs, and she hadn’t seen them. Or if she had, they weren’t like hers, their ones were white or clear or smaller. She thought something was wrong with her body. Why were hers not white? Why were hers a mixture of red and purple? She was soon brought out of her thoughts by George standing in front of her, placing his hands on her hips gently before speaking.

“You alright Love? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost” He chuckled

Y/N and George had only been dating for about five months, being close friends for a previous two years. He wasn’t aware of Y/N’s insecurities about her body, she always appeared so confident, she hadn’t let it show so to not bring any attention to it. Y/N stepped away slightly when feeling his hands lie on her hips, feeling him touching where she knew the marks where. Trying her best to ignore the frown on his face at the sudden loss of contact, she spoke up quietly.

“Y’know George, I think i’m gonna sit this one out, I’m not feeling so good.” She lied, briefly meeting his eyes but not maintaining the contact for long. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at her comment.

“Oh. That's okay, I’ll just go and tell mum we’re stay-” He went to leave, but Y/N caught his wrist, gently tugging him back.

“No no, you go have fun Georgie, I’ll just see you when you get back”

“Are you sure you want to stay? Will you be alright on your own?” He questioned, not entirely convinced by her suggestion, she seemed okay when they were all sat down? She never gave up an opportunity to spend time with his family?

“Of course my love, you go and cool down. Tell everyone i’m sorry though, I was excited to go” She lied through the grit of her teeth, pulling a tight lipped smile. ‘There it was’ George thought. Over the years, Y/N had a tell for when she was lying. Her smile was always different when she was telling the truth. This one didn’t quite meet her eyes, why was she lying? He didn’t mention it, he didn’t want to cause a scene or embarrass her, so with a simple nod of his head, he kissed her cheek and waved her up the stairs, going over to Fred when he’d heard the door click shut.

“Hey mate, where’s Y/N gone?” Fred asked, looking around to see if he’d just missed her in the flurry of people gathering their things together.

“She’s just gone upstairs, you lot crack on, we’ll follow after you guys.”

“You sure? I can get mum to go up if she needs some, y’know, woman to woman discussion.” Fred spoke awkwardly, unsure of how to help.

“Nah mate, we’re good, i’ll head up. Honestly, you guys go ahead” George waved him off, watching him meet with the rest of his family, Harry and Hermione included as they were staying with Ron for a bit during the holidays. When he saw them all walking off on their way to the lake, he ran up the stairs, taking two stairs up at a time, coming face to face with his door, he raised his fist and knocked gently.

“Come in?” Y/N spoke with a hint of confusion, she was so sure she’d heard the downstairs door shut. George opened the door, popping his head round first before stepping in, briefly seeing Y/N pull down her top, hoping that he hadn’t seen her stomach before approaching her. Deciding to keep his hands to himself this time, he began to speak. “What’s the real reason you don’t want to go?” He spoke, with only concern and love in his voice.

“I told you, i’m not feeling well.”

“I know what you told me love, but I also know when you’re lying, I want to know what’s troubling you so I can help.”

“It’s nothing you can help with.” Y/N spoke, but quickly jumping backwards when she’d caught eye of George beginning to reach out again. He picked up on her reaction again.

“Have I done something princess?”

“No, you haven’t done anything Georgie.” She sighed, feeling defeated knowing that he could read her like a book but had come to the conclusion that it was something against him.

“You can talk to me you know, if it is something I’ve done, I-”

“It’s not aimed at you, I just, I don’t like it.” She spoke, causing George to tilt his head slightly, not entirely sure what she meant. Seeing this, she spoke again.

“I..I don’t like people touching my stomach, or my hips, or my legs.”

“Is there a reason why? If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t need to answer, but i’m here to help if you do”

Y/N thought about it for a few minutes, George standing silently, giving her time to think it over. Instead of speaking, she lifted her top slightly, not a lot, but enough for George to see what in his eyes looked to be like red and purple lightning bolts. He looked fascinated by them. Shying under his stare, but not pulling her top down yet, Y/N mumbled

“They’re called stretch marks, if that���s what you’re wondering.” George looked up at her

“And you don’t like them?”

“No.”

“How come?” He spoke, being patient with her responses. She sighed again, taking a minute before answering

“They look weird, almost angry. They’re not faded and white like other girls. They just make me feel like my body is..wrong. I don’t know how else to explain it” She spoke, feeling vulnerable under his eyes, knowing he was looking at them, something she had always avoided. George’s gaze fluttered between her stretch marks and her eyes, feeling fully captivated by her. “May i?” He spoke, indicating that he’d wanted to touch them, she hesitated, but eventually nodded her head, trusting him to not judge her. He softly stroked them with his thumb, feeling slightly proud that she was letting him be this close to her, not just physically, but emotionally. He knew she felt vulnerable, she was trusting him with her insecurity. Because of this, he chose his next words carefully.

“I think they’re beautiful”

“George-” She went to reply, but he quickly cut her off

“No no, just listen to me for a minute, okay?” She stopped speaking, taking this as a sign to speak, he continued. “I think they’re beautiful. They’re a sign that you’ve grown. That your body is changing, a sign of something good. They don’t have to look like everyone else’s, your body, and every mark on it, is unique to you, just like your personality. All of it makes you the Y/N we all know and love. I know not everyone has seen them, but I can guarantee nothing would change if they were to see it. These are nothing to be ashamed of.” He spoke, still stroking the marks. Meeting her eyes again, he saw tears falling and heard quiet sniffles.

“Hey hey, what’s with the tears, Princess? did I say something wrong?” She smiled and chuckled softly

“Not a thing Georgie, I’ve just never heard of anyone speak of me so fondly before. Do you mean all of that?”

“Of course I do my love. Every word. I understand if you don’t want to go to the Lake, but, I think it would be a nice idea. You don’t need to wear anything you’re uncomfortable with, just having your company would be enough for us.” Wiping her tears while speaking. She shook her head.

“I think i’ll go, but I’ll just go with what i’m wearing, if that’s okay. I don’t want to wear a swimsuit.”

“That’s absolutely fine, princess. Whatever you like.” George smiled, about to turn to lead both of them out, before he was tugged back again. She leaned up to kiss him, just a peck, but it spoke a thousand words.

“Thank you for staying and helping me Georgie, it means the world to me.”

“Anything for you.” He spoke, kissing her again before the both of them walked out hand in hand, ready to go to the lake and meet the rest of the family, hopefully without Fred’s grumbles.

Taglist: @horrorxweasley @dracofknmalfoy @gaycatlord-stuff

[wanderingwomanwondering]

Thoughts on The Buddie Talk from 502

Other folks have looked at this conversation, but I wanted to get on my bullshit about it too. LOL.

So imho this whole conversation is about love and heart, specifically Eddie’s but with Buck’s heart added in. Line by line analysis and commentary. Let the BS begin. Here we go…

Buck: Hey are you sleeping, or just pretending?

Day and night/light and dark are strong themes throughout the episode. @benka79 did a meta on this theme. I think that by extension, awake vs asleep is meaningful in this scene. In matters of the heart, Eddie is trying to sleep or turn a blind eye, doing what he thinks is best for Chris rather than himself. This is exactly what Carla warned him against. But he knows. He knows that Carla is right but he’s ignoring her and trying to ignore Buck. He’s only pretending to be in the dark about his heart and his desires, at least to a degree.

Eddie: I was actually trying to until you interrupted.

Enter Buck, shaking shit up. Interrupting Eddie’s well-intentioned lie. Eddie knows there’s more than meets the eye and Buck is forcing him to open his eyes, wake up and see what’s really going on and reckon with himself and his true desires.

Buck: I’m exhausted. Uh, how are you feeling?

This line has been rattling around in my brain for what feels like a thousand years. Buck is NOT asleep, he’s not able to turn a blind eye. And being the only one willing to look directly at matters of the heart is wearing him out. Dude’s exhausted! He SEES that something is up with Eddie’s heart and he wants Eddie to tell him all about it.

Eddie: Hot. I’m sweating out of places I didn’t know I could.

During the blackout, AC isn’t working so everyone is sweating. Buck even has a thin layer of sweat in the scene. Sweating from the heat is normal and completely reasonable, but is that what’s being invoked here? We know that sweating is also a symptom of health issues (panic and heart problems not the least among them, and definitely symbolically relevant here). Eddie looks like he’s sweating for normal reasons but in the next line Buck questions that.

Buck: No uh like a cold sweat though, right? Uh, any chest pains?

Again, Buck is wide awake. He KNOWS something is wrong with Eddie’s heart/feelings and that Eddie is hiding it from him. He jumps to cold sweats, the kind that are most connected to health problems and are not about the actual temperature in the room. Then follows up with asking about chest pains. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Buck is paralleled with the cardiologist. She’s about Eddie’s literal heart but Eddie’s figurative heart is in Buck’s hands and Buck’s hands only. And my dude is assertively assessing the situation.

Eddie: You don’t give up, do you? I’m fine, Buck.

Good ol’ Eddie, perfecting his avoidance and denial game. But he knows Buck. He does NOT ever give up and he especially doesn’t give up on the people he loves. Eddie recognized this and thanked Buck for it in 303. Buck didn’t give up on Christopher during the tsunami, or on Eddie in Eddie Begins or in Survivors. But that was about Chris and Eddie’s life. This scene in 502 is new in a way. Buck is refusing to give up on Eddie’s heart, his feelings. Now Buck is fighting for Eddie’s quality of life, for his happiness.

Buck: People who are fine don’t go and see cardiologists. You need to tell me if something is wrong.

Buck was so worried about Eddie in 501. Of course Eddie denied that anything was wrong but Buck isn’t stupid. In 501 he asked about the situation clearly and openly because he cares about Eddie and wants to help in any way he can, and Eddie pushed him away. So here in 502 he implicitly invokes the Will. He’s like fine if you won’t tell me as your friend who gives a shit about you, then tell me for Chris’s sake because thanks to the will, I actually fucking need to know if you’re going to drop dead.

Eddie: Alright, it was a panic attack, not a heart attack. A panic attack.

Eddie’s frustrated confession was solid gold. It laid my edges and raised my credit score. He knows that Buck’s persistence is harmless and comes from a genuine place of respect and care. Still, that doesn’t make it any less annoying for a man who’s trying to sleep, pretending his own heart isn’t breaking under the weight of his sense of duty to his son.

Buck: Since when do you panic?

My God, he knows him so well.

Eddie: That’s what I said. I don’t panic. Except I did.

Eddie accepting that this was absolutely a panic attack was huge. Before he had been pushing against the reality of it, but here in Buck’s loving care he could be honest with himself and with Buck that it was indeed panic.

Buck: Ok, well, what triggered it? I mean you did just get shot and almost killed by a sniper. I guess that could be considered an anxiety inducing-

Buck’s in full “cardiologist” mode. He’s paying forward all those years of therapy! What he’s doing here isn’t a replacement for my dude getting some real therapy but here’s Buck with his clipboard efficiently helping Eddie figure his emotional shit out. It’s perfection. It’s also good that he acknowledged the shooting. I think it’s super important that when Buck mentions it, he looks down and away from Eddie.

Buck, my dude, you are not over being covered in the blood of the love of your life. You can still feel his weight in your hands, muscle memory from lifting him above the spray of gasoline and bullets. Eddie may still be asleep on that front but, Buck, you are wide awake and exhausted by the heavy love you’re carrying.

Eddie: That wasn’t it. Ok, if I’m being honest with myself, I think it was Ana.

Oh this is fun. So you are capable of being real, you just choose not to be. Good to know.

Buck: Uh, I thought things were great with her.

Stop. Lying. You saw Eddie get squirrely when talking about the Christening. You saw Eddie get awkward af when A*a and Christopher came to the firehouse. You’ve seen these issues with your own eyeballs. Great? Really? Yeah, this just makes me think muh boy is oblivious and/or he really was expecting Eddie to come clean about issues related to the shooting, not his love life. This reiterates my point that Buck himself is not nearly done with processing the shooting.

Eddie: She’s been a godsend through all this - staying with Christopher - but I think that’s what’s causing the panic. Somehow it become a ready-made family and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

This portion of the conversation has been analyzed to bits by many brilliant others. I don’t have anything to add. I’m like, look dude, you already have a family with Buck and Christopher. A*a’s effin’ up your happy healthy family flow. It’s ok, just turn her loose.

Buck: So what are you gonna do?

Buck’s wisdom grows every frickin’ day. He knows this isn’t sustainable for Eddie. He knows that the heart matters. He knows that feelings are real and help us navigate toward a happy life. Action is needed and he’s nudging Eddie in that direction.

Eddie: I think I’m just gonna stick it out. Ana’s been the first woman I’ve wanted to spend this much time with since Shannon.

Oh dear, Eddie’s overblown sense of duty to everyone but himself strikes again. He can…tolerate… A*a. How romantic!

Buck: Stick it out? That’s not the way you talk about someone you’re in love with.

Um, no. Buck calls shenanigans. He’s not A*a’s bestie but he doesn’t feel any desire whatsoever to have her condemned to a loveless relationship.

Eddie: My kid loves her!

Always putting Christopher first but not realizing that if he isn’t truly happy, Christopher will know because he’s perceptive af. Plus the two haven’t discussed A*a on screen so I’m not convinced Chris loves her as much as Eddie wants to believe.

Buck: Is that enough? Eddie I have been Ana. I know what it’s like to be in love with someone who is not all the way in. Deep down you know it and it hurts. It hurts worse than the truth, so if you don’t want to hurt Ana, you owe it to her to be honest.

Buck is doing A LOT of work here to help Eddie see that his plan of inaction is not good. He centers Eddie asking him if staying for Chris is enough. When that doesn’t work, he realizes that Eddie doesn’t care about his own heart enough to leave so he changes strategies and puts himself in A*a’s place to invoke some empathy for A*a from Eddie. It’s super…interesting that Eddie doesn’t care enough for A*a to come to this conclusion on his own!!

Eddie: You know it just feels like a lot man.

Why, my dude?? Explain. Could it be that A*a is serving a purpose beyond Chris? Could it be that staying with her helps you avoid, allows you to pretend and be oblivious to deeper truths within your battered but still beating heart? Does she obscure the Buck shaped hole in your ticker?

Buck: Well, go to sleep. You don’t need to decide right now. It’s not like we’re going home anytime soon.

Buck is disappointed, exhausted, and frustrated and it has my dude slinging shade like morning hash. He’s like fine turn a blind eye, ignore your heart it’s cool *all the sarcasm* Then we get the reference to home and the fact that the two of them are far from it at this point and we all know how important home is as a Buddie theme. I wrote a little about it here.

Bonus: Eddie closed his eyes after Buck walked away, the he OPENED them again. He fully saw what Buck was saying. He can’t avoid the truth of his heart for much longer.

Y’all this has GOT to be the season that one or both of these idiots realize their feelings. Excuse me while I end.

[specialagentsergio]

love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”  

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

[justaself-shipper]

Marcy x RichGirl!Reader- I Like Me Better

A/N: Request by @Jenny_RHTMT (from Wattpad). An alternate universe where Marcy, Anne and Sasha never went to Amphibia. Warning: This book has bullying and mentions of homophobia and very bad angst.

Marcy looked up at the music box inside the antique shop, then back to the picture of the same box on her phone. Scowling at the picture, she deleted it. “Yeah, right.” She muttered, gloomily walking away from the antique shop. “Stupid book.” “Promise us you’ll text everyday, ok?” Anne said, hugging Marcy one last time. Sasha stood to the side, her arms crossed as she watched Anne and Marcy’s goodbye with a hurt expression. “Of course, Anne. I’ll try my best.” She said, hugging her best friend close. Glancing over to Sasha, she smiled warmly. “C’mere Sash, we need one last photo together.” Anne said, taking out her phone. Walking over, Sasha wrapped her arm around Marcy’s shoulder. “Ok nerds. One last photo shoot!” She said, holding up her own prepared phone. Marcy chuckled. Hearing the beep of her parents horn, her smile faded. They were ready to leave. Pulling her besties in close one last time, she held in her tears. “We’ll try and meet up over the holidays, ok guys?” “Sure Mar-mar.” “Of course dude. Just be careful out there, ok?” “I’ll try my best Anna-banana.” (A few weeks later) Marcy looked up at the tall school building in front of her, gut twisting and turning with anxiety. “Ok…deep breaths Marcy….new school, new possibilities.” She whispered. She jumped when a car horn blared. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed a…very fancy looking car pull up. Stopping in front of the school, Marcy moved into a crowd of students so as not to be seen. The car door opened, revealing a girl with H/L, H/C hair, wearing the same school uniform as Marcy and the other students. The other students stared in wonder and fear. Marcy pursed her lips. “Ooooh boy.” She muttered to herself. “There are rich snobs here…”

Standing in front of her school locker, Marcy stared down in glee at her mobile game, oblivious to her surroundings. All of a sudden, her locker door flew into her face, causing her to stumble for a moment. Giggles erupted from the other side, and Marcy closed her locker properly. A bunch of girls stood on the other side, giggling away as they glanced back at Marcy. One of them was the girl that pulled up in the fancy car that morning. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t show any sympathy, either. Not wanting confrontation, Marcy just picked up her backpack, walking away from the still cackling teens on her way to her last two classes that day. (Y/N’s POV) Sienna pointed to the opened locker door in front of us. Mobile game noises sounded from the other side, and the person hadn’t noticed anyone approaching. “Hey, check out this weirdo.” She sneered. Before any of us could react, she swung the locker door full force toward the oblivious person. Hearing a small yelp, everyone started laughing. I just rolled my eyes. As the person closed the locker door, holding her cheek as she glanced toward us, my heart skipped a beat. It was a girl, with short, black hair held back by a green clip, with beautiful hazel eyes. She must be new here. I looked away before she could catch me staring. The girl eventually walked away, hunched over as my friend’s laughter sounded throughout the corridor. Sienna snickered. “Looks like we’ve just found our knew target. What do you say guys?” She smirked. Everyone nodded. I just watched the new girl disappear around the corner. Maybe I can talk to her later?

(End POV) In the cafeteria, Marcy sat by herself. Glancing around at the other tables, she pulled out her lunch, taking a bite as she started to play on her phone once again. “Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?” Marcy looked up. It was the same group of girls as before. The leader glared down at her. “This is our table. Move it.” Marcy stood up, collecting her things quickly. “Right, I’m sorry.” She gushed. She heard one of the other members, the one who didn’t laugh earlier, say something, but she didn’t quite pick up what it was. Was it “It’s not even our seat”? The leader smirked down at her. “Oh no, you’re not going to get away with it.” Without warning, she grabbed Marcy’s bag. “Hey-!” “What’s this?” She cooed, pulling out Marcy’s notebook. “A diary? Wonder what it says~” Tossing the bag to the other girls, Marcy could only watch in horror as the other girls rummaged through her bag and the gang leader went through her notebook. “Oooh! This is juicy! Maybe I should read it out to the rest of the cafeteria~” she grinned. Marcy panicked. “WAIT-NO! Give it back, please!” She begged, reaching over to grab it. One of the other girls noticed, tripping her as she stepped forward. Falling to the ground, tears pricked her eyes as her face turned red from embarrassment. Y/N watched all this go down. She felt anger boiling up inside her as she watched her so called “friends” bully this poor girl for no reason. When Sienna started reading from the diary, gaining attention from the other students in the cafeteria, Y/N finally snapped. “Check it out everyone! The new girl has a diary! And look at this-her sick little mind believes she’s bisex-“

Marcy covered her face, when loud gasps sounded throughout the room. Removing her hands, she realised the H/C-haired girl in the group had her notebook, holding it close to her as the leader stared at her in disbelief. “Y/N, what the heck is wrong with you-“ “No Sienna! What the heck is wrong with you?!” She snapped. The cafeteria went silent, watching the spectacle. Y/N’s face was red with anger as she stood face to face to Sienna. “Picking on an innocent person, going to read her diary, then calling her sick in the head! I’ve had it! The only one sick in the head is you! Picking on someone for what gender they prefer is the most disgusting thing you’ve ever done! Now-“ she pushed the diary back into Sienna’s hands, and pointed to Marcy still lying on the floor. “Say you're sorry, otherwise I’ll have my parents involved.” She growled. Sienna’s face went pale, so Marcy assumed her parents must be bosses of something big. The leader walked over to the now kneeling Marcy, dropping the book on the ground. “Fine. Sorry.” She muttered. Walking back out, Sienna glared at Y/N. “You’ve made an enemy today, Y/N.” She hissed, disappearing out the cafeteria doors with her gang. Everyone went back to their own business. Marcy collected her bag and belongings, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest. “Hey I’m…really sorry about everything.” A voice mumbled. Glancing up, Marcy realised it was Y/N. The H/C held out her hand. Marcy gladly took it, allowing the girl to help her to her feet. “Uhm…th-thanks for standing up for me.” Marcy said, holding the notebook over her face to hide her pink-tinted cheeks. “It was very brave of you, seeing she was your friend and all…” Y/N rubbed the back of her neck. “Y-yeah well, I couldn’t let her pick on you. People like us have to stick up for each other in a world like this.” She chuckled nervously. Marcy smiled behind her book. “Well, I’m Marcy. Marcy Wu.” She said, holding out her hand. Y/N smiled as well, shaking her hand. “Y/N L/N. You wanna have lunch with me?” “Of course!”

Bonus: Marcy: So…why was Sienna so terrified of you when you mentioned your parents? Y/N: Oh! Uh…my dad may or may not be a mafia boss… *starts sweating* Marcy: Ooh…has he killed people? Y/N: MARCY NO-

Fun fact: while writing this, I had another idea in mind! Let me know if I should do the other version! (Still kinda involves bullying, but no homophobia as far as I’d thought lol. Mostly just a snooty reader being mean toward marcy for a certain reason) note: i also was gonna continue with a prom scene and Sienna was being a beach, but i might leave that for a second part if anyone wants it (it's horrible btw)

AND HEY HAVE YA'LL SEEN THE LATEST OWL HOUSE EPISODE?? I'M BROKEN INSIDE, AND VEE IS AN ABSOLUTE SWEETHEART!

I ALSO HADN'T REALISED HOW MUCH GUILT I HAD AS I MADE THIS STORY SO YEAH....SORRY ABOUT THE CAPS GUYS

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

positive

warnings: pregnancy, anxiety

word count: 3.8k (look at me go 😃)

Your stomach clenched as you walked into the store, keeping your head down. You didn't want anyone to see you. They would probably know what you were here for just by looking at your face. 

You paused for a moment, wondering why you thought that would be so bad. You were an adult; a woman with a job and a house and a husband who loved you. There was nothing shameful about this. Worrying, yes. Terrifying, absolutely. But not shameful. 

Even so, you refused to look at anyone as you made your way to the aisle you needed. Once you got there, you finally looked up, staring at the rows and rows of pregnancy tests. 

You grabbed the closest one, wanting to get out of there as soon as you could. You brought it to the self check out, scanning it quickly and throwing it in a bag. You didn't release the breath you had been holding until it was safely hidden under the bag of chocolates you had also purchased. You had decided those were necessary, too. To manage your stress levels, obviously. 

Once you got back to your car, you took s few steadying breaths. 

Everything will be fine, you reminded yourself. Harry will be happy. He definitely wants kids. You’ve talked about this.. You know he will be happy. 

Knowing that still didn't help much. Your hands were shaking as you turned the key in the ignition, backing out of your spot and heading home. 

-----

This had been the longest two minutes of your life. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, shaking with nerves and forcing yourself to take deep breaths. The timer on your phone slowly ticked off the seconds until you could check the test. 45 seconds left. You stood, pacing in front of the sink.

30 seconds left. You braced your hands on the vanity, looking in the mirror. Were you really about to be a mother? 

15 seconds left. You counted silently along with the timer, getting more nervous with each passing moment. 

You stopped the timer on the first beep, taking one final steadying breath. You ran your hand through your hair, looking into the mirror again. You were a mess. Your eyes were red and watery, the mascara you had put on earlier smudged underneath. 

You reached for the stick on the counter with a shaky hand. Just as you picked it up, your phone rang. You jumped, gasping and nearly flinging it away from you. You looked at your phone, heart pounding when you saw Harry's face smiling up at you. It’s like he knows, you thought. You quickly shook that idea away.

You exhaled shakily, setting the test down without looking at it and answering the call. 

"Hi Harry," you said, sliding down to sit against the wall and pulling your knees to your chest.

"Hi love! How're you doing?" He smiled, leaning back against his dressing room wall. 

"I'm- I'm good," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm just- I'm good."

  "Are you sure? You sound like something’s wrong," He said, cursing himself for not FaceTiming you. 

"No, I'm fine," you said. You almost laughed at how easily he could read you, even when he couldn't see you.

"Ok, if you're sure," he said, sounding hesitant. Immediately, his mind went into overdrive. What is she doing? Where is she? Why does she sound scared? Did something happen? Is- He was pulled out of his spiral when you spoke again.

  "I'm sure, H. What's going on, though? Don't you have to perform in ten minutes?" 

"I do, yeah, but I just really missed you," he said, sounding almost shy. "I haven't heard your voice in so long, just wanted to say hi." 

You smiled, resting your head against your legs. 

"It's so good to talk to you, I feel like it's been forever. I hate being so far away from you, in a whole different time zone. It's very stressful," you said, sighing. 

"I know, and I'm so sorry, but it's only for two more days- oh," He smacked his hand over his mouth, but the damage had already been done. She wasn't supposed to know about that, you idiot, he mentally yelled at himself. 

You sat up quickly, moving your phone away from your ear to check the date. You weren't crazy, it definitely read "Tuesday, March 8". 

"What do you mean two more days? I thought you weren't back until the 24th?" 

"Uh- oh boy, you weren't supposed to know- I wanted to surprise you. The shows got cut short. I wasn't going to tell you, I was just going to show up at the house and fall into your loving arms," he said, sighing dreamily. He smiled, already excited to see you for what felt like the first time in ages. 

"You- you're not- Harry!" You practically yelled into the phone. You were elated at knowing you would get to see him so soon, but your panic quickly took over. What if the test was positive? You had expected to have two more weeks to figure out how to tell him that he was going to be a father. 

"Wow, Y/N, I expected you to be happy!" he said, laughing. "Come on, you don't hate surprises that much. Plus, it's me," he said, shoulders slumping a bit. He kept his voice light and happy, but inside he was worried. Does she not want to see me? 

"No, of course I am!" you said quickly. "It's not- I just... I planned to-" You paused, searching your mind for a believable lie. "I was going to paint the bedroom, you know, redecorate. Then when you came home it would be totally finished, and it would be all cute and everything." 

"Well, this way I can help! It'll be fun, you know, a group project." He laughed, relaxing again. 

"Yeah, sounds good," you smiled. Knowing him, he would probably be sending you paint swatches and furniture ideas for the next two days. He might actually be disappointed when he got home and you had an entirely different conversation ready for him. 

"Two minutes, Harry!" you heard faint yelling in the background before Harry spoke again. 

"I'm sorry, I've gotta go, they're yelling at me. Call you after?" 

"Of course. Have fun, babe!" 

"Thanks. Bye!" 

Harry hung up, setting his phone on the dressing room vanity before he made his way to the door. Right before he stepped out, though, he had an idea. Spinning around, he quickly went back to his phone and pulled up his mom's contact. 

Harry: I'm going onstage soon, could you go check on Y/N? I think something's up but she won't say. Thanks, love you️❤️ 

"Harry, get out here!" Someone yelled again. 

"I'm coming!" He responded, quickly pressing send and putting his phone back down. 

-----

You finally found the courage to stand up again. You decided it was best to do this fast, like ripping off a bandaid. So you reached for the test, flipping it over before you could lose your nerve. 

Positive. It was definitely positive. You exhaled shakily, sitting down on the closed toilet seat. 

You weren't sure how long you sat before you heard a knock at the door. You flinched, deciding to just ignore it. It couldn't be that important. At least, not more important than the crisis you were currently having. 

The knocking didn’t stop, though, so you finally got up from the floor. As you made your way to the kitchen, you heard a gentle voice calling your name. Your head snapped up, red-rimmed eyes glancing through the window to see who it was. You nearly collapsed in relief when you saw your mother in law standing at the door. You quickly moved to open it, smiling apologetically at her.

“Anne, it’s good to see you, come in,” you said, holding the door open wider. “I’m sorry I took so long, I didn’t know you were coming by!”

She smiled back, stepping inside and pulling you into a hug. You leaned into her, eyes welling up as your emotions washed over you. She pulled back, looking worried.

“Y/N, what’s the matter? Oh, don’t cry dear, come, sit and let’s talk.” She led you into the living room, sitting you on the couch next to her. “Harry sent me. He was worried about you, said he thought something was wrong. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Your eyes welled up again at how thoughtful harry was. He could tell you were upset, even over the phone. Even when you insisted everything was fine.

“It’s just...” you could barely speak through your tears. “I’m sorry, I’m- I don’t know how to say this, it’s-“

Anne looked at you encouragingly, rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

You took a deep breath. “I’m- I think I’m pregnant,” you whispered.

Anne’s eyes went wide for a second before she broke into a smile.

“Really? Oh, Y/N, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “But wait- you think? Did you take a test?”

“Yes, from the grocery store. But those aren’t always accurate, right?”

“I suppose, but... I don’t think those give false positives, almost ever. Y/N, are you- Are you not happy about this?”

“No, I am, I just- what will Harry say? He’s touring again soon, and there will almost certainly be more of that. What if he doesn’t want to put his entire career on hold? What if he’s not ready to have a baby? What if-“

“Y/N, slow down,” she said, pulling away to look at you. “Have you met the man? He loves children. He loves you. He loves you more than anyone else on this earth.”

“Besides you,” you added, chuckling. “And Gemma.”

“Honestly, I think that’s a three-way tie” she said, laughing. “Why don’t we get you a doctors appointment, confirm this.”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart,” you said. “Thank you so much, Anne. I was so scared,” you said, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

“Of course, love! Anything for my daughter in law,” she said, hugging you again.

-----

Anne insisted on driving you to the appointment the next day, claiming she “wanted to be involved in every part of her possible grandchild’s life.” You had accepted reluctantly, not wanting to inconvenience her but secretly glad you weren’t alone.

Your leg bounced as you filled out the papers. You brought the completed forms to the desk, thanking the woman who told you the doctor would call you back soon. You settled back into your chair, checking your phone when it dinged.

Just like you had expected, Harry was sending you paint colors. He had sent about ten different shades of grey, then about twenty five different blues for “the accent wall”. You smiled at how excited he was. He was already great at domestic life, why should that be any different with a child?

-----

You texted Anne when the appointment was over, letting her know which door you were at. You got into the car, unable to contain your smile.

“Everything alright?” she looked at you expectantly.

“Yeah, I’m definitely pregnant,” you said, smiling. “Anne, you’re going to be a grandma.”

“Oh, congratulations! I’m so happy for you,” she said, leaning over the console to hug you. “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell Harry?”

“I actually do have an idea,” you said, pulling away to fasten your seatbelt. “Do you still have your Cricut?”

-----

You beamed as you held up the white onesie.

“Let’s see it, then!” Anne said excitedly.

You turned it around, revealing the large black Jersey font that read “STYLES 03”.

She was smiling as wide as you were. “That’s just precious, he’s going to love it,” she declared.

“Yeah?” You asked, grinning.

“Absolutely.”

Just then, your phone rang.

“Speak of the devil,” you said when you saw Harry’s face. You picked up the call, putting him on speakerphone so you could finish your project. “Hi Harry! Sorry I didn’t get to call you again yesterday, how was your show?”

“It was great, love, it went really well. How are you? Feeling better?”

“Yes, much. Thanks for sending your Anne to check on me, that was very sweet of you.”

“Yeah, of course! I’m glad she could be there, even though I couldn’t,” he said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Don’t make yourself upset, Harry, I’m always here for Y/N!” Anne said from across the table.

“Oh hi mum! Didn’t know you were there too. What have you two been up to?”

“Um...” you looked at Anne desperately, not sure what to tell him.

“Just been looking through some furniture, love,” Anne jumped in. You smiled at her gratefully.

“Oh, about that! I was thinking we should get one of those benches, you know, the ones that go at the end of the bed? I think they just add a nice little accent to the room. What do you think?”

“Sure, Harry, we can find one of those,” you said, smiling. Just then, you heard a strange grinding noise. You looked down to see the Cricut attempting to eat the vinyl you had been printing out. Your eyes went wide, trying to get Anne’s attention without alerting Harry. She yelped when she saw what you were pointing at.

“What happened?” Harry asked quickly.

“Uh, nothing, we just... found a really nice rug. I gotta go, Harry, talk later!”

You quickly hung up, trying to suppress your laughter as Anne fought with the machine.

“Stop that, you stubborn thing!” She said, pulling the paper out. “That’s quite enough out of you,” she said sternly, pressing the off button when the machine beeped at her.

Once everything was settled, Anne picked up the onesie again, smiling at the letters.

“Y/N, you really don’t have to worry. He’s going to be elated, truly.”

“I know, it’s just... a little scary,” you said, laughing nervously.

“Sure it is, this is a big thing! But remember that it’s a good thing, and it’s something you both want very much. And of course, so do I.”

“Right, of course,” you laughed. “Do you have a gift bag? I want to wrap that so it’s ready to give to Harry as soon as I can.”

-----

Your stomach had been fluttering since you got the text from Harry. The text. The one that read “just touched down! I’ll be home in two hours ️”. The text that meant you were about to tell him something that would change his life forever.

You were pacing in the living room, unsure of what else to do. You had tried to read a book, but that was useless. You found yourself reading the same sentence over and over with absolutely no comprehension. Then you tried making some pasta for Harry, since you knew it was his favorite and that he would be hungry. This didn’t go so well, though. You were so nervous and shaky that you almost splashed boiling water all over yourself. You decided it wasn’t wise to horribly injure yourself, so you moved on from that. You even tried watching Grey’s Anatomy, which had never failed to distract you before. Even so, you found yourself unable to relax. All you could think about was Harry. What would he say? What would his face look like when he saw the onesie? Would he get it, or would you have to outright tell him you were going to have his child?

You decided to listen to “Kiwi” to get yourself ready to say “I’m having your baby” in case he needed extra help understanding.

At this point, you were basically just watching the clock. You were sure the seconds had never been so long, even when you were waiting for the results of the test.

Finally, you gave up on trying to get your mind off the topic and decided to dive headfirst into it. You made your way upstairs to the room closest to you and Harry’s.

This will be the nursery, you thought with a smile.

You began to map everything out in your mind, from where the crib and dresser would go to what color the blinds would be. You quickly opened Pinterest, very creatively searching “cute nurseries”. You immediately made a new board, flooding your screen with images of play pens and rugs and wall stickers and rocking chairs and everything else you could possibly need.

The time passed faster than you had expected, and the next time you looked up it was 4:52. Knowing he would be home in less than 10 minutes started a whole new rush of nerves in you, and your heart started pounding again.

You went back to the living room, grabbing the little gift bag before going into the kitchen. You adjusted the tissue paper, making the onesie was completely concealed before you put the bag on the counter near the door. You leaned back against the sink, checking your phone again. Your heart jumped when the time changed to 5:00, knowing he would be home any second now. He always managed to get home exactly when he said he would, usually not even off by a minute.

By 5:01, your heart was absolutely pounding out of your chest. Your hands were shaking, so you gripped your phone tighter to steady them. You thought about going into the living room so you could sit, but then your thoughts were interrupted. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the sound. A car door slamming.

You could barely breathe from the anticipation as you heard his heavy footsteps on the porch; his key clicking in the lock. You rushed forward to let him in, but he had already flung the door open.

He dropped his bags, not paying the slightest attention to where they landed. He didn’t hesitate for even a second before he surged forward, pulling you against him.

“I missed you so much,” he said, breathing heavily. “I would have died if I had to go one more day without seeing you.”

“H... I can’t breathe,” you said, your face squished against his chest. He laughed, loosening his grip just enough for you to fully inhale.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just so happy to see you,” he said, pressing his face to the top of your head. “I’m never going on tour without you again, I was so lonely.”

You smiled, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“I’d be ok if you took me with you next time,” you said, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

You stood there in his arms for a few more minutes, just listening to his heart beating. He swayed you gently, breathing in the sweet smell of your conditioner. Finally, he lifted his head.

“So, tell me everything!”

“Everything about...?” You said, looking up at him quizzically.

“The decorating! Did you and my mum buy any good stuff? I’m ready to go, I’ve been thinking about this for the past two days.”

You felt your face heating up as he looked at you. You felt kind of bad that your lie had gotten this far. He was practically ready to redo the entire house, thinking that’s what you wanted.

“Uh... why don’t we go to the living room?”

“Sure,” he smiled, grabbing your hand to lead you.

"Wait!" you said, pulling back. You reached behind him, picking up the gift bag. Then you smiled, allowing him to lead you to the couch.

Once you were both settled, he turned toward you expectantly. You took a deep breath, knowing everything was about to change.

“Ok... I’m really sorry, but I lied to you,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “There was no redecoration, there was no painting, there was no rug.”

“I- why? What were you doing that you couldn’t tell me about?” He asked, looked confused and a little bit hurt.

“No- it’s not... I wasn’t-”

“Why was my mom here, then?”

“Harry, just let me-”

“Why did you- was there-”

You could tell he was spiraling, and that he was probably imagining some pretty bad things. You couldn’t really blame him, though. You had been acting weird and secretive and now you straight up told him you had been lying. You knew this looked bad.

You quickly placed your hand on his knee, trying to ground him.

“Harry, will you let me talk, please?” You asked gently, looking in his eyes.

“Yeah, of course, I’m sorry,” he said, placing his hand over yours.

“Ok, here goes,” you said, blowing out a breath. “When you called me two days ago, the day you told me you were coming home early, you were right. Something was wrong. Well, not wrong exactly, just... scary,” you said, trying to collect your thoughts. And then when you called yesterday, when your mom was here, we weren’t looking at rugs. We were... crafting.”

“Crafting?” He said, looking confused. “Crafting what?”

“Well, it was... actually, why don’t you see for yourself?” You said holding up the gift bag.

He felt how shaky your hand was against his leg, and he looked at you with concern.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Just... just open it, I’m fine,” you managed to get out.

He pulled away the tissue paper, looking very nervous. He lifted the tiny garment out, holding it up in confusion.

“What’s...” he trailed off as you motioned for him to turn it around. When he did, you were met with the big letters telling him there would soon be a third member of the Styles family. You quickly looked at his face, trying to decipher his thoughts.

He lowered the onesie, turning slowly toward you.

“It’s... you’re... really?” He said, a slow grin spreading across his features.

You nearly fell back against the couch in relief as you nodded.

“We’re... really?” He asked again, seemingly in disbelief.

“Yes, really,” you said, smiling.

“You’re- we’re having a baby?”

“Yes,” you repeated. “We’re having a baby.”

You barely got the chance to take a breath before he jumped on you, pushing you down on the couch and kissing you. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. He leaned his forehead against yours, smiling from ear to ear.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispered.

“We are,” you said, grinning.

“Wait,” he said, pushing himself up. He took your hand, pulling you up with him. “Does this mean we don’t get to redecorate? Because, honestly, I was getting really excited about that, I picked out some really good colors-”

You laughed, pressing your face against his chest.

“We can do whatever you want, we just have an extra room to think about now.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “The room where our little jellybean is going to live.”

[katiea03]

hellu! a friend led me to your account and i wanted to req smth right away! i'm a girl who loves hurt comfort so can you do smth with tsukki and kenma where reader doesn't like sitting on their lap or getting carried because she doesn't want to squish them?? thanks bby ❤

❣︎Reader Scared To Sit On Their Lap❣︎

Thx you sm for the request! This one hit home as this is lowkey a insecurity I have but I had a lot of fun writing it! 👁👅👁

❣︎Warnings❣︎: Weight,suggestive

❣︎Genre❣︎: Hurt/comfort, lil fluff

❣︎Featuring❣︎: Tsukishima, Kenma, Oikawa

❣︎A/N❣︎: This is my first official request and I’m really excited how it came out! I/ve never written a scenero or hurt/comfort before but i really liked it! I threw Oikawa in with the other two because of how perceptive he really is. I feel like people forget how smart Oikawa is so he gets a lil love. Am I really starting to become an Oikawa simp maybeeee ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Probably for the first time ever, Tsukishima Kei was clingy. You were hanging out at his place after school as you usually did but today you couldn’t help but notice how tightly Tsuki held onto your hand, or how he would use your head as a resting place for his more often. You obviously weren’t opposed, just surprised by his sudden change in character.

You looked through the kitchen for snacks when Tsukishima hugs you from behind. You jump a little and turn in his arms to see him with his signature smirk that made your knees weak “What’s gotten into you today?”

He looked at you amused “What do you mean?”

He rests his hands on your hips , “You’ve been very touchy that’s all.”

“You don’t like it?” He looks as if he’s about to pull away. You pull him in quickly before he has a chance to pull away. Resting your head on his chest,

“I never said that. I think it's really nice.” You take in the fresh scent of his hoodie.

“Oh yea?” There’s a faint smugness to his words that you recognized instantly

“Yea.” And before you knew it, you felt yourself being lifted up. Panic rushed through you and you tried your best to squirm out of his grasp,

“Put me down! Please just put me down.” Tsukishima could sense the gravity in your voice and put you on the kitchen counter.

“What’s wrong Y/n.” He could see the uneasy look on your face and wondered what he did wrong. You stood silent, not making eye contact with him.

“Babe what is it… did I hurt you?” You remained quiet. Tsuki didn’t want to push you to say anything you didn’t want to, but he was concerned.

“If you don’t want to say anything that okay bu-“

“I’m worried I’ll break you…” Your voice came out shallow. Tsuki almost laughed, not because what you said was funny, but because of how ridiculous the notion was, “What do you mean?”

Still not being able to look at him, you croak out, “I’m scared I’m too heavy for you.” At this point you’re trying to hold back tears. You’re weight has always been such a huge insecurity for you, and truly having to admit it was almost embarrassing.

Tsuki cups your cheek, forcing you to look at him. He had no idea you felt this way, and he wasn’t too sure what to say so the kitchen was almost awkwardly silent. You were about to pull your face away when he tells you,

“Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?” You snap your head to look directly at him. That wasn’t the type of response you were expecting.

“I love you, and no matter what size you are that won’t change. But no, you won’t break me, I’m almost 6’4.”

You choke out a laugh and wipe the tears that brimmed at your eyes,

“Yea but Kei, you’re built like praying mantises!” Tsuki poked you before throwing you over his shoulder and carried you to the living room. You shrieked kicking your legs as genuine laughter escaped your lip.

This would be the first night you would be spending the night at Kenma’s place. He’s spent countless nights at yours but you finally asked to spend the night at his.

Stepping out of the shower, hair wet, and wearing one of his hoodies, you go to look for him. Along the way you inspected his apartment more. There was nothing too special about it, it wasn’t the neatest by any means but you could tell he tidied up a bit before you came. You passed by his living room and saw only a couple photos. He didn’t look too enthusiastic in them but a small smile laced your face seeing him with his friends and family.

You quietly make your way down the hall to his gaming room, and with a soft knock, you creak open the door. Kenma was intensely staring at his computer screen with his huge gaming headset on with his hair messily pulled back. He couldn’t hear you come in but he sensed your presence and turned his head to you.

He softly smiled at you and slid off one side of his headset to hear you properly.

You walked behind his chair and peered at the screen , “So what are you playing right now?” Kenma focuses back on the game and mumbles, “ Rainbow…”

A minute or two goes by of you just wanting his hands rush across the keyboard. His face stayed as neutral as ever, the only indication of stress was the tiny crease that bunched in between his eyebrows. He wins another game and takes off his headset while waiting for the next round to start. He pulled your hand around to sit you into his lap but you backed up and settled on sitting on the arm of his chair. He could see how uncomfortable you were and peered up at you.

“What’s wrong?” You sat a little straighter, “Nothings wrong Kozu.”

He looks up at you unconvinced, “Y/n”

You crossed your arms and try putting on your best face. Unfortunately for you, Kenma knew them all.

“Tell me, what is it?” He took one of your hands in his, softly rubbing his thumb over your palms. You searched his face for any way out of this inevitable conversation you landed in, but to no avail. You sighed and stared intently at the screen in front of you.

“What if I’m too heavy?” What you asked didn’t process in his head for a moment. But when it did, he instantly pulled you into his lap without warning. You go to stand up but he wraps his arms around you, holding you down. You hide your face in his polyester t-shirt feeling extremely self-conscious. You slowly feel yourself calm down and you get yourself more comfy on his lap.

“See you aren’t too heavy.” Kenma is a man of very few words, but as he ran his fingers through your wet hair, you couldn’t have felt more safe and loved.

The next match started and as he slid on his headset (only one ear had it on), you stayed there watching him play. You felt yourself doze off in probably the most comfortable position you had ever been in.

Oikawa was going on about another ridiculous alien conspiracy documentary and was begging to watch it for tonight’s Friday movie marathon. He already had his ‘stylish’ purple alien socks along with his even more ‘trendy’ neon green space martian shirt (according to him of course!). He was already comfy on the worn down couch he owned with tons of blankets.

You come out from the kitchen wearing a big t-shirt of his with the popcorn and set it on the coffee table.

“Oh my beautiful Y/n, what would I do without you?” He sits up on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Probably starve and die.” Oikawa opens the blanket waiting for you to cuddle on the couch with him,

“Rude, but you’re probably right.” He pats at his lap and you come closer to the couch, nervously taking a seat next to him rather than sitting on his lap. You turn on the couch looking for the remote when Oikawa outbursts,

“Ummm excuse me?” He has a hand on his heart with an exasperated look on his face.

You turn to him pretending to be clueless but as you play with your fingers, Oikawa knew something was wrong.

“Shawty, is my lap not good enough for you?” He puts on his best fuck boy face to try and make you laugh- and it usually did, but not this time. He drops the act and pulls your leg onto his.

“Spill, what’s going on?”

Not a sound comes from your lips and you just continue to look down at your lap.

With an extra dramatic sigh he wipes fake tears from his eyes, “ If you're not gonna say anything, I’m gonna have to assume you have terminal cancer.”

You shoot up with wide eyes,

“No!” With that Oikawa throws his head back laughing and you can’t help but laugh too. Eventually the laughter dies down and Oikawa has his serious face again.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?”

It’s quiet for another moment before you actually speak, “I don’t really wanna talk about it babe.” Of course, Oikawa wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

He takes both of your hands in his and kisses them both gently.

“Y’know you can tell me anything.” He was genuinely a little hurt that you felt like you couldn’t talk to him about whatever it was.

“Yeah I know, it's just-I .” You took a deep breath as you felt the tears sting your eyes. Oikawa waited patiently,

“I just feel like I’m too heavy for stuff like that.” Small tears began to stream down your cheek, but Oikawa wiped them away before they could fall too far.

Oikawa’s heart broke wiping away your tears. He had no idea you were dealing with this. He feels the tiniest bit of futile guilt. Despite it not being his fault, he wishes he could’ve done something to make you feel better about yourself. He kisses the top of your head before telling you,

“You are beautiful exactly the way you are, and I’m gonna prove it to you. I promise you.”

You feel your face go warm at his promise to you as he easily lifts you onto his lap. He pulls you into a deep kiss, and as your lips connect you feel the worry and anxiety melt from your body. His kisses trail to your collarbone and the collar of his shirt falls down one side of your shoulder. He leaves a sweet kiss on the edge of your shoulder,

“I don’t care if it takes all night baby.”

He looks up at you with such adoration, you know what he was saying was true. The way he looked at you made you feel beautiful inside and out.

Oikawa was true to his word, and made sure to worship you like you deserved.