#when too many Things are Thinging so you just got isolate in a dark room and cry

[critter-covenant]

upset.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ down and out, you got me beggin' for thread.

milf!landlord!ambessa x oblivious!f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: in your defense, you just thought she was being an attentive landlord. and then the dinner happened. cw: landlord!ambessa, milf!ambessa, oblivious!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, domination, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, ambessa puts you in your place i fear, sweet!reader, oral sex, cunnilingus (ambessa!receiving), bessa has a clit hood piercing whoops, face riding, vaginal fingering (r!receiving), overstimulation, strength kink, praise kink, rough body play, reader is large-chested, cfnf (clothed female, naked female), crawling, kneeling, hair pulling, dirty talk, flirting, seduction, ambessa clocking your shit, she ain't new to this but she's true to this & she's gonna wear you out. notes: i have nothing to say for myself.

in your defense, you just thought she was committed to being a really lovely landlord.

you’d been somewhat isolated from the rest of your neighbors in the condominium, having moved in late and missed all the arranged social activities. they regarded you as a strange little creature—thick hair in an unruly shock, a mouth so full it seemed perpetually pouting. work kept you coming home late most nights, shoes in hand as you climbed the wooden stairs quietly, mindful of the many elderly residents whose comfort you took care not to disturb.

you lived alone, a choice that often worried your family but one you adored. walking through your door to complete silence, greeted by the heavy coffee-and-baby-powder smoke of your newest candle, made it easier to disassociate from whatever unhappiness followed you in from the world outside.

you’d made no effort to distinguish yourself among the residents. even moving in had been a seamless affair—a blur of efficiency as six absurdly lanky movers wrestled your antique french pieces (all dark wood) through the narrow doorway, your winces punctuating every scrape against the walls.

the flat was small but sweetened undeniably by your touch. the floor plan alone had elicited a stifled gasp of horror from your father when you’d sent it to him during a call—confirmation, if you needed it, that you’d made the right choice. your bedroom, however, was the crown jewel.

it was your favorite indulgence, an unapologetic display of your heart & taste, and just a touch of impracticality. the mirrored wall behind the bed was its most divisive feature, reflecting the soft, amber glow of the lamps into endless repetitions of warmth. your father would have grimaced if he saw it, muttering something about "too much light bouncing around," but to you, it felt decadent.

the bed, wide and heavy, was dressed in pale linens with a subtle fringe that seemed to collect light like dew. it was the kind of bed that swallowed you whole, that made you linger in the mornings even when you couldn’t afford to. you’d agonized over the exact shade when choosing the bedding—anything too dark would have clashed with the mirrored nightstands, which were precariously balanced between timeless and ostentatious.

the carpeting was thick enough to mute every footstep, though the faded champagne hue had long since been out of fashion. still, you loved it, the way it dulled the room’s sharper edges. a chandelier hung overhead, small but undeniably glamorous, its crystals catching the light like a handful of stolen stars.

t wasn’t a large room by any means, but it didn’t need to be. it was yours, unmistakably so, and that was enough.

so, of course, it would be the first thing to fall prey to maintenance.

the first drip was forgivable. pipes groaned in older buildings, after all, and you were nothing if not patient. the second drip came faster, followed by the slow, insidious spread of water along the grout of your ensuite floor. you pressed your palm to your forehead, sighed, and stared at the mirror, still smudged from a half-hearted cleaning spree earlier in the week. the bathroom had charm—aged brass fixtures, a vintage vanity—but that charm was waning fast as the puddle grew.

it was past midnight, but you decided you had no choice. wrapping your robe tighter around your waist, you picked up your phone and dialed the number your landlord’s assistant—did they all have assistants?— had given you at move-in, cringing as it rang.

“do you know what time it is?” ambessa’s voice came through, low and sharp, cutting through your groggy apology before you could finish.

“yes, and i’m so sorry, ms. medarda,” you rushed out, cradling the phone against your ear as you stepped around the puddle. “it’s just—there’s a leak, and it’s spreading. i didn’t want to call maintenance without your permission, but honestly, i think the bathroom could use some updating while we’re at it—”

“where’s the leak?” she interrupted.

“in the ensuite. just off the bedroom.”

a pause, long enough to make you nervous. “i’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

you blinked. “oh, no, that’s not—”

the line clicked dead.

true to her word, ambessa arrived twenty minutes later, sharp knocks echoing through your quiet flat. you’d changed into your cotton pajamas by then—a soft rosy brown set with little embroidered daisies, complete with a matching sleep mask pushed up into your hair. billie holiday crooned softly from your record player as you opened the door, clutching your robe around you and smiling sheepishly.

ambessa was the kind of beautiful that made you forget yourself. she filled your doorway as if she belonged there, her broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly tailored coat that hung just so, framing her with an air of command. the silver threading her tight, thick cornrows caught the dim light, lending her a sharpness that bordered on regal, and her eyes—dark, unyielding—pinned you in place without even trying.

you noticed the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her gloves creaked faintly as she pulled them off with deliberate care, and for a moment, you felt ridiculous in your thin pajamas and mask pushed askew on your forehead.

she was all clean lines and control, the kind of presence that demanded your full attention, and you were too overwhelmed to do anything but offer her a stammered “hello” as if she hadn’t just marched into your space and stolen all the air.

“thank you for coming, ms. medarda,” you said, stepping around her to close the door. “god, you must be freezing. would you like some tea? or something else that’s warm?”

ambessa’s eyes swept over you briefly—taking in the retro pajamas, the faint scent of your cucumber tea steeping on the stove—before she stepped inside, her boots clicking against the hardwood.

“let’s see the damage first. and just ambessa is fine.”

she was taller than you’d thought, filling the space of your small flat with an effortless command. you trailed behind her as she followed the faint sound of dripping into the ensuite.

“it’s outdated,” you offered nervously, watching her crouch to inspect the base of the sink. “i mean, charming, but maybe too charming? i wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with renovations, so i didn’t want to call anyone until i asked you first.”

ambessa straightened, the corners of her mouth tugging upward just slightly.

“that’s sweet of you. do what you'd like.”

you blinked at her. “oh. okay! that’s—so nice of you. i didn’t expect you to be so—” you caught yourself. “i mean, i really appreciate it.” she gave you a long look, something unreadable in her expression, before brushing past you back into the kitchen.

“you don’t have groceries,” she noted, her gaze falling on the empty fridge as you scrambled to tidy up.

“i have emergency pasta,” you said quickly, pulling out a box of whole-wheat spaghetti. “and cucumber tea. if you’re hungry, i can make something—it’s the least i can do.”

ambessa didn’t argue, though the arch of her brow suggested she wasn’t accustomed to being offered emergency pasta at one in the morning. you served her a steaming bowl and poured her tea into your favorite ceramic mug, rambling nervously about how you’d heard through maddie of 44b that her daughter was an artist.

she stayed just long enough to finish the tea, her presence heavy and warm in the quiet of your kitchen, before nodding once and heading out.

“call if it gets worse before the workers get here,” she said gruffly, her hand on the doorknob.

the next evening, you came home to several paper bags of groceries neatly stacked by your door, the scent of fresh pink peonies wafting up as you picked them up. you smiled, setting the flowers on the counter next to the dying ones your mum had sent last week.

this place is so lovely, you thought, unpacking the groceries. the tenants are so well taken care of.

your coworkers didn’t believe a word of it when you told them about ambessa the next day.

“she's sweet on you,” one of them said, shaking their head.

“no, she’s just attentive,” you insisted. “maternal, even. she told me all about her daughter!”

they exchanged knowing looks, and you laughed it off, already planning to send ambessa a thank-you card for the flowers.

❅

you’d gone overboard, but what else were you to do? gratitude came naturally to you, maybe too much so, but how else could you thank someone who had quietly made your life so much easier?

the cookies sat cooling on the counter, golden and soft with just the right crisp at the edges. their sweetness filled the air, blending with the candle you’d chosen—rich sandalwood and rose. it was warm and grounding, just like her. you couldn’t explain why it reminded you of ambessa, only that it did.

maybe it was the way the scent lingered, heavy and grounding. stronger than you. your toes curled as you imagined her voice rumbling low, praising your thoughtfulness.

the basket had become a small labor of love. you’d lined it with a cream linen napkin embroidered with tiny vines, each stitch as deliberate as your careful arrangement of the contents. the cookies rested in one corner, their warm scent still faintly clinging to the fabric, and the candle nestled beside them, a handwritten note tucked just so: “thank you for everything. your kindness means the world.”

you’d agonized over the wording for longer than you cared to admit, erasing, rewriting, and second-guessing every line before deciding it was small enough to be safe, heartfelt enough to feel honest.

your phone buzzed where it leaned precariously against a jar of flour, the screen alight with your sisters’ faces. their voices were lively and full of mischief, the kind that made you want to laugh and groan all at once.

“wait, wait, wait,” one of them said, holding up a dramatic hand to cut through the chatter. “groceries, flowers, a new faucet, and she expedited your laundry machine?”

“and called you sweet,” another chimed in, her eyebrows wiggling in mockery.

“and showed up herself in the middle of the night,” your mother added from the background, folding laundry with a knowing smile.

“again,” your father said dryly, his voice carrying a weight of exaggerated patience.

“it’s not like that,” you protested, though your cheeks flushed. you fiddled with the bow on the basket, unable to meet their eyes. “she’s just… thoughtful. i’m sure she does this for all her tenants.”

your eldest sister laughed, the sound of sharp disbelief that made you want to sink into the floor. “baby, she’s courting you.”

“she is not!” you exclaimed, though the wobble in your voice betrayed you.

“oh, please,” another sister cut in, leaning so close to the camera you could see the shimmer of her eyeshadow. “and you’re wearing that outfit to ‘just thank her’?”

you glanced down, your lips tugging between your teeth. the dress wasn’t exactly subtle. it was black with a scatter of delicate flowers, vintage couture that hugged your waist before flaring just slightly. the neckline dipped low, displaying your cleavage warmed by a healthy amount of body oil, and framed by playful ruffles and slim straps that skimmed your shoulders. it was bolder than you’d usually wear, but you’d told yourself it wasn’t intentional. not really.

your jewelry was simple: a thin gold chain, just enough to catch the light, and small hoops that didn’t overpower the dress. your hair was loose, soft, and shiny in a way you tried not to fuss over, though you’d tucked one side behind your ear so many times it had become a nervous habit.

“god help me,” your father muttered in the background, shaking his head with exaggerated weariness.

you stuck your tongue out at him before signing off, their teasing still echoing in your ears as you slipped out the door.

❅

the basket was warm in your hands, the evening air crisp against your skin as you made your way to ambessa’s flat.

when she opened the door, her expression softened in a way that sent your pulse skittering. she looked… comfortable in a v-neck sweater and soft sweatpants, yet undeniably commanding. her gaze flicked to the basket, then back to you, a smile tugging at her lips.

“i brought this to thank you,” you said, holding out the basket. “for the groceries and the flowers and everything. you’ve been so kind in taking care of me, and i didn’t want to let that go unnoticed.”

ambessa’s lips curved, just barely, and she stepped aside to let you in.

“you didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice low and steady, but there was something in her tone—something soft beneath the steel. almost affectionate. “lord knows this has to be your eighth one.”

her flat was not what you expected.

it was spacious, sleek, and surprisingly modern, yet somehow still warm. the scent of cedar lingered in the air, layered with something citrusy and clean. dark leather furniture anchored the space, and bookshelves lined one wall. there were other hints of personality tucked in the corners: a golden tray brimming with jewelry, a small tray of perfumes that looked antique, and a faint scent of something savory wafting from the kitchen.

“you’ve been keeping them,” you said, surprised, your gaze landing on the basket you’d left earlier in the week.

“i like them,” she replied simply, pouring you a glass of wine. “you have good taste.”

you laughed softly, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“i found it at a farmers’ market. i miss going so much.”

“there’s one in the next town over,” she said, her tone so casual you almost missed the implication. “we could go this weekend.”

your lips parted in surprise, a laugh bubbling up. “it’s three hours away.”

“and?” she countered, one brow arching in amusement.

she motioned toward the dining table, where two plates were already set.

“i hope you’re hungry.”

❅

ambessa had made a hearty stew, rich and flavorful, served with warm bread that you couldn’t stop tearing into. you’d expected something simple and utilitarian, but the care she’d put into the meal surprised you. the food was rich and delicious, her hands moving with practiced ease as she served you.

“this is incredible,” you said, closing your eyes as you took another bite. “i don’t even want to know how long it took you to make this. it’s perfect.”

ambessa watched you, her gaze slightly hungry, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“i’m glad you like it.”

you talked easily as you ate, though you couldn’t shake the way her attention lingered on you—penetrating but not unwelcome like she was studying you. the conversation drifted into quieter territory as the night went on. you’d almost forgotten what your family had said earlier—almost. but then, as the wine warmed your cheeks, the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“my family,” you said, voice light with embarrassment, “they were saying you were courting me. that you have designs to snatch me up.”

her gaze didn’t waver. “and if i do?”

your heart stumbled, and you choked. the air felt charged, the quiet hum of the flat suddenly deafening. you met her gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt.

“i was…” you swallowed hard, your voice softer now. “i was only joking.”

ambessa’s smile was slow, deliberate, and devastating.

“i don’t think you were. i mean you came here all dressed up for me,” she said, standing with a fluid grace that left you breathless. “tits practically begging for my mouth. so, joking? no. teasing? yes.”

when she crossed the space between you, there was no hesitation. her hand brushed your cheek, and she gripped your jaw tightly.

“all night,” she said lowly, “you’ve been moaning over your food. i wonder, do you make the same noises in bed?”

you flushed, skin warm and tingling.

“i—”

“and,” she cut you off, “do you eat the same way?”

she thumbed over your bottom lip, pinching it and then releasing it to watch the blood pool.

“you seem so hungry.”

your legs squeezed together beneath the table, your neck straining as you looked up at her. her eyes narrowed as she tilted your head back, idly bringing up her other hand to feel you swallow. seemingly satisfied she stepped back, freeing you as she moved back toward where she was sitting.

struggling to calm your breathing, you watched as she dragged the char back to where you sat and arranged it several inches away from you. casually, as if you weren’t dripping across from her, she lowered herself and spread her legs open. your gaze focused on the space between them, imagining yourself fitting perfectly within.

“[name],” she murmured. “look at me.”

you did.

“are you full?” you shook your head, hands clutching at your thighs. “mmm. would you like a taste, sweet girl?”

you shuddered and closed your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to remain composed.

“yes. please.”

“come here.”

you rose, anxious to please, but she stopped you with a raised brow.

“no. crawl.”

you balked, warmth spreading down your neck and into your stomach. she shifted in irritation.

“i’m not going to ask you again.”

carefully, you lowered yourself to your hands and knees making sure to arch your back so that your ass rose behind you like some erotic phase of the moon. ambessa watched as you began to slink forward, two fingers coming together to further push down the band of her sweatpants. by the time you made it to her feet, she’d done away with them altogether.

her cunt sat pretty and fat, lips winking in arousal beneath the soft thicket of black and silver curls. it was veiled by a gorgeous triangle of deep purple lace, the fabric darkened further by her wetness. she was so beautiful, so delicious that your mouth began to water.

you shuffled forward, placing a hand on her calf to steady yourself as you nosed at her inner thigh. she smelled thick and musky here, her clit gleaming at you as if a pearl in an oyster. it was a little large, but you didn’t mind. you found it as perfect as the rest of her.

tucking your legs beneath you, you settled down and laid your head on one of her open legs. silently you asked permission, your eyes wide and pleading—a bit puppyish. she curled a hand underneath your chin and leaned forward, coaxing a kiss from your lips.

you mewled and clung to her, pressing into her hold as you returned the kiss. she laughed meanly into your mouth and pulled back, slouching so that you had more space to conduct your task. you leaned forward, eager, only to be stopped yet again.

“please,” you whispered and she made a noncommittal noise, giving you a considering look.

“just a moment, little one.”

you furrowed your brow as she leaned forward again, this time with lower. with a rough, hard tug she yanked your neckline down so that your tits spilled full and plush into her palm. with a satisfied groan, she groped them, thumbing at your nipples till they strained into the pads of her fingertips. then, she pulled back and reassumed her position.

“leave them out.”

you grew hotter at the command, nodding quickly. finally, she nodded and you let out a little moan of excitement. you should’ve gone slower and taken your time, but god you were starved.

almost immediately, you tugged the fabric of her panties aside and licked a wide stripe up her pussy. she tasted ripe, sweet then slightly bitter, like a grapefruit, and you moaned into her.

“oh, fuck,” ambessa sighed and you nuzzled further into her.

the flat echoed with the wet sounds of your consumption of her, your mouth suctioning around her pussy to apply pressure. to your surprise the hood of her clit was pierced, a small ruby nestled comfortably atop it.

after a moment, you abandoned your initial plan to move further down, tongue gliding between her fat folds where the slick current of her arousal glittered like a jewel. you pointed your tongue and wedged it deep inside her, lifting a hand to drift along her defined stomach.

“mmmhmm,” she said, voice thin as she canted her hips. “just like that. you’re doing so well, sweet girl.”

the praise lit you up from the inside out, and you lapped at her with renewed energy. her hips bucked harder and a strong hand came to root itself in your hair. in response, you lowered both hands to the floor to steady yourself as you allowed her to control your movements.

“such a good girl. so eager to eat this cunt. so eager to please me, hmm?”

“uh huh,” you answered, the words muffled by her sopping pussy.

the vibration made ambessa suck in a breath and she suddenly yanked you forward, rocking into your tongue slowly before speeding up. eventually, she was riding your face as you stuck out your tongue, your tits exposed and bouncing as you met her in eagerness.

you strained to sink further inside her, whimpering as her thighs closed harshly around your head. she could’ve snapped your neck, and you would only have seen it as benediction. an early arrival to paradise.

“oh shit,” she whispered. “fuck. yes. yes. yeaaah.”

both of her hands were on the side of your head as she bent backward, squealing sharply as she began to cum. the sound was high and girlish, and you wanted to hear it again and again. her pleasure broke over her like a rising dawn and you closed your eyes, sucking at her clit until her legs began to tremble with overstimulation. still, you didn’t stop. instead, you swallowed the honey that dribbled from the apex of her cunt and brought two of your fingers up to rub tight circles against yourself.

with a rough moan, ambessa dropped her thighs from your face and tugged you up and into her lap. she huffed in displeasure and struck your hand away from your cunt, slipping two of her thick fingers deep into the cavern of your slick heat.

“no one touches you here except for me. not even you.”

you let out a startled gasp, mouth dropping in a perfect ‘o’ as she stroked and fucked your spongy walls. you began to follow her movements, bouncing faster to chase the syrupy warmth rising into your chest. the world flickered and your eyes caught on hers as she observed the way your body contorted and flexed the more she pushed you.

“that’s it, sweet girl. work for it,” she said, her lips curving cruelly as you gripped her shoulders to better slam yourself down. “come here. let me taste.”

you kissed her, wet and messy, and she licked along your teeth; sucked the remnants of her cunt from inside you. you felt a flash of irrational anger at the action. you wanted her within you forever, staining your tongue.

ambessa slipped a third finger into you and you wailed, spine snapping straight as you felt the stretch spread through your hips. a fourth drifted lazily through your soaked folds, languishing till it was gleaming, but then it soon disappeared. carefully, she nudged you closer to her, tucking your face into her neck as she trailed her other hand down the crack of your ass.

before you could fully process what she meant to do, she inserted the wet tip of her finger into the tight ring of your asshole and pressed.

your orgasm pulsed through you. from where you lay against her neck, you bit down.

for a moment she allowed you to rest, turning her head to press a warm kiss to your temple. her fingers began to re-curl along your walls. then,

“again.”

it was a direction. you followed.

© hcneymooners.

[lolxdswag123]

Just friends?

Percy Jackson x reader

Warnings: making out, I think that’s it tbh

——————————————————————————

My brain was fried. I had been working on homework and studying for hours all week. I had just about isolated myself in the library, and even managed to get on a first-name basis with the librarian.

I regretted my decision to take so many credits this semester, but I just got so excited when I got into New Rome University that I went a little overboard. The only person who was taking more classes than me was Annabeth- of course. She had spent some time with me in the library this week, but other than that I hadn't gotten any social interaction outside of my classes. I knew my best friend Percy was probably wondering where I was.

I submitted a paper that I didn't even have the energy to proofread. I just was hoping for the best at that point. Just as I clicked submit, I got a text notification on my computer. It was such a relief to be able to use normal technology at school. It was so hard in the mortal world to constantly explain why I couldn't have phone.

The text was from Percy.

Where have you been? Haven't seen you all week

I smiled, immediately pulling out my phone to text him back.

Library. So much work :(

I glanced over at the window, seeing that the sun had begun setting. I sighed, pulling out some of my notes to begin studying. I only got a few minutes in before my brain couldn’t take in any more, and I checked my phone once again. Percy had responded.

Got any free time tonight?

I rolled my eyes. ‘Only for you’ I thought, although I decided not to text it.

What do you have in mind?

After I sent that text, I tried my best to give my attention to my notes. Again, I failed. I wasn’t sure my brain could take in another ounce of information without giving up on me.

I slowly packed up my belongings, deciding it would be best for me to just go back to my dorm. When I exited the library, it was dark. I quickly walked back to my room. As soon as I got there, I dropped my backpack, changing into comfortable clothes. My phone buzzed again.

Want to come over?

I yawned, considering it, then deciding I didn’t have the energy to leave my dorm tonight.

Can you come here?

I hadn’t even finished putting my hair up when he responded.

On my way

I smiled, unlocking the door and turning on my tv before getting comfortable on my bed.

I was relieved to be seeing him again after my extremely long week. When we were growing up, we had gotten used to only seeing each other in the summer. At college however, we saw each other at least four times a week. Even when it’s doing small things— walking to class, going to the dining hall— we had really gotten used to eachother’s presence this year. It felt weird to go a week without seeing him.

I also was slightly relieved that it would just be the two of us tonight. I loved Annabeth so much, but I honestly didn’t have the social battery to interact with more than one person after my mental exhaustion. Plus, Annabeth would be doing homework all weekend anyways.

A few minutes after I’d gotten comfortable, I heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” I called.

A moment later, my best friend came walking through the door with a plastic bag and a cup carrier in his hand. I smiled, standing to close and lock the door behind him.

“Hey,” he said, setting the drinks on my desk.

“What’s this?” I asked, gesturing to the bag.

He shrugged, holding it up slightly, “I just assumed you’d be too busy to think about eating, so I picked up some take out for us.”

I beamed up at him, gratefully taking the bag and thanking him.

After being best friends with someone for almost ten years, you really get to learn how they work. Percy always was one that hit the nail on the head when it came to my habits. He was right, I probably would have forgotten about dinner if he hadn’t brought it.

He kicked his shoes off, jumping onto my bed and pointing to the drinks, “I also got some hot chocolate, I wasn’t sure if you wanted any, but I was stopping anyway.”

I nodded, smiling at him, “Thank you, Percy. You’re the best.”

We both sat on my bed, watching the new season of Outerbanks together as we ate our dinner. I tried my best to pay attention to the show, but I couldn’t stop myself from yawning and zoning out.

When we both finished our food, Percy stood, taking the trash from my bed and throwing it into my trash can. I yawned again.

“You okay? I can go if you want to just go to bed,” he said.

I shook my head, “I’m okay,” I said, patting the spot next to me, “stay a little.”

I knew that I needed sleep, but I missed his presence. It felt weird that this was the first time seeing him in days.

I layed down on my bed, getting comfortable and yawning again. Percy paused the show, taking his place next to me again and laying on his side to face me.

“My mom called today,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” I said, “how is she doing?”

He chuckled, “she’s good, she said she’s happy you and Annabeth are here to ‘keep me in check’,” he said, using air quotes on the last bit.

I laughed, “seems like it’s the other way around right now, I wouldn’t have even remembered dinner if you didn’t bring it to me.”

He paused, rolling onto his back and fiddling with the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve. He didn’t say anything, and I could immediately tell that something was off.

“What’s up?” I said, still facing him. I found myself staring at his pretty face, and thinking about what Annabeth had been saying to me earlier that week. She always said that Percy and I should ‘stop pretending and just get together.’

It definitely wasn’t something that I could say I’ve never considered, I just couldn’t risk ruining the friendship. I’d seen several of my college friends lose their friends by taking it a step too far. I would never recover if I made things awkward between us.

He interrupted my thoughts, when he spoke again. “Paul and my mom asked about you.”

I smiled, moving slightly closer to him to get more comfortable, “Oh yeah? What did they say?”

He looked back down at his sleeve, fiddling with it again. He paused for another moment, before saying, “Just like— they keep asking about us…”

I hesitated, having an idea of what he meant, but I decided to push, “What do you mean?”

He sighed, tossing his arms down to his sides and staring back at the ceiling, “They like… make assumptions— just because we hangout so much.”

I nodded, deciding to question him further, “We hangout with Annabeth too most of the time.”

He glanced over at me, opening his mouth like he was about to say something, but turned back to the ceiling and began playing with his sleeve again.

I leaned forward to rest a hand on his arm, which he glanced at, before looking back at the ceiling.

I took a deep breath, realizing that he wasn’t going to speak up, so I did. “So they’re inquiring into the nature of our relationship?”

He snapped his head over to me, brows furrowing in confusion.

I laughed, “They are asking if we’re really just friends?”

He turned his head back to face the ceiling, “Ohhhh, yeah. Pretty much.”

I nodded, removing my hand from his arm and propping myself up slightly to get a better look at his face.

“And what did you say?” I asked.

He turned on his side, fully facing me now, and propped himself up on his arm so we were looking at eachother.

He breathed in, before saying, “I said I’m not really sure.”

I nodded, looking into his eyes and knowing where this conversation was leading. We’d been putting it off for years. It scared me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but looking into his sea-green eyes I knew that I couldn’t keep pretending.

“You’re not really sure?” I asked, cocking my head slightly to the side.

“I mean…” he started, and I watched his eyes scan my face before continuing, “I don’t know. It felt weird not seeing you this week. Like… I missed you.”

I laughed at his awkwardness, but said, “I missed you too, Percy.”

I swore I could see his gaze flicker down to my lips for a millisecond, but I chose to ignore it. It made me feel tense and my heart started racing.

He sighed, nodding, but sounding confident when he said,“What should I say then, next time they ask?”

I could feel my face heat up. I can’t keep dodging this. I can’t avoid it forever.

“What do you want to say?” I asked, trying to stall so that I wouldn’t have to make any decisions.

He pursed his lips, but didn’t lose his confidence, “I think it’d be fair to say that we’re not really just friends. And that we should have had this conversation a while ago.”

I nodded. Of course he knew what I was thinking. How could he not? We know each other almost as well as we know ourselves.

I swallowed, and my voice came out as a whisper, “I think that’d be fair to say.”

He nodded, and his gaze flickered down to my lips again, only slightly more noticeably this time.

I cleared my throat, my heart racing, “So if not friends, then what?” I asked quietly.

He searched my face, and I could feel his breath now. I wasn’t sure when we had gotten so close, but we were really close.

It’s not that I had never kissed a guy, I had. They’d all just been with people I never really cared about. I knew somewhere deep down that I would never really like anyone else. He was always in the back of my mind. And now with his breath on my face, I was nervous. We’d never crossed the line in our friendship beyond the occasional cuddle, but even that was rare.

“What do you want us to be?” He flipped the question on me, and his lip quirked into a small grin.

I paused, not knowing what to say. I searched his face, eyes focusing on his lips for a second longer than they should’ve.

“Can I be honest?” I whispered, eyes falling to his lips again before meeting his eyes.

He nodded, his eyes falling to my lips too. I could hear his breath quicken as the distance between us seemed to shrink.

“I’ve known we should’ve had this conversation for a long time, but now that we’re having it I don’t really know what to say,” I said, and his gaze returned to my eyes, “I really care about you, Percy.”

He nodded, “I really care about you, too.”

We stared at eachother, neither of us knowing what to do. Neither of us had ever been in a real relationship before. It was new territory for both of us. But of course Percy always knows exactly what to say.

“Will you go out with me? Tomorrow night?” He asked, before quickly saying, “Unless you have too much work, I mean.”

I smiled, feeling a fluttery sensation in my stomach before saying, “I’d love to.”

He nodded, scooting closer to me, “Yeah?”

I nodded, biting my lip and smiling, “Yeah.”

Our faces were inches from each other now. I let my gaze fall to his lips, and his hand reached out to rest on my jaw.

Slowly, he finally leaned in. His lips touched mine, softly at first, like he was scared that if he moved too fast, he might break me. I let out a soft exhale through my mode, and he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. I could feel his hand slide from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.

We pulled away for a moment, both of us breathing heavy, and looking deeply into eachothers eyes. We both had massive grins painted on our face. Without a second thought, our lips were on eachothers again.

The room suddenly felt hot. My hands made their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my finger tips. All I can think is— why did we wait so long? I let my fingers curl in his shirt, bringing him closer, as the kiss quickly grows more urgent, more intense.

He held me tightly, like he was afraid I might slip away. I felt his hand slide down to my waist, pressing me against him. I let out a quiet gasp as he pulled me onto his lap, firmly guiding me until I straddled him. Nothing else mattered. Just him, our lips, the feeling of our bodies so close together after so many years.

His fingers hesitantly trailed up under my shirt, the touch sending shivers through me as he let his fingertips move along my bare skin. I could feel my breathing pick up, my hands sliding up to his shoulders. I found the courage to tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He pulled away, breaking the kiss just long enough to let me lift it over his head, revealing the warm skin beneath. My hands explored his chest, his shoulders, feeling every inch of him as he watched me with that soft, intense gaze, like he’s waiting for my every move.

He slowly pushed my shirt up, and I shakily lifted my arms, letting him slide it off. When it was off, we locked eyes, still smiling like idiots. His hands quickly found my waist again, his fingers splaying across my back as he pulled me close, his lips finding mine once more. I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the slight brush of his chest as I pressed myself against him, feeling his heart racing just as fast as mine.

He grabbed my hips, encouraging me to move back and forth. I gasped into the kiss, and began grinding with his grip. We moved together, the friction between us heavy, and I let out a quiet moan. I couldn’t believe we were really doing this. I felt him shiver at the sound, his breath catching as he presses his forehead to mine, pulling away from the kiss but not stopping his movements.

“Gods,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely more than a breath. “I’ve wanted us for so long.”

I could almost feel tears prickle in my eyes, as I breathlessly replied, “Me too.”

He leaned down, kissing my neck with an intensity that I never knew he was capable of. He nipped and kissed, only pausing to mumble, “Since we were 15.”

His confession sent a surge of warmth through me, my hands moving to explore his back, tracing the muscles there. The muscles that I was so familiar with. That I’d seen in battle countless times.

I felt him shudder, his grip on my waist tightening as he lifted his head from my neck, pressing me against him with a need that matched my own. I rolled my hips, feeling the heat build, and he let out a low, breathless groan, his fingers digging into my skin as he joined our lips together again.

Our kiss was electric, heavy, and full of everything we wanted to say and do to each other for years. I leaned into him, pressing my forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his skin. My eyes welled when he stopped moving our hips together, and I saw the soft, vulnerable smile that played at his lips as he whispered my name like a promise.

I whispered his back, feeling my heart fill with an affection that I’d been holding back all these years.

We stayed like that for a while, embracing each other with a few soft, stolen kisses every now and then. We whispered to each other about how happy we were, and he suggested a few dinner places for tomorrow night.

Eventually, we decided to lay down together, but when I finally got comfortable he sat up, saying it’s late and he should probably let me sleep.

I shook my head, rolling my eyes, “Stay, dummy.”

He smiled brightly, and layed back down, embracing me again. We fell asleep like that, only to be woken up the next morning by a knock on my door. I hadn’t been expecting anyone, but I nudged Percy awake.

We looked at each other, wide eyed, and scrambled to find our shirts and fix our appearances.

The knock came again.

“Just a second!” I called out, combing through my hair with my fingers as Percy carefully straightened out my blankets. He gave me a thumbs up when it looked satisfactory.

I nodded, turning to open the door. There stood Annabeth, open notebook in hand, not looking up yet but saying, “Gods, what took you so long?”

I looked at Percy for help, before hesitantly saying, “Sorry, my room was a mess.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking up suspiciously, when her eyes caught on Percy. She smirked, closing her book and looking between us.

She checked her watch with a knowing smirk, “Wow, Percy, what are you doing here so early?”

I could feel my face heat up, as Percy struggled to find his words.

“I- uhhh… yeah…” he so eloquently said.

Annabeth shook her head, smiling at us. “It’s about time. I’m going to the library, was just going to see if you wanted to come, but obviously you’re already occupied.” She said, turning and walking back down the hall.

I closed the door as she walked away, and Percy’s face was just as bright red as mine felt.

We stared at eachother for a moment, both of us unsure of what to do.

“Wanna get back in bed?” Percy asked, scratching the back of his neck.

I smiled, taking his hand and dragging him back up to my bed. “I’d love to.”

[0wlettie]

sfw, fluffy, dogboy!caleb thoughts pt.I (link to series), wc 1.7k

dogboy!caleb who’s grown up in the adoption system; who’s prone to moodiness and isolation because of the things he’s endured and seen. who’s a few years older than the other hybrid kids at the agency, and knows the difference between a good family and a bad one. he doesn’t want to get hurt again, has been in too many households that treat him like garbage. so he watches and he waits, and waits, and waits until he can find the perfect household for him.

dogboy!caleb who you meet at the hybrid adoption agency on your ninth birthday. because of your macabre interest in horror (your grandma can’t tell the difference between kid friendly cartoons and adult themed anime, and you quickly grew to love the different dvds and tapes she would rent for you on the weekends) the kids at your school have deemed you too ‘weird and scary’ to get close too. you’re lonely because of it, and growing moody, you isolate yourself in your room, delving deeper into the genre behind your grandma’s back. worried about that heavy fog hanging around you, she thinks that getting you a friend in a hybrid is the best way to help.

dogboy!caleb who takes a good look at the people requesting to interview him that day. an older lady and what looks to be her grandkid meet him in the playroom, and it's obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re nervous; hiding your entire body behind the wide drape of your grandma’s skirt. he can only see the barest hints of dark curls pinned into pigtails, and only because they're so big that they peek out from behind your hunched over grandmother.

dogboy!caleb who is willing to give this family a shot, layers on the friendly cheer, greeting the both of you with a wide smile and a soft tone. it instantly puts everyone at ease, even you. hesitant but visibly curious, you peek around your grandma's legs. he catches wide eyes behind even wider lenses before your get spooked and hide again. he and the adults laugh, and it doesn't feel forced to him like usual. he finds your shyness cute, a bit refreshing from the rowdy crowd that usually bothers him at the adoption center.

dogboy!caleb who watches as your grandma nudges you a little, and your tiny voice mumbles a half-hearted introduction. it's quiet even to his enhanced hearing, so it's unsurprising when your grandma huffs and lightly scolds you. he tries to keep his expression open and inviting after your grandma gives you another pointed nudge and gently pulls you from behind her.

dogboy!caleb who notices your height at first. you’re so small compared to him, just barely coming up to the middle of his chest if he were to measure it out. your hair is pulled into two large pigtails, held by two cute panda scrunchies and you've still got your school uniform on. you nervously stare up at him through thick black glasses, and he swears he feels his heart stop the moment his gaze locks with yours.

dogboy!caleb can't stop his tail from wagging even if he tried. your eyes are dark and glossy, and combined with the droopyness of your eyeshape and the faint shadows creasing at the skin beneath, it's a downright lethal combination. you're too cute--way too cute for him to handle. it ignites a protective instinct in him so fierce that it burns him from the inside out, fingers itching with the sudden urge to make the sad gleam in your eyes melt away. 'this is it.' he thinks. he’s found where he wants to be, and he’s gonna make sure that he goes home with you no matter what.

dogboy!caleb who, after being left to chat by the adoption agency chaperone and your grandma, carefully coaxes out your words. it takes a lot of gentle prodding on his part—you’re painfully shy and it’s clear to him that you don’t really know what to say—but he eventually gets you going. small things, like your favorite colors (purple and black), your favorite foods (the fried chicken your grandma makes, as well as the strawberry cake she buys from the bakery down the street), your favorite subject in school (reading because you like to read and it’s the subject you’re really, really good at), until he asks about your favorite movies and shows. he sees how that seems to make you retreat, but before you can fully box him out, he blurts out his own favorite movie to try and make you comfortable; an obscure nothing burger of slasher film that he doesn’t expect you to know about.

dogboy!caleb who can only watch in awe as your moody expression blooms into something incandescently happy. a sparkle twinkles in your eyes, the smile at your lips showing off your slightly sharp lateral incisors. your soft voice gains life as you scoot closer to him, excitedly throwing him rapid-fire questions about the movie. he can only dumbly answer back, eyes unblinking as they stare at your now sunny disposition. on and on and on you talk about your favorite movies and shows—most of them some kind of gore-fest of an anime. you occasionally throw in a few cult classic films, getting even happier when he can tell you his own opinions about them.

dogboy!caleb who gets completely and utterly infatuated with you--more than he was initially. he does everything in his power to win over your grandma when she comes back for her own time to speak with him privately. you’re pouting, upset as you sit by the chaperone a little ways away, picking at your slices of orange as you shoot glances at your grandma and him. he does his best to stay focused, but it’s hard when he meets your eye and you give him an excited little wave and smile, every time, without fail. and maybe something shows on his face when you do, because your grandma chortles. she gets his attention back by telling him that all she’s ever wanted for you was a friend, and she can see that’s what you’ll get if she brings him home with them.

dogboy!caleb who’s nerves are twisting his stomach in knots when you shyly ask for a hug before you two leave. he doesn’t hesitate to agree, barely opening his arms before your careening into his hold. it’ll take at least a few days for all the paperwork to go through, and then after there needs to be all kinds of background checks and safety inquiries before he’s permitted to leave. maybe another month before he’s able to see you again, something that bums you out as you cling to him. a soft rumble vibrates through his chest as he holds you close, lightly nuzzling the top of your head. he takes in your scent then, lightly rubbing his fingers down your shoulders and arms as he does so. he does the same to your grandma when she offers herself for a hug, the nerves in his gut lessening somewhat now that they’re marked by his scent; that you smell like him.

dogboy!caleb who is counting down the days to his adoption, bag already packed and waiting for him to grab. he easily ignores the playful and not-so-playful teasing of the other kids in the bunks. their opinions are worthless to him, and absolutely nothing can kill the excitement he feels at being able to live with you. to be around you and listen to your cute rambles. to see up close how the bright spark of happiness changes the gloomy swoop of your eyes.

dogboy!caleb whose tail wags up a storm when he sees you over a month later, lips pulled into a wide smile when you run up to him and jump into his arms. he barely flinches, wrapping you up and squeezing you until he hears you let out a breathless giggle, fingers playfully tweaking his ears as you rub your cheek against his. he goes to put you down, but you whine and beg him to carry you back to the car. he’s helpless to obey, laughing quietly as he does just that. the embarrassment on your grandma’s face and the amusement on the agency staff greets you both when you do, and he’s happy to note that you don’t seem to care about them as you whisper to him about your secret movie collection.

dogboy!caleb who settles into his room later that night after an amazing home cooked meal, warm and full. his thoughts swirl rapidly around his new home, but most of them are focused on you. how he’ll get to spend the next two days with you since your grandma has to work, and he’s old enough to watch over both of them for a few hours. how you promised to show him all the secret movies and anime you’ve got stashed underneath your bed while you eat breakfast.

dogboy!caleb who blinks when he hears his door open, ears picking up the small shuffle of feet and the soft drag of a blanket. your voice echoes out in a soft whisper after the door creaks open, his tail and ears standing stock still in shock. quickly, though, he affirms that he’s awake and sits up, eyes tracking you easily as you pick your way through the dark. you shyly ask if you can sit in his room with him. you have trouble sleeping, and usually you would go to your grandma, but you figure caleb would be better since she has to work early in the morning and you don’t want to bother her…but he’s totally fine to say no! if it’s too much, you wouldn’t mind at all—

dogboy!caleb who immediately scoots over in his bed, patting his blanket as he invites you in. you make a little happy noise, diving for the open side to his bed. you bump and jostle into him, but he easily rights your fall and pushes you to lay down near the wall. he boxes you in like that, wrapping you in your blanket like a burrito. you try your best to muffle your laughs, but it’s hard for you to when you can tell there’s a smile on his face as he shushes you.

dogboy!caleb who falls asleep listening to your excited whispers, deeply breathing in your comforting scent as you snuggle up closer to him. your grandma later finds the two of you in the morning, you nothing but a dark purple lump in your burrito hold, and caleb with his front facing the door, protective over you even in his sleep.

next episode: pt. II

i had to cut it off here cuz it was getting a little too long for this format i swear i never mean to write this much but there's just something about puppydog caleb that gets me GOING. the brainworms refuse to quit so a part two is coming soon !

edit: if you want to keep up with this story, i have no issues tagging ! but if you do follow me and you don’t have an age in your bio i will block you, i’m sorry but im an 18+ blog despite the fluff and i don’t want minors following me; adding this because i’ve seen an influx of people and i guess they didn’t realize i’ve got rules ;;; so please, have an age in bio or you will be blocked !!

[arting-block]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Eleventh Doctor x F! Reader

❝𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯.❞

Summary: After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

Warnings: Angst, mentioned kidnapping, misunderstanding, pinning, comfort, the Doctor sucking at feelings

Words: 3.8K

A/N: I'm finally getting through the requests sitting in my inbox. This one was one of my favorites I've done in a while :) @shuichiakainx i hope you enjoy!!

You messed up. Badly.

The Doctor had explicitly stated for you to stay by his side. No wandering about, no talking to strangers, don't do anything foolish. The city you were visiting had a different culture, one steeped in brutal violence. Any slight can be perceived as an invitation for war. 

You should've minded your own business. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Even though your friends freed you hours ago, you can still feel the imprint of metal cuffs around your wrists. Your hands busy themselves with rubbing the area, bandages wrapped around your pulse where the metal snagged your skin.

You tried to defend an elderly man from getting hurt by a group of teenagers. You foolishly tried to shield the man from the onslaught of abuse, hoping to simply talk to the teenagers so that things wouldn’t escalate. Oh how wrong you were. 

You knew you messed up. You had already regretted your choices the moment rough hands gripped your arms and hauled you into a foreign ship. 

The Ashmadas were almost a whole head taller than you. Thick yellow hides that became scaly along their joints, blunt canines that were meant for crushing bones and skin, and the fluorescent eyes that glowed even in pitch black darkness. A species that evolved from war and brutality. Even the most intimidating human would look like field mice in comparison. 

What you hadn't anticipated was the cold demeanor of your Doctor. You imagined him being cross, yes, but never downright angry. The moment he and the Ponds made it to the threshold where you were held, you noticed how calloused he had been. Snarling words, tension rippling beneath the skin. Furious didn't begin to explain his behavior. He threatened to set off a bomb that will incinerate everyone in the ship and release a plague to their already dwindling community. When you finally got out of your shackles, the Doctor barely even acknowledged you, hellbent on making the Ashmadas a new endangered species. It was only when you grabbed his face, forced him to see the tears as you begged him to leave, did he finally back off. 

As the four of you retreated to the console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor makes a flimsy excuse about needing to check the ship’s engine. The day’s events have been heavy for all of you, so you knew it was more about him needing space. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed off your touch and gave you a cold reply. 

You walked back to your room not long after. Rory patched you up as best he could, using a concoction of human and alien medicine. He didn't speak much and you were grateful for the silence. The only words he slipped out were sincere apologies for not getting there sooner. There was something else he wanted to say, moments where he opened his mouth but nothing came out. You were, frankly, too tired to press further. 

Once Rory left, you tried your hardest to get some sort of sleep. Your body was spent, bruised, and tattered. No matter how many times you turned or how much your body ached, your mind couldn’t stop racing. You’ve probably spent a good hour or so trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. 

You were still on edge, thinking about the cramped cell you were placed in. How alone you felt. You’ve been in precarious situations before, but this was different. Three whole days of captivity in total isolation. No light peeking through so you had nothing to distract you. Just your own memories passing through your mind. It made you realize just how much your friends mean to you. How much their presence comforted you, how relieved you were when Amy’s voice cut through your dark Hell. You remember sinking into the Doctor’s embrace, crying into his jacket and muttering how sorry you were. 

There was so much you wanted to tell him. Those three days spent curled into a ball were filled with memories of him. His laugh echoing in your ear while carrying you throughout the universe. Petty arguments filled with teasing and embarrassed faces. The way he finds himself beside you, always lingering like a string was attached between the two of you.

The most treasured memory of all was one where it was just the two of you. Talking about nothing and everything. Favorite color, worst kitchen appliance, obscure historical figures. You talked for hours, laying your whole life for him to dissect. When it was his turn to speak, you took the opportunity to study him. Cataloging the slope of his nose, the lines around his mouth, and his mannerisms. The way he points going in tandem with the pitch of his voice, how his whole body moves when he talks. 

You wanted to scream in his face the moment you saw him. Tell him the three words you repeat in your head when he’s around. Instead, all that came out was unintelligible sobs into scratchy fabric. 

Tell him, tell him everything. 

The bed creaked when you moved to sit up. Your heart ached at seeing the Doctor’s fury and how silent he was when you came back. You caused him worry, not just to him, but to the Ponds as well. The last thing you want is to end the day on a sour note. He’s your friend after all, even if you wanted something more. 

It didn’t take long to reach the console room. You took your time with each step, wanting to get your thoughts in order. You pick up voices coming ahead of you, muffled words that you cannot make heads or tails of. As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear the muffled words turn into the familiar voice of Amy in a rather accusatory tone. You peek around the corner, observing the view of your two friends from above. 

Amy stands a few feet away from the Doctor, who is hunched over the console. Amy’s face is a mix of concern and disappointment, as if she’s scolding a child. You notice the dirt smeared shirt she still wears, meaning she hasn’t gotten back to her room just yet. Was she here the whole time?

Crossing her arms, Amy shook her head at the tired man in front of her. “You’re never going to admit it are you?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to admit.” The Doctor’s answer is just as cold and detached as it was hours before. “If you’re just going to go back and forth with me all day then I suggest you go spend your time with your husband. I told you before I’m not in the mood for your scolding.”

Amy’s laugh is devoid of any humor. She takes a step towards the Doctor. You see the pent up anger in her; a fuse ready to blow. “You think you’re so good at hiding it. You think we’re too stupid to notice—that I’m too stupid to not bring it up?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” 

You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. If the Doctor found out that you were listening in on a private conversation, he would no doubt be more angry than before. 

Amy ignored the question, wanting to force the Doctor into a corner to say what she wanted to hear. “I’m honestly impressed how long you’ve lasted. Were you going to bury your emotions and hope they would simply disappear? You think pushing her away is going to make it hurt any less? I see the way you look at her.”

The Doctor snaps back, angry and seething. “Spit it out already Amelia!”

“(Y/N)!” came her equally furious reply, one that echoed sharply in the large room. 

Your heart skidded to a stop in your chest. Why was she goading him like this? You didn’t recall telling Amy about your feelings for the Doctor. Was it that obvious? If she noticed, does that mean…?

The Doctor was quick to invade Amy’s space. He towered above her, his teeth bared with provoked anger. “And what exactly do you want me to admit? That she's careless and doesn’t listen to a word I say? How do I have to clean up her mess after she did the one thing I told her not to?”

Hearing the pained emotion in his voice made every word sting harder. He was not wrong to say it, but it hurt nonetheless. You wished that he would’ve said it to your face rather than having to overhear it in the shadows.

He didn’t stop there. It seemed Amy had opened a dam of pent up thoughts and emotions. Words kept spilling from his lips, each one hurting more than the last. “You know what I see when I look at her? A fragile human being. Someone who is only going to occupy a fraction of my existence.”

“You love her,” Amy spits back, wholly convicted. Tears prick her eyes as she barrels on. “Admit you stupid old man. You. Love. Her.”

Her words seemed to shock the Doctor out of his wrath. He immediately steps back, as if her presence burns. 

The two of them look at one another, chests heaving. Amy doesn’t back down, keeping her chin held high, meeting his burning gaze. The Doctor’s face is unreadable, partially due to the fact that you don’t have a good vantage point. The anger doesn’t leave him, but you could tell that he’s considering her words. 

You hold your breath, not wanting to miss his response. 

It comes out soft, barely within normal talking level, but in the dead silence of the console room you hear it as clear as day: “How can I love her? I won’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You felt your heart drop out of your chest. All of the hurt spirling inside your chest, clawing a cavernous hole to fill with despair. 

He doesn’t love you. 

You were paralyzed, replaying that awful sentence over and over again. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the droplets of tears already flowing. 

He doesn’t love you and he’s making sure it doesn’t happen. 

Are you that awful to be around? That the mere thought of being romantic with you makes him angry? 

Your hand presses at the space where your heart lies. Your shirt twists, your body curling deeper into the shadows of the room. You’ve experienced heartbreak before, back on Earth throughout the years. Never like this. It was more than a simple rejection, but a swift blow to your entire worldview. 

You thought, foolishly, that maybe there was something between you two. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you had if he didn’t like you. All those late night conversations…the small brushes of skin when no one is looking…all of the glances you caught more than once…

They were nothing. 

Stumbling back into the hallway, you ran as fast as you could to your room. The TARDIS bestowed mercy on you, materializing your room just a few feet away. You didn’t think twice to fly open the door and slam it shut behind you. You knew the sound would travel to the console room and alert Amy and the Doctor, but you didn’t care. 

The force of your cries shook your body, your sobs filling your room despite your hands trying to muffle them. Over and over you replay the entire conversation. You wished the TARDIS would swallow you whole and spit you far, far away from the Time Lord. 

You hear the sound of thundering steps approach your room before the sound of frantic knocking against your door. 

Before the person could utter a single word, you let out a strangled demand: “Go away!”

“(Y/N), I can—” the Doctor cut himself short. He let out a frustrated huff before starting again. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Those words snapped you out of your whirlwind of sadness. Anger bubbled in its place. 

“Not what I think?!” You didn’t think twice before forcefully opening the door. The Doctor jumps from his spot in front of your room, a show of surprise on his face. “I heard everything.”

The Doctor places his hand up in surrender. The cold, neutral face he had on before is completely wiped away, leaving a startlingly emotional one instead. “Please, if you give me a moment—”

“What more could you say to me?” It comes out shaky, with tears still dripping down your face in rivers. You no doubt look like a complete wreck, but you’re too upset to care. You’re tired of bottling your emotions up. You want him to know how much this meant to you, how much his words physically hurt you. “I know you’re already upset at me that I didn’t listen to you, I know that. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is a whole misunderstanding. I mean come on—fragile human?”

“I know and I’m—”

“I was so relieved to see you again. Three days, Doctor. Three whole days, spent in that cell waiting for you. I felt so guilty for not listening and I hoped that we could reconcile, but no. I was fine with giving you space, but then I had to overhear you talk about me like I’m some burden.” You force yourself to take a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “Is that how you really feel about me?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which makes you even more angry. 

“Did you know?” you spit out. It took everything in you to not shut the door in his face and never come outside again. But you needed to know. “Did you know?”

The silence that came thereafter was deafening. The Doctor let his hands drop to his sides. You didn’t dare blink, watching his every move, waiting for a response. His head dips to the side, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he stares at a spot on the floor. You knew he knew what you were referring to. 

When he lifts his head, you were surprised to see such bare remorse. Still, it does nothing to quell you; if anything you’re happy he’s feeling the guilt. 

“Yes…I knew for a while,” he mumbled, forcing the words to come out. “Rory’s mum told me, said that you liked me. I told her that of course you liked me, I’m the Doctor. But she gave me a serious look and told me you fancied me.” His lips twisted up at the memory, but seeing your withering glare he quickly dropped it. 

You gripped the doorframe, recalling the visit clearly. The Ponds had called you, wanting to go on another adventure after nearly three months of normalcy on Earth. In their absence, it was just you and the Doctor against the universe. Three months of staring longingly at the madman in a box, wanting to spill your guts but feeling too scared to. When the Ponds came back, you remembered Rory’s mum taking the Doctor to the side, whispering in his ear. You had asked what she said, but the Doctor gave a flustered reply. His ears were pink, and his words were hastily spat out. 

“That was over a year ago. You knew all that time?” You wanted to scream every curse you knew, both English and alien. It took everything in you to not tear him a new one right then and there. “And I had to hear you say it to Amy of all people? Someone who also fancied you, and if I recalled kissed you?”

It was unfair to throw that back in his face knowing that they moved on from that incident. Amy had since made it explicitly clear that she loved him platonically and was wholly committed to Rory. 

The Doctor took a tentative step towards you, unsure if you were going to disappear back into your room. He took another, and another. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his scuffed shoes. 

You could feel him get closer. It unnerved how much you still wanted to be near him, despite everything. 

The Doctor’s hands found the curve of your cheek, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Warm palms cupped the sides of your face and his thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, burning into you. You watch as his green irises start getting glassy; the planes of his cheeks become a flushed pink. He stood there for a few moments, simply holding your face, looking at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. 

You let yourself bask in his touch. He took another step towards you, still holding your face. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool touch of his forehead against yours. 

“Doctor—”

“You have every right to be upset.” He gave a chuckle, but you heard the pain in his voice. “You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. I looked forward to the nights where you pester me with odd questions. Every morning I pray that you stay another day with me, hoping that you don’t wish to go back to Earth.”

The confession scares him, you feel it in the way he tries to keep his voice even. When he pulls his forehead from yours, he still hovers over your face, staring with the heat of all the feelings he tried so desperately to hide. 

His eyes move over every inch of your face before settling back to your swollen eyes. You watch his eyes soften, as if he’s seeing the most beautiful star nestled in the depths of your pupils. So focused on the heat of his hands and the movement of his eyes, that you almost miss the twin stream of tears running down his own face. 

The Doctor took one shuddering breath, letting his thoughts flow out. “I couldn’t let myself acknowledge my feelings—I couldn’t. Everyone I ever loved…everyone I got close to is gone because of me. I couldn’t let that happen, especially not to you. But then you had to get yourself kidnapped.” His voice trailed off, cracking at the memory. 

You dared not to move, fearful that he would snap out of the spell he found himself in. You can’t recall a time where he was this open to you, about his feelings no less. All the pent up emotion you felt before settled to a dull throb in your heart. 

“I would’ve brought the entire fleet down on its knees, have them beg for mercy.” You felt the rage in his voice, knowing full well that he meant every word. “When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified. You were gone before…”

His hands trembled, his breath became more ragged. You’ve never seen true terror on his face. 

You whisper, just barely audible to his ears. “Before what Doctor?”

He shakes his head, almost wishing he didn’t open his mouth. When you silently pressed him to answer, he couldn't help but cave. 

“I lied back there, with Amy,” the Doctor rushed, trying to get all his disorganized thoughts out. “I lied—I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“What? Didn’t mean wha—”

“It already happened,” he cried, his body caving towards you. “I told myself I couldn’t let myself love you. I…I lied.”

You felt your heart stop for the second time today. Your mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor takes a half step, effectively caging your body against his. You own shaking hands rested atop of his, hoping to calm him. 

“Every moment I spent with you, I spent yearning,” he says with such emphasis that leaves no room for doubt. You cry harder at the admission. “I took my frustration on you, made you think that I could never love you. I do—Stars, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

You couldn’t hold back the loud sob that overtakes your whole body. A cry that leaves the Doctor’s two hearts aching knowing that he caused your pain. He continues to rub his thumbs over your cheeks, not to wipe away the tears, but to soothe you. 

“Say it,” you plead, words scraping against your throat. “Say it and I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever.”

Your words trigger something in him, that same fear that made him distant towards you. He doesn’t move from his spot, paralyzed by the decision. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came his equally desperate reply. “I can’t lose you too.”

“We’ll find a way. You always do.”

The Doctor sags against you, resting his forehead against yours once more. Cries of his own shake him, his tears joining yours on the TARDIS floor. You take it upon yourself to mirror his actions; your hands gently holding his face. His once bright, crystal green eyes were now blurred with tears, encased by swollen, flushed eyelids. 

“I love you.”

A barely audible whisper, one meant for you. Said with such raw intensity that it echoes in your ear, seared in your mind forever. 

The Doctor clears his throat, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I love you. Stars above, I love you.” He speaks louder, not wanting you to miss a word. “I’ve loved you for years and I was too much of a coward to tell you. I’ll make it up to you, show you how much I’ve wanted you, if you let me.”

A smile stretched across your face. Pure euphoria filled your body, buzzing with a high that made you lightheaded. You feeled the charged energy between you two. The Doctor stills, anxiously awaiting for your response. 

“I’m yours,” you say in the shared space between you. A declaration, waiting for the final seal. “I love you, Doctor.”

The Doctor slants against you, finally removing the last inch of space between you. His kiss falls over you like the whispered confession he had given you. His lips mold against yours, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. You grasp onto him, your hand threading into his hair, another along his jacket. His hands no longer tremble. You feel his palms leave your face and travel down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. 

When you pull away to breath, he wastes no time burying his face against your neck, peppering the heated skin with kiss after kiss. He finds the spot where your pulse meets your jaw, sucking on the skin harshly, making you shudder. The Doctor overwhelms your senses; his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth—

The Doctor gives one final kiss against your lips, before releasing you. He watches you catch your breath, seeing your relieved smile stretching across your face. He feels his face mirroring that same delirious smile. 

I’m yours, his two hearts sing. I’m yours forever.

[mya-valentine]

February 7th - Girls Like You by Miguel - Secret Admirer!L Lawliet x Reader

The night was still, the hum of L's many monitors filling the silence as he sat in his usual crouched position, dark eyes trained intently on his screen. For all the crime scenes and case files displayed in front of him, his mind kept slipping to a different image: you.

It was unusual for him, this level of distraction. L was disciplined to a fault, rarely allowing himself to indulge in anything beyond his work. Yet, somehow, you had embedded yourself in his mind, almost like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. It was something he couldn’t explain, and maybe that was the allure.

He couldn’t help but feel the pang of loneliness each time he thought of you. Here he was, solving crimes and outsmarting criminals, yet he was constantly alone. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had chosen this life, and he knew it well, but it didn’t stop him from occasionally longing for something beyond data and deduction. Someone to share a conversation with that wasn’t just strategy or logic—a companion who could see past his eccentricities and isolation.

As if by some magnetic pull, his eyes drifted to the small photograph of you he had kept, just off to the side of his workspace. He told himself it was only for identification, only necessary for the case, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. You were different. You were real in a way the people around him were not. And it wasn’t lost on him that he kept that photo a little too close.

L didn’t dare admit it, but he had often imagined the two of you spending time together—simple things, silly things. A round of Connect Four, maybe. He’d read it was a popular game, something both relaxing and intellectually engaging. It wasn’t exactly his style, but he imagined it might feel… comfortable. Ordinary. He craved that with you in a way he couldn’t quite explain. But, of course, his work, the secrecy, the shadows—all of it kept him from ever truly reaching out.

A pang of regret echoed in him as he imagined the moments he’d never get to share with you. He wanted to tell you things that went beyond the realm of deduction and analysis. Small details he never had the chance to share with anyone—his peculiar taste for sweets, his fondness for small, trivial games that had nothing to do with his cases. L wanted to feel like a normal person, just once, with you.

In a rare, unguarded moment, he let himself imagine your laughter, bright and genuine, filling the room. He could almost see you rolling your eyes at his absurd candy stash, maybe teasing him about the stacks of sugar cubes and slices of cake that littered his workspace. The thought made his lips twitch slightly, as close to a smile as he ever came.

But he knew that was all it could be: a fantasy. He was locked in a world of shadows and secrets, and dragging you into it would be nothing but selfish. And so, L watched from afar, hiding his admiration beneath a shroud of secrecy.

One evening, he caught sight of you through the café’s window. You were laughing, eyes bright, a look of contentment that made his heart clench unexpectedly. His stomach twisted as he recognized that he had no right to even feel this way. He could only observe, remain unseen and anonymous in his adoration. It was maddening, a silent ache he felt each time he saw you.

He had memorized so many details about you. How you held your cup with both hands, savoring the warmth of the coffee. The way you tilted your head slightly when you were listening to someone speak, fully absorbed. It was as though you took in the world around you with an openness and warmth he didn’t know he craved until he saw it in you.

But he also recognized something he hadn’t expected to feel: envy. Envy for those around you who got to share in your warmth and presence so freely. He was surrounded by people, by minds as sharp as his own, but none of them filled the quiet emptiness that seemed to persist in his life. None of them made him feel… whole.

He had managed to keep his admiration hidden, or so he thought. But Watari, his closest confidant, had noticed the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long on that photograph of you. One evening, as L sat in his usual hunched position, Watari approached him quietly.

"Is there something on your mind, L?" Watari’s voice was gentle but knowing.

L hesitated, not accustomed to discussing anything personal. "It's nothing," he replied, his tone as nonchalant as he could make it.

But Watari had been by his side long enough to see through his deflections. "Sometimes, a change of perspective can be… beneficial," he said carefully, as if choosing each word with the utmost precision.

L remained silent, his eyes trained on the screen, but Watari’s words lingered.

As days passed, L found himself unable to fully suppress the thoughts of you. He wondered if you’d ever think of him, if you could ever care for someone who spent his life in the shadows, always one step removed. And then there was the guilt. He knew his work demanded sacrifices, required him to be detached, focused, always calculating the next move. But with you, his careful walls felt as fragile as glass.

It wasn’t until one late night that he found himself alone again, staring at that photo of you with an ache he couldn’t ignore. He wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, what it would be like to just reach out. To allow himself one moment of indulgence, one taste of something real. But reality came crashing back with a familiar, bitter sting. He knew he couldn’t disrupt your life, couldn’t expose you to the dangers that surrounded him.

Yet, the longing remained, a quiet, relentless ache that refused to be silenced. L shifted in his seat, his gaze never leaving the screen, but his mind was elsewhere, with you. He could never tell you, never let you know the impact you had on him, how you reminded him of a world he’d almost forgotten.

For now, he would simply watch, hidden and silent, content to observe you from the distance, a nameless shadow in your life. But deep down, he knew the truth: you were the one reminder of something he could never have, the one glimpse of warmth in his otherwise cold world. And as he sat there, in the dim glow of his monitors, he allowed himself, just for a moment, to imagine that somewhere, somehow, you thought of him too.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[quietlyinlife]

Platonic Yandere Father Leon Kennedy

•If Leon is possessive and obsessive with his wife, then you are in the same position as your mother but worse the moment you were born and being held in his arms. 

•After all the hardships and deaths he experienced when he was a newbie cop and the outbreaks that occurred, he didn’t want you to leave him or your mother. The two people he loves so much that Leon is willing to give up saving the world in order to rescue you and his wife.

•Leon may not have gotten the childhood he wanted after his parents’ death but he didn’t want you to go through the same traumatic experience as he did when he was a kid.

•Also made you another reason why he should continue fighting to stay alive.

•As a father, he would aid your mother to take care of you, help her bathe you, feed you, go out to buy baby supplies, and insist that your mother should stay home and play with you before he comes back.

•When his job doesn’t call for him, he spends all his time and attention on you. Showing you the toys he brought as you lay on your crib and watching him give you many plushies to hold. Would coo at you while he carries you and makes a promise to you that even if you grow up into an adult, he will always protect you and your mom and kill anyone who tries to take the both of you away.

•Definitely watches over you in the middle of the night after waking up from one of his many nightmares. Eyes were glued to you as you slept and sometimes he would doze off on the couch in the nursery room.

•Would play games with you like hide and seek or tag when you learned how to walk and talk.

•As a child, you were naive about the dark past Leon has with your mom, you only noticed how your mom was never allowed to go outside alone with you. Only Leon could accompany you and your mom during outings together. You also noticed how tightly his hand held your mom’s while the three of you went on a walk through the empty road in an isolated forest where the house is located. Leon never allows you to run far.

•When it’s just you and your mom at home, she begins to tell you stories about how she met your father when both of them were young. Your father used to be a police officer and he saved her from being attacked and they went traveling around Raccoon City. She left the outbreak of the t-virus part out, including how she got kidnapped by Leon a few weeks later after six years when he finally reunited with her.

•As you grow up into a teenager, you start to begin to notice how isolating your father is. One time you asked if you could go outside, Leon would look at you, startled before a smile forms on his face, and gives a short speech about how dangerous this world is and how there are dangers at every corner. But he would take you outside the home if you begged enough for a four-minute walk before going back inside. But if you asked one more time to go out he’ll usually ignore you or just say no.

•Leon never lets you go out alone, or out with some friends. Your dad doesn't trust anyone with you or your mom.

•Leon is a spoiling father, buying you anything you want with no limits if you asked. Your mother taught you to be grateful for all the things Leon and her have done for you. 

•Leon is a bit too much as a father, he hates when you do something without him, or on your phone and not paying attention to him, and wants you to always text him or say it to him physically goodnight to him before sleeping. But what Leon hates the most is when you watch horror movies and he would sometimes get a bit ptsd from them when he sees a scene quite similar of what he went through. He thinks you're too young for them and bad for your mental health so if he ever catches you watching something scary, he would give you a death stare before turning the tv off.

"I don't want you to ever watch any of this." Leon fumes, a frown casting across his face as his tone is deep and dark. His eyes stares deep into your own. Not once looking away from you, You were nearly quivering on the couch but kept a brave face. And ever since that day, you only watched horror movies inside your room on your laptop.

•Would ask you questions about your day when he comes home. Also expects you to go to him for a hug when he returns from his mission. If you don’t show up then he’s at the door of your room, knocking and engulfing you into a tight hug. You’re not allowed to complain.

“Am I not allowed to hug my only child? I miss you every day even when we live in the same house together.” He tells you as he pulls you back to look at your face with a questioning look.

•You’re not the only victim of his affections, your mom is too as he forces kisses on her face.

•Leon also checks your phone sometimes just to watch out for you, as he claims but you brush it off since he just wants to see if your friends are a bad influence. You kept it from your father when he was away for his job as an agent, you would always delete the messages between you and your friends.

•But what you didn’t know is that Leon hacked into your phone before he even gave it to you as a gift when he first brought it for you when you turned 13 years old; giving him access through your contacts and other stuff. He simply wants to know if you hide things from him. You would never find out the real reason why your friends suddenly leave the school. There’s nothing you can hide from him.

•You started to become a bit scared of your father when you started to read people's horrifying experience on the internet of what they went through of someone stalking them and obsessing over them. One woman told the story of how her boyfriend never allowed her to talk to any guy or friends because he was scared they were going to take her away from him. But when she confronted him about his behaviour, he excused it saying that "This world is dangerous and I am simply protecting you." And you quickly found out that your dad is more than just an agent.

•You noticed how jumpy your mom is around Leon and how in the middle of the night, he would always say how much he loves her and that he is doing this for your and her own good. You even recall hearing your mom crying silently in the kitchen. She never says "I love you" towards Leon.

•Your curiosity brought you to investigate your parent's past.

•You only came to fully realize the toxic behavior of your father because you decided to snoop around your dad’s office after managing to open the door, using the lock-picking technique you learned from the internet.

•You were curious about why your father forbade you from entering his office, but also you figured it would be easier starting with him considering of his actions and it’s not like he would find out immediately of what you did. That’s what you reassured yourself.

•Many documents could be found and a report on your father’s desk, that’s when you came to know about the Kennedy report and see your father’s younger picture. You saw how stoic and stern his face was, so dull with no sign of light.

•You could definitely understand why as you read through the report.

•You also came to know what actually happened in Raccoon City that your mom didn’t tell you about. But what was more shocking is that you opened a file containing your mother’s entire information that was hidden in his drawer and many pictures of her. Including a newspaper talking about the missing woman who is known to be your mother.

•The moment Leon left the house not before giving your mom a goodbye kiss and giving you a kiss on the top of your head as well, you confronted your mother about the file and how she kept the outbreak from you. Even how your dad literally has an entire information and pictures of her. That’s when you saw her face morph into terror as you demanded an explanation of what is going on.

•Tired of her keeping secrets.

• And your mother told you the entire story of what happened in Raccoon City and Leon’s obsession that drove him to abduct her, as a way to protect her. She even mentioned that he cared for another woman named Ada Wong but he still chose your mom. Your mother didn’t leave any single detail out as she told her story of how Leon gaslighted her and how she tried to escape many times but failed. You couldn’t help but see your parents in a different light now.

“Let’s run away together Mom.” You told her with a determined expression as she profusely shook her head, not agreeing with you. 

“N-no my love, you don’t know what your father is truly capable of.” Your mother stuttered as she cupped your face.

“What do you mean? Dad’s a secret agent and he knows how to fight, right?”

“There’s more than that.” Mom whispers to you, her frightened eyes never leaving your face.

•What you two didn’t know is that Leon has placed hidden cameras in the house, watching and listening. He heard the entire conversation and was rather heartbroken that you suggested to escape with your mom.

•And even disappointed when he watched you go through his work in the office. Leon is not dumb because he knows there will be a time when you truly find out the truth. He is aware of your growing suspicion.

•If you ever escaped, you wouldn’t go that far since your father would always find you. He placed a tracker on your clothes, phone, and jewelry. If you wear it.

•Leon never treated you and your mother bad! He could never bring himself to even use violence towards the both of you. You didn’t understand but don’t worry. As a father, he’ll make you see through his perspective in his own way.

[gay-dorito-dust]

So so so so i need short reaction

“‘They’re your great aunt/ uncle y/n!’ Stanley shouted just as you fully stepped out of the portal before it closed behind you for one final time, plunging the room in almost darkness had it not been from the ember coloured gem that hung from your neck. You removed the hood from your head to reveal your aged face and slight hints of silver that streaked your hair permanently. “

The portal will shut down slowly And then a laser shot y/n from behind as they dies infront of them and the portal finally fully shut(cus y/n is off guard) CUS I THINK ITS FUNNY IF ‘i fixed this portal with my brother for 30 years, now i can see my lover again’ to ‘WHAT THE HELL, NO!’ AGAJAJAJAHAHJASG

You devious little shit. I love it!

Warning: reader is dead in this one. So sad.

The moment the laser hit you did Stanley thinks his entire life was one massive joke.

Ford has to quickly get the kids out of the lab to avoid them seeing their great aunt/uncle bleeding to death as the portal died almost immediately afterwards.

Thirty years and all Stanley got in return was to watch you die as you bled out in his arms, still smiling up at him while he felt his heart crumble and crack into nothing.

Thirty years of being apart and the only time you got together was when you were telling him that the minutes you got to see your precious Stanley’s face, handsomely aged like fine wine as you said weakly, wishing him happiness despite the fact that his entire reason for being happy was slipping away and he was helpless to do anything.

Sure Ford must be getting help upstairs while the kids constantly pestered him with what was happening but Stanley knew that even if they did arrive you wouldn’t make it, you were already starting to feel could as you would soon admit to him, but still found the strength to touch his tear stain cheek to tell him they he was far too beautiful to cry over you.

A call back to when he told you that you were far too beautiful crying over a douche of an ex as you sat on a bench in the rain, he wished he could go back to the night you first met and married you then like he always dreamed he would when you stayed by his side; even when you fell into the portal Stanley wanted to marry you as soon as you came out of the portal, only for you to get fatally shot right before his eyes.

He wasn’t destined to marry you, that wasn’t aloud and instead he was doomed to suffer a long and isolating life with your smile, laugh, kisses, hugs and willingness to go along with his schemes and yet not once did he ever had the strength to tell you he loved you.

Stanley has so many regrets and such little time to admit to them as his vision of you was blurred with tears that he felt like laughing, even his own body was against him seeing you.

‘Thirty years.’ Stan whispered as he pressed his head against the side of yours. ‘Thirty years I spent getting trying to get you back sweetheart, not once did I ever get you out of my head. I refused to as I thought that if I forgot you for a single second I’ll forget what you look like for the rest of my life and I don’t want to ever forget you when you’ve been nothing but the best thing in my entire life and now you’re being taken from me, again.’ Stan finished, pressing kisses into your cold skin.

‘I found a dimension where we’re married Stanley.’ You spoke hoarse. ‘Married and I’ve never looked happier than I did.’

‘Where was it sweetheart.’ Stan asked as he held you closer to his chest.

‘Here, at the mystery shack.’ You told him, smiling at the ceiling of the lab that would become your resting place. ‘You never liked the idea of signing an overpriced piece of paper just to officially show people they we are in love.’ You added with a chuckle that ended in you coughing up blood.

‘Stop speaking toots,’ Stanley panicked as he felt his heart break somehow even further as he burrowed his face into your neck, wanting to remember how you felt against him once last time, ‘stop speaking please and save yourself the energy.’

‘We both know it’s too late, so allow me to say this. I love you Stanley pines, I would’ve loved to have been married to you and scam people with deep pockets together in another life.’ You said and those were the last words you said as the last aspects of your life had left your body.

Stanley had lost his happiness for the second time and he didn’t get to tell you he loved you, or that he would’ve loved the scam people and be married to you too…

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ 7 minutes in heaven hell ❞ ─ a kiss with a fist blurb ; NSFW!

pairing: lawschool!aaron hotchner x lawschool!reader. summary: getting a law degree is a pain, especially if you end up sharing the same classes with someone as competitive as you. or: academic rivals to lovers get heated up on a game of 7 minutes in heaven. content warnings: foul language. alcohol consumption. weed consumption. very steamy make out in a dark locked small room. this is an AU (i was lazy to make it year appropriate, so it's set today). i also have no clue how law school works in the usa i only have my own law degree to go from. relationship status on this blurb: academic rivals on the same friend group. word count: 1.5k

      One spot. You read the notice by the door and feel your insides burn, your eyes search for something and it's easy to find it, he's glancing back not far from you, the same passion, the same burn crossing his face.

      The best internship had opened one spot. You could have the chance to work under the best professor on campus. Hotchner was thinking the same thing as you, you knew it: There was no way you would let him take your spot. You two weren't competing with the rest of the second years, you were competing with each other.

      "I saw the notice first, don't fucking dare." His threatening tone comes between gritted teeth and it makes you laugh as you enter the classroom.

      "Hotch darling, I'm not even going to pretend to listen to that." Your reply comes in teasing as it always did, your eyes glued to your phone as you typed in your information in the website provided on the notice.

      Your little feud began during the first year, very early on as you two competed to get professors' attention when questions were asked, each trying to come up with a response faster. But it was solidified when you scored slightly higher than him on your criminal law test–his path of choice after graduating. Of course the problem wasn’t really the fact you scored higher, but it was how you decided to smear it on his face every time the opportunity came to you. 

      The thing about constantly fighting for the top that not many people talk about is how isolating it can be, that was probably why the top 7 of your classes ended up flocking together, the bunch of you were always the ones at the library, always the first ones to get to class and the last to leave, it got to a point that talking to each other and being friends was the natural course of action, even if you all knew there was no limits when it came to sabotage if necessary, no offense taken. 

      You didn’t mind it, you didn’t see them as competitors, the only one in the group who had the same drive and the same talent as you was Aaron Hotchner, he was the enemy. Your only real rival. 

      And at this moment your rival was right in front of you, sitting in a circle on the floor of two of your friends’ apartment, cheap beer in hand and stupid smile across his face. His cheeks are red from how much he’s drunk already and it annoys you how sweet he looks like this when you know he can be an absolute asshole when he feels like it. And he always feels like it when it comes to you.

      “Guess all of you already signed up for the selection, yeah?” One of the girls comments, coming back to the circle with chips and a joint to pass around. Every single one of you hums. “Joseph’s dad works with her, don’t think any of us have a chance.”

      “Joseph? Who’s that?” Aaron is annoyed already, why even ask students to sign up if this type of connection was always the winner? at least with you the fight was clean, it was fair, just two nerds pulling all nighters to get good grades. 

      “McSleepy.” The same girl answers, the living room gets loud in complaints and groans, there were too many students so nicknames were the way to remember, Joseph McSleepy was always sleeping during classes because he didn’t care enough. He had the money, the parents and the connections. 

      “Oh fuck off, that’s really… Just–fuck off.” You take the joint from someone’s hand and hog it for a while, taking more than a drag of it. “And what happened to not talking about school when we’re here?” 

      “Real, let’s play something and forget about our upcoming failure.” One of the boys tells the group while stealing the joint from your hand and you go back to cheap beer, waiting for the group to decide what to do with your evening. 

      Again the whole room gets loud, some think karaoke is a good idea, others just want to get to some bar. And then some idiot suggests 7 minutes in heaven. 

      “Fun, so we’re all teenagers now.” Hotchner speaks your mind before you can, not an unusual thing to happen, but it was always awful to notice how similar you two could be. His tone is dry as his humor usually is, but it doesn’t stop the others from placing a bottle in the middle of the circle. 

      You could leave, as could he, but the alcohol, the joint and the sad truth that your friends would be making your life hell for not being a good sport kept your asses glued to the floor and your eyes on the bottle. The moment it began spinning around the realization that you could be trapped in a closet with Aaron spun your brain around, preparing yourself to get up and leave before it could happen.

      If only luck was on your side. 

      As if the object could read your mind, it stopped pointing to you and back to Hotch, a loud cheer came from your friends as he shook his head, trying to argue to spin it again, they wouldn’t let that happen if it were anyone else even, but being the two of you just made it more fun to everyone involved. 

      For one, the two of you were the most academically gifted and hardworking, so they enjoyed making you squirm, the no offense taken rule made it okay for them to gang up on you two at times. But more than that, the bickering was annoying to them, especially when they were trying to study, so for them it was like a bit of a punishment you and Aaron deserved. 

      You gulped down the rest of your beer in a mouthful and before you could even try to fight it you were pushed to the smallest and darkest closet you’ve ever seen, let alone been in. It was warm and you could feel his breath down on you along with his imposing presence. 

      “So this is it? We just stay here for 7 minutes?” You’re not sure why he’s whispering but you are about to agree with him, but something comes to mind and maybe it’s the beer but you get to thinking that if McSleepy was the only competition you could maybe convince your professor you were a better pick than someone for their name only. But you needed to get Hotch out of the way, he needed to give it up. 

      You're both already close enough, but you pull him by his shirt either way, tip toeing to get to his ear. “We could have some fun too–” You place one knee on his crotch making him groan, “If–And only if, you give up trying for the internship.” 

      His scoff to your proposition throws you off slightly, maybe it was your mistake to think it would be easier, he’s a man, it shouldn’t be too hard to get what you wanted with the right offer, right? “Sweetcheeks, you’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. Just not enough to make me quit anything.” 

      Your cheeks redden with anger from the rejection and you’re glad it’s dark so he won’t see it. You won’t insist on it, that would be too humiliating, but your gears shift and it’s like a lightbulb turns on in your brain: Make him suffer. Get him begging.

      Instead of replying to his little insult, you move your lips to his neck, keeping your knee exactly in the same spot as it was originally, slightly putting more pressure on him as your lips work on leaving wet kisses on his neck. 

      Aaron can sense what you’re doing but he prides on bring a self-controlled man, not usually the type to let anything cloud his judgment–especially not you. But this is a different situation than normal, it’s a game, a game where he could simply take what you’re willingly giving and forget about it later. He didn’t promise you anything, after all. 

      Again, he groans by your ear, very much enjoying your touches, his hands gripping by the sides of your hips under your shirt, as one of yours begin palming his already stiff cock over his jeans, your mouth never touches his even though he tries and each of his attempts to slide his hands higher to your breasts are met with obvious rejection, your hands pulling them back down. 

      “C’monnnn… I know you’re torturing me but fuck.” His whiny voice through the complain makes you grin, especially when he once more shifts your face to him with his hand, again trying to connect your lips to his and failing as the door unlocked showing the 7 minutes had passed. You peek down to his bulge and laugh because even though you’re definitely wet, he’s the one who’s gonna go straight to the bathroom to either calm down or jerk off. 

      “Think you might need some time alone, Hotch darling, see you back at the living room.” 

[ncssian]

Take the Long Way Home

Three: Isolation

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

A/N: sorry for the delay like ten things happened to me back to back. also i read the newest shatter me book and jamesrosa is lowkey the grumpysunshine nessian shouldve been if canon cassian hadnt been a coward

WC: 7.5k

***

When Nesta awoke, it was dark outside and she was alone. 

The fireplace crackling in the corner was the only source of light in the room, but the heat was stifling enough to make her shove her heavy blankets off. She was still in the bathrobe she vaguely remembered changing into earlier, and her hair was stiff from her falling asleep while it’d been wet.

As if through a distant fog, the memories came back to her piece by piece. Cassian had been here. Cassian had bathed her and brought her her medicine. Since she’d arrived here, she’d lost track of the days slipping past her and hadn’t even known that he was scheduled to visit.

He must have left again.

Still nursing a headache and a gnawing hungry stomach, Nesta forced herself out of bed and to her feet, grasping the nightstand for support. She felt like shit, but she needed to get downstairs and find her meds before she felt like even more shit.

In the firelight, she spied something stacked atop her dresser. A sweater and thick flannel pants. Opening up one of the drawers, she found it full of her clothes, neatly folded and arranged. She opened up another drawer. This one was full of miscellaneous things: her hairbrush, her makeup, and…

Her meds. 

She scrambled for a familiar blue pill. She didn’t need it right away— if she was standing and walking without wanting to die, then she was fine— but it would feel comforting just to have one on hand. 

Her doctor had forbidden her from any more Adderall, among a couple other things, which Nesta couldn’t really complain about. Taking too many medicines had inhibited the effectiveness of all of them, and she could stand to sacrifice a few drugs if it meant she got to keep the important ones.

She forced herself to leave her room and go downstairs despite every protesting bone in her body. It wasn’t that she objected to starving herself indefinitely, but that Rhysand’s threats rang in her ears of what he’d do if he ever found her in less than good health. 

Getting sent back to Los Angeles would be a fate worse than death. Worse than her entire family finding out about her dirty sins.

If her reactions weren’t so delayed due to her brain fog, she would have jumped at the realization that the downstairs wasn’t empty. 

“You’re still here?” she addressed Cassian, whose back was turned to her as he stoked the living area’s fireplace.

He dropped the poker and whirled around with wide eyes. “Jesus, you’ve got quiet feet.”

Still in her bathrobe, she suddenly felt too exposed in front of this man. Even though he’d bathed her naked body just a few hours ago. Even though he’d used to find her at her slummy apartment half-dressed and missing her underwear.

He seemed to think along similar lines. “Why didn’t you change into the clothes I laid out? It’s too cold at night not to be wearing something thick.”

Nesta was too taken aback by him rummaging through her luggage and organizing her things to explain that changing outfits required an energy she didn’t currently have. But he was right that it was cold, because she found her feet leading her to the blazing fireplace against her will. She took a seat on the ground, as close as she could get to the fireplace while maintaining a distance from him, and stuck her toes out toward the fire. 

Cassian carefully cleared his throat and spoke again. “I wanted to be with you when you woke up, but it seemed like you planned to sleep for a long time, so I got up and started fixing up the house.” He picked up the poker and continued stoking the fire. “Are you sure you rested long enough? You seemed pretty out of it earlier today.”

Nesta internally flinched at the reminder of how she’d been in front of him. Still, she gathered the voice to answer, “I can’t sleep in long stretches. This is all I’m getting.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, staring into the fire with her. After a moment he said, “Both the fireplaces were untouched when I got here. Have you been staying here in the freezing cold for the last week?”

Yes. “I don’t know how to work a wood-burning fireplace.” Her admission came out in a whisper. She’d only ever handled those gas ones that went on and off with the flip of a switch. And even then, what kind of person didn’t just use central heating?

“Well, we’ll definitely have to change that,” he muttered.

A spark flew out from the fire and landed on her ankle, stinging for a millisecond before dissipating into nothing.

Cassian got up and walked away. Without turning her head, she heard him go up the stairs and return a few seconds later. He dropped some clothes onto the floor beside her. 

Nesta looked at the thick pair of socks, sighed, and reached over to pull them on. After a minute of consideration, she pulled the flannel pants on, too. 

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” he asked her as she readjusted her robe around herself.

For the first time in days, her stomach didn’t churn at the thought of food. But that didn’t mean she wanted Cassian sticking around to hand-feed her. “You can get going now. I can take care of myself from here.”

His lip curled wryly as if she’d said something funny. “It’s almost ten p.m. Where am I gonna go at this hour?”

She didn’t have the energy to scowl, though she wanted to. “Go home.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m staying the whole weekend, sweetheart.”

That made her finally snap her head up to face him directly. “No you aren’t,” she seethed. 

He held his hands up in defense. “I know, I know, you asked to be up here alone.” He winced as if the fact hurt him. “But it’s just for a few days and I’m not in the mood for a fight, so I suggest sucking it up and telling me what you want for dinner.”

Nesta imagined opening her mouth to order Cassian out of the house—her house. She imagined standing up for herself, imagined fighting him back and winning. 

And then she imagined losing.

Her stiff shoulders drooped. Blinking, she turned back to face the warmth of the fire. “I don’t care what we eat.”

“That’s what you always say,” he tried to push. “You have to care about something eventually.”

No. She didn’t.

***

She was deeply changed from the woman that Cassian had used to know. 

Very occasionally, he managed to pull her old cruelty out of her, but for the most part Nesta was haunted and reserved in a way that was completely different from her drunkard days. 

On his second day at the lodge, Cassian had tried goading her into a fight just to see if a spark of life could be found in her, but upon failing he wasn’t able to stomach trying again. It felt too much like a joke bombing in front of a dead crowd: pitiful for the both of them.

By the time Saturday rolled around, he was growing restless. He’d organized everything there was to organize in the house. He’d carefully monitored Nesta as she followed her treatment plan, making sure she took her meds at the right hour on the dot, counting her pills after she fell asleep every night to confirm nothing was missing or left behind. There was a sunroom attached to the back of the house with a functioning Jacuzzi in the center, and he’d even cleaned that out and gotten it to start working again. 

He needed to leave the house.

He didn’t know how Nesta could stay upstairs in her bed all day. She’d already rejected his offers to go on a walk or visit the gas station, so he needed to think of something different.

He tried of think of what the lodge was missing. There was semi-functioning Internet, but no television, and many shelves but no games or books. Other than the Jacuzzi, the house lacked a single entertaining thing to do.

He knocked loudly on Nesta’s bedroom door. “Nesta?” he called out. “Can I come in?”

No answer, which he took as another I don’t care. He entered the room to find her sitting in her rocking chair and staring out at the blinding white mountainside through the window. 

“Hey, did you bring any books with you when you came here?” He already knew the answer since he’d gone through all her bags while unpacking them, but he wanted to give her something to say.

She didn’t look away from the window. “No.”

“Then let’s go buy some.” He didn’t frame it as a question that she could say no to. “Get ready and meet me downstairs in five.” He turned around and left.

She was going to go out whether she wanted to or not. He just wanted to see if she would do it on her own first. He dared to hope that her interest in books would convince her.

In the end, it took her fifteen minutes to meet him at the front door. He’d been losing all hope when she finally appeared on the stairs, in jeans and a nice buttoned sweater with her hair pulled into a tight knot, and then he’d grinned so widely he thought his face would split apart.

He was still feeling triumphant on the drive to the nearest town over, humming softly under his breath. “The lodge usually gets snowed in for a few weeks at least once every year, so now’s the time to get out of the house before peak winter comes in. The town we’re going to is too small to offer anything exciting, but it has the necessities— a grocery, a couple of restaurants, basic goods stores,” he babbled.

“Okay,” she said, watching the scenery as they drove by.

He nodded to himself. Okay it was.

“I can carry them for you,” he said at the bookstore later, concerned by the growing stack of novels in her arms. 

“No thanks.” Nesta seemed content just to be holding the books, her thumbs brushing along the sides of them as she continued browsing. 

Considering how remote the town was, Cassian hadn’t expected this place to have any kind of great reading collection, but Nesta was somehow an expert at finding and collecting what she liked— recent mainstream stuff along with some older hidden gems.

Eventually the stack really did get too big for her to carry, so he slid some books off of her pile without another word. He picked up the novel on the top and studied it. It was labeled a dark romance, whatever that meant, but the synopsis on the back didn’t tell him much about the plot.

He opened to the first page and raised his brows at the extensive list of trigger warnings. “Are you really into this stuff?” he said, flipping through the rest of the book. “Stalking, knifeplay, rape-but-not-technically-rape?” He wanted to get an idea of her tastes without judging, but it was difficult when every new thing she revealed about herself was a total surprise. 

“No,” she answered simply, even as she inspected another book that had a similar cover to the one he was holding. 

“Then why are you reading them?”

She put the book down and wandered into the literary fiction section instead; he trailed after her. “Because I keep hoping it’ll turn out different,” she said. “I read about horrible men because I want them to surprise me and turn out to be nice. I want the romance to turn out to be soft.”

Cassian whipped his head up to look at her. He hadn’t actually expected her to answer his question, yet that might have been the longest response he’d gotten from her… ever. “Why not just read another genre?”

She trailed her fingers across the spine of a tattered edition of The Hobbit. They were pretty fingers, he thought. Elegant like a piano player’s. “I like the idea of a bad guy going good for his girl,” she said.

“But if it never happens, why waste your time with all these books?” He gestured to the stack in her arms.

She raised a brow at him. “I’m stupid.”

The bluntness of her statement made him give a startled laugh. “I find that hard to believe, but okay.” When he moved to return the book to the stack, she startled him again by saying, “Why don’t you read that one now and tell me how it ends? Save me from wasting my time.”

He fumbled to open the book again. “Yes ma’am.”

So he followed her through the store as she collected more novels, trying to skim through the book in his hands and watch his step at the same time. 

“I don’t read much, but this all looks terrible to me,” he told her honestly after flipping through at least five different parts of the book. The writing, the characters, the dialogue, all seemed too egregiously low-quality for someone like Nesta to be reading. He eyed her with concern. What if her knife-sharp brain was dumbed down by this stuff? 

No, that wasn’t possible. If abusing drugs couldn’t do it, then some questionable books definitely wouldn’t.

“Specify what’s terrible,” she hummed. She was crouched on the floor by a table full of books now, resting her body while she flipped through a poetry book. “Most romance is an acquired taste. We probably won’t have the same standards.”

Something low in Cassian’s stomach tingled warmly at her voice— at the fact that she was speaking to him willingly in the first place, and giving him orders at that. 

He cleared his throat and willed the flush in his cheeks away. “Why don’t you tell me what you like to read about first? Then I can tell you if this has that.” 

Again, he didn’t know a single thing about her beyond the fact that her apartment from a few years ago had been crawling with romance books, smutty and clean alike. He knew because he’d peeked over her shoulder more than once while she’d read them to piss her off.

“Tell me if they’re kind to each other,” she said, sitting down fully on the ground now so she could stretch her legs out. “At least at the end of the book.”

Cassian furrowed his brow and flipped to where she’d directed him. It was a rough sex scene with dialogue, except only the man was speaking and the woman was just sort of laying there and taking it. There didn’t seem to be much affection to it. “Hm.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“What’s another thing that you like to read about?” he redirected.

“Can the woman defend her boundaries? Can he respect her? Can they be friends with each other?”

Cassian read a seventh excerpt from the book just to be sure. “No.”

Nesta rolled her eyes from the floor— a surprisingly adorable expression that made him wish he hadn’t seen it. “Put it up, then,” she said. 

He tossed the book onto the table she was leaning against, though he still carried three other romance books in his free hand. “What now? Should we go through the rest?”

Nesta sighed as she scanned the bookshelves in front of her. “No point in being picky. I live on a mountaintop in the middle of nowhere now.”

Cassian didn’t know why it annoyed him so much to hear that— it was only the obvious truth, even if it wasn’t ideal. But that reminded him— “We need movies.”

“To watch on what TV?”

Damn, she was right. “How about games?” he tried.

“Will I be playing against myself?” she said with acidity cutting through her usual monotone.

“We can play when I visit, obviously.”

She stared him down with an icy gaze. “So my new life revolves around waiting for you to visit me so we can play second-hand board games. Is it too late to kill myself?”

He gave her an alarmed look. “Yes it is.” Perhaps he would hold off on buying the board games for now, though.

Nesta’s mood was clearly soured by the fact that she was stuck living alone in the mountain house, which was why Cassian didn’t understand her refusal to leave it. On their way to the checkout line, he hesitantly brought up the topic for the second time that weekend. “If you don’t think the lodge is helping you, why don’t you come back home? We can work out something else for you.”

“Something else like what?” She stopped and turned to glare at him. “Do you and Rhysand have something worse for me planned in mind?”

“What? No—” he spluttered. 

“No matter what, you aren’t going to let me live in Velaris where my family is.” Her eyes burned with familiar fire. “So what is it to you how I get to recover?” She spat the last word out mockingly. 

“You know it isn’t up to me,” he tried to explain. “I just want something better for you than that stupid lodge—”

“And how would you know what’s better for me?” she sneered. “You don’t know a single thing about me or my situation, Cassian. You’re just the help. You’re my weekend chaperone so I don’t end up dead all by myself— that doesn’t mean you get to have an opinion about my life.”

He took a step back from her in surrender, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Alright. I got it.”

It was difficult to get upset at her words when they were so justified, but Cassian managed to feel hurt anyway. He didn’t understand what had gone wrong. They’d been doing so well— she’d seemed like she was feeling better, and now it was unraveling all over again. One thing was clear, though: that bastard Rhys had been right. Nesta wasn’t going to abandon the lodge anytime soon, no matter how torturous she found it. 

As they checked out her sizable pile of books at the register, he spotted her eyeing a small framed poster of a rugged nature scene. Despite it being spring in the photo, the mountainous location seemed to be much farther up north than where they were now. The title at the bottom declared THE YUKON. 

“You want that?” he asked her. She didn’t say anything and refocused on the books being bagged in front of her. He pointed to the poster behind the counter and told the cashier, “Can you add that, too?”

From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Nesta flinch. 

***

“Where do you want to go next?”

Nesta looked pointedly at the town square they were in, surrounded by approximately five buildings and nothing else. “Gee, where do I start?”

“Okay, smartass,” he said, but he was biting back a smile. After getting her books and poster, her irritation seemed to have melted away, and he was eager to keep her this content for the rest of the day. “Let’s go thrift shopping,” he suggested. Girls liked that, right?

They both narrowed in on the building across the main street that said USED GOODS in plain white lettering. Nesta made a face. “You call that a thrift shop?”

“We can look through the belongings of all the old people that have died in this town.” It came out sounding less exciting than he wanted it to.

Despite Nesta’s reluctance, they ended up killing an hour at the thrift shop. Much like with the bookstore, Nesta had a knack for finding the things she liked among a sea of junk— in this case, it was vintage sweaters. 

He remembered unpacking and putting away her clothes, all of them modest yet suited to Nesta’s unique style. It didn’t match the image one would have of a substance-abusing stripper at all, and yet that was apparently who Nesta had been while she’d been away.

Watching her hold a knit vest printed with cats against her chest, Cassian felt that surge of curiosity in him again. He wanted to know more about her personal style. He wanted to know whether life in LA had been easier than Velaris or harder. He wanted to know if anyone had looked out for her while she’d lived alone in California, if she still had that little drinking problem or if it had dwindled away over the years. He wanted to know what her favorite books were and why.

But he couldn’t ask her any of these things, because he wasn’t a stranger that had noticed her from across the bar or a coworker with an office crush. He was Rhys’s lackey first and foremost, Feyre’s best friend second, and then…after going down the long list of people that Cassian owed his loyalty to, only then was he a man who was utterly enchanted by the woman across from him.

He picked up a brown zip-up with an interesting pattern, wondering if it would fit into Nesta’s tastes as well. “What about this?” He flipped it over to show it to her.

Though it was still difficult to pull more than two or three expressions out of Nesta, he could’ve sworn her eyes slightly widened with delight. “Wow,” she drawled, taking the sweater from him. “Maybe you aren’t totally useless after all.”

The compliment affected his pulse more than it should have.

But Nesta soon ran out of things to look at— this town could only offer so much— so he said, “Let’s go to the diner for a late lunch.”

Cassian was delaying returning to the lodge, he knew. There were only so many opportunities he could get to show Nesta around like this, and every minute she wasn’t spending in her room was a victory to him. 

Nesta just shrugged and said, “Whatever you want.”

They stopped at the truck to drop off her shopping and walked down the block to one of the three food establishments in town. Inside the diner, peeling vinyl booths and faded checkered flooring greeted them, like stepping into a time capsule from decades ago.

Nesta turned her nose up at every booth they passed, until finally reaching one at the back that seemed clean enough for her standards. They sat across each other and Cassian pulled a sticky menu toward himself.

“Shake and burger combo?” he suggested. He expected her to give her usual I don’t care, but she shook her head and grumbled, “Sounds like a digestive nightmare.” 

He bit back a smile and offered the menu for Nesta to inspect. She squinted at everything, not seeming to find a single thing appetizing, until finally saying, “I’ll have water and a side salad.”

Any amusement slid off his face. “Do you really want to get better, Nesta?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he said, leaning across the table to look into her eyes. “Are you really here to heal, or just kill time before you’re allowed to come back home?”

She met him with a fiery glare and hissed, “You think I want to be like this?” 

“No. Which is why you need food, Nesta. Nutrients.” He’d only gotten her to eat a couple of solid meals in the few short days he’d been at the cabin. Everything else had gotten thrown up or thrown in the trash, and he no longer believed it was a physical reaction more than a psychological one. He just needed to figure out how to get around the mental block that was hindering her. 

“At least add some fries,” he tried. 

She shook her head. “The smell of grease makes me sick.” 

It hadn’t been a problem just a week ago when they’d had burgers together, but he didn’t mention that. “If you’re not ready for a full meal yet, then I’m going to order for myself and you’re going to share off my plate. Fair enough?”

She still looked unhappy but reluctantly nodded. Perfect.

Despite everything smelling and looking delicious, Nesta couldn’t hide her disgust once the food and drinks arrived. 

“Relax, it’s not for you,” Cassian told her.

That seemed to ease her up, and her disgust gradually melted into curiosity. “What kind of sandwich is that?”

“Turkey.” He’d purposely ordered things that were plain but not too bland, not wanting her stomach to be upset by either too many flavors or none at all. He took half the sandwich and placed it on an extra plate before sliding it over to her. 

She stared at it for a long time, her features not revealing anything. Cassian continued to eat off his own plate while he waited for her to make a move. 

After about a minute, she finally pinched off a corner of the sandwich and brought it to her mouth. Tried to smell it, immediately regretted it, and shoved it into her mouth before she could change her mind. 

“How do you feel?” He watched her carefully for signs of sickness.

She sighed through her nose while chewing. “I miss eating.”

His heart was splintering. He didn’t know how Nesta had ever reached this point— knew that it had all been kicked off by her father’s death, but didn’t have the slightest idea of all that had happened between then and now.

“Once your stomach gets better, I’ll make you a feast,” he promised. “I’m a really good cook, too, so you can look forward to it.”

“Are you?”

“I am,” he insisted. “You wouldn’t know, of course. Your sense of taste is all messed up right now.”

Nesta still looked doubtful, but she didn’t push the topic. She never pushed anything, really, and it was usually up to Cassian to keep their conversations going. For now, though, he just let her continue picking at her sandwich. When she was almost finished with it and still looking fine, he passed over the side salad she’d asked for next.

It was a slow, tedious process to get her to eat, but Cassian had plenty of time. He even ate at the same pace as her so she wouldn’t be left behind, though he felt like a starving man being fed one grain of rice at a time. 

“Do you like cats?” he suddenly asked in the middle of dipping a fry into his milkshake. 

“What?” 

He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “I could get you a cat. So you don’t have to be alone at the house.”

Nesta gave him the flat stare she only ever used when someone said something idiotic. “Do I look like someone who can take care of a cat right now?” 

“Maybe not right now,” he argued. “But one day, yes. I think you’d like having a cat. You remind me of one.”

“I don’t want a fucking cat, Cassian.” 

The sound of his name on her lips made him stop stirring his milkshake halfway. It certainly wasn’t her first time saying it, but it happened so rarely that it took him by surprise a little bit every time. Like having a valuable gift dropped straight into his lap.

“Alright, fine,” he conceded. “Try my milkshake.” He stuck the straw in her face before she could get snippy again.

She turned him down, of course, but by the end of the meal he was more than satisfied with how much she’d eaten. Not only satisfied, but deeply proud. He could only pray that her stomach would be okay for the rest of the night.

After paying and leaving a generous tip, they headed back through the main square for the place they’d left the truck. 

Evening was quickly coming in now, but Cassian was still dragging his feet at the thought of returning to the lodge. “Want to visit the grocery store next? We can look at fruits and vegetables.”

“I know you’re rich, but all the money you’re spending today is ridiculous.” Nesta said it like she hadn’t been the one buying everything. 

Cassian snorted. “Baby, this is Rhys’s business card. Spend away.” 

Nesta’s energy visibly diminished at the mention of Rhysand. “I don’t want his money,” she said quietly. “We can go home now.”

“His bank account won’t be hurt by it,” he tried to assure her. “Really, you don’t need to feel bad about some shopping.”

Nesta smirked as they arrived at the truck, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I remember him throwing quite the fit when I spent five hundred dollars on drinks in one night once.” 

Cassian’s jaw dropped open. “You spent five hundred dollars only on drinks? It’s my first time hearing about this.”

Her smile vanished so quickly it made him doubt that it had been there at all. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She pulled the truck door open.

“You’re the one who brought it up first,” Cassian tried to say, but Nesta was already inside the truck and shutting the door on him. 

That marked the end of their grand day out, for Nesta was quiet the entire ride back to the lodge.

***

Sunday rolled around and brought with it sunshine and a cloudless sky.

It also brought Nesta out of her bedroom before noon, a feat so rare that it had him staring at her from across the kitchen in awe.

“You’re leaving today, right?” she asked him as she sliced a banana into bite-sized pieces. She would slice and pop a piece straight into her mouth, which seemed like a lot of work compared to eating a banana normally, but he never could understand how her thought process worked.

Cassian refocused on her question. Rhys had ordered him to be back in Velaris by tonight, yes. But what he ended up saying was, “I’m going tomorrow morning. Someone needs to eat dinner with you or you’ll starve again.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. “That isn’t necessary.”

“I’ll be meal prepping, too,” he continued, ignoring her. “Give me a list of what you’d like to eat by noon, please and thank you.” 

Cassian knew his efforts were the equivalent of an umbrella in a hurricane. What Nesta needed wasn’t meal-prepping, but a full-time doctor or counselor to supervise her health. Not a single other person seemed to agree with him, though, least of all Nesta.

The firewood storage stood off to the side of the lodge, a short walk away. Cassian was lugging an armful of logs with him when he found Nesta standing on the back porch in only her pajamas with no outerwear. “Put a jacket on,” he scolded from afar.

She didn’t move as he got close enough to see her clearly. “What is it?” he said, climbing the porch steps to meet her.

“I looked up and you were gone.”

Cassian raised both brows at that. It was an effort not to smile. “Why? Did you think I left without telling you?”

She frowned and he could’ve sworn there was a little indignation to the expression. “No,” she said.

“You did,” he insisted, teasing now. “You got scared.” 

The indignation was undeniable now, her lovely neck reddening in proof of her irritation. “I did not,” she hissed. “I’d only be thrilled if you left early.”

He smirked in response. “Thrilled is a big emotion coming from you. Now I know I definitely gave you a fright.”

He was still grinning as he set the stack of wood he had down in a corner of the porch. Though most of the lodge was humble, or as humble as Rhysand’s money could get, a lot had been spent on the back portion of the house: the sizable sunroom with the hot tub as a centerpiece, the massive fire pit with seating in the backyard, the cozy porch with a view of the expansive white grounds.

“I would never abandon you,” he went on as he turned back around to face her, more serious now. “That’s not something you’ll ever have to worry about, Nesta.”

 Her face was now taking on the familiar shade of pink it did when she got angry. “The only thing I worry about is you clinging to me every time you come up here. I only wish you would leave, Cassian. It’s been days already.”

Cassian had a difficult time believing her words as much as she did, and it brought a mirthful tremble to his lips that seemed to enrage her even more. Nesta crouched down to the ground.

He was already walking away to get more wood. “You keep telling yourself that, sweet—”

Something wet and cold smacked him directly in the back of the head, shutting him up mid-sentence.

Very slowly, he turned around to face her. “Did you just hit me with a snowball?”

She already was packing another one in her bare hands— she’d get frostbite, he worried to himself— and in answer threw it at him again. He dodged it easily, which didn’t make her happy at all. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“You’re what’s wrong with me, asshole.” In only her pajamas and slippers, she suddenly ran at him. Cassian being double her size, the only reason he hit the ground was that he happened to be standing on a patch of ice that slid out from beneath his feet as she tackled him. 

He made an oof of surprise as his head hit the ground, and before he had any idea what was going on, Nesta was pelting him with handfuls of snow from above. In his face, down his jacket, even soaking through his jeans. “So—fucking—sick of you,” she said with every hit. “Egotistical male troglodyte thinks I can’t live without him.”

Cassian choked, both at the words and the snow being shoved into his open mouth.

Yes, his blood hummed. This was who Nesta really was: persistent, aggressive, passionate. The complete opposite of the nonchalant facade she typically wore.

He was insanely attracted to this side of her.

It was too easy to flip her over to the ground and grab her wrists, but it wasn’t enough to stop her assault. He was shoveling snow onto her like he was trying to bury her, openly laughing with glee now, but she squirmed and bucked beneath him with such violence that it caused her hips to brush against his crotch. The rush of heat he experienced startled him so badly that he quickly scrambled off of her, and as soon as he let her go, she was trying to shove his face into the snow again.

Cassian was conflicted: he was genuinely sorry to have upset her to this extent, but also fighting the mounting desire to take her to the ground and kiss her senseless. Kiss her everywhere. As if that could possibly do anything to soothe her anger.

He turned around under her hold so he wasn’t eating snow anymore and blinked through melting flakes to find her straddling him, trying to shove more snow down his shirt. It was the funniest, most adorable thing he’d ever seen her do, and he knew he was letting this drag on for far too long.

He hadn’t planned to let Nesta win like this, but his options now were to throw her off his body or to let her stay and risk becoming obviously aroused. 

“Enough— I give up,” he panted, snow melting on his tongue and going down the wrong airway. “I give up.”

She stayed atop him even as he broke into coughs, watching intently like a hawk to see if he really wasn’t faking his surrender.

Slowly, like she was dismounting a rowdy horse, she released his collar and unstraddled him one leg at a time. She sat down in the snow beside him while he caught his breath. 

He stayed there on the ground, only reaching up to pat her back in congratulations before his arm fell again. “You’re a dirty player. But you won fair and square.”

“I think the point of playing dirty is that it wasn’t fair and square.”

“Ah, well.” He waved her off, still feeling short of breath for more reasons than one.

“You were going to let me win anyway. I just wanted it to feel earned.”

Cassian said nothing at that. He wanted to touch her back again; his fingers were twitching against the snow in restraint.

They sat next to each other like that in silence for a long time. 

“Did you mean what you said on the way here?” he eventually asked. “That they were just prescription pills?” The question had been sitting in the back of his mind for a while now.

Above him, Nesta pursed her lips. “No.”

“Oh.” He’d already thought so, so he didn’t know why he was disappointed.

“I couldn’t afford a doctor’s prescription because I had no healthcare,” Nesta continued. “So I had to prescribe them myself.”

He shoved himself up to his elbows and met her gaze in surprise. “How was that safe?”

“It wasn’t. But I double-majored in pharmacology and chemistry so I had an idea of what I needed and experimented with my dosages from there. I think I did a decent job.”

Cassian had to take a moment as his entire view of Nesta shifted on its axis, changing everything he knew about everything. If she was telling the truth, that meant…

He sat upright. “Why did you need a prescription in the first place? Why would you need so many different drugs?”

Nesta turned her head away and didn’t respond. 

He knew the answer was obvious, but Cassian still felt the need to pry. “You just don’t seem like someone who would need all those meds. I’ve never thought anything was wrong with you…” He trailed off as Nesta suddenly stood up to her feet, brushing the snow off her behind as she walked back toward the house. He panicked as he realized what he’d said. “Wait, come back—”

She was doing that thing again where she pretended she couldn’t hear him. 

Later at dinner, he brought the topic up again against his better instincts. Only because something had been niggling at him since Nesta’s confession. “What about the oxycodone?” He inspected her head to toe, not knowing where on her body she could possibly have been injured enough to require such heavy painkillers. “What was that for?”

She inhaled a tight breath but didn’t let it out. “I’ve never used that.”

“Then why did you have it?”

She didn’t respond, and that was clearly all the information she was willing to divulge for the day. Fair enough. Cassian had already gotten more than he’d ever expected from her.

It was only when they were in front of the fire later that evening, Cassian letting Nesta sip hot chocolate out of his mug, that he said, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. About how it didn’t seem like there’s anything wrong with you.”

She was silent in response.

He continued on, “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Not that that’s an excuse, but… There’s nothing wrong with needing those meds, is what I’m trying to say. And if I were a more observant person, I probably would’ve noticed you needed them a long time ago. And…yeah.” He felt like an idiot, wanting to squirm as her silence dragged on.

She only took another sip of the hot chocolate, making him wonder whether she’d heard him at all. He watched her lips wrap around the rim of his mug and knew he should get up to get her her own cup, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He loved that she was drinking out of his mug too much. Besides, Nesta seemed to eat better when it was someone else’s food and drink instead of her own.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” she said a few minutes later. 

He startled, thinking she’d read his mind for a moment. Then he remembered what he’d said earlier. “You don’t?” 

“I don’t. I think you can be very perceptive.”

Chills like electric currents ran down Cassian’s body in full force. Had anyone ever said such a thing to him before? Had he ever even known that he wanted to hear it?

Praise from Nesta of all people felt like being gifted the last drink of water on a dying earth. Precious and unlimited in value. “Thank you,” was all he could say.

After another moment, he hesitantly added, “I don’t know what exactly it is that’s been bothering you…”

Nesta stared into the fire. “Everyone knows I went off the rails after my father died.”

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You mean how Elain and I got kidnapped and assaulted before that? Yeah, that was part of it too, I suppose.”

Cassian’s grip on the now-empty mug tightened at the memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, the way it had been so successfully buried by— well, everybody. Rhysand had saved the sisters in the end and ensured their physical recovery, but nothing had ever been done for their mental states. Elain had suffered but eventually moved past it, and for a while it had seemed as if Nesta was hardly affected as well. Everyone had been convinced that she was okay, until Mr. Archeron suddenly died and all at once it had become clear that she wasn’t.

“Part of it,” Cassian agreed tightly. “But not all of it.”

Her trauma was a wound that had been left to fester for years, only somewhere along the way infection had taken over. He only wanted to know the cause, suspecting that it was hidden away in that period of time where she’d run away from them.

But Nesta had already given him much more this weekend than he ever could have asked for, and he didn’t have the slightest idea why. Either way, he was grateful for her tentative vulnerability. It was only right to offer something in return.

He sniffed lightly. “You know this politics stuff— none of it is clean or legal. The things I’ve had to do for Rhys…”

“What things?”

He was looking down at the hardwood floor when he said, “Terrible things. Not murder, but things that some would say are just as bad.”

“Do you like your job?”

That made him huff a laugh. “Some people thrive in it, but I never thought humans were meant to be violent to other humans like that. The brutality takes a piece of your soul. Every time.”

Nesta hummed noncommittally. “I can think of plenty of people I’d like to be violent to.”

Of course she could. “It’s not like that,” he tried to explain. “It’s people you have no personal issue with, who’ve never done anything evil, that you have to take down. It’s senseless destruction.”

Nesta’s gaze grew distant as she stared into the fire, the blaze of light not seeming to hurt her eyes at all. “I think I know what you mean.”

She sounded so haunted as she said the words that it made Cassian turn to face her. How did she know? But she was slumped over in exhaustion now, done talking for the night. 

After several more minutes of nothing but the sound of the crackling fireplace, Nesta’s eyes were drooping heavily. He knew he should tell her to go upstairs to sleep in her bed, but he selfishly wanted to keep her by his side for as long as he could. When she curled up right on the floor beside him and shut her eyes, though, he knew it was time to say goodbye. 

The damn house didn’t even have rugs to warm people’s feet, and her bones would hurt if she fell asleep on the bare hardwood. Cassian himself wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. Rhysand would expect him to be back in Velaris by the crack of dawn, and he only had a few hours left before he had to start driving.

So he stood up with a groan and bent down to pick her up in his arms— she was worryingly light— and carried her up to her room without a word. 

Whether Nesta was awake enough to be aware of what was happening or not, he didn’t know. But as he was tucking her sleepy form into her bed, bringing the blankets up to her nose how she preferred it, he spied something hanging on the wall adjacent to the bed. 

The moonlight reflecting off the snow outside illuminated the poster he’d bought her yesterday. It was positioned in such a way that one could see it every time they went to bed and every time they woke up. For the first time, he took notice of the small slogan printed under the Yukon title: Larger than life.

[dearestxiao]

the color blue: neon [part 2] | yandere xiao x reader, yandere venti x reader

synopsis: the days until you finally meet your penpal has been ticking by so quickly, but with a new tutor, a clingy roommate, and a professor who seems to only want the worst for you, it's hard to keep track of time. WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT, yandere characters, creepy xiao is creepy (lots of potentially uncomfortable thoughts from his perspective), heavily implied stalking, possessiveness, manipulation, dub-con touching, student-teacher dynamic, age gap (reader is 21+ and zhongli is 27+, feel free to adjust as need be). let me know if I need to add anything! reader is gender neutral.

wc: 10.7k

author notes: I wanted to first say thank you for the wait, and I hope that everybody is able to enjoy the changes and edits I’ve made to the story. I also wanted to say thank you to the mutuals who had helped me create the original version of the story. it has been a long time since then, and I’m not entirely sure if they’re still active (OTZ), so I’m not sure if they would still like to be tagged but I am forever grateful to them. this is the last exposition heavy chapter, as well as my last read edit/re-upload of a chapter, so the next few chapters will be much meatier with new content!!! again, thank you so much for the wait. love you all! as always, reblogs are very appreciated if enjoyed and if possible!

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏” ♡♡♡ [part 1]

dark content. minors do not interact. do not repost/link.

from xiao's room, there's a perfect view of the town a bit away from campus that greets him everytime he steps inside. it's a gorgeous sight, which is something he could admit, even though he didn’t choose the place himself, one anyone would be grateful for. the town is bright and bustling even still, and it’s only now starting to dim down. it’s getting late into the night, with flashy lights and beautiful architecture and homey buildings, and so many people, people, people.

there are still families on an outing, and cute couples going on dates. shop owners sweeping around their store. he can see as the everyday salaryman walks back home, accompanying the students on their own way home from classes; he can see so many lives being lived from his isolated little tower.

and yet, on nights like these, no matter how enchanting the view, xiao usually prefers to keep his blinds tightly shutー out of sight, out of mind. jealousy is a vile thing, isn't it? it's nasty, tainting your view of the world, of the things you love. after the first few weeks after xiao had moved in, the view quickly lost the charm it once had. because at the end of the day, to him, the view only serves as a cruel reminder of just how alone xiao is and always has been.

it dangles around a painful reminder of the things xiao can never have. it's so close, yet so far out of reach.

but despite his usual bitterness, xiao doesn’t bother closing the blinds tonight, because tonight, he has hope, hope that he could one day be like the many walks of life he sees everyday from his apartment window. hope that he’ll have something worth wondering about.

xiao sits himself on his bed, the second biggest source of comfort in his life right now. for some reason, he feels awfully nervous. he knows why, but he can’t help but wish that awful feeling away. for a split second, he can’t help but wish he was as confident and fearless as... no. he won’t think like that, not right now, at least. he shakes away the thought. butterflies jitter all up and around his stomach as his shaky hands picks up his phone and dials numbers, your numbers. the digits are already memorized by heart.

he tries to calm his nerves as he presses the phone up to his ear after hitting the call button, nails digging into the pajamas he changed into when he got home. he thickly swallows, waiting as patiently as he can, like usual.

ring. rinnng. rinnnnnggg. 

it doesn't take too long for you to pick up.

"hello?" he finally hears.

it's only one word (and a pretty basic one at that), but xiao can already hear the soft underlying shyness of your voice. his mouth naturally opens a little agape. you've always been nervous around those you weren't close to. your voice sends him into a state of bliss, so much so his brain is too foggy to reply until you coo out another hello, questioning if anyone is there on the other line due to the silence.

he almost has to force himself to speak "It's… xiao," he blinks, not even saying hello back, "from professor zhongli's class," xiao almost slips up by saying the name you know him much better by. “you… we spoke on the train. I don’t know if you remember,” he manages to stutter out.

you had seemed pretty out of it when you two talked earlier that very same day. you must’ve been so exhausted to have fallen asleep like that, right next to him. he’s still replaying the site of it over and over, the way you were struggling so hard to stay awake, head bobbing back and forth. it was probably embarrassing for you, but it was a pleasant sight for him. the soft puff of your cheeks and the furrow of your brows, the shallowness of your breath and how relaxed you looked. it made him feel like a creep, staring at you in that state, such an intimate state, a vulnerable state. 

it’s why he had held back as long as he could before finally tapping you awake, wanting to bask in the precious sight for longer.

he snaps back to finally finish his explanation, “…you gave me your number earlier today," he says it less as a reminder to you, but instead as a reminder to himself. he bites his lip, waiting for you to respond, wishing he could see what you looked like right now.

in the meantime, he remembers how your eyes had begrudgingly opened back up at the feeling of him touching you. he remembers the warmth of your body that felt like it could melt his finger tips from the heat. he wishes he could see and feel both much more often, but xiao is patient. lord, is he patient.

he remembers how embarrassed you looked as you sat up in your seat, trying to reorient yourself. “sorry, what did you say?” you finally had spoken after getting settled. you must’ve been too frazzled to hear him the first time. he cleared his throat before he repeated himself, this time a little louder, a little less shy than the first time around.

“I asked which stop you get off at.” you looked at him with eyes big with confusion. he hoped, desperately (he’s always so desperate), that he hadn’t made you feel anything negative.

he made sure to explain the question in hopes that it made you feel more comfortable and not as confused. “…I can wake you up before you get there, if you’d like.”

despite his wants, he needed to make sure you were safe, and were able to actually get home. if he didn’t ‘protect’ you, who would? definitely not that roommate of yours.

to his (would be short-lived) disappointment you had shaken your head. “no, it’s fine. I really shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place.” you had paused for a short second before saying, “thank you, though, xiao.” he doesn’t like to remember how he almost shivered at the sound of his name coming from your lips, nor how he had to turn his head as he nodded because he could feel heat creep up it. 

"oh, yes, xiao! sorry, I wasn't expecting you to call so soon. what can I do for you?"

“you asked on the train if I could tutor you. I wanted to set something up.”

it’s true, even if xiao can’t believe it himself. he knew this day would come, but didn’t expect it to be this soon. after several minutes of silence between you two, (or at least as silent as it could be on a train), you had turned to him, as if remembering something, getting his attention before you asked him something.

“sorry if this is coming out of nowhere. I was wondering if…” you took a breath, and xiao had almost sworn you were bordering scared as you finished your question. “I was wondering if you could possibly tutor me for zhonglis class? I don’t know if you’d be able to, but I spoke to him earlier today, and he recommended asking you for help.”

and of course he had said yes, to your surprise. he remembers thinking, silently, that maybe the universe was rewarding him for being so patient, and he had to keep his cool the best he could. 

now here he is, actually setting something up. “would tomorrow with you?”

"yes!," you let out a nervous little laugh at your uncontrollable excitement. xiao can just picture the smile you have on your face, all shy and awkward and cute. "that would work great, I think. I really wasn't expecting you to set something up so quickly. I'm grateful though."

xiao would make the tutoring session today during the dead of night if he could. of course he would set something up so quickly.

you don't need to know that, though.

xiao hums at your words. "we… we can have our first session at my place, if you're comfortable with that." he realizes he might be coming off too strong, so he adds, "but we can have it somewhere else too." he hopes you agree to the first suggestion though.

"t-that'd be great, yeah. whatever works for you, works for me."

"I'll text you the address and the time, then… and we can discuss more sessions or a schedule and stuff further.”

"that sounds good. thank you so much again." you repeat, and he can hear the relief in your voice. it should be him thanking you, really. 

"of course. goodnight."

“goodnight!” you repeat before you both hang up. a wave of bliss strikes his body.

but he isn’t going to sleep, not yet, atleast. Instead, he’s going to stay up all night, right in front of his window, thinking of all the possible lives he’s about to live.

he’ll make sure to thank zhongli for that in the morning.

ーーー NEW MESSAGE ーーー ☆

[name]: I don't think you understand how nervous I am right now

[name]: my hands are shaking and everything

alatus: why? is something wrong?

[name]: you know how I told you how I wasn't doing the greatest in one of my courses?

alatus: of course. did something happen?

[name]: the most intimidating guy I've ever met in my life is my tutor now

[name]: and I have no idea how this first session is gonna go

alatus: I think you’ll be fine. you shouldn’t worry yourself

alatus: you should let me know how everything goes.

ーーー☆

xiao's home is, to put it simply, unique.

you were left awestruck as soon as you stepped into the small but gorgeous studio apartment, shocked by both the feeling of jealousy creeping up your spine and the thought of how someone could possibly afford such an apartment, especially as a college student. no matter how xiao manages to afford his place, though, his home daunts over you. 

there's a large window that lines the wall his bed and desk are propped up against and you can't help but imagine just how xiao would look as he looked out of it and at the bustling city. the glass is frosted and wet from the pitter pattering rain that seems to persist in the cool weather of october. it's a little messy, books scattered about here and there and takeout bags littering the table, and the amount of lighting in this room seems to be as minimal (and as cold) as can be, but it's nothing too bad at all. nothing that you could complain about, at least. 

there's so many things inside his house, so many things your eyes are drawn to, like his big bookcase and comfy bed and his expensive computer setup, and yet it feels so... lonely. devoid of life, even. maybe it's the look of the gloomy black walls and the fact that the only lighting xiao has is a tall floor lamp and the light that comes through his window, but you've never seen such a full home feel so empty. no plants except for one little succulent that's looking worse for wear, no photos of friends or family, no bright colors, no pets to breathe life into the place, no companion to help make this house a home. nothing.

you're suddenly grateful you have such a lively roommate.

it's been a few minutes since xiao had let you in, greeting you in his comfy hoodie and baggy pants, hair put up into a messy bun, before attending to something on his computer (an important email you think, or at least something along those likes, something urgent), telling you to sit wherever you'd like and that he'll be with you shortly. you had nodded while leaving your shoes at the door, asking him if his bed would be a seat he's okay with you being on, garnering a hum in response from him.

"...I'll sit here then, since it'll be close to you and stuff," you murmur, admittedly a bit more nervous and unconfident sounding than you'd like. you plop yourself onto xiao's bed, placing your bag at your feet in front of the bed for easy access. xiao takes what's meant to be a quick glance at you, but he's unable to look away.

he knows it's creepy to say, especially when you're just sitting down so innocently, but the sight is better than what he's fantasized about. he's thought of you so many times in his bed, cuddling with him and running your hands through his hair and letting him press kisses into your face and collar bones. he's thought about waking you up with breakfast and how you'd smile and thank him even if he can't cook very well, but he's willing to learn a couple recipes for you. he's thought about laying there with you after a long day, letting you ramble as he listened like he does as alatus. he's thought about how he'd great you once he comes home like you probably do with venti, watching your form as he wait on his bed for him.

and, most of all, he's thought about the way you'd cry and sob and call him a monster once the day that you find out that his bed is now yours and that this apartment is now your home, trapped forever with him, finally comes.

one day you'll be here permanently, he's sure of it. baby steps first, though.

xiao doesn't realize that in the midst of his thinking, he's been absolutely staring you down, and considering that xiao has a naturally viscous (bitchy) looking resting face, you can't help but squirm under his gaze. "xiao? I can... move, if you'd like."

"no, I just..." he clears his throat before looking back at the work in front of him. "sorry, I zoned out for a second. you can stay there if it feels comfortable. whatever you want." the words come out as a sort of awkward, almost inaudible mumble.

is this supposed to be as awkward and tense feeling as it is?

you nod at his words, albeit a little hesitant, further settling into the soft plush of his bed. your brain is still convinced that he might want you to move, but you decide to just stay where you are. you reach down from your seat, pulling out everything you would need from your bag, waiting patiently for any instructions. the soft clicking of xiao's keyboard and the sound of rain hitting against the window fill the otherwise silent room, and honestly, given the atmosphere and the way xiao's room is so dark and cozy and how warm and inviting his bed is, you're tempted to fall asleep.

xiao's presence, though nerve-wracking, makes you feel at home. it feels familiar. you wouldn't mind falling asleep near him again.

but today's (sadly) not the day for resting. xiao finishes whatever he's working on, closing out of the tab and turning his chair to face your spot on the bed. he brushes a piece of his hair back and out of the way, uncovering the eyebrow piercing the bothersome piece had previously hid. his eyes look dead, tired dark circles laying underneath, and yet he still forces himself to speak, like a zombie who simply refuses to just give up and die.

"did you have anything specific in mind that you want to go over?"

you take a second to think, humming in response. zhongli never truly specified what you needed to brush up upon, only that the last few assignments weren't up to his standards, whatever that means. "I don't know. maybe everything from the last few weeks? I'm not so sure."

he too lets out a soft little hum as he thinks for a moment. he's never tutored before, and he's pretty sure he doesn't even have the qualifications to actually be of any sort of help. he makes it up as he goes.

“on the back of your textbook, there's a study guide that covers all the chapters inside." he gently motions for you to give him the book sitting on your lap, flipping to the page before handing it back to you. "I want you to do the questions of the study guide that cover the chapters we've already read in class. then I'll... assess you from there, and we can come up with a plan.”

it seems like a lot of work, and that's because it is. the longer you spend here (the more he can milk this session for everything it's worth), the better.

you nod, moving to get to work immediately, putting your full effort into the task at hand. you both work silently, xiao clicking at his keys alongside the noise of you flipping through the pages of your textbook and jotting answers down. the noises compliment one another well, creating a lingering sense of peace and calm in the air. you find yourself getting stuck on one or two of the questions, but… surprisingly breezing through the rest, and after a while of working, you gently speak his name, alerting him that you've finished. he’s quick to take your work, starting his inspection of it. 

your hands can’t help but get a little clammy as you watch as he reads through your answers, analyzing each and every single written word. in the meantime, you’re doing a little analysis of your own, trying to distract your mind from feeling any more nervous than you realistically should. 

your eyes flick from his messy hair, to the beauty mark almost right in the middle of his forehead, then to the soft dusting of red eyeshadow under his eyes. you look at how he runs a finger against the words on the page, too, almost subconsciously, and though you can’t really tell from this angle what he’s doing, you think he’s more so tracing the letters you’ve written than using it as a means to follow along. he almost looks entranced. you don’t know what to expect from xiao, can’t even guess what he’s thinking, and the furrowed eyebrows on his face definitely don’t make you feel any better. 

you sit there, idley, awkwardly, fidgeting for what seemed like more than just a few minutes, before xiao finally speaks up. 

you can barely hear him as he speaks, his words hushed and muffled. "you... need a lot of brushing up on the content, and your answers… lack good explanations and reasoning." he hands you back your work, sending you an almost sympathetic look. "I can see why zhongli believes you need help,” he adds.

it's a lie, of course, but you don't need to know that, not when zhongli had so delicately laid down the groundwork for all of this to happen in the first place. most of your answers were just fine as is, at least from what he lightly skimmed through.

still, he can't help but feel guilty when that look of embarrassment washes over your face.

for some reason you feel yourself get overwhelmed with emotion. you thought that maybe, just maybe, zhongli was simply just messing with you, as was notorious with the man and his teaching methods. but there's a stark sense of embarrassment that comes from xiao reaffirming what zhongli had said, an embarrassment so strong it sends your entire body ablaze with heat. 

you can't help but awkwardly shift in your seat as you nod along to his words despite the way your head almost feels too heavy to lift, avoiding eye contact lest he sees you so embarrassed over something so... silly, a miniscule problem at best, something fixable with a bit of elbow grease and time, and yet it means way more than it should to you.

you've worked so hard in this class already. why aren't you improving?

he doesn’t let you really catch your breath before he speaks again. "I think we'll need a couple more sessions than we discussed earlier," he mumbles, again, as though too ashamed to speak up, flipping through his own textbook, face in his hand as he thinks. "I want to make sure we can get as much content covered as possible before the end of the semester and catch you back up, since you seem to be..." xiao takes a quick glance at you, and for a moment, just a split second, he sees you, sees inside of you, sees every little thing you've been keeping bottled up, your fear. he looks away, breath hitching out of complete and utter guilt. he forces himself to continue though.

"...behind," he finishes, the single word said notably softer than the rest of the sentence.

xiao forces himself to swallow down his guilt. truly, he feels terrible about lying about this, because you clearly seem to be doing just fine on you own and lord knows how much stress this entire ordeal is causing you, but what's the use of being presented and blessed by the gods themselves with such an amazing opportunity if his sinning hands can't take it out of greed? xiao hates it, but he's always been more of a taker than a giver, taking all he can from people and leaving nothing left of them.

the simple pure utter bliss at the thought of spending hours and hours with you, in his room, alone, intimately and in person instead of just being with you through a phone screen, extinguishes any guilt he could possibly feel.

you, on the other hand, do allow yourself to feel guilt, though it's a feeling that has much more innocent roots than what xiao feels. it's a feeling that pokes and stabs at you as you fumble for words to say. you're a much better person than xiao is in that regard. you can't help but to feel ashamed, ashamed that you were doing so terrible at a course that goes directly into your major that you would have to force xiaoー a man renowned for being a lonerー who surely would rather spend his free time by himself and not tutoring someone so out of your realm and element as you are.

maybe it's not too late after all to consider switching majors, you think.

"you seriously don't have to do that, I don't want to take more time from you than I'm already taking. honestly, I think I'm a bit of a lost cause at this point if I can't even do the simpler questions."

the truth is, not even xiao knows how scared you are. fear and dread soars through your body at the thought of ending up in the same spot you were in last year.

xiao lets out a sigh through his nose at your words, a noise that does nothing other than make you feel worse, especially when you can't read his emotions and tell what's going on in that labyrinth of a brain he has. maybe he's realized that you're not worth spending his time. maybe you really are a loss cause. maybe you really should change your major. maybe you should call it quits and drop out. maybe you should move countries, marry a rich doctor or a lawyer and spend the rest of your days as a glorified housespー

xiao doesn't let you finish your thoughts (plans), instead getting up from his chair slowly. "let's take a break." he says, and while you feel a break is a little undeserved after you haven't done much studying, you nod, thinking it might be best to just relax before jumping back into things. "taking things slowly is the better way to do things," you nod, although the words just barely register themselves in your head. you're surprisingly vulnerable with him.

"I'm... going to step out for a moment to get some air. I'll give you some time for yourself to think." you nod, giving him a small and meek thank you, genuinely so utterly grateful for all the time xiao has given you. you can't help yourself from bothering him just once more before he leaves, though.

"xiao?" you don't look up at him, eyes fixated on your answers and what must've been so wrong with them. you hear him hum, beckoning you to continue.

“do you think I'll be able to pass?”

"of course you will," he answers, and it's the first truth he's said all day.

"of course," he mumbles, this time lower, a reminder to himself of how you'd be completely fine on your own, and that he should never, ever take this opportunity for granted.

he makes a promise to himself that he won't.

----- NEW TEXT MESSAGE -----☆

zhongli: hello, [name]. xiao informed me earlier today that you two will be conducting your first study session today. I'm glad you spoke to him about tutoring like I had advised you to. how are things going?

[name]: it's going fine, he mostly just reaffirmed what you already told me though. but he's been really kind about it all, I'm grateful that he agreed to help me out.

zhongli: I see. I hope that he could give you a new perspective on things and aid you in your weak spots. xiao is an amazing student in his own right, and I'm sure that together, you two will make an amazing team. I'm glad you two are getting along.

zhongli: I'd like to give you a little heads up for a future assignment, but there will be a project upcoming where I'll be sure to partner you two up. I'm sure you two will impress me on what you come up with.

zhongli: I believe in you, [name], and I expect good things coming forward.

zhongli: I'm sure that xiao is grateful as well.

[name]: thank you.

[name]: I hope to meet your standards as best as I can.

-----☆

the apartment is even quieter than it was before without xiao.

it's lonely, too.

in a way, you used this little moment to yourself as a justification and way to figure out just what exactly is the enigma that is xiao. now that you're by yourself, you find yourself looking around at his walls, glancing over at one of the two of his cork boards that seems to have a bunch of what looks to be memorabilia of all sorts, stuff like old music concert tickets of local bands you've never heard of, polaroids with some familiar places and even some of his friends, post-it note scribbles of different tasks he has to get done, among other things.

you visualize yourself looking at the corkboard as though it's those ones in those crime movies, where you're using red yarn to connect the pieces of a story together, figuring out with all the clues you have at your disposal who xiao is.

there's other things, too. posters lining the wall and a singular cat shaped plushie on his bed, a wilted bouquet of flowers in a vase on his kitchen countertop meant for decoration, various little knick knacks on his desk, but the part of his room that catches your eye most, though, is his large, expansive bookshelf filled (a little messily) with a variety of different things, almost all of it stuff you actually recognize.

you’re halfway through looking around before you hear the door open back up again. you instinctually freeze, as of you’re a kid who’s been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. you shift your head, locking eyes with him as he steps back inside. to your surprise, he doesn’t look upset, not even annoyed, just intrigued as he watches you awkwardly shuffle away a little from the bookshelves.

you try to apologize with hast. “sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything, I swear, I was just–“

xiaos quick to interject as he walks right past you over to sit, this time on his bed instead of at his desk. “it’s fine. I don’t mind. you don’t have to apologize.” he crosses his arms once he’s situated in his seat. “do whatever you’d like.” he adds in an attempt to comfort you.

it sounds sarcastic, but you somehow can tell that it’s not. you nod, taking it as (hoping that it’s) permission to keep going. your eyes move over to the other corkboard near the bookshelves, hoping that you’re not stepping over any boundaries by doing so. this board is filled more with many different photos pinned up onto it. there’s all sorts of sites and places, things like concerts or shops or restaurants or nature– the list goes on– with a rare one or two photos with him actually in it. even rarer seemed to be other people that didn’t look like strangers in the background.

you subconsciously speak a thought aloud. “you seem to go out a lot. to really cool places, too.”

the only thing he really says in response is, “all of those aren’t recent.”

you hum in response, eyebrows furrowing a little as you nod in understanding. “oh, I see.” xiao takes it as an opportunity to ask you something even though he knows the answer already. “what about you? do you go out a lot?”

the question takes you a little aback. “I haven’t gotten out a lot recently either.” you try to think about all you’ve done recently, before realizing there’s nothing much to think about at all. you add, in truth, “…you’re honestly the first person I’ve spent time with in a while that wasn’t my roommate, but I don’t think that really counts.”

he cocks his head to the side at that answer, golden eyes staring at you (almost straight through your soul), intrigued. “why haven’t you spent time with anyone else?

a soft pang hits your heart as you think about the reason. the breakup. despite how much time has gone by, you’re still tender about the topic, and would rather not think about everything it’s caused as a result. would rather not think about him, either.

you let out a nervous laugh. “that’s a long story, I guess.” 

xiao seems dissatisfied with that answer. he’s never responded so quickly, without hesitating before.

“I have time.”

you send a look of slight confusion his way. “I thought we were going to study some more today?”

“right…” xiao let’s a lot of dead air slip in whenever he speaks, pausing and hanging onto words as if he’s doing mental calculations to figure out what the right thing to say next. “…in the future, then.”

you nod as your eye continues it’s adventure through the board before another photo catches your attention fully. it’s a pretty photo of a bunch of people standing near the docks, holding up and letting go of lanterns. it looks like, judging from the date scribbled on the bottom of the photo and the contents of the photo itself, the annual lantern rite from a few years back. you remember that day, almost vividly, too. that was your first year at the school. you and venti had gone together that year. it was magical. it seems like xiao really was never too far from you. seriously, you’re surprised you two haven’t talked sooner.

you can’t help but smile as you reminisce on that day. “I remember this exact lantern rite. there was so many people, and the lanterns were so beautiful. they always are.”

you turn around to face him, again. “how long has it been since you’ve gone to the harbor? if I lived as close as you do, I think I’d go to the harbor whenever I have time.”

it takes awhile for xiao to respond, not because he’s thinking of an answer, but because he’s transfixed on your expression right now. you seem so happy that it naturally just pulls on his heart strings. he’s glad you still remember that particular lantern rite, even though he knows you’ve gone to more since then. xiao remembers that day visibly too, but probably (definitely) not for the same you do. he wonders if you remember that part of it deep inside.

“um… since the day of that photo, probably.”

you’re a little taken aback from that answer. xiao lives on the outskirts of the harbor. how could he have not gone back in years? everything you learn about xiao makes you more and more curious as to who he is. “really?” you can’t help but ask. he can’t help but shrug.

you speak without even thinking twice once more. “would you want to go again sometime then?” your eyes dart away from his face. you can’t help but look away before you finish the question, unable to look him in the eye as you clarify, “with me, I mean.” you stumble out the words more confidently than you exprcted. 

he lets out a sigh. “there’s nothing I want from there…” it’s the truth. he hasn’t been very fond of the harbor for what has felt like centuries, especially not the memories he’s tethered to. he can’t help but to regret the accidental roughness of his words, though, when he looks up to see a flash of embarrassment paint across your face. it feels like he picked the wrong answer, but he wants to say the right one, desperately. xiao has never been great at talking, but he’s trying, for you. “but if you’d like… I’d like to go with you.”

you try to hide the way your heart picks up the pace a little at his words. “let’s go soon, then. I can tell you about myself, and you can tell me about you, too.”

he nods, and for a split second you think you’ve gone insane, because you swear, swear, that for a few seconds, the corner of xiao’s lips curve softly into a smile. a smile! smiling at the thought of you two ‘hanging out’ in the future! for all the times you’ve seen xiao, you can maybe only count on one hand how many times you’ve seen him smile. 

“you want to learn about me?” he asks, earnestly, shocked, and it definitely wasn’t a question you were expecting.

“yeah, I mean I've always seen you around. I think we've even been in the same classes before this year, too, and now I’m getting tutored by you  and I still know pretty much nothing about you.” you pause before adding on, “I’d love to learn more. I hope that’s not weird, or anything.”

he shakes his head, the ghost of a smile still etched onto his lips. and if you looked closely (which luckily for him, you weren’t), you’d see the faint dust of blush decorating his cheeks, too. “I don’t have much to tell you, but… that sounds good.”

he feels embarrassed at the fact he can’t control how warm his cheeks feel and how he can’t help but crack a smile at you. he clears his throat, trying to reset himself, suddenly ready to move on, going back to his desk. 

“let’s keep working, I want to make the most out of the time we have together.” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks. you mentally brace yourself for another study session with him.

it’s gonna be a long night.

ーーー NEW MESSAGE ーーー ☆

ven: where have you been?

ven: haven’t seen you all day……….. ):

ven: my flower, the house is so empty without you……….. ))):

ven: are you with somebody? you never tell me these things anymore.

ven: talk to me soon, please.

ーーー ☆

it's late into the night when you're awakened rudely with a few desperate knocks against your bedroom door.

you can't help but groan as you stir awake, upset to be forced out of your dream state, although that irritation is soon replaced with guilt once you realize just why you were being awakened with such urgency in the first place. after whining out a loud, 'come in,' you peak your eyes open to see your best friend standing in your doorway, tears staining his face so much that they're visible even in the darkness.

shit. it's been so long since you've seen venti like this. you thought all of that was over ages ago.

"can I sleep with you tonight?" his voice is shakey yet gentle, filled with fear and something that you can only label as... need, as if he needs you more than he ever has. just his voice alone, paired with the way he looks so in the doorway while he's shivering and fiddling with his pajamas, hair looking almost as distraught as he's feeling, is enough to have you too stunned to speak.

"please?" he adds on when you don't reply immediately.

you nod, scooting over to make room for him as he slowly trudges to your bed like he's done many times before. he's quick to settle in under the covers with you, laying against the plush pillow underneath him. you move closer to him as though it's instinct, an action done out of retained muscle memory from the many nights you've spent doing this exact thing. your eyes, though half lidded and heavy, trace over his face over and over again, noting how his eyes look back at you and you can't help but think that venti is such an expressive person. even if he's so silent right now, his eyes are cloudy and storming, speaking a thousand words with the thunder that rings out within them.

he looks like he's trying to think of what to say, but he doesn't need to say a single thing. you already know why he's here.

his face is contorted in a way that almost showcases utter agony, and it hurts, hurts to see your best friend suffering, especially when the best you can do is guide your hand softly against the smooth the skin of his cheek and brushing away any tears in pity. if nothing else, you truly do hope that, at the very least, your presence can help.

“do you maybe want to talk about it?” you run your hand through his soft, pretty dyed blue locks that seem to almost glow in the moonlight, feeling the light moisture of his skin from his sweat. you’ve forgotten just how easy it always has been to brush your hand through his locks. your voice is gentle and low as if not to startle him, as if not to shatter him more than he already is. “you know you don’t have to, but you can always talk to me if you need to.”

“no, it’s okay... I just want to be with you right now.” his voice is meek as he chooses his words carefully as though they're meticulously chosen to pull at your heartstrings (they do), and he sounds like he’s on the brink of tears once more.

“is it the same dream as before?” you ask, remembering how many nights you've spent with venti just like this when he began getting frequent ‘nightmares’ awhile back, nightmares that till this day you don't know the contents of.

he nods, although hesitantly, as though it’s some sort of secret. and in a way, it is.

he could never, ever, ever tell you that you’re the cause of all of his nightmares after all.

“are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? you look really upset. you've never told me what makes you like this.”

“no, I just want to… I just want to stay like this for a while.”

“okay, ven,” you whisper, soft and quiet, as if your voice could shatter him whole. you pause, thinking of what to say, before you decide that you won’t prode any further, instead bidding him a goodnight. “I love you, venti. get some rest.”

for the first time in maybe months, venti doesn’t tell you he loves you back.

instead he burrows himself as deep as humanly possible, as if being torn away from you would kill him, just like the way his dreams pulled and tugged ruthlessly at his heart strings, shoving images of you with your new 'tutor' down his throat, like they had with him months and months ago.

how cruel is it that he's forced to see you being ripped away from him both in real life and in his dreams?

-----☆

you're half asleep when you feel him mumble into your skin.

"I miss you. I miss this." he whispers, but you can barely hear him. he misses the way you feel, how comforting you smell, how his hands connect with your body like they're puzzle pieces. he misses having all your attention on him like this, so quick to coo and ask if he's okay. everything’s changed from how it used to be.

"what?"

you feel venti's hands slip under your shirt, feeling the warm skin of your back as he slowly trails his hands up and down, basking in the way that you feel. "I miss you, cecilia. especially today." his voice isn't shakey anymore. instead it's much more fluid, as though he never had the night terrors that brought him into your room to begin with. you can't help but frown at his words even in your sleepy state.

"venti..." you mumble out, feeling his hands start to dig themselves into your skin. his grip on your waist is tightー not enough for it to hurt, but just enough that it keeps you from pushing him away if you really wanted to, trapping and suffocating you, bordering the lines of sucking the air out of your lungs.

part of you wishes he wouldn't keep things so bottled up from you, because clearly, your constant 'absence' in his life is hurting him more than you'll ever be able to understand, but the more selfish part of you is shamefully grateful that he is. you love venti, but for a man who constantly champions for freedom, he's always been so dead set on taking away yours.

you know deep down that if you gave venti an inch, he'd take a mile, and you don't have many miles left to give. you could spend twenty-four hours of a day with venti and he would still want you to somehow spend twenty-five on him. as much as you love ventiー truly, you love him more than anything else in the worldー, you know it'd be better if you didn't indulge him as much as you want him to. lord knows how quick venti would be to turn you into a hollow, empty shell of yourself by taking every second you have all for himself if he could.

besides, this whole thing will blow over eventually after the party, right?

right?

"I know that I've already whined and complained about it, but god, I miss you. you were gone for so long today with someone I don't even know… seeing you occasionally here and there isn't enough for me. I..." venti somehow manages to pull his body even closer to you, your chest and his chest plush against each other, so close that you can feel the way it rises as he breathes slowly. "I know I'm selfish, but I need you."

he says the word 'need' as if he'd die without you.

you don't think this is a conversation you two should be having when you're so... out of it, exhausted.

"venti, can we talk about this in the morning?"

his grip slowly loosens. "...okay." he says the word slowly and hesitantly, as if he's a child saying a cuss word for the first time, as if agreeing to put his feelings aside until you're in a much more lucid and conscious state is a sin. "I'm... I'm sorry for bothering you and being so clingy and... I just..." venti swallows thickly. "goodnight," venti mumbles, choosing not to finish his thought.

your eyebrows furrow, something about this whole conversation feeling off to you. never in a million years would venti have been so... upfront, apart from the day he invited you to the party. it's like venti's slowly unraveling like a string, just one little tug away from snapping.

it wouldn't be the first time venti's snapped on you though. you need to mend things and shut off the ticking time bomb before things blow up in your face again, like when you...

like when you...

ugh. you'll think about all of this later when you're actually well-rested and capable of forming cohesive thoughts. you softly mumble out a goodnight to venti as well, praying that the storm will blow off soon enough.

it doesn't, though. the winds only get stronger and louder.

ーーー☆

venti wasn't in your room by the time you woke up. infact, he wasn't in the apartment at all. not in his room, not in the kitchen or in the bathroom getting ready, nowhere. he didn't even leave a text telling you where he went.

you guess that venti needs time to think after last night, and you decide that it's probably for the best.

you'll see him again later anyways.

ーーー☆

it's cold out today, october's chill punishing you for wearing too light of a sweater for the weather, but the freezing temperature of the classroom during today's lecture isn't the cause of the way you squirm in your seat out of discomfort. no, you have professor zhongli to take credit for that.

you're convinced that zhongli gets a kick out of giving you borderline heart attacks.

honestly, that isn't exactly far from the truth. there's something about the way your eyes flicker in complete, utter fear just by him saying, "[name], may you please see me after class? there's something I'd like to discuss with you," that sends shivers down his spine, as egregious as that may sound. it's a shameful feeling for a professor to have, but at least he has much more innocent intentions this time as opposed to the last time he's asked you to stay behind.

the request was given to you right at the start of class (which you were actually on time to, thank god) before he began with his lecture. and once again, you couldn't help but think about just what exactly zhongli wanted to discuss with you throughout the entire lecture, almost too busy coming up with theories to focus. all you can think is, did you do something wrong again? was the assignment you turned in last night bad? all that studying you did with xiao couldn’t have been for nothing, right? you're going to fail the semester at this rate.

you wish zhongli was more dead set on helping you pass like last year than assuring that you failed.

you can’t help but call back to that time. you had been much worse off back then. you were visibly behind everyone else, but it hadn't started that way. so much was happening back then. and that breakup, oh that fucking break up, really made focusing on your school work beyond difficult. you truly did put up a fight, tried to make sure you stayed afloat, and it did work at first. but your responsibilities drowned you completely, and you never really learned how to swim.

it was a rough semester, and one of your classes had been taught by the very same man taking great pleasure in ruining you today. your one saving grace? once again, the very same man, who had seemed to take enough pity onto you that he took matters into his own hands to make sure you did well.

you stood out back then, not because you shone bright, but because you didn't shine at all.

zhongli wanted to light that fire back in you that you had at the start of the year. and he had.

zhongli had took you under his wing, struck you with passion and drive, made you fall in love all over again with the topic you were studying through his ramblings and stories and sheer utter knowledge; he revitalized you, filled a hole. he had kept you after class and in his office on weekends, making time to make sure that you succeeded and through his gentle nurturing that was the hot to his own cold. you had succeeded, to your surprise. and he had looked after you ever since.

it was silly for you to believe that he would grace you with the same mercy this course.

but things are different now. so much more different. you were grateful back then for him striving to push you to do better, but now it's overwhelming. back then, his standards were achievableー finish your assignments on time as often as you could, study a little when you can, at least attempt to attend every class you had. it was doable. but now, now you're almost convinced he wants you to become borderline perfectー no, perfect is an understatement. he wants you to be better than perfect.

perfect, and vulnerable.

back then it felt as though he was trying to help you but now, the back of your mind can't help but tell you that he's always been helping himself, benefiting himself, not you.

it was at the start of this school year that you let yourself fall right into the dragon's lair.

either way, maybe it's the fact that your mind was so occupied, or maybe time simply just decided to speed up, but the class flew by in no time. you had practically tuned out all of zhongli's ramblings and teachings today. you watched zhongli dismiss the class, staying seated despite the way everyone else shuffled out of the door as quickly as possible. once again, it was just you and zhongli in the empty room.

fuck.

zhongli walks to the front of your desk, running a hand through his hair before letting out a long sigh, and you never knew how such a little harmless action could strike so much fear into your heart. could you just combust already? you're not at all ready for whatever zhongli has to say.

"what a long class we had today, hm? I hope I didn't bore you too much. you looked particularly distracted." zhongli says, smiling gently at you as he attempts to brighten the gloomy mood you're clearly in. "luckily, though, I've been excited to talk to you all class. you truly were my saving grace today."

is this some kind of sick joke? you were kidding when you thought zhongli must get pleasure out of your failure, but you might actually be right.

gross.

"don't worry, though, I didn't keep you after class just to complain. I'll get to the point, since I know you hate pointless chatter."

"I know it's far too early to say this, but I'm proud of you, [name]."

that caring nature still shines through, the strict professor he's supposed to be eroded and washed away by time itself.

your eyebrows furrow. "what?" you can’t help but let the word slip out of your mouth in the midst of your confusion.

"the assignment you gave in last night, truly one of your best works this semester. you never fail to amaze me with how fast you manage to make a turnaround when you put your mind to it, [name]."

the assignment? the one you worked on last night at the last second despite having over a week to do it after studying with xiao that you had to keep your eyes pried open to complete? the one xiao had borderline picked apart a dozen times as though trying to break you down even more? that assignment?

what?

"but I... what? if it was any good, it's likely only because xiao was there to help me." you mumble, unsure of your words.

"so? are you really diminishing your accomplishments just because you got a little aid?" zhongli plants a hand on your cheek like he has a dozen times in the past before guiding your face to look up at him. "or are you trying to say that it was xiao who had done your assignment, not you?"

"o-of course he didn't, but-" zhongli is quick to shush you, pressing a gloved thumb against your lips with a soft smile.

"shh. you did well, and that's final. I hope this pattern continues. you know I want nothing but the best for you after seeing what you can achieve." his gloved hand caresses your cheek and you're convinced he can feel the heat your face is producing out of embarrassment even through the layer of fabric. "my little star, you're doing well again." he adds quietly, so quietly that you can just barely make it out, though the nickname is far less shocking than the praise that your brain is still trying to make sense of.

"before I let you go, I just wanted to reiterate that should you ever need my assistance with anythingー and I mean anything at all, whether it's related to your academics or notー know that I am and always will be here."

"I... thank you." it's the only words you can come up with as zhongli leaves you alone with your thoughts. "thank you," you repeat, speaking the words much more quietly. in a hushed whisper.

in the back of your mind, you realize that you should be thinking about how odd it is for zhongli to suddenly be so sugary sweet, how he's touched you so much more intimately than a professor should, how his little nickname for you is weird at best, and yet all you can think about is how he's proud of you.

for some reason, that's all that really matters to you in the moment. you can think about... all that other stuff, later.

ーーー☆

it's almost pitch dark out by the time you finally get home. 

"I'm home!" you shout out as soon as you step through the front door, voice a little breathy after having to climb up a few flights of stairs to get up to your apartment, alerting venti that you've arrived in a way akin to how married couples do. you're quick to lock the door behind you, stripping yourself of your shoes that feel more like weights before placing them in the shoe rack near the door and putting your heavy bag down next to venti's violin case, deciding you'll bother with getting whatever you need out of there when you feel like it. you wince a little at the cold tiles of the floor underneath your feet.

maybe one day you'll move into a place with an actual heater, you think.

"I'll be there in just a second!" venti's voice rings out from what you assume is the bathroom down the hall, likely showering given the pitter-pattering sound of running water. you nod, as though responding to him despite the fact he can't see you, flicking on the light switch to the kitchen as you do so. the kitchen table immediately grabs your attention with how different it looks compared to how you left it this morning. two orange pumpkins sit at the center, and alongside it lays an unopened package of carving tools and another package of tea lights, a brown bag filled with what looks to be some house decor and knick knacks (venti truly does love trying to make your run-down apartment as much of a true home as possible), and a bag of groceries yet to be put away.

you sit down at the medium sized wooden table, allowing yourself to rest and bask in the day as you look through everything infront of you. it's been awhile since you've just sat in silence and thought, and even longer since you let yourself really live in this home without just heading straight to your room. your nails drill against the table, pushing one of the two pumpkins closer to you with a soft hum. you trace a finger against it, imaginging what'd you want to carve on it and how it'd glow after you put a candle inside.

this year you should do something new, get a little more fancier with the design that you have in the previous years that you craved a pumpkin. maybe you and venti will carve matching jack-o-laterns this year. you can't help but smile at the thought.

"they're cute, aren't they?"

you tense up when you feel a hand on your shoulder, but you instantly relax when you turn your head to see venti. you guess you were so lost in thought you hadn't heard him come out of the bathroom. you drink in his presence, giving him a glance over out of instinct. the smell of his apple-cinnamon bodywash assault your senses in an oddly comforting way, a scent that makes you feel right at home. he's in a pair pajamas and cute bunny slippers, and his hair is clipped up in a pretty half up, half down ponytail. the blue dyed tips of his hair are losing their signature color (which is odd, considering that despite his inherit laziness, venti's always been one to make sure those tips stay bright blue at all costs) and his skin looks a little damp.

a gummy smile paints his face, and he has a bit of a playful glint in his eye, but he looks notably tired, and a sense of worry pings at your heart at the sight. you were the roommate notorious for having bags under your eyes afterall, not him, so to see him look so exhausted, especially when venti's always been one for getting his 'beauty sleep,' tells you that venti internally isn't feeling his best. it sounds shallow, judging someone's mental health based on their appearance, but you know venti like the back of your hand, and you know that something's wrong.

even moreso, you know exactly what that wrong thing is, given last night's conversation.

"I got them at the grocery store today. thought it might be fun to carve them together before they go bad. that is, if you want to grace me with your undivided time and attention, of course." venti pretends he's joking, but you know deep down he means the sentiment of wanting you to give him your time for once, and you honestly feel awful at his words. nonetheless, you suck it up, smiling up at him. it's a genuine smile.

"why wouldn't I? it is tradition after all. I'm going to make mine extra scary this year."

venti laughs at your words, his heart internally flutter at the thought of how determined your face would look as you try to create the spookiest jack-o-latern he's ever seen. he leans down, pressing a soft, platonic peck to your forehead, finally giving you a welcome home.

"you're home later than usual again, everything go okay?"

you can't help but notice that venti is acting as if he had never said what he said last night, though the air between you is still awkward and tense, and his face does little to hide the fact that deep down, he's still quelling on the things he spoke about. nonetheless, you decide that that conversation is to be had when venti wants it to happen, knowing full well from years of being his best friend that venti prefers keeping a lighter mood at all costs, so you leave things at that until he's ready to speak about it again.

"yeah, I just thought that I'd try to get some work done while I could at campus," you answer, watching as he nods slowly at your words. you can tell he's fighting back the urge to interrogate you, to ask you if you were with anybody and if you really needed to stay at campus, and anything else he can use as a way to rationalize the fact that he's so clingy. he looks around the room, thinking about what else he could say to make sure the conversation doesn't end prematurely.

"oh! I ordered some takeout a bit before you came home. it's still hot, if you want to eat."

you nod, thanking him, and you can tell he's trying to read you, to figure out just how exactly he can stay with you longer without him bringing up anything you two talked about last night. he stands there, presence lingering as though he has something to say, and yet he chooses not to say whatever's on his mind, instead preferring to pick up the unopened bottle of dandelion wine on the nearby kitchen counter.

"you seem all set. I'll get going now, then. I have an urgent date with a bottle of wine that I can't miss for the world." venti moves quickly to leave as though trying to make sure you don't see through to him, turning his back to you without another word, but he doesn't get too far before he's freezing up at your words.

"you're not gonna stay and chat?" you say instinctively, a little surprised by the fact he was so quick to come and go today. you don't know what it is about today, but the thought of venti forcing himself to go when he clearly doesn't want to pains you. maybe it was last night's conversation, or maybe it's how venti radiates warmth that fights against the biting cold that nips at your skin, or maybe you just miss venti, but you want him here with you.

venti turns around slowly, his voice low as he speaks. "oh..." he starts off, "I thought you would've wanted to eat alone like all the other nights," you almost let out a wince at his words. how long has it really been since you last simply hung out with venti? "do you... want me to stay?" you let out a gentle hum.

"I want you here tonight. I want to talk to you."

"about what?"

you think about everything you'd want to tell venti, and you realize that that's exactly it; you want to tell him everything and anything you can. you want to tell him about your new tutor who turned out to be a lot less scary than you were expecting him to be, or that new coffee shop a friend had told you about that opened up near by that you'd love to tell him about, or how zhongli was actually kind to you today. but you also want venti to tell you everything too, about any escapades he's had recently while drunk or new songs he's written, or even how his classes are going and if he's thinking of going to any other parties soon.

you realize that, as much as you'd hate to admit it to yourself, you miss just being with venti a lot too.

"everything," you finally reply after thinking, grinning up at his hesitant form.

"everything? really? this isn't a ploy to tell me horrific news or to try to get out of going to that party, is it?"

"no, I promise. I'm honestly a bit offended you'd think I'd ever be so cruel as to try to get out of going to such an amazing party," you joke.

venti playfully rolls his eyes at your words, but he can't help the smile that creeps up his face. his smile is bright like a star, warm enough for a planet to survive off of, eyelids crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he puts the bottle in his hand down befofe he pulls up one of the kitchen chairs, the legs screeching against the floor so that he's sitting infront of you. he leans in close to you as though you were about to tell him the greatest story known to man. you can't help but feel warm and fuzzy inside. venti's smile, his real and genuine smile, gives you a feeling like no other. it makes you feel whole, like none of your problems neither exist nor matter and that everything in this world is perfect.

"okay then, dove, tell me everything."

ーーー NEW TEXT MESSAGE ーーー☆

alatus: can you believe it's almost sunday already?

[name]: holy shit, time is going by so fast

[name]: I'm so excited to meet you in person

alatus: I'm excited too.

[name]: I can't believe I've known you for over a year and I'm only going to get to see your face now

[name]: I swear, if you're just some creep...

alatus: I promise I'm not.

alatus: well, maybe.

[name]: ha ha, very funny.

[name]: but seriously, it honestly feels like I've known you for forever.

alatus: maybe you have and you just never noticed

[20001541]

I might be Delulu, but hear me out.

I know that AFO keeps Yoichi isolated in the vault. When AFO came and visited Yoichi and told him that he hadn't eaten yet. What bothers me is that Yoichi said he refused to eat because he didn't want to be manipulated. This makes me wonder why he didn't mention like "Bro, you lock me up here, and how do I plan to eat?" or "Even if you give me, I still refused to eat because I don't want to be manipulated by you" or something. The panel where they show Yoichi locked up was pretty dark, but I can't help but think that AFO did give him luxury stuff all around him in the room, but Yoichi still refused to use them. He was afraid that he might be tainted. It was just that it was proof that there was a vault door.

I like to believe AFO likes to keep giving Yoichi more stuff and wants nothing in return, Just like how AFO gives him a quirk but ends up isn't enough for Yoichi to be by his side. MAN, I still wish we had more Yoichi's POV.

He might have mentioned it earlier, as based off of AFO's words there Yoichi has skipped meals previously, but as usual AFO ignores him and tells him the only way to get out is to agree to join him.

And hm the idea of AFO originally gave him luxurious items at first in the vault is something I've seen in several fics before, but don't agree with. Considering the purpose of the vault is to break Yoichi's will so he could give into AFO, I think AFO sticking him in a dark room with nothing in it alone for hours would be more effective in achieving that.

I also believe the whole being stuck somewhere surrounded by wealth was already Yoichi's reality pre-vault. When AFO had the means to put his brother somewhere nicer he did, but doubt he would have allowed Yoichi freedom to come and go as he pleased, especially since he could be a target for his enemies. I don't think many people knew Yoichi existed in the first place, only AFO's most loyal and trusted (brainwashed) guards knew of his existence and even then their contact with him was limited. Yoichi's main form of human interaction was his brother and AFO kept it this way be keeping him isolated from everyone else. So to me the vault was just AFO making a bad situation for Yoichi worse by taking away his luxuries and keeping him truly alone to be able to break his will easily. I do think Yoichi felt guilt about having those luxuries in the first place because he knew they were obtained via blood money.

Tbh I wouldn't say AFO is giving Yoichi stuff without wanting anything in return, baby AFO may have believed Yoichi provided him nothing but the text seems to contradict that as we see how Yoichi provided him love and attention when no one else did. I think that's what he wants more than anything in return is for Yoichi to give him that same love and attention Yoichi gave to him as a child. It was the thing he valued most growing up and is what kept him going throughout all those years. He can't stand a world where he can't have Yoichi there by his side providing him human companionship and love, he needs these things and its evident he wants it from Yoichi the most.

His entire motivation in becoming a villain is desiring to have the world give him the attention and need him like his brother did. In his own words without Yoichi he is nothing. Based his entire life trying to get him back shows Yoichi provides him things no one else can. As anything he deems useless he easily tosses away, but he can't do to Yoichi. Not because of any sort of familial obligation as he didn't have anyone to ingrain that in him, but because his younger brother provides him with the love he desperately desires. At his core he's lonely and doesn't want to rule everything alone. We saw how depressed he got when he believed Yoichi shattered for good, saw everything he worked for futile if he couldn't have Yoichi too.

i do think of this from time to time and how we see the word siblings be emphasized. Yes, he's trying to convince Kotaro to have another child so he can use them but I also feel AFO is being genuine here in his belief that siblings help you out when no one else did. That's how it worked for AFO as a child at least.

Rambled far more than I planned too, but thats how I view that.

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Savior

Yan Shigaraki x reader

Warnings: mind break, isolation, sensory deprivation

800 words

He wanted to be perfect for you. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. That's why he agreed to become a guinea pig, to become unstable, a monster. When he becomes a true monster you will sit perfectly in his maw. Not like you knew about any of this. All you knew was that you've spent weeks in near total darkness. Scared, cold, and totally alone.

The room itself was pretty big. A plush king sized bed and soft blankets contrasted by a cold tile floor and gray walls. A table and chair littered with books and papers was the only thing to keep your mind active. The desk barely stood on 3 legs, having been broken after a week of being trapped in this box. There wasn't even a window or door to give false hope of escape.

Black fog oozed out of the wall just like it did every day. At first you would cry and beg for whatever was beyond the void to let you out. Screaming until your throat grew hoarse every day until you ultimately lost your voice. Your throat has healed but you know it's pointless to talk anyway. A hand passed through the darkness and left a bag on the floor and took the bag with yesterday's garbage with it. Clean clothes, some food and water, and a sudoku book. The puzzle was a nice change of pace, something to hold onto so you don't completely lose your mind. The isolation was really getting to you though. Often unable to tell if you said your thoughts out loud or in your head. Sometimes even imagining a voice talking back with you. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this isolation before you truly went insane.

The food always looked good, being a simple but balanced meal. Nothing ever too fancy or too cheap. The clothes were shorts and a t-shirt. Thin but it was fine as long as you stayed on the bed. The single light in the middle of the ceiling was on an automatic timer, and the only thing that sort of what you keep track of how many weeks you've been locked in here. At least that's what you have been using as a daily indicator along with the routine food drop off.

Slowly it felt like more of your will was draining along with your sanity. The craving for another human, for any comfort or companionship was ravenous.

You tried a few more times to talk to the void when it would show up, but all that left was an empty feeling in your heart when you never got a response. Despair, that's what it was. A crushing feeling coupled with the intense feelings of loneliness. All you could do was sit and wait, and wait, and wait…

You were never a religious person but watching the wall crumble to dust made your soul scream. An angel! He had to be an angel! Why else would he come and free you after all those months of soul crushing isolation! Freedom. That's right, he was your freedom. So why couldn't you move?

Your chest started heaving and your hands trembled. You watched your savior through misty eyes as you fell to your knees, your legs no longer able to support your weakened body.

“Hello.” His scratchy voice trilled, filling the silence that's been consuming you for so long. “I've waited so long, so so long to be able to do this..”

He knelt down in front of you and roughly grabbed your arms, the piece of metal attached to his left hand biting into your skin. It was impossible to care about the little details though. Not when his hands felt nice and cool against your hot skin. Not when his voice finally broke your burden of silence. Not when the rough feeling of his lips on your own felt like Nirvana.

You know you recognized him from somewhere. His white fluffy hair and cherry red eyes were distinctive enough, but all of your memories from before the room all felt so far away. If it was important you would remember, right? Well as far as you're concerned your angel is the most important thing in the world right now. He was your world.

He kissed you like a man taking his first drink after a month in the desert. A famished roughness that left you light headed, but you returned the enthusiasm as best you could given your weakened state. It felt like you were being eaten alive. Even if you were though you didn't want to stop him. As long as he kept touching you, as long as he was near you, as long as he stayed with you. You wouldn't care what he did. He was your savior after all.

[batsyforyou]

Random Pet Peeves: Feanorians Edition

Tags: Pet peeves (things that annoy people)

Pairings: None

Author's Note: I have Eonwe coming up as well as the pokémon one. Just thought to post this while I was at it.

Taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese

Curufin 

Fidgeting. He hates it, between the noise it can bring and the constant movement it drives him insane and causes him to lose focus. Like when you're on your last nerve and someone keeps making McDonald straw music insane. Like just stop already! 

Maedhros

Jokes about his height and comments about his missing hand. The 'How's the weather up there?’ jokes and the constant questions about his hand from those less informed drives him crazy. I mean honestly, how many times can you hear the same thing before it gets old? Now imagine being an elf with centuries of experience with these things. 

Celegorm 

Open mouth chewing. Most of the time Celegorm doesn’t care about anything anyone does but when it comes to eating and everyone is at the dinner table it's gross and noisy and he is sometimes convinced that their saliva food spatter somehow got in his food. Which he will promptly make a scene for and refuse to eat. 

Even worse is when he is feeling overwhelmed and stressed and chewing noises begin to drive him nuts like, oh my word, I’ve been there.  

Caranthir 

Mud and dirt tracked all over the floor. Especially if Celegorm is the one who couldn’t be bothered to take his shoes off before coming inside. 

Maglor 

When someone touches his stuff. Most of the time he can handle it with grace and be completely chill with finding his harp being moved into a different room. Because while it is annoying it isn’t world ending. So he’ll just roll his eyes, sigh and politely remind the culprit *coughs* Celegorm *Cough cough* to not move his things around. 

But if you really want to get his goat do what parents (and some absent minded friends) do best. 

When he goes to show you a journal with his music notes and ideas, flip into the area he didn’t show you. Like when you show someone a photo and they start SCROLLING THROUGH EVERYTHING. 

That will get him raging mad lol. 

Amrod and Amras

They both hate it when they get called by the other's name. And I don’t mean like when a stranger, like a servant, just makes a mistake (they are very understanding about this) I mean when they’ve known this person for literal years and they still can’t tell them apart. 

They also can’t stand it when family members confuse their hobbies with the other twins. While it isn’t big it doesn’t really feel good and can really upset them on days they aren’t doing well mentally. 

Celebrimbor 

When someone refers to his family as the monsters under the bed and uses them as scary ghost stories. Yeah, his family did kinda do it to themselves but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying. Especially when they get the details wrong like, “No, Maedhros didn’t have dark hair. His hair was red and curly.” Like if you're gonna try and scare people using real life people at least get the basics right. 

It also sucks because people will also turn him into a story character as well. Coming up with different assumptions and making weird rumors about him eating worms or something. It can be really bothersome and isolating. 

Besides all that he still loves his family and remembers them more as people with troubled pasts rather than monsters that hide under beds.

His Uncles and Atar are way too big to hide under beds anyway. 

Feanor

When someone questions his work and decisions. Not just once out of curiosity but over and over again. It grates on his sanity. 

Nerdanel

When someone talks about her children and husband leaving and doing all those horrible things. Like honestly can’t they have some class and not shove it in her face? Or even when someone asks her how she didn’t see Feanor’s behavior change or why she didn’t try to stop him sooner or the classic, “What did you ever see in that elf?” 

She loves her family very much and hates when people act all snotty about things.

masterlist

[taleasnewastime]

All that remains | Part 1

[ PART THREE TO GROWING PAINS ]

Summary: You betrayed them all, acted on your own selfishness; will Jimin ever forgive you?

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Unrequited love; brothers’ best friend; slow burn; mafia au; angst

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Angsty feelings, unrequited feelings, mentions of death, blood, depression, mentions of a slight alcohol problem, drinking alcohol, feelings of being alone and isolated

Authors note: Sorry this has taken so long, and thank you for sticking around and waiting for this. Not as long as others in the series but there is more to come! Possibly a slow start but I promise that there is lots more to come and things will start heating up in no time. Part 2 won't take as long!!

Masterlist | Next

THREE MONTHS AND TWELVE DAYS LATER

The cold hits you as you exit the café. Turning, you lock the door, checking you’ve remembered to turn all the lights off. You managed to get this job not long after everything fell apart, climbing up to assistant manager quickly. It’s not your dream job, not the best pay and you could definitely get something better, but the job isn’t stressful, you don’t mind the people, it pays the bills and it’s all you need right now. You don’t want to lose this job because you forgot to turn the lights off.

The evening is dark. Beams of light coming from the streetlights. The weather’s turning cold, but you’re thankful it’s not raining like it does seemingly every day recently. It’s reflecting your mood. Dark, moody, just generally down. There are few days at the moment when you feel happy.

It’s been months since the police raid, tipped off by you with enough solid evidence to bring the organisation down. Months since your brother got locked away. Months since your whole life changed. Months since you betrayed everyone who raised you.

It’s just you and Jungkook now. The two of you supporting yourselves. In the same city just in a different part to the house you were raised in. The two of you barely scrapping by.

Oh, and Jimin.

Not working, hardly talking and barely showing his face. You and Jungkook working to support three, like some dysfunctional family. You’re struggling, only just keeping your heads above water. The flat you live in is old and cold, just enough space to squeeze the three of you in. On the sixth floor of a building with no elevator. Your neighbour’s people who the government have forgotten. People living on the margins, with little education and hardly any income, people just trying to survive like you, many of them people you’d avoid at all cost, as dangerous as people you’d meet in the gang only now you hold no status.

You take a breath when you get to the bottom of the steps to your building, mentally preparing for the six flights of steps to come and the lonely flat after that. The damp, the cold, the loneliness, hardly things to look forward to. You hate it, but it’s all you can afford and for the roof it provides you’re happy enough.

“Hello?” You call out into the quiet flat getting no reply.

Unsurprising, though you wonder if you truly are home alone. Jungkook will be out at work, either the personal trainer job or working security at a new club in town. Jimin will probably be holed up in his room doing you don’t know what.

You sigh as you head to the kitchen, routing through the freezer for something to heat up. There are only a few things to eat, nothing exciting but you’re too tired to cook anything.

Life isn’t any better, it’s not any easier, it’s not sunshine and rainbows. Your plan worked. Now you just need to try and get on with life. You knew this would be the outcome, you didn’t expect a life of luxury, you just didn’t quite expect this. The quietness. The monotonous days. The barely scraping by. The loneliness.

It’s been months since everything went down. Months since you ratted to the police, used your leverage in the gang to bring them down. You backstabbed them all, just like they did to you all those years ago. And while your plan paid off, you got what you wanted, you don’t feel complete satisfaction.

It was never something you planned. Or at least you never sat down and plotted it all out. The idea itself manifested over the years, grew from a simple conversation. It was never something you thought you’d do, more a fantasy than reality.

It was Jungkook’s idea originally. A seed he planted in your mind that grew the more distance you had, the longer you had to think it over.

You felt so alone, for so long and then Jungkook appeared. Seeped into your life so thoroughly that you no longer felt as lonely. You’d never trusted anyone enough to tell them your story, but for some reason Jungkook was different. Maybe it was because he was from a similar background, maybe it was because he made you feel less alone or maybe it was just as simple as him listening to you. Whatever it was, piece by piece, it all started to come out of you. Slowly at first, and then one night when you’d had a little bit too much to drink, all at once.

It was Jungkook that planted the seed, a mere comment about how he heard a company going down because of a whistle-blower. The CEO was bullying its staff, guilt tripping them into staying later than they should and never being happy with the outcome of work. Not comparable to your gang or situation at all. But it was that comment that blossomed everything.

For months that turned into years you mulled over the thought. Whistle-blower. Someone on the inside who knows everything that’s going on and reports it. Reports wrongdoings. Can take down the company with mere words.

Your bitterness rotted over time to hatred which quickly turned to vengeance. The fact you had little contact with anyone only made it worse. Sure, it was your father who instigated it, but you’d have thought there would be one person on your side. And even though your brother contacted you, it was so infrequent with so little information that it felt like he needn’t have bothered. It felt like he was doing it as another job, contacting you because he had to not because he wanted to. You resented him; for having it all, for not helping you, for letting you leave, for not standing up to your father.

Whistle-blower. A much nicer word than grass, snitch or rat. Just a word, but a word that made you think maybe you could do it.

You knew so much. And yet part of you knew you’d never do it.

And then you got the call, your father was dead.

Even as you flew back home, the thought still in your mind, you didn’t think you’d go through with it. The funeral was cold, everyone avoiding you as if you were infected. Your meeting with Yoongi didn’t make you feel any better. He wanted proof, wanted you to show he could trust you as if everything you had done up until that point wasn’t enough. Your whole life was to appease them, everything you did was to make them happy. And it was then that you realised that nothing you could do would be good enough. Even if you gave Yoongi proof you doubted he would ever truly welcome you into the family.

Hearing Jimin scream about wanting you out only sealed the deal. If they didn’t want you, you’d show them where they could stick it, show them how strong you could be.

You knew they would be arrogant enough to think you’d want back in, that you’d do anything if it meant you’d get your place alongside them. All you needed to do was play along. Because who wouldn’t want to be part of what they had? No matter how they treated you, no matter how you grew, they’d always think your feelings would remain the same.

But you did grow, you did change. And you realised Jimin was right. The gang wasn’t what you dreamed it was. It wasn’t your family, it wasn’t the only option you had. It didn’t want you. And now you didn’t want it.

Jungkook did most of the work because you weren’t stupid enough to be meeting the police when you were supposed to be looking into your father’s death. He did other things when he drifted off in the mornings on his own, but a lot of the time he was feeding information and planning how best to raid the gang. It was you who suggested that if you found out who the killer was you could line it all up, get the confrontation to be in a place the police could surround.

You knew it was a risk, had been told by everyone who knew what you were doing that it was a risk. They wouldn’t be able to get them all and even if they did, they wouldn’t charge them all. People would know it was you or would be able to connect the dots given long enough. It was a risk to your life and yet you still decided to do it.

After it all went down, the police gave you protection for a bit. Helped get you onto your feet, some money so you could afford a small but relatively safe flat and a rotation of plain clothed officers outside. But when weeks went by with no threats they were quick to decide it was a waste of their money and resources and you were safe. Sure, you helped them, you were key in them getting the evidence to bring the gang down. But the deal was always two sided, they always knew that there was something in it for you, even if that was some sick satisfaction in bringing down your own family.

Is it worse that you did all of this because of revenge, or would it have been worse if you’d been paid off by the police to do it?

And now it’s all done.

But was it worth it? All you have now is a crappy flat you share with Jungkook who you hardly see and Jimin who actively avoids you. A job that barely gets you by. A brother in jail because you put him there. A guilt that will stay with you forever.

No family, barely any friends. You’ve never felt so lonely.

Eyes still half closed from sleep; you look up to wish Jungkook a good morning. Only when you look up it’s not Jungkook you see.

The clattering and movement you heard was Jimin. The guy that lives with you but that you’ve only seen in passing or heard through walls in the past month. Now stood in front of you. Just like you he’s stood staring back at you, only rather than the shock and spark of joy you feel in seeing him, he only looks mildly annoyed back at you.

“Hi,” you say after a long pause, voice breathy even as you try to act normal.

He doesn’t reply, just stares at you for a second more before twisting to look back at the coffee he was making.

Ok, you think, taking a breath before you walk further into the room. The joy still remains, just a little dampened.

“Did you want food with that?” You ask. “I brought some pastries home yesterday from the café. They’re in the bread bin.”

You’re not even sure Jimin’s aware you work in a café, that that’s the wage that’s keeping you all a float, or at least is with the help of Jungkook. And now, Jimin doesn’t say anything or do anything to suggest he cares. His back muscles tense below his top, his shoulders hunched and his face looking resolutely down at the coffee machine.

Deciding he’s not going to give you anything else you move to the bread bin of your own accord. You know he hates you, know he’s probably wishing he weren’t here right now, but he is and you’re not going to let the opportunity pass.

“Well, I’m going to have one,” you mutter, still putting fake happiness into your tone as if to try and prove that this situation isn’t bothering you.

Your eyes keep flicking to Jimin when he’s no longer in your direct line of site. You can still hear him making the coffee and yet you’re worried he’ll disappear into thin air. You can’t blame him for the way he’s acting, part of you is annoyed at him, still hates him and yet you’re worried about him. It’s not good for him to be cooped up for so long, it’s not normal nor healthy. And yet you can’t get him to even look at you.

You wish Jungkook were here. He’d know what to do or say. And maybe Jimin would talk to him.

Pulling two plates out, you place a pastry on each. Awkwardly you turn and place one of them between you and Jimin. It’s not close to him, he’ll have to reach out and get it if he wants it. Worse than that, you imagine, is that he’ll have to turn back in your direction.

Sighing, the happiness getting harder to keep hold of, you decide that it’s not worth sticking around for. He doesn’t want you here. If you can give him anything, then at least you can do that.

“I’ll just,” you mutter, pausing only for a second before grabbing your plate and shuffling to the door. Words you want to say get lodged in your throat and you have to force yourself not to look back at him.

Maybe he is better off without you.

“The usual?”

A smile threatens to lift on the man’s lips. “Do I come here that often?”

“I think the question should be, am I that predictable?”

The man chuckles, his eyes dancing away from you before coming back when he’s controlled the noise. “Well, I already know the answer to that.”

“Black coffee and a croissant then?”

He hums, his eyes going to the counter which holds all the cakes as you start to type in his order.

“Which is your favourite?”

You pause and look at him, he waits with that same smile on his lips. You find your own eyes going to the cakes. No one’s asked that before, no one’s particularly interested in you. Sure, customers ask you questions and take an interest but there’s something about this guy. It’s not weird, just … different.

“Uh,” you pause, trying to keep the smile on your lips. “I like the lemon drizzle.”

He smiles at you, again not weird but something about it makes you uneasy. Especially when he just smiles and doesn’t say anything. You put it down to be an odd customer, maybe he’s lonely. Or maybe it’s you. So unused to someone being interested in you that you’re putting the blame on him rather than on yourself.

He moves to the end of the counter and watches as you prepare his coffee and then pick out a croissant.

“Here you go,” you plaster a smile on your lips as you hand over his coffee and pastry.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, eyes darting to your name badge and back.

You heart stutters as you watch him leave. Just a harmless man but you always read into things since leaving. Everyone you meet knows who you are, everyone who looks at you the wrong way wants you dead. Despite leaving the gang in your past, you can’t help but still live that way. Always defensive, always thinking the worst in people. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to shake it off.

“I have an idea,” Jungkook says it casually, but you can hear the note of edge in his voice. He’s expecting you to ask what the idea is but when you don’t enquire he’s forced to carry on. “So, uh, Colin at work mentioned that Ed might be leaving because his ex-contacted him, the one that moved to Scotland, and they were asking if –” Jungkook cuts himself off when he sees your face, realising he’s giving too much detail and not getting to the point. “Anyway, Ed’s leaving so I mentioned to my manager that I might know someone who’d be good for the job.”

You still don’t speak, you think you know what he’s saying from this, but you want to hear him spell it out. For a few seconds there’s a stalemate of silence, Jungkook not wanting to spell it out, you not wanting to assume.

“He needs to get out of the house, he needs to do something,” he’s finally turned to look at you, giving you his full attention.

“You don’t need to plead with me,” you say earning an eye roll. “He’s not going to take it.”

There’s a pause and when Jungkook talks his tone is hesitant, “but, you’ll still ask?”

You can read the meaning behind the words, you caused this, you need to sort it out. There’s no way to argue with that. You did create this mess and you dragged Jungkook into it. He’s at least done something to try and help out. It sounds like you have to do the rest.

“We can’t keep living like this. Only the two of us supporting all three of us. Only just scraping by. He needs to pull his –”

“I get it,” you cut him off. Gritting your teeth, you force your lips into a smile as you narrow your eyes at him. “I’ll ask.”

Jungkook waits, sizes you up as if he can read whether you’re going to do it or not. You’re not sure when your relationship became like this, stilted, forced. Maybe in the gaps between seeing each other. Or maybe when you dragged him over here just to blow everything up. Or maybe it was when he felt the expectation not to leave you, to stay with you and help you through this mess, ruining his own life as well as your own.

You miss him. But just like everything else in your life right now, you don’t know what to do to get him back. You can barely keep your own head above water, how are you supposed to think of anything else?

Taking a small breath, loosening your face so you’re not so tense, you say in a voice that’s more certain, “I’ll ask him.”

Jungkook’s features soften the same way yours do. He nods before walking towards you.

“He’ll come around,” he says, hand going to your shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’ll see you later.”

You swallow, nod even though he’s not looking at you and then mutter, “have a nice day.”

You don’t want to do this. Really don’t want to do this.

It’s just a door. All you have to do is reach a hand out, form a fist and knock. Simple. But it’s who might come to the door that terrifies you, what they might do when they answer the door, or more what they won’t do.

Taking a breath, you knock on the door.

You hear the footsteps, your heart pounding to the same beat they walk. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, Jimin stood staring expectantly at you. Voice caught in your throat it’s him that breaks the silence.

“Want a squash?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just brushes past you leaving you standing outside his door. Heart still pounding, blood swirling in your ears you take a second before following. Jimin’s already pouring an inch of squash into a pint glass when you get to the kitchen, no sight of a glass for you.

Stood like a spare part you watch Jimin’s back as he fills his glass with water and then takes a long gulp. Feeling awkward and conscious that you left this conversation until the last possible moment before you need to go to work, you head to the fridge. Almost unseeing you pick out the first thing your fingers land on.

Hip leaning on the counter, Jimin’s dark eyes follow you as you walk around the room, first for a plate, then for a chair at the small breakfast bar that couples as the only place to eat in the flat.

“You wanted to tell me something?” He asks the second you take your first bite of food.

Chewing slowly, you mull over the words while also not wanting to give him too much time to walk out and not speak to you again. It’s the first time it’s occurred to you that maybe Jimin already knows what this is about. It’s a small flat, the walls not exactly thick and you and Jungkook weren’t being careful to stop him overhearing the other day. The fact he might already know what you’re about to suggest only makes you more nervous.

“Jungkook mentioned there’s a job going at his place,” you speak to your food rather than Jimin but when he doesn’t reply you flick your eyes to look up at him.

The glass of squash is empty on the counter next to him. His arms crossed against his chest. His face still broody and eyes half lidded looking at you. You fight the urge to look away from him. There was once a time you took down a whole gang. You can take on Jimin.

“The hours aren’t ideal, but the pays ok,” your voice comes out steady, you’ve always been good at hiding your true feelings behind a mask of indifference. “Jungkook thinks he can get it for you, but he wanted to ask –”

“So why didn’t he?”

It surprises you, makes your heart ache a little how flatly he says it. Still, you hold yourself together. “Because he’s at work. He asked me to pass the message on.”

He hums, a short, unimpressed noise. A noise that makes you twist to take another bite of food. It tastes like sand in your mouth.

“Would you just say it?” You mutter, the ache caused by your heart making you hot headed. You look back at Jimin seeing it’s his time to be surprised. “You clearly have stuff you want to say. So would you just say it already?”

It doesn’t take much convincing. You can see one of his fingers tapping on his crossed arms, his jaw tight.

“You betrayed us, Y/N, why would I ever trust you again?”

“I betrayed you? Jimin, you were the one who always said you wanted out. I got you out.”

“At the cost of my best friend? At the cost of the people who I classed as my family losing everything? At the cost of me losing everything? You think I wanted that?”

It hurts and you don’t point out that he hasn’t lost you, that surely that’s something; because clearly it’s not. Clenching your teeth, you just focus on not showing him your emotions. You didn’t expect your decision to be popular, but you could have let him go down with the rest of them, you thought that would have amounted to something, you thought that would have confirmed some of your feelings you had for him were still there.

“You betrayed your own family, Y/N,” he’s looking at you as if he doesn’t recognise you and it breaks you that much more.

You didn’t want to fight with him. You expected him to be angry with you, to say things that upset you, you just thought you’d be able to take it better than you are. But it all hits you. The emotions long bottled inside you finally come crashing out.

“My family?” You bite, frowning at the words, your hurt boiling down into frustration. “What family, Jimin? Tell me when they ever treated me like family? Was it when they forced me out, or when they refused to welcome me back? Maybe it was when they failed to recognise the fact that even as a woman I could do as much as them?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t reply verbally. It tells you everything. He has no argument against anything you’ve just said. And yet he still defends them.

“I’m not expecting a thank you. I don’t expect you to necessarily forgive me, but come on, you need to move on at some point. I’m doing all of this, giving you a home, the least you can do is contribute a little.” Or just leave, you add in your head.

A nerve ticks in his jaw. Despite his words and the way he now looks at you, you still feel hope. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, but if he hated you that much he could have left by now. He’s not contributing anything to this household, but at least he’s still here.

Still, you worry about him. Despite your words, you don’t want him to leave. You hardly see him, and yet if he wasn’t here you think that would be your breaking point.

“Let me know what you want to do about the job,” you sigh the words as you stand from the table.

Taking the bowl to the sink you place it with the rest of the dirty dishes, knowing you’ll have to clean them later but not having the energy to do it now. With Jungkook working two jobs and Jimin clearly not wanting to be here it always falls on you. You try and not let it get to you but sometimes you wonder if all of this was a mistake. Maybe you should have stayed away. Maybe you should never have come back.

As you turn to leave Jimin speaks, stopping you.

“There’s just one thing I keep wondering,” you wait for him to say it, your features hard so as not to betray your feelings. “Why did you come back for me? Why did you get me out?”

Your focus is on the door rather than him. You’ve been expecting this, not least because you’ve been questioning it yourself. Even Jungkook brings it up at any opportunity he can.

“Because you wanted out,” you say and before you can think better of it, carry on. “And honestly, Jimin, at this point if you don’t know why, then you clearly don’t know me at all.”

Before he can come back with anything you carry on towards the door. You’ve got things you need to be doing, even if Jimin doesn’t, you’re trying to get back into a normal life.

“Let me know if you want that job.”

Your life becomes monotonous. A drag of waking up early to clean the flat, heading off to work and doing long shifts, coming home to a quiet house that is mess of dishes and clothes again, a storm left behind in Jungkook and Jimin’s wake. You don’t berate Jungkook, he’s doing so much for you that you can tolerate cleaning up after him. But some days that thought doesn’t make it any easier. You couldn’t complain to Jimin if you wanted to, still hardly ever see him.

It’s lonely, boring, a life you never thought you’d have. And yet here you are.

You carry on going only because of Jungkook and Jimin. Though you never see them, you feel like you’re why they’re here. If you hate this, then they surely hate it. You caused this, the least you could is not abandon them.

Slowly, you open up to people at work. Enough that you can have small conversations with them on breaks, but not enough that they know anything significant about you. They’re still more co-workers than friends. But it’s nice to have people in your life to talk to even if it is mainly about the weather and their lives.

It’s repetitive. Boring. Lonely. And you start to find the only thing that helps is a glass of wine in the evenings. Not much, but even the small amount of alcohol helps take the edge off. It helps your mind become quieter, helps the day feel less long, helps you actually look forward to something. It helps your heart stop aching. Helps you drift off to sleep a little easier.

“So, uh, I have to tell you something.”

“What?” You ask as you shove the jam covered slice of toast into your mouth, only half listening to Jungkook as you pour a cup of tea.

“Can you sit for a minute?”

“I have to get to the shop for opening.”

“Y/N,” he doesn’t say it sharply, but the tone he uses is still enough to get you to look at him. “It’ll only take a minute. Please, will you just sit?”

It does its job, you finally stop long enough to look at him. You hadn’t realised just how nervous he was. He’s holding it together but you can see it in his tense shoulders and stiff posture. Your nerves peak as you place your toast on a plate and stop pouring your tea. You don’t rush to sit down, your mind whirling with thoughts of what he could possibly be about to tell you.

“You’re worrying me,” you say when Jungkook doesn’t immediately spit it out.

“It’s nothing. Well, it’s not. But it’s good.”

“Ok?”

He pauses, the silence only increasing the sick feeling in your stomach, only increasing the amount of thoughts swimming around your head. You’re about to tell him to hurry up but he beats you to it.

“I met someone,” he rushes to say. “A girl. And she’s asking me to move in with her.”

A wave of emotions run over you. Surprise, since when did that happen? Anger, because moving in with someone is a big thing, which means he must have been hiding this from you for a while. Hurt, that he didn’t talk to you, that he hid this from you. And a sad happiness for him. Because although he looks worried you can see the hope and desire there, he wants your approval for this but worries you won’t give it.

“Who is she?”

“A girl I met at work.”

“And you know her well enough to be moving in together?”

He’s flushed but keeps a straight face. “I met her my first day, but we only started dating a few months ago.”

Months. Your heart drops with the information. Because he never told you about it, because he has more of a life than you, because it only solidifies how lonely you are. He’s your family and he’s only telling you about his girlfriend, someone he likes enough to be moving in with, months after they met. You once would have been the first person he told. He once would have been too excited to keep the information from you. You once would have been too observant for him to even try and hide something like this from you.

And just like that, more walls of your life crumble around you.

Heart beating in your throat you try not to show him your emotions. It’s been easy to hide how depressed you’ve felt recently from him, more because you hardly see him, but you’re also a master at hiding behind a mask. Now, you have to turn away from him to hide your face, a sure fire way to tell him just how you feel.

Predictably, you hear him take a step in your direction, “it won’t change –”

“I know,” you curse your tight throat as another give away.

“I’ll come back all the time,” he adds. “I can still help you with bills.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say before taking a deep breath and looking back at him, forcing a smile onto your lips. “I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t look convinced. But before he can continue to protest you carry on.

“You don’t need my permission.”

“But I’d like it,” he says, slipping into your old roles. “There’s not enough room for me here and we can’t all live here together forever. But I also don’t want to leave you here. I know you’re struggling but we all need to move on from what’s happened.”

Move on from the mess you made. Move on from the betrayal. If everything had gone to plan you would have moved on, or at least Jungkook would have. Jimin would have been behind bars. You would have been on your own wallowing the same way you are now. Maybe there was a small part of you that hoped you’d be able to move on too, to make something of yourself, to start a new life. But a large part of you knew this would be your life. You at least imagined you’d be able to pretend, push your thoughts down deep, try to not think of your brother and Jimin locked up all day, of Jungkook moving on.

Jungkook has only stuck around so long because you changed plans, because you went back for Jimin. Jungkook deserves to go live his life.

“You think leaving me and Jimin here alone is a good thing?” You feel guilty as soon as you say the words.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he says, “maybe it’ll help bring you closer.”

You glare at him. “He barely leaves his room.”

“Maybe you should force him out a bit more.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

You regret the words instantly, but even though Jungkook has time to flash you a cheeky smile, you don’t have time to interrupt him before he says, “I can think of several things that you could do to get Jimin out of that room.”

“Gross,” you say flatly, pushing past him. “If you’re saying all of this to get me to tell you to leave, it’s working.”

There’s a small chuckle behind you, but there’s no smile on your lips now. Your heart still thumps in your throat.

You’re happy for him, really you are. It’s just sad. You can’t help but feel like everyone’s slipping away from you.

It’s no good, with Jungkook gone it fixes nothing between you and Jimin.

Jungkook visits still but it’s not the same. While he’s getting on with his life, creating something new, you’re still stuck. In a different place, under different circumstances but going nowhere. And now you don’t have anyone.

You grow lonelier. Hardly seeing anyone besides the people at work. Inside your own head more only makes things worse. Gives you time to remember how things used to be, how different it is now. It makes you remember the smiles. Because life wasn’t always bad, there were good times.

And you ruined it all.

You brought this on you. You couldn’t get over the fact your family didn’t want you and you destroyed it for everyone. There’s no pretending that there wasn’t good from it, that you were helping people as much as ruining many people’s lives. But it was selfish, you did it all for you. And now you can’t help but wonder if it was worth it.

To be in this tiny flat, barely getting by. With Jungkook moved out and moving on. Hardly seeing Jimin, the little you do he says little and avoids your gaze. Your brother in jail. You have no one.

And still you get up every day. Still you clean and cook and go to work. You try to carry on with your life as best you can. Try to push the bad thoughts away. Try and pretend life is normal.

Jimin’s door is open when you get home. It feels like slow motion as you walk to the door frame and creak open the door and peer in. Empty.

This is it, you think, he’s finally left me.

Your eyes glance around the small room. A single bed, blue sheets crisp and neatly tucked in. Cream shades pulled down over the window to block the night out. A wooden chest of draws leaving enough room to shuffle between it and the bed. A small desk, only big enough for a lamp and laptop. No personality. No indication of who lives here. No attachment, ready to be left at the drop of a hat.

He wouldn’t leave, would he? Part of you thinks he would. But the other part thinks of his room, all of his stuff still sat in there and thinks he wouldn’t leave without it. Another part hopes he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

Maybe he’s just gone out, the first time you’ve caught him doing that, you expect because he only ever risks leaving his room when he knows he won’t see you. But Jungkook text you earlier letting you know Jimin finally accepted the job, so maybe this is the start of him getting back into himself.

You know it’s your insecurities talking. Because though you don’t doubt Jimin doesn’t wants to be here, you also know he has nowhere else to go. He doesn’t have the money from his job yet, he’s still having to rely on you.

You walk back to the kitchen, get as far as opening the fridge to see what you can find to eat for tea. But you stop there. A thought occurs to you.

It’s stupid really. He’s probably just gone out for food or to the pub. But you can’t stop thinking about it when the thought occurs.

What if he’s on the roof?

He won’t be. And even if he is what would that mean? That he wanted some fresh air probably. But he won’t even be there.

You take a box of leftovers out of the fridge walk over and place it by the microwave but get no further.

What if he’s on the roof?

The thought takes you over enough that you end up forgetting about food and instead head to the front door again. You don’t even put your coat on as you head up the stairs rather than down them. You feel a little out of breath when you reach the steel door at the top. Pausing you take a breath, try to wrangle your thumping heart into a box, settle your expectations so that you won’t be disappointed.

The door feels cold as you push it open. Your heart plumets when you first see empty space, but then soars when you see a figure huddled off to the side. You can’t stop the words escaping your mouth.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Jimin looks across at you, his eyes are heavy and make him look like he’s had little sleep. His smile is small and compared to his normal smile does nothing to light up his face. But it’s still a smile.

“It’s not quite the same as our roof.”

Our roof. The words make your breath catch in your throat. Looking out at the night to hide your emotions at the words you walk towards him until you can rest on the ledge next to him.

“The views not as good,” you agree after a few seconds of silence.

He hums in reply, a silence falling over the two of you. It’s not just the view that’s different, it’s everything. The silence eats at you in a way it never has before when you’ve been with Jimin. He’s lost his spark and you can’t help but blame yourself for that. You’ve changed his life, whether or not it’s for the better you made such a monumental decision on his behalf without considering how it might affect him. While you’re in no doubt he would have done the same for you, you can’t help but let the decision eat away at you. Should you have done it? Would it be better if you hadn’t dragged him away under false pretence? Would it be easier for him to hate you if he wasn’t sat next to you?

“Jungkook told me you’d accepted the job at the club,” you say meekly, not wanting to rock the boat too much. “I’m happy for you.”

Jimin doesn’t respond, doesn’t hum or nod like he normally does when you talk to him these days. And like always you try and pretend it doesn’t hurt you.

“And hey, maybe it’ll mean you can start paying towards the bills.”

As soon as the words leave your lips you regret them. Even though you say them in a light-hearted tone, clearly as a joke, you know Jimin won’t hear it that way. He’s probably thinking that you mean it, that you want him to give you money, that you want him gone. All of which is the opposite of what you want.

“Sorry I –”

“No,” he cuts you off with a mutter. “You’re right, I should be doing more.”

Well shit.

That was the last thing you expected him to say, which effectively stops your brain from coming up with any other words.

The two of you stand in silence looking out at the city. The noise of the road and some young people shouting and laughing reaches you from the street below. Part of you hates this, but another part doesn’t want to do anything to stop it. At least Jimin’s here. At least you’re not entirely alone. At least you’re not fighting.

“I went to see Yoongi.”

Your head snaps his way. When did he do that? How had he done that? The questions forms in your head but your mouth is unable to create the words. Jimin doesn’t look at you, his features not showing any emotions. He’s impossible to read. But, despite your silence, he must know what questions you want to ask as he goes on to answer them all.

“I found out where they locked him up and requested visitation. I wasn’t expecting it to be accepted, I thought the second they had him they’d throw away the key. It took a few weeks, but my request was accepted.”

Your breath becomes laboured. Your brain working faster than Jimin can get the words out, trying to second guess what he’s going to say.

In the pause after his words he finally turns to look at you. His eyes dart around your face as if trying to remember you. You wait, give him time to say whatever it is he’s thinking. Your heart hoping, but your mind reminding you how much you’ve hoped in the past and how every time Jimin’s let you down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now it’s you avoiding his face. The words, the way he says them and the gentle yet pained look on his face makes your throat dry. You can’t answer him. You don’t know what he wants you to say, because even if you had an answer, you don’t know how it would make it better.

“You let me think this whole time you’d locked him up,” he carries on. “But you made a plea deal for him.”

It’s not a question but you still find yourself nodding in confirmation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He repeats.

“I wasn’t sure he’d accept the deal,” you say, not the real answer. After a beat you add, “would it have changed anything?”

“Maybe,” he mutters but you know it’s a lie. It wouldn’t have changed anything, it’s one of the reasons you never said anything.

The silence drags out. Both of you staring out at the world below you, cars honking, people getting on with their lives, buildings standing steady and tall. The world hasn’t changed, it’s still going on. It doesn’t provide any comfort. All these weeks you’ve been struggling, silently getting on with life and Jimin’s been seeing Yoongi and clinging onto your old life, blaming you for everything.

You’ve had enough of it.

“You know,” you say, ignoring the fact that your voice his raspy and full of emotion. “It still hurts that you don’t believe in me. It’s stupid, because you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but you really have a knack for making be me believe you. I could have told you about Yoongi, but would that have changed anything? You’re only saying all this because you feel guilty, but you’ve always thought the bare minimum of me until I’ve proved the opposite. I’ve always had to work for your approval, Jimin, no matter what you want to think. And it’s stupid, but it still breaks me when you automatically think the worst of me. After everything I’ve done to show you the opposite.” You pause, still unable to look at Jimin, unable to see what he must be thinking. “I didn’t know he would accept it,” you mutter, voice once again thick. “I set up the option for him to work with the police, but I didn’t think he’d actually take it.”

You push away from the wall and as you walk away Jimin doesn’t try to stop you. His head twists to look back out across the city, his body slumping a little deeper into the wall as you turn to walk back to the flat.

[apple---cider---vinegar]

By your side

Summary: the 5 times Nikolai was by your side and the one time he wasn't

Tags: hanahaki au, enemies to lovers, childhood friends to lovers.

WC: 1400 words.

(i)

You're old enough to understand him but not old enough to know him. That's the age at which you learn to hate Nikolai Lantsov.

He sits in your spot in the kitchen, looking for all the world as though he were heartbroken and tired.

It was your spot because it kept you away from the work and bustle while giving you a perfect view of your mother - her being one of the many cooks/pastry chefs in the palace.

It was something you liked to brag about when other kids tried to be mean - that your mum was a valued servant amongst royalty but you never told them that she'd sneak you the badly shaped pastries or any leftover filling. That would lead to theft or worse - accusations of treason.

You were a child. Not an idiot.

So when you walk in with marbles in your hand and see the boy for the first time, you understand that he's the kid that stays indoors.

He looked like the kind of weed that kept his clothes clean on purpose.

No wonder his mother trusted him with clothing like that!

So when you sit in a different corner, you've already grown to hate the prince and when your mum gives him a well made pastry and you none, you hate him even more.

Nikolai knows exactly what to make of you as you sit away and send him glares and he hates you for it.

You're old enough to understand the second prince of Ravka but not old enough to know him; that's the age at which you learn to hate him

(ii)

You take to calling him "the delicate darling" when your mum insists on fussing over the boy.

It's true that he never came back to the kitchens but it's also true that the isolated instance was enough for your mum to take to him and worry about him.

You never call him that to anyone but your mum as the joke of the name was in calling him 'delicate' and no member of royalty was ever to be spoken of in terms of frailty. It could lead to you being imprisoned but that doesn't stop you from committing treason in the privacy of your mum's company.

When she peers around the door in an empty room and rushes to your side, you know there's been talk.

There had been talk. Of Nikolai.

Everyone had just found out of why the second prince had been so othered his whole life.

He was a bastard child.

No one knew what to make of the news but no one was surprised either. In hindsight, it seemed something too obvious.

What else could justify the constant sobriety where Vasili was so blatant and spoilt?

You stop calling him "the delicate darling".

Your mum notices.

(iii)

The second prince of Ravka; Nikolai is beautiful.

You're his personal servant and know of his reclusive tendencies better than anyone could hope to.

You spend hours and days carrying and fetching inks, pens, books, papers, maps and any snacks within palace bounds but there are days where you can't grudge his highness.

Some days, he was too beautiful to be blamed.

You had easily imagined him as a painting held on the walls for the centuries to come but now you could imagine him as someone the young ones would gawk at. Because you'd gawked at him.

Just once and then you'd made sure to stomp on the urge but you had doen it -much to your humiliation.

His highness had decided to go horse riding, making his mother weep for joy and call him 'wise'.

Truly. A family of idiots.

You'd gotten his things and brought the horse to hime. With practice, he took the reins and got onto the dreadful thing and though there had been no talk, he'd made you still.

The Prince; Nikolai was beautiful.

The navy against his skin.

His dark eyes against his fair hair.

He might as well have been a sculpture!

He rushes away and you're left standing there with a knot in your sternum.

Nikolai? was beautiful?

Nikolai was beautiful.

You shove the knot away and keep it shoved away.

(iv)

He befriends you.

or, in earnest, he let you sit down while he spent hours poring overlooks in the library.

You don't lounge like he does but at least you're sitting down.

Thenhe let's you take blank papers, then from his tea tray and then from his pile of foreign candy.

You don't dare to talk to him. It was far beyond you to risk your job but Nikolai was either unaware or unbothered of his treatment towards you.

It's one of the many days with his reclusive tendencies when he asks you something.

"What is it like? To go out with people while doing your duties?"

"I don't understand"

He notices the lack of judgement. Searching your face, he elaborates "My mother insists I befriend other royals but I don't see the charm of it? Wouldn't I be chattering needlessly then? What difference does it make when I don't like them?".

Any opinion here would be treason. To a prince no less.

You keep quiet.

He sighs. "I understand. What is it that your friends do that you can't do at work? Besides being honest."

It's hard to keep your faces still.

Neither if you succeeds.

"Nicknames. We have nicknames while we go about our duties."

"Call me Kolya"

You can't tell if he means to ask you that as a servant or a confidant.

"At least now; in private. Please?"

You hope he doesn't insist after this, so you indulge him.

"Kolya"

He's beautiful when he smiles.

(v)

Kolya.

A single invented word.

Kolya.

Somethjng he hasn't been called before.

Kolya.

Somethkng melodic.

Kolya.

A gift from a friend.

Kolya.

Him.

He wants to lock the word and keep it with him.

Tie it to a locket, maybe.

Burn it into his inner arm.

Something, anything to keep it safe.

"Kolya"

You don't miss that he fights a smile.

"Yes?".

Ever the prince.

"Why flying?" You keep your voice hushed and words restrained. He doesn't

"Well, corny as it is - I value my freedom"

"Flying is.... freedom?"

How could a prince long for freedom?

"You understand. Don't you?"

And now, you do understand.

The whispered 'sobachka'.

The backhanded compliments.

The snobbery that seemed to keep him apart.

The insistence on his 'blood rights'.

Freedom.

You hadn't thought of this before. Hadn't thought of having an entire world and no one to split with.

"Isn't the sky lonely too?"

You face away and school your expressions.

Someone had rustled in.

(vi)

He runs away.

Kolya runs away and all you feel is pride.

He does it on the pretext of exploring the forest for a few days.

He packs his necessities. Gets on a horse. And he's gone.

You know because he's told you so and asked of your help and because he said he'd leave you something in the forest.

Its as dusk falls that you set out on his trail.

You know that he won't risk your job, so, you agree.

In a few days, soldiers would be sent our with lanterns with the hopes that the prince was lost and lying face first and drunk in the dirt.

It would be bittersweet to be the only one who knew.

Right now, you follow his trail deep into the woods and find your gift.

It was a pouch of the foreign candy you loved more than Nikolai did.

Holding the tattered pouch, made precisely to look as unlike royalty as possible, you feel something swell in your sternum and up your lungs.

You don't cry.

You cough up petals.