Due to some personal things going on off screen, I'm going on a hiatus. I'll still be online, but I won't be posting any fics for a while. I'll be working on fics behind the scenes, and hopefully have some stocked up to post for when I return.
But because of issues going on on my end, I won't have time to crack down on fics to post for this account.
cw: depressed!reader, depression episode, isolation, withdrawn, implied/reference to self-sabotaging, discussions of suicide (no self-harm or suicide, it's part of a conversation), hurt/comfort, reader x Missa (can be read as platonic or romantic).
wc: 2713
side note: this is another vent for me, so this is based on my own depressive episodes, I don't speak for everyone, so please keep that in mind if you continue reading.
p.s: this is my first post of Missa, if you don't like, at least don't be a dick about it. thank you.
---------------
You felt it coming on during a party.
Every one of your friends in one room; drinks that left you feeling buzzed and hazy, music so loud in your ears but everyone's laughter and wild conversations that seemed impossible to focus on all at once.
Everything around you felt good. You felt good. You felt... steady.
Then you notice that; the steadiness, the good you're surrounded by, the friends you've made, how happy everyone was around you, with you...
And once you notice this, the steadiness declines rapidly. Your skin didn't feel like your own, but a lie you were living in. You felt like an imposter.
You slipped out of the party without a sound, no drama, no announcement, you just went for a walk, a familiar numbness begins to take over, a numbness you have spent years fighting and can't seem to shake fully.
You were meant with a barrage of texts when you arrived home.
you
-- hey, sorry for just leaving like that, I thought I was gonna throw up XD sent 12:24 am
But even as you sent that, your response felt hollow to yourself.
From that point on, the isolation began to creep in steadily; you begin to decline opportunities to see everyone when you could, always with an excuse ready:
"I have a massive migraine."
"I'm swamped with work, can we do a range check?"
"Shit, sorry, man, I already got plans going on, but you guys have fun, okay?"
The thing is, you hadn't meant to isolate, you just didn't want to go out anymore, you didn't want to force a smile with the people that matter while on the inside, you feel as though you don't belong, like you don't deserve this life.
You didn't want to deal with the series of questions that would come if one little slip up got back to any of them.
"You okay?"
That was one of the questions you were hoping to avoid being asked, and it had been asked by Missa during your last visit to his place. You're on his couch, wearing his hoodie, popcorn bowl in your lap from when you both were watching a movie.
You managed a smile, though it felt heavy and forced, nodding your head as you replied, "Yeah, I just didn't get much sleep last night."
Before he could question further, his phone rang. He lets out an audible groan, muttering something in Spanish about needing to take the call before stepping out of the room.
That's when you acted, because you knew the numbness was getting worse.
You pulled his hoodie off of you, getting chilled immediately as the room was colder without it on. You took the time to fold the fabric neatly, going through the motions, before reaching into your bag for a post-it note you could write two simple words: "Thank you."
You left the hoodie folded neatly on the end of his bed, post-it note tucked inside the hood, and acted normal for the remainder of your time there.
The moment you left his place, you turned off your phone.
You went straight home, letting your bag hit the floor beside your door. You locked the door, sliding the deadbolt into place before turning around and just... staring. You stared at your own home, the space you had cultivated to feel safe, to feel good and steady.
And you felt nothing. Nothing and everything all at once.
You made your way to your room, and crawled into bed, barely kicking off your shoes before yanking the covers over you.
———
That was nearly a week ago.
You hadn't turned your phone back on, multiple texts and phone calls had been missed but you never bothered to check them.
You alternated between staring at your ceiling, questioning everything and nothing, or simply staring. Or, you would sometimes get out of bed and walk into the kitchen, telling yourself you're going to pull yourself out of this episode. But then you just stare at the contents of your fridge and feel no hunger or desire to eat.
So you wind up going back to bed.
However, things changed around the one week mark.
Staring up at your ceiling, still dressed in the same clothes you last wore out, covers half on, half off, you hear it; a knock at your front door.
You were originally going to ignore it, assuming it was one of three people: either someone from the post-office, your landlord questioning where the rent is, or your nosy neighbor who wants to ask you if you've seen the cat that snuck out of her house again, while simultaneously questioning your love life.
But the knocking became insistent.
It wasn't hard knocking, it was soft but rapid, like they didn't want to make themselves sound like the police but at the same time, weren't leaving anytime soon.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you push the remainder of your covers away. Your feet touch the floor and as you stand, your legs feel a dull ache from barely leaving your bed for a whole week.
As you walk to the front door, you keep a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the excess dragging behind you as you skid your feet against the floor.
You probably should have looked through the peephole before opening the door; to at least prepare yourself for whoever it was, whether it was familiar or a stranger.
But you didn't see a stranger.
You didn't see the delivery man, or your nosy neighbor, or your landlord, not even the escapee cat.
The chain from the deadbolt remains as your divider as you stare at him through the door cracked open. There's no question that you looked awful, your hair was a mess, unwashed and unkept, you clearly hadn't changed your clothes, you looked like you hadn't slept despite being in bed all week.
You thought about closing the door in his face, to solidify the gap you were trying to make, to chase him away so he didn't have to be burdened with everything that was wrong with you, or worse; your depression spreading to him like a disease.
But selfishness won in the end, and you closed the door only to unlatch the deadbolt and open the door wider for him to come in.
Missa said nothing at first, just walked inside and shut the door softly behind him, sucking in a deep breath. His eyes scanned you, taking in the blanket wrapped around you, the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin.
He even reaches out and places a hand on your forehead to check for a fever, only to find none.
Then his eyes looked around the both of you, noting how the vibe of your place felt off, what once felt warm and inviting now felt hollow and unkept; not messy, perhaps the word better fit for this is unlived.
"... You weren't answering your phone," Missa finally spoke, his voice quiet. "'Got worried when my calls kept getting sent to voicemail."
"M'phone' been off." Even your voice sounds awful after not speaking for a week; raw and hoarse.
"Mh," He hums in response, pulling his hand away from your forehead finally. "’You sick?"
You shook your head. "Just tired." You tell him, just like the last time he asked you something. "I'm okay."
"No, you're not." Missa shook his head, expression unreadable.
And you weren't sure how you felt about him calling you out like that; how you felt about being... seen by someone, someone who was seeing past the smiles and the vibe, and just seeing you; seeing the raw, uncut version of you.
You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You didn't have it in you to correct him, to pretend, to force a smile.
"... Why are you here, Missa?" You finally ask, head tilting as you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders.
He raised a brow. "I could ask you the same thing."
"I live here."
"As a human or as a ghost?" You wince at his question, knowing it was rhetorical, but it still hits a nerve. Missa breathes out heavily. "... go take a shower, I'm ordering us food."
"Mis—"
"You're not sending me away," He states, his stubborn nature kicking in, and he could be very stubborn when he wants to be. "I won't let you. You're not fine, and I refuse to let you be not fine by yourself. Now go shower, come out smelling like that fruity-mango shit you like so much, and I'll have our usuals ordered and on the way so we can watch Ginny & Georgia. Got it?"
You want to rebuttal, to tell him to get out while he can before you drag him down too. But when you take in his expression now, how his jaw clenched, like he wanted to say something but was holding it back, you could only sigh.
You went back upstairs without another word to find something decent but comfortable to change into before taking a shower for the first time all week.
———
Physically, you did feel a bit better once you stepped out of the shower, but the numbness was still there, strong and gripping tight.
You even went through the motion of brushing your teeth, hair still damp from your shower, a hoodie two sizes two big hanging off of you. You stare at your reflection, and don't even recognize the person staring back at you.
You were stalling. You didn't want to go back downstairs, didn't want to be questioned, didn't have it in you to give any answers. You never wanted people to see you like this, that was the whole point of isolating yourself.
But you knew that Missa would just come upstairs if you didn't go down.
So, about thirty or maybe forty minutes after you went upstairs to shower, you slowly made your way back down, hair now washed, teeth brushed, clothes clean.
And there he was, sitting on your couch, scrolling on his phone. The lights were on, which made the room blinding to you.
You didn't approach, didn't make yourself known, just lingered in the doorway watching him. What were you supposed to say? Tell him to leave? Find a way to make him hate you so he didn't come back and get dragged down with you?
He did look up from his phone and see you, but he said nothing. He observed, taking in you physically; your hair was still damp but brushed through, you finally changed out of your clothes from the last time you saw him, but you still looked exhausted.
But he didn't comment, he didn't judge, just grabbed the remote to start playing Ginny & Georgia while they waited for their food to arrive.
You sat down on the other side of the couch. You didn't want to get close to him, not now, not while you were like this.
But his presence was breaking through the numbness, ever so slowly.
———
You're four episodes into the first season, your food has long since been delivered.
"... You remind me of Marcus," Missa finally spoke up, eyes never leaving the screen. "Minus the alcohol addiction."
"Who says alcohol isn't included?"
He glanced over at you, and gave you a look that said "Don't push it." So you don't.
As the episode comes to an end, he pauses at the beginning of episode five, turning to look at you, one leg tucked under him.
"I saw the note." He admits, watching your face. "The one you left in my hoodie."
You don't comment, and he takes that as a sign to continue.
"When you didn't answer my texts, and when my calls started going to voicemail, I thought..." He trails off, unsure if saying it out loud would just confirm his worst fears. "And now seeing you like this, I can't help but wonder if I'm right or not."
You bite the inside of your cheeks, unfolding your arms from where they were crossed over your chest, picking a loose thread on your blanket. "What do you want me to say?" You finally ask. "That I was gonna hurt myself or something?"
Missa didn't respond, which makes you sigh.
"That note wasn't a goodbye letter or anything like that," You state, "I wasn't leaving with the intention of offing myself, Missa."
"Then why did you—?"
"I have... episodes," You struggle to say, your lips pressing together in a thin line, eyes staring down at your laps. "Don't worry, I'm not suicidal or anything like that... I guess you could call it imposter syndrome, though."
"Imposter syndrome?"
"It's where a person feels like the things they have in their life are something or someone they don't deserve; like an imposter, living a lie..." You sigh heavily, tossing your head back, eyes locking onto your ceiling. "Been dealing with this my whole life, that's why when we first met, I didn't have many friends, I pushed people away. And I push, and push, and push, because I feel like I don't deserve anything good in my life."
"Why?" Missa asks, voice quieter.
You shrug. "I don't know," You tell him, eyes still on the ceiling. "I've done it for as long as I can remember... maybe it's just the way I'm wired."
"Why didn't you say anything? Why just leave?"
"And bring down the vibe?" You look down toward him. "I don't like making people worry, Missa."
"But you did." He insists, scooting closer to you. "That note, you not answering your phone, that made me worry. And it's not just me, you ghosted everyone; Alex was thinking about calling the police to have them do a wellness check on you, and just before I drove down here, Seb was talking about breaking in just to make sure you were alive; we worried."
Your throat closes up at that, eyes going down to your lap again.
"The whole point of pushing you guys away was to avoid that."
"Why? Why would that make us not worry?"
"Because, you deserve better than putting up with my depressed ass, all of you do." You snap a little. "I don't want to have to nag you guys for reassurance every time I feel like I'm living a lie. That's not fair to you."
He shook his head. "Maybe, but I'd rather not be fair then you leaving me a "thank you" note in my hoodie and you shutting off your phone for a full week, making me wonder if the next time any of us see you is at an open casket." Missa moved closer, your knees almost touching. "... I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't opened the door."
Your shoulders sag, guilt rising. "I'm depressed, yes, but not that depressed," You insist, extending a hand out to take his. "... I just thought it would be easier to let you guys go then drag you down with me."
"Drag us down— drag me down, I don't care."
You shake your head, "I'll never forgive myself if I do."
He reaches across the grab, gripping your chin softly and making you look him in the eye as he speaks. "Well, too bad, I already forgive you, for all of it."
The tightness in your throat worsens, and you swallow hard. "... If you make me cry, I will tell the world that you're a furry."
Missa cracks a smile. "The fans will love that bit." He squeezes your hand, and you give in, letting him pull you into a hug.
You let out a shaky breath, arms wrapping around his shoulders. "I'm sorry." You whisper, and his arms tighten around you.
"Don't be, just talk to me text time." He says, rubbing a hand up and down your back. "Or, any of us."
You didn't resume Ginny & Georgia, you wound up laying on his chest for a while afterwards, feeling one hand running through your hair, the other on your back, his thumb making small circular motions against the tense portion of your shoulder blades.
The numbness didn't fade away completely, it never does. But he does break through it, albeit a little.
And you're not wasting time stuck here like me... ( snippet )
cw: depressed!reader, depression episode, isolation, withdrawn, implied/reference to self-sabotaging, discussions of suicide (no self-harm or suicide, it's part of a conversation), hurt/comfort, reader x Missa (can be read as platonic or romantic).
official wc: 2713
side note: sneak peak below the break, also this will be my first Missa post.
edit: forgot to add, I will be posting this tonight <3
---------------
The thing is, you hadn't meant to isolate, you just didn't want to go out anymore, you didn't want to force a smile with the people that matter while on the inside, you feel as though you don't belong, like you don't deserve this life.
You didn't want to deal with the series of questions that would come if one little slip up got back to any of them.
"You okay?"
That was one of the questions you were hoping to avoid being asked, and it had been asked by Missa during your last visit to his place. You're on his couch, wearing his hoodie, popcorn bowl in your lap from when you both were watching a movie.
You managed a smile, though it felt heavy and forced, nodding your head as you replied, "Yeah, I just didn't get much sleep last night."
Before he could question further, his phone rang. He lets out an audible groan, muttering something in Spanish about needing to take the call before stepping out of the room.
That's when you acted, because you knew the numbness was getting worse.
You pulled his hoodie off of you, getting chilled immediately as the room was colder without it on. You took the time to fold the fabric neatly, going through the motions, before reaching into your bag for a post-it note you could write two simple words: "Thank you."
You left the hoodie folded neatly on the end of his bed, post-it note tucked inside the hood, and acted normal for the remainder of your time there.
The moment you left his place, you turned off your phone.
[ no song this time around, couldn't find one that fits this ]
cw: fluff, inebriated!reader, calling while drunk, reader x Q, feat. Missa and Roier.
wc: 910
side note: wrote this late at night, barely any proofreading, so if there are any mistakes... no there ain't.
p.s: this is my first time including Roier in my posts, and I have a few more involving/about him I'm working on, is calling him Seb okay, or do I call him Sebas?
---------------
They hadn't been live for long, maybe an hour or two at most. The three of them were in Alex's kitchen for a cooking stream at an ungodly hour in the middle of the night. Alex's hands were covered in pie dough that was sticking to his fingers like cement drying against his skin, Missa was at the sink with him, trying to help him get the dough off of his hands, while Seb was reading chat.
Then Alex's phone began to ring on the counter, and Alex immediately knew that it was you, since he had a specific ring tone for you.
"Hey, could you pick that up, Roier?" Alex asks, as he obviously couldn't do it himself.
Seb grabbed Alex's phone and took one look at your contact before answering on the fourth ring. "Yo—"
"Hey, papi."
Dead silence.
Chat blew up, Seb's jaw hit the floor, Missa looked like he was about to drop to the floor while trying not to laugh, and Alex...
Well, Alex slowly turned toward Seb, pie dough mostly washed off now. Missa, however, was the one who broke the silence. "... Ayo, what the—"
The sound of you cackling comes through the speaker. "Yeah, I got no clue where that came from." You giggle before cursing under your breath, the sound of something falling comes from your end.
Seb raises a brow, "Hey, hermoso, what's going on over there?" He asks while reaching over to put the stream on mute.
While Missa hands Alex a towel to dry his hands, you replied. "I'm plastered," You sigh dramatically. "I was compelled to go out tonight."
"Were you held at gunpoint?"
"I might as well have been, I was forced around... ugh, people." Alex's shoulders shook with a suppressed laugh as he had the mental image of you visibly shuttering as you said that.
Alex sat down as Seb set the phone down on the counter, "Okay, and why are you drunk, exactly?" Alex asks.
"Well, my friend got promoted at work, so we went out to celebrate... it was only a few shots and our usuals until someone shouted "free shots for everyone,"
"Right... and where are you right now?" Alex asks.
"Just got home," You answer, and his shoulders sag in relief.
"Okay, now march your ass into the kitchen and grab a shit ton of water for you."
"... But I don't want shit in my water, 'Lex."
Alex ran a hand over his face while Seb and Missa leaned on each other, holding back laughs. Alex shot them both looks, trying not to laugh. "No, cariño, just water, now shitty water. You're gonna have a hangover in the morning."
"Pfft, ‘I strong."
"’You strong?"
"’I strong."
"Ah, gotcha. ‘Still need water." He hears you groan, and he can only imagine the dramatic eyeroll you were giving. "Don't be a hypocrite, you always get on our cases when we go out drinking, someone's gotta be on yours."
"We?"
"Cariño, did you forget that Missa, Roier and I are streaming?"
Silence.
"... oh shit, you're live."
"Yep."
"And I just called you "papi" in front of people."
"Well, actually, you called Roier "papi" in front of people, he answered for me."
"... Okay, so I'm gonna go take a cold shower, scream into the void, never look Seb in the eye again—" At that, Seb and Missa broke into laughing fits, "And I'm never drinking again, putting all social media on private, and I'm never showing my face in public—"
"Aye, aye, it's okay—"
"And I'm gonna change my name, dye my hair— actually, I'll just go bald, where are my clippers?"
"Babe, no!" Alex laughed. "Don't chop your hair while you're drunk, you'll hate yourself in the morning."
"Jokes on you, I'm going to hate myself in the morning regardless."
"Oh my— Okay, don't touch the clippers, drink lots of water, or so help me, I will break every speed limit to get to your house."
"Do it, no balls."
"That's not what I overheard the last time you came over with me and Roier here." Missa adds, Alex's face reddens. "What? You both were loud!"
"... Missa, you're gonna die old and alone, surrounded by cats— wait, no, you like cats... you'll die old and alone, surrounded by hamsters that eat through everything you own, that use you like their personal hamster tree."
"Go to bed!" Alex's face, once red from embarrassment from Missa's comment, was now red from laughter.
"Ugh, fine, I guess I'll just—"
Alex snatched the phone off the counter and took you off speaker, bringing the phone up to his ear in time to hear you say something, something that made his face redden further. "... You are evil." He sighs, unable to suppress the grin on his face. "Go to bed... goodnight, cariño."
The call ends, and as Alex lowers his phone, he looks at Missa and Seb, who were dying from laughter.
He musters up his most serious expression and tone. "We never speak of this to her face."
"Dude—"
"And, we never bring up the whole "papi" thing, got it?"
Missa held his hands up in a placating gesture. But Seb had to add one more jab before they dropped the subject and unmute the stream: "... So, you're into her calling you "papi" — Aye, aye, ¿por qué te ruborizas, gilipollas?"
Alex reaches over, grabbing a random towel off the counter and smacks Seb with it, face redder than ever.
I have quite a lot of hurt/comfort fics in my W.I.Ps right now, I also have some stuff I'm working on for Roier, and now I'm working on one for Missa to.
This is just an insight of how my brain operates: absolutely scattered.
okay so, working on a potential multi-chapter fic rn, and quick question for those of you that like readerxchar content, do you guys prefer reading in first person or third person?
(note: the perspective of this story is the reader's perspective regardless)
so no post for this weekend unfortunately, as I have been very busy offline, I have a lot of unfinished posts I need to work on, and my arms are killing me from this past week.
I will hopefully have one or two things ready to post for next week (hopefully the weekend if I can help it).
cw: Hurt/Comfort, Overworked!reader, CC!reader
wc: 1485
Side Note: kind of a vent for me, but I'm sure there are a lot of you who are going through the same thing. make sure to take care of yourselves <3
It was another night of no sleep. You've grown accustomed to this set up at this point, of nights where you don't sleep, where you can't sleep.
You don't know when it became difficult to sleep, just that you went to bed one night, and watched the sun rise without shutting your eyes once, despite how heavy your eyelids felt.
Alex was the first to notice. Of course, he noticed everything when it came to you...
"Cariño," He said one time during face time, you noted his furrowed brows, how he looked at you through the screen, trying to piece something together without knowing what he was really looking at. "Did you get any sleep at all last night? You look exhausted."
"I haven't slept all week." You told him nonchalantly, his expression was unreadable. You notice him opening his mouth, but you cut him off. "It's not a big deal. Besides, you're just as guilty as I am of this, Alex."
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
The second to notice was your streamer friends.
"Yo, you good?" Seb asked you after you ended stream, logging out of the game you both had been streaming together. "You look worse than an actual zombie."
"Gee, thanks for the compliment." You rolled your eyes, trying to keep it lighthearted.
Key word: trying.
"I'm serious," Seb pressed, sounding a bit concerned. You didn't like it. "You sounded like you were gonna pass out or something during stream."
"I'm fine, Roi, just... just tired. I'm heading to bed right after we hang up for the night." You tried to sound convincing.
Key word: tried.
And failed, as Roier went quiet for a minute before relenting, choosing to believe your obvious lie.
It wasn't completely a lie though. You did go to bed, and you did try to sleep. You just couldn't.
Unfortunately, Seb and Alex were not the only ones to call out the insomnia you were steadily developing. You just kept trying to reassure them all that you were okay, or that you'd be okay eventually.
Key word: trying...
The last to notice were your fans. Honestly, you were more surprised that they hadn't noticed sooner, considering they acted like they knew everything about you.
octokitty: you look tired, streamer, i hope all is well <3<3<3
isleofsophie: wow, those bags are bigger than my suitcases!
miketheyork: they look like they haven't slept in ten thousand years!
"Guys, I'm fine." You tell your chat during another stream. "Just going through a restless spurt. I assure you all, all is well on my end." You lied, and you were sure they knew it was a lie.
Because not even you found it convincing.
The breaking point was toward the end of the second week, two weeks of a mix of terrible nights of restless sleep and straight up getting no sleep at all.
There's just too much to get done. How could you possibly try to sleep when there's so much that still needs your attention?
You had just signed off of stream for the night before burying your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. You felt awful, exhausted to no end, drained and hopeless.
You hear a knock on the front door. At first, you chose to ignore it, assuming that the sleep deprivation had finally caught up to you and chose to begin making you hallucinate right then and there.
But the knock came again, followed by the sound of your phone ringing.
You didn't check the caller ID, too exhausted to read the name. "Hel—"
"Open the door." Alex's voice comes through the other side of the call.
You straighten in your seat at his voice, breath catching in your throat. "What?" You question, unsure if you heard him right. "Alex, what are you—"
"Just... come open the door, baby." He says, before hanging up.
You lower your phone, shocked by the call before setting the device down and making your way toward the front door.
You crack the door open a bit, and to your shock, there he stood, duffle bag in one hand, his phone in the other. He looked like he just rolled out of bed.
"What... what are you doing here?" You ask. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but—"
"I'm here to make sure you actually take a minute to fucking sleep." He said, stepping into your apartment, shutting the door behind him. He looks around, noting how everything seemed... scattered.
Plates were on your living room coffee table, papers and journals were laid out on your kitchen counter going over an upcoming project you were working on, and your garbage looks as though it hasn't been taken out all week.
"I wish you had told me you were coming," You tell him, walking into your kitchen to scoop up your opened journals that you haven't actually touched in two days, "... it's not as bad—"
"Don't," He cuts you off, his voice softer now. "Don't finish that."
You don't. Instead, you look down at your journal and pick at the worn binding. You hear him walk up behind him before you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. The close contact makes you shudder.
You didn't know how touch starved you were until now.
"... When's the last time you slept, cariño?" Alex's hands pressed flat against your stomach through your clothes, thumb rubbing a lazy circle.
You shake your head, not trusting your voice to give an answer.
That was enough for him to know that it's been long enough. Alex pulls back, turning you around so you are facing him now. "Do you know why?"
You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye, but he raises a hand to grip your chin softly, guiding your gaze to meet his. "It... There's just... I have too much to do, Alex. I can't fall behind, or it'll never get done. If it doesn't get done, it'll jeopardize my entire career, and I can't afford to lose my career, I can't handle that—"
"Shh, shh, cariño, breathe." His hands rub up and down your arms as your shoulders begin to shake.
You shake your head again. "I can't, Alex, that's the problem!" You snap unintendedly. "I can't breathe, I can't sleep, not with everything that needs to get done, it's like all the projects, all the fans, their hands are coming through the screen and pushing me down into a tub of water, I feel like I'm drowning."
Alex falls silent for a moment, his hands gripping your shoulders a bit tighter with an unreadable expression.
At first, you thought he might be mad at you for snapping, which made you feel guilty as you hadn't meant to, you knew he was just worried, that he was just trying to help.
But then he pulls you closer, arms wrapping around you, chest pressed against yours, bringing your head to his shoulder. And as you feel a form of wetness against your cheek, you realize he's holding you because you're crying.
"You're not drowning, baby..." He whispers into your ear, running a hand through your hair while the other pressing against your lower back. "You don't have to deal with this by yourself. I'm here. I'm always here, even if we're miles apart, I'm still capable of answering my fucking phone. I don't care if it's two in the morning and I just fell asleep an hour before you call me, you don't ever let it get this bad. Okay?"
Alex pulls back to look at you, his hands moving to cup your face, thumbs wiping your tears as they fall. "Give it to me, I can take it."
Your arms wrap around him in an instant, yanking him close to you again as you break down. He didn't say anything further.
He didn't judge.
He didn't feel disgusted by your tears and snot on his hoodie as you cried heavily onto his shoulder.
He didn't get annoyed when your tears would slow only to come back in full force.
Alex just held you close, even when your legs gave out and you both sank down to the floor that hadn't been swept all week, even when sleep finally found you in the form your tears exhausting you and his arms around you felt like a warm blanket shielding you from the cold.
He didn't let go.
Not when you finally fell asleep against his chest while the both of you sat on your kitchen floor, not when he carries you to your room and lays you down on your bed and he crawls in beside you after kicking off his shoes. He stayed right by your side, holding you close, running his hand through your messy hair, and eventually fell asleep with you on his chest.
Content Warning: Hurt/Comfort, Overworked!reader, CC!reader, implied/reference to reader having a minor case of insomnia.
Word Count: 1485
Side Note: This WIP will be posted this Saturday (6.7.25), sneak peak below the break.
The last to notice were your fans. Honestly, you were more surprised that they hadn't notice sooner, considering they acted like they knew everything about you.
octokitty: you look tired, streamer, i hope all is well
isleofsophie: wow, those bags are bigger than my suitcases!
miketheyork: they look like they haven't slept in ten thousand years!
"Guys, I'm fine." You tell your chat during another stream. "Just going through a restless spurt. I assure you all, all is well on my end." You lied, and you were sure they knew it was a lie.
Because not even you found it convincing.
The breaking point was toward the end of the second week, two weeks of a mix of terrible nights of restless sleep and straight up no sleeping at all.
You had just signed off of stream for the night before burying your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. You felt awful, exhausted to no end, drained and hopeless.
You hear a knock on the front door. At first, you chose to ignore it, assuming that the sleep deprivation had finally caught up to you and chose to begin making you hallucinate right then and there.
But the knock came again, followed by the sound of your phone ringing.
You didn't check the caller ID, too exhausted to read the name. "Hel—"
"Open the door." Alex's voice comes through the other side of the call.
I apologize for the lack of posts, I am working on stuff, I'm just very slow with it as my brain is going in 50 million directions. I will hopefully have something ready to post by the weekend. That's a big if though <3
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH (because words are hard)
