#roundabout way to say they switch
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rosekiller are above top/bottom dynamics, their ideal sexual position is to be conjoined
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As Cool As I Think I Am
Summary: The 5 times Spencer tries to be cool, and the 1 time he doesn't care.
Alternatively; Spencer never thought he was cool, but he found himself wanting to be just for you.
[a/n] Recommended to be read after, "A Question Unasked", and is a roundabout sequel to "Mixed Messages."
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader| cw: slight spoilers for s1e04, s1e06, s1e08, s1e10, and s1e18 | description of canon-typical violence, timeframe switches because I can, and Spencer being an oblivious, lovesick idiot (can't believe this version of him survived all of this lol) | word count: 7.2k
Amazing. You had called him, “amazing” during the Arizona case and that was all that had been occupying his mind as of late. He had been called brilliant before. Been described as bright, gifted, hell, he was called a genius even. Yet that was the first time anyone had said anything positive about him.
Removed from his intellectual capabilities.
It made him think that there was more that he could offer than just his never-ending stream of knowledge and incessant rambling.
You had seen that in him.
Seen that he was 'amazing.'
But he certainly wasn’t feeling that way now.
“On SWAT we broke shots down into three steps." Spencer nodded as he listened.
"One: Front sight. Focus on the front sight, not on the target. Two: Controlled trigger press. Three: Follow through. After the shot, you come right back to the target. Now, what did you do wrong?”
He sighs with his eyes closed. “I didn't follow through.”
“Right. You came off the target to see where you hit.”
Hotch had been observing him for the past few minutes to prepare him for his assessment tomorrow, and yet it still felt like he was making no discernable progress.
He had memorized every trick, every form, every physics interplay that could better the ballistics of his shot and yet he still couldn't do it.
"Hotch, my firearms qualification is tomorrow morning. I barely passed my last one." He had said, putting the gun down.
He feels his unit chief gently push him aside to demonstrate and he gets in position.
"Front sight," He aims his gun.
"Trigger press," He presses down on the trigger, resulting in a gunshot to the target.
"Follow through." He finally says. Keeping his eyes forward with his finger still depressing the trigger until he holsters his gun again.
"You do those three things, you'll hit your target every time." Spencer shakes his head.
He tries to replicate the steps again, but only fails miserably.
He has been doing that. He is doing that. And yet he still keeps missing.
If this wasn't part of his job, maybe he wouldn't have cared all too much about his gun proficiency. Or lack of.
And yet it was.
And it was imperative that he learned it to keep his place on the team, but he had been losing hope.
"They're going to take away my gun."
Sensing his frustration, Hotch empathizes with him.
"Profilers aren't required to carry." He groans at that.
"Yeah, but she does and she's great at it."
God, you must've thought he was pathetic.
Aaron laughs internally at that. He knows exactly who the younger one is talking about.
He had seen the way that Spencer had been watching his 'protege,' and it didn't take being a profiler to know that he was absolutely smitten. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought that Reid's frustrations stemmed from wanting to seem more experienced in front of you.
And Hotch saw no problem with that, at least for now. On the contrary, the two of you working together seemed to have bolstered his focus on the case. Making the team more efficient with their investigations.
He also thinks that it helped because you seemed to return Reid's sentiment, which is why he had brought you along to help him.
So when Spencer turns and sees you walk in, he blanches.
As much as he really liked your presence (you were friends, right?), he really didn't want to embarrass himself in front of you.
He does that more than enough on his own.
But it seemed like your mentor didn't care.
Hotch says your name with a greeting before excusing himself which tells Spencer that he had planned this from the start. He sighs at that. Chest feeling heavy at the pressure.
He sees you give him a polite smile, which he's come to recognize to be your way of easing him, and he returns it.
"I've heard about your progress." Spencer rolls his eyes at that.
"More like regress. I'm sorry that you have to be here." You snort at his joke but shake your head to assure him.
"I'm right where I want to be. "
His heart fills, even though he knows that not what you meant.
"Why don't you go ahead and show me how you fire that gun?"
He nods and waits for you to put on your ear muffs and goggles before he returns to his position. Calming himself down as he remembers Hotch's words.
Front sight, trigger press, follow through.
He fires three bullets and sees them all hit the whites of the target, which makes him sigh for the umpteenth time.
He puts the gun down and lowers his ear muffs to look at you. Seemingly deep in thought, chin resting on your hand, with eyes travelling slowly up and down his form. Observing.
Scrutinizing.
Assessing.
He can't help but feel naked under your gaze.
He always knew you were smart. The cases you've helped solve were more than proof of just that, but he knew that even you couldn't solve the mystery that was his aim.
He couldn't expect that of you. He relies on you so often already.
He briefly wonders how there's such a different between you and him. You joined the same year, joined the same unit, and worked with the same people on the same cases. How was it that you seemed calmer, cooler, and more prepared for anything more than he ever was?
Spencer firmly believes that intelligence cannot be quantified. And if anyone ever doubted him, he would just point at you and say that you had him beat everywhere despite what any number might have to say otherwise.
Case and point. you had been talking to him about something very important and thoughtful and he had been zoning out the entire time.
"I um,–– what?"
You shake your head and gesture to his gun once more. "Show me your form again."
He takes his gun hesitantly, but readies himself the same way he did earlier. The only exception being that his finger isn't on the trigger.
He hears that telltale, almost bored, 'hm' of yours before you speak again.
"Tuck your chest in."
He's read countless firearm manuals and instructions and he's never heard of that before.
"I'm sorry?"
"Tuck your chest in." You say it again, but it's still not making sense to him.
Unable to voice or even act upon his confusion, he watches as you wait with an impassive face before asking,
"Can I touch you?" He lets out a shaky, but immediate 'yes' and you move to stand beside him.
Given your calm and nonchalant demeanor, he anticipates a more impersonal touch. For lack of a better word. He expects a shove. Maybe a push, to correct him into the right place.
So when your hand comes to softly rest on his stomach, fingers splaying across the expanse of his undefined abdominal muscles, he feels his breath hitch. Upper body slightly crumpling in on himself as he does.
He's surprised he hasn't dropped his gun.
"Dr. Reid,"
He's also surprised that his heart hasn't stopped. With how you said his name, and how close you are– he can already feel your soft breath gracing his ear–
"You're an autodidact, aren't you?"
A self-taught person, he thinks.
"I–– I am." Curse his shaky voice.
"You know, there are some things that can't be learned by just reading textbooks and looking at diagrams."
He feels you tap his stomach and he suddenly feels hot.
"Feel this?" He feels you engulfing his senses, that's for sure. But he nods slowly.
"Remember it. Your center of gravity is different from the subjects in those graphics. So the form you need to take is likewise different."
And just like that, all too quick for his liking, you move away. Hand leaving him just like whatever depraved thought might've been running around his head.
He hesitantly looks back at you, and you gesture to his gun again. Noticing how your free hand is resting on the gun in your holster.
A Glock 19, he remembers.
"Go ahead and shoot like that now."
He does, in the same way that he's compelled to follow your voice like always–
Front sight, trigger press, follow through.
And fires three shots.
To his surprise, he manages to shoot the target's chest. Not quite centered, he admits, but its a vast improvement from his previous attempts.
"I– I did it." He feels the disbelief on his face when he looks at you again. He's expecting you to look just as shocked as he does. After all, you saw just how egregious his aim was. So it surprises him when he turns and is greeted instead with the small smile on your face.
Not the same polite smile that you usually give when you're at work, no. It was a soft, genuine smile, or so he thinks.
"I never doubted your capabilities, Dr. Reid."
He beams under your praise. Blooming like a flower under the warm radiance of the Sun. Once again subject to that brain-freezing sensation from a few weeks ago.
If he just remembers everything you told him today, which wasn't a lot, he theoretically should pass his firearm qualifications with no problem.
And maybe, just maybe, he'll get to see you smile at him again.
After all, he had always wanted for you to look at him. Actually look at him.
Maybe if he passes his test this time, you will.
----
The following day, he doesn’t pass his test.
And he is much more embarrassed now than he ever was before.
He returns to the bullpen with his head down. Already expecting everyone to know of his failure.
He really didn't want to see if you were one of the ones that had been looking at him.
What he doesn't see is that you were.
But you weren't disappointed at all. You wanted nothing more than to reassure him. To tell him that you could always help him again, and that you didn't mind the extra work if it weren't for the stares that you had been getting back.
Seemingly turning your what-would've-been act of friendship and care into an expectation and responsibility.
"Make a wish!"
"Come on, man. Blow, baby, blow!"
"I thought you were full of hot air, Reid."
"They're trick candles, Spence, okay? They–– They're going to come back on every time."
While Spencer is glad that he’s spending his birthday with actual people, there's one in particular that he's missing.
He also feels sort of embarrassed that he's having a full-on birthday at his workplace. Though he is very thankful that his friends care about him enough to do this.
"Hope you like chocolate." JJ says with a laugh and he is only now recognizing the cake. Previously too caught up in blowing out the undying flames to even notice the festive dessert that supported them.
"Where's the cake from?" The blonde only gives him a look that he can't quite understand, but he is immediately distracted when he feels a draft from where Hotch passes by him.
He looks in the direction he came from and lo and behold, he found the very person he was missing.
He gets up, wanting to at least get a greeting from you, but he's interrupted by Gideon asking him something before he can even try.
"You having fun?"
He knows that he's asking him, but he can also see how his eyes aren't quite addressing him back. Instead, looking up a few inches above him.
He gives a tight lip smile when he realizes just what he's looking at.
God, he felt pathetic.
“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.”
"Make a wish?" He asks another question and that’s when Spencer sees what he's doing now.
Ever since he first exhibited signs of interest in you, he knew that his mentor would be the first to clock them. He couldn't even hide it if he tried. If there was anyone on the team that he knew would figure it out this quick, it would've been him.
He expected it.
What he didn't expect was for Gideon to show disapproval for it.
For you.
Back during the Arizona case, he remembers how Gideon had interrupted you when you were explaining something. And that's when he realized you were going to have a hard time.
You were going to have a hard time because of his own rapidly growing interest.
Because he froze when you said one nice thing about him, then proceeded to wow him with your observational skills.
He didn't want Gideon to think that you were being a distraction to him, so he instead chose to show just how well the two of you had worked together. Even going as far as to double down and reiterate your statements to convince him of that.
And it seemed to have worked, but now he wasn't so sure.
"Can I take this hat off?"
He wanted nothing more than to do just that before you notice him, but his mentor just shook his head.
"I wouldn't."
He doesn't know it's because Gideon knew you found it cute.
By the time that he notices the elder doesn't really care about the conversation anymore, probably too distracted by the TV behind him, his gaze finally focuses on you.
The very person that he had intended to talk to.
The one he intended to talk the entire time before he got sidetracked.
You still hadn't turned to look at him though, or make an attempt to greet him. Not even a laugh to mock him for the huge, 'Happy Birthday' hat that sat on his head to make him look like a dunce!
Instead, you were staring at something. Or rather, someone.
He turns his head to look just where you were and there he sees his unit chief, your mentor, on the receiving end of your intense gaze.
Just like always.
He shakes his head and decides to just go talk to you, but he is once again interrupted. This time by Hotch with a solemn expression on his face.
“Sorry guys. Party’s over.”
You immediately spring into action at his words, completely missing his hand that was just about to come up to wave at you. He tightens his lips into a thin smile.
Spencer's starting to doubt Morgan and Elle's words.
–––––––––––––
The sentiment is rectified when he finally receives the one thing he had been looking forward to on his birthday, and it wasn't the gift.
Not even the greeting.
It was being able to be in your presence. Being able to spend time with you. The you that wasn't so stressed or strict about work, or the case, or your boss.
It was just him and you. You and him. And the scarf that seemed to warm him just as much as his heart warmed at the sight of your smiling face.
God, what he would do to have this with you forever.
Spencer is well aware that likes you.
Hell, even the rest of team knows it by now, but he's starting to fear that his unconscious mind is more aware of that than his conscious one.
Case and point, he had been having dreams.
Nightmares, actually.
Nightmares that he can't help but think will happen if he takes his eyes off of you for even a second.
Morgan had asked him earlier when he was making coffee if something was causing him to lose sleep. If you had been causing him to lose sleep, he had asked with a teasing smirk.
And while normally he would've flushed and stumbled at his implication that a night of you had been keeping him up, he admits to what's been plaguing his mind.
Naturally, he doesn't tell him the full nature of his night terrors. But his friend doesn't need him to. Not with the way that his eyes try to find yours every chance he gets, focus going in and out of the conversation like an adjusting lens.
Spencer fears that one day, no matter how strong or smart or clever you are, it's his negligence that'll place you on the receiving end of a killer's weapon.
And that there's nothing that he can do to stop them from landing the finishing blow.
He knows that it's not rational, but he also knows that dreams are rarely, if not never, rational. Studies show that around seventy to eighty-percent of dreams contain bizarre or irrational elements. This included unusual settings, impossible scenarios, and illogical developments to be featured in the unconscious brain.
Doesn't mean that he's alright with seeing it so often, though.
What's worse is that he knows that it can very much happen during the BAU cases. And that he can't even prepare himself for that scenario.
He's practically deadweight on the field with his still erratic aim and bambi legs, he's surprised you aren't sick of him yet.
He laughs a bit at the thought. Clutching a portion of his scarf—the only thing that has been keeping the nightmares at bay— as he promises himself that he won't leave your side.
Especially not in the confounding forest of McAllister, Virginia.
Which is why he's stuck in his current position.
“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.
“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ”
He doesn't know what exactly you found in the abandoned house, but he knew that it wasn't wise to leave you with no one but a high schooler.
You might think he's not all that different from the kid, but he's at least trained to be an FBI agent.
“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.”
You looked dead into his eyes, yet he still didn't relent. No matter how reasonable your request was.
In any other situation, he might've thought you were cool. That you were handling the situation like a natural, and that you were very responsible for taking charge when he was there with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.
But he didn't want to leave you. Not when you looked like you've just seen a ghost.
He grasped your shoulders, firmly but gently, and practically begged for you to come with him.
Stating that what you were feeling was a completely normal physiological response. That your body was sending neropinephrine to your brain to help regulate the stress and compensate for whatever was happening inside of you and that it would be safer to stay together––
But when he sees you ice him out– concealing all remaining traces of shock or fear or worry– he freezes.
His eyes raked across your features, biding his time. Committing every micro-reaction, every hair out of place, every faux-calm movement of your eyes before he had to let you go with a nod. Leaving hurriedly to find anyone that can help and constantly looking back at you to assure his consciousness that you were fine, and that you would be fine.
When he saw that the other sheriff wasn't there yet, much less anyone for that matter, he immediately went back. Running uphill fast to get to you.
To make sure that you were alright, that you were alive, and that no one was coming to hurt you.
Which is how he found himself here.
Gun held to his head by the very high schooler that, he thought, wouldn't have been of help if another dangerous person had shown up.
When you raised your hands and dropped your gun in surrender, he was scared of what would happen to you both if he didn't act quick.
But he was even more scared of what could happen to you if he doesn't talk his way out.
Fast.
So that's what he did.
––––––––––
He didn't get to check on you, he realizes.
He knew you were able to knock the kid out, he was there when he helped you distract him, but he must’ve been wheezing because he was the first one to get ushered out and checked on.
He wants to tell them to check on you. That you had landed pretty badly when the unsub was able to push you back, but he can hardly even hear his own thoughts.
The siren of the police car, the medic talking to him, the rest of the team discussing the case's outcome, and his own heart in his ears were simply too much for him.
By the time that things had settled down, he notices that you still aren't there with him. He worries and whips his head around wildly before his eyes find yours already looking at him.
Doing so with an expression of regret or grief etched onto your face.
He sighs in relief, and gives you the best smile he can give to assure you that he's okay despite having been worried sick.
He needed you to know that he was fine. That it wasn’t your fault. That he was glad you're okay too.
That he was so impressed with what you had done despite the circumstances, and that you had handled the situation way better than he knew anyone on the team ever could.
So when you seem to turn away from him, he briefly wonders if something was actually wrong.
He tries to look back on what might've happened. Wonders if there's something he didn't see when he came back, or when he was away––
And that's when he realizes something.
Could he have put you in more danger when he came back to check on you? That he had accidentally sabotaged your takedown?
He sighs. He must've looked so pathetic in front of you getting grabbed like that–– but he's not sorry.
He had been doing that for your safety and for his own peace of mind–– he wasn't going to apologize for caring about you.
He'll make it up to you somehow.
The next time you go on another case together, which you two inevitably will, he'll make it up to you.
That, he promises.
He actually doesn't get to work with you again. So he decides that he can make it up to you by narrowing down the unsub's identity.
In fact, he hasn't seen you at all since the team first arrived at the crime scene.
You had been working with Hotch and Morgan on more field operations, leaving him with Elle and Penelope doing background checks on possible suspects. And while he wasn't with you, he'd like to think that he's still enjoying the company.
Well, that's what he would like to think.
He has no problems working with Elle. She was a nice colleague that seemed to occasionally humor his rants and got the job done quickly. And Penelope was someone that the both of you really got along with. Occasionally having this back and forth unique to the three of you.
But they weren't you.
Still. What he thought about you can wait later. He still has to think about his escape route if the two break out into a fight.
Right now, the three of them had staked out one Michael Russo who they anticipated would call his hitman, the suspected Unsub. They were hoping to get a name from what they could pick up from his end of the call, and they did.
Problem was,
"Russo's got eleven associates named Vincent." Spencer raised his brows at that.
Vincent is a name of Latin origins. He shouldn't be surprised that the mob had a handful of people with that name, but it was kind of too on the nose at this point.
"Oh, make that ten. Vincent Cellito died last summer. But here's something––Vincent Sartori."
He really wants to find this guy, so he chooses to keep looking through the list. Ignoring the growing tension between the two girls.
"Currently doing six at Dannemora for racketeering."
Spencer then speaks up again, "How about this Perotta? There's not much on him."
Garcia makes quick work to pull up what seemed to be deleted records and that's where they find something interesting.
"Alcohol addiction at 14, violent outbursts, assaults,–– Once threw a Molotov cocktail at someone sitting in their car." She can't believe what she's reading.
"Several notations for aggression," He adds, but this is where he sees something truly wrong.
"He once scheduled a visit to an infirmary to gain access to a–– boy who looked at him for too long?"
He really didn't want to meet this guy.
"No fear, no remorse, quick temper. And he was smart enough to stay off the radar as an adult," Elle interprets. "Paranoid personality. Could be our guy."
And he really didn't want you to meet him either.
All the evidence is stacking up against him though, so you just might have to. He just wished that nothing bad would happen when you did.
––––––––––
While right now they weren't sure if he was the unsub, he was definitely someone who fit their profile. He saw some LEO's bring in a guy who had essentially been cuffed at every limb, accompanied by Hotch and Gideon, but he had yet to see the others.
He sees Morgan, who is walking alongside Elle (she went to see what all the commotion was about) but with who he sees next, he feels his stomach drop. Heart rate spiking in contrast to an all time high that he's practically sure he has tachycardia.
"What happened to you!?"
He got up from his seat to run over but you just shake your head.
You had come back with your clothes and hair in disarray, a bleeding nose, and a a busted lip. A complete disparity to the normally clean-cut and professional look that you had strived to maintain.
Even when you had been tackled to the ground a few cases back, the damage wasn't nearly as bad as this.
It's Derek that answers his question for him though.
"Perotta hit your girl up in the head, Reid." He chooses to ignore the joke. Too worried as he tries to check on your head but you just softly squeeze his hands to reassure him before you push them away.
Still not looking at him as you finally speak.
"It wasn't that bad. He hesitated. It could've been worse."
He doesn't like your answer.
If you had just been hit in the head and yet your nose is bleeding, that was a clear sign of a concussion. And the cut on your lip had to be from a fall. On asphalt or onto another material, it didn't matter to him since both are just as bad.
As he expresses that, you just tell him to drop it and then move away from him.
Before he can say more however, Hotch comes back into the room with his usually stern expression. A bit of worry lacing his tone, Spencer notes, as he orders you.
"Go home."
He's staring you down, but it seemed you had a lot more to say to that.
"Sir Hotchner, I would be of much more use in here. It is imperative that all available resources are focused on the retrieval of James Baker." He sighs because you're right, but that doesn't seem enough to satisfy you.
The boy-genius hates it when you use reason to get your way.
"Fine. Help Reid and the others with the evidence. We can narrow down his area of operation from there. They should be arriving soon."
You shake your head adamantly. "Sir, I can handle the interrogation--"
"No you can't!"
Spencer surprises himself with his outburst, but you don't even turn to look at him.
It's Hotch that gives him a very pointed stare though before continuing,
"Reid is right, agent. We'll handle the interrogation, so please busy yourself here." He says it with a finality that is indicative of his departure but you stop him one last time. Hand going up to rest on your mentor's collar.
He sees you gesture to your own, and Spencer hears an intention in your voice that he can't quite understand.
"Let's not give him a weapon, sir. He's pretty strong."
He sees his boss nod, and he takes off his tie. Putting the cloth into your awaiting hand, and you grip it out of instinct.
Reid zones out as he sees this interaction in disbelief. Did you normally touch the others like this?
You had completely brushed off his concern, not even looking at him. And yet when it was your unit chief that told you to do so, you had simply followed?
He thought he was starting to become an exception to you, but had he been reading the signs wrong? It could very much be a possibility as he was never good at doing so.
Even later when he had been sifting through the bags from the suspect's van, you still didn't respond to him. Even going as far as to ignoring Penelope's offer to watch the tapes they had found in Perotta's van. Shaking your head, 'no' with a faraway look in your eyes.
Just what had exactly happened while he wasn't by your side?
At this point, Spencer’s convinced that you would never like him.
If not for you having eyes on literally anyone else but him, then definitely because he had disappointed you. Desecrated the honor that came with being an FBI agent.
Just because he had been distracted.
A whirlwind of emotions had been flurrying inside him since the very beginning of this case, but he swears that he had never meant for this.
He doesn't even remember how it happened. Which baffled him, given his memory. But he thinks it's because he couldn't have cared less about the past few hours.
He had been stuck babysitting Lila only because you had told him so. Entrusted him with her because you thought that he was the best person to guard her, to comfort her.
He didn’t know it was because you had a feeling he’d be safer by her side.
And some part of him was flattered that you had said all this about him. Especially when all Lila would hear from him were endless praises of your name, of your work, and your caring nature.
But another part of him felt ignored. Pushed aside.
He doesn't know when it had happened, but Hotch had stopped pairing you together some cases ago. Saying something about you needing physical training, though he sincerely doubted that.
He thought that things were going well between you two. He had just been trying to find the perfect window where you would see him in a good enough light.
A good enough light that would make you say 'yes' to going on a date with him.
He didn't even care that the pretty blonde was interested in him. He only agreed because you stressed her safety more than any other target thus far. But the attention that she was giving him?
That was all that he wanted from you.
All he'd been wanting for months.
And when he had kissed her, all he could think about was you. How it would've felt if it was you in his arms, how you would react if it had been you that he was touching.
But then immediately after, how you would react to him kissing another girl.
God, he was pathetic.
He knew that you had been having a hard time lately. And he also knew that it had a lot to do with your work, how he did his, and his safety. That was all you ever stressed about when you were with him.
If he was safe.
You'd think he'd learn that by now, but he hasn't. Which is why even when he knew all this, his heart still ached as he sees you cry into Morgan's arms. Sobbing like no tomorrow. All because of something he did.
All because he took all your hard work, that had been focused on keeping him alive, and essentially throwing it right back at your face.
His negligence did that.
And he supposes that now, he can't do anything to get into your good graces anymore. Not when Derek Morgan seemed to better at doing his job as a federal agent, and his job as your friend.
When he finally gets changed into dry clothes and enters Lila's house, he doesn't miss the way that you turn from him. He also doesn't miss the glare the other agent was giving him. Nor the careful hand that had been rubbing up and down your arm.
Something that he wished he could've been doing instead.
––––––––––
God, he wanted to be anywhere but here, considering this is where it all went downhill.
"Did you give Lila Archer a collage?" Gideon had started the interrogation, so even if he did want to leave, he couldn't.
"What?"
"There's a photographic collage above Lila Archer's sofa. She says you gave it to her."
But the faster that they could get this done, the faster he could apologize to you.
"So? I didn't make the damn thing." Parker had laughed out, clearly not comprehending the severity of the situation.
"So you just happened to give her a work of art containing most of her life in it?" Spencer pushed but was surprised to see his ex-classmate seemingly have no recollection of the situation at all.
Something was wrong.
If it wasn't him, then who––?
"I––no, no. Look, I lied. I just wanted her to like me. I met her here, and she was a fan of art. Someone gave me the piece to give to her, but I told her it was from me."
It can't be––
"I said I found it, and I thought she'd love it."
"And who gave it to you?" Morgan had finally asked.
"Her name's Maggie Lowe. She uh––She works on Lila's show."
When Spencer hears this, he immediately goes to call you on his phone. Maggie Lowe had gone to Juilliard with Lila and was the production assistant that he swore he saw go in and out of her trailer.
If he wasn't so distracted, he would've fucking noticed that.
But his phone doesn't even ring for a few moments before the call is declined.
What the fuck was happening?
Before he could ask anyone else, he heard Derek speak up.
“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—" Spencer tries to talk to you through Morgan's phone, but is knocked off balance when the man turns around in shock.
"Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.”
"Let me talk to her!" He practically begs, but before anyone could even understand what he was saying, the call is ended from your side.
"Reid, what the hell were you trying to do?"
He's shocked at his own actions too, but that's not what's on his mind right now.
"She dropped my call but she answered yours? And since when did you start calling her that?"
He knew it wasn't fair, especially after what he had done, but just when did you and him happen?
"Since you started being a dumbass. Get over yourself, kid."
Everyone then started making their way to the two SUV's parked outside, but Spencer took the one that Morgan was driving.
He wasn't done with this conversation.
He tries to call you again, but this time, it looks like the line is busy. What was going on, where were you? He tries Lila's phone, even though he's sure she won't pick up and nothing either.
He has half a mind to ask Morgan to call you, in case you were just being petty and ignoring him, but he feels his phone vibrate. He suddenly hears his phone ring, and he hurriedly answers without checking the caller ID.
Hoping that it would be you on the other hand as he called out your name.
"Nope, sorry hon, it's me." It was Garcia's voice, but it sounded like she was shaking. Sensing the urgency in her voice, he instinctively puts his phone on speaker.
"Reid, I need you to listen to me very carefully— I've already alerted officials in the area, but your unsub? Is in Lila Archer's house."
You can't keep doing this, he thinks. You can't keep scaring him like this, because he's starting to feel so sick.
He looks to his friend in the driver's seat and sees him nod when they make eye contact. Speeding up as they thank Penelope before she ended the call.
At this point, he could care less with how pathetic he might've looked. No longer caring about how uncool you thought he was, or whatever might've been going on between you and Morgan, or if you still had a crush on your boss— none of that.
They had left you behind with Lila and no one else.
Spencer had always feared that one day, no matter how strong or smart or clever you are, it's his negligence that'll place you on the receiving end of a killer's weapon. And that there's nothing that he can do to stop them from landing the finishing blow.
If the reason you were alone and held captive by some psychotic shooter was because he had pissed you off enough to even dismiss his help?
He might never forgive himself for it.
When they arrive, he immediately gets out of the car. Ready to run in and ambush Maggie by himself if he has to when Lila runs into his arms. Holding a gun in her hand as if it were a bomb.
A Glock 19 that he's seen you use since his first official cases on the team.
He notices Morgan, Elle, and Gideon were already out, but Hotch and JJ have still yet to arrive.
He knows that he should wait until further instructions. That there wasn't a protocol for this specific situation. Or maybe there was, but his IQ of 187 had always been slashed down to 60 whenever you were involved.
When he hears a gun fire from inside the house, he's the first one that starts running.
He's thankful that he wasn't alone when he did though.
By the time that Maggie had been apprehended, you were already well on your way to the nearest hospital. According to the clock from inside your room, and the news report that had been playing, a full twelve hours at the very least had passed since then.
You tried to remember what had happened. Tried to remember how you screamed for help once you had subdued her. How she shot you when you tackled her.
Probably with the intention to kill you, then herself had you not talked her out of it.
You groan as you feel the blooming pain in your side. Probably from the GSW that you're going to have to note in your action report.
And then you remembered how you realized what you felt for Spencer and the rest of the team.
You shake your head despondently.
When you look back on every situation where you had essentially put yourself on the line for his sake, you notice that you had really been doing that out of your own volition.
That you had been doing it because you didn't want him getting hurt.
You just didn't like that the the team was turning it into some sort of responsibility.
And sure. Maybe the others were complicit in pairing you up, or guilty for giving you odd looks, but they probably wouldn't have done that if it wasn't something you were already going to do.
God, you felt so pathetic.
You don't think you can handle looking at Spencer now. Not after your existential crisis, and certainly not after what you said before he left.
But luck has a way, so it seems, to constantly elude you.
You note this as you see the very man that you had been thinking of slowly opening the door and perking up when he sees your eyes on him.
Well, as perked up as he could be. Given the circumstances.
"How uh—, How are you? A-Are you...okay?"
You take in how he looks when he asks. Dark rings encircling his eyes, (he had been up all night waiting for you), usually neat hair in a mess (he had been running his hands through them nonstop), and shirt all crumpled from being hunched over for so long (a different one, because he just couldn't stand the vague scent on chlorine in his old one.)
Your heart sinks at the sight and you beckon him closer with your strong hand. Echoing his question.
"Are you okay, Dr. Reid?"
He lets out a shaky breath when he finally hears your soft voice again, slowly approaching you as he does. He was so worried that the last words he would hear from you would be your disappointment, but he persists.
"Can you please answer the question? I don't like it when you pretend like you're okay when you're obviously not."
His hand finds its way to trace little patterns on the back of yours. Occasionally looking up at to see if he was hurting you, before continuing when he sees that he isn't. Feeling too shy to do anything more.
You roll your eyes at the gesture. Flipping his hand to rest on the hospital bed and slipping yours on top of his. Giving it a soft squeeze.
"I could be better." You then squeeze his hand again. "Is this what you were trying to do?"
He thinks for a while, as if not really understanding your question, before nodding vigorously.
You smile at the sight but then feel your regret from a few hours ago come rushing back.
"I'm really sorry. For...everything." You don't think he knows what you're apologizing for, but you do it anyway.
If not now, when?
Spencer laughs a little at that but shakes his head. "Morgan told me about what you said. Back at Lila's. Well, more like he told everyone while we were waiting for you to wake up."
You nod. Suddenly feeling guilty for trying to make contact so you try to let go, but he only entangles your fingers once more. Intertwining them as much as he can since this is the closest that he can afford to have you right now.
He feels his lips tightening into a thin smile before he says what's been haunting him for the past few hours.
"I'm sorry that you had to deal with me for so long. I never meant to burden you like that or make your job harder."
"No, Spencer please," you start, rubbing the only part of his hand that you could reach with your thumb.
"You were never a burden. I was just—caught up in a bunch of things."
He doesn't miss how your usual eloquence evades you. Which gives him a bit of an idea as to how unscripted and vulnerable you were being with him right now.
And as much as he should hate this for you, he'd love it if you would learn to be a bit more vulnerable in front of him. Even if it was a departure from your usually starched blazers, pressed blouses, and clean-cut exterior.
He still thought you were cool just like this.
"Have I ever told you that I thought you were really cool?" You weakly snort at that.
"If by 'cool,' you mean constantly worrying about how everything could go wrong, then yeah. I'm super cool."
He shakes his head at that, but it looked like you weren't done.
"I think you looked cooler, though. Especially when you were next to the pool trying to dry your gun. You looked like a wet rat."
He groans at the mention but you continue to tease him.
"Hey, you were a handsome wet rat. Still a rat, but... you know. From Vegas. Arguably not as bad as the ones from New York. Now though, you're a handsome dry rat."
Now that, he just wines at. You weren't being fair.
How could you make him go through all this and then say that?
Did you know what kind of effect you have on him?
The two of you continue to sling back jokes at the other, a common thing you used to do before things went south. And just enjoying each other's presence.
Holding his hand as you absentmindedly started massaging it. He didn't even notice how his hand had been shaking since the moment you first held onto it.
He was so so glad you were alive. That you were still here, with him. And there's no place he would rather be than where you were.
"So. How about you start telling me what you've been up to while I've been knocked out, hm? What have you learned, genius?"
He's learned a quite a lot, while you were away.
He learned that he should probably encourage you to have more breaks. Learned that you should both talk to each other, and everyone, a bit more. And he learned that you two weren't so different after all.
He's also learned how much he really liked your smile, your laugh, your soft touch, and the way that his name fell from your lips.
He doesn't tell you any of this, however.
Opting to instead tell you about the numerous facts he's picked up during the case, and how much he hated Hollywood.
[a/n] And with that, this marks the end of this specific timeline! I've honestly loved writing with this reader's specific personality in mind, and I'm looking forward to how she'll mellow out when she learns to be more honest.
I have a few ideas for one shots regarding this specific dynamic, but if you enjoyed it as much as I did, please tell me what you thought about this short series! And if you have any idea on what you'd like to see next from these dumbasses, send an ask my way!
Thank you so much for liking them thus far.
Like my work? Consider tipping me!!
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x mentored by hotch! reader#dr. spencer reid#criminal minds imagine
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Steve gets the idea from Dustin and Robin, in a roundabout way: Robin insists on buying a camping stove from The War Zone, which Dustin pounces upon with glee as soon as he notices it.
“Oh, we’re cooking with gas now,” he says, which is the worst pun Steve has heard thus far.
Eddie snorts, almost but not quite hidden underneath the sound of the engine. Steve smiles.
“Y’know there’s a stove right here?” he asks in benign exasperation, gestures behind him to the little kitchen area of the RV.
“Steve,” Robin says, “that’s not as fun.”
“Yeah, come on, Steve! It’ll be like at Camp Know Where—”
“Know Nothing,” Steve mutters automatically.
“—we oft dined al fresco.”
“Oft,” Eddie parrots, and Steve can faintly feel the movement of him laughing, from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. “Al fresco. Henderson, what lab did they make you in?”
“Eddie, either shut up or back me up, I wanna get a culturally enriching experience outta this.”
“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realise this was a field trip.”
“You’re excused.”
“Okay,” Steve cuts in, “have fun playing at camping, Henderson, but don’t come crying to me if you, like, blow yourself up.”
Robin chuckles. “Such a happy camper.”
“Boo,” Steve says flatly.
He parks the RV a little bit away from a store just off the main road—heads in alone as it’ll draw less attention. Out loud, he says it’s so he can focus without hearing whining pleas to buy junk food, whether Dustin-approved or not, but he already knows he’ll cater to each and every one of the group’s demands.
Eddie, surprisingly, doesn’t put in a request, says he’s happy to just go along with whatever everyone else wants—a far cry from when Nancy had relayed, with more amusement than frustration, “He said he wants a six-pack.”
Steve figures that the whole being wanted for murder thing would kill anyone’s appetite, but it still makes his stomach sink, that the most substantial meal Eddie’s gotten a chance to eat has been lukewarm Spaghettios.
They set up ‘camp’ in a field, and Robin’s the first to rush outside, shortly followed by Dustin, both intent on using the stove she’s bought.
Steve leaves them all to it, kind of enjoys the temporary peace of just messing about in the RV on his own—it gives him enough time to find where some crockery is kept, anyway.
He’s heating up chicken noodle soup on the stove when Eddie comes back in and tells him, “They got it working, no explosions yet.”
“Oh, miracles can happen. Good timing, by the way.” Steve switches the burner off, pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table—where he’s already laid out a spoon. “Yours is ready.”
At first he doesn’t think the silence is all that unusual. He’s not really looking either, focusing on rinsing out the pan he’d used. But when he does glance up, it’s to see Eddie just standing there, looking at the bowl of soup and blinking rapidly.
It’s almost like… almost like he’s—
“Woah, hey,” Steve says, “what’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Eddie says, even though he’s still quite clearly tearing up. “Absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ.” He groans, presses a couple of fingers to the inner corner of his eyes. “This is fucking mortifying, just pretend you didn’t—ugh.”
In barely a blink, he shuts himself away in the bathroom.
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Hate soup that much, huh?”
A watery laugh from behind the door. “No.”
There’s a silence. Steve dries the pan and puts it away before calling, “It’s gonna get cold!”
It won’t for a while yet; he can still see tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.
There’s a long, drawn out sigh, and then Eddie opens the door, sidles in to take a seat at the table.
For a moment, Steve thinks he isn’t going to acknowledge it, which is fine. But as Eddie picks up the spoon he says, head down, “It’s just. That was, uh. Really—really nice.”
Steve’s concern abates a little; he can’t help giving a slight smirk. “Would it help if I was mean instead?”
Eddie laughs again, no tears in it this time. He shrugs with a grin. “Do whatever you want, man.”
He’s eating slowly, his spoon dragging through the soup. His eyes seem distant.
“It’s just… I miss—” His voice threatens to break, but doesn’t quite get there. “I miss… home.”
Before Steve can think of a reasonable reply, Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. He drops the spoon with a clatter. “God, that sounds so—”
“It doesn’t,” Steve interrupts.
“Yeah, sure.” Eddie picks up the spoon again, keeps scraping it against the bottom of the bowl.
“Dude, what did I tell you? You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”
Steve pauses, stuck on what to say next.
He can’t even relate, honestly. Home has long become something he couldn’t… Something he couldn’t really miss, exactly.
It’s ever-changing: the luxury of eating a late breakfast in History; the crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked the railroad tracks with Dustin; the chill of the freezer in Scoops Ahoy, Robin’s snorting laugh bouncing off the walls.
Now it’s his car radio playing as he gives rides on busy school mornings. A high school basketball game. A goddamn video store.
“I think you have this thing,” Steve says slowly.
“A promising start,” Eddie says, lips twitching.
He’s finished the soup. The sight spurs Steve on.
“I think you have this thing,” he repeats, more confidently, “where you think that, like, we’re seasoned monster-killers, and you’re—”
“Uh, speaking objectively, Harrington, that’s kinda what you are.”
“My point is,” Steve says, “that you don’t need to—shit, I don’t know, man. Just. You don’t need to apologise or whatever. You’re doing fine.”
Eddie blinks. He’s cupping the empty bowl with his hands, breathing a little deeper, like the residual warmth is calming.
And that Steve can relate to: in the days after Starcourt, when Robin pretty much dragged him to her house, empty thanks to her folks visiting extended family. They both pretended that they just wanted to stay up late because they could, because they were just teenagers enjoying the summer, and Robin had made shitty hot chocolate from a powder, heating up milk on the stove; when Steve complained that he could hardly enjoy it through a busted lip, she’d said, still jittery, “I just thought—it’s just nice to hold, y’know?”
She was right.
One of Eddie’s fingers starts tapping against the bowl, the underside of his ring making a series of restless clinks. Steve wants to still his hand, gently press it further into the warmth. Settle him.
Eddie stands up with the bowl.
“I can—”
“Nah, I’ve got it,” Eddie says, already at the sink. He turns on the faucet, smiles. “Thanks, by the way.”
It’s so simple, so domestic, and all of a sudden, Steve’s struck with a thought: oh, I want this.
“No problem. I’ll get you something better, after… um, everything.”
Eddie chuckles. “Oh, Jesus, I think I actually would kill for some fries.”
Steve clicks his fingers. “So we’ll make it happen.”
“We?”
“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, man, but as soon as they hear about free fries—” Steve jerks his head towards the chatter outside, “—they’re gonna demand to come with, they’re like piranhas.”
He expects Eddie to play up the joke, to groan and complain.
But while he does laugh, Eddie just sighs before saying in earnest, “That sounds fucking fantastic.”
And his eyes are warm and fond, like maybe he’s found another home in all of them, too.
#another ‘throwaway’ line from a previous ficlet wouldn’t let me go#pre steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve and robin#steve and the party#eddie and the party#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steve and dustin#eddie and dustin
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...but I don't like a gold rush
summary: you're dynamight's publicist and, by some joke by fate, you fell in love with him. you're pissed about it.
wc: 1.3k
cw/tags: swearing, mutual pining, both kats and reader are emotionally constipated, happy ending
note: was listening to a taylor swift love songs playlist on spotify and this popped into my head. short and sweet, hope you like it all my bakugirlies <3 will be back to your regularly scheduled programming of jjk angst and jackals crack shortly
likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!
"this is a disgusting feeling and i hate it. how do i get rid of it?"
"you're in love, babe. there is no 'getting rid of it' unless you find someone else to hyper-fixate on," your best friend reminds you and you groan out of frustration for the millionth time. "might i suggest deku? or maybe shoto? if you want a smoking hot pro, he's definitely not the only one around." her mouth quirks teasingly and you half-heartedly chuck a pillow in her direction.
"he's the only one i want, though, and that's the fucking problem," you lament, "it's so embarrassing."
"have you considered the possibility that he might be interested in you, too? you're already around him 24/7." you bark out a humorless laugh. what a joke. the words "bakugo katsuki" and "reciprocating feelings" did not belong in the same sentence.
"i'm his publicist. it's my job to be around him 24/7." she shrugs indifferently and gives you a skeptical look that makes your face heat up. "am i out of my mind? falling in love with a coworker?"
"considering that your coworker declined the 'sexiest hero alive' award three times now, it's not that far-fetched," she admits and it makes your stomach feel even more queasy. your unease must have finally gotten through to her as she sits up from her bed and determinedly meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "look. any man worth talking to will pass out when he sees you in that," she states, gesturing at the modest but elegant dress covering your body. "if bakugo doesn't realize how much of a catch you are, then you shouldn't waste another breath in his direction."
the sentiment was easier said than done, unfortunately.
the only thought in your mind was him, from the moment the car picked you up from your friend's apartment to stepping onto the carpet of the awards show. crowds of eager fans cheer when you open the door, shouting your name and recognizing you as the brain behind their favorite hero's appearances. you flip a switch in your head, instantly becoming the professional that reassures the cameras and politely answers interviewers' questions. eventually, in what feels like no time at all, the unmarked limo carrying the man you were stupidly in love with pulls into the roundabout drop-off. you try your hardest to keep your composure as his friends exit the vehicle: mina in her sparkly pink gown, deku in his sleek green suit, kirishima in a sheer top that leaves no chiseled muscle uncovered. your breath catches in your throat when he's the last to appear and the frantic screams of the fans fade to nothing when his eyes search the chaos and zero in on you.
"you're late," you say quietly when he's within earshot and he huffs an incredulous laugh.
"and you're stunning," he replies without missing a beat. you don't miss the way his gaze rakes over your body and you despise the way he instantly can set your face on fire. his casual flirting infuriated you to no end, especially when he spoke in that low tone that should only be reserved for...private activities.
"if you think flattery will save you from a lecture, you're deeply mistaken," you force out and pray that he can't hear the waver in your voice. the butterflies in your gut feel like a flock of unruly pigeons. "but, that'll have to wait for after the show. you've got cameras just up ahead."
"this is fucking exhausting," he grunts and you can't help the chuckle that leaves your lips. bright red eyes flick over to you and you swear you can see a cocky glint in them.
"you just got here."
"and? i'm only here for as long as you want to be here," he says and it makes your legs gelatinous. "say the word and we're leaving. no questions asked."
"you're the one who's getting awards tonight," you point out, trying to ignore the way your body naturally gravitated toward his until you were nearly shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowd. at some point, his arm stations itself to float just above your waist, creating a larger bubble for you to breathe without making contact with your body. "you don't wanna stick around to receive them?"
"nah." he shakes his head and waves his other hand in carefree dismissal. "i know that anything i say will just get me in trouble later." his mouth becomes a smirk and you catch him winking at you before making his way toward the flashing lights and calls of his name. you wait patiently for him to finish posing for the insatiable paparazzi, occasionally walking out to fix his collar or brush a strand of hair from his forehead. the burn of his stare doesn't go unnoticed when you're right in front of him, fixing a button on his shirt.
"stop looking at me like that," you mutter and he flashes a sharp tooth in amusement. he knew what he was doing to you; it was impossible for him not to know from the way your hands shook on his collar.
"i wasn't kidding when i said you looked stunning, sweetheart," he murmurs and you have to blink a few times to fix the short circuit in your brain. "you ever gonna tell me how you feel or am i just gonna keep making advances to a brick wall?"
"you have absolutely no concept of-"
"publicist, get out of the way!" you both stiffen and you futilely shake your head the tiniest bit. he doesn't hesitate, and his hand gently pushes you out of the light so he can properly yell at whoever dares to tell you what to do. unlike most of his outbursts, though, his use of profanity and insults toward one's mother was kept to a minimum; it made the true attacks of undermining the reporter's professionalism even sweeter.
"and just for the record," he concludes, "i do whatever they tell me to do, so don't think you can disrespect them and get away with it, 'cause that's never gonna fucking happen. got it?" the shocked reporters nod meekly and bakugo unceremoniously exits the photo area, returning to your side like nothing happened. "i'm sorry about them."
"you shouldn't have done that."
"you're gonna lecture me for defending you?"
"no, not that. the thing you said before we got interrupted," you say, your voice barely a whisper that only he can hear. "about making advances toward a brick wall."
"you mad that i compared you to a brick wall? because it really does seem like that sometimes-"
"no, you idiot." you finally turn to face him and pull him into a quiet corner. "i'm upset because, if this is a joke, it's not funny." he gapes at you for a few seconds, as if he couldn't comprehend what you just said.
"you think," he says slowly, "that i'm joking about liking you." you nod in assent and he drags his hand down his face. you can already hear the protests of his makeup artist, but you don't really care right now. "alright, fine. maybe i'm the idiot in this situation."
"what do you mean?"
"i like you, stupid, and i'm not kidding." his words sounded like they were foreign on his tongue like it was hard for him to voice his feelings aloud. "you deal with my bullshit and you're so fucking pretty, i wanna pass out. get it?"
"mhmm," you hum dumbly, still processing what he was saying. some part of you still was saying that it was a sick joke, but the way his eyes soften when you finally look up at him confirms all that you need to know. bakugo katsuki was irrevocably, uncontrollably in love with you.
and it surprised him just as much as it did you.
if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)
#bakugo x you#bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n#katsuki bakugo x you#katuski bakugo x reader#katuski bakugo x y/n#bakugo katuski x you#bakugo katsuki x reader#mha x you#mha x reader#bnha x reader#bnha x you
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The Summertime & Butterflies ✿ Spencer Reid
from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.
♡ SUMMARY: a local florist helps spencer make a peony arrangement for a friend.
♡ WARNINGS: florist!reader, cheesy flower shop names, not edited, that's it really
𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘
“And these ones,” You gestured to the white chrysanthemum arrangement you made that morning, “represent loyalty, which is also necessary when proposing.” You practically floated through the little corner store filled with flowers, very obviously fitting in. This was your element, basically your home. You spent more time here, at ‘Cherry Bloom Barn’, than anywhere else in the world. Coincidentally, you were also the happiest here. Not many people could say that about their job, you were extremely fortunate in this way.
“Okay, I think I’ll take those,” the woman you were currently touring around gestured to an arrangement you had shown her earlier, “and those,” she pointed at the chrysanthemum arrangement, “and maybe we could do something with those sunflowers? Those are her favorite.” You hummed in agreement, already brainstorming the different ways you could incorporate them.
You had been working with Eloise for a few hours now, ensuring she had everything she needed to propose to her girlfriend. She had described her vision in detail, and you were sure you could make it a reality. It would take some time, and definitely a lot of work, but there was nothing more motivating than helping someone who was very clearly in love.
The only thing you enjoyed more than gardening and flower arranging, was helping people in love. Being able to bring someone’s vision for their partner to life, and knowing you will, in a bit of a roundabout way, be a permanent mark in their love story, was more fulfilling than any other career you could imagine.
You brought Eloise back to the small desk you kept in the corner of your store. There were vines sprawling across it, but it felt homey nonetheless. You wrote down your notes, finalized the arrangements and delivery, and had Eloise sign the agreement. You knew you were discounting your prices a tad when you handed her the receipt, but no one had to know that.
“See you in a few days!” You smiled at her, and she waved on her way out. With a sigh, you began to neaten up your space. The time you’ve dubbed the ‘in-between’ was the best part of your day. No one to greet, no sales pitch to make, just you and your flowers. What more could a girl want?
Your ‘in-between’ lasted almost an hour and a half, before the bell in front of your door chimed, signaling a new arrival. You were in the back, turning on the plant-safe light you used when there was a lack of sunlight coming in through your large shop windows. With the summer setting, it was a need. “Be right there!” You hollered from your hidden nook, fighting with the old light switch. It took a few seconds, but after a bit of flickering, the lights came on.
As quickly as you could without breaking any pots, you shuffled your way out to the front of the shop. You straightened your apron and wiped your sweaty hands along your thighs. Once you looked up, you were met with the most beautiful eyes, on the most beautiful man, you’d ever seen. “Welcome!” You said, cheerfully. You chose to ignore the butterflies swirling in your stomach.
He gave a tight-lipped smile, holding on to the satchel that was draped across his broad chest. “Looking for anything in particular?” You questioned, offering him a wide smile. “Yes, actually,” he said, suddenly very comfortable, “I need peonies.” He declared. It wasn’t very often a man came in and knew what flowers to request. You were stunned for a minute, before ushering him over the the ‘Peony Point’. There was a wooden sign hung above the corner, with little paintings of peonies decorating it.
This section of the store was covered in different colors and arrangements of its namesake flower. You were especially proud of the red ones, knowing how prestigious the meaning of them can be. You let him look around for a second, noticing how drawn he was to the yellow ones. After a few seconds, you approached him again, “The yellow ones represent,” you started, but were quickly cut off. “Joy and good fortune. I think these will be perfect.”
Your mouth ran dry at the way he cut you off. You weren’t sure if it was some kind of intimidation tactic, maybe he was looking for the cheapest flowers, or if it was excitement from some life event he was about to celebrate.
“Awesome,” You forced out, a bit more timid than you usually would be with your customers. “Are you looking for an arrangement with other flowers, a plain bouquet, or some kind of planter?” The man took a look around as if he was weighing his options. “Could you do an arrangement? I need it by tomorrow, but I am willing to pay extra.” You glanced around, brain already conjuring up flowers that would match in color or size.
You nodded, “I think I could make that happen, depending on the size.” He turned back to you, with a much brighter smile than the one he’d given you earlier, “Thank you. I would prefer things with meaning, like prosperity, long-lasting love, and purity, if you could.” You once again nodded, “I think I can do that.” You assured, waving him over to your desk. You chuckled at the way he perched himself up on the stool you had for customers. It definitely was not made for people of his height.
“A medium size will do, with a white vase?” He questioned. “Let me double-check my inventory, give me one second.” He nodded in response, smiling at the way you rushed away. He could tell this environment made you happy, even front the brief amount of time he’d spent here. Your customer service skills were excellent, and your work even better. You were clearly made for this.
“I have two different medium white vases,” You emerged from an overgrown closet, holding two vases. “This one,” you raised your left hand, “Has a handle and is significantly more round, but this one,” you lowered your left hand and raised your right, “is my favorite! It has this more asymmetrical design and sharper edges.” The man smiled, recognizing that you were describing them even though he could clearly see them.
“If you say it’s your favorite, I think I have to go with that one.” You couldn’t tell if his tone was more flirtatious, or if he was just giving your enthusiasm a subtle compliment. Regardless, you could feel those butterflies again. “Awesome,” You sighed a bit nervously. “Let me get this all written up.”
You learned his name was Spencer when you swiped his card. You got another good look at his hazel eyes as you went over costs. He offered an express fee and handed it to you anyway when you declined. In return, you left your personal phone number on his receipt, just in case he wanted to get in contact about his order in a faster manner. He smiled, his face turning a bit red.
By the time you were done with Spencer, it was time to close shop. You would’ve stayed later to work on it, but you knew Casper, your three-legged white cat, would throw a fit if you were late for dinner.
You got to work earlier than normal the next day, knowing you had to get Spencer’s order done. You made sure Casper had everything she needed, before hustling out the door. Your outfit was made of pastels, allowing you to almost blend into the flowers covering your shelves. You were deeply immersed in putting together Spencer’s arrangement by the time your phone alarm went off, signaling it was time to open.
You were content with the progress you’d made, taking a step back and marveling at the start of your project. You reached for your phone to turn off your alarm, and took a moment to check your notifications. A message from an unsaved number caught your interest:
Hello, It’s Spencer. I wanted to make sure it was okay if I picked up the arrangement during my lunch break. I would like to deliver them to her after work if that is possible. Thank you for your hard work and for making time for me.
You smiled at the formal tone of his text, as it was perfectly him. However, that smile quickly fell when you realized he was delivering the flowers to a female. Obviously. Why else would a man know what kind of flowers he wanted? Why else would he worry about the meaning of them? He was in love.
And you flirted with him. You flirted with him and gave him your personal number, and he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend he is in love with.
The only thing you can think to do to hide your embarrassment is to start opening the store. You did some minimal cleanup, knowing you were going to return to your project until a customer came in. You laid out your books, which showcased your extra options that may not be on display in your store. Then, you propped open your door and flipped the open sign on.
You were determined to make this the best arrangement you’d ever made. Spencer was a man who was doing his best to impress his lady. He knew her favorite flowers, the meaning behind them, and the color of the vase he wanted to match. This was a man who cared about his girlfriend, and you were going to make sure the arrangement he took home was perfect. No minuscule attraction to him was going to get in the way of that.
You breezed through the arrangement, due to this newfound inspiration. It took maybe another hour or two before you were completely done, moved the arrangement into the vase, and were gathering all the essentials to send Spencer home with; care instructions, plant food, and even a few different cards, just in case he wanted to leave a note.
You texted Spencer back, sending a picture of your arrangement with a caption: It’s all done! You are free to pick up whenever! I hope you love it!. He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
You busied yourself with taking care of your plants and then working on Eloise’s order. You drew up some ideas for different bouquets and vases of flowers, as well as cut some stems to use to show her the different mixes and matches you could make with the flowers she’d picked. You’d almost forgotten about Spencer’s pick-up by the time he arrived.
“Hello,” Spencer greeted, breaking you out of your hyperfocus. “Spencer!” You cheered, rubbing your hands on a towel, before moving to shake his. “Oh,” he hesitated, “I don’t really shake hands.” You nodded in response, before waving him over to the table where his order was.
His face lit up as soon as he laid eyes on it, “It’s beautiful!” He marveled. Those butterflies in your tummy started to flutter again, against your will. “Thank you,” you mumbled shyly, not used to the attention. “I’m sure your girlfriend will love it.” You promised, moving to bag everything up for him. You were quite proud of the sustainable bags with the logo you had made.
“What?” Spencer questions, face scrunching up. That embarrassment from earlier started to bubble up in your stomach, killing the butterflies. “I was just saying,” You hesitated, “This arrangement is beautiful, you did an excellent job selecting flowers. The receiver is very lucky.” Smooth recovery.
Spencer’s face relaxed, “I hope so. My best friend just had a baby. I couldn’t show up empty-handed, you know?” You smiled at his words. Butterflies revived.
You and Spencer wrapped up. He paid his final dues and you educated him on the use of plant food. “I will let you know how she likes it!” He promises as he disappears out the door, awkwardly shuffling out. You chuckled at him, and a sense of relief washed over your body.
Casper was content next to you on the couch. You were surprised at how calm he was, despite the opened bag of popcorn on your lap. You were completely serene, engrossed in the newest episode of your show. Nothing could disturb you at the moment.
Except for your phone buzzing on the coffee table in front of you, lighting up with ‘Spencer’ written across the top. You smiled, paused the episode, and waited a few seconds before swiping on the call, answering it with a cheerful, “Hello!”
“She loved it! She absolutely loved it!” Spencer cheered, too excited to allow himself to question why he was calling you. It was like a gut reaction from him. After leaving JJ’s hospital room, he immediately reached for his phone, feeling a need to let you know. He was glad you’d given him your personal number.
“I’m glad, Spencer!” You responded. He could hear your smile from over the phone. “She asked me to be the godfather!” Spencer informed. His rambly, awkward self was completely gone, overcome with glee. “How can I thank you?”
You laughed at his question. He didn’t need to thank you, he paid for his order. Overpaid, in fact. “Spencer, there is absolutely no need. I’m glad everything worked out for you, and I’m glad she loved it.” Behind the phone, Spencer shook his head. He was alone in the train station, allowing him to be completely himself. “Let me take you out.” Spencer surprised himself with his proposal.
Of course, he’d been attracted to you the second he walked into the Cherry Bloom Barn, and his attraction was starting to turn into a crush the more time he spent around the shop. He didn’t know you yet, but he was very much interested in getting there.
Still, he was shocked at the words that came out of his mouth. He was on a metaphorical high. Adrenaline was running through him from his amazing time with JJ and the team. His long limbs were almost shaking, and yet he wasn’t nervous. He was comfortable talking to you, and that meant a lot in his world.
“I’d like that,” You stuttered out, “but, it doesn’t have to be a thanks. Take me out because you want to take me out, not because I did a service for you.” You clarified, wanting to make sure you were on the same page. “Of course!” Spencer’s voice cracked as he stepped onto his train. “I do want to take you out. I’d be honored to.”
“It’s a date.” You declared with a smile. “Alright, awesome, I’ll get back to you with a time and stuff.” Spencer couldn't believe his mind was being reduced to words like “awesome” and “stuff”, but between his excitement from being Henry’s godfather and your agreeing to go on a date with him, he was basically a puddle in his train seat.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you then.” You said, before moving into goodbyes. Casper’s relaxed state quickly dissipated as you squealed, letting the butterflies in your stomach win for a second.
#spencer reid fanfiction#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid au#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds drabble#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds x you#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds au
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Hi lovely, how are you? Idk if you're doing the blurbs still but if you are, can you do something like Eddie taking care of a hungover reader that just partied to hard with her friends? Or something with hockey! Eddie because I love him and you ❤️
I'm good thanks! I hope this is ok ♡ fem
"Come on, loser. Eat up."
"Can't eat." You stare up at your friend with pleading eyes. "Don't make me."
"I'm not gonna make you do anything," Eddie says, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon in front of you at the kitchen table with a shrug. "Feel like shit forever, see if I care."
You pick up your coffee with shaking hands. "You could stand to be a little nicer to me," you whine lightly, more pleading than annoyed. "I don't feel well and you're supposed to love me."
You think even a dash of compassion from Eddie could cure you. He's not a mean guy —he's been known to hug you at random moments, or lick your wounds for you when things get tough— he's just having an 'I told you so' moment, of which he's prone.
"This is your own fault." Eddie fills a glass of water at the sink and puts that next to your plate. "If you're going to drink coffee you need water, too. The coffee will make you feel worse in the long run."
"You're like a drill sergeant."
He finally breaks, reaching across the table to squeeze your forearm. "I just want you to feel better, you dummy."
Your eyes dry and your head pounding, you switch from coffee to water if only to see some approval in his gaze as he takes the chair beside yours and starts on his own breakfast. Steam drifts in the air, the greasy smell of bacon tickling your nose. You poke an egg yolk with your fork, grimacing as it breaks.
"Could I make some toast or something instead?" you ask. You really would like to eat, but the egg and bacon is too heavy. You're afraid you won't be able to keep it down.
He rolls his eyes. "I'll make you some toast, babe, just drink your water."
He makes you some toast, plate to his chest so he can eat and watch the bread brown at the same time, eating in that boyish way where he leans down to the fork rather than bringing it up to his mouth. It's his fault you got so drunk, in a roundabout way, though you don't actually think that and you'd never tell him if you did. He was in his stupid elf costume from his favourite book, his hair sleek and out of his face, face painted pale. Will you do my makeup? had started innocuously and ended with his hands on your waist to hold you in place, heart in your throat, pulse a hummingbird under his touch. You had to drink to forget the feeling. To avoid ruining everything.
He seems to be taking pity on you now, swapping your plate for a new one of toast. He dips down to kiss the top of your head Eddie style, smacking. "You should quit partying so hard."
"It felt like a good idea at the time."
"Sweetheart," he says, pausing as you take a bite of your toast like it's his mouth that's full. He sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders to hug you. "Is it really bad?"
"I feel dizzy."
"Eat your toast," he encourages, softer now, not a dummy in sight. "You'll feel better once you've recouped your losses. I'll make you some pedialyte, if you want?"
"Can't I just have gatorade?" you mumble, mouth full of toast, head full of his naked arm pressing to your collar.
"Don't want much, do you?"
Still, Eddie hauls you to the couch with a bucket just in case and a promise to return. He drives the two miles there and back it takes to get you gatorade and he doesn't complain about it, just breaks the seal and presses it into your hand.
It's the most peculiar thing when he sits down next to you and takes your hand. Almost hesitant at first, then like it doesn't mean a thing, he holds your hand for the few hours between breakfast and lunch until you feel better, gatorades drank, and an orange eaten between you.
"Next year," he says, slinking down into the couch, the smells of lunch cooking on the stove, your hand once again taken and held to his chest, "we should go as a duo costume."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Ferris and Sloane?"
"No one would ever guess who Sloane was."
"How about, uh," —he's speaking casually, voice dipped low and rough— "fucking, Baby, from that movie you like? Baby and Tommy."
"Dirty Dancing? You want to go as Baby and Johnny?" you ask. It's the most coupley couples costume there is.
"I'd have to cut my hair. I don't think I'm ready for that."
"Did you hit your head while you were out?" you ask.
"Whatever. You can just go as something lame again." He finger runs down your forearm. "You looked nice, but you could've looked awesome. You could've been Arwen."
"Oh, I get it now. You want a mental image for the bank." Eddie groans and pulls away from you. "No, it totally makes sense, you've been so lonely ever since Macy cut you off–"
"Shut up, I cut it off with her." He shakes his head and stands. "You're starting to make me regret it," he warns, though the smile appling his cheeks shows that he's not as serious as he sounds.
He leaves you there on the couch with that stunning implication, your thoughts racing, and when he comes back it's to act like nothing happened, your lunch nicely plated and an ice cold drink to match. "Try and eat it, okay?" he asks.
"Sure thing, Dr. Hyde."
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
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Use(fu)less Knowledge - Jade and Floyd Leech
Sometimes it is hard to tell when Floyd calls you shrimpy as a form of endearment and when he is in one of his moods. Especially in the beginning of the odd friendship the two of you created. It did get better as time went on, but he, at times, will change his tone just to mess with you. Sometimes the line between friendly bullying and flirting is extremely blurred. Neither of the boys will give you a straight answer.
"Ask my brother. He is the one that is confusing that brain of yours my dear." Jade says with a smile on his face as he knows about the roundabout his brother has been putting you through.
"Ask Jade, he'll have an easier time explaining it all." Floyd might say. Other times he will just walk, mumbling something about seeing how long it will last. At times you don't bother asking if you can see how foul of a mood he is in.
The constant going back and forth became annoying quick, but you had no way to get accurate information about the twins. They were unlike anyone else. They weren't like each other. Floyd's mood switches were not like his brother's. Jade's anger was quiet, waiting. Floyd by that alone was the safer twin to be around if you fucked up. You'll know when enough is enough. It also makes it much easier to apologize for the right thing when the time comes to do so.
Azul was your last hope. A hope you didn't wish to use. ”Knowledge, while it can be both useful and useless in the same breath, comes with a price, my dear. Are you willing to take a deal knowing this?" There was no guarantee he would've given the information you needed in the first place. But it was always a back up if the little information in the books and what you could recall of eels on Earth were like.
"The eel’s skin is very sensitive to touch, which helps it to "see" in its watery environment. However, it is not recommended to touch eels, especially those that are above 3 feet long, as they can potentially hurt you during care. Some of the smaller species, such as the various dragon moray eels, also need special attention due to their long and curved teeth. Little is known about how eels mature as there is no information on how they reproduce." The video explained. You quickly clicked through the video.
Ace just rolled his eyes as you took notes in a small black notebook in the comfort of your dorm common room. "Wouldn't you like to understand the twins?" Deuce asked.
" I mean, yeah, I would, but. " Ace began, "but I'm not using animals to compare them too." Deuce nodded as Ace finished
"But I have nothing to go off of!" You announced as you paused the video. "Azul acts like an octopus at times. Leona sleeps as much as a lion does. I mean, Jack wags his tell when someone calls him a good boy. I'm not saying they are animals, but they do share similarities." Ace just looked at you and shook his head as you explained. "Ace please, I'm grasping at straws at this point."
He just signed and unpaused the educational video. "Don't expect me to take notes."
#eels are touchy creatures#twst#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twst x reader#floyd x reader#jade leech#twst floyd#floyd leech#twst jade
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Picturing Ren eventually distancing himself from Akechi after accepting Maruki’s deal.. Picturing him weighing the idea of them not being friends anymore in his head the night of 2/2—since he figures that Akechi wouldn’t want to—and slowly becoming more resolute to do it himself after seeing Akechi back to detective prince mode….
“Have your regrets begun?” is a scalding line in it’s own context of Akechi being gone but I think it applies twice as much in this scenario. Is Akechi really happy here? Was his TV persona drawing upon a place of real joy, or is this Maruki’s vision of a Happy Goro Akechi? Or, worse, Akechi had an OkumuraMadarame™ pulled on him. Ren’s wish was granted before he spent any time with the “real” Akechi (in quotes because I have other unrelated thoughts on his behavior during 3rd semester) in a way that didn’t end with one of them dying. Therefore it’s an admittedly reasonable assumption that those feelings of closeness came solely from Akechi’s other personality. There’s also the Vey Important dialogue with Maruki where Ren can say his heart aches when he gets betrayed. And I mean. You know.
So, let’s switch him back to the polite Akechi who would never betray anyone. He’s alive because Maruki wants him to live a good life as well, sure, but him being here was Ren’s wish. As messed up as it is it’s pretty obvious who comes first and foremost. Maruki thinks all happiness is real, even if it means entirely destroying who you are, anyway.
And I don’t think Ren would be able to come to terms with that. He’d try to reason it with himself for the first few weeks (maybe Akechi didn’t really think he was too unlovable to show any real parts of himself to the public. maybe this is genuine) but it wouldn’t work in the end. It doesn’t help that Akechi hadn’t even been angry when he said their deal was off, he just looked hurt. Acting like nothing is wrong after betraying someone like that, whether they remember or not, just isn’t something Ren could do forever.
So he doesn’t. He stops going to see him. Stops returning Akechi’s texts. Doesn’t reply to the follow up texts of Akechi being confused as to why they suddenly aren’t speaking anymore. He can’t even imagine going to the jazz club, the real Akechi’s safe haven, after everything is finished. The other thieves may talk about Akechi from time to time since they’re all friends now, which hurts him to hear, but guilt can’t be outweighed that easily.
Damning the entire world to save one person who didn’t even want to be saved is a selfish action born entirely of Ren’s own feelings towards letting Akechi die again. Does following that up with a selfless one—letting him drift away even if he desperately wants to reach out, because Ren knows Akechi wouldn’t realistically forgive him for taking the deal—cancel it out? Does it make anything better? Does it matter?
And at the end of the day, Akechi’s pain over losing the closest relationship he has likely wouldn’t even last. Sadness doesn’t mean anything here. After a while, Ren probably won’t even be missed. Maybe he realizes that this is the case and commits to it anyway. A roundabout apology for something Akechi doesn’t even know he did
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Hi!!! Omg I just wanted to say I’m so happy you’re back because I love your writing so so much, your characterizations are the absolute best.
Do you think you could write some long-ish headcanons about ASOIAF characters and how they would react if they had a nightmare about the reader dying or leaving them, but woke up to you cuddling them?
Thank you!!
Heyo! Thank you for the kind words , im glad youre enjoying your stay at my silly blog lol. I did ur boys Ramsay and Theon, plus a few extras that popped into my head!
Theon - He awakes with a start, and an immediate feeling of discomfort settles upon his chest. Theon can feel you right next to him, but you seem far away. He can't get back to sleep. Dreams (nightmares, really) of you dying affects him strongly, but somehow you just ... leaving, not disappearing, but walking away from him hurts more.
In the morning, he's rather quiet and distant. Of course, he's shit at talking about his feelings. You'd have to ask direct or roundabout questions to figure it out, and even then, Theon feels foolish for being so disturbed by something as silly as a dream. It wouldn't matter if this was reoccurring, it'd still be like pulling teeth to get him to talk about it and explain why it's so unsettling.
Ramsay - Dreaming of your death isn't actually anything new for him. He wouldn't even consider them nightmares, and it's not like you're the only one who dies. Sometimes it's by his own hand, sometimes it's not. Ramsay doesn't dwell on them after he wakes, and rarely remembers after an hour or so. The dying dreams don't bother him because they seem so far-fetched - yes, he really thinks that.
Dreams of you running off, however? That's a different matter. Sometimes they're simple - he can't find you, no matter how much he looks. Sometimes it's more complex, you run away and he has to spend a long, fruitless effort trying to find you. These are the dreams that agitate him when he awakens, and he'll actually wake you up to make sure you're there - obviously you are - and if for some reason you aren't, well ... he's always had a habit of being mad at you for slights he's conjured up in his head.
Tywin - He has never been a man who tried to glean any meaning from dreams; it's nonsense he doesn't subscribe to. That doesn't mean he's immune to nightmares, though most people wouldn't think such a grand man would be affected by them. He is, but no one would see that. It's the dreams where you're dying - often in childbirth, sometimes by sickness - that startle him awake.
It's troublesome if you actually are with child; then Tywin might take some time to get back to sleep. If you aren't, he knows logically that he shouldn't be bothered. There's no danger here. It puts him in something of a mood for the rest of the day. He doesn't so much as fret over you as just ... watch you very closely, which might pique your curiosity.
Jon - These nightmares don't come often to him, but when they do, he wakes in a sweat. You always seem to die right as he wakes up, or he's on his way to help you and something stops him. Something always stops him, and he wakes feeling anxious and oddly powerless. It feels like an ill omen. He turns over to you and pulls you in closer, mulling it over instead of trying to get back to bed.
It takes a while for him to fall asleep. Jon might talk to you about it, but he also feels a little silly for being so affected. Maybe if you bring up the topic first, because he clearly looks tired.
Tyrion - He hates these kinds of dreams, both the ones where some harm has fallen you, or where you've suddenly disappeared and left him. They're both terrible for different reasons, and he wakes with a start, cursing and looking for something to drink. It'll wake you up, and he immediately switches to comforting, as if you're the one whose upset.
He really appreciates if you stop and ask him what he dreamt. In the daytime it feels childish to talk about, but in the dark with your hand holding his, he feels comfortable to express the worry and anxieties that may have led to the nightmare in the first place.
Victarion - The nightmare is one he's had before, only it's taken new forms since he's been with you. Rather than his wife dying at his own hands, it's you. A simple change, and one that hurts him even more, because it feels even more real. He wakes up with his whole body tense and his fists balled. It's entirely possible you wake up too, as Victarion wants to get out of bed and pace around.
If you want to talk to him about it, good luck. Talking about emotions, especially this, is not in the slightest realm of easy for him. He probably hasn't even told you what happened to his previous wife; Asha would have been the one who did. Sometimes he can be coaxed back into bed, sometimes he wants to stalk off and walk around the keep for a while.
Stannis - It always comes back to that day. In the nightmare, he can still smell the seasalt, and feel the wind on his face, and hear the wood breaking against rocks. In the dreams, he always knows whose on the ship. He may not see the bodies sinking in the water, but he knows. And if it's you, then he's alone on top of Storm's End. No Robert or Renly, just himself, trying to shout against the wind and rain.
It's worse than the nightmares about the Siege, which feel listless and endless. Stannis usually awakes an hour or two before he normally gets up, and that's fine. He gets out of bed right away and goes about his usual routine, wanting to shake the negative feelings right away. If he ever talks about it with you, it's only after you point out he seems tired. He wants to tell you it's pointless to dwell on it, but talking does help a little ...
Arianne - She wakes up with a curse, which might make you stir. She doesn't put a lot of stock in dreams and nightmares, but she doesn't completely discount them, either. And that one was ... very vivid. Just thinking about it your life slipping away makes her shiver, no matter if it was poison or a sword.
She'll slowly wake you up, bringing you close to her and resting her face against your neck. She only half-apologizes for it. After telling you about the dream, she promises it won't happen. She'll keep you safe - though maybe she's reassuring herself more than you.
#theon greyjoy x reader#tywin lannister x reader#ramsay snow x reader#jon snow x reader#tyrion lannister x reader#victarion greyjoy x reader#stannis baratheon x reader#arianne martell x reader#got x reader#game of thrones x reader
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Idia Info Compilation part 15: Housewarden Role
Idia says he “can’t find one reason to be happy about being housewarden” and has multiple lines about how he does not want the position, even offering it to Azul.
Idia blames Ortho for talking him into it, saying that he mostly leaves the students of the dorm to themselves and considers coding up an AI housewarden to take over the job.
Idia explains that he only accepted the previous housewarden’s nomination because Ortho asked if there was anyone in Ignihyde more capable that Idia himself, “And I’m not about to march to the tune of some dude who’s lower level than me…so I grudgingly accepted the job. If there was anyone else who could handle being housewarden, I’d turn over the job in a heartbeat.”
Idia says he can barely name the members of Ignihyde that he has classes with, even though he has been living in the same dorm with them for two years. “But hey, the fact remains that nobody’s better for the job than me.”
This conversation with Azul is overheard by multiple Ignihyde students, who are not impressed.
The Ignihyde students decide to “teach (Idia) he’s not housewarden material” by switching out his equipment in a practical magic class to embarrass him, but the plot is foiled when Idia ditches the class.
They get their revenge by hacking the website of Idia’s favorite idol group on the night that tickets to an upcoming concert go on sale, but Idia restores the site and tracks them down.
Idia reveals that the script they downloaded from a hacker forum for their prank is one that Idia himself coded and shared when he was literally five years old.
Idia mocks them for being an insult to the spirit of Ignihyde, and the students decide that him telling them to “do better” was actually his way of encouraging them (“That roundabout display of kindness would’ve gone over most people’s heads”).
Idia says that Silver is way more loyal to Malleus than any of the students in Ignihyde are to him (“No one in Ignihyde would go on patrol at night to keep ME safe”), but it is unclear how true this is: during the New Year’s event two Ignihyde students are quick to back up Idia and Ortho when they get into trouble with people from other dorms.
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Can you do Stan, Ford, and Bill (gravity falls) headcanons? If not that’s completely fine! Take your time!!
☆⑅Felony Trio Headcanons⑅☆
(Stan, Ford & Bill)
~No idea if these three have an actual group name or not, but this is what I'm going with. You can't tell me they haven't committed at least one a piece, accidentally and/or on purpose. These sillies will always have a special place in my heart as one of my earlier obsessions. Thank you for requesting!~
❓Stanley💵
General:
Silly con-man gives me ler-leaning switch vibes. Loves wrecking his family, but wouldn’t mind the occasional giggle-fest.
Over the years, he’s developed the elusive “can say the t-word whenever” power, though it definitely didn’t used to be that way. Ford reminds him of that whenever it’s most annoying.
Can easily admit that he likes tickling others, but receiving it? Yeah, good luck. He’s willing to die on that hill.
Lee:
A bit rare, but he will get lee moods. He’s a “ride it out in silence” kinda guy, but Ford can sometimes catch onto his bullshit (definitely not bc he does it too what-)
If he DOES try and solve his problem, it’ll be in the most roundabout way possible. Provoking his brother, teasing his great niece and nephew until they try something, you name it. If it works, it works.
Worst spots are his armpits and the area right beneath his belly button. Enjoy watching him lose his mind if you target either one ♡
Melt spot is his ears. You can’t tell me his goofy ears wouldn’t make him giggle his heart out; he’d love every second of it.
Very gruff, choppy giggles. Sounds kinda like he’s been chain smoking, then saw the funniest thing in his life. When you really get him going, deep and rough belly laughter. Occasional snorts if you wanna kill him.
Ler:
When he gets in a ler mood, he’ll either bother his overworking brother or mess with one of the kids. Sometimes his family can tell, though he won’t normally admit anything.
Such a wonderful asshole of a ler-
Teases, smart-ass comments, horrible dad jokes, and more! Definitely the one to go to if you want a shameless wrecking.
“You’re a lil’ squeak toy, huh? I just squeeze your side and- yup, just like that.”
“Ya know, you could’ve just pushed me away by now. Don’t worry, I noticed.”
“You sure squirm a lot, don'tcha? Like a lil’ worm, could use you as fishing bait!”
“It tickles? Wow, that must really suck for you.”
Pretty good with aftercare. He'll ruffle your hair and tease you, of course, but he lets you lay on him while the TV plays. Fair trade, honestly.
👓Stanford🖋️
General:
Can you really tell me he isn't at least a little lee? After all those years with little to no comforting contact, he loves a good giggle fest.
Making his great niece and nephew laugh, though? Even better.
He doesn't always get that feeling, so I'm going lee-leaning switch.
Lee:
If you even mention it around him, he'll blush, no matter his mood. It's real bad when he's lee.
You can kinda gauge if he's in a mood by just saying the t-word (if you can, that is)
If you don't have that magic, then he's still pretty obvious in other ways.
Extra stuttering, constantly adjusting his glasses, eyes lingering on your hands, wobbly smiles. If you've got eyes, you'll be able to tell.
Will deny it at first, but it's pretty flimsy.
“I-I don't know what you're talking about. I survived the roughest interdimensional plane there is. I don't need…that.”
He falls apart the minute you wiggle your fingers at him.
Worst spots are his hips, followed by his ribs. A few squeezes to either will have him snorting up a storm.
Melt spots are his ears and the tops of his thighs. Like his brother, his ears are lovely to run a feather across for both him and the ler. He loves gentle traces on his thighs, though. Have him a melted, giggling puddle in seconds.
He loses tickle fights on purpose at least 76.4% of the time. Don’t ask me how I got that number: I just know.
Ler:
His ler moods are rare, but if he’s feeling a bit distant from his family, he’ll try and piece things with some giggles.
Soft, playful ler. He never wants to go too far, but he isn’t afraid to goof around and tease while he’s at it.
“I think I’ve got a leg up here, huh? Thanks to my extra fingers, this has gotta be at least 20% more ticklish~”
“You really do blush quite a lot. It’s pretty cute to watch.”
“As a scientist, it’s my job to conduct experiments. Let’s try now. Hypothesis: if I get your worst spot, you’ll laugh at least twice as loud as you are now. Time for the experiment~”
The moment you say stop, even if you don’t mean it, he pulls away. If you want more, you’ll have to ask him.
Pretty great with aftercare. Will absolutely cuddle you, maybe even tell some stories if you’re interested. He’s got plenty from his time in the portal, though he keeps the angstier ones to himself. Any tale he tells is almost guaranteed to make you smile.
🎩Bill💛
General:
Believe it or not, the chaotic dorito does like tickling. In fact, after him and Mabel’s interaction, they seem to randomly plague his thoughts at the most inopportune times. It goes in either direction, his moods as random as his personality.
Considering this, we’re gonna go straight-up switch.
Lee:
These moods are especially hard for the demon to satiate. His friends are insane, but none completely batshit enough to try something like tickling him. When he needs a fix, he usually has to outsource it or suffer until it goes away.
On the off chance he does outsource, he goes for one of the Pines twins. They’re hesitant to let him in, but he’s a sweet-talker. Once he’s inside, it barely takes an hour for him to provoke someone into wrecking him.
His spots vary based on the body he’s inhabiting. The one time he was tickled in his own (Weirdmageddon incident, don’t ask), he found that his hat and feet got him laughing the most.
(don’t come at me, his hat re-grew flesh when he got shot in it)
He doesn’t really have a distinct melt spot, though he loves being tickled right beneath his bowtie. It makes him kick and squirm, but it also makes him incredibly giddy.
Ler:
I’d tell you to run for your life, but it won’t do you much good.
Evil, sarcastic and rough ler. Good luck breathing o7
The kinda dude to go for all your worst spots first, and only explore the softer side if he’s wanting to spice things up.
Can and will generate any tool he feels like to wreck you (surprisingly enough, he’ll ask first)
Boundaries really need to be set before anything happens. Otherwise he’ll just go until he feels like stopping. If you look on the brink of passing out, he’ll quit, but other than that nah.
VERY teasy, with a large handful of sarcasm and sass.
“Geez, you laugh really loud when I get ya here. Mind dialing it down? I don’t wanna go deaf before I’m 20 million.”
“Ha! You snort? I’ve gotta hear that again, c’mon!”
“You’re confusing. You say ‘no, go away,’ but you haven’t even tried escaping. I’m supposed to be the crazy one here; mind explaining?”
“Wow, this is driving you nuts, huh? We’re gonna match!”
Not super great at aftercare unless you ask. He can make any snack or drink you want by snapping, and he knows some great rom-coms to doze off to (don’t ask why unless you wanna go for round two).
#gravity falls tickle#ticklish!stan#ticklish!ford#ticklish!bill#sfw tickling community#tickle#gf tickle#sfw tickle headcanons#lee!ford#lee!stan#lee!bill#ler!ford#ler!stan#ler!bill#ticklish!stanford#ticklish!stanley#gravity falls#tickle thoughts
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Lars and sexual energy
Lars Lindstrom thoughts + gn!reader imagine
∘₊✧ Thoughts: 500 words - imagine: 900 words
∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I started writing a few thoughts about Lars and why I’m so attracted to him based on his character, the screenplay and things I’ve enjoyed in the movie, and it ended up in me writing a bit of a smut imagine to go along with it, so I thought it might be worth sharing. It starts with thoughts on Lars’s sexual energy, desires, urges, and how he deals with them. Until you come along. And then he has no idea how to deal with them at all.
∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, masturbation, possessive streak, rough sex (and soft, tender sex), blow job mentions, making out, crying, switch!Lars, touch starved Lars
∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
You know what half the appeal with Lars is?
He’s not supposed to feel sexual desire. At least, he doesn’t let himself. Starting with the basics, he won’t allow himself sleep in the same room — or even building — as Bianca until she’s taken ill. He says right at the start that it’s because he’s religious, and I’m sure that does mean something to him, but I’m also sure it’s not just that.
At the beginning of the movie, he cant stand psychical touch and wears layer upon layer to avoid the excruciating pain it causes him. He sleeps in layers. He eventually says (in the script, but not in the movie) that he’s the one with issues around nudity, not Bianca, who comes from a culture that is very comfortable with it. I think he's reached a point here where he’s experimenting a little. If she’s perfectly comfortable, he could maybe get used to it, too. And maybe he secretly wants to see what she looks like under her clothes out of curiosity or to learn a thing or two from her; but he can’t just take them off without good reason. And she needs her nightly bath, right?
Then, looking back to the script, we have his ‘sexual energy’ which he canonically burns off by chopping wood (in his own words, he’s really good at that, and in Karin’s thoughts, he’s sexy while he does it). When Mrs Gruner asks him about partners, she tells him, ‘Don’t wait too long, it’s not good for you,’ which could easily be interpreted to be about sex. Lars plucks up the courage to ask Gus if it’s sex that will make him feel like a man; both admitting his virginity and in a roundabout way asking his older brother’s permission to lose it. And yet, he never (that we know of) shares any physical affection, other than innocent hand holding, cuddling, dancing and that one tearful goodbye kiss with Bianca. Bianca, a doll who was created for sex.
Add into this that Lars can be possessive. Part of me wants to think that it’s simply in his nature, buried somewhere deep under his trauma and social difficulties, because according to his family, he ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ And in that case it surfaces in the right circumstances, because in all other ways he’s so soft and gentle and caring. The other part of me wants to think it comes from his sexual desires and urges being pushed so far down that he doesn’t know what to do with them and ends up losing his temper and needing to take it out on the firewood i.e. a good fuck might calm him down. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither. Maybe he’s confused about it himself.
Throughout the film, Lars gradually learns to enjoy the sensation of touch, starts to forge meaningful human relationships, experiences jealousy (with little bit of that delicious possession peeking through with it) toward someone he’s scared to pursue despite knowing she has romantic interest in him, and the layers he wears as armour gradually reduce to his underclothes. So we could take from this that given the right conditions, he could learn how to enjoy being physical with someone.
And, with that in mind...
∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
Imagine being the one who finally turns his head. You catch his eye so unexpectedly, it snowballs faster than he can control it. He’s never felt like this before, never fought so hard to keep his thoughts clean and his physical urges at bay.
Lars, who uses his religion as a reason not to even sleep in the same house as his partner and doesn’t want anyone close enough to touch him, who can’t even get through a conversation with you without scrunching his eyes shut or running away, suddenly can’t get you off his mind. And the pain of carrying that pining, longing feeling around with him far outweighs the pain he might feel if you actually touched him, or so he convinces himself. Something must be done about that.
Chopping wood doesn’t distract him. Church doesn’t distract him. Driving to the lake doesn’t distract him. And neither does reading his favourite book or going to work or even accepting dinner invitations from Gus and Karin.
Lars goes from completely avoiding any hint of sexual desire his mind or body might conjure, to furiously jerking off every time he's seen you, rushing home and forcing down his pants to relieve the ache between his thighs. When he can’t sleep because his mind is buzzing with fantasies of you, his delicate, precise fingers wrap around his length before he can find a way to calm himself, and before he knows it, his thick, hot seed is spilling inside his pyjamas and he falls asleep in the mess, guiltily washing away the evidence in the morning. But not before indulging the wet dream he was having about you first.
It’s filthy. He feels filthy. And he likes it, whatever it is that you’ve done to him.
Lars ‘it’s always the quiet ones’ Lindstrom, has gone from sitting on the edge of his bed cringing at the conversations he’s had with you replaying in his mind because he feels so awkward and embarrassed about them, to daydreaming about his fingers wound in your hair while your soft, wet lips are wrapped around his cock, or fucking you hard against the tree by the lake while his tongue is shoved down your throat, or slipping one hand into your underwear and one over your mouth in the kitchen at work to quickly get you off while you steal a few minutes alone.
All the while, he’s breathless and trembling with anticipation, his hand wrapped tight around his cock as he pumps furiously, or stroking himself, soft and slow until he’s a whining, whimpering mess, moaning your name as his release washes over him.
Through this, he learns how to enjoy pleasure, learns his body, and starts to crave touch. Your touch. His own simply won’t do any longer.
So when he finally gets you all to himself? When you’re kissing him all chaste and sweet?
I hope you’re ready to have your clothes torn off, to be grabbed at until he leaves bruises, to have his fingertips driving into your flesh, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, ‘I’ve dreamed of doing this with you,’ through shaky breaths, to feel the burning heat of his flesh against yours, his mustache tickling at your skin when he stays in the same spot for long enough, his teeth dragging down your throat, pausing to suck at your pulse point, strong arms controlling your movements because he knows what he likes now, and when he’s around you, he loses all semblance of self control and has to have you just the way he’s fantasised.
In the thrill of desperation, he doesn’t even get his clothes all the way off, completely lost in a haze of excitement, but he manages it eventually, needing to feel as much of you as possible against as much of him as possible.
His hair is a mess, his cheeks are burning up, he’s completely ruffled, and he switches wildly from being a possessive, commanding lover to giving you the sweetest, most sensual fuck of your life.
His possessive side takes on a whole new meaning as he completely devours you — soft, sweet, innocent Lars — moaning loudly as he watches you cum from his touch over and over, bunches your hair into a fist to feel the bobbing of your head while you suck him dry, snaps his hips hard and fast against yours, followed by what feels like hours of slow, tender lovemaking while he whimpers needily and drips dirty words and praise into your ear like warm honey between breathless begging, revelling in this new sensation of the touch of another, until he’s spent, trembling and sobbing into your shoulder, overwhelmed and thankful and incredulous. Finding the soothing strokes of your fingers through his hair incredibly calming.
After so many years of repressing all these urges, and not finding any pleasure in touch, it could take a while to tire him out. But even when he’s temporarily sated, he will snuggle into you, press his lips gently to yours, and make out with you in a languid, sloppy kiss that doesn’t end until you’re both so worn out you’re falling asleep humming and sighing into one another’s mouths, limbs tangled together because now he's experienced your skin against his he will never get enough.
As he sleeps with you pressed against his chest and his strong arms keeping you safe with him, he has the biggest, warmest smile on his handsome face, but when he greets you in the morning, that naughty streak is back, and he’s smirking at you with a glint in his eye that you’ve already come to associate with nothing but pleasure.
#not s f w 💀#lars lindstrom smut#lars lindstrom x reader#lars lindstrom imagines#lars lindstrom thoughts#lars lindstrom#lars and the real girl#ken-dom writes#if you’re wondering what the other half of the appeal is#his relatable autism beautiful singing and soft belly have captivated me
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I want to put my thoughts about Barnaby Brooks Jr in a real post
1. this man is Gay. he is homosexual. he loves other men. he genuinely doesn't know until he's 25.
2. he's also trans and transitioned as a child; his parents supported him, as did Samantha. Maverick didn't know but said enough dismissive things about The Queers that Barnaby decided not to tell him
3. sometimes Barnaby forgets he's trans and tells other guys to just "not let (thing that cis men can't control) happen". in the past one of his girl friends found this hilarious because she thought he was making fun of dudes who think women can shut off their periods, so he uses that excuse whenever he's called out on it.
4. genuinely thinks he's straight but not interested in settling down bc he can't see himself falling in love with a woman. when he's feeling mopey he says he's broken but really he just never was pushed to consider other men.
5. he's the kind of autistic where he's So good at making neurotypicals feel like they're connecting with him, but it's part of his masking, so it's not an actual, two-way connection, and it is VERY tiring. he tried to switch his persona to Cold Bastard so he wouldn't have to work so hard but people just think he's cool now, and he can't justify being a genuine asshole. so he's stuck.
6. Barnaby and Ivan like hanging out because Ivan is by nature quiet and gentle and Barnaby is constantly overstimulated. they will sit in Ivan's living room painting minis in silence for hours and have a great time.
7. Barnaby likes Mecha anime. it's Saito's fault for explaining how he took inspiration from Gundam for their suits' aesthetic.
8. Kotetsu has a Bi Revelation about a year into their working relationship. Barnaby doesn't realize he's in love with Kotetsu until he's reading some fanfiction Nathan sent him and there's a scene where Wild Tiger professes his love all dramatic and eloquent and Barnaby says out loud, "He would not fucking say that" and it makes him sad. just. the weirdest, most roundabout realization ever.
9. he's an absolute loser and that's why he's so loveable.
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hello beautiful person! i hope you're having a good week! 🫶
how long do you think it'll take annie to utter the words 'i love you' after the rumbling, considering she’s never said that before and loving and being loved is just so new to her, and how long do you think it'd take armin to accept that she might actually mean it?👀
Hi Cris, thanks for the question :3 this is personally a favourite topic of mine T////T!
I think it'll take her quite a long time.
Because as you said, loving and being loved is new to her. The way I see it, Annie isn't someone who's very comfortable with talking about matters of the heart, especially when it relates to herself. She can summon sarcasm and dry humour well enough when it concerns someone else, but her? Her feelings? Her emotions? Good god no; the girl was barely able to meet Armin's eye on the boat and couldn't ask him about his "other girlfriends" without going about it in an extremely roundabout way.
But jokes aside, has anyone ever told her anything even remotely similar to such words before? Not her father. Nobody on the Warrior team before they split in Marley. Not Reiner, not Bertholdt. Paradis was the first place where she experienced something akin to friendship and the sensation of forming bonds with people, and even then she had to remind herself constantly who she was and what her purpose was to be. There was barely anything to dream of except maybe the dim hope of making it back home and live maybe a few bleak years with her dad before her life in this world ended unremarkably. She may have yearned for love and affection but there was no place in her world for it, and so it's not hard to believe she shut her heart off to the concept entirely. So when it actually comes to wanting to tell Armin those magical three words, it's going to be stuck in her throat for a long time.
That's not to say she's bad at expressing herself, physically at least. In general I think talking is so much harder than showing via actions; it's so hard to actually say something, while in comparison, expressing those suppressed thoughts through body language and the senses is much easier. So while Annie may not tell Armin out loud that she loves him, it won't be a difficult task for him to know and understand how she feels about him. (After all, on the boat, she was soooo red in the face huddling into herself that he figured out immediately that she likes him back). It could be in her clear blue eyes, or her gentle touches, her sweet and mild kisses, or her comforting caresses; the three words that he doesn't need to hear but can always, always see and feel.
Switching over to Armin though, I don't think that it's going to take much for him to believe it when she says she loves him. As in, there's not going to be any grounds for him to wonder whether she means it or not due to any "fault" of hers. Rather, if anything, it could be his own guilt and insecurity and self loathing that makes him wonder if she should love him at all, because he sees himself in such a poor light that there can't possibly be anything great that could draw her toward him and tie her down to such a pathetic guy. Taking this factor out of the equation tho, I don't believe he'd doubt what comes out of her mouth as far as respecting her honesty and truthfulness goes anyway.
#*sigh* this became too long...#ask#dudewhy3#aruani#headcanon#aruannie#attack on titan#armin arlert#annie leonhart
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Shen Yuan avoids System's penalty by jumping into the Endless Abyss AU
I'm thinking of Shen Yuan choosing to jump into the Endless Abyss in place of Binghe to intentionally cut off the influence from the System, like how the System goes into hibernation from losing its power source when Binghe is in the Endless Abyss, so the System is unable to punish Shen Yuan by ejecting his soul for failing the crucial Endless Abyss mission.
This requires Shen Yuan knowing this condition, either by Shen Yuan already living this life, or from gleaning and deducing from previous conversations with the System and gambles on it.
Shen Yuan likely dies in the Endless Abyss from the Without a Cure flare ups while having no one to transfer him qi, but all is well if we make Shen Yuan having already planted the Sun and Moon Dew Flower body.
5 years passes. A man emerges from the Endless Abyss as in PIDW (though in a roundabout way as he died first and came back in a different body, and that person isn't the protagonist. )
Shen Yuan remains happy exploring the Demon Realm as a rogue cultivator Peerless Cucumber, not coming into contact with the System's power source because Binghe is still being the white lotus in Qing Jing.
For this to happen, people need to not realise Binghe is a demon. Maybe Shen Qingqiu prepared some talismans or some other method to suppress the demonic energy before the Immortal Alliance Conference.
People mourn this nice Shen Qingqiu and move on. The Qing Jing Peak get helps from other Peaks to fill in their 'dead' shizun's role. There's no corpse so there is no unending tug of war between Binghe and Liu Qingge. Neither can Zhuzhi lang revive his benevolent Master Shen in the Holy Mausoleum.
Airplane doesn't know this weird Shen Qingqiu, who might be a transmigrator but Airplane hadn't confirmed and would never have a chance to now, just switched to another body because Shen Yuan recalled and retrieved the Sun and Moon Dew Flower seeds by himself. Airplane will stay lonely as the sole transmigrator in the fic (as far as he knows.)
.
Eventually, Binghe would meet Peerless Cumcumber because the story wouldn't be complete without this event.
Maybe Peerless Cumcumber is a little too famous from his friendliness with demons? And his superb knowledge of flora and fauna even those in the Endless Abyss?
Maybe he unintentionally causes or gets involved in some unrest that cultivators are dispatched to.
Maybe Luo Binghe misses his shizun, dreams about him, then realises this dream isn't from his memories, nor is it constructed by him or Meng Mo, meaning he's in shizun's real dream and shizun has to somehow still be alive!
Well, Shen Yuan already considered his plan can eventually be foiled so he tries to find a loophole to not get ejected by the System the moment he meets Binghe.
Maybe it's from bargaining with the System, saying that this development isn't so bad and it's been more than more than 5 years and the world hasn't collapsed, that the story is still going so it's surely interesting enough for readers so there's no need to eject him now.
Maybe by tricking the System into agreeing with the novel genre change into fluff, hurt but mainly comfort, and happy ending so there's no need for the blackening.
Maybe we go down the System Reveal route and have Binghe destroys the System to save his shizun's life.
Or maybe the System continues its countdown from before Shen Yuan jumped off the Abyss. Shen Yuan somehow having obtained a way to open the Endless Abyss during his travel through the Demon Realm, takes Binghe in his hand and walks into the Endless Abyss together, as if going on a date, like, "Quick, Binghe. This Master has something to show you." And he shows and narrates to Binghe the gory and monstrous scenery kind of romantically.... But of course Shen Yuan is oblivious to it. Genuinely he's explaining what happened back then and why he jumped into the Endless Abyss, while avoiding the details about the transmigration and the System. And the story progresses into romance...
Then why didn't Shen Yuan just go in the Endless Abyss with Binghe the first time around? Maybe because Shen Yuan's body was still poisoned, Binghe's body was still unstable from the seal just breaking, and Binghe now is much more powerful than his 17 year old self, so going to the Endless Abyss now is barely a torture and abuse for his sweet white lotus disciple.
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when we talk about silvan it's mostly about us joking that we like femboys though 😭 oh but i remember u putting kanato in one of his character inspos and i was so giddy and told my friend abt it bc he was my favorite sakamaki when i was younger!
now i wonder if silvan can sing, and if he could, could we convince him to sing for us? if he can't, i'd still make him sing lolol
as for ajax bro has a roundabout way of saying things idk if i want him to get with darling now or watch him run around in circles bc it's so funny he's a girlfailure (affectionate)
(i cant rlly think of a clever emoji so maybe this 🦇 but if it's not available then this 🍮 hehe)
my favorite sakamaki was reiji... i have bad taste.
i think he can sing!! and if he can't you just buy him singing lessons.
ajax is such a girlfail it switches between off-putting and charmingly pathetic
🦇 is taken so!! 🍮
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