#i’m aware it’s september (almost) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghost-proofbaby · 4 months ago

Text

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest.

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight.

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest.

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop.

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious.

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record.

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it.

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight?

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains.

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone.

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him.

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought.

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him.

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up.

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.”

“Touche.”

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you.

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability.

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth.

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell.

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word.

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand.

I love you.

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting.

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity.

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it.

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.”

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into.

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?”

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow.

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief.

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back.

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more.

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson comfort #alright now to get ready for my tattoo appointment

471 notes · View notes

guxciestone · 1 year ago

Text

🥂 ❛ SATURN AND THE 27 CLUB ༉‧₊˚ ˚୨୧

(how saturn affected the lives of the members of the 27 club)

‎ ‎ ‎

🚬✧

‎ ‎ ‎

the 27 club and the conspiracies behind it have always intrigued me. i always wondered if there were any astrological connections between the members and their consequential deaths. if you have any post suggestions, i’m willing to consider them. i hope you’re having an amazing day and enjoy !!🫶🏽🤍

‎ ‎

what is the 27 club?

The 27 club is a popular informal list of musicians, actors, athletes and other famous people who consequently died at 27 due to overdoses, suicides, homicides, addictions, and other mysterious circumstances. The first ever recorded member of this club was Robert Johnson, the first ever rockstar. There have been multiple theories surrounding Robert’s rise to fame and his death. The most popular story was that Robert got his immaculate guitar talent from making a deal with Satan at a crossroads.

‎ ‎

This club has developed the notion that most celebrities tend to die at that age. Additionally, most celebrities, especially the musicians, had high-risk lifestyles. The 27 club has become a cultural phenomenon and conspiracy theory that the public and other celebrities have become aware of. In Mac Miller’s song “Brand Name”, he mentions, “To everyone who sell me drugs: Don’t mix it with that bullshit, I’m hopin’ not to join the 27 Club.” Mac Miller passed away at the age of 26 on September 7, 2018 due to a drug overdose, 4 months from his 27th birthday, almost making it into the club. The celebrities from the 27 Club I am including in this blog are: Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, and Jim Morrison. They were all popular musicians.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

the theory of saturn and selling your soul

The main conspiracy that goes around as to why these famous individuals made into this club is because they may have decided to attain their desire of fame and fortune in exchange for their soul and tragic death at the age of 27. Although I do not wholeheartedly believe in this theory, it is still fascinating to consider what if this could’ve been the case for all of these stars’ deaths? Especially when there may be an astrological theory that supports it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Saturn is the planet of contracts, deals, and promises. This planet is infamous for bringing back karma or lessons when an obligation or promise has been broken or put to a halt, which signifies the “deal” that these celebrities make with the devil, and if the deal doesn’t perform the way it should, the person has to endure the consequences. It makes it even more convincing that in tarot the “Devil” card is ruled by Saturn.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

my theory on saturn and the 27 club

It is intriguing how all of these celebrities died at the age of 27, it makes you wonder, “What is significant about that age?” and “What did these celebrities specifically do differently than other celebrities to experience a death at that age?” After researching articles and creating my own observations, I’ve made my own theory as to how Saturn could have affected the 27 Club.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Saturn is the planet of responsibility, maturity, and obligations. It is the reality that catches up to us when we have to grow up and take accountability for our true duties. It is the planet that we are so afraid of due to the harshness and honesty it beholds for us when it is time. At the age of 27-29 years old, every individual undergoes a Saturn Return—which is when all of that exactly happens. It is the time in which you have to take responsibility for your problems, issues, and wounds, and realize that it is up to you to create the life you need and deserve. This return is a wake-up call for individuals who suffer from addictions, mental health issues, self-esteem issues, and much more. Saturn gives you that wake-up call by giving you the karma for the reality you’ve created for yourself so far, because karma isn’t necessarily just about what you do to others, but also what you do to yourself. This may pertain to the deaths of the members of the 27 Club.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Next, I am going to interpret each of the members’ Saturn placements to see how their Saturn Return affected them personally.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

NOTE: I am simply reading the aspects of these celebrities for entertainment and curiosity purposes; I obviously did not know them personally, and these interpretations may be incorrect. I hope you enjoy it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

♡ amy winehouse ♡

Saturn in Scorpio in the 6th house

This indicates that Amy Winehouse may have had deep-rooted issues involving her self-care, habits, and health. There was this struggle to develop a close and intimate relationship with one’s personal wellbeing, and anything that interfered with that could have affected her. It is publicly known that Amy struggled with drug and alcohol addiction during her time and additionally dealt with other health problems such as bulimia. There were times where she repeatedly refused to go to rehab or get help. Before her Saturn Return, there may have been subconscious refusal to accept the problems that would’ve come from not taking much care of herself, and the only time when there would be acceptance of these problems is when it is too late because Saturn allows you to pick up the pieces of what you’ve put out for yourself as an adult. However, with maturity, this placement gives the individual the ability to dig deep into the depths of their nature and spirit to get to know themselves and satisfy their needs, wants, and desires in the most healthiest and effective way possible.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Moon in Capricorn in the 7th house sextile Saturn

There is a sense of maturity and seriousness when it comes to one’s emotional fulfillment. Winehouse valued her personal relationships as it gave her a sense of security and personal contentment. It may have been particularly harder for her to express this to her closest people, considering the fact that emotions and vulnerability might have not been her forte (Capricorn) However, she also held her personal connections to a high standard–she might have held boundaries, rules, and restrictions towards her loved ones. If she sees that someone is not behaving in the way she desires, she could easily cut them off. This would have been helpful for her in developing a sense of self-respect and maintaining her well-being and health as it could help prevent attracting people into her life that could influence her in the worst ways, such as developing addictions from partners.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Uranus in Sagittarius in the 6th sextile Saturn

Amy may have been an individual who was interested in sudden changes and unique circumstances in her work and routine. She would likely struggle in a workplace or environment that requires her to hold order and normality. She worked better in areas in which she can be independent, make her own schedule, and create her own flow. However, this placement can indicate unexpected changes in health as well–considering Amy had a 6th house stellium, health could have been an important part of her life. It seems that Winehouse would be able to maintain her sense of wellbeing and habits in a progressive and helpful way by allowing herself to create her own sense of routine. Perhaps using unique and healthy mediums of self-care would have helped (such as meditation, journaling, herbs–anything unconventional, but promising for her)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Pluto in Libra in the 6th conjunct Saturn

This indicates that Amy had a strong sense of ambition, focus, and determination. She might have had a strong need to succeed, worked hard and pushed herself to her limits. This willpower is beneficial in helping her progress in her wellbeing and habits, especially considering that this aspect indicates sudden changes and transformations in health–either for the best or worst. However, Winehouse may have easily worked herself to poor health such as burnout and exhaustion. Additionally, individuals with this placement are often good at keeping secrets and holding their ambitions to their chest. Not to mention, they are more than likely to struggle with pessimism and this aspect can magnify realism to a huge extent.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

♡ kurt cobain ♡

Saturn in Pisces in the 7th house

This indicates the struggle to allow vulnerability and unconditional love submerge into one’s interpersonal relationships. Cobain was a sensitive, emotional, and imaginative individual who desired to hold his connections and loved ones closely. However, he might have had an issue with developing closeness in these relationships due to the fear of intimacy and being loved. Cobain could have had habits of isolating himself, distancing himself from potential connections, or developing loneliness. It was known that Kurt dealt with mental health issues such as depression. Although we are not sure of what caused Kurt’s depression, there are things we know about his life. Firstly, his parents divorced when he was young, and secondly, he also struggled with drug addiction with heroin.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Venus in Pisces in the 7th conjunct Saturn

This indicates that one presents a loving and compassionate nature to partners and interpersonal connections. Cobain handled his relationships with a sense of selflessness and often held a huge imagination about and glamorized his partners. However, with this particular aspect, it may have been harder for him to express this true character to the people he loves and cares about–as transparency may have been one thing he struggled with. It seems that there is this fear of becoming codependent, needy, or illusioned in the realms of romance, so one tends to push themselves away from the possibility of connections with others. Furthermore, with the energy in Pisces, there could be a sense of melancholy or loneliness when he separates himself from the very relationships he longs for.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Jupiter in Cancer in the 10th house trine Saturn

Cobain had an excellent sense of discipline as well as optimism and faith in his goals and aspirations. He was meant to be successful in the realms music, art, and creativity as he had the ability to deeply connect with the public and accentuate special emotions and feelings in the audience while maintaining a sense of realism within his imagination. He was fairly hardworking and career success came to him naturally; and it seems that Cobain would have benefited vastly from doing this. He could have found that developing professional yet close connections with the public, his audience, and business partners would have helped him miraculously in his journey towards being vulnerable with others and developing knitted and unconditional relationships.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Midheaven in Gemini square Saturn

Kurt had the ability to communicate and express himself through mediums in his career, whether that be music, writing, teaching, and much more–it was in his path. However, it is possible that there could have been particular career blockages. Perhaps Cobain refused to integrate with the people and develop business connections with others, which could have made him struggle with expressing himself successfully to the public. He may have felt like he could not portray his image too well because of this, and it may have felt like nobody understood him and his image. Due to this, it could have been easy for Cobain to fall into deeper depression while in the public eye because it may have been another reminder of his lack of connections.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

♡ jimi hendrix ♡

Saturn in Gemini in the 6th house

There is this struggle of learning and taking advice from one’s peers in regards to your nature of order, routine, health, and responsibilities. Perhaps Hendrix lacked a sense of accountability in how he took care of himself or the habits he adapted. Perhaps he was the type to not be that interested in the regular workplace, schedules, or environment. He struggled with maintaining order in spontaneousness and control. However, it may be the other way around–perhaps there was a lack of accountability in being a workaholic, overworking himself, or pushing himself to his unforeseen limits. Peers, friends, or family members may have tried to consult him but there could have been the refusal to listen or abide. Apparently, although Hendrix did not suffer from drug addiction like most of the 27 Club members, he did have a fair fixation with alcohol, and there were times when he would get violent and abusive under the influence. There was even a time in which he had a physical altercation with his girlfriend while drunk.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Sun in Sagittarius in the 11th house opposition Saturn

Jimi was a bohemian at heart. He lived his life in authenticity through rejoicing with others, exploring the horizons, and taking in a huge amount of knowledge. Hendrix had the core value of enjoying the present and taking in all that you can; however, he also was an advocate of being involved and gaining experience with his community. He could have been fairly popular and likable. Nevertheless, this aspect can indicate that the influence of friends or social groups could have easily led Hendrix to an irresponsible and careless path in regards to his obligations and wellbeing. There would not be a surprise if he got into alcohol or drugs though friends, cousins, communities or peers. Matter of fact, during his drug trial, Hendrix admitted that he found doses of LSD and marijuana through gifts at a fan club meeting for the Beatles.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Mercury in Sagittarius in the 11th house opposition Saturn

Hendrix had the ability to attain incredible amounts of wisdom and was more than likely an intelligent individual. He was an expansive, open-minded, yet benevolent thinker; he was always willing to learn and challenge new customs and ideologies. He may have been particularly interested in social issues, his hopes and dreams, and connecting with communities. Furthermore, he could have been involved with many different groups of people, making him fairly known. However, there is a struggle with expressing himself through his means of communication, learning, being heard, and verbal expression. There could have been an imbalance in where to put his mental energy–either in expanding his horizons and indulging in new learning experiences or restricting himself to his duties and responsibilities. It may have been difficult for him to connect with others and he often felt distant from his peers, friends, and communities. He struggled between handling his work and advocating with his people.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

♡ janis joplin ♡

Saturn in Gemini in the 3rd house

This indicates an individual struggling with expressing oneself, connecting with others, and learning through peers when it comes to areas of communicating, their mindset, and thinking processes. Joplin was a mature, disciplined, and rigid thinker; she was wise and precise in the facts and messages she took in. She could have been an eloquent communicator as well. She was known for her strong and enduring three octave voice. However, this placement could manifest as her possibly struggling with communicating with others or developing connections with her peers and social groups. She may have been stubborn in receiving advice from her equals, and could have also struggled with negative thinking or pessimism. Apparently, when Joplin was in high school, she was one of the few to vocally oppose segregation amongst students, she endured bullying from racists and her peers. Furthermore, she was fairly a good student and popular until highschool–when she started to rebel and dress differently from other girls.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Chiron in Leo in the 7th house square Saturn

This indicates that Janis has a wound surrounding self-expression and connecting with her true self in her interpersonal relationships. She may have struggled with feeling genuine within her romantic connections; she could have felt that she had to fight to be heard and understood by her partners. There could have been conveniences in which she felt the need to distance herself from her love affairs due to feelings of being misheard or misunderstood.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Venus in Aquarius in the 12th house trine Saturn

Joplin was an electrifying, unpredictable, and quirky partner. She might have chosen different and special kinds of people to integrate into her love life. She thrived from eccentricity, and she desired to try new things in the matters of romance. However, she had a mystifying quality in regards to love. She was an idealist, and often had a huge imagination for her partners. She could have idolized them or put them on a pedestal. She may have dreamed about having the “perfect” lover too. She was fairly compassionate and giving towards the people she loves and cares about. This placement could also point to being a part of the LGBTQ+ community because Janis strived for unique partners and may have preferred it behind closed doors. There were tons of speculations that Joplin was lesbian, or at least bisexual, considering she had a long-term relationship with Peggy Caserta and went to gay bars before marrying her fiance Seth Morgan. Nevertheless, Joplin has innate ability to express her opinions, thoughts, and mind processes through these distinctive and thrilling connections because perhaps she felt could demonstrate her true self. This also made her a mature and stable lover as well, she was persistent and thoughtful in the matters of love.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Midheaven in Sagittarius opposition Saturn

Janis was seen as a rebellious, hippy, jubilant, and outgoing individual in the public eye; however, the issue surrounding the relationship with her peers growing up and her struggles with feeling heard, connected, and understood by them still ran deep in her heart. She might have compensated for this lack of community or fellowship by pursuing his career endeavors, which could have been beneficial to her to an extent. It was mentioned that Janis escaped her day-to-day issues in school by diving in her passion for music and art. However, this aspect calls for one avoiding the actual issue and not being willing to fix it, which could have hurt her in the long run. There was a need to resolve the broken connection there is with associates and her immediate community and allow herself to express her thoughts and be understood and comprehended for who she is.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

♡ brian jones ♡

Saturn in Taurus in 9th house

The Rolling Stones member had a deliberate, cautious and organized mind when it came to his materialistic and mental assets in life. He may have had the fear of losing his financial security, depending on others, or lacking foundation in his life whether that be with money, relationships, or success. Furthermore, Jones had a firm and solid foundation of values and morals that he was stubborn to changing. He was intelligent and had the ability to maintain his views. He may have grown up with rigid beliefs in the household, and it may have been particularly difficult for him to change the beliefs he had surrounding security, stability, and his foundations. It has been said that Brian dropped out of college due to the fact he disliked the conformity and discipline of it, although he performed very well and was intelligent at a young age.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Mars in Taurus in the 9th house conjunct Saturn

Jones was a disciplined, fairly motivated, and meticulous man. He was persistent and consistent when it came to his goals and aspirations. At some point in his life, graduating from college may have been an important thing for him to accomplish. This also indicates that he pursued his dreams and ambitions with the desire for security and stability in mind. However, this aspect can point to one being stuck in accomplishing their goals, whether that be from overworking, refusing to learn from failures, or pessimism.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Mercury in Aquarius in the 5th house square Saturn

This indicates that Brian Jones struggled with mediums of communication, learning and interacting with his immediate community. He could have had issues with expressing his unique and exciting talents due to his inhibited and stubborn views and morals. Perhaps at some point, college may have prevented him from pursuing music and producing, and it made him feel misunderstood and disconnected from his versatility and creative processes. This could also point to using detrimental vices to compensate for the lack of connection with one’s hobbies and pleasures (such as addictions, investing in endeavors you aren’t interested in, punishments, and much more)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

♡ jim morrison ♡

Saturn in Gemini in the 5th house

Morrison was an intelligent, critical, and versatile individual. His special abilities were being creative and deliberate in solving problems, speaking his mind with eloquence, and handling long-term projects. However, there seems to be an issue with balance between being too reckless and feeble-minded and too critical and stubborn in the acts of creative endeavors and joys in life. It may have been hard for Jim to indulge in his hobbies, affairs, or even considering children. Morrison did not have any children nor did he have a good relationship with his parents, so all of his will went to his girlfriend.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Chiron in Virgo in the 7th house square Saturn

Morrison has a wound surrounding the criticality, order, and sensibility. He may have had a strong sense of perfectionism and judgment when it came to his interpersonal relationships. Perhaps growing up he had to deal with harsh and fault-finding parents, friends, siblings, or partners. It could have caused him to develop a feeling of inadequacy–like he is not good enough. According to Morrison, his parents had “immense discipline” growing up and would have military-like punishments such as dressing down. He reportedly mentioned how he distanced himself from his parents over the years. This feeling of inadequacy may have caused Jim to develop a critical, self-inflicting behavior when it comes to him enjoying his personal endeavors, affairs, casual relationships, or hobbies.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

Sun in Sagittarius in the 10th house opposition Saturn

Morrison was a career-oriented individual who valued learning new things, expanding his knowledge, and experiencing new excitement through his professional endeavors and public image. However, he may have noticed that over time, prioritizing his legacy, image, and success could cause him to distance himself from his true passions and leisures. This may have influenced serious, “wet blanket” behavior and possibly becoming overly critical and strict himself.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

#astrology #natal chart #guxciestone #zodiac #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #tarot community #pick a card #tarot

436 notes · View notes

wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

Text

the kind of charm we need

written for @steddiemicrofic september prompt ‘charm’ + 548 words | rated T | pre-relationship, fluff, flirting, boys being dumb

🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄

“‘Not the kind of charm we need,’” Steve mutters derisively to himself for the tenth time that day as they pull up to the cemetery curb.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin sighs, “your time and talents are sooo wasted on us, Steve, we get it.”

Max glares at him from the rearview like she agrees with Dustin, then shoves out of the backseat and slams the door shut behind her without a word.

Shit.

Steve watches her climb the hill, guilt rolling through his guts. Fuckin’ Nancy. There are bigger problems here.

Like, for example, the metalhead fugitive having a nervous breakdown in a boathouse.

“Oh, my god,” Lucas says from the backseat as the walkie crackles to life, Eddie’s quivering voice calling out for ‘Dustin? Anybody? Hello??’

He passes the walkie up to the front with a look like he’s debating whether or not to just smash the thing to pieces on the asphalt instead. “Can you maybe use your charm on Eddie before I murder him?”

“He’s in distress!” Dustin cries.

“He’s on my last nerve!”

“Seriously, anybody?? Please!”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, give me that.” Steve yanks the walkie out of Lucas’ hand, hauls himself out of the car — leans in to tell the two shitheads to stay put and shut up before he closes the door.

He leans against the driver’s side, head throbbing, body sore. Can’t tell if he’s too young or too old for this shit. He pushes the talk button with a begrudgingly slow press.

“Steve Harrington’s babysitting and distraction service, how may I help you? Over.”

“Stevie!” Eddie whoops, sounding genuinely thrilled to hear Steve’s voice. Steve knows he’s just excited to hear anyone’s voice, but. Hm. “Goddamn am I glad to- wait, where’s Henderson? Sinclair? Are they—?”

“They’re fine,” Steve assures before the creep of hysteria he hears can fully take hold. He kicks his heel against the front tire. “They’re waiting in the car. I’ve been instructed to, like, charm you into calming down, or whatever.”

“Charm me?” Eddie’s voice lilts with interest. Steve can almost see the smile, the way he licks across his front teeth.

“Just a— well, not a joke, but, like…” Steve trails off, gives up trying to explain. Nance has this way of making comments that cling like cactus spines. “Never mind.”

“No, no,” Eddie says. “Go on. I’m ready to be charmed.”

And maybe it’s the way Eddie says charmed like a snake scenting the air, or maybe it’s the stress of the day; maybe he’s finally having his own little mental breakdown as a treat, because for some insane reason he leans into whatever this is, pitches his voice all low and slippery and asks, “What are you wearing?”

Silence for a moment, and then Eddie cackles, the noise so loud it overwhelms the little speaker in the walkie, bursts of laughter breaking through the static noise. Steve finds himself laughing, too, a slow thing that builds and builds, swells inside him like blown glass until he’s warm and bright all over.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes when he finally calms. “You’re— you’re ridiculous. Shit, man, I really needed that, you have no idea.”

Steve smiles to himself. Bites the inside of his cheek. Not the kind of charm we need.

No, but someone might.

🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄

note: i am aware that this is canon adjacent (which is to say that i meant for it to take place in canon but i didn’t feel like rewatching the scene for total accuracy so like, canon can bite me it’s close enough)

#steddie #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficseptember #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie drabble #steddie fluff #dustin henderson #max mayfield #lucas sinclair

782 notes · View notes

fisshbones · 4 months ago

Text

Halloween head cannons with genshin characters!

A/N: yes I’m aware it’s September, do i care? Not at all. In-fact (almost) every month of the year I celebrate Halloween! I just love the colours and vibes. So i bring you part 1 of the halloween head canons!!

Cw: None! Sfw, Gn reader! Could be read as platonic or romantic!

Scary Movies! Lyney, Lynette, Freminet. 🍿

It was Lyney’s idea to watch scary movies. His plan was to put a scary movie on so you would jump into his arms when you were scared! It was the perfect plan, key word was. He really should have read up on what this movie entails. Cause this man was a scaredy cat. He jumped at every noise. You’d think working for the fatui would make him less afraid of this stuff but apparently not. He’s not alone within his fear. Freminet is holding onto Pers for dear life. Though unlike his brother he’s not waking up the entire neighborhood screaming. Then there’s Lynette who is still as a board. Not scared in the slightest but highly invested in this movie. She originally kept trying to shush her brother and his dramatics, but eventually gave up. She’ll let you hide your self in her shoulder, just don’t move or make too much noise.

Haunted Houses! Hutao 👻

One question. What the hell were you thinking taking her to a haunted house?? You can’t tell who’s scaring you more, her or the scare workers? Whenever the atmosphere is too quiet or your grabbing a snack from a food truck; Hu Tao will come sneak right up behind you and say “Boo!” while poking/grabbing your shoulders. One time you screamed so loud and dropped your food she was giggling like a maniac. While everyone around you stared at you guys for a solid 30 seconds. (can you blame them? nothing creepy happens in the food court, normally atleast)

If you enjoyed please like, reblog, and/or comment!

112 notes · View notes

corralinesage · 2 months ago

Text

Child of September (3/?)

18+ mature content, smut

Chapter 3: Mirror, mirror

(w/c 7,3k)

“So, you know how you always paint me?” You gave Natasha a deadpan look for stating the obvious.

“Yes, I’m aware.” She rolled her eyes at your response, walking closer to you in the flickering light of the candles that sat on the dinner table, illuminating the dirty dishes that remained from your delicious dinner. You wrapped up a leftover grilled cheese into foil and placed it into the refrigerator as Natasha lingered at the table, clearly working through something in her mind.

“I wanna know what it’s like”, she hummed softly, her words causing you to turn around to look at her.

“You do?” You couldn’t help the amused, excited smile that it brought to your face.

“Yeah. I want you to model for me.” She began to clean the table to help you, collecting dishes and bringing them to the sink.

“Sure. What did you have in mind?” You couldn’t help but notice how giddy you felt all of a sudden, ecstatic to have her show such interest in you. It was thrilling to say the least because it showed you that she wanted inside your mind, she wanted to see the world through your eyes, experience the things that you enjoyed.

“I think I’d want to do a nude study”, she said slyly, your bubbling laughter following immediately.

“Naturally.” You looked at Natasha with undeniable mirth glistening in your eyes, the look in hers matching your playfulness. Natasha had some artistic skills, but they paled in comparison to yours. She had no time for silly sketches in her duty to save the world. “I have a vision.”

“Do tell me your vision”, you hummed softly, continuing to clean up the table.

“I want you to pose for me on the bed. Kind of like that one pose I did last week where I had my hand on my boob.” You couldn’t help the knowing smile that found your face. You saw her vision quite clearly.

“Oh, I know.” You nodded your head. You could barely get the image you had drawn out of your head. Natasha had been positioned on your bed, on her knees, thighs parted, one hand conveniently covering up the apex of her thighs, the other grabbing her breast. Her head had been tilted back to reveal her pale neck, her collarbones and strong shoulders wonderfully on display. You could vividly recall the placement of each vein on her forearms, you remembered the way the soft flesh of her breast had curved where her fingertips had sunken into it, you could almost see right then and there with your mind’s eye the undulating muscles that had been highlighted by the gentle lighting of the bedroom. It had definitely been one of the more sensual paintings you had made of Natasha, your mind immediately whirring with the more than enticing imagery you had going on in your mind.

“I want something similar, so that you can get the full experience of having to hold a pose and all.”

“Uh-huh, that’s why”, you said a bit teasingly, earning a huff from Natasha. She slapped your behind as you walked by with any remaining kitchenware in your hands as if to tell you off for your cocky comments, but all in good nature. You laughed, unable to contain the excitement you felt.

No more than ten minutes later you were sat on the bed with your legs extended diagonally in front of you, one knee slightly bent to create a bit more visual interest to the pose. Your left hand was propped behind you, allowing you to lean against that arm. It put your chest and abdomen nicely on display for Natasha, your other hand on your stomach waiting for further instructions from Natasha.

“Touch your left boob”, she hummed from behind the easel where your designated place usually was. You loved the confidence she displayed, loved the matter-of-fact air she had about her. She was really playing your part and doing a hell of a job at it. Her eyes returned to you again after a while of staring at her canvas, studying the result of her own commands. “Move the hand to the right, darling.” You began to move your hand. “Eyes on me”, she reminded you in that soft voice of hers, your gaze rising back up to her face as you relocated your hand over your right breast, giving it a slight squeeze. You were fully nude, stripped bare in front of her, struggling to keep your face neutral from how excited you were. You were illuminated by the soft lighting of a few smaller, warm-toned lamps in your room, the light source giving your skin a warmth that made it look soft and inviting. The entire setting felt tranquil and intimate, like a comfortable night in. The tension was somehow palpable before Natasha had even gotten to work. She looked pensive as she observed you, her left hand coming up to her lips in thought. “Switch the bent leg for me.” It was oddly exhilarating to take orders from her in such a manner. You did as told. “Now, look at me, detka. Smile.” You did your very best not to grin like the fool in love that you were, softening your eyes and smile into something more seductive and intimate. You could see from the look on her face that it was exactly what she had been looking for. “Perfect, hold that.”

Natasha began to work on her piece, a small frown on her face as she blindly started the process, not quite knowing where to begin or what to even do. She wasn’t familiar with painting, only poorly done doodles and small sketches that had been inspired by your overflowing passion for art. You enjoyed watching her immensely. It was eye-opening to be in Natasha’s shoes and get to witness the adoration that was communicated through her studying gaze. You had never before quite realized what it was like to be met with that intense gaze time and time again as she went back and forth between you and the canvas. You couldn’t help but to wonder what was going on in her head, wonder which part of you she was looking at, which detail of your body she was picking up on at that very moment. The more she looked at you, the more you wanted to move. The more those green eyes traced your figure, the more of it you wanted to show her. The hand squeezing your breast made you feel slightly too good when paired with Natasha’s intense gaze. Your innocently posed legs were just shy from allowing you to squeeze your thighs together. It was then that you realized why Natasha often began to speak when she posed for you.

“How’s it going?” You asked innocently, looking for a distraction from the restlessness of your body. You weren’t quite aroused yet, but you were awfully close, especially if you were meant to last in that position, under the burning gaze of her eyes, for another hour or two.

“It’s going okay, I’d say. Of course, it’s not going to be anything phenomenal because I don’t know what I’m doing”, she chuckled. “But it’s fun to try. I like seeing what you see, knowing what it’s like for you to look at me for ages and ages.” You huffed out a laugh, nodding subtly in agreement to avoid disturbing your pose.

“Yeah, me too.” Your eyes remained on her as she kept painting. “I never realized that you probably see every single small change on my face when I’m painting.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Natasha smirked, glancing at you briefly.

“That’s why I rarely ask how the painting is going. I don’t need to ask. I can see it from your face.” You felt your cheeks heat in a slight mixture of embarrassment and affection. It felt like an oddly vulnerable thing for her to notice, bringing a sense of exposure with it. “When it’s going well you have this certain softness to your face. It’s very subtle, but it’s most definitely there. You look at me more when you feel good about the painting”, she began to speak again when you didn’t respond. “If you’re disappointed in yourself, you don’t look at me. You only glance at me.” Her voice was so gentle and dreamy, the silence of the bedroom only seeming to emphasize the delicate tone she spoke with. “Like you’re afraid that I’m disappointed in you too.” Your heartbeat felt louder in your chest. You felt so raw. She could see all that. She could read all of those very real emotions simply from your face.

“I never realized…” Natasha gave you a soft, understanding smile.

“When you mess up”, she continued. “You have a habit of taking deeper breaths. You let out these huffs of frustration, but only through your nose. Then, however, if you have really made a big mistake, you sigh and usually say something.” Her words made you laugh because you knew her to be right.

“Yeah, I do. I go ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, or ‘fuck me’.” You both grinned.

“To which I go: ‘gladly’.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the way she imitated the enthusiastic hum she usually said it with. It was heart-warming to realize how even such little things had become a habit for both of you. It was a completely different kind of coexistence that allowed you to be so in tune with each other. “I love following the process of it through your expressions. It’s almost like a game.” She applied more paint onto the canvas, defining the shape of your limbs like she had seen you do so many times, yet her brush strokes looked nothing like your precise and well-practiced ones.

“That’s not fair. I can’t do the same with you. Your face is made of stone.”

“Only when I want it to be”, she hummed in amusement at your whiny tone. “It’s alright, darling. It takes a while to learn it. We’ll have to do this many more times before you learn to read from my expressions that I can’t paint for the life of me.” You laughed.

“I’m sure I’ll be plenty convinced after today”, you teased, amused by the gentle, defeated shake of her head.

“Do you notice anything about me when I’m posing?” Natasha asked in curiosity, going behind her canvas to hide how much she wished that you noticed her just the same.

“I think I notice first when you get cold”, you mumbled in thought, smiling a little wider as you watched her stare down at the paint palette that she held in her right hand. “I can tell before your skin turns into goosebumps or before your lips and nipples turn a cooler shade.”

“How?” Natasha had a look of excited wonder in her eyes.

“You start wiggling your toes.” You let out a little giggle that Natasha matched with one of her own.

“I do not.”

“You so do. It’s this little wiggle at first where I notice just a bit of movement in my peripheral.” Natasha couldn’t stop smiling, the front row of her pearly white teeth fully exposed. “And then you start to rub your toes together. And… This one is my favorite.” You laughed quietly, the look of curiosity on Natasha’s face only growing “If the pose allows it, you start to rub your feet together like a cricket. That’s when I usually offer you socks or a blanket.” Natasha let out a hearty laugh.

“A cricket”, she snickered in disbelief.

“Another thing I notice is when you start to daydream. Your eyes just kind of glaze over.” Natasha looked like she was both baffled and touched by your observations. You smiled smugly, pleased to evoke such a reaction from her. You knew just how good it felt to be seen. “If it’s something dirty you start biting the inside of your lip and your cheeks turn red.” Just the thought of that stirred warmth in your lower abdomen. “And if it’s something comforting or calming you relax a little more into your pose.” Natasha nodded along, agreeing with everything you were saying, shortly after remembering to focus a bit more on her work than she had in the past ten minutes. “One time you had this strange look on your face that I couldn’t figure out. You were almost as if zoned out but confused, like you were trying to figure something out.”

“When was that?” Her voice oozed amusement.

“Maybe a month ago when we did the charcoal sketch.” Natasha chuckled, her cheeks turning a sheer rose color, your interests piqued immediately. “What?”

“I thought you would’ve put that one together based on what we did after”, she mused smugly, her suggestive tone making the hairs on your body stand on end as if in anticipation. The rather sensual and downright lewd memories flashed across your mind, a creeping warmth rising up your neck.

“What were you doing then?”

“Trying to divide forty-two-thousand and five hundred sixty-three by hundred and fifty-two to turn myself off.” Your cheeks hurt from how hard you were grinning.

“Did it work?” Natasha looked at you for a long moment, the charge between you only growing stronger.

“No”, she whispered, her gaze dipping down to the breast you were squeezing with your hand, a rush of heat going through you. “I’m rather convinced that when you’ve turned me on there is nothing in the world that could undo that.” Your cheeks were blazing hot. Talk about being turned on.

“That puts us into quite a pickle then, doesn’t it?” you hummed innocently, tilting your chin down just enough to look up at her through your eyelashes. She always gave you ‘the look’ herself and acted all unbothered, it was finally your turn to do the same.

“Any other observations you make when you paint?” Natasha asked coolly, ignoring you on purpose because you both knew that you were getting to her, you and that maddeningly casual pose of yours that was somehow so incredibly sensual.

“Hmm, I can tell when you’re bored of posing.”

“I don’t get bored.” She looked at you for a long time, her eyes studying you from head to toe, clearly trying to figure out something regarding the painting.

“Your face doesn’t lie, Natasha”, you pointed out in a gentle reminder.

“What gives it away then?” She went back to her painting, staring at the canvas for an equally long amount of time.

“You fall asleep on me”, you chuckled, hearing her huff from behind the easel. She remained out of sight for a moment longer before her eyes appeared from behind it to take a peek at you. “Don’t worry, I find it adorable.” You were met with another amused huff.

“To be fair that only happens when I’ve been posing for hours on end. I like posing for you. I like looking at you.” The way she sounded and looked as she painted and spoke to you was something that you had never known you needed. The soft tone of her voice, the little rasp to it, the focused demeanor in her body, the absentminded, yet present poise she had about her was something beyond attractive. You had always shared a kind of intimacy and vulnerability in those moments spent together. You were usually so wrapped up in your work that you didn’t have the mind to slow down and take in the moment that you were sharing, but looking at it from a new perspective, from Natasha’s perspective, you realized just how meaningful that time together was.

A sudden silence fell over you, Natasha focusing fully on her work in a way that you hadn’t yet seen that day. You saw the way her brows formed a small crease on her forehead, that same confused but determined look appearing on her face shortly after. She continued to mix colors on her palette that you had helped her create, testing out different ways of bringing together the image that she was trying to immortalize on the canvas. She tried to understand the way values worked, to understand the way shifts in the warmth of the color could create. She did her best to block out shapes and sculpt with paint, something you always talked to her about, but she wasn’t sure she quite understood what it meant to push and pull the pigments. You observed her for a long time, noting that she stopped looking at you, slowly making you realize that you missed her eyes on you, missed the attention that you so craved from her. You watched her frown deepen as she stared vehemently at the canvas. There was something more to that look, more than just the painting process.

“Need help?” You asked coyly, your hand letting go of your breast to allow your fingers to play absentmindedly with your hardened nipple. Natasha’s eyes snapped to you automatically at the sound of your voice, her eyes devouring the sight of you on the bed. You circled your nipple with your finger, giving her a compelling smile, the kind of smile you knew Natasha couldn’t quite resist. “Am I no longer interesting enough to look at?” Your voice had a pouty lilt to it, purposely teasing her. “If you’re not using me as reference anymore, I could use a bit of a stretch. My arm is killing me.”

“Yes, of course, krasotka. Stretch away”, she hummed, continuing her work, but she failed to move her eyes off you as you plopped down onto the bed, stretching your arms above your head. Your back arched off the mattress, a low moan resonating in your bedroom as you allowed the tension to escape your body, all the while giving Natasha more than enough to look at. Her eyes ran over all the smooth skin you had to offer her, your breasts fully on display, your perky nipples begging to be licked and sucked by her. Her eyes ran lower, down your abdomen to your hips, finding the triangle of hair that disappeared between your thighs. If only she could simply spread your legs open and uncover the most sensitive parts of you. Her mind was racing. Were you just as on edge as her? Would she find your folds wet and ready if she were to slide her hand up your silky inner thigh and feel your bare sex? If she could just sink her fingers inside you and hear you let out those very same moans but for entirely different reasons. She gritted her teeth together subtly, doing her best to not give her mind any more room to entertain her sexual daydreams, but it was a simple fact that she was not good nor passionate enough to care about her ugly painting. She did not care for it. She only cared for you and the hungry look in your eyes as you settled back into your pose, massaging your breast a little more than could be considered appropriate.

“Oh, my hip is killing me”, you mumbled to yourself, parting your knees to open up and stretch your hips a bit. You moved your knee to the side, giving Natasha a more than ample look at the wetness that had gathered between your legs. You let out a small grunt just to maximize your tease, your palm sliding down your inner thigh, massaging the muscles there to help yourself relax. She tried to keep her cool, she really did, but nothing was keeping her attention on the painting. Absolutely nothing.

“Oh, fuck this. Fuck all of it”, Natasha groaned impatiently, finally giving into her desires and discarding the palette onto your desk. She didn’t give the poorly executed painting another glance before getting on the bed. You let out a small, victorious giggle as you welcomed her into your arms, immediately captured into a heated kiss. All you could do was moan, your cold body clinging to Natasha for warmth.

“You’re such a little shit”, she muttered into your neck as she hugged you, the sensation making you giggle even louder.

“Me? That’s all you!” You squealed, the touch of her hands tickling your sides. “That’s what you always do!”

“I do not”, Natasha laughed, kissing up your neck and cheek before pulling away to see your face. You grinned as wide as humanly possible, unable to control your excitement as you looked up at Natasha, your hands coming up to brush back some of her hair before allowing your hands to glide down her body to where the hem of her shirt was.

“You do”, you chuckled in a bit more reserved manner, the humor of the situation dimming down a bit when you felt your body physically throb for her. You slid the shirt up to her shoulders, pulling it over her head, Natasha leaning back to slide the piece of clothing completely off her to allow you to discard it to the side. But before Natasha could lean down to kiss you, your hands pushed her back gently. “I wanna see your work.”

“Oh, no”, Natasha moaned in disappointment, her lips spreading into a smile of disbelief and defeat, her head dropping down to hide from you. She knew there was nothing to show. “Let’s not-”

“No, no, no. I wanna see”, you protested, evading Natasha’s lips again as she tried to kiss you.

“My ego can’t take a hit like that.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad”, you said in a much quieter voice, your tone shifting into something a little poutier and more sensual. Your fingertips trailed down from her collarbones, sliding along her sternum as you batted your eyelashes at her. “Please, love, let me see.” She held your gaze, clearly aware of your cheap tactics, but she couldn’t deny that you were getting to her, her eyes admiring your doting ones, taking in the alluring look in them. She could feel herself yield the longer you gazed up at her, your fingers drawing teasing, little circles between her breasts. “Please”, you whispered, allowing your hand to move lower, your cool fingers skating down her abdomen to the waistband of her jeans, barely grazing the rough fabric.

“Fine”, she sighed, getting off you, so you could both go take a look at her painting. You felt the anticipation build up in your chest as you made your way to the easel, rounding the edge of the canvas to see what Natasha had accomplished. You felt your face grow rigid as you schooled your features at the sight, refusing to offend your girlfriend by flat out laughing at her creation. There were some correct colors here and there. She was quite decent with colors, but they still lacked in hues and came off as overly vibrant or flat, creating a piece that lacked contrast. The shape, however, the shape of the figure was childish. It was stocky and harsh, disfigured, really. It looked wonky and chaotic, forming a huge mess on the canvas. You glanced at Natasha, unsure of what to say or how to really react to the piece, but when you saw her face, you could no longer hold in your laughter, a long giggle falling from your lips.

“I told you!” She was laughing as well, pulling you away from the canvas so you would stop looking at the horrendous piece she had created.

“No, it’s good!” Natasha laughed even louder at that.

“No, it isn’t. Don’t you dare lie to me”, she said, eyeing the painting like it had personally offended her. “It doesn’t show how beautiful you are. Not even close. Actually, this is blasphemy against you.”

“I’d say it’s pretty accurate.” You chuckled softly, the sound dying down in your throat when Natasha’s eyes met yours. They were hungry, devoted as they eyed you up and down, taking in every inch of your nude body, a small smile finding her lips.

“Nowhere near.” She shook her head in emphasis. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are.” Your shared moment of hilarity fizzled out, returning to the gentle sensual charge that could always be found between you if you just gave it the opportunity to surface. “I may not be able to show you how beautiful you are through art, but I have other ways.” Natasha’s eyes met yours again, her hands pulling you closer by your waist. You smirked at the air of suggestion her words carried, your hands finding her jeans on their own, ready to get rid of them.

“Is that so?” You felt a gentle tickle in your lower abdomen, a twinge of impatience shooting through you. Natasha smiled brightly, the look on her face telling you that you had something out of the ordinary coming your way.

“Oh, yes.” She rubbed her lips together, her gaze dipping down to your body. You leaned in to kiss her, Natasha welcoming you without hesitation, your lips pressing together firmly in a proper kiss that quickly developed into something more heated. You found yourself in her embrace, your hands working her jeans over her hips so she could kick them to the side, your lips not disconnecting once. You felt much warmer in the matter of a few seconds, the chilly October night unable to reach you when Natasha was igniting sparks of pure arousal inside you. She started to guide you back to the bed, your body following her lead blindly, longing to sink into her fully when her warm tongue stroked your own. You heard the quiet squelches and moans that you both produced, feeling yourself get lost in her, get lost in the permission to forget everything else in the world for a moment.

You had expected her to guide you to lie down on the bed like she often did, but you came to a halt beside the bed instead, her lips pulling off your own, hands turning you around to face away from her. Your eyelids fluttered open when you felt Natasha take a step back, immediately spotting your closet directly in front of you. She moved closer to it, opening one of its doors, your own reflection coming into your view as she directed the mirror on the inside of the closet door toward the bed. Your stomach dropped from arousal when you watched Natasha take her place behind you in the mirror, a soft smile finding her face. She leaned closer to you, the lace of her bra and underwear brushing against your backside, her nose grazing up your neck gently before she placed a few feather-light kisses over the tender skin. Goosebumps erupted all over your body, your nipples hardening as electric heat pooled in your lower abdomen.

“Look at yourself, detka”, she commanded in a low hum, her fingertips making contact with your arms, gently brushing up and down your skin to aggravate the already existing goosebumps there. You looked at yourself in the mirror, starkly nude and bare for her. “You’re so beautiful.” Her tone was silky smooth, deep and gentle, so much so that you felt your knees grow weaker beneath you. “Your face, your hair, your skin”, she muttered, brushing aside some of your hair, baring your skin to kiss your shoulder, her soft lips caressing you delicately. “You’re beautiful beyond comparison.” Her eyes met yours through the mirror as her arms wrapped around your waist to hug you from behind, her warmth, her words, her presence bringing a small smile to your face. “I love that smile.” Her voice was nothing but a whisper as she kissed your cheek, your smile only widening as you hugged her back by pulling her forearms tighter against you. “But as much as I love it, there’s something else I’m looking for right now.” Her hand slid lower to your pelvis, fingertips only barely skimming over your pubic bone, her mouth finding your ear, the wetness of her tongue sending shivers down your spine as she licked the shell of your ear. Your lips parted in a silent gasp, wiping the smile right off your face, a frown of pleasure finding your brows when you felt the buzz between your legs grow more intense. You turned around rather automatically, longing to kiss her, but before your body had so much as moved, Natasha’s hand had curled around your bicep in a firm grip, a gentle tut falling from her lips.

“Eyes on the mirror, darling.” Your gaze found your reflection again, your body visibly melting into Natasha’s embrace as her hands continued to explore it, slowly stroking over your abdomen, massaging you. “I want you to see these curves.” Her hands found your hips, giving them a proper squeeze, your eyes nailed on the way the muscles of her hands and forearms flexed, fingertips sinking slightly into the flesh. You noted how attractive they looked, how firm, how possessive their grip was. “I want you to see how irresistible every inch of you is, how sexy and alluring you can look when you’re at my mercy.” You let out a soft sigh when her left hand slid to your left thigh, massaging the hip and leg area with teasing pressure as her right hand moved up toward your chest. “I want you to see what I see, what drives me insane.” You nearly whimpered, the sound slipping from you by accident as you waited in immense anticipation for her hand to cup your chest. Her fingers were mere centimeters away from the curve of your breast, but her fingertips only barely brushed against the silky-smooth flesh, your eyes unable to tear their gaze away from the veins on her hand, the enticing softness of your body begging to be touched. You knew exactly how good her warm hand could feel against your cool skin, how a single squeeze of her hand would make you sink into her embrace. Her hand was right there. It was so close. And then you saw through the mirror how her hand finally found your breast and cupped it properly. You registered very briefly how wanton the look on your face was, how desperate, but you didn’t have the time to dwell on it.

“Don’t close your eyes”, she warned you gently, your eyes snapping open when you realized that you hadn’t even noticed yourself close them. You met her gaze in the mirror, her pleased smile eliciting a small, albeit shyer smile from you. “You’re an angel, a goddess”, she whispered, her left hand coming up to join her right one. “I can’t get enough of your shape, your breasts, your nipples, the perfect shade of them that I can’t color match for the life of me”, she mumbled in mild amusement, coaxing out a small huff from you. “It makes me want to bury my face into your chest, to kiss you, to bite you.” The tone of her voice was so raw and honest that you knew for a fact that she was telling the truth, your head spinning from desire. “Look in the mirror, malyshka. Look how beautiful you are.” Your hands came up to cover her own on your body as if to make sure they stayed on you. She lowered her left hand down, your left hand following, her right hand massaging your breast. You felt yourself lean into her much heavier than before, your feet unstable beneath you. There was something about the way you could see your own reaction to her touch so clearly in the mirror. It made you react to her touch ten times stronger, a low moan coming from you as her hand dipped between your legs.

“There’s not a part of you that I’m not obsessed with”, Natasha continued, enjoying immensely how limp and helpless you were becoming. She could see just how strongly the entire situation was affecting you. “You’ve got the most perfect waist, hips, thighs…” Both of her hands moved to stroke over each body part she mentioned. “God, and your shoulders, mmh.” She kissed your shoulder, sucking a light mark right where muscle connected to bone. “Your arms… and hands.” Her lips moved down to your bicep, her hands caressing the entire length of your arms, gently grasping your hands. “Oh, your hands.” She brought your dominant hand up to your heads so she could reach it, kissing the palm of it gently. “They’re incredible, Y/N. The things you’re able to create…” she whispered in awe, every word uttered by her tickling your ear. Your knees almost buckled when her other hand found your pelvis region again and slipped between your legs to discover the throbbing, wet mess you had become. The effect was only emphasized by Natasha’s satisfied moan as she felt around your folds, spreading the slick gathered there as well as your restricted position allowed.

“Natasha”, you whined softly, pushing yourself down against her hand, eyes still glued to your reflection, the sight of her touching the most sensitive parts of you making you dizzy with want.

“Tell me how beautiful you are, krasotka. I wanna hear it.” She placed a few more kisses up your neck to find your ear.

“Mmh.” You couldn’t manage much else. You felt a bit awkward for having to make such claims when you were unsure of how true you personally thought them to be.

“Be a good girl, won’t you?” The whispered words worked on you embarrassingly well. You could never deny her a single thing, not when she was simply all too irresistible. You stared at yourself in the mirror, one of her hands playing with your breasts, the other massaging your sex in tantalizing squeezes of her hand, each rub bringing you closer to total submission. “You wanna be a good girl for me, right?”

“Yes, Natasha”, you sighed, your body leaning back into her for more support.

“Let’s hear it then.” Your eyes were half-lidded as you scanned yourself from head to toe in the mirror, studying your build, maybe even liking what you saw in some places.

“I’m beautiful”, you mumbled in a low murmur, your hips growing restless the longer her hand remained between your legs.

“I’m gorgeous”, she whispered in a tone that let you know you were meant to repeat her words. She bit your neck gently, the longing frown on your face only deepening as your hips rolled forward in search of more pressure. You repeated her words, keeping your eyes on your hips, watching how the muscles of your abdomen contracted as you moved your hips to meet her touch. “I’m sexy.” She gave you another sentence to repeat, which you dutifully repeated, your body growing visibly weaker the more she touched you. “You’re such a good girl”, she said breathily, clearly pleased with you as her hand dipped a little deeper between your thighs, her index and middle fingers spreading you open to see more of you. Her eyes looked at your sex through the mirror, her lower lip clamped between her teeth as she admired you, pinching your clit between her fingers. You were about to drop to the ground any second, your legs far too weak to support you as your body zeroed in on the sharp but delicious sting.

“Fuck”, Natasha moaned heavily, unable to keep herself in check at the sight. “You’ve got a gorgeous pussy. So wet, so soft and perfect.” You had to force your eyes to stay open, a part of you wishing to see the way she was touching you, the other part longing to just sink into the pleasurable sensation. “Say it for me, detka.” You felt your cheeks heat violently at the thought of repeating her words. You couldn’t bring yourself to say something like that. You were quite positive you had never said anything of the sort about yourself. Natasha waited for a moment, her tongue licking over the delicate skin of your neck as she placed languid kisses there, but when no response from you came, she withdrew the hand from between your legs. You let out an odd, panicked sound at the action, immediately regretting your decision.

“I’ve got a gorgeous pussy.” Your cheeks were burning like two bonfires from shame and mild humiliation, but a part of you also felt good. You felt more confident because she made you feel like you had a reason to be.

“That’s it, baby”, Natasha praised, a smug smirk on her face as she brought her hand back between your legs, her fingertips finding your clit with familiar ease. “You’re so wet, so ready for me. Mmh, all I want is to taste you.” Your eyes fluttered shut on their own, your body threatening to fold forward as she drew tight circles over your clit, making you burn with desire. You were wet beyond measure, the sinfully lustful look on your face showing you exactly how affected you were by her. You were completely gone, fully under her control. She pulled away from you suddenly, your features acquiring a tinge of disappointment to them. Her hands never left your body as she moved in front of you, breaking your visual connection to the mirror for the first time. You wanted nothing more than to kiss her when you were met with her green eyes and loving smile, so desperate to feel her fully against your body, but you didn’t dare move, waiting for her to show you what she had in mind.

“Kneel on the edge of the bed for me”, she hummed, pushing you back just enough to make you follow her orders. She helped you onto the bed, your knees on the very edge, your body still fully displayed in the mirror. She took a step back, admiring your curves for a moment before leaning in for a kiss. You whimpered against her lips, all too relieved to be kissed by her, to be hugged by her, her hands wrapping around your middle. You used the opportunity to unhook her bra and uncover her breasts for you, your hands moving to the waistband of her underwear next, eager to have her fully nude. She allowed you to have your moment, but once her underwear dropped to the ground, she pulled away from the kiss.

“Eyes on the stunning woman in the mirror”, she reminded you softly, her hand caressing your jaw briefly before she knelt on the floor, turning around to face the mirror as well so you could see more of her. Your lips parted in a silent gasp when you took in the sight of the both of you, Natasha’s head between your parted thighs as she sat on the floor. The bed was the perfect height for her, allowing her to tilt her head back onto the mattress, her hands guiding you to spread your knees wider apart and sit yourself on her face.

You looked at the both of you in the mirror, your head feeling beyond fuzzy at the sight. You’d never seen yourself like that before, gaining an understanding of what made you so compelling to Natasha. It was the utter relaxation you exuded, the pleading frown that you couldn’t wipe off your face, the desperate longing that you couldn’t hide. You rested half of your weight over Natasha’s mouth, your eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head from the wet sensation of her lips and tongue. It was somehow even better when you could see her exposed neck and jaw through the mirror, her defined arms on display as she rubbed your thighs with her hands to make you fully relax on top of her. You watched yourself start to grind down against her mouth in the mirror, your gaze fixed on where you were connected, eyes devouring the way Natasha’s jaw flexed as she moved her mouth against you, eating you out with shameless greed. Your breathing picked up into heavy panting in record time, your hips finding a steady rhythm that matched Natasha’s movements in the most pleasurable way imaginable. You saw the way your breasts bounced with each thrust of your pelvis, saw the way your muscles rippled beneath your smooth skin, you saw the way your face became flushed. You heard yourself moan, a string of unintelligible noises falling from your lips as the compelling sensation in the lower half of your body grew strong enough for your muscles to start cramping.

“Natasha, oh- Fuck, mmh.” You didn’t have many options for finding support, blindly reaching for her hand so that you wouldn’t fall off the bed as your hips ground down ruthlessly on her face in search of relief from the burning pleasure that consumed you. You were so close, you were so close, almost there, your eyes staring at the lewd sight in the mirror, paired with obscene noises from both you and Natasha. Your eyelids were just about to slide shut, your body right on the verge of release, when you saw Natasha part her bent-up knees to expose her soaked sex to you through the mirror, her other hand sliding between her thighs. Her fingertips found her swollen clit to bring her some relief, her groan of pleasure muffled by your sex, the vibrations sending you right over the edge. You came hard, your body trembling from exertion at the sole thought of Natasha touching herself to you. The effect was beyond measure, your heart thrumming wildly in your chest as your hips rode out your orgasm on their own, your hasty moans echoing loudly in your head as pleasure rippled through you in waves. There was something so attractive about seeing yourself lose your composure completely from Natasha’s efforts. It was almost like a visual confirmation of the effect she had on you. It was exhilarating, intensifying the entire experience tenfold. You let out a small screech when you nearly toppled off the bed, Natasha’s arms immediately coming up to support you, her soaked lips and chin pressing into your equally wet sex, muffling her laughter that was followed by a moan from you.

“Mmh, krasotka”, Natasha groaned quietly against you, kissing your sensitive clit a few times before pulling away to give your trembling thighs a break. You immediately rested your weight onto your heels, relaxing a bit more when you were no longer a threat to Natasha’s neck. She turned around, her eyes finding your parted legs as her hands smoothed over the tops of your thighs. You looked down at her knelt before you, smiling in mild amusement simply from how good you felt. She began to kiss your thighs, her hands roaming up to your waist and then up to your chest to cup your breasts.

“Someone is feeling generous”, you mused to yourself, Natasha smiling against your inner thigh. You glanced at the mirror again, unable to fully ignore it when the image staring back at you was simply too good to pass up on. You felt powerful with Natasha knelt before you, your perfectly sex-disheveled look giving you a certain kind of glow as she groped your breasts. It reminded you of paintings you had seen in art galleries, those where men were knelt at the feet of some desired woman that was the picture of true beauty. The thought of it all made your cheeks heat. “You almost stole my job there for a moment”, you continued cockily, unable to forget that she had wanted you so badly that her hand had been the next best option. Natasha chuckled, pulling back enough to be able to see your face, those jade eyes somehow reminding you that as powerful and confident as you felt, you were still right where she wanted you. She looked fucked out, her pupils blown, lips swollen and as pink as ever, a deep blush decorating her cheeks, neck, and upper chest.

“Tonight I’m doing all the touching. You just sit there and look pretty”, she hummed, giving you one more glance before going back to kissing and licking her way up your abdomen.

92 notes · View notes

seungkw1 · 10 months ago

Text

the truth is out there — csc

♡ pairing: choi seungcheol x gn!reader ♡ theme: x-files au ♡ wc: 8.2k ♡ warnings: none ♡ a/n: started rewatching the x-files recently and the idea of this popped into my head so i simply had to write it!! also, y/ln refers to ‘your last name’ bc ya know. agent stuff.

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

When you joined the FBI you didn’t expect to end up working in the basement with a peculiar agent obsessed with all things extraterrestrial, but your new assignment is certainly taking you places you’ve never been before.

10 September 1993 Washington, D.C.

taptaptap

The light knocking on your desk pulls your focus away from the almost-completed report on the screen of your monitor. Most would call report writing the boring part of the job, and while you don’t necessarily disagree your high levels of attentiveness allow you to efficiently plug away at the otherwise mind-numbing task - so, you don’t mind it so much. That is, unless you are interrupted.

“Hey Frenchie, the Bergmeister wants to see you.”

Stifling a sigh, you look up at your bothersome coworker, Soonyoung, who is currently leaning over your desk while eating a sandwich. You grimace as you see the multitude of crumbs he’s managed to drop all over your paperwork in the five seconds he’s been standing there.

“What does he want?” you ask, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

“Didn’t say,” he mumbles through the large bite he just stuffed into his mouth.

The Bergmeister is the inane moniker Soonyoung and his pals call your supervisor, Assistant Director Bergman, behind his back. Frenchie is the irritating nickname nearly half the office now calls you, to your face, due to an unfortunate incident involving French dressing and the light gray pantsuit you chose to wear on your very first day on the job. You figured they’d get tired of it after a few days, but that was several weeks ago at this point - and much to your chagrin it seems to have stuck.

You give Soonyoung a very obviously fake grin to accompany your obviously sarcastic response. “Thank you, Agent Soonyoung - helpful as always.”

Soonyoung winks at you. “For you? Anytime.” You imagine grabbing his sandwich and bopping it on his head.

The muted sounds of landlines ringing, keyboards clacking, and fax machines whirring drift past your ears as you walk steadily to Bergman’s office, maintaining a false air of confidence as to mask your anxiety. You’ve never been called into his office alone in the two months you’ve worked for the FBI - you quickly leaf through your mind for anything you’ve done that could be a potential mistake, but you come up empty handed.

Bergman’s door is ajar - you rap your knuckle against it twice as you step inside. He peers up at you through thick, round lenses.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, come in, have a seat - and shut the door behind you.”

The heavy door closes with a deep thunk. As you lower yourself into the chair facing the desk you notice you’re joined by a man you’ve never seen before. He says nothing, but looms in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette.

“I’ll spare you the bullshit, Y/ln,” Bergman starts. He looks more tired than usual. “Have you heard of the bureau’s division known as the ‘x-files’?”

You feel your normally stoic face contort into a confused expression. Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.

“Well, yes, sir… but isn’t that an unofficial department?”

He takes a sip from his styrofoam cup of coffee. “Correct - it’s not official, but I assure you it is very much a ‘functional’ operation.” He all but rolls his eyes at functional.

You shoot a glance at the unintroduced man in the corner, but he remains expressionless. Bergman continues.

“I’m sure by now you’re well aware of the reputation surrounding this subsect and its…proprietor, shall we say.”

You give a single nod. By your second day in the office you’d heard all about the x-files: cases allegedly involving aliens, the supernatural, and all sorts of nonsense you chalked up to pure baloney. You’d also learned of the lone employee who spearheads the whole operation from the bureau basement: Agent Choi. Nobody seems to take him, or it, seriously - so much so that you had begun to doubt if it was even a real department, and if Choi even existed. But apparently, the rumors were true.

“I am not at liberty to discuss the reasons behind this decision,” Bergman tells you, “but all you need to know is that this assignment is significant in nature.”

Assignment?? Surely he doesn’t mean…

“I’m not sure I understand,” you ask hesitantly, “am I-”

“Being assigned to the x-files? Yes.”

Your stomach lurches. You open your mouth to inquire what exactly it is you’ve done wrong, but clearly he anticipated this exact response.

“This is not a punishment - though I certainly know why it might seem that way. But, it’s imperative that we receive reliable insight into the operations of this endeavor.”

You sit there in silence for a few seconds, dumbfounded. “So, you’re asking me to spy on Agent Choi.”

Bergman waves his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know how this sounds. And essentially - yes, you will be our eyes and ears into this otherwise elusive project. Choi will know we’re sending you there to report back to us, but we don’t care. We are confident you will succeed in providing us with useful information.”

You wait for him to go on, to elaborate in any capacity, but apparently he’s finished.

“Alright then, so when do I-”

“Immediately,” Bergman interjects. You purse your lips, trying to hide your displeasure.

“Yes sir,” you reply as respectfully as you can muster.

“Great. We’re counting on you, Y/ln.” You glance once more at the smoking man in the corner, but he remains silent.

“Dismissed.”

You walk out of Bergman’s office, still trying to process what the fuck just happened. You have the misfortune of passing Soonyoung’s desk on the way back to yours - he opens his mouth, clearly about to say something annoying again, but you briskly zoom past him before he can get a word out. You make a beeline for your desk, grabbing only your purse and coffee cup before heading toward the elevator.

X-files, here I come, I fucking guess.

—-

Your eyes take a few seconds to adjust as you step into the dim basement. The elevator doesn’t come down to this level - you spent a good ten minutes trying to locate the correct stairwell that would even bring you here. You make your way through a seemingly endless hallway of dusty filing cabinets, forgotten boxes, and broken computers before you find yourself in front of a nondescript door, not quite shut - the only thing signifying that you’ve arrived at your destination being the makeshift paper name plate with S. Choi written in ink. You raise your fist to knock but before you can do so you hear a voice call out from inside.

“Come in.”

You push the door in, its hinges giving you a high-pitched squeeeeak as it opens. You make a mental note to find some WD-40.

The sad excuse for an office is equally dim-lit as the hallway, but it’s a sight to behold: a desk at the center of the room - neat, but stacked with newspapers and case files, a small lamp lighting up the open file in the desk’s center; a bookshelf nearly reaching the ceiling, overflowing with books on seemingly every topic under the sun; archival boxes stacked as tall as the numerous filing cabinets, which are also topped with more boxes; a massive bulletin board filled with articles and photos; but most notably, pinned the wall, is a poster featuring a flying saucer, accompanied with the text I WANT TO BELIEVE.

In the bizarre room sits a dark-haired man typing at his computer, his back to you.

“I presume you heard me coming,” you state.

“From a mile away,” he replies, still typing.

You wait for him to turn around, say hello, anything - but the clickclack of his keyboard continues.

Several seconds pass, but the man says nothing. Apparently, it’s on you to break the silence.

You sigh under your breath. “I’m Agent Y/ln, I’ve been-”

“Assigned to the x-files to spy on me?” he interrupts, eyes still glued to the monitor.

“They told me you’d know that,” you admit.

The typing stops. Choi turns around, the heavy desk chair giving an unpleasant creak as he leans his elbow over its back, finally facing you. His appearance takes you by surprise: strong eyebrows, plump red lips, soft dark-brown eyes - you weren’t expecting to find such a handsome face attached to the man with a reputation for being a “crazy UFO freak”, in the words of your coworkers. He’s much younger than you anticipated too, around your age - and seemingly so… normal. His eyes do a quick scan of your figure - his expression barely changes, but a quick flash of interest tells you you’re not exactly what he expected either. It is extinguished almost immediately.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” His tone is passive, but you detect a hint of somberness in his words. His warm eyes lock onto yours.

“Name’s Choi, but I’m sure you already knew that. You can call me Seungcheol, though.” If it was anyone else, you’d think it was flirtatious in nature - but you can tell that was not his intention.

“Okay. Well, Choi, what exactly am I to do here?”

An eager grin lights up his face. He rises from his chair, grabs a case file off the pile on his desk, and opens it - throwing it back down onto the desk, facing you.

“I’m so glad you asked.”

You quickly skim the details: a series of disappearances in a small town, all teenagers. So far, no bodies have been found. Local law enforcement has compiled a list of suspects, but they don’t seem to have many leads.

“Okay, so we have a potential serial killer.”

Choi shakes his head. “That’s what the local police think. Which seems reasonable, unless you’re familiar with the location.”

You glance back at the file. Spirit Lake, Iowa.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a known UFO hotspot. Sightings have been reported for decades, most notably in 1967 when there were three different sightings - one of which was caught on camera by two different witnesses.”

He hands you a stack of old polaroids. You flip through the grainy photographs, which all appear to showcase an ambiguous but distinct saucer-shaped object in the night sky.

You stare at your new partner. “Choi, this could be anything. Most so-called UFO ‘sightings’ are nothing more than aircraft that are very much from Earth.”

“The U.S. Weather Service officially stated that it was a weather balloon, however no weather balloons were launched within 500 miles that day. There were also no flights - civilian or military - on record for the area that night.”

“And have you considered that this could all just be a hoax?”

“Sure, it could be. But what if I told you that in 1967 there were also three recorded disappearances, all coinciding with the UFO sightings?”

He hands you a separate case file on the 1967 disappearances. All of the cases are closed, as the three who went missing eventually turned up again - unable to account for what happened to them, but otherwise unharmed.

You close the file, setting it on the desk. “So let me get this straight: you think these people were all abducted by aliens. And you think the exact same scenario is happening again, this year?”

“There have been three recent UFO sightings in the area reported, and we have three missing teens. It all matches up.”

You stand there in silence, at a loss for words. Guess everyone was right, you think to yourself. The man is insane.

“Okay, let’s say you’re right,” you finally respond. “How exactly are we supposed to contribute here? Looks like they’ve already exhausted all leads. Why the hell do we need to fly out to Iowa?”

Choi gives a knowing smile. “They found the first girl this morning. Alive. Barely remembers anything, but unharmed.”

“And you want to go catch some little green men.”

“Actually, ‘little green men’ is a misconception - known encounters have widely reported extraterrestrials to be gray-skinned and not that much smaller than us. But anyway, more or less - yes, we’ll be in search of evidence that alien life is making contact with humanity.”

You stand there in disbelief. So this is where you’ve ended up - in the basement with a madman on a wild goose chase. As you’re thinking about quitting on the spot, Choi goes back to his computer.

“Anyway I’ll get us booked for the first flight out of here tomorrow morning,” he informs as he resumes his typing. “Want me to pick you up?

“No, that’s quite alright.”

“Suit yourself.”

You wait for him to say something further, but he doesn’t. You turn to leave. As you approach the doorway you hear the creaking of his chair once more. Looking back, Choi is facing you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Y/ln.”

His expression is sincere. You may be stuck with a madman, but at least he’s not a complete asshole.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

You feel Choi’s eyes follow you as you exit the room.

—

11 September 1993 Spirit Lake, Iowa

The gravel driveway crunches loudly as the rental car slows to a stop. Your partner shuts off the ignition and turns to face you, his left hand still resting on the wheel.

“Ready?”

You glare back at him. “You’re acting like this is my first case, Choi. I’ve done this before.”

You open your door and exit the car before he can reply. You’ve barely gotten started on this investigation, but he’s already on your nerves.

You approach the cottage-style house and ring the bell. A disgruntled-looking woman in her 40s opens the door.

“Mrs. Miller? I’m Agent Choi, and this is my partner Agent Y/ln.” You both raise your badges. “We’re here to speak with Alexandra, may we come inside?”

Mrs. Miller practically scowls at you. “She’s already spoken to the cops three times, leave us alone.” The door slams shut in your face.

You and Choi shoot a look at each other. You hear a voice shouting inside, followed by loud arguing. The door reopens to a young girl, high-school age, with jet black dyed hair, heavy eyeliner, and a nose ring.

“Ignore my mom, she’s a huge bitch,” the girl says as she steps outside, slamming the door behind her. She marches past you. “I’ll talk to you, let’s walk.”

Choi raises his eyebrows at you as he turns to follow the girl. You join him.

“You must be Alexandra,” he says to the girl, who is still walking.

“Alex,” she corrects. The girl finally stops, turning around to face you. “Are you going to take me seriously or are you just going to laugh in my face like the cops did?”

“I believe you,” your partner assures her.

The girl turns to you, arms crossed. “I take it you’re the skeptic then?” Before you can respond she continues. “Trust me, I am too. I’ve always heard all the stories growing up about the abductions in this town, but I thought it was all bullshit. But I don’t know how else to explain what happened to me.”

“Can you start from the beginning?” Choi asks.

The girl sighs. “Yeah, sure. I was driving home from my friend Becky’s house, by myself. It was pretty late, like around 9pm. I was on Campbell Road, I had just passed the old schoolhouse. It was dark as shit and nobody else was around. Then suddenly there was this crazy bright light, it was all around me and I couldn’t see anything. I remember slamming on my breaks, but I don’t know what happened after that. I don’t know how long I was out, but I do remember waking up a few times and I swear I was in some like laboratory or something. I was laying down but I couldn’t move - I could just barely make out some figures standing over me. Then, next thing I know I’m walking down the road again, right where I was driving. No fucking clue how I got there. A deputy found me and took me to the hospital. They told me I was gone for six days. I had to talk to the cops like a hundred times, but there was nothing else wrong with me so they sent me home. And now everybody thinks I’m fucking crazy.”

“Nobody believes you, then,” your partner empathizes.

“The cops think I’m lying and that I ran off with my ‘boyfriend’ for a week,” she scoffs. “I don’t even have a boyfriend. But of course that’s what my mom believes now, so now I’m fucking grounded.”

“I’m sorry,” Choi tells her sincerely.

“Do you have any connections to the others who have gone missing?” you ask.

Alex shrugs. “I mean, we all go to school with each other, but I don’t really know them.”

Choi finds a piece of paper and a pen in his jacket pocket and scribbles something on it, then hands it to the girl.

“This is where we’re staying, if you remember anything else give us a call.”

On the drive back, Choi appears to make a wrong turn.

“You were supposed to go left,” you tell him.

He shakes his head. “I want to check out the location where Alex was taken from.”

“Why?” you ask, “There’s nothing there. When they found the car they towed it.”

“Just want to check it out.”

You can tell you’re not going to get any further answers out of him, so you just sit there in silence, listening to whatever is on the local radio playing quietly in the background. Your stomach starts to rumble, so you glance at the clock: 4:54pm. No wonder, you think to yourself. You hadn’t stopped for lunch, so you were well overdue for a meal. You made a mental note to look out for restaurants on the way back.

“There’s the schoolhouse,” Choi points out a few minutes later. “We must be close.”

The sound of static fills the car as the radio cuts out. You fiddle with the knob, trying to find something else, but nothing is coming in. Guess we’re out of range.

Suddenly, the car goes silent as the engine dies. You’ve barely rolled to a stop when your partner jumps out of the car and starts running back the way you came.

“Where the hell are you going??” you shout after him. No response. With a sigh you exit the car as well. You see him standing in the road, looking at the ground. He turns as he hears you coming, pointing down to the road.

“See the tire marks? This must be where Alex hit the brakes.”

You look at the ground to see the black marks, indicating a car had braked abruptly.

“Our car shut off right as we passed this exact spot,” he says excitedly, jogging back to the rental car. As you follow, you hear him trying the ignition a few times, until the car finally turns back on.

“Look,” he commands as you re-enter the passenger seat. He points to the digital clock on the dashboard: 5:11pm. “What time do you have?”

You glance at your watch: 4:56pm.

“Many instances of alien activity result in residual electromagnetic fields. It’s often been reported that those visiting such sites will experience ‘missing time’, a phenomenon we appear to have just experienced.”

The look on his face is energized - borderline excited. You stare back at him, unenthused.

“Choi, just because my watch is wrong doesn’t mean we time traveled.”

“Then why did the car turn off in this exact spot?”

“It’s a machine, cars malfunction sometimes,” you respond, nearly exasperated. “You’re trying to connect dots that aren’t even here.”

“These events happening in tandem indicate that something abnormal is going on here, Y/ln. You’re choosing to ignore substantial evidence.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, holding your head in your hands.

Choi shifts the car into drive and makes a u-turn. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said all day.”

He smiles, but says nothing.

On the drive back into town, you subtly watch him out of the corner of your eye. He drives in silence, but you can tell he’s deep in thought - about what, who knows. Despite his ridiculous antics and asinine beliefs, you admit that his passion is oddly inspiring. You find yourself starting to grow fond of your new partner for some strange, inexplicable reason.

You push that thought to the back of your mind.

—

13 September 1993

“Can you hand me the Ramos case file?”

You look around for the requested file, to no avail. You joined Choi in his motel room early in the morning to review case files, which is proving to be incredibly difficult as he is apparently one to haphazardly leave shit all over the room while he is working.

You finally locate the folder and toss it over to him. “You know, this might be easier if the entire place wasn’t an absolute disaster zone.”

“I like to call it organized chaos,” he says proudly.

It has been six days since the second kid, Mark Ramos, disappeared - and Choi is convinced that he’ll be “returned” today, given that Alex was found after the same amount of time. So, much to your displeasure he planned for you two to stake out the location where he was last seen: the parking lot of the gas station corner store where the boy works.

“Wow, that sounds enthralling,” you told him, deeply sarcastically.

As you are wrapping up prepping for the stakeout, the landline on the nightstand rings.

Your partner reaches and grabs the phone, stretching the cord across the room and placing the receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he continues working.

“Choi,” he answers curtly.

You hear a muffled voice on the other end utter a few sentences before he stops what he’s doing. A tired look washes over his face.

“God fucking dammit. Alright, thanks.” He slams the phone back onto the base.

“They just found the kid. We missed it.”

You’re secretly relieved that you don’t have to go sit in a car for hours now, but you keep that to yourself. He’s clearly peeved, and although you’ve never witnessed his bad side you’re discerning enough to know that you don’t want to be on it.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally.

To your surprise, he walks over to the bed - where you’re sitting - and plops down onto it, holding his head in his hands.

You sit there awkwardly in silence for a few moments, not knowing what to do.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask.

Your partner sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought we had this one.”

You feel the urge to ask the question that’s been on the back of your mind since you met him, but he seems really dejected - and you don’t want to upset him. Fuck it, you decide.

“Can I ask you something?”

He lifts his head up, resting his chin on his interlaced hands as he looks over at you.

“Sure,” he answers. You find yourself starting to get lost in his big brown eyes, but you force yourself to snap out of it.

“Why are you so obsessed with aliens? I mean - it seems like more than just an interest for you. It seems… personal, almost.”

Choi exhales, closing his eyes. He sits up, leaning back onto his hands, staring into the distance with a sense of sadness in his expression.

“When I was 12, my younger brother and I were very close. We were three years apart, but we had so much in common.

He pauses, lost in thought for a moment. He continues.

“Jinsang and I always shared a bedroom. We had a bunk bed, he slept on the top bunk.” He smiles wistfully. “He loved it up there. Always called himself ‘king of the world’. Even as he got older, he never lost his childlike wonder. He was the definition of pure at heart.”

You listen solemnly. You honestly were expecting some off-the-wall answer from him - you didn’t anticipate that it’d be anything so serious.

“Late one night, I was supposed to be asleep, but I was reading a book under the covers with my flashlight. Suddenly there was a blinding light that filled the room, and a deafeningly loud whirring noise that made me cover my ears. I pulled the blanket off me, but the only thing I could make out was some dark figures standing in the room. I couldn’t see who it was, so I assumed it was my parents. I called out for them, but the figures didn’t move. It was so loud and so bright. I was terrified.

Then - I heard my brother scream. He was screaming for help, but I was paralyzed. Suddenly everything stopped. The light and the sounds disappeared in an instant. I looked where the figures were standing, but nobody was there. I didn’t hear my brother anymore either. I jumped out of bed to check on him - but he wasn’t in his bed. I started to panic. I told myself maybe he had run out of the room, but I knew I didn’t see or hear him climb down. I ran to my parents crying, ‘Jinsang’s gone!’ They searched the house, but he wasn’t there. They searched the neighborhood, thinking he had run away, but he wasn’t anywhere. The police investigation went on for months. They never found him.”

He rests his head back on his hands. You sit there silently, not knowing what to say. Your mind races, trying to process his words: So, he believes his brother was abducted by aliens? He may be strange, but he’s not mentally disturbed, I really don’t believe he would just make something like that up… But what can the explanation be? Is it a false memory created as a trauma response to his brother disappearing?...

“I’m so sorry,” you finally tell him. Without thinking you place your hand on his shoulder - but after a moment you realize how awkward that might be. He’s your assigned work partner - you met him three days ago. But, you feel his tension slightly ease - your touch seems to be relaxing him. Choi lets out a deep exhale and sits up - you quickly drop your hand back to your side. He rests his palms on the bed, just barely grazing your pinky finger. You hold your breath as a spark of electricity rushes through your body - you ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely. “I know how it sounds to other people. But that’s why I get so invested in these cases. I have to know the truth, Y/ln.”

You sit in silence for a few moments.

“Well,” you finally speak as you get up, returning to the scattered files, “if your theory is correct we have one last chance.”

Choi perks up, a surprised look on his face. He stares at you for a moment, then grins as he processes what you just said. You grin back at him.

“Let’s go catch these sons of bitches.”

— 14 September 1993

Your stakeout plans are back on - this time you’ll be surveilling in the middle of the woods, by the lake, where the third kid had disappeared when camping with friends. Choi wakes you unnecessarily early with rapid knocking on your door. You answer in your pajamas, half asleep still. He invites himself into your room as he brushes past you and slams more files on the table. Turning to you earnestly, he begins to recant the game plan.

“Choi,” you interrupt, trying to shut him up. He doesn’t hear you. He rambles on - practically bouncing with excitement.

“Choi,” you repeat, this time louder. He stops, his round eyes animated with enthusiasm.

“Yeah?”

“It’s 6:30 in the morning. We’re staking out the location tonight.”

“And?”

“You could’ve at least let me sleep in til 7.”

“No time to lose!” he says eagerly as he turns back to his work, picking up where he left off. You let him yap for a minute before interrupting him once more.

“Can I at least get some coffee first?”

You head to the nearby shitty diner together, Choi of course working through breakfast. You can tell through his excited state that he’s on edge. This has to go right - it is, according to him, the best chance he’s ever had. You spend the day going over everything, reviewing every last little detail - cooperating with whatever he needs, whether it be tactical or simply supportive. Before you know it the sun starts to go down, and you’re on your way to the middle of fucking nowhere together, to find some aliens.

Choi parks the car on the rocky path near the shore, killing the engine. It’s quiet out here - peaceful. The lake is bigger than you expected, and surprisingly beautiful as it reflects the painted colors of the sun-setting sky.

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

You turn and look at your partner, intending to make some snide remark, but all thoughts in your mind vanish when you see him. The golden tones of the dusk sunrays bring out a beautiful glow in his skin, his brown eyes radiating in the light; you knew he was good-looking, but seeing him this close - he is absolutely stunning.

The logical part of your brain starts setting off alarms - you know you should be feeling uncomfortable in the intimacy of the whole situation (he’s your coworker for gods’ sake!!) but it couldn’t be more opposite. The other part of your brain simply has the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“Mhmm, sure,” you reply, feigning sarcasm, veiling your true feelings.

You chat informally with Choi (“You can call me Seungcheol,” the memory of his words flashes through your mind), conversation flowing naturally as you both talk about whatever comes to mind. You find yourself laughing more often than not, and you find yourself relating to your partner more than you ever anticipated. It’s easy being with him.

Logical brain is absolutely screaming at you right now. There’s no fucking way you can allow yourself to develop feelings for your work partner - you know this.

I’m allowed to like him as a friend, you say to yourself. You’re gonna be working with him for god knows how long, of course you need to get along. But you’re not convinced.

Conversation wanes into the night as darkness falls over the lake. You feel your eyelids grow heavy. Choi notices.

“You can sleep if you want,” he tells you. “I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. But it’s quiet, dark - and soon you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

VRRROOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

You jolt awake, instantly blinded by the overpowering light surrounding you. A deafening booming noise permeates the air - you don’t know what it is, but it sounds like the rumbling of a thousand jet engines.

You can’t see shit, but you can tell Choi isn’t in the car. You heave open the passenger door, straining to push it open against the rush of wind engulfing the vehicle. Once your eyes adjust somewhat you find your partner about 15 feet away, camera in hand. You look up, but you can’t make out the massive object hovering over the lake - all you can see is five giant blinding spheres of light in the sky.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?” you scream to your partner - but he doesn’t hear you.

Suddenly, everything stops.

The lights, sound, and wind disappear in an instant. Disoriented in the dark, you stumble over to where Choi was standing, but you realize he’s gone - your eyes adjust and you see him sprinting down the lakeshore. In the distance you see another figure, laying on the ground. Choi approaches the figure, kneeling down next to it. You head toward them, but he turns to you and shouts from afar.

“CALL FOR BACKUP!!”

—

The figure on the beach indeed had been the missing boy. The ambulance rushed him to the hospital - but just as the previous two missing kids, he was okay. The next day you and Choi were able to get in and talk to him briefly before being shooed out by the nurse. It was the same story as the others - he didn’t remember anything, but he was completely unharmed.

Three out of three missing people now returned, safe and alive - your business here is done. You can finally get the fuck out of Iowa.

You’re pretty thrilled about leaving, but Choi is ecstatic. You remind him neither of you actually solved anything, but he doesn’t care. He got his photos of whatever the fuck was above the lake that night - it doesn’t answer all of his questions, but nevertheless he got what he came for.

It’s dark by the time you depart from the hospital, driving back to go pack up your things so you can leave first thing in the morning.

Choi parks the car, and you walk back to your rooms. As you approach the motel, he suddenly swings his arm out in front of you to stop you - the door to your room is slightly ajar, the lock broken. Choi draws his gun, and you follow suit. Holding up his fingers, he silently counts down from three. He bursts through the door, sweeping the room. You follow, turning on the light to see the entire room has been utterly ransacked - the contents of your suitcase as well as all the files from your briefcase are strewn everywhere.

Choi pops out of the bathroom. “All clear, but the bathroom window is open - if they were just here, they still might be nearby.” He sprints out of the room, pausing briefly and motioning for you to wait. “You stay here, I’ll sweep the area.” He’s gone in a flash.

You turn around and grimace at the absolute mess left behind by whoever the fuck was here. With a sigh you begin to clean up the mess, starting by gathering all the documents. As you sort through them all to put them back in some sort of order, you note that everything seems to be there. Your personal belongings all seem to be accounted for as well. Whatever they were searching for, they clearly didn’t find it.

Choi reappears in your room, sweating and breathing heavily. He shakes his head in disappointment. “Nobody in sight. Asked the manager if he saw anything suspicious, but he clearly didn’t know shit.”

He removes his suit jacket and throws it on the table before plopping down in the singular chair. He runs his hand through his sweaty hair as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Anything missing?”

You shake your head. “Not a single thing.”

“Shit,” Choi mumbles under his breath. “They were probably looking for my room.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Who-”

He waves his hand at you, interrupting. “Don’t worry about it.”

You are worried about it, but you know he’s not going to elaborate even if pressed.

“Okay. Well, I want to shower and go to sleep, so kindly get the fuck out.” Your tone isn’t angry, you’re just exhausted.

Choi gets up, but instead of leaving he deadbolts the door and returns to his seat.

“Absolutely not, what if they come back? I’ll keep watch.”

You give him the most exasperated look. “Are you shitting me? I don’t need you to keep guard, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not taking that chance,” he insists as he crosses his arms.

You’re stubborn as hell, but in the short time you’ve known Seungcheol Choi he’s done nothing but give you a run for your money in that department.

You roll your eyes. You’re too tired to argue with him. “Fine, whatever. Just give me some privacy, alright?”

Choi salutes you as he turns his chair around. “Roger that.”

You shower and make your way back to your bed. Choi is still sitting in the chair, facing the locked door, his gun and holster sitting on the table right next to him.

“Are you going to be able to sleep in that chair?” you ask. “Looks uncomfortable.”

Without turning, he replies. “I won’t be sleeping.”

“Seriously? You don’t need to stay up all night just to-”

“I’m not sleeping, Y/ln, it’s not up for debate.”

You stare at the back of his head. Sighing, you pull the covers up and go to turn off the lamp, but you pause.

“Choi?” you call out in a soft voice.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He turns his head ever so slightly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Goodnight, Y/ln.”

With a swift click you pull the chain on the lamp, and the room is flooded in darkness. As your eyes adjust, the moonlight seeps in past the closed blinds, and you can just make out Choi’s shadow as he keeps watch. Protecting you.

Within seconds, you are fast asleep.

—

You open your eyes, the bright early morning sun rays peeking in through the window. You lay there, contemplating going back to sleep, when you remember the events of last night. You sit up abruptly to see your partner still in the chair, still facing the door, awake.

“Did you really stay up the whole night?” are the first words out of your mouth.

Choi turns around, his eyes tired but still alert. He nods.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep? Very quietly - it’s cute.”

“Oh, shut up” you grumble as you get out of bed.

Choi rises and grabs his jacket before heading toward the door. “Get ready, we have to be at the airport in an hour.” The door shuts behind him before you can respond with something snarky.

As you make your way to the parked car with your suitcase, you see your partner waiting for you - zoned out in the driver’s seat.

You yank the driver’s side door open, startling him as he nearly jumps out of his seat.

“Absolutely not,” you tell him sternly. “You didn’t sleep at all last night, I’m driving.”

“I’m fine, Y/n.”

You go to yell at him when you pause, realizing he just called you by your first name for the first time. He must be delirious, you think to yourself.

“No, you’re not. And I’d like to make it back home in one piece, thank you.”

“Y/n-”

“Seungcheol Choi get your dumb ass out of the fucking car NOW.”

The expression that washes over his face looks like that of a scolded puppy. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to shout at him.

“Okay, okay! Fine, you win.” He gets out of the car, walking around to the passenger side. As he opens the door he looks at you, trying to conceal the grin spreading across his face, but failing.

“I like you like this. You should yell at me more often.”

You stare at him, exhausted. “You’re insane.”

“So I’ve been told,” he says with a wink as he disappears into the car.

You sigh for what feels like the thousandth time this week. After a few deep breaths, you reluctantly join your partner in the car.

“And since when do you call me by my first name?” you inquire as you turn the ignition. The car engine comes to life with a rumble.

Choi looks at you, his eyelids heavy. He gives you a sleepy smile as you back out of the parking space.

“I told you you can call me Seungcheol,” he reminds you.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He gives no response, but shrugs, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. You stare at him for a brief moment. His black curls lay unruly against his forehead, brushing against his long eyelashes. A faint shadow graces his jawline - the result of not having shaved today. The top few buttons of his shirt remain undone; he didn’t even bother with a tie. Once again, you find yourself stunned by how handsome he is. You push that thought away as your attention returns to operating the vehicle. You shift gears and pull out of the lot.

“Take a nap, dummy,” you tell him softly.

—

Not five minutes have passed into your drive before the sound of gentle snoring greets your right ear. You glance over to see Choi positively zonked out in the passenger seat. A grin involuntarily appears on your face - he may be a headstrong pain in the ass, but even the toughest agents eventually fall victim to the cursed necessity of sleep.

The “highway” out of town toward the airport is nothing more than a vacant country road. You drive for at least fifteen minutes without seeing a single other car. In the absence of Choi yammering on about some off-kilter conspiracy theory, or recounting a tale of a previous case that seems too fantastical to be true, your mind starts to wander. The events of the past week replay in your head. Unlike your partner you don’t quite believe you saw an alien spaceship, but whatever it was certainly is making you question a lot of things.

Your musings are cut short when Choi suddenly jolts awake, nearly making you jump.

“Jesus, Choi, you scared me.”

He blinks dully a few times, the gears in his head creaking back to life as he tries to reorient himself. After a brief moment of mild panic he regains lucidity, slumping back into his seat with a groan. He yawns as he rubs his eyes.

“Sorry,” he responds drowsily.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep? It’s cute,” you jest, repeating his words from earlier back to him. After a moment, he realizes.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles - but out of the corner of your eye you see him grin.

You turn the radio on low volume, tuning into the rock station the dial was already set on. A few minutes pass without words, the crooning voice of Mick Jagger supplementing the conversation. Suddenly, Choi perks up, looking in the rear view mirror before turning around to peer out the back window. You glance in the mirror to see a dark car in the distance.

“Finally, some sign of life,” you remark. “I was beginning to think we’d entered The Twilight Zone or something.”

Choi says nothing, but you notice the concern on his face. I wish he would stop being so paranoid, you think to yourself. He turns back around but keeps his eye on the mirror. Not even a minute later he snaps his head back to look out the rear window again.

“Shit,” he exclaims, his voice disgruntled.

You look in the mirror again to see the same car, rapidly approaching as it speeds toward you. Your eyes dart forward again, only to see another dark car up ahead - parked in the middle of the two-lane road, creating a blockade.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Choi, can you please enlighten me as to what the fuck is going on,” you ask nervously.

“Fucking SHIT,” he shouts, not elaborating.

“CHOI.”

“Stop the car,” he gripes, his head in his hands.

You apply the brakes, as you couldn’t keep going even if you wanted to. The car ahead is blocking the whole road, and the trees on either side are preventing you from being able to swerve around it.

The car following you parks, also blocking the road behind you. Two men in dark suits emerge from each car and casually surround the rental. One of them, from the car in front, walks over to the passenger side of your rental - he knocks on the glass twice.

“Get out of the car.”

Choi unbuckles his seatbelt, taking his time, before reaching for the door handle. He pulls the latch and opens the door slowly.

“Both of you.”

Your partner turns to you. “Do what they say,” he says quietly.

You follow the mystery man’s orders. It’s early, but the sun already stings your skin as you step out of the car.

You look at the men, trying to get some sense as to who they are, but you’ve never seen any of them before - you presume they would have nothing on themselves that would give any sort of identification anyway. The men’s guns remain in their holsters, but their hands rest on the frames. You don’t doubt that they would shoot you in a heartbeat if you made any funny moves.

“Open the trunk,” the same man orders to neither of you in particular. His tone is stern, but not overly aggressive.

You make eye contact with your partner. He gives you a slight nod.

You take the keys from the ignition and walk to the rear, inserting them in the lock and turning the key. The trunk lid gives a loud clunk as it pops open. The man signals to the two men that came up from behind you - they approach the trunk, pushing you out of the way as they open it. Choi’s hands clench into a fist, but he doesn’t move.

The men carelessly rummage through the trunk’s contents until they find what they were apparently looking for: Choi’s camera bag. The man opens it and pulls out the chunky Nikon, removing its film.

“Hey, be careful with that!” Choi shouts angrily.

Once the other man finishes fishes out the remaining film canisters from the bag, they put the camera back. They signal to the ringleader - he nods. The other men immediately return to their car.

The man in charge claps his hand onto Choi’s shoulder forcefully.

“Thank you, Agents Choi and Y/ln - very much for your cooperation,” he says smugly. Choi shoves the man’s hand off his shoulder, teeth clenched. Without another word, the man heads back to his car.

“You won’t get away with this forever,” Choi shouts after him.

The man keeps walking. He doesn’t even turn his head as he replies mockingly.

“Keep up the good work, Agent Choi.”

You watch the cocky bastard enter the driver’s seat - both cars immediately take off. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

You know Choi is infuriated, but more than anything he looks absolutely dejected. He leans onto the car, his head resting on his arm in defeat.

“Who were those men?” you ask him quietly - but you suspect he doesn’t know either.

He takes a few moments before he lifts his head, resuming his posture. His saddened eyes lock with yours.

“They’re the sons of bitches who make sure nobody knows the truth. Lying to the public, hiding information even from us - destroying all evidence that UFOs exist.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I really thought I had it this time. Turns out, I was just really fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” you tell him firmly. Softer, you add, “And I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you about… well, everything I guess.”

He laughs softly. “It’s okay, I don’t blame you. I’m the crazy alien guy in the basement, after all.”

He nudges you with his elbow, his voice friendly. “You know, you’re alright Agent Y/ln.”

You smile. “You’re alright too, Seungcheol.”

His face lights up at the sound of his first name. He smiles back at you warmly.

“Now, let’s actually get the fuck out of Iowa,” he says with vigor.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

—

20 September 1993 Washington, D.C.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Have a seat, Agent Y/ln.”

You sit in the sturdy oak chair across from the Assistant Director’s desk. You are, once again, joined by the nameless man - smoking his cigarette silently in the corner of the room.

“I read your report on the Iowa case,” Bergman tells you as he flips through the open file on his desk.

You wait for him to continue.

“It is certainly… of lower quality than your usual work.”

You hide a grimace. “What exactly was the problem with it, sir? I was very thorough.”

He gives you a tired look. “Yes, of course - but the report itself is not what I take issue with. What I take issue with is its contents. I assigned you to the x-files as a voice of reason - to rein in Agent Choi, not perpetuate his outlandish theories.

“With all due respect, sir, I followed standard protocol. My report gives no indication that I agree with Agent Choi’s conviction that what we saw was indeed a UFO, and that the government is responsible for some larger conspiracy - I simply detailed everything that I witnessed in Spirit Lake objectively as I experienced it.”

Bergman sighs before closing the file. “Alright, Agent Y/ln. You do good work. But next time, maybe try to prevent your partner from chasing after little green men.”

“They’re supposedly gray, actually. According to Agent Choi,” you inform him matter-of-factly.

Bergman stares at you, incredulous. He opens his mouth to say something, but gives up. He waves you out of his office.

“Dismissed.”

[to be continued…]

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊��•.#fic teaser #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fics #svt fics #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #s coups #choi seungcheol #scoups #s coups x reader #scoups x reader #scoups imagines #scoups fics #choi seungcheol x reader

293 notes · View notes

fullofgutsndopamine · 4 months ago

Text

Happy Holidays (Let’s Hope For The Best)

or: You always hated the holidays. Schlatt tries to change your mind

originally posted on a different blog of mine. i’m well aware it’s september.

i hope you enjoy! I've never written for Schlatt before, so I hope it's okay and i got his voice right

tw/cursing, angst if you squint, ‘jay’ for schlatt

schlatt knew your hatred towards the holidays.

long winded rants when you were less than sober, talking with your hands about how this holiday had become more on gifts than the actual spirit of christmas, the idea to stay in and be with your loved ones on a holiday-

and in his defense, for a long time, he listened.

eyes slanted as he slowly shook his head as you ranted, an occasional, “yeah, no. right-“ so you know he’s listening.

it started small, he didn’t force it.

“Jay,” The sigh is evident in your voice, “what the fuck is this?”

you hold the tiny culprit in your hand, a miniature snowman, made of ceramic and chipped with age, no larger than your palm.

"What do you-" He sets his phone down, eyebrows one, genuinely confused for a second before the smallest smile you've ever seen pulls gently at the tips, threatening to actually smile-

"Jay." You say gently, simply.

He gives himself away.

"I dunno who would do that," He shrugs, eyebrows knit as he stares at his phone again, "Especially knowing they live with the actual Grinch."

"Do you?" You tease, hope he doesn't see as you pocket the snowman, bury him deep into your jean pockets, a new lucky charm for you. Some of the ice melts away, slowly, a little crack falls off, but you wouldn't let him know that.

"Yeah," He snorts, pads over to the couch where you sit, wiggles his toes to be buried under your thighs, "Tried to fuckin' evict 'em, but it was too much work."

Days pass, and you almost forget about it.

Every time you slip into the jeans for work, you remember the small snowman buried deep into your pocket, rub it like its some sort of worry doll.

The snowman was the first, but not the last.

Second, it was the creepy santa soap dispenser shoved in the corner by your sink in the bathroom. Schlatt left the rest of the bathroom untouched, and when you squeeze it into your hand, your immediately hit with the smell of marshmallows.

“who the fuck is putting christmas shit out?” he says again, bites his lip to hide the smile, “Especially in the grinch’s lair.”

“yeah,” you tease back, “and i used it and it smelled like fuckin’ marshmallows.”

“marshmallows?!” he buffs, “that’s it, i’m writing the landlord.”

and he kisses the crown of your head and pads downstairs.

from then on, he gets bolder.

You come home and he’s gently wrapping christmas lights around the bush in the front yard, sees you coming and speaks first: “to keep the fuckin’ kids away.” with a wink, as if he has something figured out.

he has a stupid santa hat on top of a baseball cap, teetering, threatens to fall off any second, and his face is pink from the cold, his fingertips are ice and it’s obvious, from how lit up the house looks, that he’s spent a lot of time planning and putting this together.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” you tease back, grabbing him by his coat and pulling him in for a kiss.

“what?!” he yells back, “that’s not how it fuckin’ works?! shit!” he teases back, the smile gives him away.

when you pull away, he takes the santa hat off his own head, shoves it over yours, and turns away, back to the bushes with a smile on his face.

You make your way inside, towards the kitchen to make him some hot chocolate to enjoy as the temperature falls more, and the sun slowly sets, and act as if you don’t see the mistletoe in the threshold of all the rooms, or the lights hanging around, even the little christmas village knick knacks that hang onto every surface-a post office shoved into the corner of the kitchen, and Santa’s Workshop sits in the front room-

days pass again, and you finally give in.

“Look,” you lean against the door as Schlatt comes in, a mixing bowl against his hip and a kiss the cook apron around his waist. “promise me you won’t make this a big deal.”

“okay,” he licks his lips, nods, “that’s ominous as fuck.”

“Just-sit on the couch, close your eyes, and promise to not make a big deal about it.” you grab him by the hand and gently lead him to the couch, have him sit on the edge of it and lift his hand so it rests over his eyes.

Schlatt bites his lip to keep from smiling as he hears something being dragged against the floor of the living room, before you speak again, obviously out of breath from the mini work out.

“Okay, don’t read into this,” you say one last time, “Open your eyes.”

he obeys, slowly blinks them open and sees the cardboard half busted tree box, and lets out a loud laugh: “Guess the grinches heart did grow two sizes larger, hm?”

he stands, pulls you close and kisses you on the lips, his voice drops, which is rare, his voice comes back gentle, which is also rare, means he means what he’s about to say, listen up: “I’m glad you changed your mind. Was worried id gone to far.”

you snort, “You? too far? never.” and your voice drops as well, “besides, had to give in eventually. make new traditions with you, or something right?”

you’re obviously referencing to the first few weeks of December, when he all but begged for at least a free, a string of lights-something, anything-is use to these lavish holiday traditions-only to be met by your stubbornness, the sting and ache of lonely holidays, another regular day too much for you-

“we can make new traditions,” he insisted one night, curled into you in the too small bed, the only light coming from the street light outside that flares into your eyes if you move your head the wrong way, “it doesn’t have to all be bad. let me help-“

“leave it, Jay,” you huff, shake your shoulders so his chin falls off form your shoulder as you flip to face the wall, sick of this discussion.

“that’s right-“ he smiles, surprised you were listening, “that’s exactly right, yeah.”

And he helps you drag the box into the corner, sets up his phone to play all his favorite christmas music, tells these stories of songs he loved growing up, doing certain activities to certain songs-

The music plays and though it doesn’t cal for it, Schlatt stops you every once in awhile, spins you around on your heels and dips you to a song, only for you to stand back up straight and slowly hang up the small collection of ornaments he stock piled away.

The night ends with cookies in the kitchen, the pre made kind that he bought the day after halloween and you kept shoving further and further back to try and forget of their existence, little cherry santa’s with crooked hats and little snowman placed on a tray as you two wait for them to be done, suddenly little kids again, the excitement of waiting up all night to try and find santa hangs in the air-

schlatt plates the cookies, makes hot chocolate and pads to the front room, throws a blanket over the two of you as you clink cookies together as a gentle cheers, settling on whatever movie hallmark is playing, even if it’s half way done.

schlatt is quiet next to you, plays with your hair as you rest your head on his chest, enjoying the sight of your new tree before you crane your neck to look up at him-

“i think i like our tradition now.”

he smiles, runs the pads of his thumb over your face gently, “Yeah? You a christmas fan yet?”

and you want to say the truth, how it’s hard not to be when your in his presence, how it’s hard to not smile and want to embrace every cliche, but instead you snort: “let’s not get carried away.”

he rolls his eyes, “of course not,” but his voice drops as he drops his head, rests his lips against your forehead as he speaks: “Im glad you’re enjoying it though, you deserve some good holiday memories instead.”

and he kisses your forehead as he settles back in, pulls the blanket togetber over you, and hangs you the obnoxious santa mug he had stored in the cabinet for you for when you finally came around

#caroline writes #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt fic #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt fanfiction #jschlatt ff #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x y/n #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #schlatt x y/n #schlatt fic #schlatt fanfic #schlatt fanfiction #schlatt imagine

88 notes · View notes

sweetdispatch · 25 days ago

Text

Long distance troubles - N. Hischier

When Two Sports Collide | previous chapter

timeline: September 2019 - December 2020

summary: Lisa thought that she and Nico became friends during pandemic, just for him to cut her off when he returned to Europe and left her confused

warning: mentions of COVID, mentions of injury, swear words

words: 1.3k

note: i finished the whole story and i'm so excited to post the rest of the chapters!

---

Lisa smiled when she saw that Nico followed her back but her confidence that she had yesterday, to know him more disappeared. She decided to ignore it and wait for a moment to write to him. As much as she wanted to talk with him, she was aware that both of them are in a relationship and it might look suspicious. Lisa flew back home and focused on the start of the season, completely forgetting this hockey guy.

Second season for Lisa started great. Her team was winning almost every single match and they ended the year 2019 in great spirits. Since it was National Team time for handball, she had free time and decided to go with Sander to England. She wanted to support him because he started playing for a new team and helped him with moving on there. After New Years Eve, the Norwegian League returned to playing but this didn’t last long for Lisa. During one of the games, she picked a serious injury.

lisa.pedersen

liked by charlotteolsen and 5093 others

lisa.pedersen Unfortunately, the injury turned out to be worse than expected. I tore the ACL in my left knee and won’t be competing this season. Good luck girls and see you next season!🤞

charlotteolsen Girl you’re gonna be back even stronger!

sanderdale10 You’ll be back in no time❤️

25 January 2020

It’s been two months since Lisa’ operation. She was slowly coming back to her strength when the pandemic hit. Everything was locked and she couldn’t even travel to be with her family back in Trondheim. She was stuck in Kristiansand by herself because Sander was in London where he was playing. She tried to occupy her mind with tv shows and movies, especially since the league was cancelled.

When Nico found out about Lisa’s injury, he wrote her a message with best of wishes in recovery. He was keeping her company on long distance. He was stuck in New Jersey by himself because Maya was studying in Bern. She didn’t expect that but they started talking more and more. She was teaching him everything about handball while he was teaching her about hockey.

“You got a red card because you pulled another girl by her hair?” Nico said amused.

“Yeah” Lisa laughed at the memory. “It was bad but I lost it at that moment. And to be honest, she was pissing me off the whole game”

“I didn’t know you’re aggressive like that”

“I am not! Well, maybe sometimes but enough of me. Have you ever been sent off the ice?” Lisa asked.

“No, I’m always playing fair play” Nico said proudly.

“Bullshit! I don’t believe you”

“Why?”

“You look like a guy who likes to fight” Nico looked shocked at her.

“And you don’t look like a girl who likes to pull others hair because she’s mad at them”

“It was one time!” Lisa growled while he was laughing.

They bonded during these months where they were stuck by themselves but in June, Nico cut the contact with her off. He didn't send her birthday wishes and he stopped responding to her messages. Lisa didn’t know why he changed his behaviour towards her. When she saw Maya’s insta story with Lottie and Nico, she realised that he returned to Switzerland for the summer. She started wondering if she was only for his entertainment during the pandemic months but quickly stopped thinking about it.

Lisa moved on with her life. She came back to trainings. Being fit and ready to play was everything that was important for her at that moment. Lottie and Sander were next to her all the journey and she was thankful for having them. She missed the first month of the games but in October, she finally got the green light to return.

lisa.pedersen

liked by nicohischier and 5116 others

lisa.pedersen Finally back in the game! Big win today in Champions League, thanks for the nice welcome❤️

sanderdale10 You were incredible today❤️

charlotteolsen So so proud of you!!!!!!!

7 October 2020

Lisa saw that Nico liked her post and laughed. She couldn’t believe that he wasn’t responding to her but was in her likes. This whole situation was hilarious for her. Lottie thought the same. She saw him and Maya in summer and he acted like Lisa doesn’t exist every time she mentioned her. Two friends had fun about this and the way he was acting.

“I completely don’t get it. He forgot about my existence for four months just to like my instagram post? Ridiculous” Lisa laughed.

“I don’t know what to tell you. He’s acting like you’re his side chick that he needs to hide from Maya when you know her and she knows you” Lottie said.

“Right? And I’m in a relationship too so I seriously don’t know why he decided to stopped talking to me”

“He’s just an idiot for that. Ignore it Lisa. You’re better than him”

“I should but I really want to know what happened. I thought we’re friends” Lisa sighed.

“I’ll talk to Maya and maybe she’ll know something more” Lottie proposed.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t want them to argue, who knows how she’s gonna act when she finds out that her boyfriend was talking for three months with another woman”

“You have a point… Just leave it behind and let the world decide what’s next”

“Okay, let the world decide” Lisa giggled.

Sander didn’t find it funny when Lisa told him about this. He felt jealous that she was talking with him during lockdown. He wasn't a possessive type but now, when he heard the story, he started. Lisa never gave him a reason for that but her talking with Nico was suspicious for him. She tried to explain it to him, but he didn't want to listen. They’ve been on long distance since he moved and preferred to be careful. She decided to accept his change, knowing there’s no point to argue over something that’s not existing.

“You’re making a problem where there’s none” Lisa argued.

“I just don’t like you being all friendly with him. What’s so tough to understand?” Sander stated.

“Your behaviour is tough to understand” Lisa rolled her eyes. “We were just talking, nothing happened. He’s in America and I’m in Norway”

“Why are you acting so defensive?” Sander placed his hands on hip.

“Why are you acting like a dick?”

“You’re emotional” Sander signed. “I just… I feel bad knowing that you’ve talked for three months with a different guy. Non stop to add”

“Baby, we’re together. I would never do anything to ruin our relationship. I love you and only you” Lisa hugged him. “Plus he’s in a relationship and I would never ruin another woman's happiness” She placed a kiss on his lips.

In November, to her surprise, Lisa was called up for the National Team. It was a dream for her to represent Norway and now she got the chance. She never thought that after her injury, she’ll be back in her form and the fact that she was in the squad just month after the recovery got her confidence back.

Whole tournament was successful for Norway. They didn’t lose a game and celebrated a win. Lisa became champion of Europe. This was her first big win and she couldn’t believe it. At the beginning of the year, she was wondering if she’s even gonna come back to playing and now, she could celebrate being European champion.

lisa.pedersen

liked by sanderdale10 and 5204 others

lisa.pedersen WE ARE EUROPEAN CHAMPIONS BABY🥇

charlotteolsen MY BEST FRIEND IS A EUROPEAN CHAMPION!!!!!!!!

nicohischier Congratulations Lisa! Proud of you😊

21 December 2020

When Lisa saw Nico’s comment, she felt confused.

He doesn’t talk with me for half of a year to say now that he’s proud of me? Why is he fucking up with my head?

---

next chapter

#nico hischier #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier au #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fanfiction #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #new jersey devils #when two sports collide #v' work

33 notes · View notes

sandcobangevent · 2 months ago

Text

Missing you comes in waves (and tonight I'm drowning)

by @jonk-md and @glitterymumfriend

“Wait – wait, no, shit-” John scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it in his rush to activate the screen. Staring back at him was confirmation that it was 11:56am on Friday, 18th September.

His dad’s birthday was 17th September.

He’d forgotten his dad’s birthday.

He couldn’t believe it. He forgot. He forgot.

Distantly, he could hear Mariana calling his name, feel Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. But he couldn’t do anything but stare at his phone screen until it went dark again, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He felt his lips moving, was vaguely aware of himself telling them he needed to call his mum. They might have said something in response, but John walked away in a daze, absently dialling Carol Watson’s phone number.

“Don’t be silly, Johnny love! It’s alright, I know how busy you are with that charming detective of yours.”

“I just- I’m really sorry, mum.”

“Nonsense! I was fine – I had a grand old time at the bingo with the girls, they kept me company. Speaking of, would you believe that Annie’s youngest has gotten herself engaged? Annie wouldn’t stop going off on one about the ring not being the right cut of diamond but frankly if that’s her only complaint it must have been a stunner, you know what she’s like-”

John hummed non-committally, shuffling things around his desk as he listened to his mum fill him in on all the gossip. Usually he’d have cut her off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time.

He already felt like he’d failed her, once again.

After a while, she trailed off, wrapping up the tale of how Mr Prescott’s dog had gone for the milkman again. “You still there, love?”

“Yeah, yeah I- sorry. I’m still here. That sounds lovely, mum.”

She was silent for a moment, before he heard her sigh. “John, lovely, it’s OK. It’s been over 20 years since he passed on. You don’t need to check in on your old mum every year, I promise. I miss him – I always will – but I stopped grieving for him before you flew out to Afghanistan that first time. Was too busy worrying over you instead!” she joked. Her voice sounded a little wobbly, and John felt even worse.

He forced a chuckle in response, reaching out to idly run his fingers over the top of the framed photos on his desk.

“Don’t go fretting about it like you always do. I know how much you get stuck in that head of yours – don’t do it now. Go talk to Sherlock and Mariana, head out for a pint or something and enjoy your day.”

“Alright, mum. Take care.”

“You too, Johnny – love you!”

“Love you too.”

The line disconnected, and John dropped his phone on the desk with a sigh, slumping into the chair and placing his head in his hands. He did his best to focus on what his mum had said – that she was OK, that he shouldn’t worry himself – but he couldn’t shake the shame.

The feeling that he’d failed her. Failed both of them.

John Watson didn’t leave his room for some time.

He knew the others were concerned about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. How did he admit to his two best friends that he’d completely forgotten his dead dad’s birthday, all because he was selfishly occupied with the podcast? That he’d not had the wherewithal to message his mum, even once, on the day?

That on top of all of the guilt and shame, he still missed his dad even after 25 years?

It was as if he’d plunged into an ice-cold lake the moment he’d seen the date. Like he’d been wandering along the surface, blissfully unaware until the once-solid floor had given way to murky water. He could make out the light from the surface above him, but everything felt distant and fuzzy, thoughts overruled by the fight-or-flight panic over an inability to breathe.

He doubted they’d be harsh with him – they were both far too good people to kick someone whilst they were down. But a small part of him, one that was surprised whenever people chose to stay, chose him, was too scared of risking it.

He played it off as tiredness, though he was fairly sure neither of them were convinced. But they were, as previously stated, good people, and didn’t push him on it. Instead they fussed from a distance, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table next to him without asking, or putting an old match re-run on in the background as they got on with their individual activities in the evening.

Hell, Sherlock had even complimented him about his idea of luring the murderers to 221B again.

As much as the quiet affection from the others warmed him, however, it was underpinned by a swell of guilt each time. That voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn’t deserve the care and attention. He’d been an awful son to both of his parents, and was wallowing in self-pity and keeping the truth of it a secret like a coward.

He tried to contest it – his mum had said herself that she was fine, and that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it. But every time he tried to remember that – to cling to it as if it were a rope – the self-loathing twined around his legs even further, pulling him deeper to the point where he was starting to lose sight of the surface.

He was almost relieved when he made it to bedtime and was able to hide away in his room again without being questioned. Perhaps he just needed a night to process things, and he’d be a bit more level-headed on how to resolve it all when he woke up?

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

He was at his early 10th birthday again, and his dad was in goal. He aimed, kicked, and watched in excitement as the ball just skimmed past his dad into goal. He’d scored!

But when he turned his attention to his dad again to brag about it, something was wrong. His dad’s mouth was moving, but he… couldn’t hear it.

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

What did it sound like again? Was his voice on the higher end of the register like his, or deeper like Sherlock’s? Was there an accent?

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

His appearance was the next to go. Between one blink and the next, he couldn’t remember the colour of his dad’s eyes any more. His features started blurring, fading away one by one. His hair, the shirt he’d been wearing, how tall he’d been.

Panicked, John reached out, flinging himself forwards to grasp at the figure that had replaced his father between the goalposts. It was too late, however – as his hand went to make contact, it passed through as if cutting through smoke, the edges of it curling up and away from him.

The form of Harry Watson dissipated.

He was gone, and John had no memory to cling to.

A distant sobbing noise caught his attention, and he wheeled around to see his mother. Not as she’d been back then – how she’d looked when he’d last seen her. He tried to go to her, but she took a step back, her bloodshot eyes meeting his as she scowled at him.

“How could you?!” she screamed at him, cheeks soaked by tears and hands clenched to her chest, “How could you forget him? How could you leave me?”

“Mum-”

She didn’t hear him. Instead, she turned and stalked away, out of the garden and into the distance. He tried to follow her, but he couldn’t move his legs. He tried to call after her, but when he opened his mouth no sound escaped.

Like his father, Carol Watson faded away.

Like his mother, John Watson was abandoned.

He was alone.

He didn’t come to awareness with a yell, the way he often did with night terrors.

Instead, John woke quietly, tears streaming down his face onto the pillow and chest aching with loss.

Once he realised it had been a dream, he climbed out of bed, turning on the desk lamp and reaching for the photo of his dad. He stared at it, taking in every minute detail as the memory – his actual memory – flooded back again. His dad’s eyes were hazel, like his. He’d been wearing his Star Wars t-shirt and shorts on the day, and his voice when he’d praised John for his penalty skills had been warm and slightly nasal.

Overwhelmed by the sheer relief that he still remembered, John’s body shook as he began to sob. He hugged the photo frame to his chest, biting his lip in an attempt to be quiet so as not to disturb Sherlock the next room over.

He felt like he was still drowning in that ice-water lake, still trying to claw his way to the surface but unable to. The same trapped feeling from his nightmare bled into his waking mind, leaving him powerless to do anything but cry as his thoughts spiralled.

He’d remembered this time, but what if he woke up another night and didn’t? He didn’t have any videos of his dad – his mum had never been able to afford a video camera when he was younger, all they had were disposable camera photos.

And his mum – he knew she’d put on a brave face often enough when he was a kid, both when his dad had been deployed and after he’d passed. She’d been inconsolable when the news first reached them – the neighbours had come over to look after them both once they’d heard Harry Watson had died – but she’d fought to keep herself together for him in the weeks, months that followed.

What if she had been putting that mask back on again to protect his feelings when she’d told him she was OK? He was torn between the urge to take the next train to Swindon to see her and the worry that if he did so, his fear that she was actually suffering would be confirmed.

He felt exhausted, and curled back up on the bed with the photo frame still gripped tight. The murky depths of his emotions dragged him under, and he fell asleep feeling like he’d never be warm again.

His lack of proper sleep was impossible to hide that next morning, and the concern from the others was even more palpable. John could barely make himself respond to anything, unable to even try and muster up a laugh as Archie rolled off the sofa whilst asleep.

Eventually, Mariana couldn’t take it any longer.

“OK, that’s it – what’s going on, John? You called your mum yesterday - is she OK?”

John swallowed, equally relieved and anxious that the topic was coming up. He took a steadying breath before responding, trying to twitch his lips into a facsimile of a smile.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he replied, “Talked my ear off about Tockenham’s hot goss , as usual.”

“Oh yeah? Any more news on Charlie’s mysterious beau?”

“Nah, they’ve kept pretty tight-lipped on- wait, hang on, how do you know about that?”

“We catch up pretty often, John. She asks me to give her updates on what you’re up to, given you won’t tell her any details yourself.” Mariana replied, smirking at him.

Usually, he’d sputter indignantly at the comment, but the mention of his usual avoidance made him feel even worse.

Mariana noticed, and her smirk disappeared quickly, replaced with a greater look of concern. She stepped forwards, leaning against the kitchen table he was sitting at and placing a hand against his arm. “Seriously, come on. What’s wrong?”

He sighed again, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling in order to avoid her gaze. “It’s stupid. It’s just… Thursday was dad’s birthday. And I was so distracted getting the episode uploaded, I didn’t realise the date. I forgot my dad’s birthday, Mariana.”

“Oh, John…” she bent forwards, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so sorry.” she murmured against his temple, and John squeezed his eyes closed to avoid crying again. He pressed his head against her shoulder, taking deep breaths in order to try and calm himself.

“I usually call mum on the day, check in on her. Even when I was on my tours, I did my best to secure a video call on the day, or at least send an email.” he explained, absently processing the shuffling noise from the doorway indicating that Sherlock had just arrived in the kitchen, “Every year – and when I was home with her, I’d buy her some flowers or chocolate or something. But I didn’t this year. I didn’t think to, because I didn’t remember.”

“Was she disappointed? Is that why you’re feeling upset?” Mariana asked, letting go to lean against the table again and face him. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“She says she’s OK, but-”

“But you don’t really believe her. Or, at least, your anxiety is telling you she’s lying.” Sherlock’s voice chimed in, finishing the thought. The detective circled around, taking the chair across the table from him, piercing eyes studying him intently.

Unable to speak through the lump in his throat, John nodded.

“Oh John, I’m sure she’s alright. It’s been over twenty years, right? And if you’re still feeling awful, maybe you could do something belated?” Mariana suggested, rubbing his arm soothingly.

Above his head, where the surface of the lake glittered faintly, a shape formed.

A life ring.

John reached for it, finding it to be just out of reach. But it was there .

“Do something…?” he rasped, turning to look at Mariana. She nodded, and the ring bobbed a little closer.

“You mentioned flowers – you know, I saw an advert the other day for a company that sends same-day delivery bouquets. You order one, and they’ll send the request to a local florist who can deliver them to the address you provide.”

This time, his fingertips brushed against the edge. Feeling slightly renewed, John kicked at the knot of doubts around his ankles, trying to free himself.

“She’s always loved dahlias,” he murmured, “do you think there’s a chance they’d have those?”

“They do generally bloom in Autumn,” Sherlock pointed out, “and whilst they have multiple meanings assigned to them within the language of flowers, one of those is ‘inner strength’. Sounds like a fitting choice.”

Something sliced through the vines around him, and his next kick brought him closer to the surface. And, as he searched on his phone and found an offer for a bouquet of mixed dahlias available for delivery in Wiltshire, his hand made contact with the ring and clung to it.

“Oh they’re absolutely gorgeous , sweetheart! Judy from across the road looked jealous as anything when that cute delivery lad came by with all these flowers for me! Bet she’ll be grumbling away at the next bake sale.”

“I’m glad you like them, mum.” he replied, breathing slightly easier at the happiness in her voice.

“I’d love anything from you, love, you could get me a £2 bouquet from Tesco and I’d be thrilled. But they really are beautiful.” she took a breath, before adding, “I’ve placed them in your dad’s favourite vase, on the kitchen table. Brightening up the room, as always. Oh! Speaking of brightening up, you’ll never guess...”

John listened to his mum chat away, somehow able to find even more things to talk to him about only one day later. Soon enough though, she said her goodbyes, explaining how she was meeting up with some of the book club for a couple of drinks.

“You tell Mariana and your Sherlock that I say hi, won’t you?”

“He’s not- I- alright, mum. Will do, I’m sure they say hi back. In fact, you know Mariana does, since apparently you two chat now!”

“Oh don’t worry too much, lovey, I’m keeping all the embarrassing childhood stories to a minimum! Toodles, love you!”

“Love you too- wait, what do you mean childhood- aaand she hung up.” he sighed in frustration, but aside from the concern that Mariana knew stories he’d wanted to keep buried he felt far more at ease than the last time he’d ended a call with his mum.

He wasn’t completely recovered yet – he was out of the lake, but the ice-water was still clinging to him, keeping him chilled. He was out of danger, though, and from the noises coming through the door to his room he suspected he’d be feeling even closer to normal by the end of the evening. Mariana had called an emergency movie night after his flower order had been placed, and had promptly ran out the door to gather supplies. He hadn’t seen her since – had spent most of the morning and early afternoon taking Archie for a long walk around the park – but he’d heard her shuffling around 221A as he’d climbed the stairs past her door.

Plugging his phone in to charge, he left to join the others in the living room.

He walked out to see bowls of popcorn on the table, pillows and cushions clearly raided from bedrooms scattered across the sofa and armchair, and the TV on, paused on-

“Is that Back To The Future ?”

“Yeah, seemed like a good choice for an impromptu film night.” Mariana confirmed, flopping into the armchair – her usual viewing spot – and tilting her head towards the sofa.

Sherlock had settled into his normal half of the sofa at the same time, and met John’s eyes from across the room. “You mentioned, once, that your father enjoyed the trilogy. That he’d watched them back-to-back a few times.”

John swallowed, taking a steadying breath at the rush of emotion that hit him. “Y-yeah, he-” he cleared his throat, working his jaw for a moment before carrying on, “he really loved sci-fi movies. Apparently he dreamed about getting a DeLorean for years after the movie came out. Mum says when I was born he’d argued the cause for me to be called Marty – Martin, legally, of course – but she shot that down pretty quickly.”

“Good thing, too – imagine being Martin “Marty” Watson!” Mariana teased, “You’d have been stuck with some stupid nickname like, I don’t know… Martian? MegaWats?”

“Hey! I’d have rocked the nickname MegaWats! Could have been known for my electric personality, eh?” he replied, grinning as he dodged the cushion Mariana flung at him whilst booing.

Sherlock sent them both an unimpressed look, but there was a barely-contained sparkle of humour in his eyes. The sight of it alone helped to ease some of the permafrost chill – he could feel his fingers again, and used them to retrieve the cushion from where it had landed.

The next moment, it hit Mariana with a satisfying ‘ thump ’. She squawked in mock-outrage, but before she could send it back Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we can get on with watching the film now that we’re all gathered?”

Chuckling again, John settled onto the sofa and grabbed one of the bowls of popcorn. After some shuffling around, everyone was settled and Mariana hit ‘play’.

Mariana mentioned that she’d seen the movie once, years ago, but that she hadn’t really paid attention to the plot of it before. Sherlock appeared to be caught somewhere between bafflement and outrage at the storyline.

Now and again, John found himself pointing out something about the movie that reminded him of his dad – like how his childhood dog had been called ‘Einstein’ after the Doc’s dog. That had caused Mariana to demand to see photos of ‘Einstein Watson’, which John promised to find when he next went back to Tockenham.

Between those moments, however, John zoned out of the movie, having seen it so many times he didn’t need to focus on it. Instead, he switched between watching the screen and watching the other two.

These two people, who had known him less than a year and yet felt closer to him than any friends he’d made in the past. Who had listened to his worries and had put in the effort to try and support him. Who had remembered his dad’s favourite movie after one conversation, and had gone to the effort of setting up a movie night to watch it with him in the hopes he’d feel better.

And he did – he’d felt the tension leaving him as the movie progressed, breathing coming easier as he listened to Mariana laughing at the Doc’s antics, or Sherlock’s outrage at the idea a car would vanish into another point in time at just 88mph. A glowing warmth forming at his core, pressing outwards and chasing the chill he’d been trapped with since he’d first spotted the date on his phone.

As the movie came to its conclusion, with the DeLorean vanishing into the sky as the credits started to roll, Mariana sat up and stretched, yawning as she tiredly rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“Right, I think I’ll leave you boys to it. Have a good night’s sleep, whenever you both eventually go.”

“Good night, Mariana – and thank you, again, for everything.”

She stepped over, ruffling his hair before bending down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “Of course, John. You’re one of my best friends, I wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone. I’m just glad you got around to telling us what was going on.”

“Yeah – sorry for worrying you. Have a good night!”

“You too. Night, Sherlock!”

“Mm, good night Mrs Hudson.”

The other two rolled their eyes at each other, before Mariana let herself out of the door. John heard her descend the steps, before the familiar sound of her flat’s door closing.

He knew he needed to call it a night – he hadn’t had all that much sleep the night before – but he couldn’t make himself get up.

“You’re avoiding going to bed. You’re still upset by something.”

John flinched, turning to face Sherlock. The other was studying him, looking concerned.

“I… what?”

Sherlock nodded towards his hands, drawing John’s attention to how he was picking at his nails. A nervous habit of his, and one that the consulting detective was well aware of.

He shrugged self-consciously. “It’s stupid, Sherlock. Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.”

“If it’s causing you enough upset to block you from going to bed when you’re clearly exhausted, it’s not ‘stupid’. What is it?” his gaze was zeroed on his face, now, kaleidoscopic eyes taking in every detail as if he was studying an elaborate painting.

Knowing it was futile trying to lie to him, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to explain.

“I just… worry, Sherlock. What if this is just the first sign that I’m starting to forget him? He’s my dad, he was the love of mum’s life, what if I start to forget more than just his birthday? What if I forget his face, or the sound of his voice, or all the other details I’ve tried so hard to keep hold of?”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Sherlock’s head. “You had a nightmare last night. Not night terrors, not memories of the war or the bomb. It was about your father, about forgetting him.”

John sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, mate. I, uh… I dreamt that I forgot him, that everything I had stored in my head disappeared. As I said, it was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.”

John’s head shot up to stare at Sherlock, hurt by the comment. Sherlock met his gaze, however, and continued. “It was stupid, because it’s not something that would ever happen. Nightmares often are nonsensical – a culmination of negative images your psyche produces as it sorts through everything you’ve taken in. This one is no different.”

“How can you be so sure, though? I already forgot his birthday, who knows what will slip my mind next time?”

Sherlock’s gaze flickered over him, eyebrows drawn together in thought. After a moment, he seemed to reach the internal conclusion he was working towards, because he nodded slightly before meeting his eyes again.

“It’s not possible, because there are various behaviours and interests of yours that display the ways in which you remember your father. Would you like me to prove it?”

John’s heart skipped a beat, cautious hope forming. He trusted Sherlock, knew the detective never said something he did not mean. Not to him.

“Please.”

Sherlock nodded again, before looking away. His eyes flickered around the room, before focusing in on the muted TV, displaying an old re-run of Match of the Day.

“Your chosen support of Swindon Town is one indicator.” He began, eyes looking towards the screen but somewhat distant. John had seen this behaviour multiple times before when Sherlock had been processing things internally, figuring out how to vocalise his thoughts. He watched quietly, taking in how the light from the screen highlighted his features. After a pause, Sherlock found his words and continued.

“Whilst I don’t know a great deal in the way of sports teams, I know tat people will generally select their favourites for three key reasons. Either it’s their home town’s team, a team that is especially successful, or the individual grew up in a household where that team were already being supported.

“Your support of Swindon Town FC is a combination of the first and third reasons. From what I gather of the league tables – and your various outbursts of frustration – it is safe to rule out that Swindon’s team could be considered ‘successful’.”

“Oi!” John protested, jokingly. Sherlock glanced at him, flashing a boyish grin before continuing.

“So, focusing on those two reasons. Swindon is geographically the closest town with a larger, more well-known team, true, but Bristol isn’t too far away and both of their teams appear to be doing rather better in the league. So that would indicate the need for another reason.

“That other reason was something I noted when we visited your childhood home a few months ago. Amongst the various trinkets and wall decorations in the living room was a signed Swindon Town FC shirt, dated from 1985. Four years before you were born, and not something you brought with you to London, so not yours. No other visible team memorabilia around the house outside of your old room, so not Carol’s. Ergo, it belonged to your father. He was a Swindon Town supporter and, because of that, you grew up to be one, too.”

“What else?” John asked, “Supporting a football team doesn’t really seem that solid, if I’m honest.”

“Your music tastes,” Sherlock replied, shifting sideways on the sofa to face John more directly. John shuffled to match him.

“What about them?”

“In a similar vein to sports teams, many children will develop a fondness for music they heard growing up. Your taste is very eclectic – despite your tendency to sing that waterfall song whenever you’re brushing your teeth after a good day – but there’s a clear preference for the genres of rock and pop, often older tunes rather than the ones playing in the charts now.

“On days where the topic of parents arises – be that Mrs Hudson speaking to her father back in Spain, or a case that focuses on a parent-child relationship – you have a tendency to listen to certain artists and songs more often.

“Another observation I made in the home, past the football shirt, was the shelf of CDs above the sofa. Mostly bands and artists from an older time, based on the designs on the spines that I could see. A few names I recognised from the playlists you’ve shown me before. The CDs themselves haven’t moved in some time – the spines facing the room were clear, as was the shelf they’re on, but the tops of them were coated in a layer of dust. They’re in an awkward position, being above the sofa. When dusting, your mother runs the cloth along the shelf and the section she can easily reach, but does not make the extra effort to reach higher to dust the top.

“The CDs aren’t hers – they are your father’s collection. And on those days when you play certain tracks more often, those songs are from artists that appear on that shelf. You are thinking of Harry Watson, and listen to songs that remind you of him as a way to feel closer to him.”

They had drifted closer together without John realising. John took a shaky breath at the wash of emotions brought on by how much Sherlock had observed of him without him even realising. However, he still wasn’t convinced.

“A lot of people listen to the music they grew up with, though. That doesn’t necessarily make it about me remembering my dad.”

“A fair counterpoint – well-reasoned, well done Watson.” the detective replied, offering him another smile. “In that case, I’ll move on to something more specific. How about the way you hold cutlery?”

“What?”

“When using a knife and fork, you hold the knife in your left hand and the fork in your right. If it were only a fork you were using, it could be excused away, as it could be if you were left-handed or ambidextrous. But you aren’t – you’re right-handed.”

Sherlock reached across, taking John’s left hand between his own. One wrapped across the ends of his fingers, whilst the other took his wrist in a gentle grip, just below the tan-line from where his watch usually sat.

They’d held hands before, but this felt different – more tender, more intimate somehow. Sherlock’s fingers were cool, but points of heat emanated from every point of contact between them. He swallowed nervously, turning his attention back to Sherlock, whose eyes were still focused on his wrist.

“You wear your watch on your left wrist, and favour picking things up with your right hand – your dominant one. Carol is the same, from what I have seen of her, and appliances around your childhood home were in positions favoured by right-handed people. The handle of the kettle pointing to the right, for example. So, why do you hold cutlery with the technique often used by left-handed people? Because you grew up mimicking someone who was left-handed: Harry Watson.”

“How can you tell?” John asked, hushed. Sherlock’s thumb swept gently over the tan-line, and John’s breath hitched.

“In photos of your father, I could see a watch on his right wrist,” the detective explained, his thumb continuing to brush over the pulse of John’s wrist. “There was also a particular photo of him holding a rifle – a training session based on his uniform and the surroundings – which had his left pointer finger held against the trigger.

“Harry Watson was left-handed, and you learnt to copy him in the way you held cutlery, despite being right-handed like your mother. You still do it today. It’s a habit you share with him. One you aren’t doing consciously, meaning it’s written into your subconscious – something that’s very unlikely to change.”

Sherlock’s fingers squeezed around his own, and John squeezed back, before using his other hand to adjust their grip so that their palms were touching. He placed his free hand on top of Sherlock’s, their conjoined hands a source of heat that warmed him through.

“Then of course, there’s the photo on your desk.” the detective continued. His voice sounded slightly unsteady, and a light flush had started to form across his cheeks. John stared, entranced.

“You are a sentimental man, and have a few important photos in your room. But specifically, it’s the one of you and your father I want to bring up.

“It’s faded, the colour desaturated in parts but otherwise undamaged. Sunlight damage. Photographs can start to fade when exposed to sunlight, due to UV rays. Given the age of the photo and the state that it’s in – plus the fact that it’s current position on your desk avoids any sunlight reaching it – I can deduce it’s been out on display near-constantly since it was first developed.

“Your room in the house was covered in posters and photos, but only a few have made it to London with you. One is of your mother and people that I believe are your grandparents, based on similarities in features. One is the photo you have of us, Mrs Hudson and Archie from a few months ago. And the third is you and your father.”

Squeezing his hand again, Sherlock continued. “It’s a treasured photo, and one you clearly rely on. You think of your father often, and care deeply about the visual reminder. This leads me on to my final deduction.”

“Which is?” John breathed.

“You are not adept at remembering dates. In fact, you keep nearly every date that’s important to you on your calendar. Friends’ birthdays, anniversaries, special events. You have nearly all of them written down – to help you remember them. But not your parents’ birthdays.

“This is because they are so important to you that you have managed to remember them, unprompted, every single year. You said it yourself: this was the very first time you forgot your father’s birthday.”

Sherlock’s eyes locked with his, gaze intense and earnest. John felt like he was unable to breathe again, but this time the feeling didn’t scare him.

He was with Sherlock: he could never be truly scared of anything so long as he was there.

“Do you understand the importance of that?” Sherlock continued, “That fact, alongside all the others, combine to provide only one possible answer. You care deeply about your parents, especially your father, and his memory is so completely entwined with your day-to-day life that you will never be able to truly forget him.

“Mistakes happen, John, you’re human. But you resolved it as soon as you realised. A bad son would have stopped caring years ago, wouldn’t be so hung up on this that he suffered nightmares from it. You love them so much that you have continued to remember, even during some of the most stressful times of your life. You have faced so much pain, so many events that would make a weaker man crumble, and you have continued to think of your parents, remember them, and care .

“You’re a good son, John. You are a good man, and Harry Watson would be proud of you.”

Eyes stinging, John let go of Sherlock’s hands to pull him into a hug, ensuring to wrap his arms around the other’s upper back. He pressed his face against Sherlock’s neck, taking deep breaths to avoid crying. He felt Sherlock’s arms twine around him in return, pulling him closer.

With that final confirmation, all of the remaining despair left him, melting away under the blazing heat of Sherlock’s conviction. John doubted he’d ever feel cold again, so long as he was close to the man shining like the sun in his arms.

He pulled back after a while, but was reluctant to move away. Instead he studied his friend’s face. They were so close, he could feel the other’s breath against his cheek, could pick out the multitude of colours in his eyes.

“Sherlock…” he began, biting at his lip anxiously. Sherlock’s eyes flickered down, zoning in on his mouth, and he watched the detective swallow.

“ John. ”

Without thinking about it, one of John’s hands rose to gently cup his face. Sherlock’s breath stuttered, his eyes closing as he pressed into the touch. It was John’s turn to swallow, his thumb absently smoothing against the other’s cheekbone.

The signs were all there, but he had to be certain that he wasn’t reading into things.

Truthfully, John felt as though he and Sherlock had been circling around each other over the past few months. He’d become aware of it after he’d been shot by Abe Slaney, in the following weeks where Sherlock had hovered and fussed in his own way.

He noticed how they’d both hold onto each other perhaps a little longer than necessary, how they’d had more quiet, gentle conversations away from the recording on his microphone, how sometimes he’d stare at Sherlock only to realise he was staring back.

The emotional rollercoaster that had been seeing Carrie again had left him scared – scared that Carrie’s words would bring his myriad flaws to the surface and Sherlock would observe them and decide he wasn’t worth it.

However, Sherlock hadn’t seemed to pay it any mind. If anything, the lingering touches and quiet stares had increased, to the point where a day without coming into contact left John feeling unsettled.

Bringing himself back to the moment, John took a breath, and released it shakily.

He had to be certain, and for that he had to be brave.

“Sherlock,” he began again, pausing as the other’s eyes fluttered open again to meet his, “I want to be clear, you can say no. If you aren’t interested, or- or anything, say no and I won’t bring it up again.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed slightly, eyes darting across his face. After a moment, he blinked, eyes widening slightly in realisation. “Are you-”

Be brave, John.

“Can I… can I kiss you?” he asked, voice wobbling.

He watched, awed, as the other’s cheeks flushed red. As his pupils dilated, and he licked his lips before replying.

“ Please .”

The second that word had left Sherlock’s mouth, John closed the gap between them. His other hand rose up, joining the first in cradling the other’s face as if he were made of crystal. Sherlock kissed him back almost immediately, one hand curling against the nape of his neck as the other was placed between his shoulders.

John Watson had enjoyed his fair share of kisses in the past, but none of them held a candle to his first time kissing Sherlock Holmes.

After an indeterminate amount of time, John pulled away, pressing light kisses to Sherlock’s cheeks, his nose, his temple, before returning to his lips again. Sherlock hummed into the kiss, the hand at his nape pushing up to card through his hair whilst the other hand pulled the doctor closer to him.

Eventually needing to breathe, John pulled back again only to press his forehead against Sherlock’s, awed by the dazed expression on the other’s face. His hands slid down from his jaw to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Sherlock’s collarbone.

“Was that- was that OK?” he found himself asking, a twist of nervousness in his gut despite everything.

Sherlock brushed their lips together again briefly in response, before rubbing his cheek against John’s in a way that absently reminded the doctor of a cat nuzzling. It was oddly endearing – something that John thought often about the consulting detective.

Opening his mouth to tell the detective as much, he was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. He felt Sherlock chuckling quietly at him and grumbled amicably.

“Alright, alright, it’s not that funny.”

“It rather is, I’m afraid. But it’s understandable, you’re already running on fewer hours sleep than your body is used to, and emotional stress can be exhausting.” Sherlock replied, pressing another gentle kiss against his temple before moving back. John missed the warmth almost immediately.

“But I don’t wanna go to bed, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months!” he whined, too tired to be embarrassed by his own honesty. Another pretty flush formed over Sherlock’s face, and his expression flickered from surprise to amusement.

“I’ve wanted the same. But I promise you can kiss me again in the morning.”

John blinked, waking up a little at the implication. They hadn’t explicitly defined anything, but did that mean…?

“What about the day after? Do you promise I can kiss you then, too?”

Sherlock gave him a look that was so tender, so full of warmth and affection that he was worried he’d start crying again.

“I promise,” he vowed, quiet but emphatic, “tomorrow, the day after… as many days as you want.”

Well, in for a penny…

“All of them. I want all of them, if that’s what you want too.”

Another kiss, lingering.

“Nothing would make me happier, John.”

__________

Check it out on AO3 too!

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #fanart #fanfiction #john watson #sherlock holmes #mariana ametxazurra #event #flash bang #flashbang event

40 notes · View notes

veersnz · 6 months ago

Text

News of a new Beginning

I am beyond exhausted right now but I wanted at least try and write something tonight. And where do I even begin… I’m overwhelmed by emotions right now, good ones I promise.

As today marks the day I finally graduated high-school. And some may wonder; « but Veer, you’re 22, how come you’re only graduating now ? »

The story is a little complicated but yes, I did start high-school just like everyone else my age over 8 years ago. 8 years ago was also when I started my recovery journey, and as with any journey, nothing is ever goes smoothly and to fulfill it I had to drop out of school. I tried my best over the years to go back and finish my education but I faced many challenges that made it nearly impossible. I managed to finish two of the three years of high-school over a period of 7 years between many hospital stays and periods of great difficulties. In my heart I knew I was getting too old to go back to high school, the gap between me and my peers was widening each year and with it grew the fear of going back, of feeling out of place, alone and crushed by the weight of my own expectations. I was raised believing my academic achievements made my worth and I’m sure many will relate to that, this fear of never being enough. So I almost made peace with never having the future I wished for. But truthfully, this future I had imagined for myself wasn’t mine, it was someone else’s dream. And I was left stranded on the shores of those wishes, not having the faintest idea of what my life would become. And I almost made peace with that.

I clung to those realizations until last September when I enrolled in this special needs school far away from my home. One last time, I thought, one more chance. I didn’t know what I wanted to do after that, if I even managed to stay until the end. But it didn’t matter, my family believed in me, so did my therapist and my friends, even after so many failed attempts they kept their faith intact. And this love, I think that’s what helped me make the decision.

So I took that leap of faith, got a small room and started living on my own for the first time while pursuing my education. I would lie if I said it was an easy ordeal, many obstacles came in my way and I almost gave up, many times. But with the help of my family, friends and the incredible people I met at this school I persevered. I am very aware of the incredible luck I had that September of 2023, being surrounded by so many loving and caring people. I couldn’t be more grateful. And you all count to, it may seem silly because this is « just a kink community » but I’ve met so many brave souls, incredible people and so much love even from afar. Having this positive presence in my life has brought me strength and respite sometimes from the outside world, even just for a moment sometimes. And for that I am eternally grateful.

And so after 11 months I am graduating with the highest honors and finally putting an end to this journey of 8 years. Of course the path to recovery will continue on, but I am turning to a new page of my life’s story and I couldn’t be happier and grateful. I’m still probably in shock and the realization will settle over me in the next few days. But today, today I know that I’ve reclaimed my future.

I know there will be many more challenges, uncertainty and pain to face but tonight I am basking in the happiness of having accomplished something my past self could only dream about. And I hope the parts of myself I left behind are proud of me.

Thank you ❤️

#This is very emotional and I will probably cringe tomorrow #but I wrote this with only happiness and gratefulness in my heart #so I think it will be okay #I think of all my friends who couldn't graduate #I did it for myself but also for them #and for my past self who doubted so much #not snz

56 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 11 months ago

Text

Misplaced Emotion

Rating: General CW: None Apply To This One! Tags: Established Relationship, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, And Gets One, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Cuddling, Arguing, Making Up, Hurt/Comfort

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is being able to say your sorry and mean it."

💕—————💕

Robin’s leaving for college this morning, Eddie knows this. He said his goodbyes yesterday. But Steve is saying his goodbyes today.

What this means, though, is that he needs to be prepared for Steve to come home. He knows already that he’s going to be an emotional mess. Will probably have some things that need to be said. Will probably put his sadness in the wrong place. Eddie’s well aware of how Steve functions in his emotions; it’s not always the prettiest thing to behold. It’s going to be a chilling September afternoon.

Though, when Steve does walk through their apartment, he’s oddly silent. Barely makes a noise with taking his jacket off or stacking his shoes on the rack. Doesn’t puff or groan or growl, like Eddie thought he would. No, he just slides into the living room with a completely glazed-over sheen to his face, limbs tense and awkward as he moves around the coffee table, completely silent when he sits down.

Eddie hesitates, “How’d it go, sweetheart?”

Steve doesn’t look over at him. His eyes set on his hands. Fingers picking at one another. He chews on his lips and shrugs. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” he states. His voice is far away and quiet. Almost lost in the air between them. He collapses back into the couch, moving to tuck himself into a little ball on his side, head pillowed on the arm of the sofa.

“Hm,” Eddie hums. “Y’know, you got back earlier than I thought you would. Thought that she didn’t have to leave until four?” He looks at his watch very briefly. “It’s only two,” he points out.

“Eds,” Steve sighs. “I just said I don’t want to talk about it. Need…Silence, I think.” His eyes are so far away, Eddie nearly fears the distance they’ve travelled to. What happened, he wants to ask, but knows better than to attempt it.

Though, “Are you sure, Stevie? I can turn on a movie or something or maybe make—“

“Eddie!” Steve snaps. Eddie startles in his cushion, face immediately souring at Steve’s tone. He crosses his arms over his chest, broadening his shoulders in the face of Steve’s sharp glare. There’s some clearance in his eyes now. Eddie’s not very pleased with how they’re on him, though. “I don’t want to talk! Just—I just need some time to think!”

“What—Steve,” Eddie growls. If Steve’s going to be pissy, then Eddie can shoot it right back. “Why are you getting angry at me? I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay! This isn’t how you are normally and—“

Instead of listening anymore, Steve abruptly shifts on the couch. Sitting up ramrod straight. Face away from Eddie. Huffing as he stands up. And then he leaves the room entirely, shuffling down the hallway. He slams their bedroom door hard enough that it ricochets the wall behind Eddie.

On any other day, Eddie would dignify Steve’s anger by letting him have his space. But this isn’t a normal day. And this isn’t how Steve even voices his anger, usually. Typically, he’s the type to immediately go sit in their room, contemplating what happened, only reappearing some time later to explain what’s going on in his head. This isn’t him. And something is wrong. And Eddie knows it.

He goes to the farthest door in the hallway. Shuffling absently in front of it, raising a hand to land on the doorknob. And that’s when he hears Steve…crying. Nothing soft or sniffling or quiet, which is typical Steve behavior. No, this is almost wailing. It’s clawing out of him, nails raised at his tender skin, breaking through with blood and bones. The kind that sounds like it hurts to even travel through his throat.

Eddie opens the door. Gently, softly as to not bring attention to himself. He sidelines the bed completely, instead crossing into their attached bathroom. It’s odd to pretend that he’s using the bathroom, just to make sure he doesn’t upset Steve anymore.

But also, if he’s honest with himself, he’s sort of feeling like a massive piece of shit. On one hand, for pushing and prodding at information that Steve doesn’t have or won’t give. And on the other, for not taking care of Steve when he needed it. Why couldn’t I just shut up, he begs to wonder. Because that’s part of it, right? He pissed Steve off by not silencing his yapping. Always one to aggravate the dragon.

When he goes back into their room, he settles tensely on the edge of their mattress. Strips out of his pants, turns on the bedside lamp, sets his alarm for a few hours later, and settles on top as if going to sleep. Steve’s next to him still. Whimpering into his palm. Laying on his side, curled into himself, hands tucked under his chin. He jostles the bed with every small sob that escapes him, but he attempts to bite it back. As if he doesn’t want Eddie to hear. Which, that’s pretty usual for him, but it still makes Eddie ache in a terribly painful way.

He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply, feigning to pretend. Just imagine the room silent and dark. That he’s actually tired and wants to take a nap. Miraculously, it works. He drifts off, still aching and yearning to soothe Steve, still listening in on the cries and the sniffles and the gross wet coughs. But he falls asleep.

The next time Eddie wakes, it’s to his alarm blaring on the table. He clumsily reaches out a hand and silences it. Groaning, running a hand down his face, grimacing at the drool on his fingertips. He’s rolled onto his side at one point and shifts onto his back once more. But as soon as his bleary eyes focus on the space around him, he yelps, freaked out.

Above him, staring at him with the saddest eyes in the world, is Steve. His face is swollen and his eyes are wet, bloodshot, absolutely devastating. Steve’s breath is stuttering hot and cold over Eddie’s face. There are tear tracks sizzled into his skin. A shiny spot of snot at the edge of his nostril. Like he just finished crying.

“Christ,” Eddie breathes. “Hi, baby. Scared me.” He wrestles one of his hands from under the comforter, running it up the length of Steve’s spine, resting his fingers at the nape of his neck, and toys with his hair. “Give a guy a warn—“

“I’m sorry,” Steve cries out. He hiccups a sigh and coughs on the sob at the end of his breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers. He carefully sits up, hand still in place, Steve moves with him. His other palm goes to Steve’s left bicep, squeezing with subtle soothe. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“But I was so mean and awful and I didn’t—“ Steve coughs again, gagging with it. His breath shudders in his chest. Face going splotchy red all over again. “—I didn’t—I’m sorry, Eddie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

Eddie tentatively wraps his arms around Steve, tugging him into his chest, cushioning his head under his chin. Steve turns into his shirt, sobbing loud and jagged right where his heart is. It hurts, hurts, hurts. He shushes the best he can, fingers splayed over his warm back, running in soothing stripes up and down his spine. “I know, baby. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it,” he assures. Because that’s true. Steve acted on impulse, matching where his emotion was already high strung and set. “I’m sorry, too,” Eddie whispers, “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Steve only cries harder at that.

They sway lightly from side to side. Eddie’s torso is cramping from his twisted position and knows with how cramped up Steve is, he isn’t faring any better. But still, they rock and sway. He hums and takes deep breaths, just so that Steve has something to follow, to come back to from however far away he is.

And when Steve only hiccups, his little breaths short and forced from his nose, does Eddie stop moving them. “You with me again, sweetheart?” He asks.

A nod against his chest. The silence stretching between them, sans Steve’s breathing. Eddie briefly wonders if this is it. If this is the only thing he’s going to get out of Steve. And knows, that though it’s not the best thing in the world, he’ll take barely anything over nothing.

But then, “She left already,” Steve mutters.

Eddie hums in question.

In tentative, slow movements, Steve pulls away from him. His head is tilted down. Hair hanging limp in his face. Eddie brings a palm to his hairline, guiding it back to the crest of his skull, holding his hand there. It’s weight hot and grounding against Steve’s scalp. With the hair out of the way, Eddie can see the sad, yet contemplative look on Steve’s face.

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, “she left for college already. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“What?” Eddie squeaks. Because that can’t be true.

Steve nods solemnly. “Yeah,” he whispers, “hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Why didn’t she say she was leaving early? That’s—“ Eddie huffs, now is not the time for him to angry. “I’m sorry, love bug.”

“Drove all the way out there at the ass crack of dawn. Got to her house just in time, or so I thought. But when I knocked on her door?” He asks rhetorically. Eddie nods, though he doesn’t think Steve actually sees him. Steve huffs. “Her mom answered. Saying that Robin already left. Said that she had to leave early to make it to her flight.” He shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

Eddie brings his other palm up and rests it on the side of Steve’s face, cupping his jaw, thumb sweeping over his soft cheek. Steve nuzzles into the hold, eyes closing, sighing from his nose. A stray tear drips down onto the tip of Eddie’s thumb. He wants to crumble at the sight.

“She’ll call,” he tells Steve. “She’ll apologize and find a way to make it up to you.”

“What if—“ Steve chews on his lip. His voice is raspy with emotion when he speaks again. “—What if she just got tired of me?”

Eddie squishes Steve’s cheek, holding him steadfast. “No way,” he rushes to say. Heated with it. “No, Steve, she didn’t. Baby, she was a sobbing mess yesterday about how much she’s going to miss you. All it was was poor planning, that’s all.” He pets Steve’s hair again, smoothing it flatter to his head, tickling his ear with the dry skin of his palm. “That’s all it was, baby. She loves you so much. She’ll call, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, small.

“Yes, Steve,” he assures. “She has our phone number. Robin will call.”

Steve nods in Eddie’s hold. He’s practically boneless, exhausted. He swallows hard. “I really am sorry about how I acted,” he murmurs, “that wasn’t fair of me to put the target on you.”

“Forgiven,” Eddie whispers. He pulls Steve back in, tucking him safely and securely into his body heat. Melding them together. “I love you too much to be angry about something like that. You’re okay.”

With that, Steve shakes again in his embrace. Wetting the skin on Eddie’s neck. He swallows and tilts his eyes to the ceiling. He’ll cry later, now is not the time. He holds to Steve tighter. Doesn’t want to let him go again.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfiction #steddielovemonth #day 23 #hurt/comfort #arguing #making up

143 notes · View notes

mercillery · 2 months ago

Text

I know almost NO ONE in the OP fandom cares about Akainu or the marines at that, but gosh, I’ve been so hyper-fixated on the admirals for way too long I HAVE to talk about them. I know absolutely no one who loves these justice freaks as much as I do, and I’m going to die in 5 seconds and make it the world’s problem if I don’t speak up about my love for them.

This post is going to talk about Akainu because currently he’s my number one. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but for now I mostly just want to rant about him and the actor he was based off of—call it fun facts about Akainu or whatever. Frankly, I could see why so many people hate him—for killing a beloved character, right? I think that’s why almost everyone just utterly dislikes him, and that’s completely understandable. But I wish more people could talk about him because he’s a really interesting character to me.

Warning there is no grammar in this because I’m currently writing this on a whim.

The actor Akainu is based on is Bunta Sugawara—which probably most people aren’t familiar with. The only reason I even found out about his existence was because of this.

And Oda was right to say that those still in school likely don’t know who the hell these actors are—because they were from a long time ago. Well, kind of. Not really—I don’t know. Yusaku Matsuda was born on September 21st 1949–Kunie Tanaka on November 23rd 1932—and Bunga Sugawara on August 16th 1933–what I’m trying to say here is that they were all somewhat born in close range years—if that make sense.

And yes, Bunta actually voiced Kamari from Spirited Away—there’s actually a video on YouTube showing Bunta doing his voice lines with Hayao Miyazaki and a few other people sitting in the back as Bunta does his thing. I unfortunately can’t find that video anymore but it was cute because when Bunta does a lot of hand gestures while reading his lines—it was amusing to watch.

Did you also know that Akainu’s real name, Sakazuki, is actually the name of a film Bunta played in? I have yet to watch the movie, but it’s about a young yakuza soldier (that soldier being Bunta) torn between staying in his current life or leaving his family when his boss refuses to follow their ancient code of ethics. I can say, though, that I have watched like two or three movies that Bunta played in (in fact I’m currently watching The Viper Brothers!!!). I’ve also watched a bunch of other trailers of films he plays in—and you know what I notice every single time?

Bunta always plays this short-tempered, stern, and violent character. Like, I mean ALWAYS. And you know what else? He’s always starring in Yakuza films—like almost all his movies have something to do with the Yakuza—which is ironic considering Oda made Akainu very dogmatic about justice, and obviously anything yakuza-related is far from justice. When you compare the characters Bunta plays as and Akainu, you can literally see how perfectly Oda blended the two. Like most of the characters Bunta plays, Akainu is also firm, stern, stoic, serious, dogmatic, short-tempered, and aggressive. The only drastic difference is how Akainu is all about justice—while the characters Bunta plays mostly have to do with just getting to power and the usual yakuza stuff, you know? If you look up Bunta Sugawara, you’ll get a bunch of trailers of all the different films he plays in, and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

Did you ALSO know that Bunta was aware that Akainu was based off of him? I’m not even joking. I did the biggest 😮 of my life when I found out.

When Bunta retired, he became a farmer. His farm sold chilli pepper and the brand logo for that was literally THIS:

Oda himself drew his hot pepper brand logo—no joke. It’s amazing because now I can’t stop thinking about another universe where One Piece just takes place in a modern AU and Sakazuki is just a guy selling chili pepper. Oda said the order to draw the chili pepper logo was actually made by Bunta’s wife. And if I’m not wrong, I believe Bunta even commented as a joke that he’ll use the logo as long as One Piece is popular. It’s even better when you realize it’s confirmed that Akainu’s favorite goods are white rice and HOT PEPPER.

Ugh, just imagine Akainu selling chili pepper instead of being such a single-minded justice freak of a man…

Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted talk. If you sent in a request, I’m working on it—TRUST. 😋

#akainu sakazuki #one piece sakazuki #op sakazuki #fleet admiral sakazuki #op akainu #one piece akainu #akainu #admiral akainu #sakazuki one piece #I love akainu

31 notes · View notes

frvnkcastles · 1 year ago

Text

TAKE ME WITH YOU ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You show Frank your appreciation for keeping you going.

Warnings: Suicide ideation (both reader and Frank mention having suicidal thoughts), feminine nicknames, hurt/comfort, fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Author’s note: Today is the last day of Suicide Awareness Month and I really wanted to do something for it because it really means a lot to me as someone who lost a friend to it but also struggles with those thoughts on most days. I’ve had a good couple of weeks lately but it’s still something I deal with and Frank has helped through so much. If only I could actually thank him. But I guess this is the closest thing to it :) I hope this resonates with some of you, I’m proud of you for being here <3

On the second-to-last night of September, you were filled with nerves from your head to your toes, your eyes constantly glancing at the clock to see it tick closer and closer to eleven — the time Frank had promised to be home. You had tried to open your mouth about what was on your mind in the morning when you were still melted together under the sheets, and again before he had left but his sweet kiss on your lips had rendered you silent. Now, you had decided you weren’t going to shy away from being vulnerable, even at the risk of crying.

You knew he was a safe space, he was your safe space, but you always hesitated talking about the truly dark and sad inside you. Maybe it was some innate fear you’d be pushing him away, or maybe you worried about worrying him — either way, it often took him probing a little bit for you to open up, but tonight, you insisted on being brave all by yourself.

At exactly eleven o’clock, Frank’s key turned in the lock of your door, and you perked up on the living room couch and watched your tall, scary man drag himself indoors with heavy boots. As soon as the door was shut and he faced you, a tired smile crawled up to his face and remained there when he crouched down to undo the laces of his shoes.

”Hey, sweetheart. Been waitin’ all night, huh?” he figured you out pretty quickly, and with a sheepish chuckle, you shrugged. He shook his head but made his way to the couch where his first priority was kissing your forehead. ”’M sorry for keepin’ you up”, Frank added, and with your hand brushing against his fingertips when he slumped down next to you, you tutted at him.

”Don’t be sorry, baby. I kinda wanted to talk to you about something, anyway”, you swallowed before averting your gaze from his deep, dark eyes to his built figure. ”Are you okay?” you asked before proceeding any further, and to reassure you, Frank lifted his hand to the back of your neck and softly caressed your hair there.

”I ain’t bleedin’ out tonight, baby. What’s on your mind?” he questioned with an attentive stare, and when you met his eyes, you could see him trying to figure you out; detailing your expression, hoping to find out if something was wrong.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you reached behind your back to grab the small gift you had wrapped for him last night. You handed it over to him without a word, and with surprise washing over his bruised face, he took the silver present while his other hand dropped around your shoulders to keep you close.

”Shit. What’s the occasion?” he asked, blinking, and you could tell he was sucker-punched by your gesture. He had been learning how to be better with affection — in fact, he had become almost clingy with you, but he still couldn’t quite comprehend… this.

”Well”, you cleared your throat, ”I don’t know if you knew but September is a month for… for, uh, suicide prevention and awareness. And I guess I kinda just wanted to thank you, because you keep me going. You’re the best preventative means I’ve ever had.” You chuckled quietly and looked down at your hands while continuing, ”I didn’t think I’d make it this far. But you give me a reason to stay alive, and I’m really… really grateful.”

Silence landed between you and you swallowed so thickly you could have sworn it was audible, but before you could panic that it was all too much, you gave a weak gesture at the gift. ”You can open it now”, you encouraged, and realizing he still hadn’t, Frank looked away from you and down to the small package he began unwrapping.

It was almost funny seeing his big, rough hands manhandle the tiny gift, but he did his best, and eventually, unveiled the small jewerly box inside. He glanced at you, but proceeded to lift the top of the box to reveal a silver chain with your initial hanging from it. He was indescribably gentle and feather-light when he picked it up, his dark eyes glued onto the piece as you waited with bated breath.

”Maybe it’s a little corny—”, you began, but Frank cut you off with one hand grasping yours tightly.

”I love it”, he stated simply, glancing between you and the necklace. ”I really fuckin’ love it. Yeah, this is…”

You licked your lips and nodded. ”I just thought… whenever you need the reminder, I just want you to know you’ve saved my life over and over again. You do so much for me, you have no idea”, you whispered, and tightening his hold on your hand, Frank swallowed, and you could see him fighting off tears.

”C’mere”, he spoke eventually, quiet and fragile, and you didn’t fight back when he pulled you into a tight, warm hug. You closed your eyes and breathed him in as his arms wrapped around you firmly, and you could feel his lips grazing your temple. ”I love you, y’know that?” he murmured against your hair, and struggling not to cry yourself, you nodded.

”I love you, Frank.”

He continued to hold you for a while, but eventually, the two of you wound up getting ready for bed and before you knew it, the next day came. You had to drag yourself to work early on, but you were energized by the sight of a sleepy Frank still dozed off on your pillow, his new silver chain shining in the sunlight peeking through your curtains.

Still, as the day went on, you couldn’t help but begin overthinking. Had you been a little too dramatic? Was it too much pressure to put on one person? The questions piled up and by the time you were going home, your nails had been chewed down to nothing and your lip was mere moments away from bleeding.

But Frank? He had been nothing short of honored. And so, when you walked through the front door, you were met with the scent of your favorite dish, your favorite playlist playing through your little radio while your favorite guy stood in the kitchen where your favorite flowers awaited. At the sound of the door closing, Frank turned around and grinned at the sight of you speechless at the doorstep, your bag falling on the floor and your eyes wide at what you were witnessing.

As if it was any other day, Frank swooped you in by the waist and kissed you deep and slow, taking your breath away in an instant. You lifted one hand to his cheek, holding his face close to yours even when your lips disconnected, and you could feel his smirk against your cheek.

”Welcome home, sweet girl”, he murmured, and unable to hold back a smile of your own, you kissed him once more.

”What’s going on?” you wondered, your curiosity getting the best of you, and so, you let go of Frank and stepped into the kitchen where the flowers smelled heavenly and the food was almost ready.

”Think I shoulda been a lot more… I dunno, receptive last night. Really means a fuckton that you shared with me, sweetheart”, Frank voiced from behind you, and with anxiety rising in your chest once again, you twirled around to face him.

”I was starting to worry it may have been too much”, you confessed, and with a scoff, Frank landed both hands on your hips and pulled you in closer.

”Nah, I’m just a dumbass, baby. Really, I… I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be able to help ya out. Y’know, it fuckin’ breaks my heart to even imagine a world without you. ’M so grateful you’ve stuck around”, he insisted, and when you looked down shyly, he immediately lifted your head with his thumb and looked into your eyes.

”I mean it. You’re so goddamn important to me and I’m so glad you’re here with me. If you ever feel like… ya know… not being here anymore, all you gotta do is tell me and I’ll be by your side, no matter what. There ain’t a place I’d rather be, aight? You’re my girl and whatever you need, I’mma give it to you”, Frank continued, and with your lips pursed into a weak smile, you whispered a thank you. A tear rolled down your cheek, but Frank was quick to wipe it away with his thumb.

”That really means the world to me, Frank”, you promised with a kiss left on his cheek, and nodding, he took your hand in his and squeezed.

”I know I don’t, uh, talk about it much, but shit, I get it. I really do. There are days when I wanna just disappear, when I want it all to just stop. Days when it feels like too much and there ain’t any cure for it. But then I see you or hear your laugh or smell your perfume and, fuck, there it is. That shit makes me wanna hold on and see what’s comin’ next. As long as you’ll be here to see it with me”, Frank admitted in a quiet but firm tone, every word coming straight from the heart.

You wiped your eyes but there was no stopping the tears. You hugged him tight and felt the cold chain against your forehead as you did. ”How’d we get so lucky to find each other?” you whispered, and with a quiet laugh, Frank shook his head.

”Shit, I really dunno, sweetheart. But I ain’t ever gonna take it for granted”, he hummed before chuckling, ”guess this is our day, huh?”

You smiled up at him. ”I like that”, you whispered, ”our day.”

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

159 notes · View notes

yourlocalartsonist · 4 months ago

Text

MONTHLY MFIP UPDATE✨✨

9/24 | Month 2 | Next Month | Month 1

Hey folks 🦐 I finally got the chance to make this month’s MFIP Update cuz god damn life was kicking my ass. College is fine for the most part tbh, just a lot of reading and writing cuz of the specific classes I chose. HOWEVER I have 💥FUCKING PMDD💥 so um skill issue on my part but it’s why I’ve been kinda exhausted as shit this week and was late with the update so my bad folks! (Also for more info on PMDD, click here! I don’t wanna spend this post yapping about it but wanted to leave a resource to spread awareness just in case :3). Also, Imma be tagging some of y'all who have been reading/supporting MFIP consistently just for this post, so yk you guys actually know these updates exist. I was gonna do that for the first ever update but as with many things, I forgor, so I'm doing it now! They’re supposed to come out on the 18th of every month, but yk sometimes life happens and I’m a lil late. It won’t be any earlier than the 18th tho so look out for these once it hits that date! Anywho, cheers to this month’s update!

Alrighty folks we be starting with the Art~!

Alrighty so obvious new thing, WE GOT RAPH’S REF SHEEEEEEEET TEEHEEEEEEE

BRO IM SO HYPE ABOUT IT! It turned out so genuinely amazing and I’m ridiculously proud of it! Especially cuz I honestly thought Raph was gonna be a harder design to figure out yk? I’m not used to drawing his body type, I wasn’t as familiar with his outfit, and even tho I’ve sketched him a few times before, I was just a bit nervous with Raph. Funfact, he’s also been the hardest to figure out how to write back when I was first starting MFIP. I genuinely don’t know why, but I got there eventually (I actually really love writing him now—) and same thing happened with his design!

Since MFIP’s taking place a few months after the Krang invasion, i’m able to take creative liberties and update the boys’ designs more! For some clarification btw, in my story’s lore, the invasion took place in September 2020, and MFIP starts on March 2021. Anywhizzle, my ideas for the boys’ designs is to combine their movie look with their show look, cuz while I do LOVE the black on them, it doesn’t feel right to me to not make them still unique in their own ways. These guys are all about authenticity, so why make their gear exactly the same, ya get me? I basically recolored his show gear to be black and red (and added a lil asymmetry on his legs) cuz I think it makes Raph feel older and more sure about himself, just feels right for him! I also just think the red fade on the black is hella cool! Fun lil color theory i think application, the black is more of a really dark, inky blue, so it makes the red pop out even more! I decided to make a bow out of his mask tails, too! I don’t wanna spoil the entire lore reasoning for it yet (it’ll pop up in the story), but I can indeed say it’s intentional that it looks a little like a lunamoth with damaged tails :3 I also took a BUNCH of creative liberties with his sais’ handles, since we haven’t really seen it much so like idk gaslight yourselves into thinking it’s always been this epic✨✨

Also I gave him his shorts back because FUCK YOU I LIKED THE RED TRIMMMM—

OH I ALMOST FORGOT yes he has longer eyelashes! I saw he grows to have really pretty eyelashes in the future cuz of his turtle species, and I wanted to lean into that by showing they’re starting to grow now :3

Bullshit Gag Because Yes‼️‼️

There ain’t shit to say about this, I just pulled a silly. I saw the fact Donnie was supposed to have a “Doctor Donatello” persona in the deleted episode where Dale turns into a werewolf. I’m really heavily on the train of Leo being the team medic and into medicine in general. I don’t think it makes sense for Donnie to be the medic judging by his sensory issues and this mf being as much of a germaphobe as my mom, and in my opinion it felt too stereotypical anyway to have Donnie be the medic. Ofc, to each their own, and this is just my interpretation of it, but I thought it’d be funny if Donnie still had this persona and was passionate about it, but was like horrifically bad at being a doctor. I made this dumbass sketch that I’ll finish sometime in the future (it’s gonna be a chapter in Arc 3 probably) and I just wanted to share it with yall~

THEY’RE HUMAN NOW⁉️

My ass wanted to show off cuz I’m sketching out some ideas of what my human designs for the boys culd be. I already did Leo’s like ages ago so he’s not on here but I’m realizing as I’m typing this my dumbass forgor to post it so um my bad I will do that in a few days—

But I wanted to design (or more accurately, redesign cuz I did draw em once a while back but I’m not satisfied with them) and I think I ate so far so uh yea. There isn’t any logic to sharing this, I just thought it was cool😭

And actually, imma share them here too just so y’all can see my boy ;w;

(A lil outdated cuz I didn’t give him lips at the time)

Okay there we go~

As you can see, I want all the boys to look kinda etherial and like they'd turn heads, and I think I am SUCCEEDING SO HARD SO FAR CUZ DAMNNNN THEY'RE ALL PRETTY AS SHIIIIIIIT TEEHEE✨ Also am tryna make sure they actually look Blasian since that's what the canon of my story says they are. I'll talk about them more another time when I have all of them on here~

But yea that's all for art this time folks :> ONTO THE NEXT THINGGG

Chapter Progress Time Whoop Whoooop‼️‼️

I didn’t make much progress on anything this month due to college—again, it’s fine, but there’s a shit ton of time management going on in my part to just manage everything and make sure I’m on track—BUT I am indeed still working on chapter 10. We’re up to 20 pages now which is only two more pages written from last month, but it’s kinda cool writing Donnie and I feel like I’m getting a better understanding of him! One thing I’ve been tryna do is understand autism better as a condition cuz I do wanna acknowledge and show bro’s autism instead of just ignoring it due to a lack of understanding. Donnie ain’t Donnie without it, ya know? I don’t know everything and tbh I would say I still have A LOT to learn on the subject matter, but I’m tryna expand my knowledge every opportunity I get and experimenting with how to better show it! This is to say tho, I’M NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL, NOR AN EXPERT ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM. This is what I’m finding and comprehending via my own research, and can tbh end up being wrong so please don’t quote me as a reliable source, I’m still learning ;v;

I remember one of the things I kept hearing about was autism leading people to struggle with empathy. The best way I heard it being described was someone bringing the example of when their friend was upset. That person can’t truly feel their friend’s emotions because they’re not the one experiencing it, so can’t properly understand how it’s making their friend feel. But they can see that their friend is communicating their sadness, and they still try to comfort them and make sure their friend knows they’re there for support. I understood it as bringing logic to emotions in a sense; collecting data and figuring out how to handle the situation based on the data rather than using intuition alone.

I’ve been using that to figure out how Donnie might handle more emotionally subtle situations, where he might try to rationally work through what’s happening and kinda substitute it in place of natural empathy. Like the little tidbit I gave above! Instead of just automatically being able to get vibes that the other person is upset, I felt maybe Donnie would instead notice the fact their tone is kinda different from before; it’s basically a data point. With that data point in mind, he could connect it to past experiences where a tone change could indicate a mood change, and as a result he might conclude that Salena’s tone change means she’s upset. I comprehend it as manually working through empathy rather than it being second nature, if that makes sense. Obviously and thankfully Donnie isn’t gonna spend the entire chapter playing a guessing game or anything with Salena’s emotions, it’s just one lil moment that I thought was cool challenge to myself with when writing him! I really love putting myself in the characters’ shoes when I’m writing them or their dialogue. I highly recommend it as a tool too, since it's helped me a lot with staying in character!

Last Lil Segment Y'all

Aight so, I wanted to try doing something cool if y'all are up for it. I really love rambling about my story and lore and characters blah blah blah, but I don't really know how to do so tbh. I'm not that familiar with how social medias work cuz I just never took it seriously, and I don't wanna just keep being like HEYYYYY ASK BOX IS OPENNNNN like I'm screaming from the top of the hill either. Sooooo insteaddddd

I think it'd be fun to do Q&As here! Or at least something similar. I'll open my ask box again and feel free to send any questions you want; it can be about the story, past lore, design questions, getting to know the characters, absolutely anything! Then when I'm gonna do my update for the month, I'll compile all y'all's asks, (prolly will have to tag to make sure you guys know I answered it, or if you ask anon then uh idk look out for the monthly update) and then answer them during the monthly update as the last section! I think it'll be a cool way to make this feel more interactive, and gives me an excuse to ramble. Don't be afraid to ask potentially spoilery questions either! If it's something I can't spoil yet or even give hints or vague answers about, I'll just say so in the update!

Anywhizzle, That's All Folks~!

I'm glad there was so much to talk about this month! I actually deadass thought it would be short but I should know better with my yapping' ass💀✨ But yeah, thanks for reading everyone! I hope y'all enjoy the rest of your days, and I shall see you next month~ Bye :D

Tageroonies:

@yosajaeofficial @chaoticspeedrun @ramblehour @randomcerealbrand @goldanrabbit @m1sf0rtun3 @foundthethief @ackalice @jellyfishheartsss @dollyrin @harukonene @iieieiw @mwantstossleep @zipzaizen @hypocriticaltypwriter @lordfreg @rainbowpr1sm @idioticsky @oleander-nin @cheeselord-official @skittlesqueen101

By the way, if you guys think you’d like to be tagged whenever an MFIP chapter is posted, lmk in a reblog or comment (no asks or dms plz, too inconvenient) and I’ll be sure to tag so it’s more reliable than tumblr notifs :3🫶

ROTTMNT: Moths Fly In Packs

29 notes · View notes