#posting at this hour because to those who know the struggle i had this past week
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
"best friends who kiss?"
character/s: bakugo katsuki
summary: recently, your best friend has been kissing you at random times. you have no idea why because he refuses to talk about it. either way, you're not about to let this to ruin your precious friendship.
genre & trope: fluff, best friends to lovers, angry confessions, reader is terrified of love but bakugo wants them so bad 😁, tw kind of ooc bakugo
a/n: i've been watching a lot of pride & prejudice and bridgerton scenes n i'm now obsessed angry confessions 🤩 + this is heavily inspired by that scene in little women :) ALSO i haven't posted in a year 😟 so pls be nice ik my writing's rusty in this :'D
the first time bakugou katsuki kissed you, he pretended he never did.
"what... " you brush your fingers against your bottom lip, your whole face hot. "what the hell was that for?"
"what?" bakugo shrugs, feigning innocence as he takes a swig of his soda.
you try and trace back the events that could have led to the kiss.
you said something along the lines of: "i wish i had a boyfriend. i could definitely pull a cute guy off the street."
then you heard him scoff and say: "no man's sane enough to put up with your insufferable ass." ーor something more insulting than that.
you can't remember what you said in response, and you rack your brain to figure out what prompted him to grab your face and kiss you. it's impossible when all you can think about is the unexpected supple feel of his lips, its faint ghost still lingering on yours.
"that kiss, katsuki! you violated my mouth!"
"dunno what you're talking about. you hit your head or something?"
you blink and second-guess yourself for a second.
"okay, no. you're not gonna gaslight your way out of this." you swat his arm, earning an irked glare from him. "why the hell did you kiss me?"
"you're imagining things, idiot. this stupid game's givin' ya some serious brain damage for sure."
he stands up and swings his bag over his shoulder.
"where are you going? we're not done yetー!"
and he's out of the door.
was he drunk off his soda? maybe he kissed you to mess with your head. he's not that cruel though, you think. maybe he couldn't think of any other way to shut you upー that was something he always struggled with after all.
at least the second time bakugo katsuki kissed you, he was kind enough to warn you.
after enduring the most awkward hour-long study session with him, you decide to put an end to your agony by wrapping it up. you start gathering your things when he stops you with a calloused hand on your wrist.
"what?" you turn to him, your cheeks already heating up from his touch.
there are no thoughts you could read behind those vermillion eyes, and all of a sudden, you don't know your best friend very well anymore.
he walks some tentative steps closer to you until the back of your knees hit the table. he cradles your jaw with such delicacy you didn't even know he was capable of. he slips past your awaiting lips and presses his nose on the side of your head, his warm breath kissing your flushed skin.
"punch me in the face and scram if you don't want this, got it?"
you gulp and forget to answer if not for the gentle squeeze on your wrist. "y/n, you got it?"
"s-sure."
when you two kiss, it's different from last time. it's unhurried, curious, and so intoxicating. the kiss speaks: 'i want you. i want you. i want you' but whose thoughts are these?
he groans into your lips as if to urge you to keep up with the sheer hungriness that has consumed him. you try your best to do so as he deepens the kiss with a palm on the back of your head and practically drinks you in. he doesn't pull away until he hears the tiny whine that escapes you.
"shit, sorry." he mutters, avoiding your stunned gaze.
"t's okay."
"did i hurt you?" the quiet lilt of his voice surprises you.
"no, no. i'm okay, but why'd you kiー"
"bye." he blurts out as he turns to the door and leaves, as if he didn't just invaded your mouth and permanently tainted the years of friendship you two have had. you click your tongue as the heat subsides in your cheeks.
"son of a bitch."
the third time bakugo katsuki kissed you, you let him, and he didn't stop.
you had barely escaped death when you lost your footing while sparring with todoroki. naturally, bakugo yelled the poor guy's ear off and would have murdered him if eraserhead hadn't interfered at the last second.
now, you find yourself heaving in your bed. you don't know whether your hastened pulse is from the adrenaline rush or from the fact that bakugo is all over you right now.
he's planting feather-light kisses all over youー your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your eyelids, your hands, and your wrist, as panicked murmurs spill out of him in between kisses. 'you scared the hell out of me. you have no idea, fuck. are you okay? are you really okay? tell me you're okay, y/n.'
"i'm okayー" you barely manage to gasp before he dips his lips into yours, desperate and frantic. tremulous hands find solace in your hips as he holds you, gentle enough not to mar your injuries but snug enough to assure his restless heart that you are safe.
your head feels hazy. your limbs ache and lie motionless, and though your lips could barely move to reciprocate his kisses as much as you wanted to, bakugo didn't stop. you tried to ask him about it the next morning, but of course, he ignored you and walked away.
you don't know when he stopped kissing you that night. all you know is that there was a line that was crossed, and your friendship was never going to be the same again.
bakugo katsuki is going to kiss you again. your heart thrums incessantly. whether it's dread or anticipationー you don't know.
you think about the sensation of his lips that's become so familiar to you that you've learned to crave it. it shouldn't be familiar to you, and you sure as hell shouldn't want it. so you do what you think is necessary.
you kick him in the shin.
"motherfー!" sure enough, he's pissed. "what the hell is wrong with you?!"
"what the hell is wrong with you?!"
"i was going toー"
"no! you're not gonna kiss me again and walk away and pretend it never happened. you're messing with my head, katsuki! it's not funny!"
"wasn't trying to be funny!" he barks back.
"okay, so what exactly are you trying to do? what is this? i meanー" you stammer, struggling to find the words. "katsuki, what are we?"
he sighs and shifts his stance, his discomfort apparent. when the silence lingers on for too long, you speak.
"well, whatever it is that you want from me, we're going to stay friends. nothing more, nothing less. that's it." your breath hitches, and you don't know why you feel like crying as you speak. "... so i don't want your stinky mouth anywhere on me again."
silence weighs heavily between you. sometimes you wish you didn't know him too well, then the hurt he veils in his eyes wouldn't be so plain and vivid to you, and you would have walked away by now without an ounce of remorse.
"i like you, y/n." is all he could say when he finally speaks.
you shake your head. "no, you're just confused."
"i'm not confused. i like you."
"katsuki, you've been bitchless all your life, and i'm just the closest thing to a s/o. maybe go take a walk or something."
"i like you." he persists. "i've liked your stupid ass forー"
"stop saying that. you don't."
"i do, and you like me tooー"
"what?!" you laugh incredulously.
'who does this dumbass think he is?' is he right? surely, he's not. then what are you so afraid of in the first place? why have you been counting down the days until he kisses you again? why do you yearn for his touch as if it's something you own? why do you feel so infuriated and so tormented when he leaves the room after kissing you?
you do what is necessary again.
"you're delusional!" you yell at his face, a childish shrill that's awfully familiar to your childhood best friend.
"jesus christ." he inhales sharply in frustration. "you're a fucking pussy, y/n."
you clench your jaw and match his glare. anger surges in your chest and bleeds into your voice.
"i'm not the one who chickens out after kissing their best friend! you can't even acknowledge the fact that you kissed me because you'reー!"
"do you think i want to chicken out? why do you think i run away after kissing you?! if i stayed and confessed all this shit the first time, you would've refused to hear it like the damn coward you are!" he leans close to you, his voice lowering into a ragged snarl that quickens your pulse. "and you're just proving it right now, y/n. you're always going to shut this down and deny your feelings because you're a fucking pussy. you're terrified of relationships, and it's dumbest shit ever. pathetic, really."
you rear back from his words. if anything, you always thought it was katsuki who was afraid of love. now, you can't help but feel small and vulnerable underneath his searing gaze.
"it's not dumb..." you shuffle uncomfortably. "what, i'm supposed to ruin our friendship for a relationship that we're going to break off anyway?"
"we're not going to break it off."
"how do you know that?"
"because i'll be the best goddamn boyfriend in the world!"
"first of all, gross." you scoff. "second of all, it's never gonna work out! you're going to get sick of me in three days max."
"i've known you since we were brats, and i still want you."
"you literally said no man's sane enough to put up with my obnoxious ass."
he smirks. "i said 'insufferable ass'."
"katsuki!" you fight the urge to strangle him and punch that stupid smile off his face.
"wasn't even serious that time." he grimaces and reluctantly continues. "you know damn well you can pull any guy you want, and he'd be the luckiest bastard on earth."
if it were any other day, you'd grin at him and say 'i told you so,' but your lips remain unmoved, and your eyes stay dim. you're afraid you'll never go back to being the same katsuki and y/n again.
"this is pointless, katsuki. i mean, look! we're already fighting." you grouch and tell yourself you don't want this. "i still don't want us to happen so while this friendship is still salvable, let's agree to stay friends, and whatever sappy shit you feel for meー suck it up."
in one swift motion, he closes the distance between you, his face hovering dangerously over yours.
"suck it up?" he breathes, his face taut in frustration. "restraining myself from you is the hardest shit i've ever had to do. it takes everything in me not to kiss your stupid face!"
he shudders, weakly resting his forehead against yours as if this conversation alone has exhausted him. still, he goes on.
"and everytime i failedー everytime i kissed those lips, it was... a moment of weakness, but that's the fucking problemー you're just..." he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a desperate attempt to escape your wide-eyed gaze. "i'm weak for you, y/n. every second. and it drives me fucking insane that you keep running away from me."
he rises to meet your eyes again. the cadence of his voice changes into something weak and desperate, stripped of all the pride and anger he's ever known.
"i love youー fuck. i love you." he lets the words hang in the air, letting the words hear itself spoken because for once, you're not stopping him. "i love you, so please... let me."
after much thought and another agonizing minute of silence, you lean in to kiss bakugo katsuki.
he kisses back almost instantly and revels in the way you wrap your arms around his neck and bear your weight on him completely. he kisses back ardently, his pent-up desires and years of longing etched in the way he seeks your lips, kiss after kiss after kiss.
when you finally pull away, you're met with a devilish smirk, his begging eyes long gone. you wonder to yourself when you'll see those eyes again.
"took ya long enough." he kisses you again. he raises a brow at the way you're caging him in your arms. "jesus, no one's gonna snatch me from you."
"i'm making sure you don't run away again, dumbass."
"i won't." he says earnestly as he props his forehead against yours. "and you won't either. i'll make sure of that."
you nod your head with a giddy smile as he pecks your lips again.
"so..." you say as you exaggerate a pensive look, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. "we're best friends who occasionally kiss?"
he rolls his eyes. "you're impossible."
"recite that speech again, and i'll consider calling you my boyfriend."
"fuck off!"
TAGLIST [1/2] @uxavity @joy-the-reader @kiiraes @escapenightmare @afk-dreaminq @avocamich @theboredvee @wonderwrench @ur-local-simp @p-ol @x0xuglyh0tgrl2005xoxo @cosmonettica @melin-oe @mitzi127 @lilac-o @r2katsu @bakucumsackslut @idunnomynamesince2005 @astralwaifu @taurus852 @creepyproxies @maycat-19-142 @stella-fleurets @veenxys @devilgirlcrybabiey @drawingaddict @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @lexiv-web @angelshimaa @izukus-gf @christiansdior @homosexualjohnwayne @uwiuwi @hirugummies @cupidines @loveisningning (bold couldn't be tagged)
#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x you#bakugo x you#bnha x reader#bnha x you#mha x reader#mha x you#bakugo katsuki drabbles#bakugo drabbles#bnha drabbles#bnha imagines#mha imagines#bakugo fluff#bakugo katsuki fluff#bnha headcanons#mha headcanons
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆
A Holiday to Remember: part 2
In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll
It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.
“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”
Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”
“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed.
You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.
“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.
“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”
Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.
As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.
You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”
She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.
You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age.
Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”
“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.
“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”
Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.
Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”
You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them.
You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.
The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.
You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece.
Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.
You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”
You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”
You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”
Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”
You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”
You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.
You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.
“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.
Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”
You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.
“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.
“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.
You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.
You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”
Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”
You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.
“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”
Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”
You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”
“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.
“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”
“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.”
You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”
“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”
“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.
The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking.
You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.
Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”
You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”
You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.
The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.
“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.
“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.
You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.
Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.
“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”
“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”
“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”
Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”
Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”
“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied.
“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”
“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.
Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”
“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.
Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”
“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.
“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”
You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.
You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up.
“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.
Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.
The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.
The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.
“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.
You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.
“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”
“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.
You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.
“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.
“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.
Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”
His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.
"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.
“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”
"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”
His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”
“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”
He tilted his head. "What feeling?"
“...Jealousy.”
His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”
You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”
Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”
“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.
“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”
You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”
“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.
“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.
“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"
Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”
"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.
“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.
Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.
“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.
You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.
“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.
You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”
“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.
“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.
“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”
“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.
In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.
“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”
You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”
His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.
“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”
His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.
“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.
You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you.
You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.
He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”
“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”
He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat.
—————
Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.
"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.
You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.
You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.
Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."
You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.
Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.
You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.
A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.
Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.
"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."
The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.
“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.
In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.
“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.
It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted.
“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.
“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.
“No, you’re not,” he denied.
“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”
Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.
“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable.
“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.
Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.
“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”
He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.
And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.
As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.
But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold.
A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”
He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.
You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.
Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”
“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.
Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”
Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”
“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”
“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.
He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
—————
The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.
When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.
He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.
Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.
The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.
“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.
The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”
“It did,” Spencer confirmed.
“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.
“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.
“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”
You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.
“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”
“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.
“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”
“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”
You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.
“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.
“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.
Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”
Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.
“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.
“You would hypothetically date me?”
You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”
Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.
He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.
“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.
“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.
“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”
Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.
“Kissing you.”
“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”
You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.
Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.
Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.
You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.
“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.
His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.
The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.
You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips.
His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”
You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again.
You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin.
He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.
His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.
You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.
His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.
His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.
“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”
His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.
“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.
He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.
“Is this okay?”
For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…
“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.
You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.
“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.
The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.
He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more.
“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure.
You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.
His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.
“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth.
Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder.
“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips.
You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.
Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”
You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.
You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.
“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.”
Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you.
“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.
“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”
You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.
His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart.
The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.
“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.
You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”
You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.
Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.
“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.
He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”
You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”
With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.
“Left,” you replied without hesitation.
He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”
You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.
Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”
Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.
With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.
“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”
A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”
Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in.
“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.
Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”
Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”
“Why?” You curiously asked.
Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.
“Because you make me happy.”
After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.
“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”
—————
Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”
You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”
Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”
—————
Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.
You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.
“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.
His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”
You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.
“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.
You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.
He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”
Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.
—————
The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.
“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.
She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”
“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.
Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”
You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.
As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces.
“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.
“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.
She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”
Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”
He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”
Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”
And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#bau team#criminal minds smut#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fic#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds one shot#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic#spencer reid criminal minds#dr spencer reid#bau x reader#criminal minds x you
487 notes
·
View notes
Text
rest
Brennan Sorrengail x chronically ill reader words: 2.5k 🏷: gender neutral reader, use of nicknames sweetheart and honey, implied past FWB-type relationship between reader and Bren. descriptions of pain and sickness (congrats, u now have my symptoms), downward-spiral of self-deprecating thoughts, reader shaming themself for being weak / ill, one (1) suggestion that reader wants to die but they don’t mean it, confessions of love, cuddles. this may be the most self-serving thing I’ve ever written. I wrote it to process my grief and anger about my current situation, but I figured I’d post it for the Brennan girlies and anyone who feels like I do right now and could use a handsome mender boyfriend to make it all better.
The gentle movement of the mattress and the smell of smoke and soap and leather wakes you from your nap — Brennan is back. You roll over to face him, every muscle in your body protesting the movement.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, brushing the hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”
“Same old,” you murmur.
He lays a hand on your forearm, and the pain dulls. You know better now than to let him block it off completely — he’d done that once before, but when he let go, it was unbearable.
Better to sit with it, not get used to any relief — it’ll only hurt you further when it all comes back, knock the breath right from your lungs and leave you in a heap on the floor, a mess of knots for him to untangle.
He’s done enough for you already. He does enough for everyone. Never anything for himself. Or if he does, you never see it.
“Was worried about you,” he says softly, still stroking your hair.
The idea of him worrying about you makes you feel sicker than you already are, but a different kind of sick. Guilty, maybe. Disgusted — not with him, but with yourself, for being so fucking weak and needy and such a crybaby. You’re a dragon rider, for gods’ sakes.
Or you used to be. You haven’t acted like one in months, and haven’t felt like one for longer than that.
You’d accepted that you’d never fly again, or told yourself that you accepted it, three months ago.
“I can keep fixing the damage, but I don’t know if I can fix what’s causing it,” Brennan had told you in a whisper late one night in this same room, holding you as if he was afraid to let go, that you’d crack and splinter even further if he wasn’t pressing the pieces of you together.
You used to be able to hold yourself together. You used to be able to do a lot of things. To spar with him, to run with your squad and mount a dragon, swim in the ice-cold streams of Tyrrendor with your friends on days off, to spend hours tangled up in bed with him after lights-out, exerting yourselves in other ways.
But then something came and ruined it all. You still don’t know what it was — is. It didn’t come quickly — not one big wave that drowned you, not an assailant that shattered bone and sliced through tissue, but a gradual decline that you didn’t notice until it was too late.
No, you definitely noticed. You just didn’t want to believe it. You made up excuses for everything— reassurances, placating remarks, designed to convince yourself and those around you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you.
You couldn’t sleep through the night, but that was because of the awful things you’d seen that day. But then they started happening even if you hadn’t left the barracks, even if you hadn’t witnessed any horrible sights in weeks.
You couldn’t hold on to your daggers tightly enough, struggled to grip a pen, but that was because you’d injured your hand — but that was only one hand, and months ago. Brennan had mended it for you within minutes of the injury.
Your entire body was aching, all the time, but that was normal with how much riders were required to exert themselves. You just can’t move like you did when you were younger. You aren’t a kid anymore.
But no amount of rest days, no ice or heat or elevation seemed to be enough to recover. That’s the worst of it, really. Being stuck in bed, not by doctor’s orders, not because you physically can’t get up, but because you can’t do anything outside of this room.
Not without pain, anyway, and not without pitying looks and whispered questions about what happened to you — the very same Captain that had rescued an entire squad from certain doom just last year, the most powerful air-wielder in two generations — and concerned words from your colleagues, who miss you, and tell them if you need anything, okay? They’re here for you.
But are they really your colleagues anymore? Is Deòir really your dragon anymore? He hardly speaks to you these days. He’s just too kind to admit that he’s just waiting for you to die, so he can move on, and find a new rider.
Maybe kind isn’t the right word, but you can’t think of a better one right now. It’s hard to think of anything other than how tired and uncomfortable you are.
You used to be top of the class, and now you’re struggling to form complete sentences.
“Talk to me,” Brennan coaxes, still gazing down at you, softness in his eyes.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you whisper.
“What?”
“I know we were… involved for a while,” you say carefully, “but you don’t need to do this for me anymore. You can’t keep worrying about me. It takes up too much time that you just don’t have. You’re running a revolution; you have more important shit to do than to play nurse.”
He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks softly. “What happened while I was away?”
“Nothing happened, Brennan. Nothing ever happens in my life anymore, because I spend my entire day, every day, laying here, wishing I was dead.”
You cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The words are out in the air, and he’s heard them. “I didn’t mean…” you whisper, “I don’t want to die, I just…”
Tears fill your already-blurred vision, but you can see him in front of you, the mass of his chest and shoulders, the slow movement of his arms reaching out to wrap around you and hold you close, to guide you up into his lap.
“I’m just so tired,” you sob, too-long fingernails digging into the black leather of his jacket, your hands too weak to hold on to him properly. “I’m so tired of being tired, and in pain, and feeling useless.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes. “I’ll keep looking. We can look together. We’ll figure out what this is, and how to fix it.”
“We’ve read every book in the library,” you sniff. “We’ve talked to every healer we know.”
“There are other libraries, and other healers,” he replies, as if it’s that simple, that easy. You suppose to him, it is that easy. To him, everything is easy. He’s not the one wasting away here, you are.
Wasting away. Crumbling. Deteriorating.
Decaying.
“Why aren’t you giving up?” you ask quietly. “I’ve given up. Deò has, too. He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”
You know the answer, and it makes you feel sick, but you need to hear it.
Maybe that’s selfish of you, to make him declare it out loud to you, to your face, when you very well might not be alive this time next year to celebrate an anniversary — not that you’d be able to do much celebrating if you were. But that little part of you, the only part that’s left of the old you, from the reality where this could work, needs it — needs him.
“Deò hasn’t given up on you. He went with us, as backup — that’s why he wasn’t responding. And I haven’t given up, either. I’ll never give up, because I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll keep loving you as long as I live, and well into whatever afterlife I earn, if such a thing exists.”
You loose another sob, your nails scraping the leather as you cling to him tighter, your anchor in this storm, your lifeline, hiding your face in his neck and letting three months worth of tears continue to fall.
“I’m not going to let go,” he soothes, laying a hand over yours, that’s still feebly clutching at the sleeve of his jacket. “Not until you ask me to.”
You release your grip, the ache lessening as you do, but your knuckles still throb with every beat of your heart; another reminder that even just existing is painful, that your body can’t even move blood around without complaint.
“There you go. Just breathe with me, honey. Nice and slow.”
You don’t know how long you spend there, trying to steady your breathing. Time has seemed to run together lately, somehow both fast and slow — that happens when you lose your routine, and spend half of a normal person’s waking hours asleep, and normal sleeping hours lying awake, enveloped in pain. He continues to murmur praises to you all the while; sweet, reassuring words that you don’t really process.
“Do you want to lay down?” he asks after a while, his voice soft and gentle.
He’s always so gentle with you. Endlessly patient, and endlessly caring.
You nod, thoroughly exhausted— the crying had zapped any energy you’d had left. You feel like a little kid again, soft and confused and small.
Fragile.
You’re still in your pajamas, anyway, still in bed. You’d only gotten out of it once today, to use the bathroom, but you’d forced yourself to brush your teeth while you were in there, leaning on the counter for stability all the while. That’s your idea of success and productivity these days.
“Okay. Let me take my boots off, hm?” — You nod, pulling back to let him get up. — “Alright. Can I get you anything? Water?”
You shake your head. “Just you,” you whisper.
“I can do that.” Jacket, boots, and pants off, he settles in with you, letting you cozy up to him in a position that feels the most comfortable— or the least uncomfortable, really. He starts stroking your hair again in soft, slow motions, the weight and warmth of his scarred palm soothing your headache.
It occurs to you that you’d never responded to his declaration — the one you’d needed so badly that you’d nearly asked for it outright — you’d just clung to him and cried, and he’d held you, even though you hadn’t said it back. He’d stroked your hair and calmed you down from your grief over the life you no longer have and can never return to.
He’s still holding you, still dulling the pain in your body and in your soul.
“I love you, Bren,” you murmur. “M’sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve known for a long time.”
“Really?”
He hums softly. “Oh, yeah. Years and years. Since you nearly broke my jaw in challenges and then insisted on personally escorting me to the infirmary.”
You laugh at the memory. “I felt so guilty about that. I didn’t want to hurt you at all. I was pulling my punches.”
It’s his turn to laugh. “It certainly didn’t feel like it.”
There’s a soft pause before he speaks again, hesitant, like he doesn’t want to bring it up again now that your tears have dried, but he knows you haven’t forgotten the pain. You’ll never forget this pain for the rest of your life, even if it goes away.
“When I was in Poromiel, I talked to a healer there who‘s seen something like this before. She wrote down as much as she could before I left, and she promised to ask around and send more information through the boys when they do their next drop-off.”
You cuddle into him closer, ignoring the ache in your back as you do. “Thank you, Bren. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I guess… I’m just still not used to being taken care of. I know it’s dumb, but it makes me feel worse sometimes, even though it’s helping.”
“That’s how I felt,” he says quietly. You both know what he’s talking about— his recovery from being shot in the battle of Aretia, from dying and being brought back to life. “It was always me taking care of the girls when we were young. I was never the one who needed taking care of. It felt wrong, and I felt guilty, and mad at myself for needing the help. But you wouldn’t take no for an answer. You made an excellent nurse, if a little scary.”
“I was scared myself. Seeing you like that…” You swallow. “That’s when I knew that I loved you — you don’t know what you have ‘til it’s gone, I guess.”
“I am very much not gone,” he scoffs, offended.
“Fine. Slipping away from you,” you correct.
“Not doing that either. I’m staying right here.” He lays a kiss on the top of your head. “And we are going to have a nice long nap, and then I’m going to draw you a warm bath and make us some dinner, because I like taking care of you, because I love you, and because you deserve it. Okay?”
“Okay.” Another pause while you work up the courage. “Bren?” you ask softly.
“Yes, my love?”
The sweet name is enough encouragement to say it. “Can I kiss you?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He holds you in place with a gentle hand on your back, leaning his head down to meet you. You tilt your chin up, your noses brushing.
“This feels familiar,” he muses. “Very familiar.”
You roll your eyes lazily. “If you’re going to be all smug about it, then you don’t get a kiss.”
“Well, we can’t have that.”
You rest a hand on his jaw, guiding him closer. Your fingers twitch and shake, but he holds them steady, his hand pressing yours against the stubbled skin gently — a silent statement that he’s not going anywhere, and he’s ready when you are.
Endlessly patient.
The kiss isn’t desperate and hungry like they had been before your affliction had started, when surges of need and emotion had led you into each other’s beds two nights a week — you aren’t taking from each other now, you’re giving. It’s gentle. Sweet, loving, reassuring.
Each soft movement is a promise, a whispered oath — he’s here, and he isn’t leaving. He’s determined to figure this out and fix it, with you.
You don’t need anything more than that.
He takes your hand, moving it from his jaw to his mouth — kissing your palm. “I love you,” he repeats, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “You’re important to me,” again, to the back of your hand, “and we will get you the help you need. But for now we both just need to rest.”
“Thank you.”
“Always,” he responds, helping you tuck yourself back into his arms, and pulling the blanket up over you both.
“Goodnight, child,” Deò says softly. “I love you. We will get through this together.”
You’re a little surprised by the declaration — he’s never told you anything like this before — but you return it nonetheless. “Love y’too,” you murmur.
Sleep comes to you easily, and this time, you have a good dream.
203 notes
·
View notes
Text
birds of a feather | joost klein
hi, its me again. i know its been a hot minute since i posted here but literally i have no idea when the past month left.
anyway, im alive and i finally got a chance to write something, so here it is. its nothing that i used to post here i guess, but i it means a lot to me. while writing this i remembered all of those dark days that i managed to survive. and i guess, joost himself did too.
please, if you struggle with mental health or you just dont feel good at that moment, i do not recommend to read this. feel free to text me if you need to talk to someone.
remember that you are not alone. you can get trough everything as long as you have you.
je bent sterker dan je denkt
summary: joost is struggling with his mental health, but so do reader. but together its a bit easier to go through storm and its even better to look at the rainbow with someone dear by your side.
warnings: struggling with depression, ed, parents loss
pairing: fem!bff!reader x joost klein
Snow fell throughout the night, so the next morning, all of Leeuwarden woke up under a heavy, white blanket.
However, some didn’t get the chance to wake up because they hadn’t managed to close their eyes at all. One of those people was a girl laying down with open eyes in her dark room.
Despite having no desire, motivation, or strength, after a while she sat up in bed more than an hour before her alarm was set to go off. She wrapped herself in the blanket and closed her aching eyes. It felt as if someone had poured two bags of sand under her eyelids.
Her room was in complete darkness, with only the warm, yellow light from a streetlamp filtering in through the uncovered window. The whole house was silent, and nothing outside suggested that anyone else existed in the world but her. She could hear her tear-stuck eyelashes pulling apart with each blink.
She sighed heavily and rubbed her face with her hands before finally getting out of bed. She couldn’t afford to skip class; she had already accumulated too many absences recently. The last thing she wanted was to deal with her teacher, who kept repeating the same thing over and over— that she should talk to her parents, that she would call in a psychologist. Just let me live, woman, she thought. Or better yet, let me die.
With a soft groan of displeasure, the girl pulled off her warm sweats and quickly put on an uncomfortably cold shirt and hoodie. The jeans she put on were also unpleasantly cold and stiff. The chill around her cut to the bone.
When she went to the bathroom and turned on the light, she squinted with a grimace. She shuffled over to the mirror and looked at her reflection. Nothing surprising stared back at her. Puffy, red eyes from crying, chapped lips, and skin irritated from a runny nose. She sighed and looked down, tying up her hair and turning on the tap, trying to make herself somewhat presentable.
When she finished, she didn’t look much better. The last thing she felt like doing was putting on makeup. A shower from the previous evening was the best she could manage. Before going downstairs, she grabbed her backpack and phone, glancing at the screen. Beside the clock, it was empty. Worried that maybe WhatsApp had failed, she opened the app and clicked on her last conversation. Joost hadn’t replied to her messages since the night before. She sighed and shoved the phone into her pocket. She knew she wouldn’t go straight home after class.
Not feeling like eating breakfast, she simply put on her shoes, jacket, and left the house. It was even colder outside, so she pulled her hood over her head and wrapped herself in a scarf. She couldn’t wear gloves—how else would she change songs, she thought, putting her tangled earphones in.
Even more snow had fallen than it seemed when looking out the window. It was still early, so the streets were covered in snow. The walk to the bus stop was exhausting. When she finally reached it, she realized she still had plenty of time to spare. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and took a drag. She pulled out her phone from the other pocket, changed the song, and opened her conversation with Joost again. Nothing had changed.
you could at least read my messages. that way, id know if you were alive 06:50
She typed with frozen fingers, holding the cigarette between her lips. The girl exhaled the smoke and sent the message, glancing at the cracked screen of her phone with faint hope. Nothing.
The phone that received the message vibrated on the bed. Its owner, however, wasn’t there but on the floor. Joost lay on the ground, staring at the ceiling. He tried to focus on breathing. Only on breathing. Only on surviving.
He had no idea what time it was, how long he had been lying there. Had he made it through the night, or was it still yesterday, or maybe already tomorrow? On both sides of his head were small, wet spots from the tears that had spilled from his heavy eyelids. He was like a defeated, fallen Gulliver, his tears carving out lakes.
He didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel the pain in his back. He didn’t feel how badly his head hurt from crying or the emptiness in his stomach. He couldn’t remember when he last ate something warm, despite his sister and brother's urging, when he last took a shower, or held his phone. When was the last time he actually spoke to someone? A few hours ago? Or last month?
If looks could drill holes, there would already be a small but precise one in his ceiling. Only when he heard a knock on the door did he snap out of it. It was morning, and his room was filled with light. He had survived the night.
“I’m heading to work, want a ride to school?” his sister’s voice came from behind the door.
It took him about five seconds to remember how his vocal cords worked.
“No, I’ll manage.”
“Are you planning to stay home?”
Silence. On both sides of the door.
“I don’t want to have your school on my back, okay? You’ll go back to class after the weekend.”
Joost sighed in relief, closing his eyes.
“Thanks, really.”
“There’s breakfast on the table,” he heard her footsteps fade away. “Eat something!”
At that moment, he regained consciousness. With great effort, he managed to sit up and lean his back against the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands and clenched his fists in his hair. After a moment, he sighed and looked ahead. The clock on the bedside table showed a few minutes before eight. He hadn’t even heard whether his brother had returned from the night shift. It was as if he’d been in a trance all night, focused only on the passing seconds, taking minute by minute, hour by hour.
When he managed to climb back into bed, he pressed his cheek against the cold pillow and instinctively reached for the phone lying nearby. In the flood of notifications, he noticed more than ten messages from his friend. He felt a pang of guilt.
He swiped and entered their conversation.
you know we can always talk. you dont have to deal with this all on your own 00:21
i know. thanks 00:46
That was the last message he had replied to.
apparently you dont know, because youre doing it again 00:54
you always shut yourself off and dont let anyone in. why cant you understand that you matter to someone? 00:55
you act like youre deliberately torturing yourself, like you purposely want to take on all the fucking pain and show that only you are suffering. surprise, youre not the only one 01:00
im sorry. i didnt mean it like that. its just been hard for me too lately, and im worried about you. i didnt want to say that. im sorry.. 01:12
i want to help you, but i dont know how. how am i supposed to do that if you wont let me? 01:18
i cant imagine losing you, do you understand? 01:19
for fucks sake, theyd bury us together. i couldnt make it without you 01:20
let me help you, please. or at least dont shut me out 04:29
im worried, joost. please reply 13:54
Missed calls x7
you could at least read my messages. as it is, i dont even know if youre alive 06:50
im alive. im sorry 08:01
He replied, staring at the screen. He read her messages several times. He knew he could rely on her, that he mattered to her. But on the other hand, he couldn’t accept it. Him? Someone cared about him? Hey, wasn’t he just the funny, slightly chubby kid who always told silly jokes and made everyone laugh? That he had problems? What kind of problems could a teenager like him have?
She, however, knew that Joost had been through a lot. Losing his parents year after year can break anyone, let alone someone like him. Since she had met him in high school, Joost had always seemed like an extrovert, the center of attention, telling the funniest jokes with his booming voice. But beneath the surface, which he had built himself, lay an incredibly sensitive boy with a big heart. He was the kind of person children smiled at, and dogs ran up to for a pet.
Joost was like a gentle giant. He could pretend that nothing bothered him, that dumb jokes or words thrown around in laughter didn’t hurt. But every one of those words or situations lodged itself tightly in his mind like a pack of rats that couldn’t be driven out for anything. It was as if his body lacked the receptors for anger or aggression. He wished everyone he knew well, but the feeling wasn’t always mutual.
When he was younger, not long after his parents died, he was often mocked for being an orphan. The mean comments and jabs were so hurtful that he stopped attending classes. When someone pointed out that he seemed to have put on a bit of weight recently, he went a week eating nothing but apples, drinking water and smoking cigarettes.
Now, even though some time had passed since then, and he had been through several rounds of therapy, he still had periods like this. When all he wanted was to be alone and let the cold embrace of sadness surround him. To rest his head on the bony shoulder of depression and weep bitterly.
But it wasn’t to be, as he suddenly flinched, hearing something hit his bedroom window. He realized he had lost touch with reality again and had been staring at his phone’s dark screen for who knows how long.
Thinking he had misheard, he settled more comfortably on his pillow.
The girl squeezed the snow harder in her hands, forming a snowball. She took aim and threw it at his window again. When Joost replied to her message, she knew she had to seize the moment. She had skipped the last two classes and immediately went to her friend’s house. She wasn’t leaving until she talked to him.
She took aim again and threw another snowball at the window. This time with success, as moments later, she saw Joost looking out.
He wasn’t sure whether to believe his eyes, but his friend tapped her finger on her wrist, signaling that she had been waiting long enough. The corner of Joost’s mouth involuntarily twitched upwards, and he quickly went to open the door. He knew that if he didn’t, this psycho would keep throwing snowballs until the window broke, and she’d climb in through the tree. He preferred to avoid that.
He unlocked and opened the door, but before he could say anything, she threw herself around his neck and hugged him tightly. She was cold, and her hair smelled like frost, but she was so alive, so different from the bony arms of depression.
“Don’t do that again,” she mumbled, holding him close.
Joost felt all the air trapped in his lungs release as he closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his friend, resting his cheek on her head.
"You're letting the cold in," he said after a moment, trying to lighten the mood as the wind blew snowflakes inside. "Come on, get inside."
A few moments later, the two friends were in Joost's room. It was clear that cleaning up was the last thing on his mind. The girl glanced around and silently began picking up the scattered clothes from the floor.
"Please, leave it," Joost groaned, collapsing onto the bed. "I'll do it later."
"If you're not going to help, then go take a shower," she replied, putting the relatively clean clothes back into the closet and setting the dirty ones aside near the door.
"I'll do that later too," he mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. Only now did he start to feel how utterly exhausted he really was.
"We both know how that will go," she said pointedly, casting a glance his way. He sighed, feeling her gaze on him.
"I'm too tired. I just can't."
The girl hung up his coat and sat next to him. Joost looked at her face. Only now did he notice her puffy, swollen eyes, sunken cheeks despite the rosy flush from the cold, and chapped lips. He recognized the look.
He immediately recalled one of the messages she had sent him. You're not the only one suffering.
"What happened?"
He furrowed his brows and sat up, studying her face carefully. She knew exactly what he meant. Joost saw the same exhaustion in her that she often saw in him.
She sighed and lowered her gaze.
"I haven't been feeling great these past few days. But you probably know what I mean."
This time, it was his turn to lower his gaze. He didn't know what to say.
He didn't need to say anything.
She moved closer and hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Joost desperately hugged her back, holding her in a bear-like grip.
"I'm sorry," he muttered after a while, still holding her. His voice trembled. "I should be supporting you, but instead, I'm just a burden. It's the only thing I'm good at."
"You're not a burden, Joost," she protested, pulling back slightly to look at him, emphasizing her words. "We should be supporting each other. No one else will understand us better than we understand each other. We're in this together."
At some point during her words, two large tears rolled down Joost's cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry," he said, burying his face in his hands, knowing that those two tears were just the beginning. On top of feeling miserable, guilt now added to the weight. It's not that he was unaware of his friend's struggles with mental health—he knew, just as she knew what he was going through. On most days, both of them were cheerful and lively, the life of the party. But sometimes, for a few days, a week, or even two, their light would go out. Depression was a grim lighthouse keeper.
She hugged him again, holding him tightly. Joost clung to her as if she were a lifeline.
"Everything will be okay," she whispered, stroking his hair.
"Everything will be okay," he echoed. "We'll get through this."
They sat there in silence for an undefined amount of time, wrapped in each other's arms.
"I'm not joking about that shower," she said after a while. "I guarantee you'll feel better."
Joost sighed and pulled away from her, nodding. He stood up and went to his closet, grabbing some clean clothes.
"You don't have to clean up, really," he said, glancing at her one last time before reaching for the door handle.
"And wash your hair too," she replied, standing up and continuing to organize his clothes. She looked at him and gave him a small smile, nodding her head to tell him to go and not to worry about the rest.
"Thank you," he returned her smile and went to take a shower.
When he came back, he looked much better. He also felt better. His room no longer resembled a battlefield. Clothes and trash no longer littered the floor, dirty dishes were gone, and the bed was made. But his friend was nowhere to be seen.
Joost peeked out of the door and, hearing movement in the kitchen, went downstairs. His friend was putting dishes into the dishwasher.
"This is probably for you," she said, pointing to some sandwiches wrapped up on the counter.
"I doubt I can eat anything," he replied, glancing apologetically at her. After a moment, he wondered if she had eaten. She also had trouble with eating sometimes. "But I'll eat if you eat with me."
"That won't be enough for us."
"I know, but we can make pancakes."
The girl smiled at his suggestion and nodded.
A few moments later, the kitchen filled with the smell of frying pancakes and the sound of easy conversation. The kind of conversation that, after a storm, offers a glimpse of normalcy. Joost flipped the pancakes while his friend sliced fruit they had found in the fridge. The warm atmosphere began to chase away the heavy clouds.
They weren’t alone. Even when they craved solitude, they weren't isolated. They had each other.
The girl unintentionally glanced at her friend, and noticing his damp bangs falling into his eyes, she pushed them back from his forehead with a gentle hand. Joost smiled at her gesture, unable to help it. She smiled too.
Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone Can't change the weather, might not be forever But if it's forever, it's even better
Neither of them said it aloud that afternoon, but in the quiet corners of their minds, they both thought how grateful they were to have each other.
#joost klein#joost klein x you#joost klein x reader#joost klein oneshot#joost klein one shot#joost klein fanfic#europapa#droom groot
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
When We Collide
Chapter 14
Chapter Summary: You wake to Agatha's unsettling yet impossibly grounding presence, unspoken questions threatening to unravel a fragile moment. And just like that, walls begin to crack.
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N (very long, sorryyy): I still can’t believe it, but here we are. After exactly one month since the last chapter was published, I’m officially back! I can’t promise the creative block I’ve been struggling with for When We Collide is completely gone, but I’m really trying, and I’m so happy to continue this story.
Before you dive in, I just want to take a moment to make a small dedication:
Over the past week, I’ve received an overwhelming amount of love and support that I never expected. Moots, strangers, and even anonymous readers stepped forward in the comments of my update posts on Tumblr or slid into my DMs to show their appreciation and encouragement. You know who you are. It’s because of all of you that, in just over 24 hours, I managed to write an entire chapter after being stuck for a whole month. You gave me an incredible boost of energy and motivation. So, this chapter is for you. To my moots, followers, and each dedicated reader of When We Collide. To everyone who messaged me privately or left a comment on a post or a fic. To those who, even without reaching out directly, have always supported me with their thoughts and good vibes, waiting patiently for an update and never abandoning this story. What you’ve done, and continue to do, for me is amazing. You’ve filled me with so much love and support, and I truly hope this chapter (and the ones to come—yes, they’re coming, hehe) can serve as a proper thank-you.
It’s true that writing should primarily be for yourself, but when you receive this kind of support and encouragement, it becomes something truly special to write for others too.
Let me know what you think of the chapter, and thank you from the bottom of my heart! 💜
PS: Spoiler—I literally felt my heart break while writing a certain piece of dialogue. Had to pause, pick up the pieces, and keep going. Sorry y’all, I couldn’t resist 💔
Chapter Index
Read on AO3
You stir awake to the faint glow of the early afternoon, the light filtering softly through the edges of the curtains. For a brief, suspended moment, your mind lingers in the haze of sleep, the kind where nothing feels quite real, and you’re not entirely sure where you are. Then the weight registers.
The warm, undeniable weight of someone pressed against you.
Your breath catches, your body locking in place as you become acutely, painfully aware of Agatha’s head resting on your shoulder.
Her dark hair brushes against your neck, faintly ticklish, while her arm lies draped across your waist.
You don’t dare move. Not even a twitch.
Every nerve in your body stands at attention, screaming for you to do something. But you lie there, frozen, your heart hammering so loudly you’re sure it’ll wake her. The thought of turning your head to look at her fills you with a mixture of terror and curiosity, and you’re too paralyzed to face either.
You try—really try—to focus on the practicalities. How did this even happen? You’d climbed into bed hours ago, stiff as a board, determined to keep your distance. You’d stayed on your side, curled up awkwardly, staring at the wall like it held the answers to every question you were too afraid to ask.
But then sleep had come. Or at least something like it—a restless tangle of half-dreams and unconscious movements, shifting and turning under the weight of the night’s tension.
At some point, the gap between you must have closed. At some point, her arm must have found its way across you.
A thousand excuses rush through your mind, each more fragile than the last, as if rationalizing the moment could make the closeness disappear. But they all crumble, leaving behind one undeniable truth: you don’t want to move. Not really.
You tell yourself it’s fear. Fear of waking her. Fear of the look on her face if she realized the position you’re in. Confusion? Annoyance? Disgust? The thought twists your stomach into painful knots. But beneath the fear, another emotion lingers, quieter and far more dangerous.
It feels… good.
You hate how much you notice it, how your senses seem to betray you with every passing second. The softness of her hair brushing your neck, the heat of her body radiating against your side, the faint pressure of her arm resting on you—it all feels far too natural, far too easy, like some cruel joke the universe decided to play.
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to move, to shift, to put some distance between you. But your body doesn’t listen. You’re too hyper-aware of every tiny detail, of how close she is, of how safe she feels.
A shaky exhale escapes you, your chest rising just enough to disturb the delicate stillness between you. Agatha stirs slightly in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her lips as her arm tightens instinctively around you.
Your heart practically leaps into your throat.
You swallow hard, trying to convince yourself that this is normal. That there’s nothing strange or inappropriate about lying here like this. That it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just an accident, a coincidence. That’s all.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except it’s not.
Because no matter how much you want to believe that this is accidental, that she’s completely unaware, a small, traitorous part of you wonders what it would mean if she wasn’t.
You try to focus on the ceiling, on the faint creak of the house settling around you, on anything other than her. But it’s impossible. Because no matter how still you stay, no matter how hard you try to quiet your thoughts, Agatha’s presence fills every corner of the room—and every corner of you.
Your breath hitches as you finally, finally let yourself turn your head. It’s tentative at first, a small, hesitant shift of movement.
Your chin almost brushes her forehead, and the nearness of her—so close you could count the faint freckles scattered across her skin—leaves you utterly undone.
For a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The sight of her like this, her face so close to yours, is enough to send your thoughts spiraling.
Your gaze moves carefully, tracing her features as if each one might dissolve into smoke if you looked too quickly.
Sharp and soft. The words loop in your mind like a mantra, and you can’t stop staring. The sharp lines of her jaw and cheekbones, the delicate curve of her lips—they blend danger and allure in a way that leaves you off-balance, like she was never meant to be anything less than both.
Your let your thoughts drift, unbidden, to what you know about her. And, perhaps more troubling, to what you don’t.
You’ve spent all your life in the same coven, shared the same spaces, breathed the same air, yet she’s always been distant. A figure just out of reach, admired and feared in equal measure by most.
You sift through your memories, trying to piece together fragments, to make sense of the person sprawled across you now.
Everyone has been speaking of Agatha’s power in hushed tones since you were children—the raw, unpredictable force of her magic. How it brims with potential but defies control. Even the older witches have always been wary of her, watching her like a storm poised on the horizon.
And then there’s the story. The one no one speaks of outright but that lingers in fragments, carried around by rumors and half-truths.
It was just over a couple of years ago. One of the daughters of your mother’s friends—a girl you barely knew, though her name still echoes through the village homes and halls—was found dead in the woods. Cold, lifeless. Drained.
The whispers said it was Agatha.
They claimed she had taken the girl’s power, siphoned it like a flame devouring a candlewick. That she left her there, alone in the woods, to die.
But that girl wasn’t just anyone. She was Agatha’s best friend.
The rumors painted it as a calculated act of power, a way to send a message and solidify her place as the rightful heir to the coven’s legacy. They said her magic demanded sacrifice, and she hadn’t hesitated to give one.
But that version of the story never sat right with you.
Even more so now, with Agatha asleep beside you, her head resting on your shoulder, her breathing slow and even in sleep. The idea of this Agatha—the Agatha who clings to you in her slumber—being the monster the rumors describe feels impossible to reconcile.
You’ve always wondered if there was more to the story. If the truth had been buried beneath layers of fear, jealousy, and Evanora’s carefully orchestrated manipulations.
Because if there’s one thing you know about Evanora Harkness, it’s that she’d burn the truth to ashes to protect her image.
The slow rise and fall of your chest brushes faintly against Agatha’s arm, jolting you back to the present. You exhale shakily, your gaze locking once again on her face.
She looks so… harmless. The thought slips into your mind unbidden, and you can’t stop yourself from clinging to it. Here, now, in your bed, tangled against you, she does look harmless. Innocent, even.
And yet… the stories remain. The danger, the sharpness, the fury—it’s still there, lurking just beneath her momentary serene exterior.
You should move. You really should. Break the moment, pull away, regain the distance you’re supposed to have. But you don’t. You can’t. Because for all the danger and mystery that surrounds Agatha Harkness, there’s something else, too.
Something that keeps you rooted in place, your gaze drinking her in, feeling her presence in every breath you take.
The stillness is interrupted by a faint shift. Agatha stirs against you, her body shifting slightly as her fingers twitch where her hand rests near your waist. Her breathing changes, no longer the even, steady rhythm of sleep but something shallower, more conscious.
You freeze, your own breath caught in your chest. Her head lifts just a fraction before settling again, her hair brushing against your neck in a way that sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. For one agonizing moment, you wonder if she’ll pull away.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, Agatha lets out a soft exhale, her lashes fluttering as her eyes blink open, slow and heavy with sleep. There’s a beat—a single, suspended second where her gaze adjusts, flitting from the faint light of the room to you.
Her arm remains draped across your waist, though her fingers flex slightly, testing their place. Her lips twitch, just barely, into something resembling a smirk.
“Is this how you treat all your guests, or am I just special?” she murmurs, her voice husky and rough from sleep, the teasing lilt sharp enough to make your stomach flip.
The words pull you from your haze of panic into full-blown mortification, heat rising to your face as you open your mouth, then close it, scrambling for a response.
“You—you asked me to stay!” you stammer, your voice breaking as you shift just a little, glaring at her. “Don’t twist this into—”
Agatha cuts you off with an expression so faux-innocent you want to scream, her tone light but laced with mockery.
“Did I?” she muses, her brow quirking as though she’s genuinely pondering it. “Hmm. Doesn’t sound like me.”
Your jaw drops.
Your heart hasn’t stopped pounding since she stirred, and her smirk only makes it worse. The audacity, the smugness. She’s so calm, like waking up tangled together is just another morning for her.
For you? It’s a waking nightmare—or at least, that’s the excuse you cling to as you try to suppress the heat that is completely taking hold of your whole body. Your fists clench at your sides, and your frustration boils over.
“You did! You said—” you stop yourself, huffing in exasperation as her smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Ugh, you’re impossible.”
“And you’re far too fun to annoy.” she counters shifting slightly, her arm sliding away from your waist as she props herself up on one elbow.
You bite back another retort, your face burning as you turn your head to look anywhere but at her. She’s infuriating. Smug and sharp-tongued and—close. Too close.
The silence stretches for a beat, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down.
It doesn’t help that she’s still watching you, her gaze a quiet weight against your skin. You can feel it without looking—how her smirk lingers, how her eyes flicker between amusement and something unreadable.
She shifts again, finally breaking the silence.
“Well,” she says softly, her voice still carrying that teasing lilt, “if this is how you handle all your guests, I can’t imagine they stay very long.”
Your breath hitches, and you glance at her despite yourself, catching the faintest flicker of something beneath her grin. She’s teasing, sure—but there’s an edge to it, a quiet discomfort she’s trying to mask.
You huff again, crossing your arms and refusing to let her get the last word. “Maybe they don’t. But you did ask me to stay, so if you have complaints, take it up with yourself.”
Her grin softens slightly, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she leans back a little, her hand brushing against the blanket as she rests her weight on her palm. Her gaze flickers briefly to the window, her expression almost thoughtful.
You watch her for a moment, your own irritation ebbing away as curiosity takes its place. She’s still infuriating, still impossible—but there’s something else, too. Something quieter.
You should let it go. The tension, the moment—it’s already too much and you both literally just woke up. But the question lodges itself in your throat, unspoken words buzzing like a swarm. You don’t even mean to say it. It just… slips out. “What really happened that day?”
Agatha’s head tilts slightly, her eyes cutting back to yours in a sharp, measured motion.
“What?” she asks, her tone casual, but there’s a sudden wariness in her gaze, the edge of a blade being drawn.
You hesitate, regretting the words almost immediately, but it’s too late now.
“The girl.” you clarify, your voice quieter than you intended. “The one they say you… killed.”
The room seems to still, the air shifting as the words settle between you.
Agatha doesn’t move, her expression unreadable, but the flicker of something raw flashes behind her eyes—a shadow that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears.
Her lips curve into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Really?” she drawls, leaning back slightly, the picture of feigned nonchalance. “That’s what you want to talk about? Here? Now?”
Your stomach twists at the sharpness of her tone, but you don’t look away.
“I just…” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I just want to know the truth.”
Agatha lets out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks away again.
“The truth…” she mutters, her voice low, almost mocking. “You’re the first person to actually ask me for it, you know?”
The words hit you like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless.
“Wait.” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “No one’s ever—?”
“No.” Agatha cuts in sharply, her tone laced with dry amusement that barely conceals the bitterness beneath.“Why would they? They already think they know. They don’t need my version.”
She scoffs, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk.
Your chest tightens painfully at the words, the weight of what she’s said settling over you like a heavy fog. If no one’s ever asked for her version of the story, if no one’s cared enough to hear the truth… then everything you’ve heard—the whispers, the rumors, the stories—might not be true. Or at least, not entirely.
Agatha’s gaze flickers back to you, piercing and unreadable, as if she can sense where your thoughts are heading.
“I know what they say.” she continues, her voice quieter now, colder. “Some of it’s lies, some of it’s not.”
Your breath catches, her words hanging between you like a challenge, daring you to press further. And you do.
“But if not all of it’s true…” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, “… then why?”
You hesitate, the question twisting in your chest before it finally escapes. “Why do you let them believe those things about you, hmm?”
That stops her cold.
Her gaze locks on you, her expression sharp and unyielding, but there’s something flickering beneath the surface—something fragile and dangerous and far too human.
For a moment, you swear you see something shatter behind the mask she wears so flawlessly. And when she finally speaks, her whispered answer tears through the silence like thunder.
“Because the truth is too awful.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at her. The rawness in her voice, the vulnerability she so desperately tries to hide, steals the breath from your lungs.
But you don’t back down. Not now.
“Maybe.” you say quietly, your voice softening but steady. “But I don’t think it’s worse than the lies, than the stories people tell.”
Her head tilts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease, but there’s something in her gaze—a flicker of hesitation, of consideration.
“You’re persistent.” she mutters, the edge returning to her voice, though it’s quieter now.
“And you’re exhausting.” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual despite the knot in your chest tightening with every passing second. “But since it looks like we’re stuck together—and you’re literally in my bed—you might as well tell me.”
You know the truth, though: you’re not really stuck together. Agatha could leave anytime she wanted—she’s clever, resourceful, and probably already thought of four different ways to slip out unnoticed, if she needed or wanted to.
But you also suspect that getting Agatha Harkness to open up requires more than simple patience. She needs to feel cornered—not with malice, but with intent. She has to know that someone is paying attention, that someone cares enough to ask, and that walking away won’t make the questions disappear. So you hold her gaze, refusing to let the moment slip away.
Agatha exhales sharply, the sound laced with frustration as she rubs a hand over her face. For a long, agonizing moment, you think she might retreat entirely. But then her hand falls, and she looks at you again.
And just like that, the walls begin to crack.
#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness x you#agatha harkness x female reader#agatha x reader#agatha x you#agatha x y/n#agatha harkness fanfic#agatha all along fanfic#aaa fanfic#when we collide
87 notes
·
View notes
Text
Overprotective PT 3
!kinda proofread!
Hope you enjoy the last part :)
Don’t forget to throw in some request!
-🩷
(They will be a few time skips)
**
I sat on the dining table down stairs slowly eating my breakfast as the boys were running around trying to figure out stuff and brining their bags down. My bag was already brought down by the help of I.N who didn’t seem as mad at me like the other guys were. So, there was no need for me to go upstairs anymore.
My head phones were on and I was eating up some bacon, eggs and potatoes Leeknow had nicely cooked for me knowing that my stomach normally acts up whenever we had to travel. Which was really sweet of him really.
The house was noisy like usual. People were walking in and out of the house. Chan was running around with papers and passports in his hands in one corner obviously stressed. Hyunjin and Han arguing about who was taking what skincare, leeknow helping I.N figure out his airport outfit and Changbin, Felix and Seungmin were taking selfies to post on bubble.
Once I finish the meal the cars pulled up in our driveway and I grabbed my heavy bag trying to carry it to the car but completely failing. Stupid stylists and packing sending me all these clothes (joking I’m totally thankful for all of them)
"Here let me help you." I.N says grabbing the bags and carrying them into the car. I say a small 'thank you' really appreciating the fact that he didn't stand there and watch me suffer.
We get into our different cars knowing our trio's.
Me, I.N, Felix, then 3 Racha, then Leeknow, Seungmin and Hyunjin. Like always. It didn’t change unless there was some type of security problem. Our car was the loudest in normal occasions but today due to the circumstances, the car ride was quiet.
No one dared to speak a word. I felt myself slowly shutting down because I was so tired because of the lack of sleep.
We had been learning the new choreography the past week and barely got enough time to sleep. Even the boys started to complain about the amount of hours we were putting in.
The sleepy red eyes and eye-bags were the biggest signs.
I was struggling to stay awake there was no lie there. I grab my energy drink and start sipping on it. Hoping it could atleast get me through the walk through of the airport.
By the time we arrive I had finished the drink and put the can in the car trash bin and got out of the car with the boys.
All the fans lining up outside, probably thousands, screaming our names and trying to get a picture or look.
"Let's go this way." The guard says shielding us from the paparazzi's flash lights.
We follow him and meet up with some of the boys making our way to the front of the airport where we all stood in line and waved. Waved at everyone and took some pictures.
I could hear the burning questions of the paparazzi about the pictures from last night. The yelling growing louder and louder. Some were horrible and others were way too insensitive.
"Just ignore them, yeah?" I.N says in my ear and I quickly look over at him nod. Nobody could see the tears that hid behind my glasses. Thank God.
I just knew I had to act normal and act like nothing was getting to me because if I did it would be suspicious if the person in the picture wasn’t ‘actually me’.
"Alright shall we?" The manager motions for all of us to follow him and we do. We follow him all the way through into the crowd and into check in.
"It must not be her it those pictures from last night then. What a scam! Her hair is blonde!" I hear some people whispering in the line that was right next to us.
"Poor girl! All the hate she's getting online is so saddening. Atleast now we know it's not her." The other girl replies while tapping on her phone.
The hate I was getting? What hate was I getting?
I questioned and pull out my phone and scroll through the new articles that read.
"New photos from last night FAKE!" I sigh in relief as people were actually believing it wasn't me in those pictures. Chan was right.
I was happy for a little while until I scroll onto twitter where things started to actually get out of hand.
I start reading each and ever comment under my hashtag. #straykidsY/n
"I knew she wasn't Idol type!"
"This is honestly disgusting how could she do that to her fans"
"Does it mean to at she's getting kicked out of straykids?"
"I told y'all she was disgusting. Y'all didn't believe me"
My jaw is left hanging and I squint my eyes scanning every single comment in shock. Why were people so mean? Why were men sexualizing me as well? Grown men?
"Y/n. Keep walking," Leeknow whispers in his scolding tone. “Your slowing down.” I try and pick up my pace and when we make it past the check in point. I quickly put my phone away and wipe the tears that had fallen.
The heat under my sweater was starting to get to me. It felt like I was slowly suffocating. It felt like the walls were crashing in.
I start to sweat as I access the way we're going.
A lot of people in the airport were staring at us. A lot of eyes were watching us. Watching me probably.
Probably thinking I'm the worst or thinking of how I would like it in my panties. Disgusting.
My hands grow sweaty and start to slowly shake. I feel my legs grow weaker. We're almost at the private jet. We're almost there.
If I can get to the jet that's all. That's all I need to do.
But the icky feeling of throwing up starts to crawl in my stomach. I start to slow down which causes Leeknow to scold me again but I can't, I can't walk. It feels like I'm slowly being pulled into the ground.
"What is it?" Leeknow says holding onto my hand. This causes everyone to also stop even the guards and staff.
"What's wrong?" He looks at me worried.
The cold sweat and pale skin worries him even more and starts to worry Chan now who is now walking from the front to the back.
"P-panic attack." I manage to say in short breathes. I'm leaning on leeknow. My breathing getting shorter by each breath.
"What is it? What going on?" Chan whispers. His hand automatically placing on my back.
"I think she's having a panic attack." Leeknow whispers.
"Fuck, Y/n. Listen, you need to breathe and walk so we can get you somewhere quieter." He talks to me softly, “can you do that for me love?” He asks.
I slowly nod and start taking slow steps. The two older boys standing by my side making sure I don't collapse.
By the time we walk into the jet I gasp for air and walk to a corner far from everyone. Leeknow and Chan following me closely behind.
“Do you need some water? Talk to me what’s wrong?” Leeknow asks kneeling in-front of me.
“It’s so hot, it’s so hot.” I start to panic even more.
My hands rip through my sweater. “Where’s your bag Y/n?” Chan asks and I point by the door. He grabs it and pulls out my small portable fan and points it my way.
A hand on my lap makes me look up. Seungmin standing there looking very worried.
"Y/nie you need to breathe my love. Breathe. Here look at me." He holds my hand and squeezes it. "See your doing a good job. Everything is okay. You don't need to panic okay? I've got you."
The world slowly starts moving at a normal speed again. Seungmin sits by me and pulls me into his arm cuddling me.
"See, there you go baby girl. You're okay now. You're fine." I look over at him and couldn’t help but smile. That didn’t last long when the feeling of nausea hits me really hard.
"I feel sick Minnie,” I say trying to get out of his grip just incase I didn’t throw up I didn’t want to throw up on him.
He furrows his eyes, “What kind of sick love?"
"I'm going to throw up." I take in deep breathes and swallow really hard trying to stop it from coming out.
"Oh my God, hold on let me grab a bag." The sound of panic rises in his voice and he moves to the side. "Chan pass me those paper bags now." He tells him in a hurry and Chan does so.
I grab it out of his hands and start to gag. The gag came with all the breakfast I had eaten. I keep throwing up until my throat and stomach start to burn.
I shut my eyes in pain. A few tears falling from all the exhaustion.
His hand was holding my hair now and rubbing my back waiting for me to empty the contents in my tummy. "Are you done?" I nod my head and he takes the trash bag away.
"Here's water babygirl." Chan hands me the bottle and I drink it then lay on the chair in my eyes slowly closing.
"How are you feeling? Talk to us.” Han pops up out of no where.
"Mmm sleepy." I softly say and I hear a tiny ‘aww’.
"Here are you headphones. Get some rest then in a bit you can have some food yeah?" I hum in response and face the other way so I could fall asleep.
I keep twisting and turning until I can finally get some rest.
*
"Alright welcome to New York!" A big buff guy says welcoming us in the airport. He was accompanied with 2 other big buff guys and a tiny lady.
"You must be BangChan." She smiles and gives him a hand shake.
"Yes I am and these are straykids." He smiles and we all bow saying hello.
"Nice to meet you guys. Okay, so we heard that you guys were tired so we might just do a few pictures outside and then we can head off to the hotels." She says enthusiastically, "Your schedules will be handed to you by my assistant once you guys arrive. Any questions?"
"No not really. No questions as for now. We would like to say thank you for having us and thank you for being our tour manger this time round. We appreciate it. Also as a thank you we braught you some goodies from South Korea." Chan smiles and point to the basket Changbin is holding.
"Oh thank you so much! Please I hope you guys enjoy your stay. If you guys need anything, anything at all do not hesitate to contact me through your managers yes?" Chan smiles at her and we all give her a friendly wave before walking outside to flashing lights and into our different cars.
In the evening a few of the boys came at different times checking in on me. Luckily I hadn’t thrown up or had any other panic attack. I knew they were still mad at me but they wanted to know if I was good or not.
“Why do you guys keep coming to my room if you’re mad at me?” I ask Hyunjin and Han who were the last ones to check in.
“Just because we’re mad at you doesn’t mama we want you to be sick and unhealthy. We still care.” Hyunjin tells me while handing me a cup of warm
Milk.
“True now drink up so we can go for dinner,” I give Han a small smile before drinking the warm milk.
I couldn’t help but still frown though. The unsettling feeling of guilt just lingering in my tummy.
I just wanted my scolding to get over with so that they wouldn't be mad at me anymore and when I was sent a text to go to Chan's room. I knew it was time.
I put on my slippers and quickly make my way to his room and stare at the door.
“God I beg you, let me come out of this room alive. Amen” I whisper a small prayer before knocking.
"Hey you wanted to speak with me?" Chan answers with his laptop in one hand and phone in the other.
"Come in Y/n." He says softly and I walk into his room. Slowly by slowly I notice all the boys seating in different places; on the bed, chairs and tables.
I sigh and take a sit on the chair that was put in the middle of the room obviously for me. It felt like I was in court at this point. A sigh leaves my lips as I wait for them to start.
"Y/n. What you did was the most stupidest thing I've ever seen in my life." Chan says getting serious. His tone getting harsh.
I flinch at this but continue to listen to his scolding.
“Yes Chan I’m sorry.” I softly say looking at the carpet beneath me.
"I am disappointed in you, I really am. I'm not even going to explain to you in depth how much trouble I am in with your parents and JYP. They still think that it wasn't you in that picture because we had to lie and say you were home getting your hair dyed. Your lucky people are eating this shit up." His tone was now getting more harsher.
"As for your punishment,” I take a breath I’m hoping that it would be light, “Your not allowed to go anywhere unless your with the boys. You're grounded for 3 months. All your doing is going for practice, rehearsals and schedules. No where else. Understand?" Fuck.
"Yes BangChan." I say softly playing with the rings on my fingers.
"You can't even be trusted now. All my trust in you is gone. Do you know how many phone calls I've gotten?" I keep quiet. "Answer me, I'm talking to you."
"No Chan I don't" I reply.
"Exactly, so I hope you'll learn your lesson the hard way. Also whoever that little boy is, I never wanna see you with them until your dating contract is over understand? Fuck it I don’t want to see you with any boy at all whether they’re your friends or your bestfriends."
"Yes bangchan."
"Do any of you guys have anything to say?" He looks around the room to the rest of the boys who were giving me very stern looks.
"I hope you really learn your lesson love. We're only doing this because you're still young. You won't get it."
"Yes Hyunjin,"
"Okay now you can go on into your room." Chan says dismissing me.
I slowly get up and walk out of the room and into mine.
Atleast the scolding was over with and I wasn’t thrown out a window. Atleast now they won’t be angry at me.
My knees buckle as I make it into the dark bedroom but I'm able to stay steady. I walk and lay on the bed and scroll through my twitter reading the comments.
I find my self spiraling. The world spinning once again due to the mean comments and threats. I didn’t know why was doing this to myself, why was I reading such hateful things? I need a breather. Some fresh air. Without thinking, I drop my phone on my bed and grab my shoes.
I walk to the hotels stair case and start walking up the stairs.
When I get to the rooftop I sit down and take in the view. It was peaceful and quiet. No one was up there which made it even better.
I wipe my tears that I hadn’t noticed had fallen and start to calm down. Just enjoying the view. Enjoying being alone and taking a short break from people. From the commotion.
It felt like 30 minutes and when I come back down and walk into our corridor I see the guards standing outside us Chan is pacing up and down outside my door.
What were they doing? I question and make my way to them so I could get to my door.
"What's going on?" I ask furrowing my eyebrows.
"Y/n? Oh my God thank God." He sighs in relief. I swear I saw him tear a little too.
"What happened?" I asked everyone.
“It’s okay I found her, thank you though. I don’t know where she was but I’m about to find out. Yeah okay bye.” Chan hands up the phone and looks up at me, "Where did you go Y/n? I told you not to go anywhere without the boys!" He exclaims.
"Chan I just went upstairs to the rooftop. Is that wrong?" I ask him confused than before.
"You were just on the rooftop?" He asks unsure to believe what I’m saying.
"Yes I was. You can check the cameras if you don't believe me." I shrug and pull out my room keys.
"Then why weren't you picking up your phone? You scared me! I thought you runaway!" Hyunjin steps In.
"I left it inside because of all the hateful notifications I was getting," I sigh and look up at the boys.
"Hate notifications?" I.N asks confused.
"Yeah the hate is getting really bad, so I decided to go for a breather. No big deal. I didn't know I wasn't allowed to go anywhere in the hotel premises-"
"No no your allowed, I- I just started freaking out thinking you had run away or something. Go on into your room we'll be there in a bit." I shrug and watch him turn the guards who looked like they had seen a ghost.
Knowing the boys well, they probably had threatened them and cursed every living thing in their life time which I found kind of funny because of how Overprotective they were.
I enter my room and start dressing up for bed and removing my makeup.
When the door opens and closes and a few of the boys walk in. (Felix, Han and Chan) I look up at them confused.
"Would you maybe like to go bawling?" Han says softly.
"But isn't it late and I'm grounded-"
"We'll your grounded starting when we get to Korea. Right now we're in New York. Let's have some fun. My treat." Chan smiles and sits on my bed.
I knew they felt bad and I knew they didn't want me to be alone in the room to fight my thoughts.
"Come on it's a good distraction and we can grab some street food!" Felix chimes and rubs my shoulders.
"Okay fine I'll get dressed." I sigh tired.
"Unless you wanna stay in and watch a movie?" Han says looking at me worried.
"No no no, we can go I'm just a little tired."
"Oh then we're definitely staying in and watching a movie." Chan stands up from my bed and grabs his phone.
"We'll order in a lot of food and then go to sleeep yeah? I'll text the boys."
"Okay that's sounds relaxing."
"Yes it does AND we can finish of that game we couldn't last time."
"Yeah we can."
*
The food was really good and after so many questions about whether I wanted to throw up or not had passed, we were able to all lay in Chan's bed piling on top of eachother.
"I love you Y/nie" I.N says out of the blue and starts to poke my side.
"I love you more than he loves you," Felix jumps in.
"No I do!" Hyunjin says.
"Okay okay I get the point! I love you guys too. I geuss." I tease and they all chuckle.
"We hope your no longer sad about us scolding you, we really do mean well love,"
"I know I know, it's okay I deserved it. I'm sorry for being a handful."
"You're not a handful really, just a growing baby."
"Guys I'm 18, oh my God stop calling me a baby!!" I bury my face into the blankets and they all start laughing.
My little family.
**
#skz comfort#skz imagines#skz angst#skz x reader#skz drabbles#skz fluff#skz stay#skz x y/n#skz x you#stray kids drabbles
613 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Testosterone Report
I'm going to use this post to help document any changes I notice as I begin TRT.
For those who missed it, I was diagnosed with crucially low levels of testosterone which have been causing serious fatigue and brain fog issues beyond my already present serious fatigue and brain fog issues. I used to only have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Narcolepsy fighting each other to make me tired. But the universe decided I could be even more fatigued than I already was. Going from being in bed about 20 to 22 hours per day to being in bed 24/7 for the last 2 months.
So, here we go...
12/16/24
I had two very intense nightmares. I know sometimes people get nightmares, but these felt very different. And I'm pretty sure they were manifested by my body adjusting to the T.
I also had another very obvious sign of increased testosterone. I struggle to talk about sexual things. I grew up very repressed. But hopefully we are all adults here and I can talk about this maturely without it being a big deal. I'm just tracking my progress and this is relevant information concerning my treatment.
That said, I had 2... incidents.
Yeah, I'm going to need a codeword for this so I don't feel so awkward talking about it.
I had 2... hormone-induced hard-ons.
Which we are going to call HI-HOs from now on.
Because we are adults and very mature.
I haven't had any issues getting a HI-HO with low T. The equipment always worked whenever I tested it out. I just was severely lacking in interest. Which I blamed on stress and anxiety and age.
These 2 HI-HOs were completely spontaneous and occurred without any stimulus. They also felt more... enthusiastic. So I was confident they were actual HI-HOs and not just run-of-the-mill HOs.
Or ROTM-HOs
--End of Report--
If I can be honest about something... I think I ignored my diminished libido for a long time because I preferred it. I am very lonely and I don't have much chance of ever changing that. I will never have the energy required to be in a healthy relationship. I tried several times and could never make it work.
So I liked not having to deal with that aspect of daily living. I liked having my thoughts clear and unmotivated by sex. And I'm not entirely sure I want my libido to return, so I think I ignored it as a possible symptom.
But I can't live with this much fatigue and lack of concentration. I can't finish sentences. Communicating with the people in my life has become very difficult. And the one thing I enjoy the most and find the most relaxing is editing photos. This past week I have struggled to find the concentration to edit anything at all. If I have to put up with a bunch of HI-HOs to keep my most important creative outlet, so be it.
I did hear back from a therapist. I will hopefully be starting in January. Perhaps I can figure out how to deal with this particular matter. It was nice to not have any sexual frustration for a while. But I think finding better coping methods is probably the best way to go.
98 notes
·
View notes
Note
Woww, that was fast! hank you for answering! Are you open to share who else you'd like to write for?
My ask would have been like a reaction from Thranduil. Do you remember in the 'Hobbit Battle Off The Five Armies', there is a scene where Thranduil has a discussion (argument) with gandalf, and then turns to his guards giving the order 'if anything moves in that mountain, kill it'. (https://youtu.be/pIJolzpDGf4?si=8olgvSBAeXIlUT2b maybe this might help with the context)
Now what if- any scenario 'you', was in that mountain and let's just say they were in the wrong place the wrong time and oops- there goes an arrow through their mortal body. What if, somehow they survive and run to Gandalf for help, and meet Thranduil in the process. How would Thranduil react if he found out; it was his fault that the only person who somehow managed to crack open his stone heart after his wife's death, was pierced with an arrow and on the brink of death because of him?
I love your work so much, really I discovered it like an hour ago and I cannot stop reading one post from the other. Feel free to ignore though<3
Sorry that it is written so quickly and not well in some places, I am writing two more fanfics, ( ╹▽╹ )I also draw at this time, I don’t know, I’m probably torn to pieces
Even a king makes mistakes
Everything happened so fast, too fast to comprehend what was unfolding. You ran, unaware of what lay behind each corner of that mountain. The chase, the shadows, the unknown. And then… a sudden, searing pain. A cry, followed by the cold, metallic sting — an arrow pierced your body. You fell, and the world around you was swallowed by a fog. You heard the distant shouts, the frantic movements of people, but you were far away, somewhere between life and death.
Thranduil stood there, staring at your body. His gaze was filled with helplessness, while his heart shattered from what had occurred. "What have I done?" — this thought never left him. He stood there in silence, gazing at your face, knowing he would never forgive himself for what had happened. His hand, trembling ever so slightly, reached for your cheek, brushing a stray lock of hair away. You were so close, yet so far.
When you opened your eyes, they locked with his, as if drawn by some invisible pull. It was unbearable. Your gaze… you looked at him, not hiding the pain, and all he could do was freeze. Even with all his royal composure, he was undone by this single thought.
Time passed, and the medics knew what had to be done. You were in critical condition, but there was still hope. Yet for Thranduil, it did nothing to ease his heart. He sat in the shadows, unsure of what to do next. His mind spiraled in an endless loop of self-reproach and regret.
Behind him, Genjelf appeared. His gaze was as cold and composed as ever, but there was concern in it. He placed his hands on the king’s shoulders and spoke words that Thranduil had heard many times before, but never accepted:
— You are a king, though you’ve lived long enough, you can still make a mistake. Nothing in this world can be guaranteed perfect.
Genjelf left, leaving him alone with the weight of his thoughts, with the curse of his own realization. But what was worse — even in his regret, Thranduil could not forgive himself. His heart broke because he knew he had lost the one soul who had managed to crack his icy exterior after the death of his beloved. And now, if you didn’t survive, it would be his fault.
Only you and his past mistakes remained in his mind.
A day passed, then another, and you still hadn’t awoken. But in the stillness of those nights, your gaze met his once more when you opened your eyes slowly, as though emerging from a deep slumber.
He approached you, unsure of what to say. His voice trembled:
— You survived… You… You
You sat up, a weak sigh escaping your lips. You embraced him, feeling his warmth, his presence beside you.
— We all make mistakes, — you whispered softly, struggling but managing to hold him close. — But the most important thing is to admit them and move forward.
He pressed himself against you, knowing that, despite everything, he hadn’t lost what he once thought he might have forever.
"It's never too late to start again," he thought, feeling your words overshadow the inner pain he carried.
#x reader#fem reader#thranduil fanfiction#the lord of the rings#thranduil x you#thranduil oropherion#thranduil of mirkwood#thranduil x reader#thranduil
46 notes
·
View notes
Text
Went to see Paul last night. I’m still on cloud 9 and can’t articulate anything so here are some disparate thoughts in no particular order:
The last hour is non stop banger after banger so if he tours again go to the bathroom BEFORE (missed Obla di 😭😭)
I like Come on to Me, sue me
The crowd took a bit to warm up which was very annoying like c’mon even Jet they were mid energy (it got way better by the end)
Oh Darling playing before he came on in the context of all the Get Back graphics on stage made me suddenly very tinhat about that song. Not that they did it on purpose ofc but my brain connecting the contextual images and the lyrics was… well. All interpretation of course!
Not a big response to I’ve just seen a Face or Drive my Car! Incorrect crowd again.
I loved In Spite of All the Danger. It got me weirdly emotional though with it being the first song they recorded and it having the line ‘I would do anything for you’ and the last words John said about Paul reportedly being ‘I would do anything for him’. Again not saying the initial song is about each other, it’s just one of the cosmos’ tragic little bookends
Have the lyrics to Let Me Roll It been officially changed from she to he? Because it was he again tonight. I wasn’t hearing for it but it shot out when he sang it.
The graphics could do with some work, Paul you’re a billionaire gets some people on that. Though Get Back just being everyone smiling in the studio was so cute.
Reminded once again that McBeardy was the hottest man alive.
Weird that Something got a montage of George but Maybe I’m Amazed and Here Today had no pictures of Linda or John. I can see why with Linda in terms of jt being awkward for Nancy but still.
Hey Jude lasts forever but it was magic and I wanted it to go on longer.
Paul forgot My Valentine and thought the guy reminding him was showing him a heart to say he loved him lmaoooo. He added it back in but it was wild to go from My Valentine to Maybe I’m Amazed. (Also why was Johnny Depp there?!!)
Paul was at his cuntiest and it was so funny. Just casually mocking peoples whooping and I love you’s (alpha bitch is at it again).
Whoever that guy in the audience was that had gone 135 times I salute you. Wish it could be me.
1985!!! My soul left my body my hands started seizing it was so SO good.
Jet is a banger, sorry to that crowd I had a great time.
The girls with the ‘I love you more than yesterday’ sign I know what you are and you are so funny for that.
Cried and beamed at Now and Then, it hits different in the arena (and a crowd favourite). It obviously means so much to Paul as well. Just emotional all round.
Live and Let die is incredible but Paul the fire!!! The banging!! I was so stressed the entire time, how can he still hear?
HELTER SKELTER
Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime for those who enjoy whimsy (Paul telling the kids they did great was cute as hell)
Ohhh that last medley really got to me (carry that weight…)
As a lot of others have said Paul’s voice is inconsistent. Sometimes it’s great and you can’t believe he’s doing it and other times he shows his age.
Which brings me to…
I’m not sure Here Today would stay on the set list if it wasn’t the song for John. In fact I’m certain it would be off it as it’s too hard for Paul to sing now. That being said, I think he may have broke down a bit. I wish I had videod it because either he did the ‘no, no, no’ that he’s done the past couple of performances or it was just a singular emotional no. I can’t remember which but It took me off guard and it didn’t seem intentional. :(( Edit: seen it again by people who have kindly posted it online and it was just him struggling with the notes, yay for video, not yay for Paul’s vocal chords).
I did laugh when Paul was talking about telling people you love them and the crowd just started screaming I LOVE YOU at him like it’s not what he means guys.
Overall 10/10 one of the best nights of my life.
#Got Back#if you can somehow get tickets for the last show tonight GO!!!!!#the beatles#Paul#paul McCartney
45 notes
·
View notes
Note
I (beg) ask if you can write anything Fierce Deity related. I don't want anything else, just that you write for my boy. (Pls us FD simps are starving).
Ah believe me I know y’all are dehydrated beyond the word’s meaning. I know the struggle (I really do) So I hope I do your boy (man) ((celestial being?)) justice!
(fir post writing: wow this is a LOT of context y’all don’t want or need, but my hands hurt so… part 2?)
☆⋆。𖦹°‧★
Immortality is a lonely existence. There are few beings that obtain an average life expectancy to that of a god. There are even fewer again who have immortality. Proper immortality. Not the poor results of a fae deal or some curse to age and wither without death. No. Proper immortality, exempt of aging past maturity and death herself.
That made his current predicament worse. Much, much worse than being stuck in a wooden mask.
You see, Gods and the immortal beings alike are rather fickle beings. They do glorious things to entertain or punish the mortals to have their names etched into stone and uttered in myth through centuries. They only wish to exist in temples of incense and candlelight, where the people there would do anything for even the cast of an eye.
Fierce had always thought those gods were the worst. All temples would crack. All names would be forgotten. All clay tablets and pots would be broken, ironically even by their proclaimed heroes. But that’s getting ahead of us. He was worshipped only in the grounds he was made for. It didn’t matter the land, for blood soaks into soil the same no matter what. It didn’t matter the men, the corpses were plentiful and he hardly discriminates. It didn’t even matter who won, because there are no winners in war.
He was made to fight, and he was made to kill. And so he did. His name rang throughout time between soldiers and emperors alike. Both tried to gain his favour. Occasionally there would be a temple, occasionally there’d be some mortal claiming to bear his blood, occasionally he’d care.
Regardless, it all came to the same ending. The men would die, the temples would crack and his name would fade into obscurity again.
It was supposed to.
But it seemed the others didn’t like that he was beating them at a game he didn’t want to win.
‘Cruel’ they called him, ‘Violent’ ‘Inhumane’ ‘Rabid’ ‘Irate’ ‘Improper’
And so, they condemned him. And he was forever no more.
Eras passed.
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years… And truly, he was nothing.
Just as they promised.
Some relic like their old tales, except he could not crack and wither.
He was lonely, perhaps just as much as before in hindsight. The fickle attention he did have was only worth something if he willed it.
At some point, He was awoken again. There were hands on his cheeks, shaky and blood covered. And there was light. The person who had called upon his spirit was not in good shape, blood spilling from their weak body as they were chased by odd looking men. A pack of wolves set on a lamb.
He’d learn throughout the next few months of hiding you and sharing your consciousness that the people of your village had thought you to be a witch. As such, you were beaten and chased.
You were a doctor, you’d told him.
You’d just tried to cure someone.
And such began his problem.
He’d never saw the purpose of mortals. They were future bodies, to him. They’d live to die. Sure, it’s better than the alternative of there only being gods, but they never held much worth to him.
Not until you.
You are good. In every way the short comings of language can express you are good. You’d devoted your life to a thankless existence and the nature of living had caught up to you. Good things didn’t deserve that. Good people didn’t deserve to live the life you led.
He was not so cruel as to condemn you to that fate.
And so, he began to help. Once gaining a physical form, (through much trial and error) He’d do the work you couldn’t manage. Hunting, building, sewing, cooking, he’d do as much as possible. He knew what it was like to be turned back upon by everyone. But you wouldn’t be able to grow past that. Not in your short life.
He held you as you shuddered and cried. He tended to your wounds and sickness. He did and would do whatever it took to see you happy again.
He did not, however, see the consequences.
It took him far too long for his comfort to realise that you were not simply accompaniment. You consumed his waking thoughts and filled his dreams. He lived around you, your wants and your needs. He began to eat because it made you comfortable, He slept because you liked to be near him, He humanised himself because it made you happy.
He would’ve renounced his title as a god to make your life perfect, or as close to as it could be.
But He could not.
He could not simply marry you and go about your lives knowing you had one another. He could not have you to hold forever. He could not always love you in sickness and health no matter how much he tried. Because at the end of the day, it’s until death do you part.
Or… do you?
(part 2? perhaps? maybe? perchance?)
#linked universe#legend of zelda#x reader#firreplies#fir’s library#lu fierce deity#fierce deity x reader
142 notes
·
View notes
Text
THIS IS NO ONE'S REQUEST, I was just bored as hell honestly, and I seriously think Miko needs more content, especially with her guardian(s). So, here's a little something as an apology for not posting in months (I lost my password..) This is probably terrible, maybe even OOC so I apologize in advance...
This was written while listening to Teenage girl, by Cherry Glazzer. You can listen to it too while reading if you want.
¹ ❥ ☆ Mini Fic²
♰ Transformers Prime³
ˋˋ SFW ☆
Teenage girl ♡
“urrrrrrrgh. “ Miko growled, sitting lazily on the chair. She was in detention again, for two whole hours, and everyone knows that for a girl such as Miko, staying two hours in the same room, doing either homework or nothing, was impossible. As the teacher looked away for a second, she pulled out her phone, sending a text into her guardian’s comms, giggling. He didn’t have to know she was in detention…
>> Class done early. Pick up ? pls
be here in five mins <<
>> thx ur the best xx
A soft smile formed on his faceplate when he read the text.
“ Miko’s done with class. I’ll go pick her up. “
Everyone either nodded or hummed in agreement, the big mech then proceeded to transform and make his way to Miko’s school. When he finally arrived in front, she was already here. He sighed softly and unlocked the door, allowing the human to jump in. As he asked how her day went and waited for her answer, he noticed the usual behavior she would have when she was hiding something from him.
Buckling her belt and making herself comfortable, knowing the ride would miraculously take way longer than the way to school, just because Bulkhead would take all kinds of “shortcuts” that would actually make the ride longer. He loved spending time with Miko, seeing her rocking her head at the songs playing. He had her playlist of favorite songs already registered. The big mech considered her family, like a sparkling he had to take care of. He’d never admit that, though.
The young girl was now waiting for the big engine to start, which never happened. She raised an eyebrow, kind of concerned something went wrong.
“Bulk ? Is your engine broken or something ? “
“ There’s something you want to tell me, but you’re not going to. “
She huffed, taking the words as an attack. But, it was actually just that she didn’t expect him to be able to read her like an open book.
“ what ?? Do you not trust me ? You know I tell you everything ! “
“ Apparently not. Did you get in trouble ? Did someone annoy you ? Who do I need to fight ?”
She stopped him right in his tracks when she heard he was ready to get in trouble just to protect her.
“ No, no no. None of that… I’m not in trouble, and you’re not fighting anyone. Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t have already anyway ! No… It’s that, uhh… I was in detention.”
The green mech sighed. He had a sneaky feeling it was something around those lines. But as he was about to give her a gentle lecture on how she should be respectful, pay attention in class and all that usual blah-blah she probably heard hundreds of times by her host parents, he decided to do the opposite. Bulkhead remembered very well how low Miko has been feeling for the past week. She’d exhaust herself on her homeworks, even ask for help if she was struggling, and not even sneaking out of the base anymore. Very unusual Miko behavior, which gave it away to her guardian. She really did try to get better, but her past got the better of her once again. Bulkhead knew old habits die hard, and sometimes, they just came back to give you a good slap as a reminder it’s not always going to be easy. He felt like this was what was happening to the poor girl at this moment. The silence being long enough, he finally spoke up.
“ You know what ? Let’s watch your show once we’re back to base.”
Too stunned to say a word, Miko stayed silent. She was expecting him to give her a whole speech about how it can’t keep on going, or she’ll fail her whole life, so that answer definitely surprised her. She just smirked and nodded softly, feeling the heavy weight on her chest drastically making it easier to breathe. As the loud sound of the starting engine finally resonated, she heard a small melody coming out of the radio. It was calm and slow, not something she’ll usually listen to.
“Erm, Bulk, what is that song? I’m practically falling asleep ! “
“ It reminds me of you. “
Miko raised an eyebrow, surprised by that answer. It sounded like such a boring song at first. When the volume went up, she listened to the lyrics. Bulkhead opened the windows, allowing the soft breeze of air to come inside and caress the girl’s hair. She relaxed her head back on the seat, and enjoyed it.
That song wasn’t all too bad after all…
EXTRA BECAUSE IM NOT SATISFIED WITH THIS END :
Hopping off of her chair the second the bell rang, the pink haired girl grabbed her bags and left, rushing through the stairs. Bulkhead being on a mission, someone else was coming to pick her up today. Someone special. She looked at every car in the parking lot, giggling when she saw him. She ran towards the car, waving, as if he could wave back. She instantly opened the door and jumped on the passenger seat. Her smile was full of joy.
“ Hey, kid. Been a while, hasn’t it ? “
“ Wheeljack ! It has ! I didn’t expect you here, I’m so happy to see you again. “
“ By the way you almost tripped while running, I could tell.”
She softly giggled, wiggling on the seat as a sign of excitement. The engine revved and they sped up on the road back to base, Miko already imagining a ton of things they could do together.
When she heard the radio turn on, she audibly gasped, her eyes glowing bright with happiness, and her smile only growing wider. The bot looked at her in the rear mirror, giggling in satisfaction. Looks like he hit right on the middle of the target. She rocked her body from side to side, and opened the window, and obviously turning the volume of the radio all the way up.
“ TEENAGE GIRL !!! “
. . . Written by Noah . . .ᐟ ☆
#tfp#transformers#maccadam#transformers headcanons#miko tfp#miko nakadai#bulkhead#transformers prime#wheeljack#bulkhead tfp#wheeljack tfp
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wild Life Mechanics
Hey guys, I was thinking about the Mechanics of Wild Life and the theory that the previous winners create the next game. The first thing I want to say is that while Cleo is a winner and we should respect the queen, it's clear that Wild Life wasn't created by her. While she is chaotic and loves to burn things, Wild Life is not a game she would make. She's pretty level-headed and only burns people's bases if they make her mad. She would not choose the next game to have random effects each session. Scar, on the other hand, is completely crazy and would have the games be so chaotic. Sure, Grian and the other Watchers are the ones who decide the game and how it functions, its clear that the winner has some input on how the game is created. Scar even mentioned in his first episode that he and others suggested ideas to implement into the game. He just wasn't sure if Grian put those ideas into use. It's just funny that the mechanics that Grian decided to use directly relate to Scar and the struggles he goes through. And I will be analyzing each Wild Card that we know of for now. (This will be outdated tomorrow since a new episode will come out. But I don't want the idea to disappear from my head, so I'm writing this now.)
The first session had the Shrink and Grow Wildcard and it relates to Scar's sensation of scale. While Scar is 6 ft tall and has known the feeling of being tall, for most of his time, he's in a wheelchair at around 4 ft tall and thus, he is also small. We saw that immediately with small Scar during Real life. Scar is both a tall man, and also small, just like session one's Wildcard where you can be both big or small. And for most of Scar's session, he tries to be in the middle. Just be his regular, Minecraft self, since he doesn't want to be reminded of relatity.
The second session was about having your food randomized and having to eat things like dirt and rocks. This relates to the fact that... well... Scar can't eat like a normal person anymore. Scar can only 'eat' through a tube and has to constantly make sure the food is mush. He also fantasizes about eating people. c!Scar is a cannibal and so when the watchers changed what he and the other lifers could eat, his brain couldn't handle that truth and just assumed they just couldn't eat. It was only thanks to Grian that he and his team managed to survive.
The third session was the snail and it was pretty simple what was happening. Scar had been tormented by the Snails in Hermitcraft and now they transferred over to the life series. The watchers made them into one-shotters because it would hurt Scar more since he's already not great at staying alive.
The fourth Session relates to the fact that Scar is pretty slow when making videos because of his illness. Scar starts off slow, but once he gets going, it's hard for him to stop. He mentioned tons of times that he tends to forget how long he should be on the computer and thus ends up being on a project for hours. Usually ending some episodes while it's like 1 in the morning for him.
And finally, session 5's gimmick was the Quizmaster, which relates to the fact that Scar is constantly reminiscing on the past. Mostly third life, double life, limited life, and secret life. Scar has been haunting people's posts and remembering the past. He got a good chunk of questions right. It was only the Last Life questions he didn't know completely since he was so sick during Last Life that he had to miss a session because of his real-world illness. Like he knew the horn Jimmy used in Double Life, but he couldn't remember the name because he's bad at remembering names.
Now, none of these gimmicks were meant to relate to Scar. After all, Grian created all the gimmicks. Its just funny how all of these gimmicks able to be connected to Scar. Grian truly is Scar's soulmate. Also, the fact that yellow and red names can kill dark green lives to get health back and has been compared to cannibalism is funny because I can connect this to Scar since c!Scar is a cannibal. He would totally implement the idea of adding some kind of cannibalism into the games. It is my headcannon that Scar was the one who had the random lives and life trade mechanic in Last Life while Grian put in the Boogeyman mechanic since Grian AND Scar both won Third Life. It's just a shame most people, including Scar, don't remember that Third Life was a double victory. So yeah. Scar is the only winner who won two games. Scott doesn't count because he didn't win Double life. He gave up the game to Pearl and she is the sole winner of Double life while Scott got second. Just wanted put idea up.
#winner's theory#goodtimeswithscar#wild life smp#wild life#grian#life series#gtwscar#gtws#desert duo
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quinlan Vos and Obi-Wan Kenobi Are Not Normal About Each Other (A Thesis Statement)
Fandom: Quinlan and Obi-Wan have had sex, but it’s a reach to think they could be in love and/or care deeply about each other in some manner, it was just physical (this is not me saying I don't think they have sex I HELLA do and I've written a lot of smut to prove it, but I've seen wayyyy too many posts that basically say they can only be romantic as Padawans and NEVER as adults and/or were just fooling around as teens and didn't have deep feelings in some way whether they're FWB or romantic partners or whatever you like)
Me: *unrolls my scroll* I'm here to make a POINT as an addendum to this post I made recently.
Look at these little darlings! They just met and Quin's already trusting Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan WANTS Quin to trust him. In another panel from this same comic, Quin helps Obi-Wan with his anxiety and it's very sweet.
Quin's been struggling with the dark side while undercover, and everyone thinks he's really truly fallen and can't be brought back except for Aayla, Tholme, and, YOU GUESSED IT! Obi-Wan. He goes looking for Quinlan on his own and finds him and they chat. Plus, look at this flashback of these little nerds flirting. Quin literally falls into the river and almost dies trying to flirt with Obi-Wan.
What do I even say about this panel??? Look at them!! Look at Quin trusting Obi-Wan with the dark parts of himself and Obi-Wan believing in him? Look at that hand clasp? Like shut up I can't take it.
Obi-Wan refusing to leave Quinlan behind and Quinlan, stubborn Quinlan, listening to him.
Their banter here shows how well they know and play off each other and that joke in the last panel SENDS ME.
This is from the new comic that came out in September, and this is just ONE instance of several of Quinlan mentioning Obi-Wan, who only appears in this comic via a psychometric vision, but Quin keeps bringing him up anyways.
I mean this is. THIS is what made me WANT to know more about Quinlan in the first place! It's not in this gif, but the way Obi-Wan smiles in this scene? The way his eyes light UP? That's love, babey.
I could literally paste so much stuff from Dark Disciple, which to me has always been a QuinObi book in addition to Vostress. Quinlan has fallen (pretty much without understanding he has because he so badly wants to uncover Sidious) and missing his check-ins with Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan keeps going back to their bar over and over again and he's been waiting for like, two hours at this point when Ventress comes in.
"Not him." Okay, buddy. Okay. Obi-Wan has like three panic attacks and outright defies his fellow council members at various points through this book because he believes so hard in Quinlan. He is INSISTENT that Quinlan can be brought back to the light.
These two pages made me SOB.
"She saved Quinlan" in italics. Not just his life, but his spirit. Those italics speak for themselves. And "Vos knew he could never repay Kenobi for that, but he has the rest of his life to try." Do ya, Quin? The rest of your life, huh?
Anyhow, truly, this is just me scratching the surface as I was limited by only being able to use 10 photos in a post. I’m leaving out sooo many other examples. You don't have to ship them! But these guys care a lot about each other and saying that it's just, impossible for them to have romantic feelings on posts or fics where the creator is, indeed, shipping them is ... weird. So is trying to overlay other ships onto specifically QuinObi content.
This has been a PSA.
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
Language Learning With Chronic Fatigue
[gif id: an animation of a cherry blossom branch swaying in the wind]
So! You're someone who's interested in learning a language, or you're already learning one but have trouble staying consistent because of your symptoms. I get it, I've been there.
For those who don't know, I have chronic fatigue and pain due to long covid. I've been struggling with it since early 2022, and I'm still learning how to cope, but I have enough knowledge at this point to put together a post about how to study whatever language you want to study and, y'know, not run out of spoons within a day.
Do keep in mind that I am one person with chronic fatigue! These tips may not help everyone.
P.S., I'll probably make another post like this in the future because I have terrible memory (thanks brain fog) and I probably forgot some stuff.
Take advantage of good days
[plain text: Take advantage of good days]
If you ever have days where you have more energy than usual, take advantage of those! For example, yesterday I had a ton of energy so I ended up studying for 3 and a half hours total.
That being said, keep in mind anything else you may need a lot of energy for in the day. I had to do laundry and shower yesterday, but I was exhausted after doing laundry, so I didn't get to shower. (In this regard: do not be like me.)
Keep track of what tasks drain you more than others
[plain text: Keep track of what tasks drain you more than others]
This can either be written down or just a mental note, but everyone is gonna have a certain type of studying or a certain area of study that drains them way faster. That could be something that just takes more brain power, or something you just don't like doing.
Reserve these things for the days you don't have to do anything else high energy, or just for your good days. I personally try to do more grammar practice on my good days, and more vocabulary on my worse days. And on my really low energy days? Listening.
Reserve at least one break day a week, more if needed
[plain text: reserve at least one break day a week, more if needed]
This one really depends on how fast you drain. I have Saturday specifically reserved as my break day; I don't let myself do any language practice on that day. That being said, this past week I had to take another break day just because I was tired from other commitments.
This one is super variable, but I do recommend at least one.
You don't have to study for several hours a day
[plain text: you don't have to study for several hours a day]
I think there's this weird misconception on studyblr and langblr that if you don't study your target language for the same amount of time you'd work a full-time job (or more!), then you'll never reach your goals.
That's not true! At all!
Depending on what your goals are, the only penalty for studying less per day/week is that you'll reach it slower. There's nothing wrong with that! It's your language journey, you can go at your own pace.
I hope this is useful for anyone who needs it, I know I would've liked something like this a long time ago.
[plain text: I hope this is useful for anyone who needs it, I know I would've liked something like this a long time ago.]
#language blog#language study#language learning#langblr#studyblr#study#study methods#study tips#studying#disabled#disability#chronic fatigue#long covid#op
126 notes
·
View notes
Text
Second Chances || Johnny Storm x Reader
Summary: You run into Johnny in a bar and after he saves you from having to spend the night with what you were convinced was the most irritating man on earth, you decide to give him a second chance to get to know him better. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you thought…
Or the story of how you accidentally agreed to be friends with Johnny as if you were two little kids that hit it off in the playground.
THIS IS PART 2 OF MY MINI-SERIES FIREPROOF! Masterlist + info (series summary & warnings) HERE
Warnings: fem!reader, reader having a terrible time in a bar, Johnny being a flirt, vague mentions of Johnny's tragic family past, fluff, bonding, I think that's it?
English is not my first language
Word count: 7600
Notes: sorry this took so long, it wasn’t supposed to exist lol Part 3 was originally supposed to be part 2 but I thought it was going to skip too far ahead in time (you'll see what I mean) so I decided to write this short(?) thing about how Johnny and reader go from strangers to somewhat friends. Parts 3 and 4 are almost ready so I don't think it will take me that long to post them.
Stay tuned for more and I hope you guys like it!
Do you want to get notified when I post? JOIN MY TAG LIST HERE!
You hated bars.
Well, that was a harsh way of putting it. You didn't hate bars all the time. But at this moment you definitely did.
You enjoyed going out drinking and dancing with your friends from time to time. While it wasn't your favorite activity —and you certainly could do the same in a quieter, more intimate setting— you recognized the de-stressing value of a good night out, especially after a week of midterms. You didn't always enjoy the people in the bars, especially the men, but it was nice to spend a night with friends laughing and dancing while the alcohol slowly washed away your worries.
However, tonight was not a casual gathering of friends looking to unwind from the pressures of college. No. Tonight, the bar represented everything you hated about those places since the focus was not on having a good time, but on getting Ellie a guy to help her stop crying about Johnny. Just as you thought it would happen, he got bored with her after a couple of encounters and, because of your threats, it didn't take long for him to have the “it's not you, it's me” talk with her. Ellie knew she shouldn't have taken their hookup seriously in the first place, but she had done it anyway, so the breakup —if it could be called that— had left her devastated. Luckily it wasn't one of those breakups that left her crying for weeks, but she kept talking about Johnny. She was becoming quite the stalker, following him around campus, taking note of the girls he talked to or went out with to compare herself to them. It was a little scary if you were honest. It wasn't like her at all, so one of your friends decided it was time to erase Johnny from her mind once and for all.
So now you were stuck at the bar near campus, pretending to be having a good time while you and your friends struggled to find Ellie a nice guy to spend the night with. While you knew this would be a difficult task from the start, you had no idea how difficult it actually would be. You had lost count of the number of mediocre guys who had approached your table in hopes of winning one of you over. They used cheap tricks and corny lines that made you roll your eyes every time they spoke. Your friends laughed at them with you at first, but as the hours went by, the alcohol and desperation slowly made them stop seeing it as ridiculous.
Soon it was just you and Ellie at the table. The rest of your friends had either already left with some guy or were dancing with one on the dance floor. You hadn't had too much to drink —you figured at least one had to stay relatively sober to keep the rest from doing something they would later regret—, and now you were cursing yourself for it. You weren't nearly drunk enough to be able to keep putting up with the cheap lines the guys were throwing around, honestly hoping that a couple of memorized and overused words would be enough to get in your pants. You hated every second you had to stay there and were ready to tell Ellie that they should call it a night. But before you could say anything, Mark sat down at your table to chat for a while.
He was like a breath of fresh air. He seemed genuine and funny, needing nothing more than his natural charisma to get your friend's attention in an instant. He didn't resort to using corny lines or disgusting remarks. He was just himself and that was enough to get Ellie on the dance floor for the first time that night. You were genuinely happy for your friend. If things went well, maybe she had finally found the perfect candidate to push Johnny out of her mind for good. However, Mark was not alone. He had a friend who had sat across from you and hadn't stopped looking at you since. And to your misfortune he didn't seem half as charismatic and genuine as Mark. So while all your friends were having fun you were stuck with a guy who thought that telling you about his gym routine was the right way to get into your —or any other woman's— pants.
You put up with this guy's poor attempts at flirting for as long as you could. You knew that as Ellie's friend your role there was to get the annoying friend out of the way so she could have some alone time with Mark. However, when he started talking about his supposed success at being his own boss —and how people were poor because they didn't try as hard as he did— you knew you had put up with too much. You jumped up from the table, making an excuse about going to the bar for drinks so you could escape the situation. You no longer cared about Ellie or her relationship problems. You needed to get out of there as soon as possible and never cross paths with that guy again in your life.
In your rush to escape, you didn't notice a figure approaching your table until a familiar voice echoed behind you.
“Y/n? There you are! I've been looking for you all night!” Johnny exclaimed with a smile.
Your expression changed from annoyed to confused in an instant. What was he doing there? And why was he talking to you as if you were best friends —as if your current misfortune wasn't his fault.
“Johnny?” was all you could manage to say, the confusion evident in your voice.
“Yes, silly! Were we supposed to meet, or have you forgotten already? Don't tell me you're already drunk!” He gave you a subtle wink and, once you got over the initial shock, you understood what he was trying to do.
Why Johnny Storm of all people in that bar was looking to help you escape your uncomfortable situation was something you didn't understand. But you didn't need to in order to take his help anyway. You were a proud woman, but not proud enough to deny the salvation he was offering you. Who cared about what he had done to your friend? At that moment you wanted to run from there and he was giving you the perfect excuse for that.
“You're right! I'm so sorry!” You played along with the charade, putting on a fake smile and pretending to be happy when you spoke. “I got distracted talking to... my friend here, but you're welcome to join us.” You cringed internally when you couldn't mention his name and you could swear that Johnny's lips quirked into a smile.
“What do you say I go get us some drinks first?”
“That's exactly what I was about to do! I'll join you.”
You didn't even turn to exchange words with Mark's friend before disappearing through the crowd towards the bar. Johnny took you by the waist to guide you through the crowd and you left him just because fighting with him at that moment was not in your best interest. You could still feel the other guy's eyes on your back, following your every step carefully. If you wanted to get away from him for the rest of the night, you had to make sure you made it clear to him that you were unavailable. And Johnny was giving you exactly that opportunity, so you couldn't fight him because the charade would be exposed.
However, when you reached the bar and were able to hide in the crowd of people ordering drinks, you took the opportunity to show Johnny how you really felt about him.
“Thanks for that... but you can keep your hands to yourself.” You said in a rather dry tone, pushing away the arm around your waist.
“Hey, I just saved your life back there! How about you show a little gratitude.” He snorted, but there was the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“I'm not going to show you any gratitude after what you did, you're the reason I have to be here today!”
“What, did I somehow force you to come out of your cave and have some fun?”
“No, you idiot! I'm here because you broke up with Ellie!” You raised an accusatory finger and Johnny raised his hands in the air in surrender.
“And that's why you're mad at me? I thought that's what you wanted me to do! I was honest with her like you asked me to be, you can't blame me for that.”
You looked at him with narrowed eyes, annoyed that he was right. You couldn't be mad at him for doing the one thing you had asked him to do. You could hate him for the way he was in general or curse the moment he fixed his eyes on your friend, but at least he'd had the decency to talk to her and end the relationship before things got more serious. That was the least he could do, but at least he had done it. But still, Ellie was in bad shape because of him which meant he was your number one enemy.
“Still, you made her sad and because of you she dragged me here so I'm not going to talk to you anymore!”
You turned away, leaning back against the bar to wait for the bar tender to let you order. You hoped your attitude would be enough to get rid of Johnny, after all, you didn't really understand why he had decided to help you. However, his smile appeared once again in your field of vision. He settled on the bar next to you, one arm on the table supporting his weight as he looked at you with an amused expression that made your eyes roll.
“I wouldn't be so quick to kick me out just yet.” He leaned toward you to make sure you heard him over the sound of the music and the people around you. “'Cause your friend over there is coming over here. But I'm sure you were having a great time with him and that thing I saw on your face when I walked by your table wasn't annoyance at all, was it?”
“He's what?” your head turned with incredible speed, scanning the crowd for the figure of who you were sure was a government experiment designed to test your limits. Johnny let out a laugh, but your concern didn't let you even care about that.
“Don't look back!” He warned you and your eyes instinctively met his again. “I can get you out of here without him noticing, but you'll have to trust me.”
Your eyes darted to the dance floor, searching for Ellie in the crowd of people. Before deciding anything you wanted to make sure your friend was okay. You found her quickly, still dancing with Mark as she laughed. You assumed that things between them were going well and decided to believe that he was the one she would end the night with so you would feel less bad about running away. Looking back at Johnny, you let out an exhausted sigh. You didn't really like the idea of listening to him, but you also didn't like the thought of having to endure the boring stories that awaited you if you didn't get out of there quickly. You were caught between a rock and a hard place, although ultimately you knew which was the better option. Still, that didn't stop you from being suspicious of Johnny and his intentions.
“And why would I do that?”
“Because you don't have much of a choice.” Johnny said as if it was obvious and you knew he was right. “Or much time. He's getting close.” He added, his eyes getting lost in the crowd behind you for a second before returning to your face.
“But why would you help me?” you insisted, ignoring his last comment.
“Because I felt sorry for you, you looked miserable out there with him.” You looked at him with narrowed eyes, distrust evident in your expression. “It's not a pick up trick if that's what you think.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
“You know what, if you don't trust me that's fine. I guess I'll leave you alone. Enjoy your night.”
Johnny patted you on the back and prepared to walk away, but he didn't make it more than a step before your hand clung to his arm. “Wait!” you hurried to say. “Don't go! I... I need your help.”
Johnny smiled at you and you feared for a moment you had made the wrong decision.
“Follow me!” was all he said before he grabbed your hand and dragged you into the crowd of people on the dance floor.
You let him guide you through the bar, pushing your way through the crowd of sweaty bodies until you found yourself on the other side of the dance floor. When you realized that Johnny was leading you towards the restroom area alarm bells started ringing in your mind. Surely he hadn't lied to you to get into your pants, had he?
“Where are you taking me?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.
Johnny let out a laugh, knowing exactly where your mind was going. “Relax! We're almost there.”
As you passed the restroom area you breathed a sigh of relief. However, it didn't last long because he soon led you to an area of the bar you didn't recognize. And by the absence of people there you suspected that you weren't supposed to be there. You went down a staircase and ended up in a hallway so far away that the music started to become less audible.
“Are you going to murder me?” You joked and Johnny laughed.
“No, I'm going to set you free.”
With his free hand he pointed ahead and then you noticed the illuminated sign marking the back exit of the establishment. Pushing open the metal doors, you found yourself in an not-so-friendly alleyway. If you were alone you probably would have run inside as quickly as you had come out. It really looked like the place where a character from the first few minutes of a crime show would meet their end. It didn't have much lighting and it smelled terrible. And you were pretty sure that if you paid attention you could see the rats that inhabited the dumpsters. You didn't want to be there a second longer than necessary.
“Oh so you're really going to murder me.”
“Come on, my car is not far from here.”
Under normal circumstances you wouldn't have gone anywhere with Johnny, especially after having to put up with Ellie talking about him all week. But that place was creepy and you didn't feel comfortable walking alone to your apartment in the short dress you were wearing. So you held on to Johnny's arm and didn't put up a fight when he opened the passenger door of his car for you. You assumed he was going to take you home, but when he missed a turn and kept driving you looked away from the window to stare at him in confusion.
“You missed it, you had to turn there to get to my street.”
“I know. We're not going to your house yet.” Johnny didn't take his eyes off the road as he spoke, giving you even less of a clue as to what he was up to.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
“What is it with you and those comments, huh? I'm not a serial killer.”
“You're the one acting weird!” you defended yourself. “In my defense, all men are potential serial killers. And Ted Bundy was cute and charming too, so a girl can never let her guard down.”
Johnny took his eyes off the road to look at you for a second, a smile plastered on his lips. “You think I'm charming?”
You felt the heat of embarrassment in your cheeks, but you did your best to hide it. “Really, that's what you take away from that?”
Johnny shrugged. “A compliment's a compliment, even if it's a fucked up one like that.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding not to press the issue any further so as not to expose yourself even more. “Anyway... where are you taking me?”
“The night's still young and I'm hungry so I thought we could stop by and get something to eat before I take you home.”
“Oh.” You murmured, somewhat surprised that Johnny wanted to spend more time with you than was strictly necessary. “I appreciate you asking for my opinion. That was very nice of you.” You added in a sarcastic tone.
“Oh my god, there's no way to please you, is there?” He rolled his eyes, but you knew from the tone of his voice that he wasn't really upset. More like amused you'd say. “I save you back there, take you out for a bite to eat so you don't end the night so badly, and this is how you treat me, huh?”
This time it was your turn to roll your eyes at his feigned pain. But you couldn't deny that he was partly right. You were being a little mean to him, but you couldn't help it. That was your natural reaction when interacting with people you didn't trust, especially people like Johnny. Sarcasm was your defense mechanism and, while you recognized that it made people not like you very much, you weren't willing to change it.
“I'm just saying I'd like to know beforehand.” you doubled down.
Johnny smiled. He liked your attitude. He wasn't used to girls being themselves around him. Usually they acted a certain way to get his attention, always saying yes to everything, always playing a kind of cat and mouse game. He knew how to play that game very well, almost too well to the point that it was getting boring. He knew what the girls were going to say before he even approached them, which was fine when he was looking for some late night fun, but terrible when he wanted to have a conversation with someone.
In that sense, you were a breeze of fresh air with your strong character and sarcastic remarks. You weren't looking to impress him and you didn't fall for his charisma. You were simply being you and that intrigued him. Since meeting you the morning he woke up in your apartment, Johnny found himself thinking of you from time to time. He recognized you when he saw you in the hallways and wondered if you would ever get another chance to interact. That's why when he saw how uncomfortable you looked at the bar he didn't hesitate to come to your rescue. And that was also why he had made the unilateral decision to invite you to dinner. Johnny wanted to get to know you better, to understand why you awakened so much interest in him.
He stopped at a drive through to order some food and then drove a while longer until he pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket that was closed. You remained silent the whole time —except for telling him your order—, stealing the occasional chip from the bag as you looked out the window, wondering where he was taking you. When Johnny finally stopped the car, he got out and hurried to open the door for you. In one hand he took the bag with the orders in it and wrapped his other hand around yours to help you stand upright in the heels you were wearing.
“Wow, you shouldn't have.” You said, your tone equally sarcastic as you inspected the place.
It wasn't the prettiest spot in town, that was for sure. The fences that enclosed the place were rusted and covered with overgrown vines. There was some graffiti on the walls and a couple of oil stains on the pavement. The place had a bit of a creepy vibe. It was unusual to see a place like that so empty and there was something about it that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. However, when you looked up you discovered that it had a nice clear view of the sky. The stars were shining beautifully in the dark night sky and that was almost enough to put aside the scary vibes of the place.
“You see, you talk a lot about not wanting to murder me but you bring me to the most isolated place in the whole city.” You joked. “I feel like you're giving me mixed signals. What are we doing here?”
“I come here sometimes when I want to think.” Johnny shrugged as he pulled the food out of the bags, using the hood of the car as a table. “It's pretty quiet in here, don't you think?”
“You think? Who knew.” You regretted that comment the moment it left your lips. You didn't mean to be so aggressive with him, it was just that sometimes you found it hard to turn off the sarcasm once you turned it on. It was the reason you didn't have many friends. You had to work on that, but it was easier said than done.
Luckily Johnny took no offense at your comment. He simply sat on the hood of the car and popped a couple of fries into his mouth, his eyes never losing that amused sparkle. “Unbelievably, yes. I know what you're thinking 'cute, smart AND sensitive? That must be a lie!' But I assure you it's not, I'm the whole package, baby.” He winked at you and you let out a laugh.
“Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking, how did you know?”
“It's one of my many talents.”
Johnny invited you to sit in the car with him, which you awkwardly did. You ditch your heels immediately, tossing them with mild hatred a couple of feet away from you. You smile as you feel the freedom to move your feet with ease, slowly regaining the feeling in your toes. The tight dress wasn't the most comfortable in the world for the position you were in, but you made it work.
“Give me your jacket.” You said as you popped a potato chip into your mouth.
“Are you cold yet? Should I stand up and do the whole show of draping my jacket over your shoulders like a gentleman?”
“No, silly. This dress is incredibly short and I tend to cross my legs a lot so I don't want to accidentally flash you.” A cheeky grin came across Johnny's face and you knew then what kind of comment he was going to blurt out, so you hurried to shut him up. “Whatever is going through your head, keep it to yourself or I swear to god I'll walk from here to my house.” You added, your accusatory finger pointed straight at his face. He raised his hands in the air in defeat, though the smile did not leave his lips. He still gave you his jacket and you secured it in your lap before doing anything else.
You ate in silence for a while, the soft sounds of the city at night and the sipping of the drinks were the only things you could hear. Normally in that kind of situation you looked calm on the outside but your mind was a worried mess. When you were stuck with a person you didn't know you were always worried that things wouldn't feel awkward. You wanted to be nice, but you could never find the words or the time to say something that would start the conversation. And suddenly the air would start to feel tense and you were never able to tell if it was just you or if the other person was feeling it too. Then it became harder and harder to say something—what if you sounded weird? What if the other person didn't want to talk to you and the very fact that you opened your mouth bothered them? What if it was the complete opposite and by taking too long you had ruined your chances of striking up a conversation? What were people supposed to say in casual conversation? And by the time you realized it, the other person was gone, probably thinking you were weird or rude.
However, sitting quietly next to Johnny didn't bring any of that up. You were just there, eating while enjoying the soft cool evening breeze, not even thinking about what to say or do to fill the silence that had formed. And when you realized that, it confused you. You didn't expect to feel so comfortable with Johnny Storm of all people. You wondered if it was because of the alcohol still coursing through your veins —though you hadn't really had much to drink—, or if maybe it could be because you had no desire to impress Johnny. After all, he wasn't just any stranger. He was someone you never in a million years could have imagined sharing a moment like this with. You two were so different on the surface that you hadn't even imagined ever having a conversation with him, much less a friendly one. You didn't see the point in getting his attention or even generating a friendly relationship because guys like him generally didn't look twice at girls like you –for any reason, romantic or platonic. And maybe that was what was allowing you to be so free, the lack of expectations.
“How did you know about that back exit at the bar?” your voice broke the silence and for once you felt comfortable doing so.
“Well, let's just say I know some people on the staff.” Johnny said with a mouth full of food.
“Well of course you do! I should have seen that one coming.” You shook your head, disappointed in yourself for not having considered the implications behind Johnny's words sooner. Now that you thought about it, it sounded stupid to have asked. Of course he knew probably more than one of the girls who worked there very intimately.
“Hey! I'm more than just a player, you know?” He pretended to be offended, holding a hand to his chest to emphasize the pain your accusations caused him.
“You don't act like that.”
“Well, maybe I only do it for the right people.” He looked very proud of that line, but you had to purse your lips to keep from smirking.
Arching an eyebrow at him, you said, “Does that line usually work on women?”
Johnny let out a chuckle, surprised at how easily you seemed to read him. “Surprisingly, yes.”
“That's okay, Storm. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.” You sighed suddenly, wiping the salt off your hands with a napkin before reaching for your drink. “Show me you're more than a flirt.”
“Uh, a challenge. I like it! Now you're starting to speak my language. What do I have to do?”
“Hold a serious, normal conversation for more than 10 minutes without resorting to cheap lines or meaningless flirting. And maybe I'll start to consider that you're a multifaceted person.”
“But my flirtatious attitude is my best trait!”
“So you agree with me then, all you think about is sex.” You took a moment to sip your nearly empty drink, using the annoying sucking sound to emphasize your point. “Tell me, Johnny, why is it so hard for you to take things seriously?”
“Who are you, my therapist?” He let out a chuckle, but you could swear it was more out of nerves than amusement. You felt a little proud of that. Not many people could make Johnny Storm nervous.
“I'm just one person trying to generate a connection with another person. Usually for that to happen people talk, mostly from a place of honesty and earnestness.” Your sarcastic tone came through again, only a little softer this time. You were beginning to feel really intrigued by what Johnny might answer. Being someone who saw the world completely differently, you couldn't help but wonder how his mind worked. “ What do you do when you talk to the girls you go out with?”
“Well, for starters I don't usually get into arguments about the meaning of life or anything like that.”
“You don't have to get all philosophical to engage in a mildly meaningful conversation with someone.” You rolled your eyes. “What do you talk to them about?”
“There's usually not a lot of talking, if you know what I mean.”
“So you really just repeat a couple of corny lines and that's it?”
Johnny shrugs. “There's a little more to it, but yeah. I'm not looking for a relationship, I just want to have a good time.”
“Still, that sounds boring.”
“Maybe, but it works.”
“So you never talk about your life or your interests with the girls you date?”
Your disbelief was evident. You knew Johnny's attitude wasn't strange. Quite the contrary, most men had that approach to dating and sexual relationships. It was the reason why finding a partner was so complicated for you. However, you found it strange that he didn't see anything wrong with being so emotionally distant from the people he slept with. That was definitely a 'you' problem, because other women were clearly delighted to pass through his sheets without having the slightest connection outside of the physical aspect of it. But for you it was impossible to separate the two. How could you be sexually attracted to someone you didn't know? It sounded like a nightmare.
“I suppose I do, but not to any great extent unless I can use it to my advantage, like my interest in cars.” Johnny shrugged. “I'm sorry, but I don't understand why a girl I don't know would have to hear about the last time I visited my sister or my life story before we had sex.”
“I don't know, maybe so they can get to know you a little better?”
“If I do that they'll think I'm looking for something more serious and they'll never stop chasing me.”
“They already think that, Johnny.” You rolled your eyes. “You're not exactly great at letting people know your true intentions all the time.” Your mind drifted back to your friend and how despite it having been one of the quickest and most honest breakups in Johnny's history as far as you knew —thanks to your intervention— she had still caught feelings for him. And while that wasn't entirely his fault, it was undeniable that he hadn't been entirely upfront with his intentions —at least not explicitly.
“Why am I being judged? You're the weird one! Casual sex is a thing and lots of people enjoy it!” Johnny countered finally, raising an accusatory finger in your direction. “In fact, I think you'd have more fun in life if you'd stop being so uptight. I know at least you would have had a better time tonight.”
“Oh yeah, and stay with Mr. Self-centered back there? No thanks.”
“Oh come on, it couldn't have been that bad!”
“I thought that at first too, but then he started telling me about his gym routine in extreme detail like it mattered to anyone but him and I knew he was an idiot.”
Johnny grimaced in disgust. “His mind was in the right place, but he completely blew it with the execution. He was supposed to make you touch his abs or his biceps so you could feel his muscles.” You shook your head, unable to believe he was taking the time to correct your horror date's flirting techniques. But still, you couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you imagined the sequence. Did Johnny really think that could work on you?
“That's even worse!”
“No it isn't! Look, touch my arm and tell me how it feels.” Johnny winked at you, flexing one of his arms to highlight his muscles. You rolled your eyes and threw a crumpled paper napkin in the center of his face to make him stop.
“Are you flirting with me, Johnny? Because that would prove me right, you know? It hasn't even been five minutes and you're already resorting to overused tactics to try to get me flustered.”
“I'm not! I'm simply showing you what he should have done.”
“Instead of that why don't you tell me something about yourself.”
“Something like what?”
“I don't know, something that lets me get to know you a little better. Something you wouldn't tell one of your conquests.”
Johnny didn't take more than a couple of seconds to think about what to answer, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. “Well, I was raised by my aunt. My mother died when I was a kid in a car accident...my father is out of the picture too, so my aunt had to take care of me and my sister. Poor Aunt Mary couldn't control me, so I guess that's when my rebellious attitude started to develop.”
Even though Johnny was smiling, you could notice a change in his attitude. The playful sparkle disappeared from his eyes, replaced by a more sober expression. He tried to act casual to hide how uncomfortable it made him feel to be so vulnerable, but he wasn't doing a very good job at it. It was a rare thing to witness. He was a very confident guy, so much so that it was annoying at times, but that attitude seemed to have evaporated. His eyes were focused on an oil stain on the floor, completely lost in thought. He was silent, but he didn't seem to be waiting for a response from you. Rather, he seemed to be having a conversation with himself in the depths of his mind.
For the first time since you met him, you saw Johnny for what he was: a normal guy with a life story as complicated as everyone else's. Not that you didn't know it before, but it was hard to remember when he went to so much trouble to hide it with the way he acted all the time. You didn't have much of a relationship with him, so you usually just saw him as a jerk who enjoyed playing with the hearts of the women he seduced. You didn't necessarily hate him, but you didn't love him either. And while all that might still be true, you were now able to see beyond the image he had created of himself. With those few words he had been able to show you a glimpse of his true self. And you liked that.
The least you could do after that was to return the favor.
“The reason I'm this... structured and focused on my studies is because I want to prove to my family that I can be somebody... that I can do something with my life.” You broke the silence with your confession, drawing Johnny's attention back to you. As he looked at you, his eyes had a softness in them that you had never noticed there before. It helped you not to feel intimidated by opening up about something so personal in front of him. “They never believed much in me so I never believed much in myself. Until I got my acceptance letter, so I made it my mission to graduate with honors.” You let out an uncomfortable chuckle, not quite knowing how to proceed after such a revelation.
Johnny was surprised by your words. He found it hard to believe that you had such a negative image of yourself, especially in relation to academics. He didn't know you very well, and yet he could safely say that you were the smartest and most prepared person on campus. It was a little sad that you weren't able to see that. But it was even worse that you went out of your way to impress people who didn't deserve it.
That was the moment he decided he should stay close to you. You needed him in your life even if you didn't realize it. You needed someone like him to help you remember that it was your life and you should live it according to your desires, not the expectations of others. He could help you loosen up a little and release the fun part of you that he knew you were hiding inside.
“Fuck that! You don't have to prove anything to anyone.” Johnny said and you were surprised by the honesty in his voice. “You should live your life for you and not to meet someone else's expectations. We only get one shot at this, and it's too short, so we should make sure we live up to our own desires.”
“Thank you, Johnny. That was... very profound and smart of you.” You smiled at him, but this time it wasn't sarcasm. You were genuinely impressed with his words. It was a very Johnny thing to say, but it painted him in a different light. Knowing what you knew about him now put some depth to his everyday actions. He wasn't annoyingly reckless just for the fun of it, there was more weight behind it, a thoughtfulness and awareness you didn't consider he had.
“I told you I'm more than just a pretty face.” Johnny sounded proud of himself, gloating at being able to tell you 'I told you so' after you didn't want to believe him. You couldn't help but giggle.
“You're right, you are. But I'm right too, because I never would have figured it out if you didn't open up to me and we had a normal adult conversation.” You pointed out and Johnny rolled his eyes at your smartass attitude. “See, human connection! Now that I know you a little better I see you as more than the annoying playboy who broke my friend's heart... And I hope you can see me in a different light too. Isn't that nice?”
“No 'cause now I'm sad because you made me have deep thoughts.”
“It's okay to feel sad sometimes, especially with the right person.”
“Why would I want to be sad when I can not be sad if I don't think about it?”
“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, unable to believe your ears. How was it possible for Johnny to go from saying one of the wisest things you'd ever heard to...that in such a short time? He really was a multifaceted guy. “Do I have to explain emotions to you as if you were a five year old? They are normal, they are part of the human experience and a functioning adult like you shouldn't bottle them up inside. It's healthy to let them out from time to time, even the ugly ones, especially if you find the right person to do it with.”
“So what you're saying is... you're the right person.”
“What? No! I mean, I don't know... if you want me to.” His words took you by surprise to such an extent that you didn't know how to react.
Your first reaction was to refuse, making a weird expression, a mixture of disgust and surprise. You weren't looking to have a friendship with Johnny, he was rather forcing it by continuing to show up in your life. But then you felt bad about how quick you were to dismiss him. Maybe he wasn't as bad as you thought he was. Maybe you weren't so different. Maybe he really needed someone to talk to and this whole thing was his weird way of asking for it without having to say it. Or maybe he was just trying to fuck with your mind. One could never be sure of anything with Johnny.
“Why the sudden fluster? Don't you want to be my friend? After all that! I showed you my soul, opened up to you and all for you to reject me? I can't believe it! And you said you were better than me, ha!”
You knew he was joking, his exaggerated tone and the way he touched his chest in feigned pain gave it away, but it still made you feel bad for what you said. “I didn't mean that! You caught me off guard... I mean, do you even want to be my friend?”
Johnny shrugged. “Why not? You seem nice and I must admit I enjoyed our little chat.”
You smiled at his words, although you didn't quite understand why. “Okay, I guess we can be friends... but no bullshit!” You added that last once again raising your accusatory finger.
Johnny let out a chuckle, throwing his hands up in the air. “No bullshit, I promise.”
A small silence formed then. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, but it wasn't pleasant either. You could both read in each other's faces how surprised and bizarre you found the situation you were in, but neither seemed to want to back down. As strange as it seemed, it was also interesting. Both of you were intrigued by what this new friendship might bring to your lives.
It was a challenge for the two of you. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't have much faith that things would work out. You figured he would get bored of you in a couple of days —weeks if you were being optimistic— and never speak to you again. You wouldn't blame him for that, you didn't feel like you were interesting and you didn't know how much fun you could have with someone who was so different from you.
But Johnny was a completely different story. He wasn't someone who ran away from a challenge, and as sweet as your talk was just then, becoming your friend was exactly that: a challenge he would have to overcome. It was exciting and intriguing, exactly what he needed to escape the monotony he'd been stuck in lately. You seemed like a nice person despite your differences, which he didn't see as a negative. He felt he could learn a few things from you, as well as teach you a few others.
“Do we shake on it?” Johnny broke the silence. “Or maybe we make a blood pact like in the movies.”
“No dumbass! We're not kids.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Now take me home, it's getting late and tomorrow I have to get up early to study.”
“Fine, but just so you know, there will be a lot less studying if you're my friend. You need to enjoy life a little more.”
You rolled your eyes. “Good, well then there will be a lot less quick hookups and more sharing of our feelings if you're my friend.” You went along with the joke. You expected him to complain, but Johnny didn't seem to mind.
“All right. Then please allow me...” He jumped up from the hood and walked a couple of steps to reach the heels you had thrown away when you arrived. “I can't let you touch the pavement with your bare feet. Let me help you.”
Before you could object Johnny knelt down in front of you like a man in love about to propose to his partner. Only instead of a ring he offered you your heels. He took your right leg gently and rested your foot on his thigh as he tried to figure out which shoe to place on which foot. Your skin tingled under his touch, your face hot from the intensity of Johnny's gaze as he carefully fitted your shoe. You knew he was playing with you, you could read it in his face, and yet you could do nothing but stand there, frozen in place as you let him take care of securing the heels back on your feet. Even though he was doing it to tease you, there was something incredibly intimate about his action that left you feeling stupid. His fingers lingered on your skin for a few seconds longer than necessary, arousing warmth in its path. His gaze traveled from your legs to your eyes and back to your heels, admiring your figure in a way you weren't sure another man had ever done before. Everything seemed to move in slow motion —the ticking of the clock, his fingers, your breathing, the night breeze hitting your body. Everything but your heart, which was pounding in your chest with an increasingly faster and stronger rhythm.
You managed to come out of your trance when he finally pulled his hands away from your body. So you took your foot off his thigh and jumped up, as if suddenly the metal of the car burned you. You felt embarrassed that you had fallen for his trick and even more embarrassed that he knew you had bought into his game. The damn bastard had done it on purpose, just to show you that he could, that you were no different from the others even though you presented yourself that way, and that with the right approach you could fall under his spell like all the others.
“What did I just tell you about all this bullshit?” You threw his jacket violently at him before making your way to the side of the car. Johnny caught it in mid-air, letting out a laugh that you found in equal measure charming and annoying.
“What? I was just being nice!” He played it off, throwing his hands up in the air in innocence. You decided to answer him by slamming the car door after settling into the passenger seat, crossing your arms over your chest. But all you did was make him laugh even harder.
“You look adorable when you get mad... and when you get flustered too.” He teased you as he put the key in to start the car.
“Drive or I'll end up being the one who kills someone tonight.”
#johnny storm x reader#human torch x reader#johnny storm x fem reader#johnny storm#fantastic four#human torch#johnny storm fluff#johnny storm angst#fireproof series
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Honor of All Saints Day, Here's Some Random Assumptions About My Followers Based on Their Favorite Saints 😇
Please note this is a merely for fun and not meant to offend anyone, please be kind, thank you. Also, I obviously can't possibly include every saint here, so I'm just gonna stick to some of the ones I think are most likely to be favorites of my followers.
Saint Joan of Arc- I'll start with arguably the most popular one, or at least the one I see posted or discussed online the most. If your favorite saint is St. Joan of Arc, there's a good chance you're an atheist who doesn't vibe with saints in general, but likes her because she's a girl with a sword and that's objectively awesome. You're correct for that, and welcome to the post. Another option is that you're a girl who was labeled a "tomboy" growing up.
Saint Paul- if your favorite saint is St. Paul, you have a blog or a significant portion of your blog dedicated to one ex-villain character whose redemption arc you could rewatch on loop for hours. You also might be Protestant, and yes, this particular St. Paul is the same Paul from the Bible. Welcome to the post. ✝️
Saint Olga- if your favorite saint is St. Olga, you support women's rights, but more importantly, you forgive women's wrongs. There have been several times when you've gotten upset about people questioning the validity of a female character's redemption considering her past when they overlook and forgive way worse done by male characters. There's also a chance you might be Orthodox. Welcome to the post. ☦️
Saint Nicholas- if your favorite saint is St. Nicholas, there is a chance you followed me for TMBS content. Your favorite holiday is Christmas, and you're still hyperfixated on the same book series or television show from your childhood. You're also extremely passionate about your fandoms and can't stand it when people grossly misinterpret characters or things in canon.
Saint Benedict- if your favorite saint is St. Benedict, you also probably followed me for TMBS content. You're also a very humble and unproblematic person but the haters are bitter and always trying to bring you down (via their jealousy and also poison, but you can't be stopped).
Saint Scholastica- if your favorite saint is St. Scholastica, you also might have followed me for TMBS content because you know that she's Benedict's twin sister. You also wish that God would summon storms for you whenever you find your brother annoying.
The Virgin Mary, Mother of Jesus- if you picked the Virgin Mary, you're neurodivergent, specifically the type of neurodivergent who loved those card games where characters had different levels of power. You take a similar approach to picking your favorite saint, so why wouldn't you go straight for the one that is objectively the most powerful and the best one? It just makes to most sense to you, and the thing is, you're right. You're 100% right. Congrats!
Saint Cecilia- if your favorite saint is St. Cecilia, you're a musician and were in choir either at school or church. You also probably are/were a theater kid.
Saint Lawrence- if your favorite saint is St. Lawrence, you were definitely a theater kid and tried stand up comedy at least once. You also use jokes and humor to cope with stressful situations.
Saint Josephine Bakhita- if your favorite saint is St. Josephine, you are one of those people who somehow remains positive and sees the sliver lining in literally any circumstance. Don't get me wrong, I love that for you, but please take care of yourself. 🫂❤️🩹
Saint Dymphna- if your favorite saint is St. Dymphna, you are neurodivergent, have struggled with mental illness, work in psychiatric or medical care, or you’ve dealt with a lot in your life, and I hope you heal. 🫂❤️🩹
Saint Kateri Tekakwitha- if your favorite saint is Saint Kateri, you're sick of your relatives pressuring you to date someone, and you're extremely worried about climate change (girl, me too).
Saint Anthony- if your favorite saint is St. Anthony, you have ADHD and lose things multiple times a week. On the off chance you followed me for Wolf359 content, you identified way too strongly with Doug Eiffel.
Saint Peter- if your favorite saint is saint Peter, you either watch "The Chosen" or you have ADHD and felt seen when you read about him in the Bible. That man boldly declared he would never deny Jesus and when told he would do it before a rooster crowed three times, to which he confidently replied "nah" and then immediately got distracted and preoccupied with cutting some guy's ear off and forgot all about the oddly specific terrible thing he was prophesied to do just a few hours earlier by a man he believed to be God incarnate. As someone who also breaks down in tears when I suddenly remember the important things I forget to keep track of, I sympathize with his story. Saint Dymphna is patroness of most mental illness and ADHD is technically covered by her, but if we ever get an ADHD specific saint, I know it has to be either be Peter or Anthony, and if it were entirely up to me, I'd give it to Peter. Don't get me wrong, Saint Anthony is there for us, but Saint Peter is one of us, you know what I mean? Though I feel like due to the problematic nature of diagnosing the deceased (no matter how evident symptoms might be) it would end up going to Anthony, since we do call on him often, and I think Peter would be fine with that.
Saint Mark Ji Tianxiang- if your favorite saint is St. Mark Ji Tianxiang, you or someone you know is probably in recovery from addiction, and I wish you well on your journey. You also empathize way too much with any character who suffers from addiction and if you followed me for Wolf359, that was the aspect of Doug Eiffel's character that stood out to you the most. 🫂❤️🩹
Saint Catherine of Siena- if your favorite saint is Saint Catherine of Siena, you've probably written a book or fanfic well over 100k words. (Yes, I know, you don't have to say it).
Saint Francis of Assisi- if your favorite saint is Saint Francis of Assisi, you either have pets or want them, and if you do have them, you've taken them or begged your parents to let you take them to a St. Francis feast day pet blessing. If you followed me for TMBS, SQ is probably your favorite character, and if you followed me for Wolf359 content, you were inconsolable when Blessie died. You're also probably the kind of neurodivergent who takes things like "if you want to follow God, sell all you have and give it to the poor" literally and as a result, this has caused conflict with your family (specifically on account of you giving all the money made from your family business to the poor).
Saint Joseph- I doubt I have a lot of followers who are parents because of how tumblr demographics skew, but if your favorite saint is Saint Joseph, you just became a dad or really want to become one someday.
Saint Monica- again, I doubt this is the case because of the age of tumblr demographics, but if your favorite saint is Saint Monica, you're a mom who really needs a break, and I hope your husband and sons get it together soon. 🫂❤️🩹
Saint Augustine- if your favorite saint is St. Augustine, you also like redemption arcs and likely went through a "party phase" at some point in your life that you regret and identify a bit too strongly with the younger brother in the prodigal son parable. However, in this case, you likely also love St. Monica and if you followed me for Star Wars content, you are particularly upset that we didn't get to see more interactions between Leia Organa and her son Benny Solo especially considering they led a whole war against each other the year between TLJ and TROS (dead horse, I know).
Saint Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin- if your favorite saint is St. Juan Diego, you have or grew up with a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe somewhere in your house. You've also been in the incredibly specific situation of seeing or doing something super cool, but not having anyone believe you (but the satisfying payoff when they find out you were right).
Saint Mary Magdalene- if your favorite saint is St. Mary Magdalene, you either watch "The Chosen" or you're a woman who's faith pulled her out of a very difficult time in her life, and like St. Juan Diego, you also know what it's like to be proven right after a group of men call you a liar.
Saints Louis Martin and Marie-Azélie Guérin (Zélie)- if these are your favorite saints, you understand why you can't just pick one. This power couple comes in a set. If you picked these two, you heard about them because your favorite saint might actually be or have been their very famous daughter St. Thérèse of Lisieux. And if you're a guy and you picked these two, you're also a proud girl dad and can't stop bragging to everyone you meet about how successful your wife's business is (especially because she's so humble about it). Green flags all around.
Saint Maximilian Kolbe- if St. Maximilian is your favorite saint, you're a history guy or gal who is obsessed with world war two, but in a good way. In the "this was very not cool. Let's never forget so we never do this again" way. You also love stories of heroic sacrifice and aspire to always do the right thing even when it’s not socially popular or doesn’t benefit you.
(Soon to be canonized) Saint Carlo Acutis- You're a millennial or gen z who loves researching and talking about modern saints. You aspire to be like them and have a list of ones you want canonized (mine are Servant of God Dorothy Day and Archbishop Joseph Francis Rummel. They lived in the 20th Century and when you're dealing with 2,000 years of history, that's pretty modern).
I'm sure I'll think of more to add after I post this, but I'll leave it here for now. I hope y'all enjoy this!
#Happy All Saints Day!#Catholic#Catholicism#Catholic saints#roman catholic#saints#christianity#all saints#all saints day
27 notes
·
View notes