#but now after sleeping a few hours it still hurts ://

[daisymbin]

more blackmail material? - choi seungcheol

read pt1 first: look at me!

warnings: none i think?

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader (use of she)

genre: friends to lovers~

wc: 2.2k

drunken confessions series

check out my masterlist!

you wake up to the familiar weight of seungcheol’s hand clutching yours tightly; that being the only part of your body that feels comfy. your back hurts & your legs are numb. you had fallen asleep while sitting on the floor by the bed, holding his hand. you look over to him, his brows furrow slightly as he mumbles something intangible as you tried to escape his grasp, and your heart squeezes at the sight. for a moment, you wonder what he’s dreaming about, his expression so peaceful yet intense.

his hair tousled and his expression adorable. a small smile tugs at your lips as you take in the sight of him, feeling an overwhelming sense of affection.

you gently try to pry his hand on yours, but that was proven difficult when seungcheol unconsciously tightens his hold. after a good 10 minutes of trying, you managed to get him to let go, careful not to wake him, and make your way to the kitchen. the apartment is still, save for the soft sounds of the world outside waking up. as you prepare a light breakfast, your mind races with thoughts of what to say when seungcheol wakes up. would he remember anything? would he regret his words?

your heart races at the thought. just as you’re pouring a glass of apple juice, the soft sound of shuffling interrupts your thoughts. you turn to see seungcheol standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed and slightly disheveled, his hair in all sorts of direction but with a small smile on his face that sends a flutter through your chest.

“morning,” he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.

“morning,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, despite the weight of what’s unsaid hanging in the air.

he rubs his eyes, stepping further into the kitchen. “what time is it?”

“almost 11,” you tell him, watching as he yawns and stretches, the sight somehow both adorable and mesmerizing.

“11?” he echoes, clearly surprised. “how did I sleep so long?”

you chuckle softly, knowing the answer. “you were pretty tired from all that dancing and… other activities last night.”

the blush creeping across his cheeks is immediate, and he glances down at the floor, avoiding your gaze. “did I… say anything embarrassing?”

you hesitate, a wave of uncertainty & disappointment washing over you. you see the sincerity in his eyes, and despite the urge to tell him the truth, you weren't sure if its something he had meant to let out, or if he even meant it. maybe he was just…drunk? or maybe he'll come to remember it in a few hours? “no, not really,” you reply, a soft smile gracing your lips.

he seems to relax at your words, though a shadow of confusion still lingers in his expression. “thank god. I was worried I made a fool of myself or said something I shouldn't have.”

just then, his phone buzzes loudly on the table, interrupting the moment. he glances at it, his brow furrowing. “it’s jihoon. he wants me to come help with something.”

“now?” you ask, feeling a twinge of disappointment at the thought of losing this moment.

“yeah, I should probably go,” he says, though he seems reluctant to leave. “but I’ll text you later, okay?”

“sure,” you reply, trying to hide your disappointment. “just…be safe. drink lots of water, you need it.”

“i will.” he promises, a soft smile on his lips before he grabs his things and heads out the door.

as soon as he’s gone, you let out a sigh, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. what now? you wonder, glancing at your phone and deciding to take a break from it all. you text seungkwan to see if he wants to grab brunch.

when you meet seungkwan at your favorite café, he immediately senses something is off. “so, what happened after you sent seungcheol home?” he asks, leaning in, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “did anything…happen last night? did you guys talk it out this morning?”

you shake your head, stirring your latte absently with a sigh. “he doesn’t remember anything, he asked if he said anything stupid last night & I just told him no.”

“he doesn’t remember?” seungkwan looks flabbergasted. “are you serious?”

“sadly, yeah.” you reply, feeling a bit defeated. “I thought he would, but I guess not.”

“that’s not good,” seungkwan muttered softly, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “shall we have have some cake? the red velvet from here is really good, i’ll go order one.”

before you can even answer him, seungkwan already got up, he subtly pulls out his phone and steps away. “just a sec, I’ll be right back,” he says, heading towards the counter of the café.

“since when did you like red velvet?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, but he waves you off with a laugh. “oh, you know.. just the one they have here is good so….” he replies. you can sense he’s hiding something but you dont ask

—

jeonghan wastes no time. after receiving a few messages from an exasperated seungkwan, he heads straight to jihoon's place, excitement & mischief pulsing through him. he arrives, knocking briskly on the door until jihoon opens it, looking surprised to see him.

“jeonghan? what’s up?” jihoon asks, stepping aside to let him in.

“where’s seungcheol?” jeonghan demands, scanning the room until he spots him lounging on the couch, looking rather confused.

“he’s right here. what’s going on?” jihoon asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

jeonghan strides over to seungcheol, a teasing grin on his face. “shouldn’t you be taking your girlfriend, no, future mrs choi on a date right now? why are you here with jihoon?”

seungcheol blinks, utterly bewildered. “what are you talking about, jeonghan? I don’t-”

“you don’t what?” jeonghan cuts him off, pulling out his phone. “you don’t remember what you did last night? what you said?”

seungcheol’s expression shifts to confusion, and he rubs the back of his neck, trying to recall the events of the night. “what do you mean? did I do or say something embarrassing?”

with a smirk, jeonghan taps on the video he recorded the night before. he hadn't planned on pulling out his stored blackmail material so soon but thank god he recorded it.

as he hits play, seungcheol’s eyes widen, watching himself stand on the table whining about all the other boys you paid attention to instead of him, followed quickly by a tipsy grin plastered on his face as he confesses his undying love for you.

“what..what is this?” he exclaims, staring at the screen, the realization dawning on him.

“you confessing, you idiot,” jeonghan says, barely holding back laughter. “you were all mushy and everything!”

jihoon, who had been completely unaware of the events from the night before having stayed home, watches the video together, mouth agape. “wait, he really did that?”

“yoon jeonghan did you use A.I to fabricate this or something? there's no way I did that. I wouldn't….” seungcheol tries to push it onto jeonghan, trying to deny reality.

“really? you wouldn't? you think the chances of me using A.I is higher than you drunkardly confessing whilst standing on a table in a club?” jeonghan asked as he tried to hold back his laugher.

jihoon steps closer as he says, “honestly the A.I sounds more believable, you pull stupid pranks all the time, i wouldnt be surprised, but then again….if it's really A.I and it isn't real then thats kinda… nah. yoon jeonghan wouldnt joke about something like this. yup, looks real to me.” jihoon finishes as he pats seungcheol on his back.

jeonghan, seeing as seungcheol still doesn't believe him, pulls out his messaging app, opening his chat with seungkwan, “it's not A.I you idiots, who do you think i am? i love a good prank but this A.I shit is too much work, i dont have enough energy for that. here.” jeonghan then slides his phone over to seungcheol, messages from seungkwan earlier in its full glory.

roommate boo 🍊:

[12:17 PM] I can't believe that idiot can't remember what he did last night!!! hyung, do something!!!

[12:19 PM] I thought he lost his mind when he stood on that table crying over her last night BUT NO, NOW he's lost his mind! i thought some sense finally went into that head of his, how can he forget???

[12:22 PM] hyung!! do something! this isn't right and it's not fair to her! she looks so sad!!!!! show him that video you recorded last night!!!! 😡

“yup,” jeonghan says, enjoying seungcheol's mortification. “and now you can’t just let it slide. you need to talk to her and make this right. tell me, was she still in your apartment this morning?” he asked as he folded his arms. at a small nod of seungcheol’s head, jeonghan continued “that silly girl. I texted her to come down after putting you to bed, i even offered to send her home but she was worried about you and said she'd stay. how could you forget?”

seungcheol feels a rush of embarrassment & guilt flood through him as he stares at the screen which now shows jeonghan's text from you. “I can’t believe I did that,” he groans, burying his face in his hands. “and I can't believe I forgot…did she..does she-”

“does she like you?” jeonghan finishes for him, “you're such an idiot. for someone who claims to be looking at the love of their life all the time, you sure are blind for not seeing how she looks at you just as much.” jeonghan says with a satisfied smile on his face. “you owe her a real date after that confession.”

“and an apology.” jihoon added.

“i thought she’d tell me if i’d done something like that, but she didn’t. maybe she’s just… sparing me from rejection.”

jeonghan scoffed. “please, she looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky last night. she’s probably overthinking, just like you are.”

seungcheol lets out a sigh he didnt know he was holding, his resolve building as he processes everything. “I need to find her.” jihoon could only smirking at his friend’s flustered state.

—

after brainstorming with jeonghan and jihoon, seungcheol decided on a plan. he’d cook her favorite, miyeok guk (yall remember cooks coups? lmao) it wasn’t just for birthdays, after all, and he knew she’d appreciate the thought. jeonghan offered to help, though he teased relentlessly about how much was riding on this meal.

it was almost doomed when seungcheol managed to burn the soup, the kitchen filling with a slightly charred smell as he looked on in horror. jeonghan swooped in, shaking his head with an exasperated grin. “good thing i’m here,” he muttered, salvaging the meal with a few choice spices and a lot of patience.

once the miyeok guk was safely simmering, seungcheol added a few finishing touches around his apartment: candles with her favorite scent, a small bouquet of her favorite flowers, and warm lighting that made the whole room feel like a cozy haven.

finally, he texted you, saying he needed help with something. you arrived, clueless, expecting a favor and absolutely not prepared for the sight of him standing there, nerves showing slightly as he shifted from foot to foot.

before you could ask, he cleared his throat. “so… about last night…”

you froze, realizing he might remember. “last night?”

he gave a small, uncertain smile, looking at you with a soft intensity. “i know you didn’t say anything, but… jeonghan showed me the video. i just… i thought maybe you didn’t tell me because… maybe you don’t feel the same, and you were trying to save me from that.”

you stared at him, heart racing. “no, i… i thought you might regret it,” you admitted softly, glancing down. “i didn’t want to bring it up if… if it was something you didn’t mean.”

seungcheol stepped closer, reaching out to gently lift your chin so you’d meet his gaze. “i meant every word,” he murmured. “and this time, i want to say it sober; knowing exactly what i’m saying. i like you… so much. and if you’ll let me, i’d like to take you on a real date.”

a smile spread across your face as you let his words sink in. “then… i’d like that, too,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

the uncertainty melted from his expression, replaced by a soft warmth. reaching out, he took your hand in his, holding it as if it were something precious. he chuckled softly, still a little shy. “so, um… how about some miyeok guk? i might’ve had a bit of help from jeonghan, but it’s your favorite.” he refused to let you know about how he had actually burnt it & jeonghan had salvaged it. but little did he know, jeonghan had been recording his friend again when he was panicking & making a mess of the kitchen while whining, more blackmail material perhaps?

“i’d love that,” you replied, heart swelling at the gesture.

as you both sat down, laughing together over the slightly imperfect soup, you felt a contentment settle in, the kind that only came from being exactly where you were meant to be, with exactly the person you were meant to be with.

[revelboo]

I love your writing, do you think youll ever want to write for ratchet or bee again?

They’re both on my list to update along with TFP Soundwave!

The Weakends Pt 7

TFP Ratchet x Reader

• Sterilizing tools and putting them away, it’s the silence that snares him. Glancing over, he vents as he realizes you’re slumped over in an exhausted sleep against a container, arms and cheek still wet with energon. And he wonders if he’s asking too much of you, more than you can give. Not Cybertronian, but still willing to help without being asked. You hadn’t uttered a single complaint during the chaos, moving almost like you could read his mind, scrambling where he needs your little hands before he can give the order. Now in the lull after, his servos are trembling again and he hates it. He’s only one mech and there’s so many lives counting on him. If it hadn’t just been Bumblebee critically injured, he wouldn’t have been enough. He’s lost companions before, but there’s so few of them now and he can’t fail any of them. Dropping a tool when the shaking gets worse and swearing in Cybertronian, he hates this weakness. “When’s the last time you took a break, doc?” Glancing over at the husky question and that stupid nickname Wheeljack had bestowed upon him, he realizes the noise woke you and you’re staring at him. “And I mean longer than an hour or so.”

• Fully expecting him to get angry or indignant again at your question, you lay your cheek on an outstretched arm and just wait for the outburst. For him to go right back to the gruff medic act and insist he’s fine. Instead he runs a big hand over his helm, head tipping back. When he finally looks back over at you, that expression on his face isn’t one you’ve seen before. It’s real and vulnerable, locking the breath in your lungs as he reaches for you almost hesitantly. And you push to your tired feet to let him curl his servos around you, lift you to his frame. “You’re one to talk,” he grumbles, running a servo against your cheek that comes away smudged with energon. He’s just staring at the smudge like he’s frozen. Like it scares him.

• “Bedtime, doc,” you say, patting your hand on his servos curled around you. That little touch breaking him from the worry by giving him something else to focus on. You. Grabbing a cleaning cloth, he carefully wipes your arms down, aware of the almost smile on your lips as you let him. Because you know him well enough to know he needs to take care of everyone else. “Alright, hands are clean,” you finally protest with a yawn, laying your cheek on his servos as his spark thrums. He just means to carry you to the makeshift bed on a corner of his desk, but you curl an arm about one servo, sleepy eyes watching him. Like you know he’ll keep working as exhausted as he is. “Stay.” It’s a quiet request, an olive branch extended to him. And venting tiredly, he climbs on his berth with you. There’s still so much to do, but as he settles you on top of his chassis, a hand draped over you, those things can wait. Because he does need this. So much it hurts.

Previous

[bosinclairsgff]

Hi! Can I request slashers (mainly the sinclair brothers) possibly laying their hands on reader during an argument and maybe somehow the reader passes out after accidentally hitting their head or something? (Maybe make it extra angsty with blood + reader not waking up to their calls hehe)

What would their reaction be? Both during the accident and how they’d react seeing reader passed out. Angst with fluff in the end please ❤️ (reader can be gn. Tysm!!)

You sicko (I love it) sorry it took my so long writers block has actually been the bane of my existence :(

Also pretty sure I know nothing about how a real concussion works oops. Also I didn’t want them to be the exact same so Vincent’s is a lil different. Hope you still like it!

Warnings: abusive relationship, reader being hurt, cussing and fighting

Includes: Vincent Sinclair and Bo Sinclair

“Where the hell have you been?” You hear Bo yell as soon as you step through the door. It was late around 10:00 and you left at 5. “I’m sorry I went on a walk then ran into Lester and I hung out with him for a few hours. It’s not that big of a deal.” You say trying to calm the situation down. “Lester? You’ve been with Lester this whole goddamn time.” He spits out through gritted teeth. “You know you don’t leave Ambrose unless I say you can. What the fuck is wrong with you.” He says making his way towards you. “Please Bo it’s late I don’t want to fight with you.” That almost seems to piss him off more. Immediately he has a tight grip on your hair. You yelp in pain. “Oh cut the shit y/n. I let you out of that fuckin basement and welcomed you into my home. This is how you treat me? By fuckin around with my own brother?” He screams in your face. You grip his hand trying to get him to ease the grip. “Please Bo I’m sorry! I was just driving around back roads with him! I needed a break from this town!” You cry out. “Do you think I’m fuckin stupid? Huh! You filthy slut!” He yells dropping his grip on your hair letting you hit the ground. Before you can get up he kicks you harshly. You cry out in pain. “Bo! Stop please!” You scream. He lifts you up with ease just to hit you across the face and push you down harshly. As you fall you hit your head on the table near by immediately passing out. “Get the fuck up y/n. I’m not playing into your helpless victim act.” Bo says harshly. Only, you don’t move. “I said get up.” He yells as loud as he can. Again, not a single movement or word from you. You were facing down. He bends over and rolls you over seeing a slight gash on your forehead bleeding pretty badly. His blood runs cold. “Y/n? Come on wake up baby.” He shakes you lightly. When you once again don’t move he starts to panic. Bo picks you up laying you down in the couch. Then running to the kitchen to kind the sewing kit. “Why did you make me do this y/n. Fuckin bitch. All you had to do was listen to me.” He says under his breath. Pulling out a needle and threading it he slowly starts to sew shut the gash. You slightly stir in your sleep. “There we go.” He coos softly. “Knew the bitch wasn’t that easy to kill.” Bo scoffs. Once he’s done sewing you up he pours alcohol over it. Sending a jolt of pain through your body, you whence and start to wake up. He taps your cheek softly. “Wake up.” He says as he stands up walking back to the kitchen putting away everything. By the time he comes back you’ve started to wake up. “B…Bo?” You question. “Yeah? I’m right here.” He sits on the couch lifting you up then laying your head in his lap. He had a beer in his hand. “My head..it really hurts.” You lift a hand to touch your forehead but he grabs it before you can. “I wouldn’t. You don’t want it to get infected.” Bo scoffs. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen to me. Got it? Thought you knew this by now.” He sips his beer. Tears swell up in your eyes. “I’m sorry I just wanted to ride with Lester.” You cry softly. His gaze softens. “You need to ask me before you do some shit like that baby. Look I was worried about you that’s all. So don’t ever think of pulling some shit like that again or I’ll beat the ever loving fuck outta you and you’ll sleep chained up in the basement. Got it?” He looked down at you. “Yes Bo.” You say tiredly. You guys stay silent for a moment before he sighs. “You really fuckin scared me. Thought you were…I don’t know, fuckin dead. You probably have a concussion or sum shit like that.” He sips his beer. “Come here.” Bo opens his arms so you can sit on his lap. You do so. Leaning your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you. Kissing the top of your head softly. “You’ll be okay.” He whispers.

Vincent saw you talking to one of the new victims of Ambrose. Only, you were a little too kind in his opinion. Laughing at his jokes, keeping eye contact. He didn’t like it at all. So when he caught the poor guy he made sure his death was slow and painful. Vincent avoided you for the rest of the day. Ignoring you when you tired to talk to him. He didn’t even come up for dinner with you and Bo. You didn’t fully understand why he was so mad at you. So you brought him a plate of food down to his workshop. “Vincent” you call out softly. Not a sound. He doesn’t exactly speak much or really ever but he’ll make a sound to let you know he heard you. “Vincent please eat something.” You call out. He comes out of the corner he was sitting in. You sigh feeling better. “Here I made spaghetti and meatballs. You love this meal.” You smile softly. He makes a sound that almost sounds like a scoff. “What is the matter? You’ve been avoiding me all day? What did I do?” You cry out. He looks at the man he just brutally murdered in the chair getting wax sprayed all over his body. “Him? Oh my god. Because I laughed at his stupid jokes? I thought he was an absolute idiot that’s why I was laughing! You really think I could like someone like him? Grow the fuck up Vincent.” You turn to leave but he grabs your arm harshly. Looking at him with fear he tightness the grip. “Let go..right now Vincent let go.” You say with a shaky breath. He doesn’t let go. You try to pull away. It instantly angers him. Slapping you harshly across the face. Making you fall to the ground. “Vincent!” You cry out. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You scream. That makes it worse. Vincent kicks you with all his strength making you loose your breath. When he see you gasping for air he immediately regrets hitting you. He kneels down and holds you in his arms. You’re coughing and gagging. Vincent pats your back trying to do anything to help. Eventually you stop coughing and start to breath normally. You have blood dripping from your mouth from when he hit you harshly. He wipes it away and whines what you assume was his way of saying I’m sorry. You sit up and open your arms letting him fall into you. Running your fingers through his hair you tell him it’s okay and you aren’t mad at him.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

helloooo hiiii haii hiii

do you think you could write a fic (duff x reader) w duff being a big softie w his s/o and taking extra care of them while they’re going through a little depressive episode, just making sure they’re taking care of themself and giving em gentle cuddles and reassurance n fluffy shit? that would be super sweet <3

Warnings: Depression, idk it's mostly fluff but if you think I missed something let me know otherwise enjoy!

You honestly never saw it coming, but Duff did.

You felt yourself getting more tired more easily but just chalked it up to not getting enough sleep, you stopped eating and also thought it was just from not getting enough sleep.

Soon you were laying in bed, it was almost 3:00 pm and you hadn't moved since you woke up.

The phone was ringing every hour but you never answered, then it was every half hour, every fifteen minutes. Duff was calling you like his life depended on it.

The past few weeks he'd been listening to you complain about hurting and being tired and this, that and the other thing. He knew what was happening but you didn't.

He'd been taking you out more, dinners every other night -at first he tried taking you to restaurants but then you started saying no, not having the energy to go out. He'd come by and help with things around your apartment, washing the dishes, doing laundry.

He always tried to include you in these activities but at some point you just stopped answering to him.

You heard a knock on your door but didn't want to answer it, you didn't want to get up. It took you too long to realize what was happening and now you were just blocking everyone out.

The door opened and you knew it was Duff, you'd given him a key the last time this happened for when it happened again. This was again and he came right to your room with take-out from your favourite fast food place.

He sat next to you on your bed. He didn't wait for you to turn to him, he wrapped his arms around you, under your arms, and pulled you up. Your body slumped against him but it was better than laying down. Small victories.

He opened up the food and helped you eat, holding it to your mouth and waiting for you to take a bite. "Eat." He said. "Eat it or I'm painting your face with it." You shot him a look but took a bite, a small bite but a bite nonetheless. "Good, keep eating."

After the first bite you wanted more. You didn't feel like doing much but it was still your favourite food, you couldn't turn down your favourite food.

He stuck with you, he didn't push you to do a whole lot. He made you change your clothes and move to the couch while he took care of some cleaning.

You were laying on the couch on top of him, nuzzling into him as you watched a movie.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, occasionally kissing the top of your head or your forehead, your temple.

"Guns is going on tour." He said, running his fingers through your hair.

You nodded. "I know."

"I know you know." You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest. "I want you to come with me." Your brows raised at that.

You'd never gone on tour with him before, it was never even a question more of just 'I'm going' 'call me every day?' and it worked fine for the both of you.

"You... want me to come?" You asked hesitantly. "What about, like, groupies?" He gave you a look.

"Groupies, seriously? I have you and I want you on tour with me, in my hotel room, in my bed, in my arms." He stated, giving you a gentle squeeze. "There's no reason you can't come, you're coming."

"I have work."

"Quit."

"I can't just quit, Duff!" You groaned, swatting his chest. He smiled. It wasn't a lot but it was a glimpse at your usual self.

"You don't need your job, you have me." In fairness, you don't know why you don't already live with Duff, very rarely are you separated, usually only tours stand in your way.

You laid your head back down on his chest. "I can't quit."

Duff let out a heavy breath. "Quit or don't quit, you're coming with me and that's final."

For the next week Duff stuck with you, every day encouraging you to do a little more. He helped you shower, starting with warm bubble baths, lit candles around, when you got in the shower he was with you, washing your hair for you, then you'd wash his hair.

He had you help him with dinner, letting you sit on the counter and just talk to him while he did the work, then he'd have you dry the dishes after he washed them. You had a washing machine but he felt this would be better.

Soon he had you going on walks around the neighbourhood and packing your bags.

You were by no means fine by the time the plane took off, but you were doing better. Every night Duff would pull you tight to his side, kiss your forehead and tell you how much he loved you, how important you were to him.

You were standing out on the balcony of the hotel you were staying at. It was a cool night and you were wearing one of Duff's shirts, the way the city lit up was beautiful to you.

"You're gonna catch a cold." Duff said, coming out to join you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head. "Can't have you getting sick on me."

"Because then I'd have to leave?" You asked, taking his hand in yours.

"Because then you'd get me sick and I wouldn't be able to play." You smacked his arm and he laughed.

He sighed softly and rubbed your arms, giving them a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you came." He said, voice soft in your ear. "I like being here with you."

You nodded. "I like being here too... with you."

"Glad I'm an after thought." You shook your head at him, turning in his hold to face him and nuzzling into his chest.

"Thank you." You said softly.

"Don't do that." He said, rubbing your back. "I didn't do anything special."

"You brought me here."

"Ok, yeah, fine, you get that." He said with a smile. "That's just because I'm a band, a good one... Don't thank me for the other stuff."

You looked up at him curiously. "Why not?"

"I didn't do more than what any other good boyfriend would do... just like you help me before planes, I help you through these. It's just what we do." He explained. He looked down at you, cupping your face in his hands. "You're my perfect girl, don't forget that." He leaned down and kissed your forehead, then your nose and finally your lips.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Magic AU? HoH Buck? That is very much up my very specific alley give me those trees

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

And as always by beloved triangles

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼

YAY! Okay let's gooooooo.

135 or 1k for 🌲 (whatever I hit first):

---

It’s the right thing to do, as much as it’ll suck to be single again, for the logistics of it all. As much as it’ll suck to hurt another lovely, good woman who likes him more than he can bring himself to like them back. He plans to do it over dinner one week in September.

And then he overhears Bobby and Buck chatting one day in the fire station kitchen. 

“I think I could really love her,” Buck is saying. “Like, I’m not there yet. But I could be? Like, soon.”

“Isn’t the difference between loving someone and imagining you could love someone idealization?” Bobby asks. 

“Wait… Are you saying I do already love her?” Buck replies. 

“I…” Bobby sighs. “Whatever you feel is what you feel, Buck.”

“You’re right. Maybe I do already love her.”

In completely unrelated news, Eddie decides not to break up with Marisol. It seems unfair to throw in the towel on someone really great because of unrelated family stress. 

2024

v. 

Eddie’s hollow back nightmares start back up again the first time he sees Kim. Literally, the night after he passes by her shop on the Promenade. 

He should have taken that as a clear sign. 

For almost a year, all his nightmares have been focused on his sister. Maybe a few helicopter related and Catholic school related oddities after the cruise ship and discovering Marisol’s former life, but… None of his usual torment. Until he glances upon Kim. A veritable clone of Shannon. Alive and breathing and so much like her in so many ways.  

Eddie should have steered clear. Not given into the temptation of revisiting something he has lost. Not let his grief rule him. 

But he doesn’t.

He’s stupid and selfish and shortsighted. He ruins his life over a few stolen hours with the not-real version of a woman he loved and lost. 

Now his son is gone and he’s entirely alone and all he has is the promise that when he goes to bed, each and every night, he will dream of something horrible. Because once it starts, right after seeing Kim, it never, ever stops. Every time Eddie manages to sleep, he has the same nightmares. 

vi. 

The call on Christopher’s fourteenth birthday goes much like all their other calls. By which, Eddie means, he is still locked in some sort of war of attrition with his son and his mother, who won’t really give them any space. It’s been like that since the day she showed up on his doorstep with his father and took Chris to El Paso. 

She’s always around when Eddie calls. Whether on screen or lurking somewhere off camera, Eddie and Chris never really get a moment alone to talk. And, okay. Eddie gets that it’s not her fault Chris is mad at him. He did that all on his own. But for someone who says she just wants to help Chris through a difficult time, she seems to also kind of be intent on keeping him in it. If Eddie tries to talk to Chris about any of the issues between them, she stops him. If Chris starts to open up, Helena suddenly has dinner or something else planned and the calls needs to end. And sometimes… Well, sometimes - and it’s probably crazy - Eddie feels like there’s a haze in Christopher’s eyes that comes over him when she speaks to him. 

Sometimes Eddie is certain he must be reading too much into things. Looking for an adversary where there is none, so he doesn’t have to carry the full weight of his blame. But he does. None of this would be happening if Eddie hadn’t fucked up to begin with. Only… Only shouldn’t his own mother be trying to help him mend the damage? It doesn’t feel like she is. 

Part of Eddie can empathize with her, he supposes. He left years ago. Sophia doesn’t talk to her. Adriana is still… Gone. Though, Helena has hardly done anything to change that. Nevertheless, she’s a mother of three with no children around. Eddie knows there’s a deep sadness to her. Maybe one that having Christopher around has lessened. But Eddie still doesn’t get why she would want to have the same pain unloaded onto him. He wants his child home, too. How much sadness is he supposed to live with as the price for his mistakes?

Buck finds Eddie in the kitchen after the miserable little party Zoom call ends. Tommy is still in the living room. Eddie had turned the TV on pretty quickly after the call ended, so neither Buck nor Tommy could ask any questions. Well, Tommy would ask. Buck would just offer words of encouragement. Maybe some genuinely good advice, too. Eddie can’t deal with that right now. And honestly? He doesn’t want to deal with it in front of Tommy anyway. The guy has been getting on his nerves lately. Eddie doesn’t know why. He hasn’t changed or anything. Maybe Eddie has. 

So Eddie starts taking the cupcakes he’d bought and moving them to containers to put in the fridge. A task to focus on so he doesn’t have to focus on the fact that he hardly spoke to his son on his fourteenth birthday. 

“Hey,” Buck says quietly when he approaches him. 

“Don’t want to talk about.”

Eddie shuts it down before it can even start. 

“Okay,” Buck says. “Uh, can I help clean up?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to help, Eddie.”

“You can’t help,” Eddie snaps. A little unnecessarily, considering they were pretending to talk about pathetic party decorations. “This isn’t something you can fix. Not this time.”

Buck nods. “I know that.”

His voice is quiet. Sad.

---

180 or 1k for 🔼:

---

“And he’s pretty damn special,” Shannon says.

“He is,” Eddie nods. 

“So go fix it with him,” Shannon practically orders.  “Forgive him for the choices he’s made out of pain.”

Eddie looks at her for a long moment. She wants to push him out the truck door in urgency until she remembers it’s his truck and he will need it. Go now, she wants to say. It doesn’t have to be too late, this time. 

“Okay,” he says, as if hearing her thoughts. “Okay, I will.” 

▶️

Eddie isn’t going to tell Buck how he feels about him.

That’s not the point. That honestly doesn’t even seem productive, right now. What he’s going to do is put a stop to this. Whatever misguided, pained attempt Buck is making. He’ll hear him out, and he’ll end it. Reassure him. Instead of getting angry and sticking to his guns, he’ll take Shannon’s approach. He trusts her on this one, he thinks.

He thinks a lot about what she said back in the parking lot was right. It makes him want to be better. If that’s an option. 

He drives straight from Shannon’s to Buck’s. He doesn’t have a whole lot of time before he needs to pick up Chris, but maybe all he needs is a start. To get his foot in the door and get Buck thinking. He doesn’t call or text ahead of time. He’s fairly confident Buck is home. He’s not actively working in the midst of his suit, and after how this morning went? Eddie imagines he’s home alone, feeling awkward. He may have been fuming when he saw him at arbitration, but he could tell well enough from the look on Buck’s face that Buck wasn’t happy either. 

Eddie pounds on Buck’s door. His frustration and day of heightened emotions is evident in the cadence of his fist against the painted steel. 

“Buck!” He calls out.

He sounds a little deranged. Like he’s coming around to settle a seedy debt or something.

Buck opens the door maybe a minute later, looking sort of pale with apprehension. 

“Uh, hey-hey, Eddie,” he stammers. “Um… We’re not supposed to-”

“I don’t care,” Eddie cuts him off. “I don’t care about the rules of the lawsuit, Buck. I need to talk to you.”

Buck’s face warps with concern. “Uh, o-okay. Are you okay? Are Shannon and Chris okay?”

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks. A non-answer. 

Buck nods, looking even more worried. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He widens the doorway for Eddie to walk through. They walk a few paces into the loft, and the door swings shut behind Eddie. 

“Seriously,” Buck asks. “Is everyone okay?”

“Shannon and Chris are fine,” Eddie says. “The baby is fine.”

“Okay,” Buck replies. “Okay, good.”

“I’m not fine,” Eddie says. Something that takes more than he was expecting out of him, just to say. He’s not used to saying it. Admitting it. Even if it’s true. 

“Wh-what’s going on?” Buck asks.

Eddie takes a deep breath. 

“This whole lawsuit…” He starts. “It… It’s pissing me off, Buck. I get that you’re going through something right now. But I’m… It hurts me that… That you’d just do something to sever contact between us without even… I mean, you didn’t even give me a heads up or ask for my opinion.”

Buck chews on his lip for a second, processing. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “I should have given you a heads up. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have done it at all,” Eddie bites back.

And, okay. Not good. Not the point. Not what Shannon was trying to tell him. But… It’s out there now.

Buck flinches a little. “I’m doing what I have to do, Eddie.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “You aren’t. Because you would have come back eventually, and now this is all going to go sideways, and you won’t be allowed back.”

Buck shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not true.”

“It is, Buck,” Eddie insists. “In what world do you think you get to come back to the 118 all hunky dory after this?”

“You don’t understand,” Buck replies, guttural and frustrated. 

“No? Then tell me!” Eddie raises his voice. 

“I…” Buck’s voice wavers. “I…”

“What?” Eddie demands. 

“I can’t go back to being alone!” Buck shouts. 

Eddie blinks. What the hell is he talking about? He’s not alone! 

“Why would you be alone?” Eddie asks, maybe not as gently as he ought to. “You have all these people who care so much about you. Who were fucking terrified the past three times you almost died in the last six months. Why would you be alone, Buck? Just because you’re not on active duty?”

“Because…” Buck makes a struggled, frustrated noise. “Because that’s why. That’s why people care, Eddie.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “You think we all only care about you because you’re a firefighter?”

That’s honestly… Well, Eddie can’t tell if it’s heartbreaking or insulting.

Buck crosses his arms. Like he’s physically holding himself together.

“Maybe not consciously,” he says, voice lower. 

“But you do think that?” Eddie says. “You really think that’s the truth?”

“Maybe not being a firefighter, but-but the person I am when I am a firefighter. I never… I never mattered before,” Buck says. “No one gave a shit about me before hand, Eddie. You don’t know what that’s like.”

Eddie frowns. He feels a little cold.

“What are you talking about?”

How could that be true? Even if all the people he’s close to now are from this chapter of his life, what about Maddie? They’re so close. Eddie saw how much she loves him first hand all the times he’s been in danger. She adores him. How could he think that she didn’t until two years ago?

“Before…” Buck takes a deep breath. “Before I came to Los Angeles, I was completely alone. For five years. I didn’t have anyone. I didn’t have a-a home. It was just me and the Jeep and no one… No one stayed in touch. I wrote to Maddie, but she didn’t… She sent me away, and I… No one wanted me around long. I was nothing. I didn’t matter.”

[smb0]

Alright!

Sleepover!

The moon hung high over Primp Town, casting a silvery glow across the cozy little neighborhood. Inside one of the quaint houses, laughter and chatter filled the air. Amitie’s sleepover had finally arrived, and her friends were excited to enjoy a night of fun and magic—at least, in Amitie's mind.

“Welcome, everyone!” Amitie greeted, her bright smile lighting up the room. She had prepared snacks and set up a cozy blanket fort in the living room, filled with pillows and fairy lights.

“Wow, Amitie! This is amazing!” exclaimed Lidelle, her eyes wide with wonder. She stepped inside the fort, the soft fabric draping around her like a tent. “It feels magical in here!”

Raffina rolled her eyes as she entered. “You’re really into this childish stuff, huh? But I guess it’s…cute,” she admitted, unable to hide a small smile. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with my beauty sleep!”

Sig entered last, his usual stoic expression softening slightly. He glanced around, his interest piqued by the glowing lights. “It’s...nice,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The group settled into their fort, surrounded by bowls of popcorn and an array of candies Amitie had collected. As they munched on their snacks, Amitie pulled out a deck of cards.

“Let’s play a game!” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“What do you have in mind?” Klug, who had been reading a book in the corner, finally joined them, curious about the commotion.

“Magic tricks! I’ll show you my latest one!” Amitie declared, and the others leaned in, eager to watch.

As she shuffled the cards, Amitie’s mind raced with excitement. She loved performing, even if her tricks didn’t always go as planned. “Pick a card, any card!” she instructed, waving her hands dramatically.

After a few attempts and some giggles when cards went flying, she finally succeeded in pulling the right card from Sig’s hand. “Ta-da!”

“Impressive,” Sig replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a hint of a smile.

“Now it’s my turn!” Raffina declared, standing up confidently. “Watch and learn, peasants.” She dramatically performed Ciel Arc on a pillow, sending it soaring. “This is how you really do magic!”

“Kicking is not magic!” Klug said, shaking his head.

The night wore on with more games, snacks, and stories. Lidelle shared tales of her adventures with the Dark Prince and Draco, weaving in a bit of heroics and mishaps that had everyone laughing.

As the hour grew late, Amitie’s energy was still buzzing. “Let’s do a group spell to make it a night to remember!” she suggested.

“Sure, why not?” Raffina scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Please, Raffina?” Amitie insisted, her optimism infectious.

"Fine. What's the incantation?"

Amitie whispered the incantation to each of her friends ears.

"As if I'd say that cheesy crap!" Raffina and Klug said simultaneously. Amitie could feel her heart breaking.

"Please, guys? It won't hurt!" Amitie asked.

"Ami's asking nicely..." Lidelle softly spoke."

"Fine..." Raffina and Klug relented.

They joined hands and spoke the following incantation: "Purgo Impuritas."

As they spoke the words, a soft glow surrounded them, and for a brief moment, it felt like something magical truly had happened. They all exchanged glances, wide-eyed with wonder.

“Wow, that was... kind of cool,” Sig admitted, breaking his usual aloof demeanor.

“See? It was magical!” Amitie exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. She felt a rush of joy as she looked around at her friends, their expressions lit up with a mix of surprise and delight.

Raffina huffed but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit, it wasn’t the worst idea you’ve had, Amitie.”

Klug adjusted his glasses, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s interesting how even a simple incantation can create a moment we’ll remember. It’s the shared experience that matters most.”

“Exactly!” Amitie chirped, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Let’s make more memories!”

They settled down again, the fort now feeling cozier than ever, filled with the warmth of friendship and laughter. Amitie encouraged everyone to share their favorite moments from past adventures, and the stories flowed easily.

Lidelle shared a tale of her adventures with Dark Prince and Draco, recalling a particularly chaotic day when Draco’s beauty contest spiraled into a friendly brawl. “I didn’t even know we were battling! We were just trying to outshine each other!” she laughed, her cheeks flushing at the memory.

“Typical Draco,” Klug said, shaking his head with a smirk. “Always mixing up beauty and battle.”

Raffina rolled her eyes but chuckled. “At least you’ve got something to show for it. All I’ve got are the countless times I’ve had to kick something for no good reason.” She kicked a nearby pillow, adding a dramatic flair to her words.

As the night wore on, Amitie suggested a new game: “How about we tell spooky stories? It’s the perfect way to get into the nighttime spirit!”

“I don’t do spooky,” Raffina said, crossing her arms defiantly. “I prefer to keep my beauty sleep undisturbed, thank you very much.”

“Oh, come on! Just one story?” Amitie pleaded, her eyes wide with excitement.

Sig tilted his head slightly. “I’d like to hear a spooky story,” he said, surprising everyone. His quiet interest seemed to spark something in the group.

Raffina relented with a sigh, “Fine. But it better not be too cheesy.”

Lidelle volunteered first, her voice soft and slightly trembling as she recounted a tale about a haunted forest where shadows whispered secrets to anyone who dared to enter. The room fell silent, everyone hanging on her every word, even Raffina, who had initially scoffed at the idea.

Then, it was Amitie’s turn. She spun a wild, exaggerated story about a ghostly magician who misplaced his hat, causing mischief in Primp Town. Everyone laughed at her silly antics, the atmosphere lightening once again.

Klug, ever the pragmatist, shared a story based on historical legends of Primp Town. Though it was less spooky, the way he narrated it captivated his friends.

Finally, it was Sig’s turn. He spoke in a low, steady voice about a mythical creature that haunted the night, a being that thrived in darkness. The eerie tone sent a chill through the group, and they leaned in closer, their curiosity piqued.

“Now that was actually scary,” Raffina admitted, her bravado cracking just a bit.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, Amitie suggested they each share one thing they were grateful for. The friends took turns, expressing their appreciation for the bonds they shared.

“I’m grateful for all of you,” Amitie said, her eyes shining. “This is the best sleepover ever!”

Lidelle nodded shyly. “I’m glad I got to spend time with you all. It’s nice to feel… included.”

“Not too shabby for a bunch of commoners,” Raffina teased, but her smile was genuine.

Sig simply said, “Friends,” and that simple word resonated with everyone, filling the room with a sense of warmth and belonging.

As the night wound down, they settled into their blankets, exhaustion finally catching up to them. Under the soft glow of the fairy lights, Amitie felt content, surrounded by her friends and the magic of the moment.

“Goodnight, everyone,” she whispered, feeling a sense of peace wash over her.

“Goodnight,” came the sleepy chorus, and as the moon shone bright outside, the cozy blanket fort held a world of dreams, laughter, and the promise of tomorrow's adventure.

I also repurposed a Puyotober entry into an episode for one of your Puyo TV series:

"Sibling Rivalry" (original: Let's Puyo Battle)

The battlefield was silent as the audience waited for the upcoming battle.

Lidelle's classmates and associates had different ways of showing concern, with Ringo, Draco, Amitie, and Tarutaru being the most blatant, and Raffina, Lemres, Sig and Feli being the most subtle.

The battle was to last until two victories were obtained by either competitor.

"Are you ready to face the Dark Prince, young lady?" Satan asked.

"Y-y-yes..." Lidelle said, both scared and nervous.

"Good. Remember... it's just a game..." Was he encouraging her or scaring her?

Lidelle took a deep breath, her heart racing. She had watched many battles before, but this time, she was the one in the spotlight. The crowd murmured in anticipation, and the vibrant colors of the Puyo shapes danced in her mind.

"Begin!" Maguro announced, and the arena erupted in a flurry of movement.

Lidelle quickly scanned her side of the board, her fingers deftly moving as she connected Puyos of the same color. The familiar thrill surged through her as the first chain reaction sparked, sending a cascade of colorful blobs flying into Satan’s territory.

He countered with a series of rapid placements, forming an intricate setup that threatened to overwhelm her.

As the round progressed, Lidelle struggled to keep up. Puyos began piling up on her side, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t find a way to break through his defenses. In a matter of moments, she was pelted by Garbage Puyo, with a few of them severing her hair ties, loosening her hair and exposing her horns, embarrassing her further. The scoreboard flashed: Satan Wins!

Lidelle's heart sank. The crowd (minus Lidelle's friends) cheered for Satan, and Lidelle couldn't shake off potentially disappointing everyone she loved.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get him next time!” Tarutaru called out, his voice full of encouragement.

As the second round began, the tension in the air thickened. Lidelle took a deep breath, focusing on her board and remembering the support of her friends. This time, she was determined to turn the tide.

The match started, and Lidelle’s sleeves flew over her board, strategically placing Puyos with newfound (but miniscule) confidence. As she built up her combos, the crowd's cheers became a motivating backdrop.

With each successful chain, she felt the weight of the first loss lifting. 'This is it!' she thought, channeling her focus.

Satan, sensing her new-found determination, ramped up his game. He executed a series of impressive moves, but Lidelle was ready. She countered with a stunning chain reaction of her own—a series of cascading Puyos that lit up the arena.

"Surprise!" she exclaimed, watching as a flood of Garbage Puyos overwhelmed Satan's board.

The scoreboard flashed again—Lidelle Wins! The crowd erupted into cheers, and Lidelle's heart soared with triumph.

“I did it!” she laughed, her excitement bubbling over.

Satan, caught off guard, smirked despite the loss. "Looks like you’ve improved! But I’m not finished yet!"

As Match Point began, the tension in the air thickened. Lidelle felt a lot of anxiety, knowing that this round could change everything.

With each Puyo she dropped, Lidelle remembered the training sessions, the laughter shared with her friends, and the unwavering support from her best friend, Tarutaru. She wasn’t just fighting for herself; she was fighting for everyone who believed in her.

The battle raged on, both competitors showcasing their skills and strategy. But just when it seemed Satan might turn the tide, Lidelle executed a stunning move—a chain of four, followed by a cascade that sent a shower of Puyos crashing down onto Satan’s side.

Satan stared, momentarily stunned. "What?! How did you—"

"Don’t underestimate me!" Lidelle shouted through her shy blushing, exhilaration pouring through her as victory became within reach.

With a final flurry of Puyos, Lidelle achieved her second win, and the arena exploded with cheers. She stood there, panting but triumphant, as Draco rushed forward to congratulate her.

"You kicked his butt, little sis!" Draco celebrated.

"Hehe, thanks, big sister," Lidelle said.

Lidelle's classmates, as well as Lemres and Feli, soon followed.

"You did it, Lidelle!" Amitie shouted.

"Congratulations, Ms. Lidelle!" Raffina said.

"Yay..." Sig said flatly. Even if he sounded out of it, Lidelle knew he was genuine.

"I must admit, you defied the odds," Klug stated.

"Satan's fate was sealed." Feli said.

"See? I told you she could do it!" Tarutaru beamed, lifting her up in excitement.

Lemres handed Lidelle a strawberry cupcake.

Satan approached, a grin on his face despite the loss. "You’ve grown stronger, young Lidelle. I’ll have to challenge you again sometime."

"Anytime!" she replied while tying her hair back up, her spirit soaring. In that moment, surrounded by friends and family, Lidelle felt more than just a competitor—she felt like a true champion.

As the celebrations continued, she knew that this battle was only the beginning.

I love it! My only note is that for religious reasons, Satan will be referred to as The Dark Prince in this series

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[genekies]

tag vent

[bunnihearted]

🏥🦷

[morningmask27]

Tonight, right now, not even ten minutes ago, might have been the closest I got to an outright hatecrime

[big-tees-and-short-skirts]

ah, so the misophonia is part of the sensory processing disorder + etc. of course.

[slippery-minghus]

ebery time i let myself doze off on the couch then wake up gasping, i tell myself i need to stop doing it.

but, reliably, every night, i get too sleepy and too comfy and can only convince myself to get up after i've dozed a little. i need a little sleep to give me the strength to get up. but then. i wake up. panicked and out of breath. i'm so fucking sick of it.

[dnalt-d2]

(probably gonna delete this later idk)

So this isn't Q S M P related but I need to scream into some uncaring void about this so

But I just spent MUCH longer on a project than I really should have (because life is a bitch and chooses the worst times to decide to kick you in the nonexistent dick) and WAY too much of said project was some very tedious nonsense

Like not difficult, but irritating and time-consuming. Basically arranging things in a way to look more coherent in a project file

And of course, I finish it, I get it all done, but decide to add one last part, and subsequently place it where it needs to go

Only to accidentally click on the wrong button

And find out

That there's been a shortcut to this thing I've been doing

This entire goddamn time

LITERALLY mere moments after finishing the project

If anyone needs me,

Don't

[gaykey]

i am so burntout right now i might just die actually

[scarletcomet]

i have no idea what to wear to the taylor swift concert tomorrow

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it���s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️