#started stimming on the bus

[some-minor-inconvenience]

it was a great moment for me when I realized Jon being called "The Ceaseless Watcher's Special Little Boy" is cannon and not just fan base shenanigans

[all-with-angel]

Stress test // Superhero!Sukuna

➤ Superhero!Sukuna x Gearmaker!Reader

➤ Deadlines are nipping at your heels and you haven't found yourself a willing test subject for your projects. As your last Hail Mary, you waltz into the training area and borrow the first person you see; Not knowing who exactly you had just made your test subject. Not like it matters to you.

➤ gn!reader, Sukuna being sukuna, cocky Sukuna humbled by reader, both are 20+, light injury, sfw, NOT PROOFREAD and I couldve probably done a better job but wtv we die like gojo

You haven’t slept in thirty hours.

You haven’t eaten anything other than energy bars and instant coffee in fourteen, and the last time you took a break was when a rogue drone had exploded and knocked you out for 16 minutes. Those were a good 16 minutes.

You’d love to take a rest, sleep until the world exploded even, but deadlines were looming over your head like a death knell, red marker on your calendar telling you ‘You’re screwed.’

You had ideas- God, you had way too many ideas. Building them was one thing, but that was the easiest part really. You could do that in your sleep, and frankly, probably had once or twice. No, the problem was testing them.

You needed raw data. Field stress levels, user performance under duress, energy thresholds when pushed to their uppermost limit. Simulated tests could only go so far. The board wanted grit. They wanted the real deal. The kind that said, “Yes, this will absolutely survive a villain launching a bus at your face.” or “Yes, this will hold up against the strength of Infinity.” (Like that's even possible)

And you couldn’t give that. How could you? You didn’t have teams of testers like the more known gadget makers, no, you had yourself and A.I. test dummies that started flirting with you if they weren’t reset every other week.

You were a genius. But what good is a genius without results?

You put on your best unwrinkled lab coat, shoved your tablet under one arm, slapped a fresh stim patch onto your neck, and marched your overworked ass down to the training floors of the facility. Academy, as the higher ups would say, but it was anything but that really.

You didn’t learn much here other than that most of your coworkers were stupid.

Today’s plan? 

Find the strongest idiot. Throw gadgets at them. Hope for the best.

Yeah. 

Yeah, that sounded good. You really were a genius. Or sleep deprived. You couldn’t tell.

The facility, of course, was always active. Training rooms were booked 24/7 by heroes, cadets, and the occasional egomaniac. As you stepped into the third hall, the sound of explosions- actual explosions- echoed down the corridor, followed by some deeply maniacal laughter.

Sounds like the strongest idiot to me.

You took a step into the viewing area, peering into the highly reinforced glass and observed. There was smoke everywhere, but it quickly dispersed to reveal your maybe test subject.

He looked pretty familiar. HawkTuna-something?

He stood there in a scorched tank top, hands on his hips, surrounded by sparking debris. Pink hair and red eyes, face tattoos. He looked more like a gangster than a hero.

You jogged your memory, as fucked as it was- and remembered some news broadcasting about a Hero that had more than half of his fights end with a building or two collapsing. You snapped your fingers when you remembered, “The King”. That was his hero name.

You recalled it from an interview, where he refused to be called anything other than that. Right, so he was a cocky fucker. You could work with that. 

A few minutes later, you found yourself at a vending machine right outside the training hall, buying yourself your nth energy drink today. Just as you grabbed the can from the machine, the mechanical doors of the training room opened. Out came walking the King, steps heavy but not rushed.

You straightened your lab coat, holding your tablet to your chest and energy drink in the other as you walked up to him. “Uh, excuse me?” You smiled politely. Holy hell, he was bigger up close.

“What?” He clicked his tongue, red eyes narrowing at you. “You better make this quick. I have things to do.”

“Would it be alright if I borrowed you for a little while? You see I need test subje-”

“Not interested.” He huffed, shoving past you.

Okay, rude. You stumbled to the side, head whipping in his already departing direction. You mentally debated whether pursuing an already bitchy test subject was worth it, before realizing that both your job and education was on the line. You let out a huff of frustration before running after his retreating figure.

“Hey! Wait! Um- Tuna guy? Suzuki, was it?”

He stopped abruptly, leading you to bump into his back face first. He didn’t even budge. Instead, he turned around, a scowl that would leave any sane person shaking in their boots. 

Unfortunately, you were not sane. At least not right now.

“Sukuna. It’s Sukuna.” He hissed at you.

“Oh right, yeah, Sukuna. Anyway-” You took a few steps back, clearing your throat before continuing. “I need to put my projects under stress tests so I need-”

“Don’t they have simulations for that?” He was tapping his foot, crossing his arms as he looked down on you. 

Okay, this guy seriously had to stop interrupting you. “Well uh, those can only go so far. And the board wants actual real life testing,” You answered. “Could you come up to the lab with me and test some of them? It’ll be quick. I promise. I just need to get my reports done before my deadline.”

“Why should I care?”

“Sorry?”

“I said why should I care?” Sukuna repeated. “You’re some nobody asking me for a favor when I’m supposed to be getting dinner. Who do you think you are talking to the future number 1, huh?” He leaned forward, looming over you with a scowl.

“The future number 1 hero?” You mused, staring right back at him. “I highly doubt that.” It hurt your neck to crane your neck this high, but you kept your voice from wavering.

“Tsk. Do you not even know who I am? What I’m capable of, brat?” He clicked his tongue, voice lowering into a growl as he glared, crimson eyes inches away from yours. “I can destroy this facility and everyone in it in seconds.” 

“So?” You blinked.

You could see his eye twitch. “Do you have a death wish you-” His voice raised, almost yelling before you cut him off.

“Dude. Seriously, I can’t care less about what you can do.” You waved him off, “I only care if you can help me. Got it?” 

Sukuna, The King- The so-called prodigy with more potential as a villain than a hero, stood there, dumbstruck at your audacity. You could see the gears turn in his head, the veins starting to pop on his neck.

You sigh in faux defeat, slumping your shoulders. “Unless you’re too much of a pussy to test some measly little gadgets.” You shake your head, turning away from him. “It’s a shame really, the so-called future number 1, scared by some nobody's little inventions.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not falling for your taunting.”

“Alright.” You shrug. “But you do sound,” You look him up and down, pointedly ignoring the imprint of his muscles the size of your waist. “-pretty weak to me.”

Sukuna stood there, glowering at you, a support course nerd he’d never even heard of. To be honest, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious at what you’ve got in store in that lab of yours if you’d really go this far to recruit him. His manager probably would be annoyed that he was late to their dinner meeting again, but what was that idiot gonna do anyway? Yell at him?

He clicks his tongue. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” You raise a brow, a small smirk tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, fine.” He snarled.

“Perfect!” You clapped your hands once, previous ‘disappointed’ demeanor melting away quickly. “Come, come. Follow me.”

You click the handcuffs into place. “Comfortable?”

“No.” Sukuna answered, flexing his hands under the cold steel of the cuffs.

“Good. They’re not supposed to be,” Nodding, you take a few steps back. “Now break out of them.” You look down to your tablet, tapping a few buttons to monitor the stress levels of the cuffs and see how quickly they might break. You two have been at this for a while now, most of the gadgets being destroyed or barely grazing the cocky hero- Who simply grew more arrogant with every failed test. “These are a pair of reinforced handcuffs, they should hold up quite well-”

The handcuffs explode into pieces, scraps of metal littering the floor and edges of the testing area. “Against some robber, maybe.” Sukuna drawled. “Is this it? Are you seriously gonna waste my time with barely put-together chunks of metal?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the pair of handcuffs off the list and marking it for extra blast reinforcement and maybe power dampening qualities.

“Nope. Next.” You grabbed a gadget from your side table, raising it and aiming at Sukuna. The hero stares at you, the weapon and then back at you. Seemingly unimpressed. “A gun? Really?”

“It's a non-lethal firearm, just as impactful as rubber bullets but not as harmful.” You keep your aim steady, ready to fire.

“I’ve melted bullets in mid-air. Do you really think that would work?” 

“They’re high velocity, so we’ll find out.” You pull the trigger twice, but nothing hits Sukuna. Instead, two very small and unrecognizable puddles of the bullets are a few feet away from him.

“Well, well, well. Looks like your high velocity rounds aren’t much compared to me.” He scoffed.

This time, you felt your eye twitch. He really was starting to get on your nerves. “Yeah, guess so.” You lowered the gun to your side. “Could you get the next gadget? It’s behind you.”

“Tsk. Asking me to do your job now, huh?” Sukuna rolled his eyes, large frame turning around and inspecting the table behind him. Just enough time for him to lower his guard. You raised the gun again, firing at his back- This time, it hits.

“Fuck!” The hero exclaimed, lips pulled into a scowl as he whipped his entire body towards you. “The hell was that?!”

You hummed in satisfaction, finally setting down the gun and tapping your tablet to record the results. Success. “My finger must’ve slipped, sorry.”

“Like hell it did!”

“Did it hurt?” You smirked.

Sukuna felt a bruise forming on his back, the point of impact throbbing lightly on his back. “No. Of course not.”

“Noted.”

Sukuna growled at you, ready to lunge and rip you a new one before he remembered that if he did maul another of his coworkers, that he’d get suspended. Again. So instead, he huffed and crossed his arms. “Are we done yet? Or do you have more chaos to unleash?”

“Yep, just one more.” You tossed a grenade-shaped contraption up and down your hand. “Though, this one has healing properties. Should help with the pain.”

Sukuna eyed you suspiciously, checking if this was another trick. He didn’t find anything other than quiet amusement in your eyes and anticipation. You were clearly enjoying it with him as your test subject. When you noticed his distrustful glare, you reassured him with a smile. “Don’t worry, if something goes wrong, the agency has your medical bills covered.”

He rolled his eyes, like that made it any better. “So you're saying something can go wrong?”

You shrugged. “Anything could go wrong, really.” You traced your thumb on the metal of your little toy, finger hovering right on the detonation button- It should go off after 5 seconds after pressing it. “But trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.” Sukuna said, voice flat.

“Shame.” You pressed the button, tossing it at his feet and stepping backwards. He didn’t move though, even if he did raise a brow at your sudden withdrawal- It didn’t last long before the healing grenade exploded.

Green slime-like substance coated him and a good portion of the area, luckily nowhere near you. The substance from the grenade seemed to pulse and glow green, especially the chunks that were on and around Sukuna. You quickly noted that down.

Sukuna cringed at the sludge coating his body, he didn’t feel any better than he did 3 seconds ago, maybe even a little worse with how icky the green goo felt. “The hell?” He raised his hand, the slime connecting in strands to the rest of his torso. “Some healing grenade this is.”

You stayed quiet.

He clicked his tongue, glaring at you before looking to the door. “I’m done with this bullshit. Now I gotta take a shower before going anywhe-” Sukuna tried to take a step forward, only to be halted by the slime. He kept trying to pull at his limbs, each action taking more effort than the last as it became apparent that this was no ordinary healing grenade.

It hadn’t even passed any screenings yet. And this was still a work in progress, not an actual thing you had to test at the moment. It was one of your flukes, you knew that. Sukuna, did not. “Oh, right. About this one,” You picked up your tablet, voice painfully nonchalant as you act unaware of the struggle that Sukuna was going through. “I don’t exactly have a dissolvent for the healing cream, and it gets quite sticky.”

“Then what are you waiting for??”  Sukuna screeched, head snapping in your direction as any fire or explosion he tried to use was cancelled by the healing agent. Did you mention that it also doubles as a power-cancelling agent? No? Oops. “Get to work on it then!!”

You shrugged, turning your back to him and towards the exit “Alright.”

“Hey, HEY! Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” 

You turned around, motioning towards the testing area in shambles. “You don’t expect me to work in this mess, do you?” Voice level, like you were pointing out solid facts- trying your damn hardest to not let the smugness bleed into your tone.

“So, what? You're just gonna leave me here??” Sukuna sounded a mix of stunned, confused and angry.

“Thats the plan, yeah.” You start walking away, the door hissing as it automatically opened. “Don’t worry! It’ll probably melt off in an hour if I’m not done by then!” You give him a wave, smirking at him over your shoulder. 

“Probably?? You motherfu-”

He was spewing curses at you now, belittling you and trying his hardest to defend his last remaining drops of dignity. You simply smiled back, polite. “See you, Number one.”

Yeah, you weren’t going to work on that dissolvent.

(open!) tags: @idontwannatalkrn1

[just1cefor4ll]

I recently got into School bus graveyard and I COMPLETELY understand the hype, idk if im the only who does this... but literally the moment I was done I went to tumblr for fics, but there's like none?? So maybe some dating headcanons for the group!! ^^

Dating Headcanons for the sbg characters

Ashlyn Banner

best person to have a lazy day with tbh

i swear yall would be like “should we go out today” look at each other for 5 seconds and say “nah”

she would teach you some gymnastics and laugh when your just lying there complaining how you aren’t flexible

probably is more of a person that gives you gifts, or gives you a hug in stead of comforting you with words

she would be a bit awkward at first probably

also I don’t think she likes excessive physical touch cuz red confirmed that Ashlyn is autistic but when she gets used to you she would be okay with it but still, don’t go too hard on her

you let her play/stim with your fingers

you’re always there for her when she gets overwhelmed and she loves you so much for that

doesn’t call you that many nicknames probably a short version of your name but if your name is already short then probably just love or babe

if you speak another language she would definitely wanna know some words or learn with you

if it’s your mother language then she would be like “omg how was [your country] like!”

probably is a nerd in some sort of way

anyway probably a great girlfriend to have but only if you aren’t the type to be really really and I mean REALLY extroverted

Taylor Hernández

this girl is such a cutie!!

would plan dates, sleepovers, night outs..

drawing/picnic dates are a must

watching the sunset or sunrise together on the rooftop

calls you cute nicknames like sunshine, mi vida, sugar and that kind of stuff

is very affectionate

cuddles !!

shes the little spoon probably but if you’re feeling down then she will gladly be the big spoon

you would definitely braid her hair if you know how, if you don’t know then there’s another idea for a date! teaching you how to braid hair!

probably isn’t even that awkward at first probably a little bit shy but gets pretty confident later on

the best partner to have if you’re insecure

makes your insecurities disappear in a heartbeat

overall a 11/10 girlfriend !! we love taylor :D

Tyler Hernández

he is probably a tsundere tbh

acting like he doesn’t care but when you are alone he babies you sm

no matter if your bigger then him, stronger, smaller, it doesn’t matter, he babies you no matter what

don’t let the others know tho

isn’t afraid to show you off like girl bffr

holds your hand, has his hand on your waist, kisses you on the forehead, cheek or lips before class starts (even if you are in the same class)

uses nicknames like mi amor, mi reina/mi rey, baby ect.

nicknames with him are endless

movie night is a must

probably would take you to his baseball practice

has a separate album for you only

everyone in the group can tell he’s love sick like he looks at you with heart eyes

a jealous type probably

would beat up anyone and everyone who looks at you the wrong way

he’s probably touch starved and he hides his feelings from you because he just prioritises you over anything

you gotta full on force him to tell you what’s wrong but after a while he opens up to you normally

a 100/10 boyfriend the poor boys been through too much

Logan Fields

gardening dates!!

gives you flowers when you’re sad or just whenever to make your day!

stargazing dates

yapps your ear off about astrology (you let him tho)

calls you nicknames like bunny, hun, love

gives you honest opinions on everything

regrets his choices when you get grumpy afterwards

makes it up to you by cuddling you or kissing your whole face

introduces you to his grandparents

they approved of course because they just trust that he can pick himself a good s/o

hugs from behind!!

reads you a book when you can’t sleep

helps you with your work but doesn’t do it for you (Barron trauma)

best person to seek when you want comfort and or advice

gives you honest advice so if you were in the wrong expect him to tell you lmao

if you listen to music on vinyls or CDs then definitely brings you to a music shop and he will spoil you rotten

loves listening to your music taste no matter what genre it is he just wants to bond with you

he’s such an adorable and amazing boyfriend it mealts my heart !! :D

Aiden Clark

be prepared to patch this boy up every single second of the day

and also getting him out of trouble every single day

he is a wild one for sure

doesn’t mean he’s a bad boyfriend

loves showing you things he learned on his skateboard and he tries to teach you

does that thing where he holds your hands while your on the skateboard, tells you to jump and flips the board for you

that tik tok kind of shi

while on the topic of tik tok, does every silly couple tik tok trend with you lmao

yapps your ear of all day every day

not the best person to ask for advice from but he will hold you until you feel better!

best cuddle buddy

and hug buddy

if you don’t like physical touch then idk if you could have a relationship with him, he will CLING to you as if his life depended on it

loves it when you play with his hair

makes a playlist for you two

calls you nicknames like rockstar, doll, my love, bae, babe

definitely has you saved as “future wife🤭❤️” or “the mother of my kids🥵😍”

he be weird like that

loves to have you in his lap

idk he probably likes you ass sm, not in a sexual way but just lays on it, smacks it, squishes it..

only in private tho

honestly a pretty good boyfriend but he’s more of like your child then boyfriend

Ben Clark

a chill one for sure

hugs, holding hands are a must

listening to music through his headphones how he did with Taylor in that one episode

jealousy scale is um pretty high

you gotta reassure this boy because he’s just scared of loosing you

would fr fight 100 people at once for you if you asked him to

whenever he gets angry, you’re there for him when Aiden can’t and he appreciates that

loves it when you hold his hand and rub circles on the back of it

forehead kisses >>

probably doesn’t give you that many nicknames since he doesn’t speak, either a short version of your name, bae or hun

the best listener ever (not because he doesn’t speak)

when you start to yap and just talk about the most random things he has your back against his chest as he rests his chin on your shoulder

very chill and overall good boyfriend

[ominoose]

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Can't write Valentine hc's without including the romantical king himself.

V - Vase (What flowers he gets you)

The bouquet wouldn't be huge, but it wouldn't be a small, cheap one either. Steven makes sure your favourite flowers are present, with a sparkly butterfly on a stick amongst some babies breath and daises.

It's either from Tesco or a local vegan stall, depending on how late he is to the bus.

A - Affectionate (How openly affectionate is he?)

Steven is at his happiest when he can freely shower you with affection, anywhere and anytime preferably. No one respects you boundaries like Steven, you don't need to explain anything, but if you aren't averse then he'll find away to convey his love.

Hand holding is his favourite, it's simple but something that only couples do, gives him the ability to squeeze you, rub his thumb across your skin, drum his fingers if he needs a little stim.

Kissing your nose, laying a head on the other's shoulder, playing with each other's hair, any and all PDA is his hobby.

This doesn't really change much with Valentines, the only new thing he does is stare at you lovingly with hearts in his eyes for minutes at a time.

L - Love Language

Words of Affirmation

As a man with the gift of the gab, it's easy for Steven to show his love by spewing it to you via his usual word vomit. This comes in the form of simple "I love you" when he's popping into the toilet, startling you by suddenly breaking a silence and telling you how beautiful you are, comparing you to his interests ("You should've seen the jewels Cleopatra wore, I mean, oh my god, she had these big scarab beetle pendants that were absolutely gorgeous - Not as beautiful as you, obviously, but-".)

E - Eat (Where and how does he dine you?)

Steven is a quaint man, his soul already that of an elderly man resting at a bus stop on a Sunday Morning. The morning starts with breakfast in bed, a classic toast and vegan scrambled egg with your hot beverage of choice and a nice lunch at the park from a local farmer stand.

Dinner is where he really shines, and perhaps almost does too much. Steven will have spent weeks on Trivago and Google Maps searching for the best restaurant to take you to, scouring the menus and pictures for one that has an atmosphere you'll like.

One downside is how long he takes faffing about with which suit to wear and getting himself out of the knot in his tie that's somehow looped around his belt.

N - Nicknames (What nicknames do you share?)

The typical British pet names make up most of his vocabulary for you, think 'Love', 'Darling', 'Sweetheart'. Occasionally he'll try and throw in something new, likely stemming from something he's interested in at the time or a show you've both watched.

When you watched Game of Thrones together (he could only sit through two seasons) he'd called you his 'Khalesi' for a week.

Sometimes it's an entire cheesy phrase, like "the stars to my moon" or something in French that he's accidentally mispronounced without realising.

The one line he won't cross is comparing you to any god(ess), for fear that comparing you to someone like Aphrodite would get you smited.

T - Tacky (How cliche is he?)

Very. Steven romanticizes romance, spending too much of his single life watching romcoms and nearly crying when he saw couples walking in the park.

He's aware of this and while he tries to hold back a bit and be more realistic most days, Valentines is when he gets to go all out.

Enchanted is a Valentine's tradition for you both, always sitting down to watch it sometime between the 13-15th, curled on the couch and singing along without a care in the world.

Once he made you sit in his lap and rest your cheek on his mouth so he could spend an entire night kissing you while he read a book. When you brought up how that would quickly grow uncomfortable, he put on his best puppy eyes and said it could be your Valentine's present to him.

I - Innovate (How did he fix a Valentines gone wrong?)

Unless you count slightly less mainstream activities like making Lego flowers together or painting matching mugs, he doesn't do anything too groundbreaking during Valentines, so if plans go south he's left scrambling a bit when thinking outside the box.

This is made up by the fact that he's always a listener, sitting with rapt attention to your needs and whatever feelings you can communicate. You tell him what you need, he's getting it done in record time. You can't quite word your wants, he'll try his best to match up what you need with what you're saying.

N - Naughty

Ideally, Valentines end in some very intimate and slow sex, full of soulful eye contact, slow kissing and reverent touches. It's much less about getting off and more about doing something that you can only do with each other, a private little world under the covers where you bare your hearts.

He's more than fine if you aren't up for that, or want something different. As long as he gets to at-least cuddle with you in bed, his Valentines closes with a happy ending.

E - Ending (How does he wrap up Valentines day?)

In bed. Doing what? Doesn't matter. Playing Scrabble, watching Peter Rabbit, discussing the fall of capitalism, having some toast, it's all the same to Steven. The one thing he wants is to be snug as a bug under the covers with you, legs touching blanket up to his chin.

No matter how the day has went, if he can come home to you, he's got the world.

S - Song

British classic that he thinks is cheeky and fun, probably what he dances around the kitchen to while he makes your breakfast in bed, thinking himself suave.

[stretch-writes]

LADS Men react to you doing a little dance sometimes (self indulgent because i do it as a stim (?) )

Xavier:

you two were just eating some dinner in a cozy restaurant, music playing from the speakers as you dined

then that one song pops up, so as you ate, you started to groove a bit in your seat. Shimmying a bit and dancing without getting up.

Xavier notices and smiles. "You like this song?"

if you get embarrassed and apologize, he'd comfort you.

"No, keep going. It's cute."

Next time it happens, he joins you a little bit <3

Zayne:

You were waiting for Zayne to come out of his office, music playing from one of the radios by the desk you were nearby.

As you sat in the waiting room, you started to hum and dance a bit in your seat to the music.

Zayne appears, and watches you for a bit before letting you know of his presence

"Are you having fun?"

If you apologize, he'd comfort you.

"Dancing is a great way of exercise and energy release. You should do it more."

Rafayel:

You two would be waiting for a taxi or bus to get to a special art event that Rafayel got forced to go to wanted to go to

And deciding to pass the time, you two shared earbuds and listened to music

soon you were tapping your legs and swaying in your seat to the song, smiling.

Rafayel notices your dancing and smiled. "Awww, cutie, look at you."

If you get embarrassed, he'd try to dance with you.

"No need to get embarrassed, my bodyguard. I am always up to dance with you."

Sylus:

you two were hanging out at Sylus's hideout, listening to the radio while you two did your own thing (while still hanging out in the same room)

One song comes on, that's making you tap your feet and hum. Shimmying in your seat a bit.

Sylus sees this and smiles a bit, then turns the radio volume up higher.

"You didn't dance like this when we went to that auction, kitten."

If you get embarrassed, he'd tsk and hold you.

"Don't stop now. Show me your moves, sweetheart."

Caleb:

You two were at a new restaurant, with music playing over the speakers as you two ate your nice food.

A song comes on, your song, and you started to groove in your seat as you ate. Humming happily as you ate.

Caleb sees and laughs a tiny bit before joining you.

Soon, you two are doing a little groove at your table as you two ate.

Once the song is done, (and you apologize), he'd laugh to himself a tiny bit.

"I'm used to your little quirks, pipsqueak. I just didn't know you liked this song. Maybe we should dance to it again sometime."

[s0phslibrary]

˚✧⁺˳༚ Bakugou x reader; platonic/best friends edition !! ˚✧⁺˳༚

my personal headcanons on what it would be like to be best friends with him (this is also inspired by us in my MHA DR, based on backstory and how i imagine it'll go!)

content tidbits: strictly platonic bond (aroace bakugou and aroace reader implied) 2-A era, following the plot but not the full on war, swearing, gender neutral reader but some possible fem leaning attributes mentioned at a point (makeup), fairly headstrong but also introverted reader, physical affection, maybe ooc bkg?, brief mention of death/injury, sliver of angst?, lots of fluff and comfort and attentive katsuki. also not rly proofread.

word count: 1.2k :p

A/N: I LOVE HIMMM :((( shifting to be his best friend is going to be so lovely. he's so angel.

how your bond started and grew !

so lets say y'all met at the start of your UA years, were seated next to each other. he was being his pissy lil 15 year old self, sitting on the table, yelling, average cunt attitude. you sat next to him, and eventually told him to stfu. naturally, that both irked and surprised him because nobody had really ever done so. but it somehow drew him in.

over the next few months, a 'tolerance', in his words, formed. but it was in fact friendship, he just didn't want to admit so (emotionally constipated ass)

he'd pick you first in sparring, knowing your strength and agility would work into his (because let's face it, at this point he still would have a complex of not wanting to be around anyone 'weak').

more time goes on, and there's a bit more opening up between the two of you. more on your side, but he tries. you see sides of each other you didn’t know were there, but it only elevates reason for your mutual admiration and respect.

moving into the dorms was a big plus for you both. you had more time to talk, hang out, and train. yes, people suspected smth more was going on, which was fucking annoying. but you both knew there was no romance in things. you just genuinely like each other's company

the actual headcanons lolol:

it took a while to get to it, but physical affection doesn’t go left out in your friendship. this is one of the main reasons people think you're together, but you both see it with the fact that intimacy doesn’t need to be more than just general feelings of closeness. yes, he complains when you use him as a human heater or pillow. but you don't miss how he buries his face into you, at last letting himself relax. he feels safe with you, and probably only you to do so. you might cuddle in your dorms after a long school day, rest on each other on the bus, hold hands when anxious. anything small or specifically by preference.

you are not of exception to is bullshit and remarks, i'd like to preface. but he does make an effort to remember any boundaries or triggers you have. your friendship holds a lot of value to him, and he would not want to cause any dents. and if he does, he waits, gives space, then it's talked out.

taking down villains is one of y'all's favourite hobbies LMAOOO. if you're his friend, you can match his energy and speed. the shit eating grins you both share when admiring your handy work (beat to shit villain) don't go unnoticed by classmates or teachers.

he teaches you to cook better! you maybe already could, but his teaching also comes from a place of care. cooking and eating good keeps you going, in his eyes at least. but you also both go out for food a lot. and don't think he hasn't forcefully built your spice tolerance.

you either bond over fandoms or get each other into them. which is dangerous if you are also a collector. maximalism fears you two. but it also helps with conversation. he was izuku's childhood bsf, TRUST the bitch knows how to ramble.

he is not only loyal, but extremely fucking observant. to the point he can read you cover to cover. whether it's your mood, a habit/stim/tic you have, what makes you laugh, what your favourite song is at the moment- he knows you in a way that signs his devotion to you and the dedication he has to your friendship.

he has a specific level of trust in you, especially after opening himself up to you in terms of who he is behind his crass and crude demeanour, and his thoughts/experiences. he wants you both to feel like you never have to fear expressing yourselves when it's only you two.

y'alls most common hang outs would be: cooking, watching shitty reality shows and mocking the people in them, movie nights, training/sparring, cooking, studying, going on walks/hikes, and concerts.

he just picks you up for some reason? off the ground?? zero explanation?? sometimes just walks around holding u like a bag????

if you ever bicker, it goes on for so. fucking. long. everyone in the class A dorms is TIRED. but you both can't help but crack grins during it, because you actually enjoy seeing how creative you can get.

DEEP !! CONVERSATIONS!!! we've seen him go to bed at 8pm in the series, but i don’t actually think he sleeps then. you've shared many times where either of u couldn’t sleep and texted each other to come over to one of your dorms, and didn't get to sleep til 3 because of your yap session. it could start as just gossiping or ranting, but then it could get to what you think comes after death or some shit 🧌 or your fears, and why they're fears to begin with. but you both soon drift off, and scramble to get ready the next day LOLL

he very begrudgingly let you do his makeup one day, and from there decided to start wearing eyeliner! he wanted to for a while (emo) but only started when seeing himself with it boosted his confidence :))

at some point, you get matching piercings and/or tattoos. he made fun of you for being nervous but almost shat himself when he got his tongue pierced. as for tattoos, i see you both getting an explosion, and also something related to your quirk as well. small but easy to spot, like a badge of pride.

he is clingy. he ain't ever gonna admit it, but he is in fact a koala at points. but it's for the reason he finally found a person who's company and presence doesn’t require him to be on guard of snap. you have a level of patience with him, and that means more than he can show or say.

speaking of showing and saying, he's often gifting you small trinkets or things related to things you like :) also making you meals when you're down, even if it's that 'shitty unhealthy crap you always want'. seeing you smile is important to him. so is knowing you're okay.

would probably freak if you got injured badly. he finally found someone who gets him, and who's his number 1 when things get hard, and the thought of you being in pain or losing you makes his stomach hurt. but if it's not severe, he'll be there to attend to you if you don't go to Recovery Girl.

you will have either a shared agency or agencies close in location/affiliation when you become pro's. no matter rankings or ratings, you will cheer each other on and offer support whenever you can. not even climbing to the top will separate you from each other. also if it's your choices, you go on a LOT of missions together.

he genuinely loves you sm it's so sweet :( <333 he won’t say it often, but showing it though quality time, a gift, or acts of service, is a common occurrence. it's a mutual love language to look out for each other and always be there for each other if it's accessible. you're his platonic soulmate, even though he'd rather drink piss than say so. he might not want to spend his life with someone tied down, but you're a placement he's willing to maintain.

[ritz-writes]

i love how the good omens fixation can just slam into u like a bus. like, ur still in the road and have been for months since the first bus hit you. but then it comes back and runs you over randomly.

i saw a gif of aziraphale pulling crowley to go dance and legit just started stimming cuz like. that happened! he asked him to dance! and giggled! then took his HAND!! AND PULLED HIM TO THE DANCE FLOOR!!! LIKE?? THAT HAPPENED! THEY DID THAT! THEY THEY THEY

im not normal about this show and never will be thank u for coming to my ted talk

[ashthewaterghoul]

Mushy May Day 10: Secret Admirer - Dewdrop/Phantom

Prompt list by @forlorn-crows can be found here All my Mushy May will be slightly shorter stories and can also be found on ao3 :) Words - 875

    Dewdrop didn’t like change. It was a simple truth everyone knew. He didn’t like it when he was summoned, when he had to start bowing to Copia instead of Terzo, when he was forced to a new element, when he had to take Ifrit’s spot and Rain his own former spot, or when Zephyr was replaced with the two Ghoulettes. Granted some of them changes had a good deal of trauma behind them that played a factor in Dew’s reactions, but that didn’t change the fact that Dew doesn’t like change.

    So, you can imagine how well he took it when it was announced that Aether – his Aether – was being forcibly retired, barred from touring and a new Quint would be summoned to take his place.

    Dew didn’t even acknowledge Phantom for weeks. He didn’t care if the new Ghoul barely knew their left from their right, if most kits were more powerful from them, all Dew could see when he saw them was red. It was the red of Aether’s blood that surely was going to be spilt soon. It was the red of his eyes as they glowed with frustration. It was the red of his grief and anger and sorrow.

    Slowly, Dew managed to at least exist alongside Phantom but Dew had started to feel a little… more in regards to the adorable bug. However, Dew was extremely stubborn, even giving Mountain a run for his money sometimes, so he would never come out and say it. Instead, he had to be a little more subtle.

    Phantom had been pushing themself to the limit since day 1, desperate to please everyone so that they showed no reason to be sent back to the Pits. They never wanted to go back if they could help it.

    Without being too egotistical, they had impressed nearly everyone - everyone that mattered, at least. Except Dewdrop. He’d been a little less venomous than he was when they were first summoned but they still wanted to be friends, at least. They were in the same pack, surely they should be friends, no?

    Phantom came back from another long practice session with a sigh, happy to finally be able to rest when a certain smell caught them. They looked into the kitchen and saw their favourite snacks and drinks on the counter with their name written on them. They giggled and jumped up and down as they gathered the snacks and went back to their room, feasting on it all with happy purrs and chirps as they rewatched Nosferatu for the millionth time.

    The next day, they woke up late for Mass again and ran out their room, into the kitchen while still pulling on their uniform to find their bat mug full of coffee just the way they liked it. They nursed it through the entire service and even offered a few sips to Swiss next to them even if it was too sweet and too milky for his taste.

    Dew walked by the music room one day to hear the little bat practicing their chord progressions and knew the exact one they kept tripping over. So he went to the library and found the music textbook that helped him learn, and set it on their doorstep. Dew smiled into his coffee cup the next morning when Phantom came in to excitedly tell Rain all that had found their way to them.

    Phantom was very curious as to who was sending them all these things. They couldn’t get anyone to admit to it but there was no way it was Dew either. It just couldn’t be. The rare conversation they shared were no more than a few words between them and Dew had never shown any want for anything between them aside from the minimum that was expect so the tour bus wouldn’t be too awkward.

    Some slightly bigger gestures started to show up too. A weighted bat plushie to help their anxiety and when they’re overstimulated. A case of plectrums so they could test out different thicknesses, materials and shapes. Blackout curtains for their room. An electric blanket for their nest. A whole box of various stim toys.

    Small notes were coming through too now.

    Read these were good for autistic people.

    I saw you looking at them the other day.

    I know you love these.

    Little birdy told me you wanted this but didn’t have enough.

    Hope this puts a smile on your face.

    And it always did just that. Especially when the notes also had little drawings on them – usually bats, guitars, stars or sparkles.

    Phantom only discovered that it all was in fact Dewdrop on the day he asked them out on a date.

[sugassemicircularcanal]

Burgundy Thorns Act I: Lock You

🖤 Yoongi x Reader

🎤 Rapper!Yoongi | ☁️ Fluff | 🤍 Tenderness | 🔞 Smut | 🎶 Lots of $uicideboy$ lyrics

📝 Word Count: 9.1k

⚠️ Warnings: depictions of psychosis, self-harm, dying, drug use

🏥 Reader and Yoongi (in their mid-20s) meet in a psychiatric facility and fall into obsession maybe love, we'll see.

Please give my corny little fanfic a chance.

📖 Will be two acts!

🎧 Inspired by the songs Burgundy and Thorns by $uicideboy$

💿 Album: New World Depression

You still don’t know how your parents can afford it. This place is really nice. 

The floors are marble stone polished to a mirror.

The air in every hallway is infused with lavender, eucalyptus–sometimes sandalwood. 

All the furniture looks like it’s all from Restoration Hardware, like the catalogs your mom used to leave on the counter and never order from. 

The bedding at the residential house is so comfortable you figure the blankets cost more than your wardrobe. 

“___ is there anything you’d like to share today?”

There’s a pause before you speak. 

You’re not sure what you have to offer to this room of people with problems bigger and uglier than yours.

“…I fantasize about dying–just so I’m not alone with my thoughts about living,” You say fiddling with a stim toy. 

Your feet reposition themselves on the shiny floors. If someone slipped and fell they’d definitely crack their head open. 

Across the circle, Burgundy shifts in his chair. He’s quiet, but not invisible.

He’s wearing a Yohji Yamamoto jersey tracksuit with a brass safety pin brooch. You couldn’t help but notice. 

You continue sharing. 

"Sometimes it’s not on purpose, my mind just goes there, and that’s when I wish it would stop.”

You’re not allowed to share details about drugs or gore in session so you leave it at that. 

Earlier, you want to say, “I thought about putting my hand in a pot of boiling water. Like the water would stop the trembling for the two hours between lunch and going back to the residential house. It’s a terrible feeling to look out of the window watching cars speed past the lackadaisical pace of the bus that may or may not crash”.

And before you know it you’ve said all that outloud. 

You feel your eyes widen for a moment and then relax.

You look at the counselor directing the session. They give a slightly disapproving look.  

“Right, sorry.” You murmur. 

Across the room “Burgundy” laughs. Just once. Sharp. Defensive.

You glance at him.

“It wasn’t funny.”

He says, a smile lingering in his voice,“I know. That’s why I laughed.” 

He doesn’t apologize. 

–

You’re spacing out after the last session of the day, pleasantly blank, until a familiar voice interrupts you.

“Still think the bus might crash?”

It’s Burgundy but you don’t turn. 

“Thanks for reminding me,” you sigh.  

Talking about it in a group had helped. To your disbelief. 

After a moment of silence you expect him to walk away but he doesn’t.

You glance down and he is unmistakably wearing a pair of white Margiela sneakers, the split-toe ones. Perfectly out of place. 

On the bus, he takes the seat beside you. You don’t protest. You don’t dwell on him laughing in group, either.

Before you know it your hands start to shake as fear crawls up your spine. 

The bus lurches into movement. 

Slowly, cautiously, you feel his hand near yours. Fingers brush. Then he laces them together.

Something in you latches on quickly and the trembles turn into you squeezing his hand. 

You don’t want to let go. 

He starts talking to you.

You realize what he’s doing before he does. 

Distracting you.

"He was talking in circles like he just snorted a line of Ritalin.”

“Who?” you sak. 

“The counselor.”

“So what”, you say, eyes closing as the cars start to blur past the window. His hand is soft and warm, bigger than yours.

“So, I stopped listening after he said the word ‘wellness’ for the third time.”

You almost smile. 

“Your real name isn’t Burgundy, is it?” You ask. 

“No, it’s Yoongi,”He says gently.

“Why the alias?”

“I’m an embellisher. I like decorating things.”

You accept this,“What does your name mean then?" 

"It’s a song I’m working on.”

“You make music?”

He nods,“A lot of it.”

“About what?”

“…You’ll have to listen.”

“Can I listen now?”

“If you want.”

Yoongi leans over his leather bag on the floor, subtle, wrinkled like it’s old, and pulls out a pair of headphones that look like you’d wear them to space.

He hands them to you and lets you put them on as he pulls out his phone.You don’t expect what you hear. It’s polished. Cinematic.

The song starts with a haunting refrain full of bone rattling bass and then rides like a cadillac into lyrics:

Emotionless, but the dose is up 

Fuck affection, I don’t cozy up 

You in my house, and that’s close enough

I got problems with trust, I got problems with lust 

Bitch, that’s powder, not dust

You laugh. 

Once quietly when it’s over. Not out of humor but nerves. 

There it is again, problems bigger and uglier than your own.

He says it. Soft and flat: 

“That wasn’t funny.”

You hand Yoongi back his headphones. 

You look at him, truly look at him for the first time and you think for a moment he looks like an alligator. 

Eyes peeking up over the water, jaws hidden below its murky surface. And he was holding your hand, the ghost of which is still there.

You smile deeply satisfied. With everything.

“I know. That’s why I laughed." 

And you’re there finally, at the residential house.

–

It’s late. 1:04 am. The lights are fluorescent, uninviting, perfect for cleaning. 

Yoongi is in the dining area with an apple in hand. 

The nurse let him have his snack in exchange for going to bed right after.

His phone screen glows with your profile open. 

You’d exchanged handles earlier—offhand, like it meant nothing. 

Now he’s scrolling through it, thinking.

The apple creaks when he bites it. It’s sweet and cold. 

One hand scrolls. The other wipes juice from his mouth.

Your feed is neat—old selfies, concert videos, pictures of things clearly significant but to him immediately mundane. A key, a plant, the edge of a plate and a glass. 

The captions are to the point: thoughts, designers, quotes. He can appreciate it. 

Yoongi concludes you’re cool. The sort of person worth befriending while he was here. 

He’d decided that earlier when he first noticed you as he was checking into the facility. You were there, dressed like most of his friends, polite to the concierge, talking about some musician he knows personally in the living space at residential. 

He taps an old video: you laughing. He watches it twice.

You’re supposed to focus on yourself while you’re here, no one else.

And here he is, staring at you 

He locks the screen.

Sets the phone face-down.

Takes another bite of the apple.

Hard. Loud.

It’s not fair. 

It just felt nice. That for a moment, he could consider someone other than himself.

He remembers your trembling subsiding in his hand. 

The nurse watches him from behind the office window. He looks normal, like nothing is wrong. 

–

The next day, Yoongi feels a little sick.

He didn’t sleep well. The apple gave him energy, not rest. 

For a moment, he wonders if it poisoned him.

It’s about 7:05 AM. 

Everyone in the house is dressed and ready except for two people—an older woman, and you. He notices your absence before anything else.

He tells himself he wants to be worried about himself. That he should be. That it’s logical to monitor his vitals, his sleep, the residual tremble in his own hands.

But he knows the truth.

He’s just relieved.

Relieved to be somewhere safe.

Relieved that no one expects anything of him here. That the outside world, with its clocks and invoices and unpaid favors, doesn’t touch him in this house and the facility.

He’s still on the edge. Still half in the fog of the drug-induced psychosis that got him there. 

The voices haven’t fully left—they murmur now, not shout. Still, he hears them. Whispering that people are following him. That the rehab program is a set-up. That the point of it all is to make him kill himself, finally, so the world can sigh in relief.

He half-believes it.

He half-believes some of the others are here for the same reason: because they are burdens. That the facility is just to test how much they can take before they drop like flies. 

Good-for-nothings.

It’s what his parents said.

It’s what he still says to himself.

For the past year, that’s all he could hear in any voice.

Even if someone just mentioned the weather—“soggy,” “wet”—he’d take it as code. A metaphor. For how he was feeling. 

Because everyone could read his mind.

Because of the chip. In his brain.

And now, this morning, you’re gone.

Not there at breakfast. Not on the porch.

And he wonders—maybe "they” told you.

Maybe “they” updated your file this morning. Said: He was watching you. Last night. He was scrolling through your feed with an apple in his mouth like a villain in a fairy tale.

Maybe they said it out loud, and you listened.

Maybe that’s why you’re not here

They’re already loading in when you arrive—hair half-damp, sweater sleeves rolled up, backpack slung low. You jog the last few feet like you didn’t notice how late you were. Or maybe you did and didn’t care.

Yoongi sees you from his window seat—eyes half-shut, face turned toward the glass like he might disappear into it.

For a moment, he thinks maybe you’ll pass him. That you’ll pick a seat in the back. Or near the counselor.

But you don’t.

You slide into the seat across the aisle, drop your bag with a soft thud, and glance sideways at him.

Then—like nothing’s wrong, like no surveillance report has been sent, like he didn’t ghost through your Instagram feed last night with apple juice drying on his lips—you nod at his feet.

“Nice Rick,” you say.

Yoongi looks down at his shoes, cream laces tied into stars.

He’s not sure if the sound in his chest is panic or relief. His body can’t tell the difference yet.

You lean back against the window and close your eyes. Like you didn’t just tether him back to the world with two words.

He stares at his boots.

He doesn’t remember putting them on.

And Yoongi stares at them after you’ve closed your eyes.

—

About a week later, you’re in your room. Thinking.

There aren’t many ways to kill yourself in there. 

The only thing you can think of is the light bulb in the lamp.

Breaking it. Cutting your wrist. Locking the door. Even though the nurse has a master key.

You imagine bleeding out under the glow of the fluorescent overhead light—something bright and cold. Something fitting.

You decide you don’t want to be in the room anymore. 

The quiet that sets in after imagining your blood soaking into the carpet is too unsettling. 

You open the door, check the hallway and enter the room across from yours.

You’re not supposed to be in his room. But it’s prophetic that it’s right there.

The lights are off, the door’s cracked.

He’s outside smoking, with the nurse, or maybe just not here.

You don’t care.

The bed’s messy but intentional—like he only ever sleeps under half the blanket.

There’s a blue electric guitar on the dresser and another blanket draped over the mirror. It smells good. Too good. 

On the floor: a pair of white Margiela sneakers. 

You kneel down.

You don’t pick them up—just rest two fingers on the heel of one.

The leather is soft.

You don’t know what you’re doing. Maybe you do.

“Why the fuck do you need $800 shoes in rehab?”

You say it out loud.

To the empty room.

Like it’ll answer you.

You stand and glance over his wardrobe. 

You see a dsquared2 hat, an Alexander McQueen jacket, a Celine sweater—diverse seemingly unrelated choices. 

You reach into the pocket of a black jacket, and pull out one euro. You drop it feeling like you weren’t supposed to touch it. 

You don’t move anything else. 

And leave.

You don’t notice another client leaving their room as you make your exit.

Back in your room you fiddle with an opal guitar pick. The space doesn’t feel disquieting anymore. 

—

The next day you’re feeling assured, like the evening before gave you some vitality. Like the day was worth working through.  

You’re wearing bright orange. 

Your movements are light and airy; you move between sessions like a colorful fish moving down a stream. 

Bees buzz around the flowers, the warm air clings to your skin like a kiss. 

After the last therapy session of the day, after the air thins out from the thickness from a worksheet on “radical acceptance”, you all wait for the bus back to the residential house in various locations: the gym, the art room, the music room, the garden. 

You swing on the garden swing slowly. 

Across from you, Yoongi’s on a bench surrounded by bushes of blue hydrangeas. His knee is bent, hand absently picking lint off his black sweatpants. It’s slow, distracted. Unsuccessful. The fuzz seems endless. You watch him try to roll it off with the side of his palm. It doesn’t work.

There’s a lint roller on the bookshelf in the art room. 

So you stand up, walk across the garden and into the art room’s back door. No one pays attention.

You return and sit next to Yoongi without a word. He looks at you—questioning.

You reach out hesitantly and press the sticky roller to his thigh. It makes a quiet ripping noise as you roll upward, the fuzz lifting clean.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t joke. Just watches your hand move—slow, careful—over the curve of his knee, down again, up toward his hip.

You roll once more. The strip is full. You peel it off, crumple it and put it in your pocket. 

You look up at him and you’re close, so close. Not close enough to kiss but close enough to lean in. He doesn't move away, he doesn’t lean in, in fact to Yoongi it was the perfect distance.

Something small and warm had ignited in his chest, quiet and terrifying. The hair on the back of his neck stands. 

His eyes glitter a little bit in the light.  

“Are we married now?” He asks quietly, sarcastically. 

You can’t think of what to say. 

Then—he adds casually…

“You were in my room.” 

Caught, you quickly reach into your pocket and hold out his guitar pick like a confession. 

Your voice is soft,“Sorry.” 

After a moment, he takes it. And remembers the moment he opened his drawer and saw it was gone. He figured he must've misplaced it. Didn’t even think of it when Jimin snitched. 

“Thanks for holding my hand,” you say, voice gentle, “that was thoughtful.” 

Something about him tells you he isn’t going to report you. 

Then you stand.

And walk away.

Yoongi sits there with the pick.

He has a new proclivity from his psychosis he's found: a residual acceptance of absurd things. 

You were in his room. You touched his things. You stood in the middle of his mess and picked something out just to keep, like a person pocketing a souvenir from a museum. 

It should bother him more than it does but it doesn't. There’s a part of him that says “I deserve this”, “it’s part of the process”—part of “them” trying to get into his head even though he knows the delusion isn’t real anymore.

And with that post-psychotic haze there is a quiet arrogance curling around the edges of the moment. 

Of course you were in his room. Of course you took the pick of all things. 

It’s not romantic. But it feels weirdly intimate and Yoongi decides officially, in the warmth of significance he feels, that he is disturbed as much as you are incursive. 

—

It’s 8 pm. You’re standing in line for meds. It’s quiet, dull, the fluorescent buzz thicker than the air. A nurse calls each name like a teacher doing roll call. 

Yoongi slides in behind you at the last second. You don’t turn around. He doesn’t say hello.

He hesitates for a moment but decides to go ahead with the plan he thought over. 

He leans forward just enough to glance over your shoulder.

“Low-dose Hydroxyzine,” he murmurs, barely audible. 

You glance back, startled.

He doesn’t meet your eyes—just studies the medication card in your hand. 

Then, calmly: “You don’t seem like a biter. So what is it—impulse control? You just want to sleep a lot?”

You don’t answer. You figure he’s wondering what kind of crazy steals a guitar pick. 

He finally looks at you. His expression is plain, like he’s not asking a personal question. 

“It’s not a bad pick,” he adds. “Knocks you out clean. Fewer dreams.”

Then he steps back. Just enough space to break the tension. Still too close to forget.

The nurse calls your name.

“And Lamotrigine?” He asks. 

“Yeah. Mood stabilizer, ” You reply, feeling obligated.

“Risk of Stevens-Johnson syndrome. You titrate slow?”

“I… don’t know?” 

“Figures.”

You go to the nurse and take your medication. Then you turn back to him. He’s still watching you and you start to feel like you might have something else of his in your pocket. 

“Who else was rapping on your song?” You cut the moment. 

He hesitates, reminded that he shared that with you. Usually people already know, or they don’t like it enough to ask. 

“Hoseok, my cousin.”

–

That night you dream of a swamp. Something dangerous brushes your ankle.

When you wake up you hear Yoongi’s voice, his lyrics in your head, they unravel slowly like a spool of ribbon. 

Your sheets are damp with sweat.

–

The sky’s a low gray ceiling.

Yoongi’s quiet. He always is after group. Still caught in the lag between saying something out loud and realizing he actually meant it.

You’re walking beside him, a little behind. Your steps scuff the gravel. You’ve been following him around lately, it feels like. It’s not something he resists but to his concern, he feels fond of. 

“Hey,” you say suddenly, not loud. Just enough for him to know it’s not for anyone else.

He glances sideways.

You keep your eyes forward, like it’s nothing.

“When you asked me that one time… if I titrate well. What did you mean by that?”

He’s quiet for a second too long. Then: “It’s just how your body adjusts to medication. If you can go up or down on the dose without too many side effects.”

“Oh,” you say, “so like… if I cry all day when I miss a pill, that’s a no?”

He huffs out something like a laugh, but it’s not mean. “Yeah. That’s a no.”

You nod like you’re filing it away. Like you really wanted to know.

“I think it’s cool you knew that,” you add.

You don’t say anything else. And neither does he.

You head to lunch and hope he decides to sit with you and he does. 

He’s across from you, golden hour shining on his face. He figures there’s no need to sit alone. You’re a friend maybe. You’re something.

Before he can begin eating you break the silence: 

“I think I had a dream about you.” 

Yoongi looks up at you disarmed. 

Then someone sits with you both, you break eye contact, scoot over and comply not thinking as you put a spoon of food into your mouth, sweet potatoes.

“Pretty boy. Pretty girl. How does lunch taste?”

You nearly cough.

“You catholic, Burgundy?” Jimin asks. 

You remind yourself he’s talking to Yoongi and keep your eyes on your plate.

Yoongi is wearing a rosary around his neck, delicate and silver, thin floating in the black Ekhaus Latta shirt he’s wearing that’s mesh enough to see his skin beneath but cotton enough to leave room for imagination. You like Ekhaus Latta.

Yoongi responds, “I don’t believe in God.”

Jimin sighs, “Blasphemous, I like it.”

He keeps going to your delight.

“Heading to the music room again after half eating today?” Jimin asks mouth half full before swallowing.

Yoongi fixes his mouth and nods. It’s barely there, the nod like he doesn’t want any attention.

You shift your foot under the table so the toe of your shoe touches his. It’s a half accident.

Yoongi straightens his back like a flower in the sun. Like a reminder to be polite. You’re looking at him again but he’s looking at Jimin.

“You heading there as well?” Yoongi responds. 

Jimin looks playfully smitten, smirk on his mouth, “Of course I am and you should come too—what’s your name again? ”

Jimin looks at you. 

“It’s ____,” you say curiously. The music room.

—

The music room is damp and dim.

Dust and late-afternoon light filter through the blinds like static.

The couch is half-collapsed. The walls don’t absorb sound, they hold it.

You sit on the floor, legs splayed out. Jimin sprawls on the couch, bass across his lap like it belongs to him.

Yoongi moves toward the upright piano in the corner. 

…

Jimin’s been plucking around for ten minutes—showing off, but not obnoxiously.

Just enough to make you smile.

“Used to play in church,” Jimin lies, effortlessly.

Then he flirts with Yoongi, “Bet you were the reason half the congregation kept sinning.“

Jimin grins wide.

Yoongi just looks at him. 

You’re quiet after that. Just watching.

“You play anything?” Jimin asks, eyes on you.

You shrug.

“I have a bass. At home. I don’t know how to play it.”

“That’s hot,” he says,“emotional support instrument.”

“Something like that.”

Yoongi presses a single key on the piano.

It echoes—low, clean.

Jimin glances over.

“Do the golden hour song.”

“No.”

“Why not? You want attention. We’ll give it to you.” 

Jimin is referring to something confessed in a group you weren’t in. 

Yoongi sighs,“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Jimin breathes.

A pause.

Then, Yoongi begins.

He plays like he doesn’t want to.

Like the music is already in his bones and he’s just letting it fall out slowly.

But then—

It blooms.

Rich chords.

Chimey right-hand notes that hover like breath. 

Jimin sings, carrying a note:

She’s got glitter for skin 

My beautiful beam in the night 

Yoongi looks up at Jimin. It’s like they’re talking to each other.

You don’t move.

You just listen.

When it ends, the silence feels sacred.

Yoongi doesn’t look at either of you.

He stays facing the keys. Hands in his lap.

“That’s what golden hour sounds like,” he says softly.

"You know we’ve only been here a week and I feel like I’ve found my life long friends.” Jimin says putting down the bass and shutting off the amp.

You don’t ask how he knows you got here the same day.

But Jimin asked Yoongi once.

And everyone who pays attention knows there’s a whiteboard in the nurse’s office.

It lists all the admissions dates.

Right there on the wall.

Like it’s not supposed to matter.

Like no one’s counting.

And you remember—there’s no discharge date for you yet.

You’re stuck here.

But somehow, it’s okay.

In this room.

With these two people.

When Yoongi gets back to his room later, he writes the word “titrate” in the margin of his sketchbook, even though he already knows how to spell it.

–

Maybe I shared too much in group, Yoongi thinks. It’s 3 AM and he’s slowly pacing in his room.

He remembers Jimin repeating his own words back to him earlier, in the courtyard during break—when the air still smelled like wet dirt and grapefruit hand sanitizer.

They were lying on the sun chaises staring at the clouds. Yoongi figured it’s just a thing that happens at a facility like this, attracting people, orbiting with them for a while. 

Jimin said it seriously—like he was trying to open a door with a lock he knows too well: “I feel like I’m under a spell and it makes living on Earth feel like living in hell.”

He adds, “I liked that one.” 

Yoongi can hear the smirk in his voice.

He doesn’t respond. Just watches the steam rise from Jimin’s paper cup.

“I also liked that you shared you blow it up when you love someone. It really touched me.”

Yoongi turned slightly, slow like was recalibrating.

“I wanted to warn you, I think you’re falling in love right now, Burgundy.”

“Been watching me?”Yoongi finally speaks up. 

He’d been listening to me, he thought. And it felt like a relief for a moment before a creeping fear crawled across his skin like spiders might.

Was he so obvious about you? Not the falling in love but the falling into your orbit.

“Yes actually,” Jimin said, without a hint of shame.

“I watch everyone.”

Yoongi exhaled through his nose. You flickered into his mind, the lack of any sign of fear for going into his room, the way you look at him like you’re daring him to do something, say something, the way you and him both are poking  for something. Maybe a connection. He doesn’t know. 

Yoongi’s voice was steady, almost bored. 

“I don’t love anyone.”

No anger. No emphasis.

Jimin watched him.

But he didn’t say anything more. 

They lied there like that—between sunlight and shadow, between sessions—two people with too much information and no plan for what to do with it.

3:42 AM. 

You can hear footsteps tapping against the floor.

You crack your door and find Yoongi pacing barefoot in the hallway. 

He needed more space. 

His back is lit by hallway fluorescents, sweat catching at the base of his neck like he’s just come back from somewhere farther than sleep.

And he had. He’d written lyrics. To no one in particular, violent, measured, angry. Tucked away in his pillow case scribbled in blue :

Off the radar

The angel slayer

Fuck your prayer

You interrupt his thoughts as he makes his way back down the hall. 

“Can’t sleep?”

“I don’t wanna dream,” he sighs, like a weight has been lifted. 

…

You sit beside each other in the media room. 

Your knuckles touch.

Neither moves.

There’s a moment that feels just right, to lean over and kiss you, eyes open to see your reaction. There’s nothing romantic about the impulse, in fact, it feels clinical…maybe scientific. 

What would it do? 

He could do it right now. 

He thinks you might want to.

He knows the way you don’t look at him sometimes is on purpose. 

He mulled that over. 

It’s a common reaction he gets from women his age. His girlfriends are the most guilty. 

Yoongi imagines it with you. Slow, aching, manipulative. Something to make you sigh into his mouth and close your eyes. Just to make you do it. 

For a moment he feels wicked.

But he does nothing. 

Your eyes meet and air feels heavy, a second later the nurse tells you to go back to bed.

As you both stand, he brushes past you too close. Not on purpose. Not exactly.

Just enough to leave a trace.

–

You’re sitting across from Yoongi in rec, half-paying attention to the group leader’s voice droning on about CBT worksheets and relapse prevention plans.

Yoongi has got a pen cap in his mouth again. Always the cap. Never the pen.

You don’t even mean it when you say it.

“You’re gonna choke on that thing.”

He takes it out slowly. Looks at it.

Then sets it down on the table.

You don’t think anything of it.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Every time he closes his eyes he feels it—the snap of the plastic, the taste of blue ink, the panic when it blocks his throat. Not from experience, just imagination. But his imagination’s always been cruel like that.

He thinks:

That’s a stupid fucking way to die.

And it happens again and again. The plastic in his throat, the life leaving his body. Until he closes his eyes and imagines you’re there in his room straddling him, hand in his mouth to pull it out. 

You hold it in your palm until it bursts into flames. 

Then you’re under him, wrist pinned to the mattress, mouth beneath his. 

Yoongi rolls over and buries his head into his pillow. 

–

That same day you have a session with the art therapist.

He introduces himself. His name is Taehyung, he’s twenty-eight,  started working there a year ago, he likes going to art museums.

You tell him your name. You’re twenty-four. You like fashion and art too. You’re here as a dual diagnosis patient—mental health and relapse prevention—even though your drug use was mostly occasional. Recreational. You’re not sure if it counts.

Taehyung gives you white cardstock paper, colored pencils, makers, and crayons. You go for the colored pencils.

His prompt is: draw what feels like home.

You do just that after thinking.

You draw four figures. One is tall, hunched, in black. One is a little shorter with a yellow dot for a heart, and one is in the middle with a red dot for a mouth. Lastly, you draw your dog at home with your parents.

When you’re done, you slide the page to him without lifting your gaze.

You feel—surprisingly—unashamed. Maybe even proud.

Taehyung takes it, lays it flat in front of him and doesn’t smile. Doesn’t name anything. Just takes it in, letting silence fill the room.

After a moment he asks: “Who’s here?”

You point: that’s me, with the red dot

The yellow heart?

“Jimin,” you say. 

The black one?

“Burgundy.”

Taehyung nods once. Still saying nothing.

“It’s stupid,” you smile a little, you just met them. It’s been maybe a month. 

“Stick figures can say more than people do,” he replies. Not comforting–just honest.

You look at him. His face is pensive and receptive.

He turns the paper upside down and shows it to you.

“What happens now?” he asks.

You pause. “They’re still there.”

“What do you make of that?”

“I guess…I hope we stick together.”

Taehyung nods.

You continue, “ even if everythings upside down–not alright.”

“What do you think you’d do if they disappeared when it wasn’t?”

You feel uneasy suddenly. You didn’t want to imagine anything in the future, let alone a future without the people you want to call friends. You don’t have many of those anymore. 

Suddenly the colored pencils look like little daggers. 

You want to sweep them off the table.

“Probably try to end my life.”

Even though so far you’ve only spent one day all together.

–

You’ve been sleeping well in comparison to Yoongi.

It’s been another two weeks at the facility. It’s not just the therapy that’s getting difficult. It’s everything with it. Taking a shower each morning, brushing your teeth, doing your hair, getting dressed, trying to get your money’s worth with the slow drag of the pen on paper.

Yoongi looks tired. There are bags under his eyes hanging like the shadows on a crescent moon.

It’s the late evening after dinner, you’re both outside on the front porch. You’re sitting on the steps and he’s standing, leaning on one of the pillars. 

You both watch the sunset. 

“I’ve never smoked before,” you say

“Don’t start.” 

“Can I try yours.” 

Yoongi shakes his head no. 

You try to pull one of his shoe laces loose. He moves his foot away. 

“What are you five?” 

That just makes you smile. 

“Why is there a blanket on your mirror?” 

He shakes his head again, looking a little haunted. 

“Sometimes shit moves when it’s not supposed to. I like to think it does something.” 

The sun goes down, it gets dark quickly, the porch lights turn on, some of the other clients head in. Funny enough, the lights are just as white and buzzy as the lights inside. 

“Let me smoke one of your cigarettes. I’m making an adult request.” 

Yoongi just nods but he doesn’t hand it to you like you expect. 

Instead he reaches forward, brings it to your lips. His fingers brush your mouth. 

You inhale too hard and too fast. It’s smooth, doesn’t burn but the smoke chokes you. 

He takes it back, smirking just barely. 

“You’re kind of a ditz,” he teases. 

You cough again. Your eyes water, “You have a Blumarine rhinestone T-shirt.” 

“So?” 

“So your girlfriend curated your closet, not you.” 

“I don’t have one of those.”

After a moment he asks, “You want it?” 

“What?” 

“The bedazzled T-shirt.” 

You pause. 

“Yes.”  

“Finish this whole cigarette for it.” 

He pulls out the pack and lights another. 

You feel like you’re being hazed. 

“You wanna put it in my mouth again?” 

He kneels next to you—too close. 

“You want me too?” 

He holds it out, it feels like a dare. But you take it instead. 

“I’m not a baby bird,” You snark. 

Yoongi sits next to you. 

You smoke most of it before you feel anything. But then it comes, the world spins, you feel floaty and in a bout of clarity, Yoongi looks like he might want to kiss you. 

“I think you have a thing for me,” You say dreamily. 

“I think you secretly hate me.” 

“Why,” you ask. 

“You stole the string from my Extasia hoodie.” 

“I wanted to piss you off in some way.” 

You didn’t succeed, he thinks. Instead he found it funny. 

–

The meds they put Yoongi on are working, his mind is quieter. But with it he feels his creative prowess is leaving him. Something about being wound up inside all the time gave him a creative energy. His fingers don’t twitch to write anything anymore. 

And what is there if not his creativity or the paranoia making him feel important. 

Jimin has been there through these days, quiet, presumably thinking about himself and his future and if he has one.

In the span of a year, he graduated from a finance program at Columbia, landed a job in Chicago, and quit two weeks in—convinced his coworkers were trying to recruit him into a cult.

Shortly after he tried to kill himself with painkillers from a wisdom tooth removal. All scattered facts shared in the music room between reverb and chords.

You know a little less about Yoongi just that he’s a successful rapper that went into psychosis. The details of which he did not want to share. 

You’ve shared less about yourself, feeling like a fraud.

You’re taking a break from school, dissatisfied with your major, too scared to admit to your parents you’d rather learn a language than become a lawyer. Too depressed to function yes, sad enough to kill yourself no. 

…

In the music room, Jimin touches your wrist where there’s a raised scar.

“Why did you carve a star here?” He asks quietly, too quietly you presume for Yoongi to hear over the piano he’s playing.

Jimin leans closer across the bass in his lap.

His straight dirty blonde hair that suits him too well falls into his eyes a little.

You stop fiddling with the kalimba in your hands.

“For about six months,” you say, “I thought my thoughts were being broadcast to everyone around me.”

This was while you were in school. You never told anyone about it. Too afraid you’d be locked up and never come out. 

“You’re a star, huh?” Jimin asks thoughtfully, suddenly giddy you all have a psychotic episode in common.

“I thought so.”

Jimin sits back stunned, “You’re craaazy sexy.”

“I get it, Burgundy.”

Jimin plucks something soft on the bass—half-embarrassed, half-proud.

You laugh once. Quiet.

Yoongi stops playing with the piano.

“Talking about me again?”

“Just the opposite pretty boy,” Jimin sighs, satisfied.

Yoongi picks up a guitar and starts playing another haunting refrain.

“What are you talking about?” He doesn’t look up from the strings. You think his pale fingers look like claws over the chords.

Jimin plucks the bass again—this time a little sharper.

“____’s battle scars. Starry angel, I guess.”

“I hate metaphors, people aren’t stars,” Yoongi snips.

It’s clipped. Cold.

Like the air has dropped five degrees.

You start playing the kalimba again—metallic, hollow taps.

Just to keep your hands from shaking.

The guitar song shifts.

Darker now.

The chord progression sounds like falling into water.

“What’s this song called?” You ask. 

“South of Heaven's Chanting Mermaids.” 

Jimin gets up and puts the bass away—gently, but deliberately.

“You don’t hate metaphors. You just hate not being the only one making them.”

Yoongi stops playing. Jimins tone of voice has changed. 

“I like being poetic too. I’m allowed to embellish too as you like to say.”

You freeze.

Yoongi looks at you like you told Jimin that. 

“And you know what I like better than that?"Jimin continues his lament.

"Real shit.”

Jimin walks over.

Takes the guitar roughly from Yoongi’s hands without asking.

“I like that you let someone go through the shit in your room because you’re aching for some attention.”

He says it calmly. Not cruel.

Like he’s just observing the weather.

Jimin turns to you.

“And I like that you write about it, in your notebook, for anyone to read.”

Jimin leaves with the guitar.

–

Later, you talk to Jimin at residential.

Curious about when and what all he read your treatment notebook.

You feel strange that you’re not upset about it. You’re actually feeling a bit amused. Something exciting is happening in this otherwise boring place.

It’s at dinner. Dinner Yoongi doesn’t come to.

You sit outside in the spring weather where no one else can hear.

Jimin eats around the melons in the fruit mix they provided as dessert.

“Mad at me?” He asks. He looks like a fairy with the sunlight hitting his face. 

“Quite the opposite actually.”

“You read my diary,” You say imploringly.

His fork pauses. Just for a second.

Then he puts it down and confesses, “I go into everyone’s rooms, and through everyone’s stuff…for the thrill of it, I guess. ”

“You’re not scared?”

“Of what,” he scoffs, wind blowing through his hair.

“Getting kicked out.”

“I know enough now to keep me alive for the next 6 months which is all this place is for.”

“Hm.” You glisten.

“How’d you get the opportunity, it’s a long read.”

“Played sick for a day. Read it over coffee. Took notes.”

“Took notes?”

“Mentally.”

“Mm.”

–

It’s late at night again. You’re in the common room. It’s not curfew yet. You’re finishing up some CBT worksheets for your individual therapist.

The room is dimly lit. The vending machine is humming. The light in the lamp near you flickers occasionally.

You’re sat alone on a couch, probably the most comfortable you’ve sat on. Your eyes bore into the muted TV screen playing the news.

Your mind drifts.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in your thoughts. You wonder if he’d let you listen to his song again.

You hear the cadence of his laughter, the way he says your name, the gummy smile he gives when he’s amused, the one he rarely shows. 

It’s a loop, playing over and over, like a song stuck in your head.

You close your eyes.

In the darkness behind your eyelids, images form,–-Yoongi leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers, eyes fixed on you. 

You open your eyes.

The room is silent, the television now displaying static.

The night nurse, Namjoon, stands by the doorway, observing you. His presence is grounding.

"It’s almost time to go to bed,” he says softly.

You nod.

He walks over, sits on the armrest of the couch, maintaining a respectful distance.

“Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me when i’m vulnerable,” he says.

“Dreams, fantasies–they blur the lines between reality and desire.”

You search for judgement on his face but there isn’t any. Just a person eager to connect with a patient.

“Thanks, for sharing that,” you whisper.

He stands, offering a reassuring pat on your shoulder before leaving you alone with your thoughts.

“Don’t think too much, hm?”

–

Yoongi is staring at his mirror. The blanket fell off as he set his guitar back down on the vanity.

He stands staring at himself. Nothing moves, nothing whispers, his mind is eerily quiet. 

He gets a text. It’s from Hoseok: “When are we finishing the album?”

Yoongi is not supposed to think about work. 

But his heart still pounds. 

He sits and after a moment scribbles out some lyrics:

Went from no one to someone, at least I thought so

Stuck in a bad dream watching front row

and then some performative ones:

Popping on pills like I pop cough drops

Multi-millionaire all from my laptop

He lets his eyes drag to the door. Where yours would be if it were open. He could take you with him, he thinks. If he left. 

It’s 2:30 AM.

Yoongi texts you: Want to do something bad?

You respond instantly: Yes.

He doesn’t knock. Just pushes the door slow, like exhaling smoke.

There's your soft pile of laundry, on the desk the notebook you stopped writing in, a bottle of lotion uncapped. 

Yoongi steps inside, careful, like he’s stealing something. And maybe he is.

You sit up slowly, heart pounding.

His face is cast in blue because of the light from the streetlamp through the window.

He lifts a finger to his lips.

His hand brushes the edge of your desk. His body responds instantly—skin prickling. Eyes dilating. Breath slowing. There’s no way he’s doing this. 

Then he lowers himself onto the bed like it’s dangerous. Arms behind his head. Eyes on the ceiling. Like if he moves wrong, the whole thing might disappear.

You lay down too. Breath shallow in your throat.

You’re not touching.

Not speaking.

The room smells like sweat, whatever they use to clean the floors, and dirt from the plant given to you at horticultural therapy. You remember that dream of the swamp you had. And conclude it must’ve been real. 

About 15 minutes pass. 

He turns his head and says something first. 

Low. Flat.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You shake your head.

“Then turn around.”

Not harsh. Not tender.

Just a command said like a prayer.

You roll onto your side.

He presses against your back. Breath on your neck. Your pulse quickens. 

Hands don’t wander—they ask. Slowly.

His voice vibrates through your body. 

“Here?”

You nod.

And a moment later…

“Here?” 

You nod again. 

The clothes come off piece by piece—not thrown, but peeled.

You guide his hand to your mouth.

He exhales like it hurts.

After, you lie on opposite ends of the bed.

“They’ll kick us out.” You say.

Neither of you moves.

And that’s okay, he thinks.

It’s not until later that you realize you haven’t even kissed. 

–

Nothing happens. No one sees Yoongi leave your room, no one saw him enter it.

Everything is normal.

It’s just after a long day that you decide to do your laundry.

The hallway smells like mint tea and detergent.

You’re carrying your laundry bag down to the basement room—one of the few places you’re allowed to be alone. You like it. The silence. The machines humming like heartbeats.

You open your bin.

Your hoodie’s missing.

The soft gray one. The one too big for your body. 

You scan the room. Empty.

You load what’s there. Set the washer. Sit.

After a while, Yoongi walks in.

He doesn’t notice you at first. He’s got earbuds in, sleeves rolled up, laundry bag half open. He moves like he’s dreaming.

Then he looks up. Sees you.

Pauses.

Too long.

You nod, embarrassed you trembled so hard in his arms and came all over his fingers. 

He nods back.

He opens the washer beside yours. Starts pulling things out—black jeans, undershirts, socks.

Your hoodie.

“Is that..mine?”

He says, too casual, “Laundry mix-up I guess,”

You don’t say anything.

He tosses it into the dryer with his stuff.

“You can take it out when it’s done.”

He leaves.

You don’t take it. You figure he needs it.

In a selfish way, you want him to need it.

He noticed you didn’t take it, and started wearing it in his room—wants you to smell like him. 

He imagines Jimin talking to you. Commenting that you don’t smell like you. It makes Yoongi feel—he looked up the word for this—supercilious. 

A week passes, eventually, you ask for it back.

He meets you at his doorway.

Close enough to step inside if you wanted.

You grab it.

He doesn’t let go.

Instead, he pulls—gently, then not—and you go with it.

Your lips meet.

It’s hungry and soft. A beat too long for a place with little privacy. 

You pull away, breathless, scanning the hall.

Left. Empty.

Right—

Jimin.

Staring.

Frozen.

—

Things are getting serious. Yoongi thinks because he can’t think.

He’s outside, it’s raining, he’s alone avoiding you and Jimin’s company for now. For today. 

Under his individual session notes he writes the lyrics Hoseok sent him for his own verse:

Life going good, can’t figure out why

Blank walls all around me, keep the pills nearby

Playin’ with the nine, then I close my eyes

And he thinks of you. His hand moves again, something to go with it:

Isn’t it so convincing

His hand stops. The ink bleeds a little where the paper’s wet.

“What am I doing.” He says to himself.

He thinks about kissing you in the laundry room. How good it felt. How good the night before felt. The fear, the adrenaline, the stupidity of it all. The way his body melted into yours, the way yours did into his. 

And then it comes, the cravings. 

Yoongi thinks he needs to go for a run. He needs to shake off the feeling. The craving for something more. The urge to do it all again but high. Because fuck it would feel incredible if he was fucked up.

But that’s why he’s here. To not do that. To stop doing that.

Because it destroys everything.

He feels guilty for a moment. It’s intense, makes him want to jump of a bridge, cold water crushing him from all sides. And again he’s reminded why he’s here. Why he writes, what he writes. The bigger picture.

Yoongi goes an hour early to his next session, skipping lunch and the music room, skipping you. Each step feels weightless, but he’s heavy like he’d just turned to stone.

Fuck you. He thinks, even though its not your fault. 

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

He decides not to go to the next session, remembering you’re there and heads to his therapist to make a request. Do you both a favor.

–

You feel crazy. Like you could rip something apart or sink into the floor. You talk about it with your individual therapist. How “Burgundy” is side stepping you. But not how he made all the first moves, how he held you that night, squeezed you, made you feel like you had something to live for. Just how he brushes past you, only nods in your direction, won’t sit near you, won’t make conversation, isn’t in any of the same sessions as you anymore.

You consider leaving, because what’s it all for anyway. And it reveals to you, he has completely sidelined your treatment or really you let yourself drift off the road and into a tree.

Maybe this is the point, you think mid-sentence. Maybe he’s doing it so you see. And even if he’s not you can see clearly.

You think of some lyrics to a song you haven’t listened to in a while:

I go where the wind blows.

And Yoongi is the wind. You realize you’d follow him anywhere, you’d do anything for him, and you believe for a moment that’s just the sort of person you are. The sort that wants to become a part of someone else completely. Even if you’ve just met them. 

Everything is heightened, your skin, your breath, your nerves. You want to put your hands on him, you think to your horror. You want to push and shove and scream. You’re too old for this, you think. This place is making you regress you swear up and down.

Your therapist just watches you punch holes into your paper with your pen as you think.

She asks, “Are you maybe using this person to not think about your own treatment?”

Yes you want to scream.

You remember his hand on your mouth, how gently he pressed down, now he barely looks at you. 

–

The clock ticks. Yoongi won’t look at it.

He’s on the couch, legs spread, one foot tapping.

“I may need to stay away from ____,” he finally says. His voice is flat.

The therapist doesn’t react. Just nods once. Waits.

“It’s not about them as a person. It’s what I feel around them. That rush, kinda like using”

“That’s a craving?”

He huffs. Smirks like he wants to punch himself.

“It’s worse. It’s like I want to mix them with the shit I used to take.”

He stares at the floor. At a crack in the tile. Saying too much again.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to fully separate them from the drugs. I can’t tell if I just want to fuck them or fix them…or…a secret third thing. And that scares me.”

He finally looks up.

“Intimacy is a trigger.”

He finally feels like he’s getting somewhere.

–

That night, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

You stop in front of Yoongi’s door on the way to bed.

Slide a note underneath.

“Fuck you”

You wait. For at least 5 minutes.

Nothing.

You go to your room.

A paper slips back under your door.

“Fuck you too”

You read it on the floor.

Sit beside it for a minute.

Try to decide if you’re mad, hurt, or relieved.

–

The next day on the bus you sit next to him. He looks at you and you stare back.

He looks like he’s doing great. And you on the other hand have not showered in 4 days.

You don’t give a fuck if he can smell you or if anyone can. At least the stupid worksheets are getting done.

He breaks the silence.“We can do this all day.” 

“What did I do?”

“You make me want to use.”

You nod, shattered and try to switch seats. Jimin watches you both across the aisle.

Yoongi grabs your arm, looking like a hero in your story.

“You can still sit here.”

You sit, eyes watering. Crying? Are you kidding me? You swallow hard and blink them away.

He hands you his headphones. You take them.

He plays his song again, Burgundy:

I was left with no options, snorting Oxys off a Smith and Wesson

Body filled with narcotics, fuck the optics, bitch next question

You take them off. You can’t listen again.

“What’s a Smith and Wesson?" 

"A gun.”

–

It’s lunchtime again.

You’re already seated. Fork moving through overcooked rice like you’re trying to divide your thoughts. Jimin’s across from you, chattering about something you’re not really hearing.

The seat next to you scrapes.

You don’t look.

But you know it’s him.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Just sits. His tray clinks against the table. He picks up his spoon like this is normal. Like nothing ever happened. 

You don’t say anything either.

And then—

His knee touches yours.

Not hard. Not jarring.

Just… there.

You keep eating.

A minute later, his thigh presses lightly against yours again. This time, he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t adjust.

He’s letting it happen.

You chew slowly.

When you reach for your cup, his hand brushes yours.

Not an accident.

Not this time.

He doesn’t apologize.

And you don’t look at him.

But you don’t move your leg, either.

Later you’re both assigned cleanup duty after the art group. He decided he needed art therapy even if you’d be there. 

The project today was ink wash—everything wet and fragile, bleeding out at the edges. Like you.

You scrub trays in the utility sink. Yoongi stands beside you, rinsing brushes.

You don’t talk.

He rolls up his sleeves. His arm grazes yours.

You pretend not to notice.

The brushes clink against the steel basin. His hand moves over yours by accident. Or not.

You keep scrubbing.

He washes the same brush three times.

Your knuckles touch again.

Still, no one speaks.

Outside the art room, a nurse walks by humming. The hallway lights buzz faintly overhead.

You both pretend it’s about the task.

You both know it isn’t.

–

It starts with a look.

Not a touch, not a plan.

Just the way he glances at you across the hallway. 

You wait five minutes.

Then follow.

His door clicks shut behind you.

No one says anything.

The air smells like bleach and his body wash. The room is dim. The window’s cracked, just enough for the night air to hum against the screen.

He presses his forehead to yours.

You don’t move.

He whispers:

“You have to be quiet.”

You nod.

Your fingers are already lifting the hem of your shirt.

The clothes come off like a secret.

You straddle him on the mattress—one knee at a time. He’s already half-hard, breath shaky. 

He holds your hips. Not to guide—just to keep you there.

You sink onto him slow.

Too slow.

You gasp without sound. It feels like drowning with your mouth closed.

His hand clamps over your mouth for a second—not rough. Just reflex. 

You move.

Small movements. Rhythm measured by the creak of the mattress. Your thighs ache from holding tension. You hold eye contact because it’s the only thing that doesn’t make noise.

It’s desperate. Not fast. Not messy.

But felt.

Every inch.

Every clench.

Every breath.

You come first, and he buries his head in your neck, biting down on the skin just hard enough not to bruise.

When he finishes, he doesn’t speak. Just wraps his arms around you like maybe it could be enough.

You fall asleep for twenty minutes.

The knock wakes you.

It’s staff.

You’re both discharged within 24 hours.

Jimin was caught a few days before in a new patient’s room. Knocked over a lamp. Discharged.

You don’t even use the front exit.

Someone from staff hands you your bags—Yoongi’s guitar slung over his shoulder, your sweater stuffed into the top of your backpack. There’s no bus. No paperwork review. Just a signature and a door that shuts too easily behind you.

The parking lot is empty.

The sun is too bright.

You stand there a second too long, disoriented.

“I don’t want to go home,” you say.

Yoongi doesn’t answer. Just starts walking.

You follow.

He lets you. He expected you would. 

Thank you for reading! You’re a legend if you got to this point, love ya!

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

can you do a poly!plastics x fem!reader where the reader has autism, adhd, and anxiety and throughout the day they've been overstimulated so her girlfriends help ground her?

Scrambled Schedules

|| poly!plastics x fem!AuAdhd!reader

|| Warnings; lots of stress/anxiety/overstimulation mentions, reader cries at one point, long fic, hurt/comfort, Regina soft for reader

|| Summary; when reader's morning routine gets thrown off, her entire day reflects that.

Requests open!

Started; october 31st

Finished; october 31st

~~~

Getting ready for school that morning had already been stressful enough as it was. First, you woke up late and didn't hear your alarm. So you were rushing through your morning routine. You hated being thrown off your schedule. Second, people in your house were being loud. You threw on your noise cancelling headphones after you'd gotten your shirt on. You didn't even realize you were stimming, but your fingers tapped against the side of your headphones; as you looked for a pair of socks. When you found some you tossed some on and then quickly made your way to the kitchen. Trying to at least get something small in you before the bus showed up. You grabbed a piece of bread, your lunch that you packed the night before, a water bottle, anything else you thought you might need, then headed out the door. Headphones still on your head.

As you left the house, you took some deep breaths. Trying to calm your anxiety and overstimulation, when it didn't seem to ease right away.. you realized taking the bus would only make things worse for you. You took out your phone and gave Regina a quick call. Out of your girlfriends, she was the only one with a full license. Gretchen was working on hers and Karen.. definitely shouldn't be allowed to drive. In the best way possible.

Regina answered the phone on the third ring, having just gotten out of the shower. She took her time with her morning routine compared to you. Because Regina didn't care if she showed up late to school; she would get there when she gets there. She had been about to go to her closet when she heard the phone rang, so she walked over and answered. Picking it up from her bedside table and putting it to her ear," Hey, baby." Regina's voice practically came out as a purr when she spoke to you.

"C-can you pick me up?" You stuttered a bit, trying to control your trembling hand. The thought of going on the bus was enough to stress you out further and you really couldn't handle that. The bus was the last thing you needed right now.

Regina frowned when she picked on your stutter. She knew about your anxiety and AuADHD, she wondered if something had happened. Well, at least you hadn't gone non verbal yet. That had to have been a good sign. It meant you weren't entirely overstimulated. But that stutter.. was definitely a hint that you getting close to that point. "Sure, baby. I'll be there soon, alright?"

"How s-soon?" You murmured, needing some kind of time. You didn't like when things were just up in the air. Your schedule had already been thrown off as it was and you really didn't need anything else added to that.

"Hm.. maybe about fifteen or so minutes? I've gotta get dressed but then I'll be down to get you. Just deep breaths, baby." Regina explained to you, you relaxed a bit and nodded. Despite that she couldn't see you.

"Okay." You got off the call, heading to your porch step where you took a seat. Deciding to play some stim games on your phone. Those usually worked to help regulate you. Mid game you happened to get a 'good morning' text from Karen; though she spelt it like 'gud morering'. You replied to the text quickly, having a little conversation with her before going back to your games.

You; good morning, Kare :)

Karen; redy for skool? (ready for school?)

You; as ready as I can be

Karen; yayy!! c u suun 🫶🫶 (yayy! see you soon)

Just as Regina promised, she was at your house in a little over fifteen minutes. When she got there she walked over to you, frowning as she saw you in your headphones. Playing those self regulation games. The blonde took a seat beside you and watched you play your game for a minute before giving your cheek a kiss. Her hand rested to your knee. Getting your attention. You slowly took your headphones off and rested them around your neck. Regina smiled at you, her hand cupping your jaw and brushing her thumb against you.

"There you are," She murmured. Regina was always softer with you, understanding that you needed that kind of care. She never wanted to be the reason you felt overstimulated or stressed. You leaned into her touch and she gave you another kiss; this time to your forehead. "Ready to go?" Regina asked, letting go of your chin and placing her hand on her knee.

You gave her a gentle nod and she smiled, taking your hand as she walked you to her jeep. When you got there, you got into the passenger side and Regina got in the driver's. "We're going to pick up Gretchen and Karen and then maybe stop for coffee?" She looked to you to make sure that was okay. You nodded again and Regina gave your hand a quick squeeze.

By the time the four of you got to school, it was like 9;10. So you were late. And that was sending you into bit of a panic attack as you rushed to class. Not even saying bye to your girlfriends, who were startled when you practically jumped out of the jeep before it even stopped.

"Y/N?!" Regina yelled, glancing back at the other two like; did that just happen??

It didn't take long for you to reach your first period class, when the teacher saw you he gave you a soft smile. Noticing your rushed state. You were never late and he was aware of your AuADHD; so he let it slide today. Giving you a subtle nod so you knew that. You took your seat and nervously bounced your leg, feeling like people were watching you and judging you. Even though really, no one was. They were all too scared of Regina to even dare think anything bad about you.

The day went on, each class seemed to have some incident that overwhelmed you. First period you were late, second your pencil broke and the feeling of that made your whole body tense up. You hated when a pencil snapped. It just slowed you down and you could feel the sensation in your teeth? If that made any sense. Third period, you were given a surprise test that nearly brought you into a panic attack. You had to ask the teacher if you could go write in it in your private room; which she allowed when she realized you were close to having a panic attack. Then it was lunch. And you got a moment to breathe. After handing in your test, you headed to the bathroom and just hid in a stall for a long moment. Giving yourself a much needed breather. Why was today so hard on you? As you leaned against the stall wall, you picked at your finger nails. Trying to calm your nerves. You weren't fully settled when you left; but it was good enough. You didn't want to worry your girlfriends.

You spent lunch with them, staying cuddled up to Karen. Gretchen noticed that you seemed a bit off, but didn't want to pry. She kept quiet, knowing you probably just needed some time to regulate yourself and didn't want to stress you out further. The bell rang and you headed to fourth period. Which.. was actually fine? Nothing happened that overstimulated you or throw you off schedule. But fifth period? Was a train wrack. First your computer login wouldn't work and that almost made you cry, then once you did get logged in and started your project- which you'd gotten a massive chunk done. Your computer decided to crash the website on you. You completely froze when that happened. Realizing you should have just not gone to school today. Being late in the morning had messed up your whole day.

As that nightmare of a class ended, sixth period started. It wasn't any better, let's just say that. You'd gotten so overwhelmed that you straight up walked out of class. Your teacher was chill on people leaving; trusting you all to return in your own time. She didn't question when you got up and left. You weren't coming back, though. It was almost the end of the day anyways.

You went to Regina's jeep and just sat in the passenger side, letting yourself cry and release the amount of stress that had built up. Playing those self regulation games on your phone again. They helped, but your knee was still bouncing and your feet were tapping.

You were in the jeep maybe about twenty minutes before Gretchen knocked on the window. You looked up and opened the door to talk to her. "There you are!" Gretchen exclaimed. You and her had the same sixth period class, you guessed she must have gotten worried when you didn't return. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Sorry." You murmured, she frowned when she realized you'd been crying. Gretchen moved herself to the backseat and patted the spot next to her for you to join. You crawled back there and Gretchen held you close.

"Don't apologize, mama. What's wrong?" Gretchen cupped your cheek, making you look into your eyes. Normally, you hated eye contact. But it felt easy with your girlfriends.

"Too much.." You replied. Everything had been way too much today. Gretchen sighed at that and nodded in agreement. School was a lot for her too, just in different ways than you.

"Wanna talk about it or just hang out here?" She asked, you shook your head and snuggled up to her. Making Gretchen realize you just wanted to hang out; she was fine with that. Gretchen would stay with you as long as you needed her to.

[returnofeternity]

nat who's dating an autistic reader 🙏🙏

𖦹 feel like this is just all my readers bc im also autistic and it just ends up bleeding into my work lol.

first thought is self-indulgent but since it's been getting worse, thinking about nat who notices your tics. or just bad habits in general! for me, it's messing with my hair when i talk or rubbing my fingers together when im super anxious. when she notices it, she for sure holds your hand to get you to stop :( or she has you do it to her instead so you don't injure yourself. for example, maybe you dig your nails into your skin during stressful situations and don't even realize it until you're bleeding, so when you take the bus with her, she makes sure to hold your hand and rub your skin comfortingly. doesn't even care if you end up wiggling out of her grip to hold onto her arm and dig your nails in :(

nat who explains her instructions clearly, sometimes even writing them down when you need them. she also makes sure to let you know when she's joking/being sarcastic because sometimes you take her words too literally.

nat who supports your special interests/hyperfixations ^^ sometimes you fall out of a hyperfixation rather quickly but you never tell her that when she gets you something related to it because you appreciate it :( she's always there listening to you talk about it, always being engaged so you don't think she's bored. she never is!! she loves hearing you talk so passionately about whatever it is. her favorite thing is watching you happy stim when she just brings it up randomly.

she knows better than anybody how much you hate loud noises. nat herself hates when people raise their voice, so she's constantly watching how loud she talks to you.

sometimes you have trouble with volume control yourself, often speaking too quietly or too loudly. she's never that person who goes "huh? can you speak up?" when you mumble. she knows how much you despise it. she'll just tap her ear and lean in close, or just go, "hm?"

reader who goes nonverbal sometimes. you communicate via looks or touches most of the time. she's so good at knowing what you need just from a simple look.

eye contact is the worst. you'll force yourself to look her in the eyes sometimes because idk. you think she thinks you're being weird by staring up at the ceiling or down at your feet while you talk to her. you can only hold it for seconds at most, but one time, you held it longer than usual and had a meltdown. you just started crying, and she was worried, of course, asking what had happened while she soothed your back.

autistic reader who needs to have something on them or needs to be holding something while they sleep....nat's always it. she's either on top of you or you're either spooning her tightly.

[gaypirate420]

Thunderstorm // Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock Hale x Male!ND!reader

Summary: You don't fuck with thunderstorms. Reader is neurodivergent.

A/N: based on my own experiences. I'm the target audience of this fic.

Fluff. A bit of Angst, just tiny.

Stimming. Fidget toys. Sensitivity to loud noises. Headphones use.

There was a very refreshing and comfortable breeze when you got out of home.

You put on your headphones and started walking, you looked up at the grey sky and smiled at your schedule for today.

You were going to see your boyfriend and he'll probably bury you on a bunch of cozy blankets and he'll make you your favorite food, it was going to be perfect, as long as it didn't rain too much.

Thunder, you hate it— but the rain was fine, it's the loud crashing of the thunder that makes you feel overwhelmed.

You liked the rain, it was okay, as long as you stay dry, it made the plants smell nice and you had the perfect excuse to borrow one of Jasper's sweaters.

You looked down at the sweater you are currently wearing, it still smelled like your boyfriend's cologne and he always hold a scent of old leather, like an old book.

You stayed still on the side walk while your eyes looked up, waiting for the light to turn red, you were tapping your fingers to the sound of the music on your headphones, you heard a car stoping right infront of you, a familiar grey car.

"Need a ride, handsome?" Jasper greeted you with a small smirk, you waved at him and nodded, you quickly walked around the car and got on the seat.

"Hi, Jazz." You spoke softly, the vampire smiled and leaned to kiss your lips before his eyes got on the road again.

"You could have told me to pick you up, sugar." Jasper said softly, you took off your headphones and looked at him.

"I had planned to walk today because—rain." You explained, Jasper nodded, a couple of raindrops were starting to fall.

Jasper knows you and cars don't mix, and you hate when you have to take the bus or a long road trip when it's raining, it makes you extremely anxious.

But you trust him to drive you around.

The vampire smiled when he noticed you tapped your thighs with your fingers as you looked at the windshield, looking how the small rain drops falled on the glass.

You started to talk about your morning, what you had for breakfast, your dream and you finished by saying that you were hungry.

The vampire only smiled wider as he heard you talk every thought that was in your head.

Jasper felt that there was a slight change on your emotions the moment the rain got a bit louder, the vampire saw your head looking outside and how your fingers fidget with the sleeves of the sweater that he just realized was the one missing from his closet.

Your emotions peaked when you saw the car infront stopped abruptly, making Jasper to stop too, you gasped in fear and cling onto his arm. You turned around to face him, the color drained from your face, the vampire felt his dead hearth break a little.

You jumped the moment the other car's started to beep their horns.

"It's okay, pretty boy." He whispered and took your hand, he placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles and you felt a wave of calmness washing over you, you took a deep breath.

"Okay." You whispered softly and placed your headphones back on your head and discreetly pick up your fidget toy from your backpack.

"You're okay, darlin'." He reassured you, you nodded and he gives your hand a soft squeeze. You nodded your head.

He gives you one last look before starting to drive again this time a bit slower until you feel at ease again.

After a couple of minutes he gently tapped your arm, you looked at him and took one headphone off.

"How about we pick up something from your favorite restaurant?" He proposed with a smirk, you smiled immediately and nodded your head in agreement before flapping your hands in excitement.

——————————————————————

Jasper hold you close, you were wrapped in a cozy blanket and trapped on his lap, his arms hugging your waist in a loving embrace while you finished eating your favorite food from your favorite restaurant.

The vampire looked at you, you were too focused on the television and your food, he smiled and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

He listened to your talking about the show, it was your favorite show and it made him so happy seeing you talk about all you know about it with a huge smile on your face.

There was a flash outside the home.

And then, a loud crashing sound.

You cringed at the sound, there was a horrible tingling sensation on your body before you covered your ears.

The loud rain and the whipping sound of the air rang through your ears.

Jasper sit up straight and his hands went to your arms, his icy fingers making a soothing movement in your skin.

There was another loud crash and you cringed again, this time you audibly whined and Jasper felt his heart aching.

He gently sits you on the couch and used his speed to grab your headphones, you looked at him moving so fast in awe that it distracted you from the storm for a second.

Jasper placed the headphones on your head and smiled softly.

"Everything okay? Need anythin'?" He asked softly, you shaked your head no and he lean over to kiss your lips, the vampire pulled away and walked over the windows, closing the curtains.

"You're okay, darlin'. Nothing will hurt you." Jasper reassured you before sitting down at your side and hold your hand.

"I don't like thunder." You murmured, sounding like you were about to cry, he kissed your cheek.

"I know, my darlin'. You're safe here with me, okay?" He spoke gently, you nodded and his arms wrapped around your waist again, his head nuzzling in your shoulder making you chuckle softly.

"I won't let anything hurt you, my love." Jasper spoke softly and kissed your cheek again making you smile faintly, you were still a little shaken.

"Okay." Was all that you said, he knew his words went straight to your hearth, you were blushing and clearly flustered.

You meet his gaze and leaned over, you looked like you wanted to say more but instead you choose to close the small gap between your lips and his, he gladly kissed you back.

"I love you, Jazz." You whispered softly, feeling a between shy and confident at your words. Jasper smiled and kissed you again. You don't say it that much, not because you don't love him of course.

"I love you too, pretty boy." He whispered back and place you back on his lap and wrapping you again on that cozy blanket.

The rain was loud but you didn't care now that Jasper had you feeling all safe and warm.

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

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

hey could I be 🦕, if it's not taken?

I also have a request lol, could u do a meltdown comfort fic? ( definitely not requesting this be I had a meltdown over not having the right pasta sauce for my comfort/safe food) like where a male reader has a bunch of little things built up and it spills over when there's no more of readers comfort/safe food and they end up lashing out and having a meltdown because of it

anyways have a good evening,thx!

Hiya, I'm really sorry thats taken 😔 (I need to make a list lmao) - assuming you're not the other 🦕 anon currently in my drafts 😅

I hope this is okay, I don't have autism or meltdowns, so feel free to let me know if I've gotten anything wrong. I don't think the reader in this has a meltdown, he was distressed and then stims to regulate his emotions. But yeah, feel free to let me know if I get anything wrong, I don't want to offend anyone or anything.

Warnings: reader is distressed, meltdown

"(Y/N)? What's wrong-"

"Can you just fuck off?!" Everyone falls silent as the words burst from your mouth. You immediately look down, mentally scolding yourself for yelling at Hotch like that. Hotch. Of all people. Who had been nothing but kind to you since you joined. Who always made sure you were okay. Who was also your boss. "I- I'm sorry-" Your voice is quiet and Hotch has to strain his ears to hear you.

Instead of yelling, like everyone assumed he would, his gaze softens as he looks at you. "How about we head up to my office for a few minutes, okay?" His voice is reassuring and is doing nothing for your guilt and the dread for what he would say when it was just the two of you.

You hadn't meant to snap at him, but everything had just built up and built up and it was your tipping point. You should have just gone home.

It had started this morning when it turns out you had run out of milk - meaning you couldn't have cereal and a cup of coffee for breakfast. Then, you couldn't find the socks you had planned on wearing, you missed the early bus because of how long you had tried to find the socks you wanted to wear, and that made you almost late for work. And then, when you opened the fridge, it turns out someone had eaten the last of your safe foods you kept stocked up in the fridge.

You knew no one on the team would have taken it, they knew you were particular about your food (that's how you had worded it when you first joined the team - they knew the reasoning behind it now, of course but its still how you described it). And they always tried their best to make sure that you had food in the fridge that you liked.

You follow him to his office silently, you don't miss the look he shoots the rest of the team - who quickly make themselves look busy. So you don't feel more on edge than you already do. Your heart twinges at this. You had just yelled at him and here he was, being incredibly sweet to you.

When you reach his office, he shuts the door gently behind him and motions to the couch, you sit. "You don't have to speak until you're ready, whatever you need to do to help regulate your emotions is okay."

You take a moment to process his words before you give a small nod. It takes a few seconds before you gently start to rock, humming gently to yourself. Hotch sits down on the couch, at the other end. He wanted you to know he was there if you needed him, but enough space to do what you needed to. He slowly picked up the book on the coffee table, flicking to the page he was currently on.

Eventually, when your stimming comes to an end, Hotch closes the book. He had been keeping a close eye on you, not really paying attention to the book. He had just wanted to make you comfortable.

"You weren't reading," You state quietly.

"I wasn't," Hotch says with a nod.

"Thank you," You reply. You knew what he was doing - he had done it a few times during similar situations.

"That's alright," He gives a small (rare) smile, "Did you want to talk about what's going on?"

"It's just been a bad day." You shrug, "No coffee, no breakfast, wrong socks, and now no safe food," You felt your cheeks tint pink ever so slightly in embarrassment.

Hotch just nods, "I understand. What snack in particular were you craving?"

"I wanted a chocolate muffin," You shrugged, running a hand over your face. All you could think about was how stupid this all was.

"Is that the Starbucks one?" When you nod, Hotch smiles slightly and rummages about in his desk. "I had a feeling that this might happen at some point. So I stocked up on your safe foods." He said, pulling out a muffin. "There you go. As for drinks, take whatever you fancy,"

You look up, eyes slightly wide at the unexpected kindness. "Thank you,"

"That's alright, and (Y/N)?"

"Yeah?"

"Anytime you're feeling overwhelmed, or if the day isn't going quite right, you're more than welcome to come sit up here, okay?"

"Okay."

[tiny-fren]

⋆｡°✩ Good Night ⋆｡°✩

Caregiver Future!Leo & Little!Casey Jr

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: Leon tries to help CJ get through firework season

A/N: For my littles and anyone else who can't handle fireworks. It's okay to be scared,everything will be okay.

     He was terrified of fireworks. The thousands of colors bursting into hundreds of different shapes were mesmerizing, but he hated the ear-shattering explosions before each one. They were too loud and they reminded him too much of the old days, back when it was just him and the resistance hiding from the kraang’s storm of weaponry. He knows things are different now but he just can’t help the globby tears that roll down his face once the first crack reaches his ears.

     Leon is a bit better when it comes to handling all the noise. His heart jumps from the surprise but with a few deep breaths, he can settle back into whatever he had been up to beforehand. It doesn’t stop him from flinching once in a while, but he can stand the drawn-out celebrations from afar. The fact makes him feel even more guilty whenever he has to coax his surrogate son out from under the bed with soft promises. “Everything’s going to be okay" He swears. But the poor thing never believes him until it's all over. It's hard on both of them,so he decides to find a solution.

   After enough time in this world, he's able to make a rough estimate of when they usually start. He takes the hours beforehand to put his plan into motion.

"It's getting late, Case. Don't you want to go to bed?"

   He's too busy coloring the lovingly drawn picture of his new family to give him an answer in words. Instead, he shakes his head with a little hum.

   Leon figured he wouldn't go down so easily, not when he was already hard at work surrounded by all the crayons Mikey gifted him. Looks like he'd have to bring out the secret weapon.

    He brings out his favorite stuffie, a sea turtle that somehow always managed to smell like his sensei even after thousands of swims in the laundry machine. It's the one thing that made him look up from his masterpiece.

"Your little guy looks pretty tired, don't you want him to get ready for bed?"

  And of course, Casey nods. He may be little but he treats the plush turtle as if it was his baby. He doesn't mind taking a break from playtime for him.

  It's the perfect trick to get him to the bathroom. While brushing his stuffed teeth with a toy toothbrush, Casey notices his sensei grabbing his. 

"I'm already here, might as well brush mine too, right?" 

  The timing is a complete coincidence, as was the strawberry-flavored toothpaste right next to him. Casey already admired his sensei when he was big,when he regressed he's a total copycat. Naturally, he decides to put his stuffie's toothbrush down for a moment to grab his. 

   Leon makes sure to finish a bit earlier than him so he can brush any nasty tangles out of his hair. The strokes from the character-themed hairbrush April bought him are calming, his sensei carefully tying his hair into one long braid even more soothing. He's relaxed, but definitely not sleepy. 

  Next was getting him out of his play clothes. He's used to falling asleep in his baggy sweater and overalls, so this step would be a bit tricky. It's a good thing Leon just so happened to have his special pajamas on hand,the ones he wears when he feels very little. 

"I washed them while you were taking a nap. I even used the detergent you liked, the one that smells like vanilla"

The tiny gasp almost makes the slider let out a sigh of relief. 

   He helps him into an extra baggy sweater - a hand-me-down from Raph - and the fluffy turtle-patterned socks he chose for his birthday all on his own. Seeing Casey smile and stim from the simple joy of his favorite clothes nearly makes him forget why he was putting him to bed so early. All he wanted was to protect his little's smile.

   As a reward, Leon lets Casey choose his pajamas for him. As expected, he ends up in the sweater Casey loves to bury his face in when he wakes up from a particularly scary dream. The memories of the soft fabric pressed right over his sensei's heart outweigh the ones of whatever made him toddle to Leon's side. 

  He reminds Casey how lonely he feels whenever he has to take a nap without a hug from his sensei, so it would probably help his stuffie sleep better if he joined the sea turtle under the covers. And Casey understands completely. Without question, he crawls under the sheets and gets comfy. The blanket is extra cozy thanks to Donnie, the soft shell working his tail off until he was 1000% sure it wouldn't overheat and hurt their tiny.

The warmth is soothing, fatigue slowly overtaking him.

Leon yawns into his hand. Looks like the routine was getting to him too.

"Why don't I read a story to your stuffie while you hold him?" Leon asks "Hugs make everyone sleepy, maybe it'll help him too"

  It makes sense to Casey, hugs always made him very,very sleepy. Plus he needed to get back to his drawing before he forgot what shade of blue he needed to finish his magnum opus.

    Leon pulls out his favorite storybook, Goodnight Moon, and reads aloud. He uses the same soft, gentle voice he always does, the one that never fails to soothe him after a rough day. His stuffie must be getting sleepy too. He wouldn't notice if he closed his eyes for a few seconds.

  Casey's eyelids fluttered shut. The cover's fluff kissed his cheeks goodnight. He curled into a ball to fully enjoy the snuggle.

  Just a few seconds and then he'd get right back to work. He just needed a few more seconds wrapped in the blanket's comforting hug.

   Leon watched as he began to drift off. Honestly,he didn't even need to look at the pages anymore to recite the full story. He let his voice grow softer and softer until it was barely a whisper. The story only ended once his Casey's face was half-buried in the pillow, breaths steady as he lay still.

Leon smiled, a fond look in his eye. They were almost finished.

   He set the book back on the side table before reaching for Casey's butterfly pacifier. He brought it to his lips, Casey accepting it in his sleep.

One last step. 

   Leon laid back down and pulled the covers over his shoulders. Carefully he brought Casey into his arms. He laid his head over his sensei's heart, each soft thump easing him into sweet dreams.

Perfect

  His little boy was safe from the terrifying explosions an hour away, nestled in his hold and fast asleep. Everything was going to be okay. Finally, Leon let himself rest. 

   He knew what they'd both wake up the next morning. Everyone in the lair still marveling over the fireworks that painted the night sky in every color. He didn't doubt their beauty,but truthfully? This moment of peace gave him more joy than they ever could. 

[acetone4veins]

Adhd regina hcs

I assume this was prompted by the hc in this post where I mentioned Regina constantly spacing out.

Her thoughts tend to run faster than they should, which helps with constantly being one step ahead of everyone in every interaction, but it's not so great when she's anxious and spiraling about something and suddenly she can't stop her mind from wandering into really dark places

Had to learn how to mask from a very young age because her parents put so much pressure on her to be perfect, so she's been suppressing for years - constantly aware of her facial expressions and is overly careful about what she says. Used to stim by bouncing her knee or shifting back and forth on chairs but would get scolded over it and had to learn to stop

Has an excess of rings at all times to fidget with instead since it's less noticeable and they still go with her style

Easily overstimulated and it's half the reason she tends to snap at her friends. School is already such a stressful environment and sometimes Gretchen or Karen's voices are too loud and she says whatever she needs to to get them to stop

Being stuck in a hospital bed for weeks with nothing except her own thoughts and not being able to move was literal hell for her

I mentioned this one in a previous hc post but constantly humming or singing under her breath when doing idle tasks

Post canon when she's finally starting to let herself unmask she can ramble for hours about something she's interested in

She also stops being so careful with her every action and her friends learn she's actually pretty impulsive, and combined with the fact that after getting hit by a bus her sense of danger is severely skewed and she doesn't really give a fuck about consequences, she gets involved in so much stupid shit (likely indulging Janis's ideas I think, much to Cady and Damian's chagrin)

Also fidgets with her friends' hands or sleeves when she's sitting next to them I think. Just idly reaches over and starts playing with their fingers both for the physical contact and to have something to stim with

[cryptid-jamie]

Mystery twins Headcannons

Mabel pines

Bisexual (obviously)

Realized at a young age (like 13-14) she liked girls and was very open and confident in it

Falls in love easily (sapphic girly fr)

Dated a lot throughout middle and high school and would immediately claim they they were the one (the longest one was two months lol)

Loves going to parties and always goes all out in the outfits (Goes to every and all pride events she can)

ADHD and autistic (all the pines are autistic but ya’know)

ADHD causes her to hyperfixate on her arts and crafts projects and can cause her to pull all nighters and forget to eat or drink

Has trouble focusing on things that don’t directly retain her interest (as seen in the show lol)

Very talkative

Stimming types

Arm/hands flapping

Pacing/running in circles/Spinning/ rolling around on the ground

Hair chewing

Vocal stims

Frequently changes her aesthetic all thought high school like every week

Makes her own clothes

Impulsively changes her hair (shaved it half off once because she saw some on TikTok with a half half shaved off with it dyed and thought it looked cool)

FaceTimes Grenada and Candi back in GF every night

After graduation she gets accepted into art school in Oregon

Travels down to gravity falls on holiday breaks and most weekends

Sells clothes online for extra cash (college is expensive lol)

Dipper pines

Trans masc

New he was a boy from a very young age but socially transitioned right before leaving for Gravity falls (like on the bus there lol)

Thinks Grunckle Stan doesn’t know but he was there when Dipper and Mabel where born (cannon I think) so he knows but is waiting for dipper to tell him before he brings it up

Has only officially came out to Mabel (as off the start of the summer;comes out to Stan at the end of summer before leaving where Stan reveals that he always known lol )

Autistic (duh)

His autism presents through lack of proper social skills, special interests, and stimming

Stimming types

Chewing (rip his pens lol)

Pacing

Repeating words/phrases

Special interests

Mysteries/Conspiracies

Cryptids/monster

Wears pretty much the same outfit every day lol (flannels too bro thinks he’s Alex hirsh)

Is into the unexplainable for the same reason as ford

He feels like an outcast so we relates a lot to Cryptids because who’s more of an outcast then the moth man

Develops a proper friend group (like two to three other people ) in high school they’re also nerds lol

Started dating Pacifica northwest one summer but his friends don’t believe him

“Like yeah dude you’re dating Pacifica Northwest the richest girl from a small town in the middle of nowhere yeah and you also got chased by an army of gnomes that was trying to marry your sister, sure dude.”

One day she shows up and everyone is shocked lol

Runs a ghost hunting YouTube channel and all his videos are real but everyone thinks it’s fake cause it’s to much evidence

After graduation he moved down the gravity falls full time and takes Ford’s apprenticeship

Take night college classes in film for that ghost hunting show he mentions in that one episode