#today I’m going to rot in bed and just scroll or write

[euthymiya]

Good morning my little blog citizens 😚

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ bf!vernon x f!reader

synopsis ✭ when you come home from a less-than-perfect day, your boyfriend is nowhere to be found, but you don't want to call him and ask him to come home while he's out with friends. even though he'd drop everything if he knew you were struggling.

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI, established relationship, non-idol!au, hurt to comfort, relatively fluffy

word count ✭ 2.5k

notes ✭ hey hi! this is just a reworking of "minor nuisance." when i originally wrote it i was between writing it for jongho or hansol, so i figured i'd rework it for hansol ☺️

i said this in the original, but i'll say it here too. the mc in this is heavily based on my experiences with adhd. so this is a little personal but it was very therapeutic to write at the time.

✭ ✭ ✭

It was a terrible day. One of the worst you’d had in a while. Nothing seemed to be going your way. You’d ripped your favorite pair of tights this morning when getting ready in a hurry after waking up super late. You’d locked yourself out of the apartment. The seven dollar coffee you’d bought for yourself to cope with aforementioned events had spilt all over your desk, ruining the book you had just received as a gift from a coworker. And, to top it all off, your boss had demanded you to stay late to finish what was supposed to be his job.

So when you finally made it back to your apartment, after waiting in the lobby forever waiting for your landlord to let you in, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch with your boyfriend and fall asleep in his arms. 

You were plagued with fatigue as you slipped out of your work shoes and made your way through the kitchen and into the living room, not finding him anywhere. The bedroom the two of you shared was also completely vacant. Nothing had changed since you’d left this morning. He hadn’t been home all day.

Maybe he’s just working late, you thought, slightly defeated knowing you’d have to wait for him, not knowing how long it would take. 

Trying to take your mind off of it, you scrolled on your phone for a completely indiscernible amount of time, feeling completely defeated with the day you’d had. Moving in with Hansol months ago has been an incredibly helpful step for you. Before the two of you had lived together, you were a master of procrastinating your own feelings. Constantly letting yourself rot away in your bed and letting the day pass you by. Only to be plagued by that crushing guilt that came with letting a day go by unproductively. Living with Hansol had given you someone to hold you accountable. To pull you out of bed because sometimes it was impossible to do it on your own.

But on nights like these, where your boyfriend was nowhere to be found, which was not a common occurrence, you felt yourself slipping back into the endless cycle of losing yourself in your phone for countless hours. 

Hours passed and the sun was almost completely down before you received a text from your boyfriend.

| hannie 💗: hey love, sorry i had to stay late for work today. i’m gonna go get some drinks with my coworkers.

| hannie 💗: that ok?

God, you felt so helpless. How horrible and controlling of a partner would you be to tell him ‘no?’ Did he ask? Yes, but you desperately didn’t want to be the girl who always needed to be by her boyfriend’s side. Telling him he couldn’t go out with his friends would make you feel like such a nuisance. You stared at the screen for a good two minutes, biting your thumb, trying to think of how to respond.

| hannie 💗: y/n? 

| hannie 💗: i can see you read the message. is everything alright?

Before you could even draft a response, his name flashed across the screen. Taking a deep breath, you slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call.

“Hi,” you picked up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You could hear some of his coworkers in the background. He must already be at the bar. 

You held in a sigh, “Nothing, I’m alright. Why?”

“Y/n, you read and didn’t respond to my message. Like you were overthinking a response."

You didn’t say anything. Overthinking yet another response.

“Love, I don’t even want to be here that badly. If you need me to come home, I will. But you’ve gotta tell me.” He was being so patient with you. So much more patient than you thought you deserved, though he would certainly disagree with that.

You took a deep breath, nearing tears, “I–” this was so incredibly hard, “Can you please come home? I didn’t really have a great day.”

“Of course, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“No, it’s alright. I just need to see you.”

“Ok, just hang in there alright. Why don’t you hop in the shower, and we can watch a movie when I get back. I’ll pick up some takeout on my way, too.”

When you hang up, you force yourself to get out of bed and get in the shower. It’s so rewarding and feels so relaxing that you can’t imagine why you ever couldn’t get out of the bed in the first place. But, of course, you say that every time. 

✭✭✭✭

By the time you had gotten out of the shower and dried your hair, Hansol had made it home with the takeout he’d promised in hand. 

When you left your bedroom, you saw him sitting on the floor in your living room. He’d lit a candle on the coffee table and set the food down with it. You could tell he’d changed out of his work clothes into a hoodie and basketball shorts, mirroring your almost identical outfit. He didn’t notice you at first. He was chatting to someone on the phone, seemingly a friendly conversation, and not one you wanted to interrupt. When he saw you, though, you heard him say goodbye to whoever was on the line. 

Throwing his phone down on the couch, he got up from the floor and met you at the door of your bedroom. Pulling you into a big hug, he placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

“No pressure, but, if you wanna talk about your day, we can.”

You shook your head, “Not really. I just wanna eat, I think.”

The two of you ate, sitting in comfortable silence on the floor in your living room. You noticed as you took in the scene around you, that Hansol had turned off all the overhead lights in the room. Leaving only the candlelight and the string lights around the ceiling to illuminate the room. There was something about warm lighting that made everything feel so much more cozy and comfortable. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t the most physically affectionate individual, but he never failed to make you feel loved. He always noticed the small things. He was hyper aware of your emotions in the least patronizing way possible. It was little moments like bringing home food for you and turning the cool-toned overhead lights off that reminded you that this man knew you better than anyone.

And that wasn’t something that happened overnight. He tried harder than anyone you’d ever met to know you. Your likes, dislikes, discomforts, phobias, and even your little habits. He knew it all. What he knew most is that you desired so bad to have someone to pull you out of your slump. Which is why he had come home early.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t stay out with your friends,” you whispered, staying focused on the food in front of you.

“I didn’t come home because I felt any obligation to. It’s not that I couldn’t stay out with my friends. It’s that you needed me here at home, and I wanted to come home and comfort you.” He ran a hand over your hair as he finished up his own food. 

That was another thing you loved about him. He wasn’t saying this because he wanted to make you feel better. He wanted you to know that you were not alone. That you were free to feel your feelings, and he’d always be right beside you to comfort you through them.

“Thank you,” you looked up at him, “I love you, you know that, right?”

“How could I ever forget? I love you, too.”

✭✭✭✭

After the food was gone and the coffee table was cleared, Hansol had put on a movie laid down on the couch, holding out his arms for you. When you finally sat between his legs and leaned into his chest, he pulled a quilted blanket over the two of you, wrapping his arms around you.

You paid very little mind to the movie playing on the TV. Instead you were focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the steady beating of his heart, and the minor movements his chest would make when he let out a soft laugh whatever he was watching.

He played with your hair, running his fingers through the strands, softly brushing his fingers over your neck with each pass. This position couldn’t have been more comfortable. Being with the man you loved as he comforted you in the way he knew best with absolutely no complaint was more than you could’ve ever dreamed of.

Hansol would claim that it was the bare minimum, but you always felt the need to let him know how much he really amazed you. 

When you reached your hand up to his cheek to brush your thumb over the skin, he looked down at you, completely forgetting about the movie playing. He grabbed your hand from his cheek and kissed your fingers, your palm, the back of your hand, the inside of your wrist.

Pulling yourself up to his face, you kissed him as softly as he’d done to your hand. Everything was so soft. From the way he kissed you to the way he caressed the skin under your hoodie right above the waistband of your shorts. From the hand you had in his hair to the way he lifted you to sit more comfortably in his lap.

He kissed your neck just as softly. You sighed contently. Fully basking in the way he took care of you. His movie was fully disregarded at this point as he gripped the bottom of your shirt.

Looking into your eyes he asked, “can I take care of you, love?” You nodded, helping him lift the sweatshirt over your head. 

Before you could even comprehend the nakedness of your chest, he lifted you into his arms and carried you to your shared bed. Laying you on your back. Your bare skin taking immense comfort in the softness of your sheet. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw his pants off to the side.

He immediately went back to kissing you. Hands moving from your cheeks, down your neck. His thumbs caressed your collarbone as his lips brushed the crook of your neck and then your shoulder. You shuddered when one of his hands took your breast. His lips met the other one, causing you to let out a breathy moan and weave your fingers through his dark hair.

He continued to kiss and touch every inch of your torso. When he got to your waistband, he left a small kiss under your belly button. His big brown eyes meeting your own as he pulled your shorts and underwear off together. Tossing them to the side of the bed. 

Lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder, he kissed your inner thigh, still meeting your eyes. The eye contact wasn’t broken until his thumb met your clit. Brushing over it slightly, making you toss your head back into the pillows under you. His mouth replaced his thumb, slowly teasing you. 

With his free hand, he took your own hand, the one that wasn’t gripping his hair, and threaded his fingers through yours. Thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

He felt so good. His tongue working so hard to make you feel pleasure. Everything was so gentle, but felt so euphoric. His fingers pumping in and out of you as he sucked on your clit. You felt like you could’ve floated away with the way he caressed your hand and your thigh. It wasn’t long before you were washed with a wave of pleasure. Everything was hot. You felt it rush through you from your ears down to your cunt. He kissed your thigh one more time after you came, fingers pushing you through the finale of your orgasm. 

Your breathing was ragged when he made it back up to your face, kissing you tenderly. Reaching a hand beneath the pillow under your head. He pulled out a condom. Before he could open it, you plucked it out of his hands, tearing it open as he stripped himself of his own underwear before you rolled the rubber onto his length. He groaned at the touch.

“You ready?” He asked, grabbing your arm and kissing your wrist.

You nodded, smiling, “yes. please, baby.”

When he pushed into you, you gasped and threw your head back again. He kissed your neck and shoulder, slowly thrusting into you. On most occasions, you’d beg him to go faster, but his subdued nature in this moment was so incredibly comforting. His thumb massaged your clit.

He kissed you deeply as he thrust into you. Completely overtaking your lips with his own. His kisses were so full of passion that your head spun. His adoration for you was so evident from the way he looked into your eyes when he stopped kissing you. Your foreheads pressed together, separated only by a thin layer of sweat. 

“I love you so much, y/n,” he says, just above a whisper. So close that you can feel his breath tickle your lips when he says it.

You moan softly, feeling yourself reach a second high, “I love you, too.”

It’s only a matter of minutes before you reach your orgasm. You grip his shoulders tight as he coaxes you through your climax. Walls fluttering around him as he finishes inside the condom. 

He kisses your lips once more before pulling out. He pushes himself off the bed to throw it away. When he comes back, he slides back into bed with you. Breath still slightly ragged. 

You laid on his chest, listening to his heart beat once more.

Running a hand over his stomach, you said, “Thanks for coming home early today.”

“Of course, love. You know I’d drop anything to come home to you if you were struggling.”

“I just feel like such a nuisance asking for you to come home,” you groaned.

He ran a hand over your hair, “I will never ever see you asking for help as a nuisance. Sometimes you just need a little push. Or sometimes you just need to lay in someone’s arms. I will always be there to do that for you. No matter the circumstance, ok?”

You wanted to protest, tell him he was too much, too good to you, but he kept going, “I trust you. I know that when you ask me to come home, it’s not because you're insecure or controlling. It’s because you need help, and I want you to always feel comfortable asking for it.”

He’d left you just a little bit speechless. All you could respond with was a gentle kiss on his lips.

For him, though, that was more than enough.

[onlystylesangels]

Silent Struggles

Anon: I might have a request … :) so what if harry found fem!Y/N’s pack of cigarettes and he didn’t know she smoked bc she never mentioned anything and he talks to her bc he’s concerned?/ Anon: H's girl seems to be acting off and he confronts her and it turns out she's been dealing with some depression and anxiety and she's been to scared to let anyone in or... reader seems to be going through something and hasn't told anyone about it and starts smoking cigarettes; dealing with her problems alone.

Warnings!!!: talks about anxiety, talks about depression, smoking, fluff, Harry being a supportive boyfriend, reader feeling insecure

A/N: Hello!!!! I know it's been a very long time since I have posted a new Harry writing. But here it is, lovies! I hope you enjoy this one. !!!***Before you read I want to start by saying that you are loved and you're precious to this world. I love you, yeah, you the lovely person that's reading this. I care about you and there are so many people around you that care for you too. Please if you're going through something, don't fight alone. Please tell someone what you're going through. Please be safe. -A <3

It happened as always. At night you would wake up from a nightmare, open the drawer from your nightstand and rummage for your new pack of cigarettes, the plastic wrapper still intact. You took two cigarettes out and grabbed your lighter. You walk into the balcony and start the fire. You inhale a sharp breath and let out the hollowing contents of nicotine. It felt nice. Feeling the nightly fresh air hit your exposed arms, goosebumps adorning your skin as you puff out smoke from your mouth. It happened as always, as a freshly new night routine. 

The next morning you woke up with the bitter taste of nicotine filling your senses and feeling a bit dizzy when you sat up from bed. You quickly grab your phone and look at the time. It was already 9am and you were positive that you were going to be running late to the local bookstore. 

So, you take a shower and put on clothes that may or may not have matched together to create a decent outfit, but fuck it. You were about to be late so you had to work with what you had. You quickly dashed to the kitchen and prepared a quick breakfast and made sure to message Harry. 

“Hi bubba! I’m heading out to work. I’ll see you later today, okay? Love you.”

“Sounds good, love. I love you too. Make sure to drink enough water!” 

Harry, always the caring type. You loved that about him. Having a person loving you for you and always making sure that you were doing okay was one of the blessings that you took for granted. If only it were that easy to show that same love to yourself.   

“Richie! Did you get a chance to call Davy? His favorite book just came in and he had first dibs on the book” You shout out to your coworker who always seems to be too busy to work as he is sitting at the back corner of the bookstore, scrolling through his phone. Pesky phones, fucking culprits of rotting out your brain.  

“Haven’t gotten a chance, Y/N. Why don’t you call ‘em?” Richie sends you a head nod and immediately looks down at his phone. Fucking twat.

You roll your eyes and walk towards the front desk and call Davy. But before you start pushing down the buttons on the phone you see someone come in.

“Hey Y/N! Has that book come in here yet?” The man of the hour. Davy, the active reader and loyal customer of the Blues Blues Bookstore. 

“Hey there, Davy. I was literally just about to call you. I got that book reserved here for you. Hold on.” 

You walk towards the back of the store and retrieve the book that had a bookmark with his name plastered on it. You walk towards the entrance and hand it to him. He quickly takes the book in his hands and begins turning the pages. 

“I love it! Thank you again, Y/N! Glad I got here as quickly as possible.” 

You turn towards the computer and begin typing away, clearing the book for Davy.

“My pleasure, Davy. Just make sure to always come back. You’re keeping us in business, remember?” You joke, making Davy laugh and giving you an eye roll.

“Yeah, yeah. I recommended some people to come by to the store. Not sure if they found their way in yet.”   

“Haven’t seen any new faces lately. I would ask Richie, but that twat doesn’t do anything here, so I guess no new customers.”

“Hmm, you should bring that up to Daya. I’m sure she’ll fire the guy.”

Firing Richie, tsk, that guy is literally family to Daya. Even if you tell her that Richie doesn’t do anything in the store she’ll find a way to defend him and tell you off. There is no way that you would ever start a conversation regarding firing Richie to Daya; she’ll never believe or listen to you. 

“We’ll see.” Is all you say as Davy puts his new book in his satchel.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N.” Davy says as he starts walking towards the doors. “Oh, and tell that boyfriend of yours hi. I haven’t seen that English man in a while.” 

You smile at the thought of him bringing up Harry. 

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll tell him you said hi. See you Davy.” You wave goodbye to him as he does the same. 

During your break time you try to sneak in some time to smoke a cigarette and make sure that the door you come out from is shut tightly. You feel dumb for hiding your recent cigarette intake from people, but then again, people see you as the nicest and innocent person on earth. Yeah, sure. But you kept thinking about the deadline. Your personal deadline that you set yourself to meet someone at the law college that you have been researching on. 

For a couple of months now you’ve been thinking about applying to a local law college in your city and were afraid to continue the process. You continuously had non-pep talks about how you would be a terrible law student and that you may not make it to getting accepted into the college. This and telling anyone about it was just too much for you to handle. You didn't even tell Harry yet. You knew why you didn’t want to tell anyone; you didn’t want to burden them with your problems. Problems that you knew were affecting you mentally and emotionally. 

= = = 

After the break you couldn’t stop the thoughts running through your mind. The mere thought of reaching out to the law school representatives and going to that mandatory interview to see if you were worth being a candidate for their college was already too much to think about. And so you continue your work in the bookstore. Putting new books up on the shelves and welcoming customers into the bookstore. Parents accompanied with their children as you reach for the candy jar under the front desk to offer to the children. You liked your job at the bookstore, but you felt like you needed a change of scenery, especially after working there for four years. And the thought of leaving this job and trying something new frightened you.

A couple of minutes before you were off. There was a ding heard at the entryway.

“Sorry, we’re closed. You can come by tomorrow at-” You look up from the front desk and notice that it’s Harry. Carrying a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His hair started to grow from the buzz cut he got months ago. Gray trousers and loose fitting t-shirt that was starting to rip at the neckline. You told him to throw that shirt away but he always replied by saying that it was his lucky shirt. Did you believe him? Of course not, but if he claims it is his lucky shirt then it’s his lucky shirt.

“Harry!” You run towards him ignoring the stack of books that were in front of you that needed price tags. 

Harry smiles and hugs you back as he kisses your cheek. “Hi, my love.” You walk back a bit and finally take notice of the bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

“And these?” 

“Oh, I got ‘em for Richie. You know that marvelous coworker of yours,” He lies through his teeth, your eyes rolling at the mention of his name. He notices your change of mood and lifts your chin with his thumb. “Hey, lovie. I’m joking. These are for you. I saw them at the local flower shop and thought that you would like ‘em.” Your lips start curving into a smile and you give him a kiss on the lips.

“Thank you, Harry,” you smell the flowers and softly touch the flower petals, “They’re gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome, my love.” Harry follows you as you go towards the backroom. Retrieving your things and ready to call it a day at the bookstore. 

“Ready?” Harry asks you. You smile in response and immediately grab his hand as he leads you both to the exit. You lock the doors to the bookstore and leave walking hand-in-hand with Harry.

You reach your apartment and unlock the door to your little home. You walk in along with Harry and make your way to the sink and grab a vase under the sink cabinet. Harry watches you as you fill the vase with water and stick the flowers in it; he admires your acts and just leans his weight on the kitchen island and stares at you as if you were this beautiful undiscovered galaxy. 

You catch him staring and you get shy all of a sudden. You get a bit self-conscious, but then that feeling goes away when Harry walks towards you and cups your cheeks. 

“You’re so pretty, Y/N.” You feel your cheeks get hot and you quickly turn your head away from his gaze; not even hiding the smile that you had. Harry chuckles and swiftly turns your head back to his gaze. “Don’t hide from me, love. It’s just me.” Harry teases, the back of his hand smoothly running down your cheek. 

“You make me nervous, Harry.” You confess, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you making me shy.” 

Harry picks you up and walks towards the couch. He keeps you on his lap as you continue hiding away from him. You both have been dating for over a year and so you must’ve at least gotten used to all those times that Harry gets you all flustered, but you haven’t yet. It’s like falling in love with him for the first time. That’s how you feel right now. Your body is so close to his and his arms wrapped around your body as he just holds you. Appreciating your presence; he held you in strong arms as if he was afraid to let you go. And he was.

For the rest of the evening you both order takeout from two different restaurants because you were craving two of your favorite foods. Harry happily ordered from the two restaurants as he left you in an excited mess. Excited that you were finally going to eat those foods that you craved for so long. The food doesn’t take long for it to arrive at the apartment and so you and Harry eat on the couch and watch some movies to pass the time. You both joke around about the characters from the movie that you were both watching and made the night pleasant. 

As the night went along, you were laughing along with Harry and enjoying being in each other’s company. You wished you could be there on the couch all night, but you were starting to yawn and your eyes starting to droop from how sleepy you were. Harry noticed and turns off the tv and grabs your hand and leads you both to your bedroom. He lets you go into the bathroom first to start your night routine as he lies down on the bed scrolling on his phone. 

You walk out the bathroom and stand over the bed and lean down to meet Harry’s eyes. He plops his phone down on his stomach and you take this opportunity to kiss his pink lips. 

“Mm, I don’t want to shower anymore.” He whines in between kisses. You chuckle and grab both of his hands and try your best to lift your boyfriend up from the bed. Jeez, you weren’t an active gym-rat, but from just lifting up his body you felt like you did a whole workout.

“Damn, Harry.” You swipe a hand over your forehead. Harry laughed in response. 

“My bones are heavy, love.” He simply responds as he walks towards your dresser and opens up his designated drawer that has some of his clothes in it. “Be right back, lovie.” He looks behind him and sees you starting to make yourself comfortable on your side of the bed. 

“Don’t take too long.” You respond

“I’ll try not to.” He walks to the bathroom with a new pair of clothes hanging on his shoulder. He leaves the door open; the showerhead turning on.

A couple of minutes pass and Harry walks back into the bedroom; drying his hair as best as he could. It was easier for him to dry it now that it was shorter. You lift up the bed covers inviting him inside the warm cocoon. You both lie together, Harry spooned you from behind and as you brought one his arms up to your chest. You both fall asleep into a quiet slumber. 

But you wake up after a couple of hours. You didn’t even bother to check the time as you opened your eyes and slowly removed Harry’s arm from hugging your body. You sit up and walk towards your bedside drawer; already knowing your nightly routine. You grab the pack of cigarettes that were hidden under some of your favorite books and miscellaneous items that you kept forgetting to get rid of. You also get a lighter that was stashed inside your purse and go outside to the balcony.

The butt of the cigarette blazes to life as you take a breath in of the substance and slowly let a breath out. Your thoughts once again start to disappear with every intake of breath you take. It numbed them, made them disappear, but only temporarily. You knew that smoking was making your lungs get sore and your nose wrinkling still not getting used to the smell of the smoke, but you didn’t care at that moment. It numbed everything, it numbed your problems and it made everything feel-- better.

As you continued puffing out air of smoke you continued looking up at the sky, stars aligning the horizon randomly. With each puff of smoke you felt the anxiety slowly go away. You were almost down to the brim of the cigarette, so you could comfortably go back to sleep. Once you were about to inhale one last breath of nicotine you heard footsteps making its way towards the balcony. You freeze and hold the cigarette in your  fingers, bringing your hand to your side. 

“Y/n?” Harry says as he rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes. “What are you doing out here, it’s la-” He stops himself once he notices what’s in your hand. He looked confused, he didn’t know you smoked. 

“Harry.” You reply. The cigarette is still in between your fingers, burning away. 

“I- I didn’t know you smoke.” Harry begins slowly walking towards you, concern sketched in his eyes.

You look down at the cigarette that continues to burn away and you feel tears start welling up in your eyes. You bring the cigarette up in front of you and stomp it on the floor, watching as the smoke starts consuming your nose. Regret. Regret is what you were feeling as you turned to Harry’s presence, his demeanor causing you to feel like a deer in front of headlights. You’re sorry. Sorry that you never told him that you picked up smoking because of not having anything else to control your anxiety. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Harry runs to you and embraces you with all his might. “Oh love. Come here.” You snuggled into his embrace and began crying. You held onto his arms so tightly that you were clutching onto him afraid of him letting go. Letting you go.

“I was scared. I just wanted to help… myself.” You mutter.

Harry held you as he ran his hands down your back. He would occasionally massage your head. “I promise you baby, I am going to be here for as long as you want me to, then you can let me in and help you.” He held onto you tightly and he kissed the side of your face. Harry let you cry on his chest as he rubbed your back soothingly, trying best to comfort you.

“I just felt alone.”  

Harry steps back a bit and looks you in the face, concern written all over his green irises. He held your hand in his and met your eyes filled with tears.“You have me, darlin’.” Harry said, his fingers lightly brushing away the stranded tear on your cheek. “I’m right here, Y/N.” He reassures you. Bringing you close to his body again.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry.” You let out, Harry cupping your cheeks trying to calm your nerves. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You have nothin’ to apologize for, lovie.” He looks at your bloodshot eyes. Seeing you sad like this he felt broken. Broken that he didn’t know how to make you feel better, broken because he hated seeing you without a smile on your face. Broken that he wasn’t aware that you were hurting. “Is it okay if I ask what’s going on?” He said with a soft voice. 

“I– I just been sad and overthinking, okay.” You let out, your hands coming up to cover your face. You felt ashamed, as if a parent just witnessed the most disappointing act from their child. You hated feeling insecure in your own skin; you felt worse that it was Harry that was looking down at you with concern in his eyes and his body weight shifting to softly take your hands in his and seeing your face. 

“Hey, hey. Y/N, baby, you’re scaring me. What are you sad about,” Harry steps back a bit giving you room to speak and mostly giving himself self-control from forcing you to share what’s been making you sad. “Baby, I’m right here, okay. It’s just me.” 

You slowly turn your head away from his gaze and look at the sky. Your hands no longer covering your flushed face, but now twiddling with your shirt, Harry’s shirt. You feel bad that you now created droplets of tears on the collar of his favorite shirt. 

“I just have been dealing with a lot of negative thoughts and I just… sniffle… I didn’t want you to worry about me.” Your hands constantly were moving from your face down to your shirt. Harry catches your little antics and walks towards you, slowly, making sure that he has a good distance between you two before he starts again.

“Y/N. I had no idea that you were going through something. I had the feeling that you were acting a bit different, but never thought that something was affecting you,” He waits for your permission to come in closer and so he takes no time and has his hands cupping your cheeks. Tears staining your beautiful cheeks that he so dearly loved taking his time in kissing and feeling your soft skin against his ring-clad fingers. “I wished I knew you were going through something.” He confessed, sensing a feeling of regret that he felt for not seeing the signs of you feeling depressed and not being your energetic-self. Now as he looks back, he noticed your change of behavior. Being a bit more reserved, but still communicating with him which led him not sensing a shift of you. 

 “You always told me that it was your period messin’ with ya mood. I was so stupid to believe that. Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” 

It’s true. You shared to him that the past couple of months when he would suggest going out to shopping outlets and going out for dinner you would simply reply that you weren’t in the mood to go out in public. That your period was getting the best of you and drained your energy. It was true that you had bad days when you were on your period, but you made him believe that it was your menstrual cycle being the culprit of you feeling drained. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You cried out, his hands holding your head as he hugged your frame and landed kisses on your head. 

“It’s okay. I know now that you haven’t been feeling good. Jus’ let me help you, yeah?” Harry looks down at you, your eyes bloodshot as a soft smile creeps up on Harry’s lips. You follow suit and slowly mimic a smile back. 

Harry leads you back to the bedroom and lets you sit on the edge of the bed. “‘M going to start a bath for you. Is that okay?” 

You nod in agreement and he starts turning on the bath faucet, making sure that the water is warm enough to calm your body and hopefully make you feel a bit better. As he is sure that the water is at the right temperature he comes back to the bedroom where you are still sitting on the bed. He kneels in front of you and looks up at you, his hands running up and down your arms gently. 

“The water is almost ready for ya. I’m gonna get those bath bombs you like so much and light up some candles.” He says, reaching towards your head and landing a kiss on your forehead. You softly smile at his action and continue looking at his beautiful eyes that you could never get tired of looking at. 

He goes back to the bathroom and takes a blueberry muffin scented bath bomb and throws it inside the bathtub as he watches the water fizzle and quickly change into a dark blue hue. He then lights up a couple of candles and sets them on the sink cabinet.

He comes back to the bedroom and Harry motions for you to stand up and you do and follow behind him making your way to the bathroom. He’s about to leave you alone in the bathroom for you to get undressed, giving you privacy.

You quickly reach towards his hand and he stops from walking out the bathroom. He looks back at you waiting for you to say something. 

“Stay, please.” You mutter softly. His hand slowly intertwines with yours as he shuts the door behind him and walks towards you. Nodding in agreement as he follows suit and starts undressing. You motion for him to help you unclasp your bra and he quickly does it with ease. 

You step into the warm water and instantly feel the water relieving your tired muscles. You didn’t even realize how tense your muscles were. Harry then follows you and lands both feet on the warm bathtub. He lies down first and motions for you to lie down against his chest. You carefully situate your body close to his and feel his thick thighs wrap around your own legs, his arms wrapping around your mid area. Your breasts touching his forearms. Your skin sinking into the warm embrace of the scented water as you shiver, goosebumps trailing on your skin yet again from the cool air coming from the bathroom. Harry cups his hands into the water and brings it up to splash water on your chest and remaining skin that has yet to make contact with the warm water. You smile from his gentle mannerisms as you lean back into his chest, your head cradling on top of his chest. You look up at him as he smiles down at you, dimples on full display. 

Harry kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes and smile in response. His soft touches always make you feel relaxed.

“You want to talk ‘bout it?” Harry asked, his hands making small circles on your belly.  

“No. But I need to talk about it,” You reply, holding onto his free hand that’s holding onto the tub. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I have been thinking about going back to school. Law school.” You confess, playing with Harry’s fingers and tracing his knuckles.

“That’s exciting, love. I’m happy that you’re thinking about going back to school.” He soothes your belly some more. 

You turn your head just enough to catch his gaze. “Yeah, but I know how much you want to move in together. I want to move in together too, but law school isn’t cheap.” 

“We’ll figure it out together. I can always pick up extra shifts at the tattoo parlor and maybe sell some of my songs on the side.” Harry assures you. 

“But, I don’t want you working too hard for my sake. That’s one of the reasons why I was afraid to tell you this.” You turn your attention back to Harry’s freehand and continue tracing his knuckles. 

Harry catches this and softly tilts your head so he could see your eyes. “Hey, lovie. We’re in this together. If you have dreams of your own I will stand by you and help you achieve those dreams. We’re a team, yeah?” 

You smile up at him. Tears slowly start to blur your vision. You have always been like this. When new problems would arise you would shut-off, you wouldn’t tell anyone about what you were going through and it was hard for you to ask for help. You were that friend that always told people to reach out to you if they were going through something, but that’s the exact thing that you don’t do. Leaving yourself to fend for yourself; self-sabotaging yourself. 

You look away and land your hands on your knees, feeling tears starting to slide down your cheeks again. “I feel like such a loser. Why is this small thing bothering me so much?” You quietly say. 

Harry shifts his body just enough so he could see the state that you’re in. He moves a couple of your wet strands away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. “Hey, don’t call yourself that. You’re not a loser. You’re my beautiful girlfriend who's the strongest person I’ve ever known.” 

Pfft. “Strong?” You repeat, feeling an urge of disgust with yourself. 

“Hey, whatever you’re feeling, we’ll get through it together. You’re strong for sharing what you’re going through.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Harry.” You turn your head and stare at his eyes. Wanting to feel his lips against yours.

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses your shoulder and notices how your gaze looks at his lips. He meets your eyes and leans close to kiss your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his body closer to yours, feeling his body heat. Your arms run down his tattooed arm and leave his lips wishing for more as you start kissing his swallows on his chest. 

He brings your face close to his. “We’ll do this together, lovie. I promise.” He says through kisses, kissing every crevice of your face, making you smile from his facial hair tickling your skin. 

As you two finish up bathing and drying your bodies and changing into clean clothes; you started to feel better. You weren’t sure if it was because you finally told Harry what you were going through, or if it was because you had Harry with you being that only person to see you at your lowest and comforting you. You didn’t know, but you felt good.

You both get ready for bed. Harry finishes brushing his teeth and putting a serum on his face that you recommended him to try. You lay down on the bed waiting for Harry to walk into the bedroom. He discards his shirt and throws it somewhere in the bedroom. Thinking about that in the morning he’s going to be looking for that garment all morning. The thought of it makes you smile. 

Harry walks to the bed and lies down. He motions you to climb on him and you do as you carefully situate one of your legs to be between one his legs. You look at him to check if he looks comfortable.

“Is this okay?” You asked, he nods and slides a hand under your shirt, his hand running up and down your back. He kisses the crook of your neck. You lie your head on his chest and hear his heart beating in a steady rhythm. With the thumping of Harry’s heart you begin drifting off into sleep. 

“Goodnight, lovie.” Harry whispers to you. But you were already out. Harry takes it as a clue that you have already called it a night when you didn’t respond back. He smiles to himself and continues running his hands over your back, feeling your body relax to his soft touch.

That night was the first night that you felt good, happy even. You felt relieved, this was one of the first nights that you slept through the whole night. You didn’t wake up to a nightmare clouding your unconscious mind. You had Harry next to you, hugging your body, feeling his warm breath hit the crevices of your neck, feeling his arms wrapped around you as if you were his only safe haven.

The next day…

“You want me to be there with you while you fill out the college application?” Harry asks you as he takes a sip of his tea. 

You hold the mug of freshly brewed coffee and smell the vanilla hazelnut creamer and instantly making you melt. 

“You would do that?”

“Of course. I want to be in every step of the college process, if you let me.”

“I would love that, Harry.” You smile as you set down your mug. 

“Okay, my love,” Harry kisses the top of your head and whispers "I love you” to you. “I’m going to get something for us to eat. I’ll be right back.” He takes his wallet and spare keys into one hand and leans towards you where you sit in the kitchen island. “Kissy?” 

Kissy. A cute little phrase that you would both ask each other to ask for permission for a kiss. A phrase that started since you two were dating for five months. A little phrase that was childish, but you both didn’t care. It was cute. 

You smile up at him. As you took another sip of your coffee, then another one. Teasing Harry as a pout started to appear on his face. He then started blinking his eyes furiously making you stop drinking from your mug. He got you there.

“Kissy.” You lean over to him and kiss him. You cup his cheek and run your freehand into his hair. He moaned into your touch making you smile in response. 

“I’ll be back, yeah?” 

“Okay. I love you Harry.” 

“I love you.” 

He walks out the door with his spare keys being the only thing you hear as he makes his way down the corridor. Leaving you alone with your mug of coffee half-way filled in front of you. You walk to the living room and grab the laptop that was on top of the coffee table and bring it back to the kitchen island. You set it there and wait. You stare at the black screen of the laptop as your reflection looks back at you. You continue taking small sips of your coffee and wait until Harry comes back. 

////////

“Hey, darlin’ I got your favorite snacks and lunch from that Vietnamese restaurant you like.” Harry enters into the small apartment and takes you by surprise. You were reading a book that you always put off. He walked towards you and set the bags of food on the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Are you ready, lovie?” 

As time passed you completed the university application and stopped yourself to double check on every detail that you added on the application. You felt nervous, anxious about completing the whole college application process, but you knew that it was going to be worth it in the end. You were glad that you had Harry with you filling the application, because you wouldn’t have had the courage to fill it out on your own. You were happy that you were accompanied and had his support. Harry didn’t ignore the anxiety and the way that you would play with your fingers while filling out the online application. This was a lot for you and he understood that you needed a well-deserved break. 

“Hey baby, take a small break,” Harry grabs the laptop and closes it, but making sure that he saved the application before doing so. “Here, get some foodsies.” Harry passes you the large bowl filled with your favorite pho. 

You take a mouthful of the delicious seasoned soup and sigh as you feel the warmth of the soup comforting your body, leaving you in a relaxed state. “Thank you my love,” you take a napkin and wipe the corners of your mouth. “I missed pho so much.” 

Harry smiles in response as he takes a bite of his own pho. He sits closer to you as his knees touch yours. He gave you frequent glances as a way to know that you were eating well and keeping note of your reactions. You were comfortable which made him happy. 

The night went along well. You finished applying for the university and only waited to get a response back. A couple of weeks it would take before you would get a response. So you continued going to the bookstore and you were starting to share more things with Harry, something that you didn’t do before. You shared more about your past, your family. He knew about your parents and other closer family members, but you never went into depth with other important people that you grew up with back home. You were happy to share more of your life with Harry. 

You both spent more time with each other more often. If you called Harry that you were feeling down, Harry would drop what he was doing and quickly get to your apartment as fast as he could. If you were on your period and Harry knew about it he would stay the whole week to make sure that you were taking care of yourself and to obviously spoil you. Just because flowers were his favorite habit of showing you that he loved you and would randomly gift you little crochet stuffies from a local independent shop. He eventually got you so many that you were running out of spaces where to put them, but you loved every little crochet plushie, they were just so cute! 

The more time that you spent with Harry you hadn’t picked up a cigarette. After Harry found out that you were smoking to relieve what you were feeling he didn’t judge or tell you that you had to stop smoking. Instead, he didn’t mention it, but acknowledged that it was something that you picked up when you were feeling depressed. So, you were grateful that he was there with you along the way of you figuring out how to slowly stop smoking. 

Weeks later…

And so you waited two weeks. In those two weeks a lot happened. Harry was getting his stuff ready to officially move in with you. Nothing much happened, just helping Harry move in his boxes and get him situated in your now shared apartment. He was excited to start living with you and as he said it “Happy to wake up next to my lovie every mornin’.” You were ecstatic to live with Harry, and, well, he already was living in your apartment when he would stay some nights, but this was going to be different. You were going to wake up next to him every morning and being grumpy on Saturday mornings because Harry would wake you to go on morning runs. On a Saturday out of all days! But you were getting too used to him living in your shared space.

Later that week you received an acceptance letter from the university that you applied at. When Harry came to the apartment from work that same day you told him out of excitement. He hugged you tight and gave you so many kisses that overwhelmed you, but you didn’t care you were too happy. The following week you spent a whole week getting school supplies. Harry came along of course picking out the most random things that he swore that you would use in college. Who needs three white boards and two big packs of big sticky notes? You were content in getting one white board and one big sticky note pack just to make Harry feel better. 

“But you’re gonna need two of ‘em, lovie.” 

You chuckle at his antics, “Why two Harry? I just need one.” 

Harry stares down at the plastic covered white board in his hands. “Cause ya gonna need to jot down our date nights. You can’t fit everythin’ on one white board.” He reminds you.

“Bubba, one is enough.” 

You take the white board and pack of stickies with you along with some other supplies. Harry followed behind as he kept putting in colorful markers and journaling stickers in the cart. He definitely made that shopping trip amusing. And you loved every moment of it. 

Four years later…

You sat at every class lecture and followed along what the professors talked about. You were present, you were dedicated and it paid off. There were times where you had breakdowns because of the workload that law school brought to you and it was a lot to handle. The anxiety that was kept at bay was slowly creeping onto you during those troubling school semesters that were always heavy with coursework, but you always had Harry there to guide you through breathing techniques. It was a lot, but you were happy that you were pushing through those semesters for you, for your future and Harry’s. You were proud all those days that you showed up to class prepared to learn the material and to later take the bar exams.

Those four years really did pay off. Cap and gown on and a smile on your face as you waited for your name to be called on the intercom. You walked onto stage as you had the urge to cry, but you stopped yourself because you knew that this was your moment. You were ecstatic that you finally met your goal. Going to school and having Harry and your close family members with you during this long journey. Happy that you were no longer alone… well, you were never alone, but you finally knew what it felt to let people in, let people care about you and let them hear your struggles. You were no longer suffering in silence. You were now walking down the stage with a diploma in your hand, holding onto your biggest achievement and you were excited to see what the future held for you. You knew that whatever life would bring you, you would no longer fight it alone, because you had people and you were no longer going to struggle in silence.

[sweeetheartdiaries]

Sweet Diary: July 15, 2024

I know it’s been a while since my last entry. My life has felt like a downwards spiral lately. Mostly about my future and my life. I’ve just been feeling really stuck. I don’t know what I want to do in my life post-school yet and as I scroll on social media it seems like girls my age have it all figure out. They know what they want to do and exactly how they’re doing it. I guess I just feel almost left behind? I don’t know. It’s hard putting my feelings in words, but this is what the entries are for. I want to be able to say what i’m feeling so more spirals like this doesn’t happen again.

But enough of that. 😊 I’m starting a mentorship program in the new school year and I am elated. I got in touch with the magazine at UA and i think this will be good for me. It’ll help with my future but also help me stay in the present and not drift so far away. I’m able to try out my dream of both fashion and writing. I got an email from them today and as I was reading it, it felt like everything around me got brighter and I could breathe again. I’m so excited for this. I don’t want to ruin this so i’m going to start writing and reading more now. I have a really good feeling about this.

So yeah. I don’t have much updates since i’ve basically been rotting in my bed for the past couple of days. Things only really started to get brighter this morning. 🤭

I gotta go finish my chores before I head to bed. I’ll actually see you tomorrow!

Movie/Tv show of the day: Love Island

Book of the day: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Song of the day: Cherry On Top by BINI

Stay Sweet and keep looking up 🦋

[floridabaiter]

Lonely People (Not Us, Though)

George shoved him, “You’re crazy, we’ll get all wet.” 

“So what?” Dream was practically tugging George by the arm at this point “C’mon. Please? For me?”

And who would George be to deny that?

-

Dnf, george/dream , getting together , first kiss , probably ooc as fuck , tooth rotting fluff. Y’know, the good stuff. Dancing in the rain <3. We’re just egtting back into writing if its bad be nice to us :[

everyone say ty to anon btw 

George hated rainy days.

They made his body fatigue, mind hazy with the lazy pitter-patter hum against the rooftop as he lost himself. The touch-starved need to have someone with him keeping him distracted. Focus was always cast aside for clambering up into his bed, piles of blankets on top of him while he scrolled through his phone. 

Losing his productive drive for one day, in his mind, was the worst thing that could ever happen in the moment. His first rainy day in Florida since he arrived was spent huddled under several layers of fabric. It was far too hot and sticky for the humidity, poking his legs out to gain freedom as his torso was baked in the hot compartment he’d created himself.

The morning was spent so lazy, he found himself slipping into a state of haze- approaching footsteps and a rapping knock on the door dragging him out of it.

“George?” He heard through the door, “Geooorge, c’mon! I know you’re awake.. I’m bored.”

A groan.

“If you don’t open up I’m coming in there.” The warning was nothing if not lighthearted, concern hovering just below a teasing twinge meeting his ears as the door was pushed open.

What Dream was then met with was a heap. A heap of blankets, George sunk under them and nearly dozing off if it weren’t for the twitter feed in front of him.

“George, are you sick?” 

He shook his head.

“Tired?”

A nod.

Without warning, he was being picked up from his place of slumber and slung into his friend’s arms bridal-style; struggling to get out of his grip.

“Dream-!” George thrashed a bit, “Let me down!!” It was met with low chuckles, eventually his own laughter pouring out into the air- muffling the rain’s harsh sounds.

When the laughter died down, George was still being carried. 

“Could you put me down now?” He asked, receiving a shake of Dream’s head.

He grinned, “I know your tricks, you’re small. And slippery. You’ll somehow get back upstairs.”

The corners of George’s mouth tipped a bit downward, “Let me go.”

“Why?” Dream teased “Are you afraid?” 

George shook his head. 

“No-” He sighs, “Let me down, please.”

Dream sets him down to the floor without a second thought, helping George steady himself.

“Can I ask..? Or is it not something you want to talk about?” It was tender, no teasing intended. Welcoming, warm.

George scoffed, arms folding tight over his chest.

“It’s stupid.”

His friend made a face.

“It’s not stupid to me if it’s bothering you.” Dream swiped away something like a tear from George’s cheek, “You can tell me anything, you know that. I’m not going to judge you George.”

He paused.

“I just.” He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I don’t like the rain, okay? It makes me feel… I don’t know. Alone?”

Dream looked back down at him, holding a hand up to the other’s arm.

 “You don’t have to feel alone, I’m right here.” He cleared his throat, “In the-yeah. In the rain, I mean. You don’t have to feel alone in the rain.”

“Thanks for the clarification.” Dripped with lighthearted sarcasm, a hand snaked around George’s waist. 

“Come in the rain with me. Right now.”

George shoved him, “You’re crazy, we’ll get all wet.” 

“So what?” Dream was practically tugging George by the arm at this point “C’mon. Please? For me?”

And who would George be to deny that?

----

And so, essentially through his own inability to say no to Dream, he found himself standing on the front-steps of their home. He let himself get dragged out further, slipping off socks in favor of bare feet on the concrete and water against his skin.

He stood there for a moment, watching Dream have the time of his life while he bit back a smile.

“Y’know Georgie,” the voice made him jump unexpectedly, he’d gotten lost in his own little world for a moment. “You could join me..” An arm was outstretched to him.

And again, who was he to deny Dream?

George stepped out, water dripping off his skin and rolling down in the aftermath. His hand was slotted in Dream’s- who was for the third time today dragging him somewhere as he caught up to where he was being taken.

The middle of the road was humid and drenched, water panged off the darkened concrete and barely spring back up to create little splashes that sprinkled for a moment before ceasing completely. It soothed him, almost. Made him dislike it a little less, made him like being in it a little more.

He thought of something that made him huff out a giggle.

“Hey- Dream. Dream.” He stifled his full-blown laugh. “Y’know this is a break in a heat-wave right?”

It was Dream’s turn to scoff.

“Pandering!” It was said sarcastically, larger tan arm bumping against George’s. “Dnf! Dnf! Green and blue!”

George found himself barrelling with much-needed laughter, head landing straight into the crook of Dream’s neck as he did; arm draping over his shoulder. He felt hands snake around his waist.

The shorter man moved his head to glance up at Dream, eyebrows ruffled and lips quirked.

“Who are you pandering to now?”

Dream’s face went a bit pink at that, his turn to nip at his lip. His heart pounded in his ribcage, thumping in his ears- him not being the only one to notice that.

“Oh, y’know. Uh. Patches?” 

George rolled his eyes. Slotting his head back to the crook, eyes poking out to peer above Dream’s shoulder- he began to sway them back and forth. 

They stayed like that for a while, swaying. Dream hummed under his breath, water hit their heads and shoulders and backs but it was okay; holding each other made it okay for anything to happen.

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

The world stopped, but not their slow dancing in the road.

There was a beat of silence.

“Really?” George hid his smile, but it was evident that Dream could feel that and the heat of his cheeks against his shoulder, “was it before or after the heatwaves joke?”

Dream felt his breath hitch.

“Is that a no then?”

George looked up, making eye contact.

“Shut up, get out of your own head for a minute.” He leaned in close, breath ghosting against Dream’s lips; “This okay?”

“More than okay.”

And so, in the slow-moving stormy afternoon, for the very first time;

George kissed him.

[savoryscribbles]

“Depression Sucks And You Don’t Deserve It”

Main masterlist

Haikyuu masterlist

Hewo once again I’m back, with a another self-indulgent fic hehe, and they’ll all be self-indulgent till I have more requests, so like idk, I love Kenma so fuckin much. And here’s some stuff Imma write(I haven’t writen it yet). And I heard a rumor(Umbrella Academy anyone?) that he is a CEO when he grows up??? So like CEO!Kenma. I really enjoyed writing this. I love Kenma so much, and yet I haven’t written much for him. Like I said I’m really proud of this and hope you enjoy! This is very different from my usual diologe heavy fics, Idk why I’m saying thay, it’s just something I’ve noticed. It’s a writing style I love, because I love descriptions, I live for paragraphs of the characters describing they’re love, it truly brings me to my knees.

Synopsis: The reader(you) are in a depressive slump, and don’t know how to get out of it. Luckily your loving husband Kenma, is here to help you, but what happens when he finds out the reason for your depression?

Warnings/tags: tooth rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, people being mean, Kenma not having any of it,

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH THREATS AND THINGS SIMILAR, AS WELL AS SLUT SHAMING DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY AFFECTED BY SUCH THINGS

Word count:1300

⊱ ❀ ✿ ꕥ ✿ ❀ ⊰

Kenma didn’t love a lot of things. He could count on one hand the things he loved:

1. You

2.Spoiling you

2. His company

3. Video games

4. Apple pie

5. Kuroo

In that order. He felt so lucky to have you in his life. And hated it when you were down to yourself, hated it when you would shut everyone and everything out of your life. Luckily he alway managed to slither his way into your life whoever you would do that, and pull you out of the hole you dug yourself. He could always tell whoever you needed saving from yourself, and he would always be there to save his wonderful spouse.

So when he came home after a long day of work, and noticed you weren’t in the front rooms, he knew something was wrong.

Kenma is quite, he observes from afar. So he’s sad to say he didn’t really do anything for the first few days. He noticed your mood change though, he however did not know if it was just a little slump, or if you needed help to get out the hole you had likely dig yourself.

But he drew the line at you crying. It was a normal day, he fully expected to arrive home without a greeting, as he had for the past week. Something he was not prepared for was your soft sniffles coming from your shared bedroom.

He already knew that today was the day he was going to talk to you about your slump. This just pushed him farther.

It started as a one off remark.

‘I bet they’re just with him for the money’

Those kinds of comments didn’t affect you, and long ago had you learned to ignore them. The only reason that this time was any different, was that they didn’t stop there. What once was only a comment on an Instagram post, turned into private DM’s telling you to kill yourself.

One might say this is what comes with beings and online presence. But no one should be told to kill themselves, no one should be called a whore, just for living your life.

It was not the first time things had gotten quite bad, but this time had to be the worst. It caused you to lock yourself up in your room, and only come out for dinner. You cried when Kenma wasn’t home, and did your best to hide it.

You tired to push the thoughts away, you tried to ignore the comments, but they all kept a tight hold on your mental stability.

‘You’re just a gold digging whore.’

‘They don’t deserve Kenma’

‘They’re just a low level bitch using him for his money, I bet they’re cheating on him’

‘He’s so nice to them, gives them everything they want, and what does he get in return? Nothing. Cause they’re just a gold digging greedy whore.’

You couldn’t stop. You scrolled, reading every rude remark, every mean comment, every DM. At this point your tears were never ending, only stopping when you had become to dehydrated, but you didn’t have the energy to get up.

One day, you did your daily scroll through Twitter later than usual. This was because it was getting bad, you woke up hours later than normal, you had lost all your energy to move, it took you an hour or so just to move your hand to the bedside table. And it had taken another 30 minutes to just look at your phone.

You’re cry’s were to loud for you to hear the door open. And you had just barely noticed your bedroom door being opened. And you hardly registered Kenna’s voice.

“Why are you crying?” He asked you dipping down to see your face more clearly. You didn’t respond to him, just starring blankly at the screen. He noticed and slowly took your phone form your grasp, making you finally look at him, only causing you to burst into another round of tears. You turn around, your back facing him, afraid that once he saw you he’d realize how much you don’t deserve him.

‘He doesn’t deserve me. I’m just an ugly lazy bitch. What have I done this week? Stayed in bed all day. I’m useless. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me’

Kenma looked down at your phone, putting two and two together. What he saw astonished him. He saw comment after comment of rude remarks toward what he assumed was you. He scolded himself.

‘How did I not see these? Is this what caused them to be down this whole week? Why didn’t they tell me? They would have told me if it got bad right? Right?’

You felt him tug at your shoulder, signaling for you to turn back toward him. You ignored this, favoring your self-loathing thoughts.

“Love, I need you to turn around.” Kenma said, tugging a little harder. You sill ignored him, causing him to sign, and eventually let go. You thought you were free, and he was going to leave you alone, but oh how you were wrong.

Kenma took off his dress shoes, blazer, tie, belt and pants, opting for the most comfortable he could be, knowing he most likely was going to be in bed for awhile. He then walked around the bed and climbed in. Quickly wrapping you in his arms before you had a chance to turn around or pull away. He muttered a thanks to whatever god was up there for maintaining his setter reflexes from high school.

“I read some of the comments you were looking at. You know none of them are true right?” He whispered, trying his best to comfort you. Even though he had greatly mutured, he still had a lack of social and comfort skills. He often opted to buy gifts as a way to show love, which is where most of those rude comments got their fuel from.

You didn’t respond, and tried your hardest to not melt in his chest. It was so easy to love him, he was amazing. And you didn’t deserve him. He noticed your lack of response and decided to just hold you tighter, knowing you’d talk when you’re ready. You felt your resolve crumble as you wrapped your arms around Kenmas neck, holding him as tight as you could.

“I’m- I’m sorry! I’ve been- been just laying here doing nothing this whole week, I’m useless, I don’t deserve you!” You balled into him. He was shocked, he hadn’t expected you to say such words, such lies. You were far from useless, even if you didn’t work, you were amazing, you cooked dinner, sometimes did house chores, and most importantly, kept Kenma happy, he would have given up a long time ago if not for you, you and your high spirits, never letting him give up. If he was being frank, he didn’t deserve you, you were perfect, an angel, a goddess, a god.

“You aren’t useless, you my love are amazing, truly amazing, you could never be useless, even if you didn’t lift a finger for the rest of your life. You deserve me, hell I’m not even sure I deserve you.” He responded seriously. He would never let you think bad about yourself, and if you did he was always going to be there to put an end to it, he tried his best to help you see yourself to the angel you were.

You just held him, crying until you couldn’t anymore. He didn’t say much either, he had said all he needed to say. He just held you tightly, waiting for you to speck, or fall asleep, or pull away, something.

When you pulled back, he heard your stomach growl. He whipped your remaining tears from your face before ducking down to kiss you. And oh how he missed, it had been a week, of course he missed it.

The kiss was a long passion filled one, expressing all the love you both weren’t able to.

“I’m hungry.” You muttered when you eventually pulled away.

“I think I can help with that.” He said carrying you to the kitchen.

[i-choose-the-danger]

The Ticklish Predicament of Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Seeing as today is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s birthday, it feels fitting that I should have finished writing this fic today. I’m sure this global pandemic has prompted many of you to read and write quarantine fics. (and if you’ve found any good ones, sharing is caring so send them my way -_^) I imagine that quarantine in 221B would be quite interesting to say the least. I wanted to write some quick fluff, so here’s my contribution. I hope y’all enjoy it, and please stay safe wherever you are. <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock,” John grumbled with a sigh. He took another slow sip of his tea as he shook out the newspaper in his other hand. “We’ve been over this a thousand times.” 

“Ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed. He glanced over at his flatmate from the desk. “Don’t exaggerate, John. It doesn’t suit you.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but firmly pressed his lips back together and turned his gaze back to his laptop screen as his fingers resumed their tapping on the keyboard.

“Go ahead then.” John put down both his tea and the paper. He inhaled sharply with his eyes on Sherlock, settling deeper into his chair. “Say it.” He crossed his arms and waited. 

“Say what?” Sherlock’s brows were raised in mock innocence. He knew that the action would irritate John. He didn’t dare make eye contact, but he could picture the look of disgust on John’s face. 

“You know exactly how many times, don’t you?” John knew he’d get an answer whether or not he asked. 

“Thirteen,” was the quiet reply.

“Thirteen… Thirteen bloody times and not a single one of them has gotten through to you!”

“Why are we even discussing this? Once you leave, there’s nothing stopping me from going out that door.” Sherlock caught sight of John’s sudden smirk and it unnerved him. “What?”

“Try it and see what happens.” John glanced to the window closest to him and then back at the detective, who quickly pushed himself from the desk. As Sherlock stomped toward the window, John smiled to himself and waited for what he expected to be quite a tantrum.

“Is that one of Mycroft’s or Lestrade’s?” Sherlock asked through gritted teeth, clutching the curtain in a tight fist and eying a car parked in front of the building.

“You might want to check again, mate.” John smiled a little wider and took another sip of his tea.

“BOTH!?” Sherlock was livid. He never would have missed such easy details on a normal day. His chest suddenly felt heavy. His feet dragged as he paced around the flat.

“And you’ll find another two out back in case you think about sneaking away through Mrs. Hudson’s garden again.” John had relocated to the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder towards the windows. “She’s still furious about the roses you trampled last time, by the way.”

“Oh please, they weren’t exactly thriving. I did her a favor by putting them out of their misery.” The detective clutched his robe and shook it out, as if doing so would alleviate the tightness in his chest. He crossed the room to the coffee table, stepping onto it and then over it to twist himself backwards and collapse across the couch. “I didn’t notice both cars out front. It’s happening, don’t you see?!” He angrily raked both hands through his curls on either side of his head and groaned.

“I see that you’re being ever the dramatic.” He rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s growl. “I could barely get you to leave the flat to go pick up milk without having you throw some sort of tantrum before this, but all of a sudden now you need to go out there in this mess?”

“Damn it, John! I NEED A CASE!” Sherlock screamed, ringing clawed hands. He sat up and pressed his hands together in a praying formation, setting his chin on outstretched thumbs. Resting his index fingers against his nose, he tried to speak more calmly. “I haven’t left the flat in weeks. I haven’t gone on cases. I can’t have experiments brought here. I am bored, John. My brain is starting to rot. I’m slipping.”

“Oh for heaven’s… Sherlock, you haven’t slept in three days. Legally, I could declare you off your nut. If you want to keep it from rotting, go to sleep. Your brain needs rest.” John stood in front of Sherlock and stared down at him with his arms folded. “Look at you. You’ve been moping around like a zombie all week.”

“My brain doesn’t need to rest. It’s been resting since this quarantine started.” Sherlock jumped up from the couch and sidestepped the coffee table to shuffle back to the desk and resume scrolling for cases at his laptop. “It needs work, John. You can deem yourself essential and-”

“I’m a bloody doctor! Of course I’m essential,” John cut in. “Lestrade is an officer of the law. He’s essential. I’m still not even sure what the hell your brother does, but if he’s essential he’s at least not going outside. He hasn’t even stopped by here since the stay-at-home order was set.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Sherlock muttered to himself.

“YOU are not considered an essential worker, so you-”

“How am I not?” Sherlock interjected. “Are there any other consulting detectives out there? Are there other ones that you write ridiculous little blogs about?” he asked, making furious typing motions above his keyboard with his hands. He paused for a rebuttal that didn’t come. “I didn’t think so.”

“Since everything is closed and everyone else is inside because they’re not as daft as you, there hasn’t been an overwhelming need for your expertise.” John moved to the kitchen to rinse his teacup. “That’s why Lestrade has been kind enough to send you some cases to look at until this is all over. He knows what you’re like when this happens. If need be, you can do work from here using your laptop, you stroppy little brat.” 

“Everything he gives me is useless!” Sherlock angrily swiped a finger across the trackpad of his laptop to emphasize the last word. “His people have an amazing talent for noticing everything at a crime scene save for anything of actual value.” 

“Yes, I know. No one else is burdened with a superior intellect like you.” John was quickly losing the last ounces of his patience. He knew that he needed to stay strong. If Sherlock saw so much as a crack in John’s mental armor, John would lose what little control over the man he had left. John busied himself putting away the last of the groceries he’d brought back to the flat, knowing Sherlock wouldn’t do it himself. “I do understand that this is stressful for you and it’s unlike anything we’ve had to deal with. I hate that I’m saying this, but at this point I’m willing to go get you some cigs if it’ll help.” 

“I don’t want patches. I don’t want to smoke. I don’t even want drugs. I. Need. A. CASE!” Sherlock buried his face in his hands and exhaled harshly through his fingers.

“I’ve tried to be nice.” John set a cereal box on a shelf so heavily that the sound echoed. “I tried to be patient.” He slammed the cabinet door shut, cringing when its contents rattled. “So help me, I will tie you to that chair and gag you if I have to. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would appreciate the peace and quiet, not to mention fewer bullet holes in her wall.”

“Oh, please.” The detective snickered to himself. For all of its amusement, it was never wise to test the limits of John’s patience. It never ended well for Sherlock, but he was too exhausted at the moment to notice just how far he’d gone. “I’d like to see you try,” he muttered under his breath, still clacking away at the laptop keys.

“You know what? That does it.” John stood in the kitchen doorway, pointing a finger at the other man. “If you want to act like a toddler, then I’ll treat you like one.”

“And do what?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Send me off to my room without dinner? Take away my toys? You most certainly aren’t going to spank me.”

“Oh you really have cracked. You need a nap and if you won’t take one on your own then I’ll just have to tire you out like I do with Rosie.”

“I do not need a nap.” Sherlock continue to scroll through his email until John’s words finally registered in his head. His eyes momentarily widened and he slowly reached for the top of his Macbook to close it without making any sudden movements that would trigger John to react. “It’s nearly 11:30 already. You wouldn’t want to be late for work.” Sherlock calmly stood from the table and eyed the hallway leading to his bedroom. He knew exactly what John was threatening and that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he let John get near him.

“See what I mean? You’re so overtired that you can’t even keep track of what day it is. I’m not working today. I told you that I’d stay here today -at the risk of my sanity, mind you- to try to make your day a little less stressful.”

“You told me you’d be staying on Friday.” The curious raise of John’s brows and tightening of his mouth made Sherlock stop and think. With a groan, he raked a hand through his curls. “Christ, it is Friday, isn’t it?”

“Would you care to listen to your doctor now and sleep? I don’t care if you sleep in your bed, on the couch, on the floor, or curled up in your chair like a bloody house cat. Just sleep.” 

“Not tired,” Sherlock grumbled without thinking. 

“Suit yourself, mate.” John took a step toward Sherlock.

And that was the moment that everything went wrong. Sherlock bolted towards his room. He knew that he could outrun John. And he would have, had John not been able to grab a fistful of the back of his dressing gown as he ran by. Sherlock let out a yelp, one which he would deny until he exhaled his last breath. He shot his arms back behind himself and shuffled off the restricting garment before John could get any closer. A few more steps down the hall and Sherlock made it safely to his room, or so he thought. As he spun around to slam his bedroom door closed, his face was only a few inches from John’s. He stepped back to push the door closed, but struggled as his flatmate held the door open from the other side.

“Get off my door! Leave me alone!” Sherlock grunted through his teeth.

“You had plenty of opportunities to not be a dick. You brought this on yourself.” Knowing that Sherlock was too tired to have the strength to hold the door, John gave it one hard push with his good shoulder and knocked the other man off balance enough to fully open it.

“John, this isn’t funny.” Sherlock nervously backed around his bed with his hands held out in defense. 

“That’s alright.” John stalked slowly, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. “You’ll be laughing soon enough.”

“No, I won’t. Whatever you’re thinking won’t work.” Sherlock’s heart was pounding and it annoyed him. John hadn’t even gotten near him and he could already feel his mouth ticking into a smile as a nervous laugh started to form in his chest. 

“Oh really? You always know exactly what I’m gonna do, and you wouldn’t be so panicked unless you knew it would work.” John stepped closer to Sherlock, eying him as prey.

Sherlock glanced back and forth between John and his bedroom door. If he could leap onto his bed with enough force to catapult himself towards the door without losing momentum, it might be possible for him to escape into the hallway. He was so tired that his brain couldn’t process any further plan of action after that. This frustrated the hell out of him. Sherlock didn’t want to acknowledge it, even just in his own mind, but he knew John was physically stronger than he was and that he’d be in serious trouble once John got his hands on him. 

Sherlock made a perfect jump onto his bed despite how tired he was, but failed to calculate in how far John could reach from his position at the foot of the bed despite his short stature. Sherlock felt a hand grip his ankle, yanking his leg backward and causing him to faceplant into his mattress with a very annoyed, “OOF!” He was immediately dragged backward to the center of his bed, his hands haphazardly clawing at his blankets. As hard as he kicked and twisted his leg, he couldn’t get free. The mattress dipped behind him. The realization that his soon-to-be attacker had now climbed onto the bed sent Sherlock into a mild panic. “No!” Sherlock cleared his throat and attempted to sound calm. “I mean no, John. Stop it. You’ve made your point.” If Sherlock hated anything more than not being in control of his own body, it was losing that control in front of others, especially John. 

“If I had, then you would have gone to bed hours ago instead of argue.” John knelt one leg over the backs of both of Sherlock’s upper legs, effectively pinning him face-down. “Besides, this’ll help us both.”

“What?! How?!” Sherlock tried to reach out behind himself to grab onto John, but the doctor was smarter than he gave him credit for and had learned how to keep himself just out of reach. “Assaulting me won’t help either of us.”

“You’ll finally allow yourself to sleep, and I’ll get some peace and quiet.” John reached out a hand and gently scratched and spidered fingers on Sherlock’s back, in between the shoulder blades. A muffled squeak left the detective’s lips as his shoulder blades shook and knitted together. “Any last words?” John asked, amusement in his voice.

“Shit…” Sherlock immediately scrambled to crawl off the bed. His body seized as a pair of hands gripped his upper ribs. His energy was nearly nonexistent and he didn’t have enough strength to free himself. “Get off! Getoffgetoffgetoff!” Sherlock barked, his voice sounding slightly higher than normal. He was far too stubborn to give John the satisfaction of hearing him laugh. His arms had been clutched to his sides to protect them from John’s attack, but they left his neck unprotected. At the same time, Sherlock felt a set of fingers flutter at one side of his neck while another set scratched right where his neck met his shoulder on the other side. It would later be heavily debated whether or not the stoic detective let out a squeal. Sherlock immediately scrunched his shoulders. His hands reflexively flew up to his neck to swat his best friend’s fingers away… exactly as John planned. 

“Some people never learn.” John’s hands shot into the hollows under Sherlock’s arms and his fingers started to scratch, causing their victim to react instantly. Sherlock slammed his arms back down at his sides and screamed, his body jolting as if he’d just been electrocuted. “And what was your plan here? I mean if my hands are trapped here, I guess they’ll just have to wiggle around until they’re free.” John’s fingers scratched quicker and harder until their captor released them, allowing them to resume their attack freely elsewhere.

“Quihihihit it!” The only thing Sherlock could do was try to preserve what was left of his dignity by burying his face in his palms while ten fingers danced their way in between each of his rib bones down to his stomach. “John! Stohohohop. This is childihihihish-sh-sh-sh.” Quiet tired giggles sounded from behind his hands. 

“Aww, you poor lamb. I think someone’s getting sleepy.”

“Piss off!” Sherlock clutched one of his pillows and repeatedly tried to swat John hard enough to get him to let go. Unfortunately, his lack of energy and focus made his aim completely abysmal. John was able to duck away from every swing. Sherlock’s pajamas had become terribly twisted around his waist and his tee shirt had ridden halfway up his torso. Without thinking, Sherlock shifted his body so that he was lying on his back in an attempt to set his clothing right. He instantly regretted his actions as John straddled across his lap. “Jesus, no no no! John, please! I cahahahan’t.” Sherlock’s hands instinctively tried to grab onto John’s wrists. Staying awake for three days straight and barely eating had completely impaired his coordination and allowed John to easily avoid being caught.

“You should have thought about that before being an annoying little shit.” John switched tactics and decided to randomly attack different places. He would wiggle his fingers in between each rib. He would all of a sudden shoot both hands under Sherlock’s arms. He would poke around Sherlock’s stomach. John would never stay on one spot for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Aaahhahaha! You sadihihihist!” Sherlock’s eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that he could see colors. He tried desperately to launch himself into his mind palace, and might have succeeded had John not found his death spot. The instant fingers had scrunched into his hip bones, Sherlock’s mind palace crumbled to bits. He shrieked. “Johnjohnjohnnononoohmygohohohohod!” he sputtered. With every scratch and poke into his hips, Sherlock’s words became less coherent, turning into nothing more than jumbled hysterical laughter. He bucked and arched his back with such force that John had to move beside him to prevent himself from being hurled right off the bed. 

“You know, I think I’ll just have to keep right on this spot.” John knew that Sherlock couldn’t handle much more. He couldn’t help laughing at his victim’s reactions. He’d never heard Sherlock laugh so freely. His sleepy giggles were almost childlike and John loved every second of them.

“Christ, pleaheheHEESE!” John had thankfully moved his hands away from Sherlock’s hips, but unfortunately chose to poke and taser his abdomen instead. Sherlock rolled onto his side and buried his face into the blanket that had bunched up during his struggling. It was the only thing he could think to muffle the embarrassing giggles and squeals coming out of him. His pride didn’t want him to give in to John, but his body was begging for peace now that his nervous system was severely overstimulated. Sherlock weakly slapped his hand down on the mattress a few times before his arm went completely limp. “I s-s-surrender.” His voice was hoarse. He was so tired that his lisp had become more prominent than he’d been comfortable with and he couldn’t control it. His assailant’s hands were still clawing at his sides. “Johohohon! Jaaawn.” Sherlock didn’t even have enough energy to laugh anymore, even though his body was still shaking and his cheeks were still scrunched from smiling.

“Have we learned our lesson, then?” John stilled his hands and leaned over, waiting for an answer. When he heard no response, he called out again. “Sherlock?” He lifted the blanket off of Sherlock’s face. “Are you not speaking to… oh.” John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder to see his cheek scrunched against the pillow, a tangle of dark matted curls over his eyes, and he heard a gentle snore coming from his slightly open mouth. “Works every time,” John laughed to himself, climbing off the bed and grabbing the blanket. He shook the covering and fanned it out so that it came down over Sherlock. Tucking it around the sleeping detective’s shoulder, he smiled. “Good night, you daft brat.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Sorry for no story today- have these WIPs I will probably never finish instead

Kitty get punched

“Where is Joan?” A crew member hissed, looking frantically around the stage and wings. “She should be here by now! The show starts in five minutes!”

“I saw her earlier,” Maggie said. “So she’s here, at least.”

“But WHERE?” The crew member said, exasperated. Maggie shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe she’s getting changed?” Parr offered.

“She should have done that a long time ago,” Aragon reprimanded.

“And when does Joan ever get ready late?” Anne added, tittering slightly.

“I’ll go find her!” Katherine piped up, “Don’t worry!”

With that, she bounds off to find the music director.

—

Joan was paler than the moon, a somewhat sickly color painting her skin. Her checks were kissed with a slightly pink flush, spreading to her forehead as well. Underneath her eyes and against her pale skin, were dark rings. They hung under her eyes like curtains, pulling her eyelids so they could close. The color contrasted with her skin, making it more vibrant and more noticeable. Anyone could have guessed it; Joan Meutas did not sleep well last night. Now that, was an understatement.

Joan had not slept well in the past week. She was constantly up late at night working on this damned show that was wringing her dry. She was completely exhausted. She felt like a dead fish. Her entire body ached from her head to her toes. The only thing that seemed to keep her going was coffee, and it’s now come to the point that she’ll feel sick if she doesn’t drink any.

The show only increased Joan’s stress level. Everyone always seemed to need her; the queens, the techies, the costume crew, the managers- the demands for her aid or work was never ending. By the time she finished whatever was asked of her, it was time to perform, meaning she had to do her own music director work later in the evening, usually well into the night.

It was just hell. Literal hell.

At that moment, she could feel a headache starting to become apparent. It burned her vision, floating around and flashing like a neon light, tormenting Joan. It only grew worse at the loud clamor of the crew getting ready. And through the blurred and temporary blinding aura, she saw her coffee. It looked revolting to her.

Just the sight churned Joan’s stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. She was so tired, and her headache was so bad. The chance of getting a sensory overload became more and more likely, which wouldn't be completely crazy, especially since she was so tired she could hardly think practically.

Approaching footsteps sounded like drumbeats pounding in Joan’s ears and the creak of the door nearly imploded her eardrums.

“Joan?”

Great. It was Katherine Howard.

Joan, too tired to reply, huffed in annoyance and buried her face further into her arms. She’s hunched over the desk in her dressing room with only half of her costume on, since she had given up trying to put it on. As Katherine stepped into the room and approached, she tried to ignore the throbbing in her head head, and the dizziness and nausea settling in, as well as the queen.

“Joan,” Katherine nudged Joan’s shoulder, earning a low hiss of warning. “What are you doing? We got a show.”

“I’m not going out today.” Joan grumbled, not lifting her head.

“You have to,” Katherine continued.

“Oh, but that one time you had a panic attack and didn’t go on was fine?” Joan snapped, getting angry. She lifted her head and glared at the young queen.

“There was an alt here,” Katherine defended herself, “Plus, a panic attack is different than...whatever is making you refuse to go on.”

Joan is grinding her teeth, now. Katherine is either too stupid to notice or ignores the warning sign and continues on anyway.

“I’m not going on.” Joan said again.

“Your dep isn’t here.” Katherine reprimanded.

“I’m not going on, Katherine!” Joan yelled, finally rearing up with a slam of her hands against the desk. The way Katherine flinches back a little is satisfying. “Get out.”

“Joan-“

“I said get out!”

A horrible crunch filled the room, followed by a sharp yelp. Katherine’s hands fly up to her face, while Joan’s fist returns to her side. Blood is pouring out in between the queen’s fingers.

“Leave me alone.” Joan whispered, taking deep breaths to quell her anger.

Katherine doesn’t budge, too shocked to move.

That only fuels Joan’s rage, which she gives up on taming.

“Leave me alone, you bitch!” Joan yelled, shoving the queen. Blood drops splatter to the ground, but she could care less. She just keeps pushing and kicking until Katherine stumbles out the door, to which she promptly slams shut. She can head soft crying coming from the hallway, but she just rolls her eyes and slumped back at her desk.

———

Tour!Howard is Tour!Bessie’s biological mom AU

The day started out perfect- Silver rays of morning sun were slipping through soft pink curtains, bathing the bedroom with warm beams. They hit Howard’s face, which has a smile painted on it, even in her rest. The grin only grows once she woke up- she was beaming. And for good reason, too.

She leapt out of bed, but quickly quieted her steps so she wouldn’t make too much noise. She greets the two cats in her room- Sombra and Hermès. She had a hunch where the third feline, Turtle, was.

On sock-padded feet, Howard made her way across the flat and to the second bedroom. She peeked inside and smiled brightly.

There, laying in the bed, was a young girl, barely thirteen, with bleached white hair.

It had been Howard’s idea to do DNA testing. Bessie agreed. Howard had been sipping her coffee, checking through her mail, when she found the document that stated the results came back positive. Tears dripped down onto the paper. Her mug shatters against the floor.

She found her daughter.

Bessie was equally shocked when the news was given to her. She had went very still, eyes bulging, mouth slightly ajar. Just as Howard started to worry that she was repulsed by the turnabout, she leapt right into the woman’s arms, sobbing in bliss.

———

i don’t even know, something with Joan being jealous

February was Kitty’s month. Like how (whenever she died) was Aragon’s month and (whenever she died) was Jane’s month. Whatever month a queen died in was their month, apparently. That unspoken rule didn’t go to the ladies in waiting, even if they could remember the exact month they died in. They weren’t deemed as “important” as the queens to get such a thing. Maybe they could get a week, or a week at the very least, but nothing more.

So, yes, February was Kitty’s month. The different thing about her month than the others was that EVERYONE doted on her. She got tons of gifts, tons of sweet words, tons of hugs and affection and attention. Tons of attention from Jane.

Before you start griping, yes, Joan knew why it was this way. Henry made a law just to chop her head off- yes she KNOWS, she hears about it almost every day, she KNOW SHE KNOWS. You don’t have to bring it up because she’s well aware. Everyone knows about poor, poor Kitty and her horrible life.

And, yes, it was horrible. Joan knows that she will never be able to relate her pain to Kitty’s pain, but, damnit all, is it so bad to want a fraction of what she gets from it?

Kitty got everything. Every-fucking-thing. And whatever may be left were mere scraps upon the ground, fragments of what Joan used to have.

———

Courtney!Anne comforts Joan

Stagedoor was an unpredictable thing. It wasn’t all hugs and compliments and pictures- sometimes there’s a fickle critic or an angry historian that’s mad about the portrayal in the show. Other times there’s the slightly weird, but charming fans who recite facts about the queens, hoping to impress them. But a slushy being thrown into someone’s face? That was new.

Anne only caught a glimpse of it- one moment all was normal; she had just finished taking a picture with a beaming young fan, and then there was an uproar of mocking laughter and several gasps, accompanied by loud splattering sounds. Anne looked to the side and was shocked to see SIX’s music director soaked in a coating of red, blue, and purple slush.

Joan was stiff and still, as if the cold beverage had frozen her. The colorful residue slides into the creases of her horrified expression, which slowly become more and more humiliated as seconds ticked by. Then, her wide eyes glance around wildly for a moment and she sprints back into the theater.

———

Wings of Fire AU

The worst part of Parr’s day was approaching- closing the library. She always hated leaving the peaceful, serene cavern at the end of each evening, but Aragon insisted she slept in an actual cave. Arguing against this proved to be fruitless- the queen just had an aura to her that was impossible to beat in a bickering match, so she retired to her room each night.

Sighing, Parr rolled up the current scroll she was working on, cleaned the ink from her talons, and swooped down from her writing ledge. She walked down the aisle of polished mahogany shelves, observing each one to make sure everything was in place and not burnt (there were some younger dragonets weaving in and out earlier that day- she never trusted them with the scrolls).

———

Zombie Apocalypse AU

You get used to the smell. Rot, decay, organs, blood, death- you get used to the scent of the end of the world real fast. If you don’t, it may just drive you insane. More insane than seeing the actual cause of the odor, maybe. Some people react to things differently. But one thing everybody has in common is that nobody gets used to killing. Nobody gets used to sacrificing others, nobody gets used to putting their loved ones or even strangers down.

Nobody gets used to the damn Walkers.

But it’s the way it is. The apocalypse doesn’t seem like it’ll be having curtain call anytime soon, so you have to make do. Learn how to shoot, find a group, get shelter, don’t go hungry- those are the basics. Or just put a bullet in your brain and don’t even bother with survival. In the end, it’s your choice.

Sometimes Joan considers shooting herself in the head. The will to live is still kicking within her, but it gets hard. Being alone doesn’t help, either.

Well-

Scratch that. She wasn’t alone. She had some company.

“Hey, will you cool it?” Joan snapped, tugging on the rope that was around her newest Walker’s neck. She found this one wandering on its own in the woods and decided it would have to do- one quick slash of her knife removed the rotting bottom jaw and rendered the thing useless. At least when it came to infecting others. Its scent will keep away lurkers. Hopefully.

[ajokeformur-ray]

What’s going on with me.

I feel very whiny and like maybe there’s... not actually anything to be feeling so heavy about but I’m pushing past that and posting it anyway. I’ve got nothing to lose. It’s under a cut; there’s no obligation to read this if you don’t want to. The part where it does get emotionally heavy is very clearly marked.

Word count so you know what you’re in for: 1, 577.

I’m terrified. Of everything. All of the time. It feels like I’m stuck in my own skin and like I can’t breathe and I’ve been watching so much horror over the last few weeks just to feel a different kind of fear, just to feel something else which I know I can turn off when I’ve had enough. Even when I turn off the horror, I’m still so scared and it’s quickly becoming a new normal. I’m scared and angry and upset and I feel so heavy and even when I’m just sat down on my bed, my heart is pounding and it’s just really hard to sit still. But at the same time all I want to do is just sit on my bed and let myself waste away. Yesterday was the most emotional I’ve been for the last few weeks; I kept crying and the slightest thing would set me off; a message from someone on here was the most common thing to make me cry because it meant they were okay, at least in the time they had sent the message.

Dad got sick with a stomach virus from work, which I just found out he still has over a week later, and due to a traumatic time in my life I now have a very embarrassing (but still valid) fear which is closely linked to dad’s sickness. I am deeply troubled by the idea that I or someone else will get sick in the same way and to balance this, I haven’t been eating as much because if I avoid food, then I won��t need to use the bathroom so often. Plus, gluten free food is expensive and the less I eat, the less my parents have to go shopping and this reduces their exposure to the virus. None of this is logical and it’s definitely detrimental to my own health, but fear is never rational. To be clear, I am eating... just enough to keep my parents off my back about how little I’m eating; which is usually two meals a day. I rarely eat more than that, even if I’m physically cramping from hunger. My parents have called me up about it a few times but I just... don’t want to eat. I’m so, so scared of people getting sick or dying. I don’t care so much about what happens to me, but my loved ones...I’m terrified.

 I keep having nightmares of people dying. I had a nightmare a few weeks back in which someone on here died and I woke up in a cold sweat to message them and to just... make sure they were okay. They were definitely okay and if they’re reading this, then they know who they are. Not last night but the night before, I had a horrible dream in which I was outside and people’s masks were just dropping off their faces without anyone touching them, or they would move so the mask would slip off their nose and only cover their mouth, and my mum in the dream said, “you may as well take your mask off, you’ve probably got it by now” but it wasn’t the mask which slid off my face; my entire face melted away and dropped off and I woke up crying. I was also kind of impressed by my imagination; it was gory and it actually hurt; my dreams are so vivid it takes me like an hour to realise i'm actually Awake and everyone's okay and i'm so scared that people are gonna get Covid and die and i'll never hear from them and just wonder what happened to them. I’ve had an internet friend die in real life and I never found out what happened to her; I don’t even know if she is dead but one of her last messages was harrowing and no one’s heard from her since. This was two years ago so I can only draw my own conclusions and they’re heartbreaking. 

I lay awake at night unable to sleep, or if I can sleep, I don’t want to, because what if one of you dies in the night and I missed your last message? Tumblr is my sanity right now; I’m furloughed from my job (and I don’t even know if I still have a job, that’s up in the air as well because I work at a small cafe) and I’m graduated from university so all I have right now is my writing and the lovely people on here. This is my biggest coping mechanism and by now it’s probably tipped into the unhealthy region but I don’t care, not right now. The world’s crumbling around us and any coping mechanism, especially if it involves the imagination, at least to my thinking, is essential for survival right now so I’m letting it happen. If I'm not writing, I’m not being productive, which means I’m wasting my day and if I’m wasting my day, why am I here?

Aaand, speaking of... (this is where it gets emotionally heavy so feel free to tap out if you’re reading this! Fair warning 🥰)

I just... want to fade out and not exist anymore. I'm so fucking tired and I've had enough. I'm just so scared it's like I can't even breathe. I don’t even know if my thoughts are mine anymore; on the one hand I feel whiny and like I’m making up things to be scared about but on the other hand I know that I’m valid in my emotions. I feel like I should just shut up and deal with it and focus as much as I can on others because the trap of thinking that suffering is a competition is easy to fall into, and every time I think I can handle the fear it just gets stronger and I’m just.... I wanna get out. Of everything. I’m so tired. I also keep losing time... I'll stare at the window and when I look back at the clock it’s been like twenty minutes and I didn’t even notice. 

I just want to sit on my bed and let myself rot; I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to sleep. I just want to... fade out and away; to lay down and go to sleep and not wake up again. My mum keeps asking me what I’m going to do with my future now that I’m graduated (the career questions started three days after I graduated, I? Give me a breaaaaak), and I can barely see past today, what makes you think I’m thinking of a future I no longer believe in? I already said to her that I was taking a year out, a gap between graduation and deciding on a career, because a) I genuinely need and want a break and b) what’s the rush? I’m only 23; life doesn’t stop at 25. I still have lots of time to figure myself out. But my mum says that I’m not getting any younger, either - and that’s true. She wants me to go into teaching and that’s... not what I want to do. “Oh, but you can be a professor - “ Mum, that’s still teaching and I don’t want to do that but then she accuses me of not caring and... honestly, she’s right but I can’t tell her that. She cares, she does, and I know that she loves me, but shit. Can’t a woman breathe?

I did know what I wanted to do in my life... and then just at the point where my dreams were becoming a reality, I found out that the savings I’d been working so hard to save up for during the three years I was in university weren’t enough even with how hard I’d worked, and then the pandemic happened.... I had Real Plans to fly out to my dream on the fifteenth October this year and I feel like I’ve wasted my life, to boil it right down. I am twenty three. I have plenty of time but I also feel like I’ve ruined and wasted my life. In many ways, I feel like a ghost. I feel like I’ve literally died and I just haven’t noticed yet. I am a shell of myself due to unhealed traumas, I am a ghost of the Erika I once knew... she’s in there somewhere, I just have to coax her out. I am so, so scared that I’ll be forty and nothing’s changed and then the next thing I know, I’ll be dead and... all I can feel is fear.

I’m doing what I can to focus on and to help others because I feel like that’s a better use of my time than sitting and letting myself rot (also a tempting thought...) and I find genuine joy in supporting people. Everyone is suffering and I so often end up just crying over my laptop because my heart’s breaking for everyone and I wish I could just give everyone here a hug, wipe their tears away and be there for them. But all I have to do that with is a laptop and it never feels like enough and I just... I feel very heavy and tired and scared and I don’t know what to do. I have no idea how to help myself. It’s an effort even to brush my hair - half an hour thinking about it while I mindlessly scroll tumblr, another twenty minutes to find something to watch on YouTube while I do it, and then maybe ten minutes to actually brush my hair. Everything’s a chore and an effort and I’m. So. Tired. I’ve had enough and I just want my Joker. I don’t even know what he’d think or do about all of this...

[bubmyg]

Hi 👋 Can you maybe write a fic where Jungkook introduces his girlfriend on his YouTube channel since they haven’t seen her before? (I know you’ve already written a few YouTube fics with Jungkook already, but I thought it could be cute) and then later, after the video has gone up, they both look at the comments together, but the reader is kind of nervous about the result, but of course she doesn’t need to since their all positive 🤗 If you do, then thank you ❤️🧡💛

genre/warnings: youtuber!jeongguk, again.....the most tooth rotting fluff with the tinniest bit of angst but you may need glasses to see it

word count: 1,631

a/n: i think i’ve said this but all my youtuber!guk drabbles are non chronological but all exist in the same timeline so obviously this occurs before anything already on my masterlist atm :’-)

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

You ignored the press of Jeongguk’s lips to your cheek, staring down the bulk balanced on top of his tripod carefully centered at the end of his bed. It was the outlet to his fan base, the tiny glass lens that opened up his budding creativity to love and criticism all the same, that allowed him to monetize carefully placed vulnerabilities of his life on a dangerously slippery slope, some pieces chosen on his own accord, others pried out, speculated on, fussed over. 

It was something he’d chosen to expose this time, unlike his phone number on Jimin’s livestream or his address when he’d filmed a little too far out on the street of his building. 

“Everyone already knows,” He tried, “This is just like...confirmation.”

“I know,” Your eyes wandered from his camera equipment to his apprehensive gaze, “I’m just a little nervous, is all.”

“I can turn the camera off right this second,” Jeongguk offered explicitly this time, curling warm palms against your cheeks, “We can go back to pretending like you, my friend, just so happen to be here every morning. And every night. I can keep editing out you forgetting your role and kissing me—” You whined and he kissed you on reflex, “—until you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

You cupped his hand holding your face, lightly brushing your thumb against his knuckles. Softly, you inquired, “Do you want to do this?”

“I have seven unlisted videos ready to post that are giant love professions hidden behind fancy editing and royalty free music,” He chased the embarrassed drop of your chin with his lips, “but I can make how many ever more in the time it takes to wait on you. I don’t love you any less because I haven’t got to tell the Internet yet.” 

You were silent for a handful of heartbeats before mumbling, “Well I’m not helping you set these lights up ever again, so get over there.”

Jeongguk’s eyes lit up when he pressed his forehead to yours, “You’re sure?”

You suppressed the urge to knee his thigh in response. “Go.” 

He kissed the tip of your nose for good measure, taking careful strides to his camera, questioning eyes wavering to your appending glare only for a moment before he was pressing record and bounding to the end of the carefully made bed. 

You mocked his intro out of habit but also to calm the flutter of nerves in your stomach, grin shaky at the tiny giggle that escaped Jeongguk’s lips when he cast a glance at you. He stretched backward, tiny smile turning full featured as he placed his hands behind him, back arching, and in that moment did you finally see the tiniest hints of nerves seep into his aura, in the awkward lean of his stature, the sideways cast of his eyes away from the lens, the dimple in his cheek when he bit the inside of his mouth, the prolonged hums in between his words that you hadn’t heard him do since watching his years old vlogs. 

“...so, yeah, as you can tell, today’s a little bit of a different video. An update? Yeah, I guess it’s an update—” He was staring at you now, arms outstretched and fingers wiggling, voice a drastic contrast to the childlike innocence of his gestures, tender and low in his request, “—come here, baby.”

Your hesitation was brief, a part of your lips and a panic in your eyes but Jeongguk mouthed it’s okay with the tiniest of smiles and tilts of his chin and suddenly the lens prepped to project your relationship to the world felt minuscule in comparison to the glittering astral bodies adored only to you in the gentle light of his sparkling irises. 

“The update is...” He was speaking while you fit yourself into his arms, letting him pull you down against his side with his nose nuzzling into your hair. “...that this one refuses to leave my house. So if you all have any suggestions to get her out—”

“Can’t leave when you won’t let me,” You countered, nerves falling out in the slight stutter of your tongue but you managed to elbow his stomach none the less. His actions seemed to affirm your words, arms twisted around your waist so you were half sprawled across his thighs, cheek pressed against the top of your head. 

"No, uhm...” Jeongguk pulled away to look at you, the softest of smiles meeting the seam of his lips the longer the fondness of his eyes streaked up and down your features, “...meet my girlfriend, everyone.”

Soft touches trailing down your spine woke you, the loving affections carrying to the lips that were pressed against your forehead. He hummed, the vibrations renewing the jump of your heart, “Are you awake?”

Something like a noise of negation groaned past your sealed lips and you hiked your stature higher on Jeongguk’s chest to press your nose into his neck. “No. Still asleep. Leave a voicemail. Call back later.”

He’d ordered a nap after posting the video, dragging you out of his office and into his embrace on the couch while your social medias stayed as dark as the screens of your sleeping phones. He combated your itch to mindlessly scroll Twitter in search of that one negative comment by promising you could read the feedback on the video, together, after a nap. 

It was enough for you until you suddenly wanted the nap to last forever so you never had to know. 

Jeongguk squeezed your waist, rolling until you were underneath him with digging fingers tickling at your sides. He swallowed your loudest squeals, ones of I’m awake, I’m awake! — lips sweet into the part of your mouth.

The exchange between your steady gazes was silent until he nodded, “Are you ready?”

You trailed him by attachment to his hand wrapped securely around your digits, following him with furrowed eyebrows back into the depths of his office. “Why can’t we just look on our phones?” You pouted while he fiddled with the lighting settings, dropping the room into a gentle purple. You continued to glower when he let go of your hand, dropping into his chair with outstretched arms. “I’m not ready for Y/N reads hate comments about herself but in size seven hundred font on Jeongguk’s seventeen different monitors—” 

“Baby girl.”

Your teeth sank so deeply into the your bottom lip you tasted the hint of metal. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got you. I’ve always got you,” His chin tilted, hands flexing once more in your direction, “Come here.”

You tried to make yourself as tiny as possible in Jeongguk’s lap, immune to the periodic stumble of his mumbling mouth against your skin as he clicked around on the screen, shades of whites and blues contouring the concentration in his features as he sought out the touch of your skin against his lips. There was a stutter in his chest when he inhaled, properly nudging your temple with his lips, hand leaving his mouse to wrap around your hip. 

“Well, the top comment is a petition for you to make your own channel,” You felt his lips curl against you, “It has a thousand thumbs up. And counting.”

You shifted to press your cheek to his chest instead of your nose, “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Jeongguk’s mouse clicked as he scrolled, “this one just says ‘I knew it!’ with, uh...eighteen hearts after it.”

You dared to squint at the screen, not catching much in his absent scrolling but stretching your arm out with the tiniest of gleeful smiles. 

“That one—” He paused vaguely after following the line of your finger, “—I used to think I wanted someone to look at me the way he looks at Jimin but now I want someone to look at me the way he looks at her :-(.” 

“Why not both?” Jeongguk teased against your hair and it took you a moment of feigned shock to realize he’d stretched out to type it in reply to the comment. 

“Are we going to be one of those couples that has those cheesy the way he looks at her edits now?”

“We have been,” He continued scrolling, “Sprinkled in with Jeongguk annoying Y/N for four minutes straight.” 

“They could only find four minutes of footage? Must be a new subscriber...”

His monitor dimmed as he pulled away from it, hugging you tighter underneath his chin as the chair spun in a slow circle away from his desk. 

“Are you okay?” When you nodded underneath him, he teased, “Well, then I don’t want to say I told you so but...”

“Shut up—”

“No. Look at me.” 

You complied, fitting your chin into Jeongguk’s awaiting palm, one that curled around your features. 

“I wouldn’t have put you, us, in that situation if I didn’t know,” His thumb strayed from pressing into the corner of your lips to stroke your cheekbone, “I’ll always protect you to the best of my ability.”

“Good, does that mean we can skip the obligatory couples yoga challenge? You’ll crush me.”

Jeongguk whined, high pitched and dramatic as his head hit the back of his chair and your surroundings whirled as his foot turned you in another looping circle. “Announce our relationship to the whole Internet and you can’t even let me be sentimental for five seconds—”

You kissed him, chaste and everything you weren’t good at articulating. 

“I love you.”

He smiled against your lips and you missed his arm that outstretched to drag your figures closer to his desk again. 

“I love you...” Jeongguk trailed off and you squinted when his monitor lit again in your peripheral, “...so how many of these videos of you will you allow me to post tonight—”

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

The Art of Love (Part 5) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU

Updated A/N 10/17/2020: Formerly algorithm knows best and companion to cupid’s code. Whether an updated version of Cupid’s Code will be a companion is TBD.

A/N: Hi lovelies! Happy hump day Here’s some fluff to get you through.

Summary: You finally make it to those dinner reservations.

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader (Platonic - for now)

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Word Count: 1473

Main Masterlist | The Art of Love Masterlist | Broken Hearts and Robot Parts Masterlist (Companion Fic) ​

Being out with Steve made you giddy. The two of you rarely went out alone. It was normally nights in on the couch, which you loved. But this was something special. It felt like… a date.

No, you scolded yourself. Not a date. A celebration between friends.

“Sweetheart?” Steve called softly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere important. Sorry,” you laughed looking down at the menu. “The chocolate lava cake sounds delicious.”

“That’s why I ordered you one while you were daydreaming,” he grinned.

Your jaw dropped. Surely you would have heard him do that.

“No you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“How did you know what I wanted?” you asked, embarrassed that you had spaced out that hard.

“I picked the most chocolatey thing on the menu.”

“That’s fair,” you laughed, shaking off the momentary awkwardness you’d felt. “So I assume you got the angel food cake?”

“We are creatures of habit.”

You were laughing at that comment when the waiter returned with a plate that had different flavors of sorbet and “Congratulations” written in chocolate sauce.

“The desserts you ordered will be out in a moment. But this is on the house. And here is your champagne,” he smiled as another waiter who’d been trailing him, passed him the bottle.  

“We didn’t order any champagne,” you told him.

No restaurant was that nice.

“Your boyfriend requested this especially before you arrived. Congratulations on your new job.”

“Oh. Thank you.”  

You were so caught off guard by Steve’s gesture that you didn’t even process that the waiter called him your boyfriend.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Steve smiled at him as he uncorked the bottle and he poured two glasses.  

“Enjoy.”  

“Steve, you really shouldn’t have,” you whispered once Gregory had disappeared.

“Yes. I should have. We’re celebrating your new job. You deserve all this and more.”

You held back your natural argument when you saw the pride and love in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

He raised his glass to you, clear blue eyes dancing.

“To my best friend, the new dance captain and assistant choreographer of the Howling Commandos Stage Troupe.”

You clinked your glass against his and sipped the champagne, savoring the moment.

 Steve’s POV

Once you were home Steve took your coat and hung it in the front closet.

“I didn’t think you knew that was a coat closet,” you teased.

“Oh shush, you,” Steve huffed making you giggle.

“Thank you for everything tonight. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“You deserve to always feel special,” he promised as you threw your arms around his neck.

His wound around your waist reflexively as you swayed, clearly a little tipsy from the champagne. He felt a bit wobbly as well, but he was fairly certain that it had more to do with you than the champagne. Steve held you close as you nuzzled your nose against his neck and stifled a yawn against his shirt.

“Tired, sweetheart?”

“A little,” you mumbled.

“Why don’t we get ready for bed then?”

“Mmkay,” you assented but didn’t move.

“Y/n?”

No response.

“Alright, up we go I guess.”

He swung you up into a bridal carry and you hummed contently. He set you down on the bed and knelt in front of you so he could unbuckle your heels, sliding them off and setting them neatly in the closet.

“C’mon, darlin’, you don’t want to ruin your pretty dress by sleeping in it.”  

“Fine,” you sighed holding your hands out so he could help you stand up.

“I’ll leave you to change.”

He strode out of the room grabbing your water bottles from the fridge and making sure the front door was locked. He’d just turned out the front light when he heard you call his name.

“Steve?”

“What’s up, sweetheart?” he called as he moved through the apartment.

“I need you.”

Steve chuckled at your dramatic whine.

“What the matter, darlin’?” he asked as he set the waters and your phones down on the bedside table.

“I can’t get my zipper undone,” you pouted, arms twisted awkwardly behind your back.

“S’alright. I’ve got it. Turn around.”

You spun obediently and Steve stepped closer, probably closer than strictly necessary, brushing your hair over your shoulder and dragging the zipper down your back. He couldn’t help but look at your reflection as your eyes drifted shut and a soft smile graced your features.

He had to stop himself from pushing the straps off your shoulders or pressing a kiss to your bare skin. That would be crossing far too many lines and he was already in too deep.

“I’m going to go change in the bathroom.”  

You hummed an acknowledgment as you rifled through your duffel bag for your clothes. Steve tried not to stare at the expanse of your back he’d revealed, closing the door a bit more aggressively than he intended to.  

There was a soft knock on the door a few minutes later while he was brushing his teeth.

“Steve, can I come in and start taking my make up off?”

He leaned over to unlock the door and pulled it open and then grabbed your pack of makeup removers from his top drawer. You sidled in, already half asleep and started your nightly routine.

When you were done you both crawled under the covers, and he paused waiting for you to situate yourself. He frowned when you turned away from him, but it disappeared as you wriggled closer to him so you were pressed against his front and you placed his arm on your waist.  

“Good night, sweetheart,” he rumbled in your ear as he pulled you even closer.

“Good night, Steve. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Steve was surprised to wake up and find you still in his arms. Normally you’d be up and baking or heading back to your apartment. But not today. You’d agreed to sleep in and mosey over to the store when you were ready, although when Steve glanced at the clock and saw it was only 5 AM he knew he’d failed on the sleeping in. But the view was certainly worth it.  

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he watched you sleep.

Steve had long since memorized your features in lots of moments. The way your brow furrowed when you choreographed. The way you smiled and hummed while you baked. The way you yelled at the TV during a hockey game – despite “not caring about sports”. He’d also seen how your eyes got red and you pursed your lips when you cried, although that wasn’t a memory he relished.

But this was new. Your hair was splayed out around you on his pillows and there was a small smile on your lips. He had never gotten to see you so completely at peace, and he was certain he’d never felt so at ease.

You clutched his shirt more tightly and followed when he rolled onto his back so he could grab his phone. When he accidentally opened the camera app on his phone he froze. You looked so beautiful, he had to capture the moment. He knew he’d try to sketch or paint it later on, but he suspected it wouldn’t do the moment justice. He quickly snapped a photo before scrolling through his notifications.

The boomerang he’d posted of you sipping champagne on Instagram had well over a hundred likes.

Champagne Fridays are the best Fridays. Finally getting to properly celebrate my best friend @danceyourfeelings getting her first grown up job. You’re going to be amazing (like always). I love you! #BeautifulandBubbly

There were also plenty of heart eyes emojis in the comments.

He rolled his eyes at the stream of texts in his group chat with Bucky and Sam calling him an idiot. He also noticed a new tag notification and realized you’d posted a picture of the two of you that the waiter had taken. You were on one foot, tugging him down by his tie and kissing him on the cheek and he was laughing at god only knows what. You could easily be mistaken for a couple in love.

So lucky to have this guy in my life. He’s been with me through it all for the last three and a half years and I’m so glad I got to celebrate some of the best news of my life with him. Thank you for everything you do for me @ArtsySteveRogers. I love you so much! #MyBestFriendIsBetterThanYours #MCE (Man Crush Everyday) #Stud

Steve immediately went to the comment section. Everyone was commenting #goals and the like. He saw more than a few pointed remarks from your closer friends. He quickly responded with a sappy message in return and then put his phone down, opting to enjoy the quiet moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed !

Tag Lists are Open (Please send an ask)

Update 3/15/2021: Hello, Lovelies. As some of you may have seen on the blog I have decided to suspend tag lists. If you would like to receive updates about new content please follow @naynay-writes​​ and turn on notifications. Thank you! Xoxo, Naynay

Algorithm Knows Best Tag List

@stupendoussciencenaturepanda

Steve/Chris Tag List

@isaxhorror

@peachykeen3502

@patzammit

@wordlesscaptain

@coffeebooksandfandom

@hereisanapplepie

@mywinterwolf

@straightforwardly

Marvel Tag List

@hdthdthdt  

@sophiatomlinson23

@misty-panther

@supermusicallee

@scarlettsoldier

@acupofhotlatte

@slender–spirit

@petitesmate

@libbymouse

Permanent Tag List

@iamwarrenspeace

@jayzayy

@bexboo616

@neoqueen306

@santheweird

@rowenaravencalw

@buckitybarnes

@prxttybirdz

@sergeantjbuckybarnes

@captainsamwlsn

@broitsmydick

@ailynalonso15

@nyxveracity

@queenoftrash97

@walkingtravesty97

@lamia-maizat

@memyselfandmaddox

@lowkeybuckyb

@whiskey2011

@averyrogers83

@lovingpeterparker

@buckybarneshairpullingkink

@beansparker

@coralphantomninja

@xxashy999xx

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@ravennightingaleandavatempus

@paintballkid711

@whosmarisaaarw

@silverkitten547

@yknott81

@mmmmmmmmmchicken

@thefridgeismybestie

@crispy-kitten

@isabelcrichards

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Writing Commission - A Gift of Sunshine - Chapter 1

My oh my it has been a while, everyone! You have my deepest apologies for the lack of content you've seen from me lately, but I've been busy with finals, graduation, and so much else! Finally, though, things are settling down and it's time to get right back to it!

This is my latest story that was written through my commission work and I had absolutely no doubt that you all would love to see it! It's already fully complete and I'll be uploading a chapter a day until it's all finished! It's quite a bit of an AU, but I'm sure you all will enjoy!

                                                              ⁂

Summary: It is the worst day of fifteen-year-old Aizawa Shouta’s life when he trudges home after a failed entrance test to U.A. – the school made for heroes. His worst day abruptly turns strange, however, when he gets home to find a beautiful sword on his bed with a scroll attached that is addressed from his grandfather.

It turns out that his entire family was descended from a samurai (unsurprising considering he lived in Japan) and the sword was meant to help him become a hero. Shouta hadn’t been expecting the sword to talk, however, and he especially hadn’t expected the sword to have a voice as warm as sunshine itself. 

It’s a long journey to become a hero like he wants, but Shouta has a feeling that he and Hizashi are going to do just fine.

                                                            ⁂

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia    

Relationship: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic/Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Characters: Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead

Rating: Teen Audiences

Word Count (Total): 35,935  

Transaction Amount: $250 (USD)

                                                          ⁂

                  Check out my writing commission information here!                        Pledge to my Patreon to get exclusive content! 

                           Read and follow the story on AO3!

                                                         ⁂

                                             <<Next Chapter>>

                                                Chapter One 

                                                        ⁂

When imagining the different ways in which his dreams could have been crushed and ground down into a fine dust that would never again be thought of, Aizawa Shouta had not bothered to contemplate that his world would end due to robots, yet U.A. had, very firmly, set him straight. 

Shouta mused to himself, as he trudged into his empty home and kicked his shoes off, that he had been prepared for how difficult the written exam would be. U.A. was one of the top hero schools in the country for a reason, after all, and it was logical to assume their entrance exams would be just as rigorous.  

He had also been prepared for the scorn that he would face once his quirk was revealed. An Erasure quirk was rare enough in their world of quirks, but one that could specifically ‘steal’ someone’s quirk when merely looking at them? Shouta had been accused of being a villain-in-the-making more than once, something he took a few bitter seconds to fester over as he trudged to his room, bag thrown somewhere into a corner to rot. 

Shouta truly thought that had been prepared for a lot, including a rigorous physical exam that would test the potential students to their limits, but robots? Erasure could be a powerful quirk if used correctly, but it didn’t do shit against something like robots. There had been a chance, at least, if he had been matched against other students. Then, at least, he could have evened the playing field and won just through taking his opponent off guard. 

There weren’t any ways to take a robot off guard, as Shouta’s bruised, battered, and exhausted body could fully attest to. It was fine, though. It was fine, because his written exam score would, if nothing else, ensure him a place in U.A.’s general studies program. He would still be getting into U.A. even if it wasn’t as a hero. 

Getting into their General Studies department was an achievement all on its own, Shouta knew, but that seemed to do little to stop the frustrated tears that were burning his already dry and aching eyes, forcing him to painfully scrub them away as he stumbled into his room and prepared himself to collapse on his bed and sleep his grief and anger away. 

At least, Shouta had been about to collapse and sleep his grief and anger away until he noticed the sword that had already taken his place with a scroll attached to the hilt. 

The sword was nice enough, Shouta supposed, with a golden sheath that reminded him of days in the sun and a cord that tied the hilt and sheath together that was as red as Shouta’s own eyes when he used his quirk. The hilt, honestly, was both the oddest and nicest part, being made from what looked like jade that was carved with neatly etched swirls that seemed to follow an unnoticeable pattern. 

It was a nice enough sword that Shouta was immediately backing out of his room and looking around the hallways suspiciously, straining his hearing to see if either his parents were about to ‘surprise’ him or if some thief had broken in and put the sword there as an unspoken threat to not interfere with his business. 

When nothing happened except Shouta’s pain making itself known the longer he stood still, he relaxed and stepped into his room, attention turning to the scroll that looked like a real scroll as opposed to something that could be bought in one of the train station novelty shops.

A quick inspection revealed that there was nothing that made it seem as if it were a trap, Shouta carefully wiggling it free from where it was under the sword before he was unrolling it just as carefully, scanning the words of the ‘letter’ before his breath came out of him in a rush at seeing his grandfather’s name elegantly scripted at the bottom. 

“There are phones for a reason, Grandfather,” Shouta muttered to himself, taking the scroll to his desk and finally sitting down, taking a few moments to let his body rest before he was looking at the scroll properly. His grandfather was an eccentric man, but he had never been the type to write his letters as scrolls all while leaving swords on Shouta’s bed. Settling into his seat, Shouta let his eyes trail back to the top, heart sinking as he read the first few lines.

My dearest grandson,

If I’ve timed the arrival of this properly, then you’ve just arrived home from the entrance exam to the hero school you have your heart set on. You have also failed the physical portion of the test, as my quirk informed me that you would.

Shouta’s grandfather had a quirk that was deemed useless by hero standards, but incredible by the family standards. Bloodlines was a quirk that allowed his grandfather to see future moments that would happen to him or anyone within his bloodline - one of the reasons the Aizawa family was as successful as it was today, Shouta mused. Still, for his grandfather to have seen his failure and not told him… He wasn’t expecting it to hurt that much. 

He was half-tempted to put the letter aside, certain that it would be full of platitudes and promises of how his life would be successful even if his dreams of being a hero never worked out. Shouta was tempted, but he was also curious to know why his grandfather wrote to him on a scroll of all things; a scroll that had been attached to a sword.

I don’t need the use of my quirk, however, to know that you no doubt spent minutes debating just now whether you should continue reading this letter or not and suffer through my pointless reassurances, but let me reassure you just once that this letter is not to tell you that you’re better off not being a hero. It’s rather the opposite, in fact. It rather makes sense that of all of our descendants today, it would be you, the little boy who couldn’t stand illogical choices and harmful behavior, to be the one to decide that the world should be more fair than it is cruel. 

The sword on your bed, Shouta? It is a gift to you just as it once was to me. In my great-grandfather’s words, and in his grandfather’s words, and so on back to the beginning, it is “a gift of sunshine” that will light your way. In my own words, however, it is a passing of wills, a hope for the future, and a promise. 

A gift of sunshine? Shouta frowned as the words seemed to batter at something in his chest, aching fiercely as glanced to the bed where the sword still laid. It glinted in the soft afternoon sunlight and looked less like a dangerous weapon and more like something Shouta almost wanted to call soft.

This is a gift to you because I know that you will not lose your dream here, something that again I have no need of my quirk to tell me. You are too stubborn a fool to accept your loss as anything more or less than a setback, and so this gift will inspire you to not give up on your beautiful dream. 

It is also a passing of wills, however, in the way that our family was not always successful with numbers, as in your father’s case. Once, long, long ago, before quirks were ever even dreamed of, our family descended from a samurai.

Shouta couldn’t help his startled snort of laughter that he was sure he would be scolded for if anyone had been in the room with him. His grandfather had always been an eccentric and serious man, but to write on a scroll so seriously that their family was descended from a samurai, well… There were very few families in Japan that didn’t claim such a thing. 

Looking back down to find his place, and seeing the words ‘stop laughing,’ Shouta felt mildly chastised and mostly annoyed. Even when his grandfather lived hours away in the countryside, he could still never get away with anything. 

Stop laughing, young man, I know what you’re thinking! I was rather amused myself when my great-grandfather told me all of this when I was around your age, but the stories are true - and so is our recordkeeping. Aizawa Adachi was born a farmer’s son before he went on to serve the lord of his land at the time, becoming a fearsome and undefeatable opponent. 

He lived and fought with this sword, this sword that he had won through a duel gone wrong and stood by his side afterwards, during the time of the Meiji Restoration and through the end of the Edo period - the end of Feudal Lords, samurai, and the wicked things that crept through the night, or so everyone believed. Wicked things are always good at blending in, as we know even today.

That part, at least, Shouta could believe. There was a reason that heroes had appeared at the start of the age of quirks, and that was because villains had appeared, too. Quirks were beautiful, amazing, and powerful things that defined a person as much as anything else, but they could also be dangerous; they could be deadly. 

That much was true, but Shouta still couldn’t figure out why his grandfather thought to put all of this in a scroll and send it along with a sword, especially when they called every few weeks and visited every few months. Hopefully his grandfather would get to the point soon, but Shouta was doubtful. If it was one thing his grandfather could do, it was talk. 

Adachi refused to leave his ways of protecting others in the past and traveled the land as one of the ronin, a wandering swordsman who always used his sword to help people and keep them safe during the turmoil that followed the Revolution. He used the same sword that now lays upon your bed.

Because that certainly wasn’t creepy, Shouta snorted to himself, glancing over to his bed to see the beautiful sword that certainly didn’t look as if it were hundreds of years old. 

In the old days the Aizawa family kept to Adachi’s oath, protecting Japan from threats both inside and out and keeping the people safe from what lurked in the dark. The times have changed, Shouta, but our wills have not, as proven with you and your desire to protect. You want to be a hero? The names change, but the heart never does.

Quirks may have come into this world, dear boy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the same world that it’s always been. I know you failed your exam, but I also know that this will be nothing more than a setback to make you work even more fiercely than before.

This sword is a hope for the future. I have seen what it will be through the times surrounding you, Shouta, and I wish I could say that you will be safe, but we both know that the path you have chosen will never be safe again. 

You will bleed from the pain that is required for you to follow this path. You will break from the pressure of your dream that is placed upon your shoulders. You will fall apart piece by piece one day and, for a very long time after, you will feel as if you were not put back together right. I have seen all of this, Shouta, and you will know pain and suffering by becoming a hero.

The rest of the words faded away, Shouta jumping at realizing his hands had been shaking enough for the scroll to slip out of them and fall to his desk in a flutter of movement. As much as he wanted to pick the scroll up and keep reading the last few paragraphs, he couldn’t make his heart stop pounding as if it were ready to burst. 

It wasn’t new information for Shouta. Everyone knew how serious it was to be a hero in these days, and everyone knew that it wasn’t an easy life. It was possible for most heroes to die while they were active, and pro heroes who lived to see retirement were rare and few. It wasn’t new information, but Shouta had never seen it stated so bluntly in something addressed to him. 

To know that his grandfather had seen his future and saw the pain he would go through if he stayed on his path to become a hero, it… It was terrifying. He was fifteen and an entire possible future for him had been seen and recorded. That was as terrifying as something could get, and yet- Well. And yet. 

And yet Shouta still wanted to help people with his power. And yet he still wanted to keep people safe the way there were heroes that made him feel safe. And yet, even with his future known, he didn’t want to change his path for anything because his grandfather’s visions meant he did it - they meant he had become a hero. And yet, after the realization that his future would be full of pain, Shouta picked the scroll back up and kept reading. 

And yet you will be the most magnificent hero, my Shouta.

You’re so intent on becoming a hero that even if I told you in detail what I saw, you would not waver. So, since you’re so intent on becoming a hero, on becoming a warrior that will protect Japan and all her people, I knew it was time for this sword to be passed onto you. 

This sword’s name is Hizashi and once you unravel the red cord that binds sword to sheath, you will be bound by our family’s oath to, one way or another, keep these people safe. 

This sword is a gift. It is a passing of wills. It is a hope for the future. It is a promise.

So, if you truly want to be a hero, pick up this sword. 

The letter ended there, his grandfather’s signature following in the space left behind with no further explanations. 

Setting the scroll down carefully on his desk, Shouta pushed himself to his feet with a wince of pain before walking over to his bed, arms crossed as he stared down at the beautiful sword that sat there, looking more decorative than something that had actually been used in battle and had no doubt killed people. 

Uncrossing his arms and leaning over, Shouta trailed his fingers across the sheath, feeling something that he could almost call familiarity before it faded away. “So, your name is Hizashi, huh?” Shouta’s eyes traced the bright golden colors of the sheath, a slip of sunlight falling into his room through the window and hitting a portion of the sheath just so to make it look like it had become sunlight itself. “The perception of sunlight… I suppose it fits for you, doesn’t it?” It was a good name for this sword. 

“Apparently my grandfather thinks I actually know how to fight with swords and that, when I become a hero, I’ll use you. He’s never been wrong before, but, between you and me, he’s going mad in his old age.” Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, and still trailing his fingers over the sheath, Shouta sighed softly to himself as he realized that he was talking to a sword, instead of being sane and merely talking at a sword. 

Glancing back down to the unmoving sword, Shouta shifted and made himself comfortable. “I suppose if you’re just going to sit there, then you can listen.” Gathering his thoughts and making sure to take a moment to be certain that no one was home that could overhear him, Shouta tapped his finger against the sheath of the sword as if trying to get the attention of someone. 

“I failed my school entrance exam today, the one that would teach me how to be a pro hero, because the tests weren’t fair. They were geared towards physical quirks, and mine, Erasure, can only erase quirks. It can’t help me against robots.” Shouta was at too big a disadvantage physically when it was just him on his own. He knew a bit about fighting, but fighting robots with nothing except his hands? It wasn’t logical. His grandfather seemed to think the same. 

“I suppose that could be one reason that you were given to me,” Shouta mumbled softly, feeling his other hand clench hard enough to have his nails digging into his palms. “I don’t have the type of quirk other heroes have. All I can do is level a playing field that I can’t even touch.” It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he wanted to do nothing except help, and he was instead given a quirk that was seen as a villain’s quirk. 

Leaning forward, Shouta carefully pulled the sword into his lap, eyeing the red cord that kept the sword bound inside its sheath. There was a ‘spell tag’ there for decoration that was dramatic even by his grandfather’s standards. Still, Shouta couldn’t help but to feel something like anticipation. 

“Grandfather said you were a promise,” Shouta said softly, feeling something in the air that made him choose his words carefully. “I need to be stronger than I am now. I need to be strong enough that I can protect others without losing myself.” 

Shouta’s nails dug under the spell tag, removing it and shivering as he felt something like static burst across his fingertips. For the first time since he realized he had failed his entrance exam, Shouta felt something like hope. “I’m not giving up. I won’t.”

With those words clear in his head, Shouta tugged at the red cord until it came undone, falling limp around his hands and wrists as Shouta looked down at the unbound sword, declaration leaving him before he could think it through or take it back. A strong, clear, “I’m going to be a hero.”

There was a burst of something, Shouta feeling as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs the same time pure energy slammed into him, hands tight around the sheath of the sword that almost looked as if it were glowing. 

‘A hero, huh?’ A crystal clear voice spoke brightly from inside him, Shouta staring at the sword and feeling as if it were smiling, of all things. ‘That sounds like it could be fun!’

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.12

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2100

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

Access the entire series early on Patreon for just $3

Series Masterlist

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

The hound didn’t return that night either. Sam came back to the room in the early hours of the morning, angrily shaking his heavy cloak and jacket away before staring out the window. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Y/N wondered if he’d been crying.

“It didn’t work,” he finally mumbled, “we set livestock around the perimeter, men in the watchtower… the damned thing didn't come back. Could smell it though… must have been within a couple miles.”

“Have you thought about going out with a hunting party?”

Sam scoffed. “I remember what happened the last time I left my Omega alone…”

Y/N sighed and stroked his hair. “Well, if it’s getting closer, then maybe tonight’s the night.”

He closed his eyes and stroked the bare skin of her arm. “Maybe. I don’t feel like I’m going enough for them… I want to go home, put this all behind me.”

“Sam, you’re helping just by keeping watch all night,” she touched his cheek and tried her best to cradle him in his arms, “you’re not… blaming yourself for Hannah’s death, are you?”

His body trembled slightly at her words. “I feel that I should have seen it coming.”

“How could you have?”

“Because I killed this thing’s brother,” Sam’s voice grew thick, “and it wants revenge. I know how it feels to want revenge… which is why it wants to take you away from me.”

Y/N sat up. “I want to help you kill it, then.”

Sam sat up too and promptly shook his head. “I’ve already forbade you from doing so.”

“You’re not my husband, Sam. You may be my Alpha, but you have no authority over me, not that you would even if we were married.” Y/N retorted angrily. “Try and stop me from helping you, I dare you. You had a nightmare, Sam, it’s hurting you deeper than you think.”

Sam reached under the bed and grabbed the coil of rope he’d brought from their cabin. He held it up, shaking it in front of her face. “I bought this for a reason, Omega. You will listen to me or like I said earlier, I shall tie you to the bed and lock the door.”

Y/N folded her arms. “Do that and I won’t spread my legs for a month.”

“A month isn’t so long,” Sam smirked down at her and waved the rope. “And if you remember, Princess, I had years of being alone before I found you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and tucked her wrists into her sides. “There’s nothing you can do that won’t stop me from helping you.”

Sam arched his eyebrows and tossed the rope to the floor. He crawled on top of her, pinning her wrists by her head. “I could simply make love to you until you’re too tired to move… I’ve done it before.”

Y/N shivered at the memory from the past winter; the week where they’d been in heat and rut simultaneously and Sam had taken her as if each time would be their last, mating her over and over until she lay trembling on their bed, unable to move or speak as pleasure radiated through her.

She struggled underneath him, fighting the urge to smile as he held her down. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll allow you to,” he replied, dipping his head to kiss her, “but I’ll still tie you if you make any move to join us tonight and only let you out when it’s all over. I’d rather have you alive and angry with me than dead and happy I’d let you come along.”

“You could’ve just changed me two weeks ago when I asked and then me joining you wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I already said that I’m not ready to put you through the pain,” Sam growled, “I will keep you safe and human until I decide. Until then, I don’t want to hear any more of it. Do you understand?”

Y/N frowned up at him, but nodded anyways. “Yes.”

Sam cocked his head. “Yes… what?”

“I’m not going to say it.”

“You’re that angry with me?”

“Yes.”

Sam smiled down at her. She was so beautiful when she was angry, he couldn’t even find the capacity to care that he was the main target of her anger. “I still love you.”

“And I love you too, but I’m very unhappy with you.” She returned. “And I will torture you if you force me to stay behind.”

Sam groaned. “We have a plan already. I honestly don’t care if we have to stay in town for another week, I am not allowing you to put yourself in danger. And anyway, how could you possibly torture me? You’re half my size.”

Y/N bared her teeth, which only made Sam laugh before he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and stood. “I already said I wouldn’t make love with you for a month. But me walking around with no clothes, swimming in the lake, lying out in the sun… you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to keep his cock from twitching in his pants. “And you’re probably right. But, if keeping my hands off my Omega for a month means she’s safe and alive, then it will have been worth it.”

He stood, brushing his pants off and watching as she closed her eyes, arms still folded. “Y/N.”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“You do know I’m not trying to be mean to you.”

She sat up and looked at him. “I know. You’re trying to protect me. I’m just being stubborn.”

Sam nodded. “I won’t let anything happen to you. If you’re going to—if you’re ever going to turn, and that’s a firm ‘if’—I refuse to allow an animal like a hellhound be the one to do it. It’s going to happen on my terms.”

***

That night was the last night the village of Dolgellau lived in fear.

Sam was perched on one of the wagons, bow loaded, sword heavy on his side. The night was frigid, and the stench of rotting fruit and wet dog was heavy in the air. Dean was by his side, and several men from the village were spread out in the courtyard, armed with blades and torches.

He had left Y/N asleep in their room, locking the door behind him and warning Father Michael not to let her out under any circumstances. He knew she’d be furious with him, but it was for the best.

“It’s close,” Sam breathed, “I can smell it…”

Dean sniffed the air and grimaced. “Don’t remember the one back home smellin’ nearly as bad.”

“Neither do I,” Sam replied. “It’s getting worse.”

Dean glanced at his brother. “I think I know why.”

Sam stared out into the line of trees. “Then enlighten me.”

“It smells Y/N.” Dean felt Sam stiffen next to him and exhaled slowly. “You’ve been cooped up with her all day long, she’s all over you. You stink.”

Sam roughly elbowed his brother in the side. “I could say the same for you. You’ve not bathed in days.”

“As have most of the people in the bloody town,” Dean took a long swallow from his hip flask, “you shouldn’t be such a prude about it.”

“I like to be clean,” Sam returned, “and so does Y/N.”

“Oh, she does like to keep you clean,” Dean scoffed, “making love in a church, I never thought you had the nerve.”

“It was one time.”

“Still counts.”

“Shush.”

“Sinner.”

“No, Dean, I mean it, shut up…”

The brothers fell silent. From the woods a low rumbling issued, followed by a wave of the same rotting stench they’d been smelling for over five hours. Sam turned and motioned for the men in the courtyard to gather together, back-to-back.

The snarling echoed again, closer, and Sam felt a chill run through his bones. Anger swelled in his chest, and he bristled at the thought of the vile creature lurking in the shadows, attempting to scout out a weak spot in their small group.

With a roar, the creature sprang, claws extended. The men shouted in surprise as it landed mere feet from them. Snarling, it swiped at them, sending three of them to the ground with howls of pain. Dean leapt back at the last second, swinging his sword at the hellound’s paw. The animal roared as the flat side of Dean’s blade stung its leg, and Sam nocked an arrow, then let it fly.

The shaft buried itself in the hound’s side, but Sam had missed his mark. The hound screeched in pain and backed away, haunches raised. The other men could barely see it, but Sam saw the thing in perfect detail, every wisp of matted fur, every tooth as his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl… it was just as big as Yellow Eyes had been, maybe fifteen-hundred pounds, and Sam knew exactly how much power lay behind just the animal’s bite.

Then, it lunged, throwing Sam to the ground. He hit the stone hard and felt his teeth bite into his tongue. For a second, he thought he heard Y/N screaming his name, and the animal paused mid-turn, its entire left side to Sam. He yanked an arrow from his quiver and jabbed it up, hard, heard the hound yelp in pain, and then he was on his feet. He pulled a torch from the wall and swung it fiercely, and the hot metal smacked right into the animal’s yellow eye.

Sparks and embers exploded everywhere. The resulting screech of pain was deafening. Sam actually had to cover his ears as the animal fell away, snarling and whining. He could have killed it right there, rammed his sword right through it, but he wanted to see it suffer, wanted to fight until the thing was begging to be put out of its misery.

His shoulder ached where it had been crushed beneath him, but he pushed himself to his feet and drew his sword, swinging it in the air as the hellhound stalked him in a circle. Dean raised his own blade and made to step forward, but Sam bared his teeth. “Stop!” he bellowed. “It’s mine! Don’t you lay a finger on it! It’s mine!”

He stalked in a circle, watching as the hound snarled and snapped ferociously at the air. Blood leaked from the gash on the side of its face, and it was limping slightly from when Dean had caught its front leg with his sword.

“Come at me, you bastard,” Sam growled, “if you’re going to hurt the people of this town, you’re going to have to kill me, and I’d like to see you try.”

The hound leapt, knocking Sam off his feet. He stumbled back, but kept his footing, swinging out with his sword. His bow was caught around his shoulder, and he angrily ripped it free, throwing it to the ground. With another snarl, the hound struck out again, and Sam matched the blow with his sword. Blood spurted, and the hound stumbled, a deep gash in his side. He brought his blade down again, but missed, and the hound knocked him to the ground. Pain shot from his shoulder down his arm, and he yelled as he felt the muscle strain, the joint popping loose.

He heard Y/N scream again, heard Dean shout to the other men to stay back. Blood roared in his ears as the hellhound reared back, jaws agape to deliver a bite that would surely kill its prey…

Sam struck up, his blade piercing the hound’s chest. It gave a loud, gurgling yelp of pain, and Sam sliced down. Warm, black blood and gore cascaded over him, and the hound fell to his side, twitched, and then stopped moving.

“Sam!” Dean was by his brother’s side immediately, scanning him for any major injuries. “Sam, are you hurt?”

The doors to the church crashed open, and both brothers looked up to see Y/N streaking towards them, her white nightdress trailing behind her, face wet with tears. Father Michael and several other priests followed, with villagers trailing behind, but all Sam could see was her.

“I’m all right,” he grunted and rolled onto his side, spitting blood from his mouth. His shoulder throbbed terribly, and the taste of the hound’s blood on his tongue caused nausea to roil in his stomach. “I’m all—”

He retched, emptying what little was in his stomach onto the pavement as Y/N collapsed by his head, not caring that her nightdress was slowly becoming soaked in the hellhound’s blood.

“Sam,” she cradled his head in her lap and stroked his hair away from his forehead, “Sam, I’m here… it’s over, love, it’s okay.”

The last thing Sam saw before the world went black was her tearstained face.

If you want to see chapter 13, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lunarsaturn88 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @spnwoman @smallgirlbigpersonality @shaelyn102 @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie 

[sunsetswurve]

Overcome / Numb (G.D) part 1

"Woah, hey, please stop working yourself up. Breathe. No like really, deep breath in. Hold it. Now let it out slow. Okay. Good. That's really good. Tell me what you're thinking, Sky, please. Don't keep whatever it is you're feeling in. Please?" Grayson was sitting across from me, hands on my shoulders.

Skylar Martins has been going through a lot, mentally and emotionally. She’s lost in her own head. Everything is getting worse for her and she feels like she’s all alone, even when people are asking her if she’s okay. Feeling like a burden and a problem, she’s set on her life being like this from now on because there is no way out for her. That is until an old friend pops back into her life, seeing through her lies and getting her to see there’s more to life than what she’s doing. 

A/N: Sooooo I’ve been going thru some rough stuff and this is the first time in a while I’ve written something. It’s been even longer since I posted any writing on the internet. Depression and anxiety are talked about. Suicidal thoughts are mentioned so trigger warning for that. Also, I’m not sure if this is going to be a friend!Grayson or like a relationship. heck I’ve always been bad at continuing stories so who even knows how far this will go. All depression and anxiety writing is from my own experience, I’m not trying to romanticize it or anything and i’m definitely not trying to make it that Grayson “cures” the main character. Let me know what you think, just please go easy on me <3

"Skylar, are you getting out of bed today? Don't you have work?" My mother asked from my doorway.

"Called out." I mumbled under my covers.

"You okay?" she asked, concern filling her voice.

"Yeah, I'm just tired and have a migraine."

"How are you tired? you've been in bed for the past 3 days. AND you've called out one day each week for the last month just to stay in your room. Do you even have sick time anymore?"

"Yes mom. Dont worry, I have enough hours. I just need to rest."

"Okay, we'll see when you lose your job for missing too much work. This isnt working Skylar. What’s going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." Lies. Truth was my depression was the worst it's ever been. I haven't had any energy to do anything.

"Have you been taking your pills?"

"Yes." Lies. I don't care to anymore. It's ridiculous that I have to depend on stupid pills to be a normal human. If this is who I'm supposed to be. What’s the point.

"Bullshit." She rolled her eyes and slammed my door. I heard her go down the stairs and the front door slammed shut also. Nice. Very mature, mother. See, I'm so miserable and annoying my mother doesn't even care anymore. Just leaves me here to rot. I sighed and rolled over, looking at my phone. It was 2 in the afternoon. This is what my life has come to at 23 years old. Alone. Stuck in my room.

I used to try. I used to have energy to try and fight this. But recently its gotten harder and harder to get out of bed. I can see everyone's worried looks and heads shaking with disapproval, but its like there's this wall between what I know I should do to help this and myself. I'm stuck in this cloud of self doubt, self hatred. I hate that I'm like this. I see myself getting worse and yet I just can't put myself out there to say anything to anyone or express what I'm feeling.

To be honest, I'm not even sure what I'm feeling. Numb, mostly. I'm just sick of being alone. I've always felt like I'm the third wheel in all situations. Always in a group of three friends, but the other two were closer and there was me. I've always been a shy person but after high school and stuff I went through in my first year of college, it got worse. I get nervous meeting new people, but I'm also nervous talking to people I haven't seen in awhile. I mean yeah, I have my family and even though I was that third person with friends, I still had friends. I'm also so close to my family. My cousin's been one of my best friends since I was born. But she's gotten pretty serious with her girlfriend so I'm pushed to the side once again. Not to mention they're talking about moving to the other side of the country. It's just gonna get worse.

I sound so selfish. But these are the thoughts that run through my head constantly throughout the day. Its all consuming. I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm alone.

With everyone in the house gone, I go downstairs and grab some cookies in the cabinet and sit in front of the tv. I'll be here for the next few hours until my parents and/or brother come home and then I'll head back upstairs. This is how it's been, avoiding everyone and eating junk to try and make myself feel less numb than I have been. I was switching on netflix when my phone buzzed.

"Hey Skylar, haven't talked to you in awhile. how have you been?" It was a text from Grayson. One of those friends I haven't talked to and don't freaking know how to talk to anymore because I'm a mess. I re-read the message a few times and wonder what I should respond with.

oh ya know, just wondering if I'll finally grow the balls to end my life or keep living in the hell I've created for myself. Oh yeah, that'll  go down swimmingly.

"Hey, I've been fine, just working. How are you?"

"Oh are you working today? Could use a hair cut haha ;)" people only talk to you when they need something from you, they don't really care about how you're doing, silly.

"I'm actually off today, Gray." I turned back to the television, desperately trying not to dwell on the thought that he only wants to know what I'm doing just so I can do his hair. I understand with being a hairstylist that people want me to do their hair but its like. Even the people I see constantly do this, they see my behavior has changed, I'm not the happy person I was before. They've asked me how I'm doing -- at the most inopportune times, mind you. But if you think there is something really wrong, you shouldn't want to ask me while you're on hold with our supervisor, this conversation WILL end up with me sobbing and I really really don't think you're ready for it, Margaret so of COURSE I'm going to say I'm fine. A few minutes later, my phone lets out another buzz.

"Do you want to hang out?" That's different. No one's asked me that recently. Not that I'm the best person to hang out with right now, with the buzzkill I've become. I don't answer. Let's add "flaky" to the long list of flaws I've developed over the passed couple of months. Sometimes it's just easier to act like nothings happening. I turn over on the couch and fall asleep.

..only to be woken up 20 minutes later to the doorbell ringing

The hell? We live on a secluded dead end, no one ever comes here unless its planned, like ever. I open the door to reveal Grayson Dolan on my doorstep with a small grin on his face.

"Gray, what are you doing here?" I ask opening the door more for him to step inside.

"When you didn't answer my text, I figured you fell asleep because you've always loved your naps" he chuckled, since he could tell from the look of confusion on my face that is exactly what happened.

"ohhh" I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I told you I haven't been the best with conversations lately.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks, taking in my disheveled appearance and greasy looking hair. Greasy looking because I haven't showered in days. Ya know, the things that happen with depression the internet and media don't tell you about when they're glorifying it for their aesthetic.

"Uhhh yeah. I haven't washed my hair in a few days. Look Gray I don't think--"

"No Skylar, really, are you okay? I was scrolling through twitter, saw one of your tweets and it's concerning."

"oh uh.. it's nothing, its just shit that comes to mind at night when I can't sleep." I say, hoping he doesn't press anymore. When I feel really low and don't know what to do, I let it out on twitter, no ones ever said anything before about it so I thought it didn't matter or they didn't care or whatever. It's been like this for years, so this really caught me off guard.

"Are you sure?" no.

"Yes." He gave me a look that definitely said he wasn't convinced, but shrugged anyway.

"Okay, so what are we watching?"

"Oh um, I'm catching up on Supernatural."

"Nice!"

"Gray do you even watch Supernatural?"

"No, but if you're watching it, I'll watch it with you. I wanna hang out and you're not busy. I miss you, so let's go! press play already." I gave him a weird look, this is different. Usually Grayson is really busy between doing stuff with Ethan and/or filming.

"What's going on? Where's Ethan? You two are inseparable."

"He's doing some stuff today. Tattoo and other errands. He'll be gone until tonight."

ahh, so he's just here because Ethan is busy and has nothing better to do

"What was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just got this disappointed and annoyed look on your face. What are you thinking, Sky?"

"It's nothing."

"Listen, I know we haven't talked in months but this is not the Skylar I've known for years and I know you're not okay no matter what you're saying behind that fake smile. I'm not going to push it. You don't have tell me right now. But I'm here for you, even if we just sit and watch TV, okay?" My jaw dropped a little, I was not expecting this. Especially since we haven't talked in a while. But Gray has always been able to sense when I'm feeling off. So I'm not too surprised. But to still want to hang around me even if I don't want to talk, like damn, that's so sick of him.

"Thanks G." I say, smiling slightly and lean into his shoulder, a small gesture to show my appreciation. We focused in on the tv and got lost in it for the next few hours.

I didn't notice how many episodes we got through until the front door opened and my mother stepped in.

"Wow. You're out of your room AND someone is here? I'm shocked." She said sarcastically and turned to Grayson. "Hi honey, are you staying for dinner?"

"Hi Mrs. Martins. I'd love to."

"Good! I'm glad someone's been able to get her out of bed." my mother comments as I roll my eyes and continue to focus on the television. I could feel Grayson gaze on me though, I kept facing forward, hoping he would let it go and thankfully, he did. I couldn't focus back into the show though. He knows somethings wrong. But like he really knows. And I'm gonna have to tell him something soon or he'll just be wasting his time and get sick of me just like everyone else. I started biting my nails as I watched forward feeling anxious and sick of myself.

"hey do you still have your PS4?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Do you wanna go play some before dinner?"

"I don't really have any two player games."

"That never stopped us before. We can take turns doing stupid stuff on GTA?"

"Wow I haven't played that in the longest time."

"Lets go!" He said, standing up and waiting for me to follow him upstairs to where we have the playstation set up. I slowly stood up and went along with him. "Remember when we used to play online all of the time?" He asked as I set it up.

"Yeah, remember how angry Ethan would get when asshole twelve year olds would kill us before we could even do anything in the game and I had to figure out how to start a server for just us?"

"Oh man, back when we were living in apartments our neighbors would get PISSED at how loud he would yell."

"And I'd be up here swearing, thinking no one could hear me but one day my mother came up here PISSED because I dropped the f bomb like a million times in a minute."

"She lectured all three of us the next time me and E came over." We both laughed at the memory.

After some time, my mother called up, letting us know dinner was ready. My brother and father were both home now and we all sat down for our meal.

“Grayson! It's been so long since you've been over! How are you and your brother doing?" My father asked

"We're good, Mr Martins. We're working on some new video ideas and Ethan is getting stuff for it today."

"That's great to hear. Its nice to see Skylar out of her room and have company over for once. She's just been in her room for months."

"Dad. seriously?" I ask, do we have to talk about how I'm fucked up at dinner?

"Well she doesn't help herself if she's not taking her medications." My mom comments not looking up from her plate.

"Mom!"

"Skylar why aren't you taking your meds?" My dad turns to me, everyone turns to me actually. I feel my face start to heat up with all of the unwanted attention. My anxiety rising for being put on the spot like this when Grayson was here, or anyone actually.

"And we wonder why I'm finding excuses to not sit out here with you guys all of the time?" I say, rolling my eyes before standing up and hurrying up the stairs to my room.

----

I go into my room and throw myself on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Now he's definitely gonna know I'm not okay. He's definitely gonna walk talk to me about that and probably try to help. He'll stick around for a week or two, see how annoyingly sad and stubborn I am and give up. Just like everyone else has when I've been like this in the past. As if he could hear my thoughts, I hear a knock and Grayson quietly say my name, trying to not disturb the silence.

I look up but don't make a move.

"Sorry you had to awkwardly witness all of that." I mumble. He comes in, gently shutting the door behind him. He lays next to me, also looking up at the ceiling.

"You know they're just worried about you, right?"

"I know," I sigh.

"You also know I'm worried about you, right?"

"Don't be."

"How can I not? Your tweets are literally screaming that you're not okay. You aren't taking care of yourself and distancing yourself from everyone trying to help you." My eyes start filling up with tears and my breathing start to get heavy. My skin is on fire, feeling like hot pins and needles are stabbing me all over. "Skylar?"

I can't say anything. It's like the floodgates have been opened. I dont feel numb anymore but I feel everything. Hurt, sad, angry and frustrated. All I do is curl into a ball, sobbing and gasping for air. I feel Grayson try and pick me up to bring me closer to him but I push him away. It feels like I'm being smothered with nothing touching me at all. I know he means well but when I'm like this, touching doesn't help. I feel him start to pull away, probably to get my mother since somethings wrong and he doesn't know what he should do. but I grab his hand and shake my head.

"Panic attack. Stay. Give me a few minutes." I manage to get out between strangled sobs. He nods, staring at me with worry. I'm not surprised he's freaked out. Usually when I have panic attacks like this I'm not around anyone, so he definitely hasn't seen me like this before. My mother has only heard me have them because I used to call her when I was in college. That was when they started to get really bad. He doesn't let go of my hand though, it would be hard to with me squeezing it, trying to ground myself while focusing on my breathing.

It feels like an eternity, but it was probably just a few minutes later when my breathing slowed and the pins and needles sensation had left. I let go of Grayson's hand and wipe my face, groaning once it really hit me that I just had a panic attack in front of someone for the first time in so long.

"I'm so sorry about that Gray"

"Did you just have a panic attack?"

"Yeah, again, so sorry"

"Don't be! You know I have panic attacks too. I've just never seen you have one and you've always been okay with hugging and stuff so that just threw me, I didn't know how to help you."

"I usually have them at night or I'm not near anyone when they do happen. Uh, I uh feel like I can't breathe and my skin feels like it's on fire and I'm getting stabbed with hundred of needles all over my body so I freak out even more when people try to touch me when they happen.

"Jesus, Skylar. Why don't you tell anyone you're going through this?"

"I don't know" I shrug, "I don't like to bother people."

"Are you serious? You wouldn't be bothering anyone, you just need to tell people how you're feeling when they ask, because I know they've been asking. They're really worried. I'm really worried."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I just need you to take care of yourself."

"That's really hard right now, G."

"Then let me help, let someone help, stop locking yourself away and thinking you need to go through this by yourself." Tears are now streaming down my face and I'm quietly sobbing. He brings me in for a hug and kisses my forehead. We stay like that for awhile. "We're gonna get through this. I promise."

For some reason, that just makes me cry even harder. Why can't I take care of myself? I used to be strong and independent. Now I'm weak. I need people to take care of me at 23? What is this? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Woah, hey, please stop working yourself up. Breathe. No like really, deep breath in. Hold it. Now let it out slow. Okay. Good. That's really good. Tell me what you're thinking, Sky, please. Don't keep whatever it is you're feeling in. Please?" Grayson was sitting across from me, hands on my shoulders.

"I, uh, okay." I take a deep breath again. "I'm just so fucking weak. And helpless. You shouldn't have to be making these promises and be worried about me." I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts and take a few more breaths. "Like this is sad. Ridiculous. How did I get myself in this situation. I don't get it. I don't know or understand myself anymore and I don't know how I got like this." My panic was turning into anger now. Anger at myself. The world. God or the universe or whatever seems to be in control of all of this.

"Stop beating up on yourself for like two seconds to see that people care about you and love you. Sometimes life gets hard and we need help. If I was in this position I would want someone to help me. I can't stand seeing you like this. I WANT to help. Life got busy and I was a shitty friend that grew distant. But I'm here. Your family is here. I know for a fact that if Ethan was here he'd be agreeing with me. We've known each other for years. I know you ARE strong. You just need a little help right now. The only question is if you're going to accept the help or stay stuck." He got a little louder, was it because it's Grayson and he's just loud or wanting to make his point come across clearly? both, probably. I took a few deep breaths, really calming for the first time in hours.

"Okay."

[theteller-marvelandtarot]

Vacation

Hey guys, here’s a short story that I did based on a fucked up dream I had last night. Enjoy a little spook!

My mother, father, two best friends and I had just booked into an old fashioned hotel. It was the cheapest option that the five of us could find online for our long weekend getaway. We check into the hotel and go into our two separate hotel rooms. My best friends and I are in one room, my mother and father in another. We unpack our bags before going into town for supper.

“Where are you folks from?” the waitress asks us, knowing we’re tourists based on the way we are admiring every single detail of the restaurant and scenery.

“We’re just from out of town. We’re staying at the Dunstford Arms hotel, it’s such a different part of town compared to this,” Mom says.

The waitress’ skin turns white and her eyes widen.

“Be careful staying there. Not too many people make it out. Still a mystery that haunts the town, really. The deaths are all marked as suicide,” the waitress says before walking away.

We all exchange looks. My best friend, Lydia, gets out her phone to do some research. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads from the screen.

“What the fuck…” she says under her breath.

“What’d ya find?” my other friend, Nicole, asks, seeming a bit uneasy.

“Apparently there have been seven suicides there in the past three months… All of them have been on the third floor, same wing as our rooms,” Lydia explains.

“I’m sure it just has something to do with the height or something, it is the top floor of a hotel in the middle of nowhere,” Mom shrugs.

“But none of them jumped. They found one girl with the sides of her mouth ripped open, her tongue missing, and her uvula gone. One guy was found with his eyes gouged out and all the skin around his eyes were gone, too. Another guy was found with his ears missing and his fingertips gone. But all of them died from a heart attack,” Lydia explains.

“Ew. I’m sure it’s fake or something. Can’t believe everything you read online,” Dad assures us.

A man who was sitting at a bar stool at the front of the restaurant approaches us.

“Listen, you folks watch yourselves at that hotel, alright? You’re gonna see some shit, look away. You’re gonna hear some shit, don’t listen. You’re gonna feel some shit, ignore it. It eats away at ya. The fella with no eyes, he was my son. He called me that night saying that he could see them. I don’t know what ‘them’ means, but it sure as hell wasn’t good,” he explains to us before walking away.

“This has to be some weird joke or something,” I sigh.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Nicole says.

***

That night, when I’m trying to sleep, I wake up and hear whispering. An man, a woman, and a baby. I open my eyes and I see them in the corner. I notice that Nicole has earbuds in and is on her side with her eyes shut tightly. She’s trying to ignore it. I see that Lydia has her eyes right on them.

“Lydia, look away!” I yell at her.

“What the fuck are they gonna do?” she scoffs.

“Lydia, it won’t kill you to look away,” I say.

“It won’t kill me to look, though, either, clearly,” she says.

I take a deep breath and follow Nicole’s lead. I turn onto my stomach, blare EDM music, and scroll through Facebook.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. I give up at like 7 o’clock in the morning when the sun comes back up. I look over at Nicole first, she’s awake and on her phone. I look over at Lydia, who is asleep. She’s breathing, clearly, because she’s snoring. I sigh in relief.

“Told ya it’d be fucking fine. It was kinda fucked up, though. They kept telling me to add to the sacrifice and that I’d lose the game, whatever that means,” she shrugs.

“Maybe don’t look tonight? Just in case?” I ask her, yawning.

“Fuck that, it’s kinda cool. They can’t hurt ya, they’re ghosts,” she mumbles before going back to sleep.

My phone vibrates. It’s a text from my mom.

“See anything weird last night?” she asks.

“Yeah. A couple and a baby in the corner. Lydia looked at she’s okay, but I’d rather not take my chances.”

“Same here. Just sang loud enough to ignore them with your father.”

“Get earbuds today. They help.”

“Will do.”

***

When I start to see them tonight, the man is at the end of Lydia’s bed, and the woman and the baby are at the end of Nicole’s. Lydia is writing down what they’re doing. Nicole is asleep. All three of them look at me and smirk. I quickly grab the earbuds, blare the tunes again, scroll through Facebook again. But their faces burn through my memory this time. The man’s eyes were a yellow-green color, huge dark circles around his eyes, a torn up suit, dirt all over his skin. The woman looked very similar but she was wearing a pastel yellow dress. The baby was wearing a little pink dress but looked just as ghoulish.

I feel a hand run up my back and a big sniff from my neck to my ear. I cringe and put all my focus towards the lyrics of the songs and my Facebook feed.

***

I look up at sunrise the next day and look over at Nicole first. She was asleep so she can’t really see them if she’s asleep. I gasp when I notice she has no nose and the trail of blood coming from her brain. I get up quickly and look to Lydia for help. But, she has no eyes, and her ears and fingers are gone. I run to Mom and Dad’s room, hyperventilating as tears pour down my face.

“Mom! Dad! Th-They they looked and they listened and now their ears and their eyes and their fingers…” I ramble quickly through sobs.

They both get up and look around the room. Dad calls the cops as Mom hugs me. We go down to the lobby and explain the situation and tell them we’re leaving and won’t be staying a third night.

“I’m afraid you can’t leave. You need to stay the third night, no exceptions,” she front desk person says.

“Charge us for it then for fuck sakes, but we aren’t staying here tonight,” Dad says, getting pissed off.

“Oh, but you have to finish the game,” the front desk person says before turning into the man from our visions.

We try to run out of the hotel but bars on the door slam down, and on all the windows. We all run back to their room together as the family chases us. We sit on the bed together and get our earbuds and blindfolds ready.

We sit there in fear for hours until the sun goes down. The radio turns on by itself. Bad Moon Rising starts to play from the static radio.

“Don’t come round tonight,” the man sings, appearing from the floor.

“It’s bound to take your life,” the woman sings, coming from the bed next to us.

“There’s a bad moon on the rise,” they both sing, coming towards the three of us.

We all grab our blindfolds, earbuds, and phones, all blaring our music and looking away, keeping each other awake.

I start to doze off until I my earbuds rip out and blindfold slides off.

“Not gettin’ sleepy already are ya?” the man asks me, getting right in my face with his rotting teeth, decaying grey skin, and bright yellow eyes.

I shut my eyes tightly and sing from the top of my lungs. I feel a cut from the back of my ear forming. I sing louder and take my mind off of them completely. The pain goes away and my parents and I hold each other closer.

All of our blindfolds come off right before sunrise. The woman looks at us, and she looks normal. Nicely done hair, clean clothes, she doesn't look like a ghoul. Neither does her husband or baby.

“Congratulations, you three. You’ve won the game,” she says as the bars go back up from the windows and doors.

The three of them disappear into the floor again. We all look at each other in relief. We get up, they get their things, and we leave.

“Congrats,” the front desk person says with an eerie grin.

We drive home in silence, unable to even comprehend what had happened on our long weekend vacation.

[shallowpoools]

and here's me actually blogging on my blog for a change

because i just have a lot of thoughts i need to clear out lmao. feel free to scroll past, this is just a giant word vomit i'm doing on tumblr mobile to reflect on whatever the fuck is going on with my head today.

i feel like i suck so much that i haven't even been able to keep up with my virtual activities let alone ones in real life. i can't tell if it's the fibromyalgia or the depression but i'm just sapped of all energy to the point where if it's not my job, i don't even feel like i physically can do work.

like i'm fine. i don't want anyone to think this is a cry for help. i see my therapist every other week and i literally got home from a psychiatry appointment an hour ago. i'm not in any danger and me and my doctors are all trying to help me overcome my disorders and disabilities to be the best me i can be.

but in the meantime i'm just sad, i guess. even my psychiatrist tells me that the medication i'm on has done about the best it can do for someone in a situation they're unhappy with. "you don't need a medicine change, you need a life change", is how he puts it. and i can't say he's wrong.

i feel like i'm stuck and i'm not even close to where i want to be in life. it's weird because last year around this time, i was searching for a job and couldn't wait for the time when i'd be employed and comfortable enough in my position to practically run on autopilot, which is where i am now. but instead of feeling like some comfortable familiarity it feels like a bleak reminder that i'm rotting in a lifestyle that isn't getting me anywhere closer to a future that i want in a minimum wage part time job where my potential goes to die. i'm grateful to be employed, i'm grateful that my home is a group-funded one that allows me to currently only work the hours that i can because it doesn't rely solely on my income. as much as i feel like a kept brat when i put it into words, i know what a privilege it is to be living with my mom, who carries our household on her back.

my little brother entered the room and interrupted my train of thought lol where was i.

i guess what i'm trying to say is that i'm thankful to be in the position that i'm in because it could be so much worse but it frustrates me because it's not where i want to be in life. i get mad at myself: i'm not driving, i'm not going to school, i dropped out and never got a degree, i'm not working more hours, i'm not even working in a job that i like, i reserve all my energy for a corporate job that wouldn't care if i die tomorrow and then don't have anything to put into my own life and happiness and hobbies. i don't write, i don't draw, i barely even roleplay let alone spend time on my fucking blog, a minimal effort activity. and then i get down on myself: is it really my disabilities? maybe i'm just being lazy? no, i know better than that, that's just the ghosts of my abusers talking to me. except, maybe they knew better. maybe they could see that i just don't want to do anything. no, i know better. i want to do everything. i'm someone that thrives on creation and performance and social interaction stuffed into an overweight, overstimulated, overwhelmed body that feels pain and fatigue simply by existing and a brain that doesn't want to get out of bed or do anything more than burrow into a nest of online nothingness and idealization of what i could be like instead.

i'm sad that i'm not doing better. i'm sad that my house is a mess and that my family barely interacts with each other and that all my friends are far away from me and i don't know anybody here. i'm sad that i know almost everything is fixable but that my own defects prevent or just slow down the process. i'm sad that i have all of these ideas about stories and plays i want to write and bands i want to form and videos i want to make and how my house could be cleaned and flipped to the gods if i just had the momentum, and that i follow all of these online personalities with kids because i know i want one so bad but i in no way am ready now so i live vicariously through as many people as i can to try and curb the void, and that i'm trying so hard to eat better and lose weight and feel healthy but i barely feel charged enough to leave my room let alone actually have an exercise regimen.

i'm sad that i have a better life in my head that seems so doable if i wasn't so physically and mentally out of shape.

i'm sad that i can't just clean my fucking room lmao. and instead i felt the need to vent about how sad my life is on a blog i'm barely even using these days.

i do feel better talking about it though. so thank you for your time if you read this. i'm gonna go try and do something to make myself feel better now. xx