#Angst with a Happy Ending | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goorgeousz · 3 days ago

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so i have a request or idea but i'm sorry to say i didn't think about her in the shower, i thought about her while i was crying lmao🫠🥲

a few days ago i read a book where the protagonist's father treated her terribly:( and her partner tells his father'don't talk to my wife like that' and they leave, he comforts her and is the best husband ever written.🥹🥹

so all I thought about was my big, angry man ✨Hotch✨ maybe they go to a family dinner for the first time and see how the reader's family treats them, belittling their work and stuff like that, until at one point they say like 'we never know how she got someone so as interesting as you Aaron' and he just explodes because cute man defends his lady and he's just grotesque and all to defend her and she's crying because she loves Hotch too much and that he saw so much in her It means a lot because she has never really felt like this. 😭🤍🤍

i hope this helps you, it felt better in my head than when i wrote it.🥹🥹♥️

i love what you do, sending you love!

xoxoxo

to be loved is to be known | aaron hotchner

to be loved is to be known | aaron hotchner

pairing: bf!aaron hotchner fem!gf!reader

summary: reader didn’t want aaron to meet her family. after one dinner he understands why.

content/tw: established relationship, crying, reader has siblings, toxic family, angst, fluffy ending, reader’s mother makes comments about her weight

word count: 3k

a/n: I absolutely loved your request, best believe I dropped all of my WIPs to write this one (sorry not sorry). I hope whatever reason you were crying about it’s over, but if it isn’t, then I hope this can warm your heart a little. Thank you so much for your request and your kind words!!! Sending much much much love, hugs and kisses!!

all hotch tag: @winyourheartemma

dividers by @uzmacchiato

masterlist <3

You weren’t hoping for a car accident. You weren’t hoping for your boyfriend’s phone to start ringing with a new and very urgent case.

But as you sat in the passenger seat of your boyfriend’s car on the way to your childhood house, you couldn’t help but wish something – anything – got in the way.

It was only a few days prior when Aaron, your boyfriend of almost 7 months, decided to drop the bomb. The ‘I’ve never met your family’ bomb. And later that day, when your mother called you (like she did every Tuesday night) he was with you. He was comfortably seated on your couch, staring at you with puppy eyes as you had the weekly catch-up with your mom (which resumed in talking your ear off about whatever stupid subject was on her mind). So, you couldn’t help but offer a family dinner to introduce them to your boyfriend, to which she, for the first time in a few months, was actually happy and excited about.

The regret hit it like a truck at the exact moment he walked out your door. But there was no way of coming back now, after it was all set up. Aaron seemed actually excited about meeting your family, and you understood that this was probably a big deal for him. In general, actually. It was a big step in a relationship, you recognize. And it’s not like you weren’t ready for that step, you and him were probably living together by now. It was that you didn’t want to pop the perfectly healthy bubble you both created.

And family dinners were always… stressful.

You could’ve just explained that to him. Aaron, being the perfectly polite and respectable man that he was, would understand immediately. But you didn’t want to be the whiny immature little girl who couldn’t deal with problems. You were an adult, you paid your own bills, you had your own place. And he was the Unit Chief of the BAU, a title that on its own raised expectations. You couldn’t be the FBI bossman’s girlfriend and stress about your mom calling out your weight, or about your father criticizing your job. And if this wasn’t enough, Aaron was amazing. He was the most kind, loving and appreciative man you’ve ever met. You wanted to be good for him. So if you had to endure a few hours with your family, then be it. He was worth it.

And selfishly, you wanted to brag about dating him to your family. Yes, dad, mom. I’ve made it. Suck it.

When the day came, saying you were stressed was an understatement. Aaron sat quietly on your bed watching you change your outfit a handful of times, try at least three hairstyles and do a full face of make-up twice. He didn’t say a word about it. Unless when he complimented you, to which he did evey time.

You didn’t cry, which was always a good sign.

You held the flowers and the wine he brought while he drove. The forty-seven minutes drive rode without music. He found it strange, because you insisted on blasting your playlists even when the drive wasn’t long enough for a single song (when it happened, he always made sure to drive extra slow to make sure you sang every word and drummed every note of it).

If he noticed you shifting your position (every two minutes), or you rechecking your makeup on the rearview mirror (every red light), or you applying your lipgloss (three times and once more when you got there), he didn’t say anything.

Just before you reached the handle to open the door, he turned to you, reaching over the console to grab your hand.

“Is everything ok?” you huffed a laugh at his question, leaning over and giving him a peck on the lips.

“They are gonna fall in love with you, Aaron. Just like I did.” you said, honestly. He scanned your eyes and when he made sure you were being honest (he always knew when you lied, that’s why you came up with a method of being evasive everytime you didn’t want to tell the truth).

Squeezing your hand one last time, he stepped out of the car, quickly making his way towards your door. He took the flowers and the wine off your arms, helping you get off the seat and walking with you up the front stairs.

Before you knocked you turned to face him, a rush of courage running through your veins with being so close to the house.

“Listen, before we get in…”

Whatever you were about to confide in him got interrupted by the front door opened. Your mother stood there, with a tight smile she reserved to you, her beloved daughter.

“I thought it was you, my dear. You must be Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. It’s a pleasure finally meeting you.” she cheered, standing her hand. He gave her a polite smile.

“Just, Aaron, please. The pleasure is all mine, Ma’am.”

“Come in, please. Honey, will you please finish up the kitchen?” she asks, rushing your boyfriend inside without giving you a second glance.

Aaron chased after your eyes, worriedly, but you just dismissed him, winking and mouthing a ‘Told you.’

You quickly made your way towards the kitchen, your body remembering all too well how to walk those corridors. Just like always, you finished off dinner, making sure the dishes were done and everything was in its place while you heard the laughter of the rest of them in the living room.

“There she is, my beautiful baby girl.” your father cooed, standing up on his seat next to Aaron when you walked in and approaching you to hug you “We were just showing Aaron here your child pictures.” he spoke, laughing.

You felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment, biting hard on your inside cheeks to keep from complaining. No mature woman would throw a tantrum over a child photo album.

“She hated pictures. We tried to collect memories, you know, Aaron?” your mom recited, showing a sequence of pictures “But she just didn’t accept it. Always grumpy, always turning away. You got yourself a hard one.” she laughed, playfully pushing his shoulder.

He stared at the pictures, somehow amazed. Your heart raced at the smile growing on his face (like it always did). He held one photo, your least favorite one. Your face was puffy with crying, your hair wildly flying everywhere. You had your mouth open like you were saying something (probably begging them to stop), and your braces shone against the flash of the camera. Your clothes were clearly not your size, your posture curved like you were trying to turn into a ball.

You hated that picture with all of your being, but your parents kept showing them to everyone who dared to stop by. Aaron held it close to your face, his eyes with nothing but found as he said

“So your eyes have always been this shiny. I’ve always wondered.” you smiled at him, the warmth of his love for you never failing to make you feel at home.

“Well, let��s eat before the food gets cold, right?” your mother announced, rushing everyone into the dining room.

It all went surprisingly well (at least as well a dinner with your parents could go).

“This is delicious, Mrs.” Aaron complimented, after your mother refilled his plate.

“Thank you, dear. Do you cook, Aaron?” she asked, dragging his name as if she was enjoying being that close to an FBI agent.

“I can get by.”

“He’s lying. Aaron is an amazing cook.” you interrupted, nudging him with a proud smile.

“We figured, right, darling?” she asked your father “I noticed the moment she started eating more. Her puffy cheeks can’t deny it! Just like when she was my baby, following me everywhere.” your mother cooed, leaning over to your chair and pinching your cheek.

For the first time that evening Aaron looked absolutely mortified. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came out. He didn’t know where to begin. It would be funny seeing him all flabbergasted if it weren’t for the ache on your heart from your mother’s words.

Whoever said that time heals everything is full of shit.

Just like that, your father changes the subject for your teenage stories: your least favorite subject in the entire world.

“I’ll tell you what, Aaron. You’re a brave one. We knew it from the one: she’s a hard one.” your father pointed at you with his chin, smiling like he was complimenting you.

“What do you mean?” your boyfriend asked, sounding genuinely confused.

You could see right through his act. The way his knuckles went white at how hard he gripped the silverware, the muscle on his jaw flexing like he was struggling to keep tightly shut. You wanted to kiss his cheeks until his dimples started showing again.

“Oh, you know. Don’t take me the wrong way, we love our grumpy baby girl.” and then, he turned his attention to you “Take it easy on him, sweetheart. He’s a good one, you won’t want him running away. Don’t make it so hard for him.”

Aaron stepped up, interrupting before any other subject got introduced and he lost his chance.

“Loving your daughter is the easiest and most effortless thing I’ve ever done.” he said, with a slight frown.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t trying to make you feel better. He was stating a fact. He was saying it so sure of himself, that made your parents seem crazy not to feel the same way.

You bit back a smile, bumping your knee against him. He did it back. ‘Thank you.’ ‘I got you.’

“Of course you say that.” your father laughed like he told an inside joke “Look at your job. Speaking of which, we want to hear everything about it.”

And then your mother started rambling about a few cases she watched on the news, asking details and making all kinds of questions, to which Aaron made sure to answer evasively enough to not break protocol, but making sure to spill some uneventful details to distract them. Your heart swelled with love every time he directed his attention towards you, asking details he “forgot” but told you in private, just to include you (on dinner with your family in your childhood home).

“I want to take a moment to appreciate you being here, Aaron.” your mother started, beaming at him “I know you are a very busy man, and I hope it didn’t mess your schedule up.”

“No, I really wanted to come. Thank you for having me.”

She just dismissed him with a wave of his hand “I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been to make time to be here with us. It’s very important for our family. I say this because our other children all also have very important jobs, and unfortunately weren’t able to make it in such short notice.” she looked at him apologetically. Aaron only stared back, once again too stunned to speak. Your mother looked back at you, throwing a wink and a lopsided smile “The perks of not having big responsibilities.”

“That’s not…” Aaron’s speech got interrupted right away. You tried not to sigh too loudly.

“There’s something I want to do.” your father announces, clasping his hand together with an excited smile.

Your mother gasped “Do you think it’s time, my dear?”

“Absolutely, darling. Wait here, you two.”

You weren't sure what was about to happen, but you were sure it couldn’t be good.

What an euphemism.

A couple minutes later your father gets back with a champagne, sparkly and expensive. Your face falls at its sight. You bite your cheek not to cry.

Your mother stands up right next to him, and they look at you like they were about to make an oscar-winner level of speech.

“When our children were babies, we bought each of them one of those.” he lifts the bottle “We kept them with all of our love, waiting to pop them open when the moment came. And today, it's time for our final bottle. We had promotions, graduations, admissions. It makes me emotional to think how long we’ve come. When our baby was just seven, she had a dream. She wanted to find a loving and rich husband and live as a princess.” he chuckled, raising his hands in apology “Now, I do not want to jinx it, but I do think…”

“That’s so unbelievably disrespectful.” Aaron spat.

Silence.

More silence.

Your father clears his throat.

“Perdon me?” your mother tries.

“The entire evening I watched both of you mistreat her, sugarcoating it with a half-hearted compliment. It’s very clear to me that none of you value her as the woman she is, and there’s only one reason: you don’t know her. And aren’t even slightly interested in doing it." His tone was harsh and straightforward, glaring daggers at your parents. They seemed small and insignificant in front of the anger boiling over Aaron’s eyes. “It’s impressive to me how you don’t even realize how poorly you’ve been treating her. She’s the smartest, kindest, most selfless and talented woman I know, and you two have the audacity to pop up a champagne as if her biggest accomplishment in life is getting a boyfriend?” he chuckles darkly “I’m incredibly proud and sorry at the same time at how immune she is to your behavior. But I’m not, and let me say this loud and clear: I will not, under no circumstances, tolerate anyone treating my girlfriend like that. Anyone.”

He said, his eyes fulminating them. With a short nod, Aaron stood up and walked himself out the door, not waiting for anyone to lead him out. You followed suit behind him, not even sparing a glance to your parents.

The two of you drove silently all the way back to his place, without not much more than a word. Your mind raced with thoughts, your whole life passing through your mind like a movie, so many things you thought were normal. So many memories, so many feelings. You were nowhere near comprehending everything, but it was a start. You could see it more clearly now.

Aaron locked the door after you got in, and you heard him sigh.

“Listen, honey, I’m so sorry…” he interrupted himself when he heard you sniff. He touched your shoulder, aching to hold you close, but now knowing if that’s what you want “Are you crying? I apologize, it wasn’t my place…”

This time, you were the one interrupting him. You turned around and threw yourself on him, burying your face on his chest and crying your eyes out. His breathing deepened, kissing the top of your head and stroking your hair.

You had no idea how much time you spent like that, but eventually he picked you up with ease and sat down on the couch with you curled up on his lap.

After a while, when your sobbing toned down to silent tears, you glanced up at him.

“Thank you, Aaron. I’ve never felt so seen in my entire life.” he held you closer, like he wanted to keep you close to his heart forever, protecting you from every possible harm.

“At first, I thought you didn’t want me to meet your family because you weren’t there yet. Relationship wise.” he began.

You pulled yourself away from his chest, still seated on his lap but shifting to face him “Not at all. I just didn’t think they deserved you.”

He gave you a pointed look “They don’t deserve you.” He stared deeply into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you understood “The very first thing you said to me when you first met was that you were complicated.”

Aaron took a deep breath, watching your eyes like he finally completed the puzzle. “You always seemed ready for me to leave you, always made sure to look understanding. Like you believed I would give up on you, and it would be only the right thing to do. You always mentioned, between a joke and another, that you were a problem, a burden. That you didn’t deserve me, like it isn’t the other way around.” your gaze fell to your hands, the weight of being seeing hard on you.

“Aaron…” you whispered, your voice weak from all the crying. He gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. To see every emotion he felt towards you. He kissed your chin, each of your cheeks, where you probably had tear strains. He kissed your swollen eyes, your makeup defined smudged. He kissed your forehead, your nose and your lips, taking extra long there. When he made sure you were paying attention, he pulled back and kept speaking.

“I remember thinking what on earth made someone like you believe that. The thought consumed me. I needed to know, needed to understand where all that came from. You know, profiler.” he joked, which made you laugh weakly.

“And somehow you missed the reason why I didn’t take you to meet my parents sooner.” you teased. He rolled his eyes.

“In our line of work, when we end up in a case that is, for some reason, personal to us, the protocol is to step back. Do you know why?” you shook your head “Because love can cloud your judgement. It certainly did mine.”

“Careful, agent Hotchner. You might make me think you’re in love with me or something.” you joked. He smiled, giving you another kiss.

“I am. Desperately so. And apart from what you think, it’s not difficult. I can’t imagine a life where I met you and didn’t fall in love with you. It’s the most natural thing for me.” you press your lips together to keep them from shaking, as your eyes filled with tears “Do you realize you’ve absorbed their disturbing opinions of you? You keep repeating them to yourself like a mantra, like it's a fact. I always wondered why you think so lowly of yourself. It’s now clear.”

“I hate that.”

He kissed the tip of your nose.

“ I’ll tell you what: we’re on this together.”

“On what?” you gave him a puzzling look.

“We’re breaking down those walls, brick by brick. Every single lie they made you believe was true, we’re tearing it all apart.”

“Ugh, this sounds like a hard job.” you muttered.

“It’s not. In the slightest.” he disagreed immediately “Thank you, honey. Thank you for letting me see that part of your life. Thank you for allowing me to love you, and for loving me back. You amaze me more each day, and I’ll make it my personal mission to make you see it too.” His words were low and serious, not made to impress. Made to let you know, to make you believe.

“Even if it takes your whole life?” you asked, trying to make it sound like a joke to mask your insecurity.

It would be a long way to go, but the love flooding over his eyes was a great first step. “Especially if it takes my whole life.”

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ivyyisbored22 · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?”

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he saw what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan.

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think.

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night.

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw.

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him.

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin.

“Chan…” Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs.

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him.

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless.

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge.

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal.

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out.

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that.

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air.

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy.

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?”

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more.

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints.

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,”

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis.

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair.

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content.

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose.

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket.

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability.

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

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boopsiesdaisies · 4 hours ago

Text

being near each other

bob reynolds/sentry x reader | 2,130 words | angst&fluff | gn!reader

THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS

tw: panic attacks, swearing

bob and you are both so bad at feelings, but maybe you'll find a way to make it work?

a/n: i'm down bad crying at the gym, why does he look like a kitten in a storm drain, but ripped as shit??

____

Living with the New Avengers was the most difficult task that you had encountered in your life. Sure, you had defeated your fair share of villains, but living with roommates was arguably the worst experience of your life. Not just any roommates, these roommates specifically. All of you had tried to establish a chore chart, but after Walker’s week of hell, it was a collective decision to abandon that. You had no idea how that man had survived life to this point, since he somehow made chloroform to clean the communal kitchen and knocked out every member of the team, you had decided that he was never to be allowed near bleach or rubbing alcohol again. If cleaning the base didn’t stress you out enough, the bass on Alexei’s speakers that played nearly 24/7, or the constant lack of personal space from working and living together was going to drive you mad. But cleaning, noise, or personal space weren’t the issues that worried you the most. The worst issue was Bob.

You had hoped that after living with the team that you would be able to shove any emotional feelings for Bob deep, deep down. It hadn’t worked. Instead, you spent everyday attempting to hide any upturn of your lips and softness for the man as the feeling in your chest continued to grow. It only grew worse with every single interaction. From sitting next to him in meetings to watching him quietly hum to himself while he washed the dishes. Alright, so maybe you watched him a lot, but that wasn’t your fault! It had to have been Bob’s fault with his dumb stupid hair, and dumb stupid smile, and dumb stupid laugh, and dumb stupid abs that you would have never expected on him–

Woah. You were getting ahead of yourself. The blush began to creep higher on your cheeks as you tried to will yourself to focus on the moment.

“Okay, who's sitting out of the mission tonight?” Yelena’s voice pulled you back to the present.

“None of you look at me, I’ve done it so many times it’s not even fair,” Alexei said.

“Who’s turn is it anyway?” Walker turned to look at the chart in the meeting room.

“No, no way, you didn’t like the chart so don’t go looking for it to save you now,” you laughed.

“Actually,” Walker’s tone increased in pitch, elevating the level of cockiness to him. “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?” You clarified, fear beginning to pull at you.

You wanted nothing more than to get out tonight, the heat of your blush was beginning to go to your head, and the idea of sitting with Bob tonight was not going to cure it.

“Yep, your turn,” Walker solidified and turned back to Yelena. “Do we want to wheels up at 0800?”

“Oh my God we get it you were in the military John, get a hobby,” Ava spat as she began to stand.

As she stood, it cued everyone else to stand, as you were left reeling. Panic began to set in as you realized you couldn’t be left alone with Bob today, your heart might explode in an ungraceful love confession at this rate.

“Wait, wait, wait, I can’t stay behind this time guys.” You said as you tried to stop everyone from leaving the table.

“It’s your turn,” Walker said.

“Okay, so it’s my turn because the chart said so, but if the chart said it was your turn you would fight it, how is that fair?” You pushed.

“Because it is convenient for him now, it’s no big deal, we each take turns staying home with Bob,” Yelena pushed back, as everyone left the room, except for you.

“Guys, c’mon,” you groaned and turned your back to face the wall, only to see the face of Bob staring back at you. There was a softness in his eyes despite the childish display you just put on.

He cleared his throat and looked down, “sorry you got stuck with me.”

“I didn’t get stuck with you, I just didn’t–” you started, quick to stop yourself. Shit, this was going to go poorly.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it. Well not used to my powers, which is why you’re stuck here, but I mean, used to being left behind.” The small smile that graced his lips made everything worse.

“You’re not left behind, it’s just not safe for you until you know what you’re doing, which is why we probably shouldn’t let Walker anywhere out of the house.” You laughed softly to yourself. “I just wanted to go today, that's all.”

You were lying through the skin of your teeth and you were hoping that the seemingly every permanent blush on your face wasn’t going to give you away.

“So, since we have a few hours to ourselves, do you want to make dinner or something?”

“Sure!” Bob bounced up, seemingly recovered from your persistence to leave earlier and bounded over to the kitchen.

If you were never letting Walker in the kitchen again, you weren’t going to let Bob near it again with a ten foot pole. You had never encountered someone who truly could not find anything or do anything in the kitchen. At every step, you guided his lost eyes to where he needed them and while the love of him was rising in your chest, you could feel the energy beginning to shift around him.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, why don’t you just taste test for me and you can help me clean up after we’re done?” You asked.

“I just want to be useful,” Bob said.

The tremble of Bob’s lower lip made you reach for him, the worst idea you had in a while. Your fingers lightly brushed against his hairline as tucked the ever persistent piece behind his ear.

“I think you’re useful, just maybe not at cooking,” you replied.

Bob’s hand covered your wrist and suddenly everything went dark as you relived the very worst moments of your life.

___

When you finally came to, the smell of burning food overpowered your sense as you gasped for breath over and over. The tears that pricked the edge of your eyes overflowed as you pushed yourself to sit up. The panic in your body began to rescind but the pain from falling to the floor seemed to dull any other sensation or cohesive thought. As you tried to reorganize your thoughts, and catch your breath, the only thought that came to your mind was Bob. He was here when you fell and now he’s gone. The panic refilled your lungs again, although it wasn’t about you anymore, it was entirely for Bob. Every fiber of muscle pushed you forward as you searched for his figure around the kitchen. Seemingly absent from the kitchen, you pulled the food of the burner worrying about turning the stove off later, as your feet began to run to the hallway of shared rooms. Your voice carried his name over and over as you prayed that you were going to be able to find him before the Void took over. You cursed yourself, feeling entirely at fault since it was your inability to come to terms with care for another person that put him in this mess. As you approached the hallway, the level of destruction increased. Overturned furniture, picture frames torn off the wall, and blocking the path, crowded you as you pushed through the mess to find him.

You heard him before you saw him. Loud sobs coming from behind the door to his room, only halfway on its hinges. Slowing, you peek through the door to see him. Balled against the furthest corner of his room, with hands pressed over his ears, gasping for air just as you were only moments ago. You were so focused on him you couldn’t tell if your breathing was still ragged.

“Bob?” You asked softly, praying the human part of him was still winning the fight.

He didn’t respond to you as you pushed through his room. The broken wood and glass fragments crunched under your shoes as you stepped closer to him. The darkness pulled away any of the light near him or of the setting sun in the window, covering the edges of his arms. You crouched down, and sat next to him.

“I’m going to touch you okay?” You asked as you reached to rub his back.

“No!” He pulled away, “you can’t, it’ll happen again.”

“I don’t think it will, it’s okay, I’m just going to rub your back.” You lightly placed your hand on his back, and began to rub small circles on his upper back.

Bob began to speak again, but stuttered over his words as the sob racked through his body.

“Hey, it’s fine, take a deep breath, I can’t help you if I don’t know what's wrong.” You leaned closer to him as looked up to you.

Bob’s eyes scanned the room, he seemed so afraid. “What does it matter, you don’t care.”

“Of course, I care,” your hand fell off his back. “I care about you a lot.”

“You wanted to leave,” he said, quoting the moment from earlier and part of your heart ached.

“I did,” you agreed.

There was no point in denying the moment, but you weren’t quite sure how to vocalize why that would make sense.

“I don’t–” you began only for Bob to interrupt you.

“I don’t even know what I was thinking, rigging that stupid chart like they all suggested to get you to talk to me, why would you even want to talk to me?” He fully turned away from you in that moment.

The irony of the moment made you laugh.

“See now you’re laughing at me and –” He started.

“No, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at how bad we are at…this.” You gestured to the invisible this, and noticed Bob’s breathing, while still quick, seemed to had slowed down enough for conversation. In a moment of bravery, you pulled Bob’s face back to look at you.

From this distance you could see the details in his eyes. The brightness that pulled into them as his powers grew in intensity was overwhelming. The eye contact was going to kill you as if you didn’t already want to crawl into a hole and die. Your communication skills were going to shit the longer you looked at him. The constant blush that accompanied your face when you were near him seemed to worsen, as you hoped the tightness in your chest was from the fear of sharing your feelings over another run in the Void.

“I wanted to leave because I’m afraid of talking to you,” you started.

The hurt that flashed across his face in that moment seemed to make everything worse for a moment. “Shit, not like that, not in the ‘I think you’re scary’ or ‘I don’t like you’ kinda way, but in the ‘I like you a lot and I’m afraid of real feelings’ kinda way.”

Still getting no response from Bob you kept going, “I had hoped that if I kept avoiding talking about it that it would get better. But everything you do makes me feel whole and like there's this warmth in my chest whenever I’m near you, and I’m blushing like I’m some high schooler, and it’s weird and I don’t hate it but I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“What?” The starkness of the question pulled you out of your tangent.

“I like being around you,” you said softly. “I really do.”

“You’re not mad at me?” The tears began to well in his eyes again.

“No, why would I be mad at you?” You asked.

“Because of the kitchen?” He looked down at his shoes, apparently finding something interesting in the chaos of the room.

“Did you do it on purpose?” You asked.

“No!” Bob started, before you stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Then I would never be mad at you.” You did your best to sound reassuring.

After a few moments of silence, Bob spoke. “I don’t know how to talk to you either, but I like being around you.”

“Okay, so we’ll work with that.” You smiled. “We’ll just start with being near each other.”

Bob’s eyes met your eyes again. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you replied as you brushed the piece of hair out of his face again. This time, his eyes were back, the blue looking almost gray in the low lighting of the room.

“What the fuck did you two do?” Yelena’s voice pulled the two of you out of the moment.

You really hated your roommates at that minute.

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cal495 · 2 days ago

Note

This is relating to eren’s type on the fanfic idea i have , for any writers that are interested ! ✨

What are Eren, Levi, Mikasa, and Armin's ideal s/o? Personality, temperament, relationship dynamic etc.

Eren needs someone who is kind and patient, first and foremost. He needs someone who can help bring the edge off whenever he’s immensely stressed (because this kid has a lot of weight on his shoulders ok) and that can be patient when he might become too irritated or quick to snap. He needs someone that can calm him down and that can make him feel better, so someone unafraid to show or speak their feelings and share the love they have for him. He is going to be a really affectionate partner and need it from his s/o just as much, so they’d also need to not be bothered by little shows of PDA. As I’ve stated before they also need to be around his age or younger because with as stressful of a life as he leads, Eren needs someone who can have fun and keep him smiling.

Mikasa needs someone who is okay with comfortable silence because she won’t always need to say a lot. She’d much rather sit with her s/o, letting them lean against her as they both catch up on their current novel or something else they need to complete. She needs someone that doesn’t mind being taken care of either–Mikasa is naturally very protective of those she cares about and tends to take on a motherly persona with them, so the person would need to not mind being doted on and worried about constantly. She’d be okay if they were hot-headed or peaceful, neither matters so long as the above criteria is met. She’d need to be the main decision maker in the relationship as well, so her s/o would need to be alright with that as well.

Armin would look for someone who was kind, someone that he’d seen many times caring for their fellow squad members or participating in selfless acts. He’d need someone that was along quite the same lines as he was, honestly, and they’d definitely have to have intellect to keep up with him. I don’t think Armin could be with someone too hot-headed as it would clash with him too much and he already has his best friend (read: Eren) to worry about when it comes to that, so they’d need to be peaceful. Armin is fairly easy-going as well, so he wouldn’t mind having a s/o that wanted to make the decisions. However, there would be a little bit of a clash if the s/o was just as compliant as he was because things might never get done, so he might need someone who knew what they want.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 10 months ago

Text

Dreamers | Rhysand & Daughter!Reader

Summary: After Madja is away in business for two months, he has to find a healer to replace her in her absence, which happens to be you, his bastard daughter, and unbeknownst to him, Azriel’s mate.

Word Count: ~ 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, bad family relationship, mentions of prostitution, implied sex, but it ends happy don’t worry (PLATONIC BETWEEN RHYS AND READER)

A/N: This request was like perfectly matching up with my daydreams so thanks !! hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Throughout all your years of education and schooling, there was one truth you knew without having to be told.

You were unwanted. A mistake.

You’d always known that and hadn’t cared much for the first few years of your life. Your mother had been a prostitute, and your father had accidentally knocked her up. Whether it had been a mistake, or your mother had purposefully not used a contraceptive just to have a tie to the High Lord was still in debate, but you didn’t care much anymore.

He had tried to raise you, probably not wanting you to grow up a whore like your mother, but been trapped Under the Mountain, leaving you alone, your only real ties to him were through Cassian, who didn’t seem to care that you were a bastard child or your circumstances.

He felt like more of a father, sometimes.

You’d gotten your apartment in Velaris, working as an herbalist, and something of a medic, using the mingled magic of your mother and father to heal people. Some would say the job didn’t match your sometimes uncaring and blunt, even bitter demeanor. But you didn’t care what they said, and you never had. It paid the bills, and let you live relatively comfortably in your little shop when not in the apartment.

You had heard the rumors of Feyre, the Cursebreaker who’d freed your father, and by extension all the other High Lords from Under the Mountain. You’d seen the female and your father together, walking the streets happy as could be together, openly proclaiming their love, not to mention their baby.

After he’d been liberated, you hadn’t tried to seek him out, and he hadn’t with you. It was for the best, probably. You wanted nothing to do with his perfect little happy family and Inner Circle, you didn’t belong there, and you had no desire to. You hadn’t needed a father to grow up, and you didn’t need one now.

However, Madja was away on business, leaving you as the only other healer in Velaris capable of giving checkups to their child. It was for that reason, you suspected, that he invited you to a “family” dinner as if he’d ever treated you like family.

“It’ll be alright.”

Your mate, Azriel, spoke to you as he got ready to escort you into the House of Wind, where they wanted to have dinner that night. You hadn’t bothered to dress up nice or fancy, only donning some loose pants and a shirt, clothes you would usually work in.

Azriel had been your mate for nearly three years, having secretly accepted the bond, and decided to keep the relationship private for now, to let things settle down for now, and now had stretched into one year after another, until you were both content to live in the shadows.

“You know how I feel about them.”

You replied, sighing before quickly composing yourself at the clear mix of emotions on his face. His urge to defend his family and to empathize with you warring with each other in his mind.

You stepped forward, settling into his arms as you felt the shadows wrap around you, the environment shifting as your eyes remained open, and then you were there, the door to the House of Wind standing right in front of you. It felt wrong, to come back here after completely cutting off contact, only to be used for your healing abilities and medical knowledge for a half-sibling you’d never met.

Glancing over at Azriel, he gave a little nod, and you opened the door, setting foot inside the home and immediately confronted with the scents of multiple people. You could recognize some, Mor, Rhys, Cassian, maybe Amren? Only Feyre, Rhys, and Cassian were seated at the table, waiting for you. You’d heard news that Mor was visiting her private estate, and Amren off god knows where.

Expression as ticked off and blunt as you were feeling, you walked in, taking a seat as a plate of food magically appeared in front of you.

Rhys’ gaze ran up and down you, noting your clothes, simple cheap ones to get the job done, the herbs caked under your long nails, the calluses on your hands from handling your mortar and pestle so often, the way you didn’t smile at him or any of his family, or the same impassive and slightly annoyed look on your face. Something briefly appeared in his gaze, before being gone just as easily. Good. You had enough to deal with without any family problems.

“Hello, Y/N, I’d like you to meet -“

He spoke, voice sounding as confident as usual, but with a hint of a crack, as if testing the waters as he gestured towards Feyre.

“Your mate and son. I’m well aware.”

Your voice wasn’t like his, not with the silver tongue he had, tone blunt and straightforward. You didn’t refer to them by name on purpose, to make it seem like you hadn’t even cared to follow the news about him and his life. Like you were better. Feyre cast a sympathetic glance at Rhys, one that made your temper flare.

He shouldn’t get to be comforted for his past mistakes coming to bite him in the ass.

Cassian remained silent, exchanging glances with Azriel across the table. This was bound to happen eventually, and the General didn’t try any of his usual tactics to lighten the mood.

Rhys swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, probably to try and soothe you or make you less openly hostile, but you interrupted him.

“What do you want?”

You asked, tone blunt and cold, detached almost if it weren’t for the anger you held against him. He tried to hide his wince but failed to do it completely. That made you feel a bit better, at least. A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. His expression sobered into one of resigned seriousness.

“Our healer, Madja, will be away on business for two months. You’re the most qualified to take her place if you would.”

He said. Feyre seemed a bit uncomfortable with the thought of you being the personal healer for their family for two months, and you didn’t blame her, considering your demeanor and history, but it still pissed you off.

“How much will you pay?”

You asked blandly, making it clear that the job meant nothing to you to get closer to them at all. All that mattered was the pay. Your mind was already calculating the costs, advantages, and disadvantages of taking the deal. He stiffened slightly, another small victory.

He stated a price, it was high, ridiculously so, in fact, but you weren’t complaining. Money was money. Even if you got it from your half-family.

“Sure.”

You said simply, still not touching your dinner. The food was tantalizing, but the thought of sending a message even more so. You wouldn’t dine at this table, not like how you had done so many years ago. Though your throat was parched, you didn’t touch the glass of water.

“Is that all?”

You asked, your mint green eyes, the same shade as your mother’s, meeting his violet gaze. Pure indifference was all you were determined to give him. After he’d forgotten about you, too obsessed with his mate and new child, the replacements, to bother with you.

“I was hoping you’d stay for dinner.”

He said quietly, a hint of pleading in his gaze. You felt a pang in your chest at that but shoved it down as you got up from your seat, not tucking it in. They could look at the seat pushed out after you left, and think about you. It would hopefully plague his mind like he plagued yours.

“Keep hoping. See where it gets you.”

You said dryly, walking out of the kitchen, out of that goddamned sentient House that remembered you even now, how it knew your favorite food, just the way you knew your mother had cooked it so long ago, or the way you’d loved the water from that river out back, one you still visited now.

You heard the harsh scratching of a chair against the wooden floor and footsteps, and before you could winnow away, you found that you couldn’t move.

Not metaphorically or rhetorically, you literally could not move your own body, and that’s when you became all too aware of the presence in your mind when your barriers had slipped because of your irritation. Your father finally released you as he stood behind you, you whirled to look at him, seething.

“Stay out of my head.”

You hissed, shoving him away from you even as he gave you a begging gaze.

“Please, I’m sorry, let me try, just give me one chance to be your father, one?”

He begged, voice cracking with desperation you’d never seen before, and it would’ve weirded you out a little if you weren’t frozen in place, throat even dryer now as you tried to think of something to say.

Despite how you denied it and wanted to be cold and vengeful towards him, deep down, that wasn’t what you wanted. Maybe a relationship with him wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice to leave you behind, he’d been kidnapped Under the Mountain, and been so busy putting his Court back together and handling a war that he hadn’t even been able to think about you.

You swallowed, sighing and giving a resigned nod.

“Just..meet me for breakfast tomorrow, I guess. At my apartment. It’s down the block to the right of Rita’s, you’ll know it when you see it.”

As soon as you said it, he pulled you into a gentle hug, feeling you stiffening under his touch. You weren’t the most touchy person with strangers, or people you didn’t know very well at that.

Breakfast tomorrow. Great.

*********************************************************

Az had already been late when he’d arrived at your apartment for the moment, his tedious little schedule for the recent mission already thrown off because of the extra time he’d taken bending you over a counter. Just as he gave you a little kiss on the cheek, opening the door to head out, he ran face-first into Rhys, the only thing stopping the two from kissing being the subtle height advantage Azriel had over his High Lord.

“What -“

Rhys began, and Azriel was gone quicker than you’d ever seen his shadows transport him. You dragged your father in, closing the door behind you.

“He’s my mate and has been for three years, but anyways, breakfast.”

You blurted in a rushed tone as you tried to ignore the obvious thing that had just happened. Rhys ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed, seeming exasperated but not surprised.

“I thought so, Cassian said he’s been coming home smelling like you lately.”

He muttered under his breath as you slipped an oven mitt on, pulling a muffin sheet out of the oven and hissing as the oven brushed against your arm, leaving an angry little red spot. Your father’s eyebrows raised at that, and he walked over and turned your sink to a lukewarm temperature, grabbing you and easily moving you over to it to run the burn under it. Protective instincts were probably already kicking in for him, albeit a bit dusty and not used for anyone other than his new son.

He grabbed a roll of bandaging that was on your counter, from the other night when you’d also accidentally burned yourself while trying to open the oven with your bare feet, hands too busy. The oven-related incidents were getting a bit too often, now. Especially since Azriel threatened to throw the oven out if you didn’t stop getting hurt.

“Thanks.”

You managed to mumble as his slender fingers skillfully wrapped some of it around you, securing it easily. He gave a little nod, slipping an oven mitt on and dumping the muffins out, just shoving them all onto one plate he set on the small table with two chairs, one for you and Az.

He sat down, you sitting across from him, grabbing a muffin and unwrapping it, before just awkwardly eating in silence.

“So..”

You said, swallowing as you tried to think about how weird this conversation would be. He sighed, running his hands through his hair again. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his.

“I’m sorry, for not being there. There was just so much going on, with the war, Amarantha, not to mention Koschei…”

His voice trailed off at the mention of them.

“I..get it. You were busy with all that.”

“I still should’ve been there. You’re my daughter, and you grew up without a father because of me.”

You swallowed, trying to bite back the emotions that rose because of this conversation. He seemed to notice, violet eyes softening as his chair scooted a bit closer to yours, wanting to comfort you but unsure how to do so without further upsetting you. You suddenly felt bad for all your remarks and attitude earlier. He’d been trying, you hadn’t.

“We can start over if you want. Just father and daughter?”

You nodded, sniffling slightly. At that tiny sniffle, he couldn’t resist anymore, getting up and pulling you into his arms. This time, you didn’t stiffen, didn’t struggle, or try to pull away, you just cried into his chest in a way you usually only could do with Az. He held you close, hand soothingly rubbing your back.

“I think I’d like that.”

You managed to choke out as the tears dried up, and you looked up into his violet eyes, now noticing the golden flecks in them, like stars you could wish on.

Stars promising hope and a future of warmth and acceptance.

Tags:

@judeduartewannbe

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #writers on tumblr #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fluff #angst #light angst #angst with a happy ending #rhysand comfort #rhysand cliff #Rhysand angst #acotar #rhys’ daughter

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salmonballsss · 2 days ago

Text

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 12)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: None.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting right across your face. You groan and shift, immediately regretting it. Your head is pounding. Nausea coils deep in your gut. And your body—god—it feels like it’s been dragged ten miles through wet cement.

You try to sit up, but your limbs are lead. Even your eyes refuse to cooperate. Heavy. Dry. Almost… crusted at the edges. You roll fully onto your back, trying to breathe through the dizziness, when you feel it— Something cold. Wet. Pressed up against your ribs.

What the fuck?

Frowning, you rub your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to get them to open fully. You’re groggy. Disoriented. You don’t even remember getting into bed last night. Your hand slides down your torso—tentative, searching—and slips beneath your shirt. Your fingers brush something. Wet and Slimy. You recoil.

“What the hell—?” Yanking your shirt up, you blink down at your side, and— A leaf? No. A fucking plantain leaf? It’s dark green and glossy and tucked like a compress right over your ribs, soaked through with something sticky and bitter smelling.

You sniff once and instantly regret it. “What the hell is that—?” You sit up a little too fast and the room lurches around you. The headache surges. You brace yourself on the mattress, breathing hard, squinting toward the dim outline of the guest room furniture.

You swear your skin smells like incense and moss.

You tug the leaf away, wincing at the strange suction it makes as it peels from your side. Beneath it, were your stitches yes— but the black veins seemed to have gone down. Meaning the leaf was there on purpose and only one person couldve done that.

Agatha.

You press your palm to your forehead and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to piece it all together. The wine. The fireplace. The way her eyes shimmered in the dark. And then— Her lips. On yours.

Crushing. Hungry. Familiar in a way they shouldn’t be.

“I know you… just not this body.”

You swallow hard. Your mouth’s dry. Your stomach churns. No. No, that didn’t happen. You dreamt that. That wasn’t real. Except your lips still feel bruised. And your neck—god—your neck stings.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and almost fall flat on your face. It takes everything in you to stand. Your knees are trembling. Your arms ache. Your heart’s going way too fast for someone who just woke up.

The hallway is quiet when you step out, clutching the doorframe. No footsteps. No voices. No hum of activity. Just you. The creak of wood beneath your feet. The distant sigh of wind through the windows.

You stumble into the bathroom. The light above the mirror flickers when you flick it on, buzzing faintly like it resents being used. You squint at your reflection.

Jesus.

There, on your neck— You lean closer. Pull your shirt collar down. A hickey. Dark. Purple red. Right above your collarbone. And next to it, lower, angling toward the curve of your throat— A bite mark. Two little indents. Not deep enough to break skin. But unmistakable.

Your stomach drops. No. No, no, no. What the fuck happened last night? You grip the edges of the sink and try to breathe. Okay. Okay. You kissed.

You definitely kissed. You remember her hands—rough and shaking—and your own grabbing fistfuls of her sweater, yanking it up, desperate for skin.

But the bite?

The hickey?

The Leaf?

Her eyes. Violet. Burning like candles in the dark.

“I know you... just not this body.” You whisper it aloud, and the sound of your voice makes your skin crawl. She said that. Didn’t she? It wasn’t a dream.

You reach up and touch your lips like maybe you’ll feel it again—her mouth, her warmth, the way she practically devoured you against the wall.

You flush all over. Then cringe. Then flush again.

Fuck.

You can’t go downstairs.

There’s no way in hell you’re going down there and facing her—not after this. Not after the bite, or the kiss, or the goddamn plant medicine pressed to your ribs like a ritual. You look in the mirror again and your own eyes look unfamiliar. Wide. Haunted. You press your back to the bathroom door, chest heaving, brain scrambled.

Outside the window, a crow caws once. Loud. Sharp. Close. You don’t move. Downstairs, somewhere deep in the house, you think you hear something shift. A floorboard creaking. Slow. Deliberate.

But it doesn’t come closer. She’s giving you space. Or avoiding you. Or—worst of all—pretending like it didn’t happen at all.

You groan into your hands, dragging your fingers down your face. Did she hate it? Were you a bad kisser? Oh god. You insulted her. You might’ve said something about choking on her own lies??

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter. “Okay. Calm down. You’re fine. It’s fine. You’re—” Oh god, what if she hates you now? What if she wants to kick you out? Let the beast finish the job? You stare at the bathroom floor for a long second.

She wouldn’t do that. Right?

If she wanted you dead, she would've let you wander off into the woods last night. You were drunk. You were vulnerable. You were asking questions no sane woman would answer. She could’ve just… let you go. So what, then? What now?

You square your shoulders in the mirror, staring yourself down like your reflection might have the guts you don’t.

“Okay,” you breathe. “You’re going to go downstairs. You’re going to act normal. Like a functioning adult. You're going to make some tea or whatever. Smile. Say thank you. Pretend you don’t remember trying to climb her like a tree.”

You give your reflection a weak thumbs up.

She loooks unconvinced.

You draw in a breath. Hold it. Let it out slow. Then do it again. You adjust your shirt so it hides the hickey. Mostly. You tug at your sleeves. Finger comb your hair. And for good measure, slap your cheeks once. Not hard. Just enough to feel something real.

“Okay,” you say again, quieter this time. “Okay.” The hallway outside is still quiet. Oppressively so. Every floorboard creaks louder than it should under your feet. Every shadow feels like it’s watching.

The house is quiet as you step down the stairs, the wood creaking under your bare feet. Each step makes your stomach flip a little—not just from the lingering nausea but from sheer, unfiltered dread. Your mouth’s dry. Your palms are sweating. Your entire body feels like a crime scene.

You catch sight of her in the kitchen.

Agatha.

Standing at the stove. Stirring something slowly in a black cast iron pot, like she wasn’t just a human hurricane twenty four hours ago. Agatha was wearing her hair up in a loose pony with strands pulled out. A grey button up with a delicious amount of chest showing, and a pair of jeans that hugged her oh so perfectly. She hasn’t noticed you yet.

You swallow. Your legs nearly turn you around and send you sprinting back upstairs. But she hears you. “Morning,” she says, without turning. Her voice is casual. Too casual.

You pause “…Hi.” She glances over her shoulder, just once. Her eyes flick to yours. A beat passes. Then another.

Her gaze lingers a second too long before she turns back to the stove. You drift closer, arms crossed. You feel twelve years old. You feel like the room’s gotten smaller somehow.

“What’s that?” you ask, motioning to the pot.

“Tea.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Silence.

She stirs. You rock on your heels. She still hasn’t met your eyes again.

God, this is awful.

“I—um—thanks,” you say suddenly. “For the... leaf compress situation. Very witch doctor chic of you.” That gets a flicker of a smirk from her. Barely there, but real.

“Your black veining,” she says, still not looking up. “I researched ways…to help.”

“Right, okay… thanks”

More silence.

Then she clears her throat. “I left you some toast. On the table.” You turn—and sure enough, there’s a plate with toast. Buttered. Cut diagonally. Of course. You blink at it. She’s being nice. Which might be worse than her being mean.

You sit. The toast smells good. You don’t touch it.

Agatha finally turns off the stove and walks over, setting down a mug of whatever she made in front of you. She moves to the other side of the table and sits across from you. A safe, polite distance. You both stare at your respective mugs like they hold the secrets to the universe.

Then—

“About last night—”

You both stop. Blink. A flicker of something passes between you. She looks away first. You open your mouth. Close it. Try again. “I... don’t remember everything,” you say quietly. “It’s kind of a blur.”

Her jaw tightens. “You had too much wine.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“You didn’t look like you wanted to be stopped.”

You freeze. She exhales. Leans back in her chair, eyes trained on the window now. “I should’ve,” she says. “You were injured. You were vulnerable. I—”

She stops herself. You wait. But she doesn’t finish the sentence. Your throat feels tight. Your heart’s pounding. “So it was a mistake?”

Agatha’s eyes snap back to yours. There’s a long, loaded pause. She doesn’t answer. But her gaze drifts again—slow, deliberate—to your neck. You feel the air shift between you. Her cheekbones flush with the faintest, pinkest tint.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her blush before, well except for last night. You guys were all over each other like some hormonal teens.

She swallows. “You should eat.” Then she gets up. Just like that. Disappears into the living room like the conversation didn’t happen. And you’re left sitting there. Still not sure if the kiss meant anything. Still not sure if she wants it to.

You try not to think about it as you take a bite of toast.

You really, really try.

But then your brain helpfully reminds you, she had pinned you against the door. Her mouth hot and hungry, dragging along your jaw. Her teeth—actual teeth—at your throat. You can feel the ghost of it now. The bruise. The bite. The way she’d sucked a hickey into your skin like she wanted to claim you.

You chew slowly. Stare at the plate like it’s personally offended you.

God.

Your stomach still simmers with leftover arousal, low and traitorous. How are you supposed to sit here and eat breakfast like a normal person when that happened? You press your thighs together under the table and sigh through your nose.

You should probably tell Billy.

Or… maybe not. He’d just laugh. Call you a disaster. Make fun og you for your tragic taste in women. Not to mention you still haven't told him about the whole beast summoning incident, or the things Irene showed you, or the fact that you’ve almost died multiple times in the past five days.

And that the only reason you haven’t is Agatha fucking Harkness. Your head drops into your hand. What the hell are you doing here? You blink yourself back to reality and force down another bite of toast. The crust crunches loudly in your mouth.

You clear your throat. “Don’t you have to eat too?” you call out, half loud, hoping your voice doesn’t crack.

There’s a beat of quiet from the other room. Then the soft clink of something being set down. Agatha reappears a second later, lingering in the doorway to the kitchen. She leans against the frame, arms crossed, one eyebrow slightly raised. “I don’t really eat breakfast,” she says.

“Right,” you mutter. “Of course you don’t. Too immortal for toast.” Her lips twitch. Not quite a smile. But close.

But she doesn’t correct you?

You watch her watching you, and for a moment you swear the air hums between you again. Tense. Curious. Like neither of you knows what happens next. You reach for your tea, hands suddenly a little too shaky.

You sip your tea even though it’s gone lukewarm. It tastes like mint and something earthy, something slightly bitter that lingers at the back of your tongue. Not bad. Just… unfamiliar. You wonder if she made it for herself and then gave it to you instead.

Agatha still hasn’t moved from the doorway. She’s watching you like you’re a puzzle she doesn’t remember how to solve. You risk another glance at her and regret it immediately. Because she’s doing that thing again.

That thing where her eyes go distant—like she’s not really looking at you, just through you. Like there’s something she’s thinking about, but she’ll never say it out loud. You shift in your seat, suddenly very aware of how tight the kitchen feels.

She pushes off the doorframe finally, arms dropping to her sides. “I’m going out today,” she says, her voice a little too casual.

You blink. “Oh.”

“For… errands.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Errands?” She nods. No further explanation. You stare at her. She stares back. A full beat passes. Then another. You squint at her slightly. “You know, most people specify when they say ‘errands.’ Like, groceries. Post office. Dry cleaning. Human things.”

Agatha lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not most people.”

You snort under your breath. “No shit.”

She doesn’t laugh, God, this is unbearable. You finish chewing, swallow, and say, “So... when can I leave?”

Her gaze snaps back to yours. “Leave?”

You nod, not bothering to mask the awkward edge in your tone. “Yeah. As in, leave the house. I’ve kinda been… cooped up here. Like, not even allowed to step outside without getting attacked by a hellbeast, or so you say.” Agatha presses her lips together. She doesn’t answer. You push your plate slightly away. “I have a flight back home in two days. Bought the ticket before—well, before everything. Am I even allowed to leave for that?”

You mean it as a joke. Sort of. But it comes out too sharp. Too real.

Agatha’s face goes unreadable again. That neutral, careful mask she puts on when she doesn’t want you to see what she’s really thinking. “You’re still healing,” she says. “The infection’s not completely gone.”

Right. The veins. The black, spreading horror that had nearly consumed your side. At least what agatha did helped them reel it back.

But even so. “I can’t stay here forever,” you say, trying to keep your voice level. “I have a thesis. A life. People who’ll wonder where I went.”

Her fingers drum lightly on the back of a kitchen chair. Not impatient—more like calculating. “I know,” she says eventually. You wait for more. You don’t get it. The silence stretches out again. Uncomfortable. Fidgety. She doesn’t sit down. She doesn’t say Don’t go or You’re safe here or even I’ll miss you when you leave.

She just… nods. Like she’s already made peace with it. Or like she knew this was coming all along. You pick at a crumb on your plate and bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m not saying I want to run away,” you add, softer now. “Just—some clarity would be nice.”

Agatha’s eyes meet yours again, and something in her expression softens. Barely. “I’ll make sure you’re able to go,” she says. “If that’s still what you want in two days.”

If. Not when. You don’t know what to do with that. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but she straightens before you can. “I’ll be back later,” she says, already halfway turned toward the front hallway. “Don’t go near the woods.”

You stare after her. “Yeah, thanks, figured that one out.”

She pauses, hand on the edge of the doorframe. “Keep the crow out of the house,” she adds, like it’s a normal thing to say.

Then she’s gone. Just like that. The door shuts quietly behind her, and the house feels even more suffocating in her absence. You stare at your half eaten toast.

The cold tea. The empty chair across from you. And you wonder what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

---

It’s been two hours since Agatha left.

You’ve been working on your thesis. Or trying to, anyway.

Your laptop sits open on the dining room table, the cursor blinking back at you in silent judgment. You’ve written maybe… two paragraphs? Half of which are riddled with typos and half baked thoughts. Your notes are scattered across the table—scribbled margins, highlighter stains, printouts of seventeenth-century court records you promised yourself you’d organize weeks ago, even when you were stillin Washington.

The words don’t want to come. Every time you try to focus, your mind drifts back to her . The way she said “errands” like it was a threat. The way her eyes kept drifting to your neck. The way she flushed when she saw the bruise she left behind.

The way she didn’t stop you from kissing her. The way she didn’t regret it, not really. But didn’t say otherwise either. You rub your hands down your face.

Ugh.

This is ridiculous. You’re not here for her. You’re here for research. Salem. The witch trials. The strange pattern of names and events that somehow keep circling back to Agatha fucking Harkness —who may or may not be 43, may or may not be an actual person from the 1600s, and may or may not have supernatural healing knowledge and weird, unexplainable birds that follow her around.

You glance at the crow perched just outside the dining room window. It’s there. Staring at you. Pecking the glass like it’s trying to get your attention.

You don’t flinch. Not really. You just wave it off like, Yeah, yeah, I see you. Freak.

You push back from the table and stretch, arms aching from being hunched forward too long. Your side still hurts, but it’s… better. Whatever that weird leaf ritual was, it worked. The veins went down a bit. Your skin just feels sore now. Raw, like something inside you’s been burned out.

The crow pecks again.

You flinch.

Then groan.

“Can you not?” you mutter, turning your head slowly toward the back door window like you’re in a horror film and not just trying to write about 1690s Puritan hysteria. “You’ve been at it for thirty minutes, dude. I will literally lose my mind.”

It cocks its head at you through one of the nine little glass panes in the back door.

Pecks the glass again.

Tap. Tap.

Tap.

Like it’s trying to set off your anxiety on purpose.

“Swear to god…”

You’re still slouched at the dining room table, your laptop screen dark from inactivity, your tea stone cold, and your notes a sad pile of barely elgible half thoughts. The crow has been pecking in random, infuriating intervals like it’s programmed to break your concentration.

You don’t know if it’s the same one from the cemetery. Or the one from the hotel. Or the one that Scratched the shit out of you when you saw the shadow figure in the woods. But something deep in your gut says: yeah. It is.

And at this point, it’s less a bird and more of a feathered stalker with boundary issues.

You sigh, sitting back in your chair.

“Do you want something?” you ask the bird, voice rising. “Or is psychological warfare just your thing?” The crow tilts its head, deadpan. Then—because of course—pecks the glass again. Louder. You glare at it. And then… you remember.

The bird feed. From Agatha’s study.

The wooden box. Low shelf. Half hidden like it wasn’t meant to be found. You’d opened it on a whim, expecting Anything that would help figuring out Agatha, and instead: bird feed. Neatly bagged. Labeled in handwriting that was Agatha’s. Specialty mix. For crows.

At the time, you thought: Weird. Now? Now the crow is staring at you like you forgot to pay child support. You groan. “Fine.”

You push back from the table, stand, and stretch until your back cracks. “I’ll give you a snack, you needy little forest demon.”

The crow hops along the railing of the back porch as you trudge upstairs.

Upstairs, the guest room is too still, the air heavy with silence and faint lavender. You pass it and turn into the hall where Agatha’s study door stands open—just a crack. You hesitate.

If she were home, you'd never risk it. But she’s not. She's out doing “errands.” The kind you don’t ask about.

You step inside. Your eyes flick to the shelf immediately. You remember exactly where it is.

You crouch low. Reach toward the box. Lift the lid. Still there. Tiny, sealed bags. Shiny black seeds. A weird, molasses smell. You grab one, stuff it into your coat pocket, and whisper, “You better appreciate this, you chaotic little winged bastard.”

You creep back out, carefully shutting the study door behind you like that’ll erase the fact you were in there at all. Downstairs, the crow’s now flapping dramatically along the edge of the porch. You squint through the nine paned door at the yard. It looks still.

Too still.

The garden. The one just outside this door. The one where you hallucinated vines crawling up to the second story window like something out of a fever dream and then ran to Agatha like a lost puppy. Pathetic. Unwell. Haunted.

You tug your coat tighter around you and mutter, “This is so stupid.” Then you press your ear against the door like you're trying to listen for Satan himself. No snarling. No beast breath. No blood. That’s… promising.

You crack the door open. Slowly. Just a sliver. Still nothing. You step out. Cool air nips at your ankles. The yard is quiet, the trees still bare. Morning frost still clings to the garden like a ghost that won’t fully melt.

The crow lets out a ca-caw like, Finally. You roll your eyes. “Keep your feathers on.”

You crouch near the edge of the porch, tearing open the little bag of feed. The smell is stronger now. Sweet and herbal. You make a face, but toss a handful toward the crow anyway.

It lands. Starts pecking immediately. No hesitation. Like it knew this was coming.

You watch. Then blink. Then… smile. “Well. That’s kind of cute.” You sit down on the porch steps, arms around your knees, watching the bird fluff up as it eats. The sun warms the wood beneath you. Your breath curls in the cold. And for the first time in… days? Hours? Lifetimes? You don’t feel like something’s chasing you.

Just a girl. On a porch. With a crow. You toss more feed. The bird hops closer. “So,” you say, “what are you? A wild pet? A spy? Her personal crow butler?”

The bird just stares. Beady eyed. Mysterious. You snort. “Cool.” You lean back on your elbows. “Do you think she regrets it?” you ask softly. “The kiss. The… whatever it was. Maybe she didn’t mean to. Maybe it was just the wine.”

The bird blinks.

“You’d probably know,” you mutter. “I bet you’ve seen more than I have. Bet you know what she does when she thinks no one’s watching. What she really is. Because something’s off. I’m not crazy. She’s weird .”

The crow flutters its wings and hops up to your foot, pecking lightly at the toe of your boot.

“Rude.”

You toss another small handful.

It eats.

You tilt your head. “She’s not a historian. We both know that. She talks like she’s lived it. I ask about 1693 and she doesn’t Google it—she remembers it.” The crow says nothing. You sigh. “God, I’m losing it.” You don’t move. Not yet. Just sit there. Breathing. Letting your thoughts quiet for once.

Eventually, you push yourself up and brush off your jeans. You look around one more time—no beast in the bushes, no vines clawing their way up the house.

Yet.

You turn back toward the door, reach for the handle— Flap. You freeze.

“No.”

FLAP.

You turn just in time to see a black blur dart past your head and into the goddamn dining room. “NO—hey! HEY!” You scramble after it, slamming the door shut behind you.

The crow is now perched proudly on top of your laptop like it owns the place.

You stare at it. It stares back. “You’re not supposed to be in here.” It blinks. “You heard her! She said—and I quote—‘Don’t let the crow in the house.’” The crow looks at you. Then pecks the spacebar. Your laptop wakes up with a chirp.

You blink. “Oh, you little shit.”

You approach slowly, hands raised like you’re trying not to startle a feral toddler. “Okay. We’re gonna do this the easy way. You fly out. I pretend this didn’t happen. We both win.”

The crow ruffles its feathers and hops sideways. And that’s when you see it. Under its wing. A faint smear of color—just for a second as it shifts. The feathers part and catch the light.

Purple. Not blood. Not bruising. Marking. A thin, sharp symbol etched against the base of its wing. Almost glowing. Almost like— You stop. “Okay.” You point at the bird. “You’re haunted.”

The crow says nothing. Doesn’t move. Just lifts one claw and scratches its beak like it’s bored. You stare at it, brain absolutely refusing to deal with this today. “Do you even care that I almost died this week? That Agatha had to do witchy first aid with a leaf on my ribs ? No? Nothing?”

The crow preens. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

You walk around the table slowly, trying to herd it toward the back door.

“You had your snack. You pecked your glass. You violated the one house rule that was clearly about you . Let’s wrap it up.”

The crow doesn’t move. “Out,” you say, pointing. The crow hops to the floor. You open the door again. Cold air rushes in. You look back and— It’s gone. “Wha—”

You whirl around. The crow is now in the living room. On Agatha’s armchair.

Feet dug into the fabric like it was made for it. “Oh my god. I’m going to be cursed.” It blinks at you innocently.

You stare at it, hand still gripping the door. “Do you want to die? Is that it? Do you want to die ? Because when she gets home and sees you on her chair—” The crow fluffs up. And settles. Like it’s not going anywhere.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Seriously! You’re not supposed to—” You stop. Your heart rate spikes.

Keys. In the door.

Agatha was home.

You do the only thing your panic scrambled brain can think of. You launch yourself across the living room and crash into the armchair like you’ve been shot out of a cannon. You scoop the bird up with both hands— It caws. Loudly.

“Shhh—shhh—shut up!” you whisper, frantic. The doorknob turns. You glance around for anywhere— anywhere —to hide the damn thing.

Nothing.

You let out a high pitched, whispered “ fuck! ” and don’t even think before shoving it under your shirt. It struggles immediately. Claws scrape lightly against your stomach. You wheeze.

“Be cool,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “This is a team effort.”

Your shirt bulges awkwardly around your midsection. Like you’re smuggling a very round, very confused baby ostrich. You hunch. Shuffle.

Okay. Okay. You’ve got this.

Agatha’s keys jingle. Her coat rustles. You hear the soft thud of a grocery bag hitting the floor. You straighten. Sort of. And summon your most casual, non suspicious voice.

“Hey!” you call out, way too brightly. “Welcome back! How were the… errands?”

A pause. Then her voice cool, curious, edged. “Fine. What are you doing?” You’re already halfway to the kitchen.

“Just—uh—nothing. Stretching. Trying to get steps in. You know how it is.” You wave a hand vaguely behind you, like that explains anything.

You hit tile. Your boots squeak. Okay. Get the crow out of your damn shirt. Open the window. Fast. Would she be mad you opened a window? With the whole beast thing?

Or—well, shit , you already went outside . She’ll yell at you as it is. Now a bird in your shirt ? The same one she specifically told you not to let in?

Great.

You scramble to the nearest window, trying to pry it open one handed while the other cradles your stomach like you’re actually pregnant. Behind you, you hear her step into the kitchen.

Then—she stops. “…Why are you opening windows?” she says. “I thought I said not to.”

You freeze. Clear your throat. One hand on your hip, the other protectively on your… crow filled shirt. “Pft. I’m not opening windows…” You fake a laugh. “I’m admiring the outdoors. You know—Hollow Wood reminds me of Washington. Same weather. Same trees.”

You whirl around with a smile you hope doesn’t look like a cry for help.

“Say, have you ever been to washington? Its great— really— especially in the summertime! You should go! Maybe I could give you a tourrr!” You draw and sing out tour like an idiot.

Agatha’s standing by the fridge, one eyebrow arched, grocery bag hanging lazily from her wrist. Her eyes flick down—briefly—to the rounded hunch under your sweatshirt.

Her brows knit. “…What’s under your shirt?”

Your eyes widen. Just for a beat. Then you let out a breathy, totally fake laugh and wave her off like she’s ridiculous. “Nothing! Just my shirt under the jacket. Bunches up sometimes, you know?”

You offer her a smile. A bad one. Her head tilts.

“Really.”

“Yep!”

Agatha squints at you for a long, tense second. Then she turns and sets the bag on the counter. You think you’re off the hook. Until she turns right back around and steps toward you.

You instantly step back, smile still plastered on your face like a bad sticker. “Uh—well! I should get back to my thesis!”

You try to move toward the dining room. She strides forward before you can escape. Your back hits the counter. Hard.

Cornered.

Her eyes drag across your face. Slow. Assessing. Your stomach clenches—not from nerves, but because the bird under your shirt is doing a tiny, evil tap dance. Agatha steps in closer. Way too close.

Her scent hits you first—lavender, cedarwood, a trace of smoke and warmth. It clouds your thoughts. She plants both hands on either side of you, caging you in. Her body is barely an inch from yours.

Her voice drops. “What are you hiding?”

You swallow. “Nothing.”

“You said that already.”

“Consistency builds trust.”

Her right hand slides to your hip and—god—you have to fight not to buckle completely. Her left slides slowly up the hem of your shirt. Her touch deliberate. Warm. A little cocky. She leans in, lips brushing your ear. Whispers, “Are you sure?”

Drawn out. Dangerous.

You want to melt. Sink. Die. Cling to her. You forget the crow. Forget the windows. Forget your name. You inhale sharply. Her hand keeps sliding higher. “No—well—yes, but—”

Her palm presses flat against your stomach.

The bird squawks.

Agatha freezes.

You freeze.

The crow shifts violently. One wing juts out under your sweatshirt like a misshapen tumor.

Silence.

Then Agatha pulls back just slightly. Her hand grabs the hem of your shirt. And lifts. And there it is. The crow. Pressed against your ribs like a smug little bastard. Its head pops out. Beady eyes. Direct eye contact.

Agatha blinks.

You blink.

The crow caws. Loudly.

You scramble. “It followed me! I didn’t mean to let it in—I just—I fed it and then it was on the laptop and then the chair and then you came back and I panicked and now it’s in my shirt and—”

She holds up a hand.

You stop talking instantly. Her lips twitch. Just barely. Then she exhales. Straightens. And pulls the crow out from under your shirt like this is the most exhausting task she’s faced all day. She holds it in one hand. It doesn’t resist. Of course not.

Traitor.

You tug your shirt back down with a grumble. Agatha lifts her arm slightly, letting the crow climb up to her shoulder like it was born for this. She looks at you with a faint, knowing smile. And just… shakes her head. “So…” she says, her tone dry, “care to explain how exactly it got inside ?”

You feel like a kid caught red handed. Cookie jar, hand in , crumbs everywhere. But no. She’s not done. “Better yet,” she adds, brow raising, “what did you feed it with?”

Your eyes widen. You open your mouth. Close it. Panic. “Uh—well! You see—” Your voice cracks. You turn and point dramatically to the bird like a snitchy little sibling. “That damn thing kept pecking the window and I couldn’t focus! So then I, uh—”

You stop.

You cannot say you went into her study. That would just make everything worse. “I had some leftover bread! From this morning!” You nod quickly. “And I thought… maybe if I fed the crow… it’d shut up!”

The crow caws at you again. You glare at it. It sits smugly on Agatha’s shoulder like a smug, smug bastard. Agatha clicks her tongue. A quiet tsk that makes you flinch more than it should. Then, slowly—measuredly—she says: “So… you opened the back door?”

You blink. “Technically.”

Her eyes narrow. “Technically?”

You shift your weight like it’ll help your lie land better. “It was cracked. Briefly. For air. Bird didn’t ask for permission, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpens. “You disobeyed me,” she says, voice soft but firm. “I told you not to open the door. Not with what’s still out there.”

You hold up your hands. “Okay. Yes. But I did a full inspection! Very thorough. I even did the horror movie thing where I pressed my ear to the wood like a complete idiot.”

She stares. “And,” you continue, “there were no snarls, no growls, no cursed wind effects. It was a very beast free experience.” Agatha doesn’t say anything. Just tilts her head slightly, eyes unreadable.

God, she’s unreadable. You’re starting to think she was born just to make other people feel stupid. “I just wanted to feed it,” you mumble. “It kept pecking the glass. It was like—I don’t know, Morse code for ‘bitch, I’m hungry.’”

She exhales through her nose, slow. You hate that it makes your pulse jump. “Next time,” she says carefully, “you ask. You don’t wander outside on your own. You don’t open the doors. And you certainly don’t let strange animals into my house.”

You snort. “It’s a crow, not a hellhound.”

Her smile is small. Dangerous. “You’d be surprised.”

Your face scrunches. “That’s not ominous at all.” She steps closer again, just enough that your breath catches before you realize it.

“I don’t give warnings lightly,” she says. “There are things in these woods that would tear through this house to get to you. That crow is the least of your problems.”

You should roll your eyes. You should.

But she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t. Like the world’s already tilted and she’s just letting you pretend it hasn’t. You swallow. “Okay. Noted. No doors. No wildlife. No more recreational smuggling.”

She hums. Then, like the devil herself, she adds, “And no more lying.” You open your mouth. She raises a brow. You close it. The crow lets out a smug little caw on her shoulder. Agatha lifts a hand and strokes its head absentmindedly

A beat passes of silence.

“It’s just…” you sigh, rubbing your face before finally meeting Agatha’s eyes—clear, sharp, impossibly blue. “It was nice to go back outside again... you know?”

Your voice is quieter this time. Thinner. “I feel cooped up in here. And I’m missing home. My friends. Billy… hell, even my parents.” You let out a short, embarrassed laugh as you run a hand through your hair, blinking away the heaviness behind your eyes. Your gaze drifts to the floor.

“The whole point of coming to Hollow Wood was... well, mostly for my thesis. I wanted to research. To do actual fieldwork. To learn something real—something alive. I didn’t want to just write about dead people from behind a laptop screen ina library, or even my apartment.”

You glance at her, hesitating. Then keep going.

“And sure… I came because of you , too. I mean, you wrote the most detailed, unsparing book on the Salem Witch Trials I’ve ever read. So yeah, that helped make up my mind. I thought—maybe if I found you, I’d find the truth.” You stop. And sigh again, shaking your head. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Somehow, this feels harder than kissing her. Agatha hasn’t said a word. But you can feel her eyes on you—still. Steady. Not judging. Just... watching. Like she’s reading you and you’re letting her.

She lets out a quiet sigh. Then turns to the window. You don’t expect what happens next.

She opens it—just a few inches—and murmurs something under her breath. It’s soft. Foreign. The words roll like smoke—beautiful and old and definitely not English.

Latin?

The crow squawks once and immediately launches from her shoulder, out the window like it understands her perfectly. She closes the window. Then turns back to you. And waits.

You awkwardly look back up. And all at once, you just feel… stupid. No, worse—you feel lost. You don’t even know what you’re doing anymore.

She kissed you. You kissed her back. And neither of you have talked about it. Not really.

She said she knew you. Not in some metaphorical way. She looked at you like she meant it. Like she'd met you before. And you’ve done everything to pretend that didn’t knock the wind out of you.

But it’s not just that. It’s everything.

The weird shit you’ve seen since coming to Hollow Wood—the beast, the shadowy figure outside her house, the crow that saved you , somehow. The feeling like the trees were alive. The wind that whispered your name. The hallucination—or whatever the hell it was—of vines crawling up the second story wall.

Agatha’s eyes glowing violet, just Last night. You haven’t even begun to process half of it. You almost died. Like— died. And no one’s talked about that either.

Not even you. You’ve just been… surviving. Moving from one strange, terrifying moment to the next without stopping to actually breathe. And standing here now, with Agatha watching you like she’s still waiting for something, you finally feel it. You're not just exhausted. You're drained.

Empty in a way you don't even have words for. You open your mouth—start to speak—but nothing comes out. Your throat’s too tight. Your thoughts too messy.

You look down, jaw clenched, hands flexing slightly at your sides. “I’m just tired,” you finally mutter. “Tired of feeling like I’m not… in control. Like I’m in someone else’s story, and I don’t know how to get out of it.”

You breathe in, then out, shaky. “I haven’t had a single second to catch up. Everything’s been so—”

“I mean, the beast. The shadowy thing at the House. The crow. The dreams. Your eyes—”

You stop again.No. Not that. Not now. You blink hard and look away, shaking your head. “And I know I sound crazy. I feel crazy. But none of this feels normal anymore. And I don’t even know what counts as normal.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “I almost died and then just… got back up. Like nothing happened.” You look at her then. Agatha hasn’t moved. Hasn’t looked away. Her expression is unreadable—but her eyes are sharp. Watching.

Waiting. You want her to say something. Anything.

But she doesn’t. And the silence, the weight of it, finally breaks something in you.

You exhale and shake your head. “Forget it,” you say, voice flat. You turn to go. Back to the guest room. Back to something quiet. Alone.

But before you can take more than two steps—

Her hand closes around your wrist.

You stop.

The grip isn’t hard. Just firm. Enough to say don’t go without needing words. You don’t turn. Your pulse spikes in your neck, sharp and painful. Her skin is warm. Her fingers wrap your wrist like she knows exactly how much pressure to use—how much not to use.

You swallow, eyes locked on the hallway in front of you. And then softly— “Don’t,” Agatha says. Just that. Low. Quiet. Almost… unsure. But it’s enough to make you freeze.

“Don’t what?” Your voice is low, tired.

You turn slowly. Agatha’s hand is still around your wrist. Warm. Unmoving. You look up at her—eyes burning, not with tears, but with clarity. “Don’t act like every part of me is just now realizing how fucked up Hollow Wood is?”

You laugh once, bitter. “Because yeah. I am just realizing it. All of it.” You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze like a dare.

“Don’t act like it hasn’t been weird since the second I got here. Like I didn’t almost die More than once. Like you didn’t show up at the exact moment I needed you. Like things aren’t… wrong.”

Your wrist tugs gently in her hold. She doesn’t let go.

“And don’t look at me like I’m imagining it. Like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and pretend none of this is real.” You exhale, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I’m not asking for answers. I’m not even sure I want them. But I’m not crazy. And I’m not stupid.” The air between you thickens. And for the first time in hours, Agatha doesn’t look unreadable. She looks… something. Tense. Wary. Like a storm is pressing against her ribs and she’s trying not to let it out.

You can feel it. She still doesn’t let go. Agatha’s quiet. Too quiet.

Her fingers twitch around your wrist like she wants to say something, but the words are taking their sweet time arriving.

Then finally, she murmurs, “You’re not crazy.” Her voice is even, but a little stiff. Like the words don’t come naturally. Like she’s not used to saying them out loud.

You stare at her. That’s it? You yank your wrist gently from her grip, suddenly hot all over. “Wow,” you say, bitter. “Great. Good to know I’m not crazy .”

Agatha’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s not—wait, no, that’s not what I meant—” You step back, arms wrapping tight around yourself.

“I don’t need you to diagnose me , Agatha. I need—” You stop. Your throat clenches.

Your next words are sharper than intended. “I need a break. I want—God—I just want to breathe. I’m so sick and fucking tired of—of being scared.” Your voice cracks right there, and you bite it down, blinking hard.

Agatha doesn’t move. You go on. “I love history,” you whisper, “I came here to learn . To dig up stories and names and—God, I wanted to research . I didn’t sign up for… whatever this is.”

You spit the word out like it burned your tongue. “Supernatural.” It feels poisoned. Like it doesn’t belong in your mouth, and maybe it never did.

You don’t notice Agatha flinch. Not at first. But she does. Just a tiny flicker in her jaw. Barely visible. Like you hit something—nerve, bone, memory.

She exhales, long and quiet. And for a second, just a second, she looks… lost too. Then something shifts. She steps forward, slower this time, and reaches out—not grabbing, just touching. Her hand brushes your upper arm like she can’t help it. “I know this isn’t what you came for,” she says. Her voice is softer now, still rough around the edges. “And I’m not great at this. At… talking. Comforting.”

You glance at her. She meets your eyes. “But I’m trying.” That stops you. You inhale, sharp and shaky. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides.

She notices. You know she does. “I can’t change what’s here,” she says. “I can’t make it go away. But I can make it safer. If you still want to go outside… we’ll do it on one condition.”

You blink at her, not sure where this is going. Her eyes are steady now. “You don’t go alone.” Silence stretches between you, filled with everything neither of you knows how to say.

You nod once. Slowly. Agatha’s hand lingers for a beat longer before pulling back. “And…” she adds, voice lower, like she’s saying something she doesn’t entirely want to admit, “I want to know where you are. I want to keep you safe.”

You should be annoyed by that. But you’re too tired to pretend. You just nod again, this time a little smaller. “I’m not going to lock you inside,” she says quietly. “But I’m not going to let anything happen to you, either.”

You don’t answer. You’re still trying to keep the tears from slipping. Not because of fear. Just… because of everything. Agatha doesn’t push. She just stands there. And for once, neither of you moves away first.

You let our a shaky breath half a sigh and half stress adn you just lean forward and press your forehead to agathas shoulder there was something so natural about it… Like a pull.

Like your body knew it needed something soft before your brain could argue. Agatha tenses slightly beneath you before slowly she brings a hand to your back just holding it there.

Neither of you speaks for a moment.

You stay like that, pressed against her, your arms tucked in, your breath shaky as you try to calm the wild rhythm in your chest. Agatha shifts slightly, like she’s not sure if she should say something or just… let you stay like this.

Finally, her voice comes, low and deliberate. “You’ve been through more than you think.”

You nod once, forehead still resting against her shoulder. She doesn’t say I’m sorry. You’re not sure she knows how to. But she adds, quieter “I should’ve explained more. I just didn’t know how.”

You let out a sound that’s half a laugh, half a breath. Her voice rumbles in her chest. “I don’t always know what’s safe to say. Or what you’re ready to hear.”

You mumble, “Try me.”

She’s quiet again, and for a second you think she won’t answer. But then she murmurs, “There are things I’ve lived through that… shape the way I protect people.” Agatha’s thumb brushes lightly at the back of your Jacket. A fidget, almost.

“People always come to hollow wood chasing some type of answer, Ive told you that before. And im sure Irene said the same,” she says. “But you’re the only one who’s made it this far without running.”

You swallow hard, eyes still closed. Your voice is soft. “Should I have run?” She hesitates.

Then “I wouldn’t have let you.”

You huff. “That’s comforting.” Her hand presses slightly firmer to your back, not quite pulling you in—but not letting go either.

She’s warm. Stable. The kind of solid that feels like it doesn’t shift unless it chooses to. You murmur, voice hoarse, “I just wanted this to be simple.”

“I know.”

It’s barely more than a whisper. But the way she says it—like it’s an apology she doesn’t know how to give—hits deeper than anything else has. And then, slowly—almost hesitantly—you let yourself fold into her. Your arms come up and wrap around her waist, and your face presses in closer, shifting until it rests at the curve of her neck.

She’s warm. So warm.

Like real, living warmth. Like sunlight through old curtains. Like the first time you finally exhale after holding your breath too long.

You sigh into her shoulder. And your shoulders—tight for what feels like days —finally, finally untangle. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t say anything.

She just holds you.

Quiet. Careful. Solid.

For a moment, the silence is safe. It doesn’t feel like avoidance anymore. It feels like reprieve. You close your eyes, breathing her in—lavender, cedarwood, that faint smoky scent that always clings to her like it’s part of her blood. You don’t want to analyze it. You don’t want to overthink anything for once.

You just want this.

You pause, cheek still resting against her neck. “Can we go to town?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. “Tomorrow?”

There’s a beat.

Agatha doesn’t answer right away. And when she does, her voice is low, close to your ear. “…If you really want to.”

“I do.” You feel her exhale against your temple. A soft, slow breath.

“Then we’ll go.” She rubs her hand gently along your back once, a single sweeping motion that makes your eyes sting more than anything else has tonight.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t cry. But it’s close. She holds you tighter. You feel her shift—subtle, almost hesitant. Then Agatha leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple. Warm. Barely there. And yet somehow it lands like a promise.

Your breath catches. Your arms tighten just slightly around her middle.

She doesn’t pull away.

Not yet.

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rosesareredrosa · 8 months ago

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Exactly What I Needed

Theo Nott x fem reader

Summary: based on this ask <33

w/c: 945

a/n: Why is medical school so hard?? literally, i am rotting in bed with assignments everywhere send requests

You’d always known Theo wasn’t the type to openly crave affection. He had his moments—fleeting as they were—where he’d pull you close, bury his face in the crook of your neck, and let out a sigh that told you he needed you. But for the most part, his love was quieter, tucked into stolen glances or the brush of his fingers against yours in passing.

You didn’t mind. You loved him enough to make up for the gaps he left behind. That’s why you didn’t think much of it when you reached out to him one evening, wrapping your arms around him from behind as he sat at his desk, papers and textbooks scattered around. You nuzzled into his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the side of his neck. "How’s it going?" you asked gently.

His body stiffened in your embrace, and without warning, he pulled away. "Can you not?" His tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

You blinked, taking a step back, confused. "What?"

Theo sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I just… I need space, okay? You’re being… clingy."

That word felt like a slap to the face. Clingy. The air between you shifted immediately, and you pulled your arms close to your chest as if trying to physically protect yourself from the impact of his words.

"I didn’t realize I was bothering you," you said quietly, feeling a tight knot form in your stomach.

"Well, you are," Theo snapped, his irritation flaring. "I’m already stressed enough without you hanging off me every second."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. "Okay."

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of your eyes. You couldn’t believe how cold he’d been. And worse, how easily he had brushed you off as if your affection was some sort of burden.

For the next few days, you gave Theo exactly what he asked for—space. You stopped greeting him with hugs, stopped reaching out for his hand, stopped slipping into his side on the couch when you watched TV together. The house became a strange, quiet place, filled with a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Theo was so focused on his work that he didn’t seem to notice at first, but then something shifted.

At first, it was subtle. He started glancing over at you during meals, as if expecting you to say something, to touch him. But you didn’t. You kept your distance, heart aching every time he looked at you with those confused eyes. Then came the moments where you’d walk past him in the hallway, and his fingers would twitch, as if he wanted to reach out but couldn’t figure out how.

It wasn’t until a few nights later, when you climbed into bed without saying a word to him, that Theo realized something was really wrong. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, unable to sleep as the weight of his own actions pressed down on him.

He turned to you, his voice soft, hesitant. "Y/N?"

You hummed in acknowledgment, still facing away from him.

There was a long pause, and then he sighed. "Have I… have I done something to upset you?"

You swallowed hard, the rawness of your emotions rising in your throat. "You told me I was being clingy. I’m just giving you the space you asked for."

Theo flinched at the reminder of his harsh words, guilt flooding his chest. He had been so wrapped up in his own stress, so overwhelmed by the pressure he was under, that he hadn’t realized how cruel he’d been. And now, here you were, doing exactly what he’d asked, and it was killing him.

"I didn’t mean it," Theo said quietly, his voice strained. "I was stressed, and I took it out on you. But that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have said that."

You stayed silent for a moment, your heart pounding as his words sank in. Part of you wanted to forgive him, to turn around and let him hold you like he always did when he realized he’d messed up. But the hurt still lingered, and you weren’t sure you could just brush it off like it hadn’t happened.

"You can’t just say things like that, Theo," you whispered, your voice trembling. "It hurts."

He shifted closer to you, hesitantly placing a hand on your arm. "I know. I’m sorry." His thumb rubbed small, apologetic circles against your skin, and you could hear the regret in his voice, thick and heavy. "I don’t want space from you. I need you. I always need you."

Your breath hitched, and you finally turned to face him. His eyes were soft, filled with a kind of vulnerability that Theo rarely showed. It tugged at your heartstrings, and despite everything, you could see how much he wanted to make it right.

"I’m not just something you can push away when things get tough," you said softly, but firmly. "I’m here because I love you. But I can’t keep putting myself out there if you’re just going to shut me down."

Theo’s face crumpled slightly, and he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I know," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I promise I’ll do better. I don’t want to push you away."

You stayed there for a moment, the two of you breathing in sync, the tension between you slowly easing as the apology hung in the air. His arms wrapped around you then, gently this time, like he was afraid you might slip away if he held you too tight.

After a few moments, you let yourself melt into his embrace, allowing him to pull you back into the warmth you’d missed. "I missed you," Theo murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "I’m sorry I made you feel like you were too much when you were exactly what I needed."

You exhaled softly, your head resting against his chest as you felt his heartbeat against your cheek. "Just… don’t do it again."

"I won’t," he promised, his voice resolute. "I swear."

And for the first time in days, the distance between you began to fade, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing that you were still the most important thing to him, even when he didn’t always know how to show it.

#slytherin x reader #slytherin boys #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #fluff #theodore nott imagine #angst with a happy ending #theodore nott x you

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cryborgmechs · 2 days ago

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part eight to the conversation that never was (previous part here).

they have a lot to talk about

#my art #fanart #digital art #sketch #dabihawks #mha #angst #touya todoroki #keigo takami #mha hawks #mha dabi #hot wings #angst with a happy ending

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velarisnightsky444 · 9 months ago

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Kink/Fluff/Angstober Masterlist

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This year, I'm mixing up the three. Every day will alternate between the three, instead of just focusing on one like I did last year. I'm very excited for this. Here is my prompt list.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Kinktober Days: Oct 1: Cockwarming with Azriel Oct 4: Thigh Riding with Nesta Oct 7: Sex Pollon with Elain Oct 10: Threesome with Neris Oct 13: Cuckolding with Elucien Oct 16: Throatfucking with Cassian Oct 19: Wing Play with Rhysand Oct 22: Impact Play with Eris Oct 25: Toys with Feyre Oct 28: Praise with Lucien Oct 31: Face Sitting with Mor

Flufftober Days: Oct 2: First Kiss with Mor Oct 5: Baking with Elain Oct 8: Rainy Days with Nesta Oct 11: Love Letters with Rhysand Oct 14: Singing to Sleep with Azriel Oct 17: Pet Names with Mor Oct 20: Cuddling with Gwynriel Oct 23: Massage with Emorie Oct 26: Neck Kissing with Feyre Oct 29: The First 'I Love You' with Cassian

Angstober Days: Oct 3: Miscommunication with Lucien Oct 6: Discovering an Affair with Rhysand Oct 9: Grief with Mor Oct 12: Panic Attack with Cassian Oct 15: Tired of Fighting with Neris Oct 18: Betrayal with Eris Oct 21: Nightmares with Nesta Oct 24: "You're too Good for me" with Azriel Oct 27: You're Losing Me with Rhysand Oct 30: Jealousy with Feyre

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Kink/Fluff/Angstober Taglist: @serxndipity-ipity-blog @danikamariemain @panther-girl-124 @winchesterbbygrl @kissesfrommads @binnieonabike @fourthwing4ever @ghostslittlegf @mollygetssherlockcoffee @hawke1917 @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @honk4emoboys @rogersbarnesxx @a-courtof-azriel

Comment if you want to be added to the Kinktober Taglist, or to a specific character taglist!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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mrs-pondwater19 · 2 days ago

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~Slow Recovery~

-Sam Winchester x Fem Reader

-Synopsis: Sam slips up in his recovery after a particularly bad hunt. Returning home having to face you with his shame. But even in your disappointment, you're still more than understanding and supportive. Knowing that recovery is a long, slow process.

W/C: 1,914

C/W: Heavy mentions of addiction, depictions of blood, angst, positive affirmations, comfort and support, no mentions of established relationship but the love and care is very prominent.

A/N: This is just a little blurb I wrote up in between projects. As silly as it sounds I really love hurt to comfort stories every now and again. And I just wanna take Sam and wrap him up in a blanket and take all his pain away because he's just so babygirl pookie bear. I hope you enjoy💕

“Well, you lied

You said you were fine

But now you're terrified

'Cause you don't wanna die

Then you start to cry

You wish that you could take it all back.”

You looked at the clock that hung on the wall of the dark, silent bunker when you heard the heavy iron door creak open after a few hours of pacing back and forth.

1:47am.

They were out later than they said they'd be. But that wasn't uncommon for them either. You knew it really all depended on how the hunt played out. But judging by how late they had gotten back, and how quiet the two of them were, it seems it didn't go well at all.

Dean came in first, carrying a tension with him as his gaze met yours. But when you thought you'd be met with one of his cocky smirks and a flirty ‘You miss us Sweetheart?’.

You were met with something else entirely.

His green eyes hardened, a set scowl on his face as he pulled his jacket off, throwing it harshly on one of the chairs. A disgruntled huff broke past his lips, his hands running through his sweat coated hair.

It must've been really, really bad.

You watched Dean walk over to the fridge, grabbing a beer before slamming it shut and walking past you. Your expression was one of concern as you spoke.

“What the hell happened?”

He shot you a bitter side glance as he walked past you.

Then past Sam.

“Ask him.”

He muttered coldly before walking back upstairs. Leaving you and Sam alone in the bunker.

You hadn't even looked at Sam when he came in, but now that you were. Your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight of him.

His clothes were soaked in blood. His olive green coat and washed out blue button up ruined in the crimson red. His neck speckled in red streaks that dried up a while ago.

His hands coated like he dipped them in paint.

But what hurt to see the most was his face. How it was all smeared across his lips, chin and jaw. A testament to how he tried to wipe it away like a dirty sin.

His eyes refused to meet yours, swimming with guilt and despair. Tears threatened to spill past his long lashes as he shifted uncomfortably in front of you.

Like he was ashamed to be in your presence.

You knew it wasn't his.

Your heart cracked in your chest.

Your face fell into a solemn, disappointed expression as you closed the space between you two. Your hand finding its way to his cheek. Coaxing him to look at you.

“Sam, what happened?”

You asked in a gentle exhale.

He still couldn't bring himself to look at you. Instead he closed his eyes as he stuttered out.

“I-I don't know. I didn't mean for it to happen. It's just- I just wasn't strong enough. I couldn't control myself.”

He choked out that last part, his tears brimming his hazel eyes like glass as he finally looked at you.

You knew he was expecting you to berate him. To tell him he was weak, that he'd have to start all over again and go through the agonizing withdrawals.

To remind him of his faults.

But you never did. No matter how many times he messed up, no matter how many times he fell. You were always there to help pick him back up, to tell him it was ok. That you didn't think any less of him because he made mistakes.

That you were there for him.

This time would be no different as you gave him a reassuring smile through your disappointed expression, taking his hand and leading him to the bunker bathroom.

You guided him to sink, gesturing for him to perch himself on the beige white porcelain edge.

The stale, low lighting in the bunker bathroom made the situation feel more heavy than it already was. The sounds of you two shuffling in the small space seemed to echo in your ears. But there was no point in acknowledging the tension now.

Knowing Sam could feel it too.

You crouched down to the little cabinet underneath the sink, pulling out a crisp, clean cloth. Setting it aside as you turned on the faucet and brought his hands to the warm running water. Washing away the blood that coated his long fingers and calloused palms. Watching how the red streamed against the white of the sink, making your stomach twist ever so slightly as it flowed down the drain.

You ran your thumbs over his knuckles with care as the blood was washed away. Looking at the size difference between you two. Finding it a bit ironic at how a man with such strong hands was letting such soft, gentle fingers take control.

But you could tell in moments like these, Sam wouldn't want it any other way. Because he knew no one else would treat him with the same tenderness.

Once the blood from his hands were gone, you ran the cloth under steady steam, making sure it was warm enough to bring him some sort of comfort in the cold silence between you.

As you raised the cloth to his face, he flinched.

Your heart lurched in your chest as you whispered,

“Hey, it's ok.. It's ok.”

You said as you placed your free hand over his. Holding eye contact with him as you placed the warm, damp cloth on his cheek. Gently wiping away the blood off his face.

“Did they hurt you at all?”

You asked as you scanned over his face, looking to see if had any nicks or cuts.

He shook his head, looking at you with his big, dewy eyes as you wiped away the blood from his lips.

“I'm fine.”

His voice was barely audible.

But his eyes told a different story.

Those big puppy dog eyes.

He was lying.

“I'm not mad at you Sam. You know that right?”

His jaw tensed.

“You should be furious.”

He said as he gently grasped your wrist, stopping you from continuing to wipe away the blood.

Like he didn't deserve it.

You softened your expression, letting the hand that rested on top of his slip between his fingers.

“It's not your fault Sam.”

His brows furrowed in frustration as he gripped your wrist a little more tightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you notice.

“Don't give me that. It is my fault, because I made a choice to either leave it alone or give in. And I wasn't strong enough to resist. Now I'm back where I started. Because I was weak.”

You let out a slightly defeated sigh as you tugged away from his grasp. You could see the guilt and shame in his eyes as you pulled away. But there was something else hiding underneath.

He was terrified.

Terrified of the hold the blood had on him.

Terrified of the idea of losing everything he loved.

Terrified of dying.

You gave him an adamant look as to tell him to let you continue what you started.

And he knew better than to push you when you gave him that look.

As you finished cleaning his face, you carefully moved down to his neck.

“You're being too hard on yourself. You say it's your fault, but you didn't know how addictive the blood would be. You didn't know about the consequences that would come with it. You thought you were doing the right thing.”

He looked away as you spoke so kindly and yet so firmly at the same time. Like the way a mother would. It was enough to make his heart tear in two, because he loved and hated when you were like this.

He loved it because you were coming from a place of genuine concern and love. And he hated it because he felt like he didn't deserve your love and care. He thought you should've been harder on him like everyone else was.

You should've treated him like the black sheep he was.

But you were never going to.

Because he knew you saw the good in everyone, including him.

You squeezed the cloth of the blood that stained it. Running it under the water once again to heat it back up before running the damp material over his adams apple and down to his collarbone.

“You should be holding me accountable like Dean and Bobby do.”

Your expression hardened, a beat of silence passed before you spoke bitterly.

“Stop. They aren't holding you accountable, they're being insensitive. They don't know how to approach situations like yours. Addiction is a battle, Sam. No one has ever gone through it unscathed, and it will be something you will have to fight through until the day you die.”

You said as you finished cleaning up. Looking at the bloodied cloth with a softer expression.

“There are times when you need to be held accountable with some tough love, but that doesn't go without being shown empathy either. There are going to be days when you stumble and fall, and that's ok. No one said it was ever going to be easy to try and quit fully all at once. But as long as you're making steps in the right direction to get better. To live without it. I think that's worth showing a little bit of empathy towards.”

You said as you set the cloth down in the bowl of the sink before you settled yourself between his legs as he stayed in his spot on the sink.

Your hands pushing some of the umber brown locks out of his tearful eyes.

“You're making that effort Sam. I see it. And I know it's hard to keep making that effort when you're constantly reminded of how addicted you were. Of how lost you were. It'll take time to get better, doesn't happen overnight. All I ask is that you keep fighting this. Keep trying. And know that I'll be by your side as long as you keep fighting.”

Sam's tears fell freely when he saw the conviction in your eyes, how you really meant every word you said. That you were here for him.

For the long term.

He leaned forward, pulling you into a tight, affectionate embrace. His arms caging you against his chest as he buried his face into your shoulder. Sniffling as he let out a shaky whisper.

“Thank you.”

He knew it wasn't much. But he wasn't sure he could explain the amount of gratitude he held for you in that moment into words.

And he wasn't going to.

He knew the only way he could express it was through his actions. To continue to make the effort to get better.

To be better.

As much as he wished he could take it all back, he knew he couldn't. No matter how much he wished he could go back and stop himself, it would never be possible.

But what was possible was recovery.

To fight with everything he had to get past his addiction for the blood. No matter how much he may crave the power it gives him or the rush he feels. He knew as long as you were there to help him along the way, he'd have the strength to push through it all.

Because he thought you were worth getting better for.

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veflia · 3 days ago

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Good times always follow

post prison!Spencer Reid x reader

summary: When Spencer comes home from three months in prison, it’s hard for him to readjust to his new old Life. For the past week you tried to be there for him, but he seemed off, acting coldly towards you. When you wake up in the middle in the night, missing his presence, you find him crying in your kitchen…

category: angst to fluff

warnings: i mean it’s post prison time, fear of loss, some sort of mental problems after prison trauma

A/N: english isn’t my first language, so please don’t come for me. Thanks and enjoy! Here’s my masterlist

It’s been a week since Spencer was finally proven innocent and released from prison. Three hard months finally came to an end. A week ago, you were waiting in your shared home on the sofa. Your left leg slightly shaking out of anxiety. You hadn’t seen him the whole time. He didn’t want you to visit. No matter how often you begged him or his team to help you convince him, he didn’t want you to see him like that. For the last months, Emily or Penelope often visited you and tried to condole you. Many evenings were spent watching movies, cooking together and just sitting together, talking about how life will go on.

The two of them became quite good friends over the time. They understood you. How you felt. Emily always told you about her visits and how Spencer seemed to deal with being in prison. At first it hurt you, a lot, that your boyfriend didn’t want to see you. But you tried to understand him and his situation. He must have felt scarred and experience some horrible things. You yourself spent many nights very int yourself to sleep, out of fear what might happen to Spencer at the moment. He wasn’t the kind of person for prison, you knew that. Spencer was such a soft person. Always soft spoken, caring and sweet to you. Your whole relationship had been a dream. Never did you expect to find such love as you did in Spencer. He seemed to worship every moment you had together and he always showed you how much he loved you. With his words, his actions and sweet gestures. After three years together, you couldn’t imagine a life without Spencer. It wasn’t always perfect, he was often away due to his job at the BAU, but you never had to go to spleen without a call or a sweet text from your boyfriend.

When Emily called you three months ago, you felt like your world collapsed. You just couldn’t understand why he would go to Mexico and not tell you about it. He didn’t wanted you to worry, he said. Well, that plan didn’t go too well now. For the first week you couldn’t sleep out of worry. At some point you tried to back to a routine and not losing yourself. You wanted to be strong. For Spencer. Never believing the murder accusations, you wanted to be there for him when he comes back. To support him all the way. You even tried to accept the fact, that he let him team see him , but not you. It hurt, but you really tried it be understanding.

When the day finally came, you didn’t knew what to expect. Did your boyfriend chance? Of course he did, you knew no one could just go on as if nothing happened after months in prison. Witnessing fears and probably lots of violence. Emily called you, signalling you that they were on their way now to your shared apartment. She already told you in the morning, that you should suit yourself for some hard weeks. That Spencer acted fine and strong, but she was a profiler too, she saw how much he was affected by everything he had to go through.

The bell finally rang and you slowly stood up from the sofa. Hands slightly sweaty and shaky. Will he be happy to see you and hug you, or will he be quiet and reserved. Nervously you opened the door. The moment you saw Spencer you couldn’t hold back the tears that had formed in your eyes. Spencer himself seemed to feel the same way. A moment of silence formed between the two of you. Slowly you observed him. His hair was longer and his curls were messy. His clothes were familiar, but they looked crumpled and a bit out of place. When you looked at his face, you took in the familiar features. Spencer looked still the same. There were faint bags under his eyes and his lips formed only a very small crooked smile. The moment your eyes locked, you sensed a heavy feeling of sadness. Oh what only he had to endure, you thought.

Slowly took his shaky hand in yours. Softly stroking with your thumb over his knuckles. They were somewhat red and sore. Firstly his grip was light, but got firm after a second. “Spence, I-“, you said slowly, not knowing what to say.

“I’m so sorry, love”, he answered. His voice quiet and broken. A tear slipped from his eye. You lifted one hand and stroked his cheek, brushing the tear away.

Spencer slowly leaned into your embrace. Closing his eyes, he let himself fall into your arms. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m here for you Spence, always”, you reassured him. Nestling your head above his, while he buried his head in the crock of your neck. His armes slung around you, as he clung onto you like his dear life.

For the last week, Spencer hasn’t said much and nothing about what might have happened in prison. You took time off from work, to be there from him all the time and help him to readjust back in his life. In your life. Over the last three months you found a new routine, alone. Waking up alone, preparing coffee and diner for only one person and structuring your day alone. Now it was difficult for the two of you to not only coexist in one home, but living together. Especially hard made the fact, that Spencer seemed off the whole time. Of course you expected him to struggle, but he didn’t want to open up to you. Before, you would always talk about your problems, needs and wishes. You both understood the importance of communication. Now the rooms were filled mostly with silence, or one sided concert stations from you about unimportant matters.

Spencer was closed off, often spend hin day sitting on the terrace. Just sitting there, in silence, starring to the streets. You didn’t know where to go or what to do with yourself. Everytime you proposed something, a walk in the park, a short stroll to the coffee shop around the corner or just cuddling on the couch. He always had some sort of excuse. Whether he was not in the mood, didn’t want a coffee or had other “important” things to do. Slowly you started to feel miserable.

At the beginning of the week, when Spencer came home and you stood arms in arms in the hallway, you thought it would go well. But now, well. You thought you were hurt, when your boyfriend didn’t want you to visit. But you could understand it. This, although, you couldn’t understand. He was finally home, but her seemed farther away then ever. Meals were spend in silence and at night, he wouldn’t touch you. Not even an arm around your waist.

You missed Spencer, more than ever. The last day, you went quite too. Maybe bacuse you were just frustrated, that he wouldn’t answer. Or maybe because you wanted him to finally talk to you. And not just about the weather, but really talk. How he was feeling, what he needed and what he experienced, that he felt so hearty now. Because even if he didn’t tell you with words, you could read his expressions like a book. But how could you help the man you loved, if he refused to tell you speak to you about his feelings.

This night was no different. You laid in your shared bed, awake and staring at the ceiling. Just a few minutes ago you woke up and were met with a cold bed. Spencer was gone. Wondering where he might have go you checked the time. It was only 2 in the morning. You exhaled deeply, not knowing how long you could still endure this situation. You missed being held at night. And waking up in Spencers arms, while he lightly kissed your shoulder and neck. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Slowly you pushed your blanked aside. The cold air made you shiver and you grabbed one of Spencer’s cardigans. It was too large for you and made you feel safe. It was like a hug you desperately missed. On tiptoes you made your way outside the bedroom. Entering the living room, you could hear quiet, nearly not notice sobs. The sound came from the kitchen. Careful not to make sudden noises you walked over. Your heart broke when you saw him sitting there.

Spencer sat on the floor. His legs pressed tightly against his body. He leant his head against the dishwasher and his eyes closed. You wanted to run to him, hug him and never let him go. But you knew not to overstep anything now. You must have made some noise, because his eyed opened and looked in your direction.

“Sorry if I woke you up, I didn’t want you to notice”, he spoke. His eyes not leaving yours.

“You didn’t”, you assured him, “I just woke up and missed you beside me. You know I slept the last three months alone in this bed, but I never missed your presence so much like I do now.

A tear slipped from your eye. You didn’t even realise it forming. Gradually you moved over to him to sit beside him, careful to leave some space.

“Spencer”, you began, “I cannot imagine what you must have gone through, but I need you to know, that I are here for you. Always. It’s okay that you don’t want so speak about it just know, but you have to eventually”. He looked over to you, still with this sad look in his eyes. Suddenly he moved over to you, closing the distance between you. “I know…I’m sorry for not talking to you and being so cold towards you”, he stated with a broken voice.

You lifted your hands and captured his face. At first he didn’t want to give in, but then, as if something shifted he collapsed into your embrace. Spencer leaned into your side. His arms no longer just hanging beside him, but wrapped around your waist. You let him rest his head on your shoulder, caressing his soft locks. “You don’t deserve how I treated you. You are the most important thing I have and I just couldn’t show you that during the last week. And I am so so sorry about that”, he cried into your his cardigan.

“Spence, my love, you don’t have to say sorry. It’s okay. You’re okay now”, softly you stroked his cheek, making him look into your eyes again. “Yes I have to. You know, during those last three months I just missed you so much. Every day and every night i wished to be with you. Hold you again. I missed your smile in the morning and your kiss a night. This week, I don’t know what has gotten into me”, he confessed, “ It’s like I am so scarred to wake up again without you, that I am too scarred to get comfortable again”

You sighed, not really knowing what to say. “When I was in prison, I didn’t want you to see me like that. And now still feel so vulnerable as if I could scare you away”, he sobbed now. “Oh Spence”, you said, “ I love you so much. I would never leave you, you know that. I understand why you didn’t let me visit. I am not mad, Spence. Not about the visits nor about you having trouble now, it’s normal. I am here for you, if you let me in”

“How about we go to that coffee shop tomorrow, like you wanted yesterday?”, Spencer asked. “I’d like that very much”, you spoke. His sobs had stopped by now and he was just embracing the comfort you gave him. “We could take something to go and spend the day on the terrace, talking”, you suggested, “you know, about what we can do together, to make you feel better and to ease those thoughts of you”

Slowly Spencer stood up, taking your hands in his. “We should do that, yes”, he said and finally something like a smile seemed to appear on his face. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something that reminded you that the man you fell in love was present and also willing to work on the situation.

“Love, can we go back to bed? I just want to hold you again, i missed your warmth”, Spencer asked. You too rose from the floor now, standing only centimetres away from him. Suddenly you didn’t feel cold anymore. You felt his body heat radiating towards you and his eyes finally had this lovely gaze back, that just made your heart melt. He cupped your cheek and slowly leaned toward you. When you closed your eyes the bad feelings from the prior week disappeared completely.

His lips were warm and soft like you remember them. Your lips moved in a perfect rhythm like nothing ever happened. It was something so familiar that gave you so much comfort, something deeper that you longed for for months. Now Spencer was really home. Your Spencer, who caressed your cheek, who held you closely under the moonlight. When you separated his tears were dried and this heavy sadness that laid upon him for the past week was gone.

“I love you so much, my love”, he stated. It was sincere and full of love.

This night was finally spend in each other’s embrace again. His arm around you, keeping you close to him. Your head resting on his chest. You felt slow circles on your back, reassuring you, that Spencer was really present again. Waking up again, you were still wrapped in his arms. Your boyfriend was still sleeping. He seemed so…comforted and rested. You just laid awake starring at him. How his chest rose and fell slowly. You had hard time behind you, but you knew, now it would finally get better. And you promised yourself, not matter hoe long it took, you would get back to a normal life. Last night was a first step, also from him, to work on your communication again. because he did love you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #mathew grey gubler #spencer reid angst #dr reid #post prison reid #prison reid #soft spencer reid #angst with a happy ending

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starl1ght444 · 12 days ago

Text

jason todd x fem!reader

── .✦ angst

[jason’s hurtful words lead you to leave for a couple days]

long story — [7k word count]

second person writing / edited-ish

*.ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you don’t even remember what started it.

maybe it was the late nights. the blood on his knuckles. the way he shut you out like a slammed door every time something bothered him. maybe it was the way you kept asking, over and over, “are you okay?” and getting that practiced silence in return. or maybe it was you. wanting too much. needing answers he wasn’t ready to give.

It starts with the quiet. the kind that creeps in before the thunder hits. jason walks in, his jacket soaked with rain and something darker. his eyes avoid yours. you’re used to it, but tonight something in you snaps. “did you kill anyone yet?” you ask. not because you want to accuse him. but because you have to know.

he stiffens. “what the hell kind of question is that?”

you don’t back down. “a serious one. because I can’t keep pretending I don’t know what you’re doing out there.”

jason tosses his helmet on the counter with a loud clatter. “don’t start this.”

“no, you don’t get to tell me when I start. you come home covered in blood, you don’t talk to me, you shut me out—”

“because it’s none of your business!” he snaps.

that stings. you feel it in your chest, sharp and immediate.

“I am your business, jason. or am I just something you keep around to feel normal?”

he laughs—bitter, cold. “don’t flatter yourself.” —silence.

you blink. his words hit you like a slap, and he knows it. he flinches for a second. just one. but he doesn’t take it back. you try to keep your voice steady. “so that’s what I am? just… convenient?”

he doesn’t answer. you’re waiting for him to say no. to soften. to say he didn’t mean it. instead, he mutters, “you knew what this was. don’t act like you didn’t sign up for it.”

that’s the thing. you did know. you knew loving jason todd would mean long nights, fear gnawing at your ribs, and blood on his knuckles when he kissed you goodnight. but what you didn’t sign up for was being invisible.

“I didn’t sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” you say, standing now, voice rising. “I didn’t sign up for being ignored, for being lied to. you don’t talk to me, jason. you just disappear.”

jason scoffs. “and what, I should be reporting in every five minutes? you want a boyfriend or a lapdog?”

your heart aches, but you don’t back down. “i want you. the version of you that lets me in. the one that doesn’t shut down and push me away every time something gets hard.”

“I don’t need you to fix me!” he shouts, voice suddenly cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t need your sympathy or your constant hovering. you think loving me gives you the right to pry into every dark corner of my life?”

you stare at him, stunned. “It’s not prying when I’m trying to help jay..”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he barks. “god, you’re so damn exhausting. always needing something. always complaining. maybe I’d be better off without you dragging me down all the time.”

you stare at him like you’re seeing someone else entirely. “you’re a coward.” — wrong thing to say.

jason steps forward, eyes burning. “you think I’m the coward? you sit here in your nice little apartment, judging me like you’re above it all. you don’t know what it’s like out there. you couldn’t last a week in my world.”

“and yet I’ve been trying for months!” you shout, your voice breaking. “but you don’t care. you never really let me in. you just wanted someone to come home to—someone who didn’t ask too many questions.”

“you think you’re some kind of savior?” he sneers. “you’re not. you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”

you stop. you feel it crack right there—something fragile and important inside you. “i didn’t want to fix you,” you whisper. “ i just wanted you to let me in.”

he scoffs. “then you wanted too much.” and that’s it. a finial look into jason’s eyes of any hint of regret— nothing. just pure frustration and anger. a weight in your heart dragging you towards the door. no dramatic exit. no final scream. just you walking past him, grabbing your bag, and shutting the door behind you.

at first, jason doesn’t move he doesn’t feel much of anything, honestly. just numb. tired. angry in that hollow way that doesn’t have a target anymore. he just stands there, staring at the door like it’s going to swing open again. It always does.

you always come back. — he grabs a beer from the fridge. sits on the couch. flips on the TV. something violent and loud, because silence feels like guilt.

hours pass. no call. no message.

he scrolls through his phone. no unread texts. he opens your thread—nothing. his fingers hover over the keyboard, then stop. he locks the phone and throws it on the table.

then he starts thinking about what he said. really thinking.

“you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”

the way your face changed. he remembers the silence right before you walked out, how final it felt. and something cold settles in his chest. it’s been almost 4 hours since you left.

he starts pacing. that tight feeling in his chest creeps in like smoke under a door. his palms feel clammy. he’s sweating. his vision is narrowing. he can’t think. — you didn’t come back.

you always come back. “shit,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “shit, shit—”

the room feels like it’s closing in. the walls are too close, the ceiling too low, like everything’s pressing down on him at once. he can’t breathe. his knees buckle, and he slides down against the wall, gasping for air, chest heaving like he’s drowning. his hands shake. his throat burning.

he didn’t mean it. — of course he didn’t mean it. you’re not convenient..you’re the only thing that’s kept him afloat. you’re the light he pretends he doesn’t need but clings to in the dark.

and now you’re gone. the words he threw at you, the venom he spit out just to win a fight, ring louder than the silence you left behind. he says your name into the empty apartment. once. then again. then louder. like if he says it enough, you’ll hear him. — but you don’t. and now the silence is unbearable.

he can’t breathe. now It’s been five hours since you left, and jason’s chest is on fire. not the kind that comes from bruised ribs or a bullet wound—he knows that pain. he’s good with that pain. this is worse. this is panic. helplessness.—this was worse kind of hurt because it doesn’t bleed.

his phone is clutched so tight in his hand, his knuckles have gone white. he stares at the screen, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts again. he’s already called five times.

no answer. — just the sound of your dumb voicemail message, cheerful and playful and now completely soul-crushing. “haii! Its (y/n), im sorry i missed your call! im not home right now! but i can take a message… let me grab a pencil…hm okay! what would you like me to tell me?” it used to make him smile. now it makes him sick. he hits redial.

one ring.

two.

three.

voicemail. — again. again. again.

he runs both hands through his hair, dragging his fingers hard through the strands like maybe pain will wake him up. like maybe this isn’t real. like maybe you’re still coming home, keys jingling, saying his name like you do when you’re trying not to smile. but the apartment is dead quiet. and it smells like rain and blood and something fading.

“pick up,” he mumbles to no one. “please (y/n).. please just pick up.” he calls again. and again.

his hands are shaking now, so bad he nearly drops the phone. his mind is running circles around itself—what if something happened? what if she didn’t look crossing the street? what if someone followed her? what if she’s hurt?—and he can’t shut it off. his heart is pounding too loud in his ears, drowning out reason. he stands up fast, then stumbles forward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. everything’s spinning.

he opens your location on his phone. nothing.

either you turned it off or the battery’s dead. or worse. his brain fills in the blanks faster than he can stop it. “goddammit,” he breathes, slamming his hand down on the counter. the sound echoes in the empty room.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to yell, slam a door, crash on the couch, and by morning everything would be fine. that’s how it’s always gone. you fight, you cool off, you come back. you always come back.

but not tonight. tonight, you left like you meant it.

and jason realizes—too late—that he pushed you harder than he ever had. too far. past the point of no return. past the point where an “I’m sorry” could fix it. he scrolls to your name again.

calls. again. “haii it’s (y/n)! im sorry i mi—” he shuts his eyes and grips the phone like he could tear it in half. your voice is soft, light, untouched by the mess he made. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to curl in on himself and disappear.

you’re gone. and you’re ignoring him. that’s what finally breaks something inside him.

because jason todd—red hood, vigilante, killer, survivor—can handle almost anything. bullets. torture. death. — but he could not handle being ignored by the one person who made him feel human.

he sinks down against the wall again, chest heaving, lungs burning. his phone slips out of his hand, landing face-up on the floor, screen still lit up with your contact. a tiny, cruel reminder: your not picking up. you don’t want to talk to him.

his mouth is dry. he tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like it’s too shallow. like he’s not getting enough air. his arms wrap around his knees. he’s shaking. his thoughts are racing.

‘she’s not coming back. you blew it. you pushed too hard. you said too much. she hates you. she should hate you. why would she come back after that?’ he doesn’t know how long he sits there like that—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. All he knows is the silence. and your stupid voicemail. and the gnawing, tearing fear that he might’ve lost the only good thing left in his life.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says aloud, as if the room cares. as if his regrets can travel through walls and streetlights and find their way to wherever you are. “I didn’t mean any of it.” but the universe doesn’t answer.

he pulls himself off the ground. head still spinning, he can’t keep sitting around for you. he needs to find you. the air outside hits him sharp and cold, but it doesn’t clear his head. the city is still dark, the streets damp with leftover rain. his helmet is in his bag. he doesn’t wear it. doesn’t need it. he’s not red hood right now— he’s just jason. — and jason’s falling apart.

he makes his way through the city on his motorcycle, his mind endlessly searching for you. stopping when he even sees a glimpse of someone with your same hairstyle. everything reminding him of you. he feels hopeless knowing how huge gotham is, even more so how dangerous it is.

he ultimately decides to stop at some of your favorite places, maybe to soothe him with precious memories. he knows it’s to early in the morning for most of these places to be open, but he needs to check. needs to try anyways.

his first stop was a café. your favorite locally owned coffee shop, where you two became regulars. it was a small business, on a strip walk between a laundromat and boutique. — the coffee’s always too strong and the chairs wobble if you don’t sit just right. you loved that place.

he memorized your order. it was always the same thing everytime you came here— your order barely changed. — the smell of coffee, occasionally tea on ur breath, he was craving to kiss your lips just to taste your order again.

jason stands across the street for a second. the lights are off. homemade “closed” sign hangs crooked in the window.

he still walks up. presses his hand to the door like it might open. It doesn’t. he presses his palms to the glass, looking in

your spot is empty. the corner table by the window where you used to sit and steal sips of his coffee when you swore you didn’t want one. where your eyes would crinkle when you laughed, lips covered in foam you never noticed until he wiped it away. he stands there, remembering the time you convinced him to try that stupid seasonal drink with cinnamon and syrup and something else sweet that he pretended to hate—but secretly liked, because you liked it.

he thought if he came here, maybe you’d be sitting there again. your beautiful eyes locked in a book he’d recommend while eating a pastry. but there’s nothing. only cold glass and silence and now an emotional memory.

he sits on the bench outside and closes his eyes, trying to summon your laugh. where you are the happiest, and he remembers your smile when he took you to his favorite library.

it became a sacred place for you to. both calm and quiet while enjoying each-others company. so that was his next stop.

the library.

not a big, fancy one. no marble columns or quiet rules. this one’s cramped, unknown, smelling of dust and secondhand pages. you loved it for its charm—for the creaky floors and mismatched chairs and the old man behind the desk who always smiled when he saw you.

jason picks the lock with trembling fingers. slides through the back door like a ghost. third floor. far left corner. your nook.

he stares at the armchair you always claimed, the stack of dog-eared romance novels that you teased him with—the window seat you used when the weather was just right and the sun poured in like liquid gold. he walks through the aisle, trailing his fingers along the spines of books you once handed him. he can almost hear your voice echo in the stillness.

walking around until he was in the aisle where he first met you. making his eyes burn, to many memories flooding in his head— where he tried so desperately to be cool in front of you, and staring at you from afar admiring how divine your presence felt. — jason reading all the books he thought you’d like before even knowing you and putting his name in the checkout card. and watching your face light up from seeing his name once again. giving him the courage to go and talk to you.

a tear burning his cheek, he puts his head down feeling ashamed of pushing you away when memories like these made him feel alive again.

jason left the library, riding off having the city district him. he rides for a while thinking of any more possibilities. he was about to run out of gas and just decides he needs to take a walk anyways— and when he gets off his bike, he notices he’s at a familiar park — It’s further out, away from the main drag, quiet enough that the chaos of gotham doesn’t touch it. you both used to go there when things got loud—inside his head, inside the world.

It’s mostly empty, just a jogger in the distance and birds rustling in the trees. jason walks the winding path slowly, like a man retracing his own history — here—this is where you tripped over your own feet and he caught you, both of you laughing like kids. over there is the tree you climbed and got stuck in, yelling at him between laughs while he pretended he wouldn’t help you down. there’s a bench under the big oak tree. you kissed him there for the first time. real, honest, vulnerable. no masks, no walls. just lips and nerves and something too tender to say out loud.

he passes through more bench where you sat one night, eyes puffy, telling him things you hadn’t told anyone else. and he’d wrapped his jacket around you and promised—promised—he’d never be the one to hurt you.

he sits down there now, gripping the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles go white. — “i lied,” he whispers to no one, his voice strained. becoming angry with himself.

but there was still no sign of you.. and so he knew despite it all he had a couple more places to check. his mind became desperate. he heads where he should’nt, hoping you’re not there. he still had to check— ‘the narrows’ — ‘ park row ‘ — ‘crime ally ‘

he checks alleyways where addicts linger and criminals circle like vultures. every step, he begs he won’t find you there. But he has to check. has to know. he’s on a rampage now, eyes wild, heart racing. he gets in a guy’s face just for looking at him too long. knocks someone out cold when they make a comment about “that girl he used to walk with.”

he checks rooftops. alleys. places you shouldn’t be, but maybe are. places where bad things happen. — places he belongs, not you. he asks around. no one’s seen you. and those who know who he is don’t dare lie. — still nothing. jason’s a mess—bloodshot eyes, raw knuckles, unshaven. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years instead of just a night.

and then — “jason?”

jason turns around. it’s dick.

“jason?” dick calls, landing on the fire escape in full nightwing gear. “what the hell are you doing back in this part of town?”

jason doesn’t answer at first.

dick jumps down in front of him, blocking his path. “jay—hey. talk to me.” — “I messed up,” jason says hoarsely.

dick blinks. “with…?”

jason swallows hard. “(y/n)... she left. and she’s not answering. It’s been hours. I’ve checked everywhere. the café, the library, that damn park. nothing. I don’t even know if she’s okay. I just—I said too much. I said shit I didn’t mean and now she’s just… gone.— dick, i can’t breathe.”

dick moves quickly, placing a hand on jason’s shoulder. “hey. breathe. look at me.” jason meets his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

dick doesn’t say anything for a moment. then: “alright. sit down.” dick says guiding him to sit on a nearby stoop.

jason does. because for once, he has nothing left to fight with.

“you love her?” dick asks, voice low. jason nods without thinking, like it’s a reflex. “then tell her. find her and tell her. but not like this. you’re spiraling.”

“I can’t stop,” jason whispers. “every second she’s not answering, I keep thinking she’s hurt. that it’s my fault. that I broke her. I can’t even hear her voice without thinking of what I did.”

dick sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “you didn’t break her. you pushed her away. that’s different. and maybe you don’t get to fix it. but you sure as hell don’t stop trying. not until she tells you to.” jason looks at him. “and if she never does?” — “then you mourn. but not until you know for sure.”

jason’s quiet for a long time. watching gotham pass by with his brother “never give up jay, i believe in you” and jason stands up, continuing his search.

but he doesn’t find you.

he checks safehouses. rooftops. he climbs halfway up wayne tower before turning around because he knows you wouldn’t go there.— by the time the sun rises, his hands are shaking.

his head is pounding. his legs feel like lead. and you’re still gone.

he stumbles home like a ghost. kicks off his boots. sinks to the floor. doesn’t even make it to the couch. just sits there.

and stares at the door. It never opens.

three days pass.

no texts. no calls. not even a read receipt.

jason doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. barely moves. the apartment is dead quiet except for the occasional replay of your voicemail, like he’s torturing himself on purpose. by the fourth morning, he can’t take it anymore.

he grabs his bag and heads to wayne manor.

bruce meets him at the batcomputer. he doesn’t ask why jason’s there. just takes one look at him—pale, tired, shaking, blood shot eyes — and knows. “use whatever you need,” bruce says softly, walking away.

jason nods, throat tight. while the system loads, alfred appears at his side with a quiet sigh and a fresh mug of coffee and a blanket. he doesn’t speak right away.

then, gently, “would you like to talk about it, master jason?”

jason’s jaw clenches. he shakes his head, but then his voice breaks. “I ruined it.” a lump in his throat, looking at alfred.

alfred sets the coffee and blanket down and pulls him into a hug without a word. just strong, steady arms and that grounding kind of warmth jason hasn’t let himself feel in years. “i don’t know how to fix this,” he whispers.

alfred holds him tighter. “you start with the truth. then you wait. and if she’s worth it—and I suspect she is—you never stop.” jason nods against his shoulder

and for the first time in days, he lets himself cry. sobbing into the older man’s shoulder releasing all the pent up sadness and anger he kept inside for days. “I’ve cleaned blood off your boots, patched holes in your uniform, and stayed up more nights than I can count wondering if you’d make it back. but what worries me most… is how quick you are to believe you don’t deserve good things.. ” he said rubbing jason’s back soothing him, letting himself cry. “i love her so much, alfred— I don’t know how to hold on to good things without breaking them.” jason hiccups “it hurts how much i love her”

and they stay like that for a while, talking about jason’s feelings and what happened causing you to walk away. alfred listening and making him eat and drink to get something in his system. jason slowly getting tired, the comfort he craved slowing his brain down. alfred replacing you for a little while.

you always comforted jason, your touch melted him into a different man. you were his safe place and made him feel completely loved. the unconditional love he never felt before, ‘she’ll come back..’ - ‘ she’s okay, she’s safe’ — he kept repeating to himself, trying any possible way to soothe himself — jason became tried once again, but this time he was willing to sleep. he slept next to the computer, with the blankets alfred placed over him. he got a couple hours in until he woke up, a reminder of what happened.

now five days have gone by—

the coordinates come in just after midnight.

a quiet ping from the batcomputer—courtesy of a city-wide search bruce helped set up. jason had loaded every street cam, signal ping, and facial recognition tool he could, but deep down, he hadn’t really believed he’d find anything.

until now. a small rental apartment in the east end. under a friend’s name. you hadn’t left the city—you’d just gone off the grid. he finally found what he was looking for.

the screen flickered, and your image appeared in the facial recognition software. jason’s heart dropped as he studied the image that was pulled from surveillance footage. your face, usually full of life and fire, looked hollow. the light in your eyes were dimmer than he remembered, like you’d been carrying an unbearable weight for far too long.

your skin was pale, darker circles under your eyes indicating sleepless nights and too many tears shed. lips, once always curled into a small, knowing smile, were now pressed into a thin line. the fight had drained you, and he could see it in every inch of your face.

the camera hadn’t caught the vulnerability posture, but jason knew. you weren’t just physically tired—you were emotionally worn out. the woman he loved wasn’t the same one who had walked out five days ago. this woman, this (y/n), looked like someone who had been pushing through the world alone, all the weight of her pain carried on her shoulders.

he gripped the edge of the desk, eyes locked on the screen, his chest tightening. guilt, sorrow, and a deep sense of regret clawed at him. he had to find her. he had to make things right before it was too late.

he reads the address three times to be sure, then grabs his helmet and jacket and is out the manor doors before bruce can say a word. he jumps on his motorcycle and starts the engine, the loud sound of his tires screeching in the cave as he raced out to find you. he was lighting on the road, dangerously weaving in and out of cars, adrenaline of seeing you alive making him rush even more.

then he makes it to your location. his feet on the pavement, one flight of stairs, then two. his heart is a riot in his chest. his hands are sweating, shaking, cold. an a rush of anxiety washes over him.

what if you slam the door in his face?

what if you don’t even open it?

what if you’re gone again?

what if you don’t want to see him?

but he still knocks. soft at first. then harder.

he hears the lock click. the door creaks open a few inches. you stand there in sweats your friend let you have, eyes puffy, hair lazily in your face like you stopped caring how you looked days ago. and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

your eyes widen when you see him. and that’s all it takes. jason breaks down.

his legs give out. he drops to his knees like something inside him finally caved in. and before he can even stop himself, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your stomach, sobbing. not the angry kind. not the kind that comes with yelling and fists through walls.

the kind that’s quiet and raw and scared. the kind that says thank god you’re alive and I’m sorry and I missed you all at once. he was relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean it, I was angry, I didn’t know how to say it right, I—god, I thought I lost you—” you freeze. shock, sadness and joy all overwhelming your head. your hands hover for a second, unsure, still hurt, wondering if this is a dream or not.

but then they come down gently, slowly, fingers threading through his hair as you hold him against you. your voice is quiet. “jason…” a melody to his ears.

he can barely speak. “I looked everywhere. I thought something happened. I thought—god, I thought maybe I deserved it. maybe you were better off without me. — I’ve never been this scared in my life.” you listen to him, his words muffled into your stomach. as he plants small kisses in between each sentence— his words rambling and gasping in-between for breaths. “baby.. come here.”

you helped him stand up and stared at his face. “I was angry,” you admit. “you hurt me.” — “i know.. i never wanted to hurt you.”

he leans into you like he needs your heartbeat to breathe.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “I keep ruining everything good in my life. I say the wrong thing. I push too hard. I scare people off. and then when I finally realize what I’ve done, it’s too late.” you pull back just enough to make him look at you. — his eyes are red. wet. desperate.

“you didn’t scare me off,” you whisper. “you hurt me. but I left because I didn’t want to say something I’d regret. I needed time.”

jason swallows. “you should’ve. said something worse. hit me. I deserved it.” — “you don’t get to decide what you deserve, jason. I do.”

a beat. “and I still choose you.” he exhales a breath that sounds like a sob.

his eyes are rimmed red, exhausted, glassy with the tears he’s still trying to keep at bay.

“I went everywhere. the café, the library—the park,” he continues, his arms tightening like he thinks you might slip away again. “every place we made a memory. every place that still smells like you. I kept thinking, maybe I could find one more piece of us that wasn’t broken yet.— I needed to find you. I was losing it, sweetheart. I checked alleys. dangerous places. I—fuck, I was hoping I didn’t find you there but I had to check. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sit still. I just wanted to see you. to say I’m sorry. to fix it.”

you nod slowly, listening to him. watching the way he talked.

“I knew I took it too far, even when I said it,” jason continues, clutching you tighter. “I was mad at the world, not you. but I threw it all at you because I knew you’d still love me, and that makes me the worst kind of person.”

you press your hand to his cheek, and he leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “not a single word. I was angry and afraid and so fucking overwhelmed that I—” his voice cracks. “I lashed out. at the one person who loves me the most. and when you left, I knew. I knew I deserved it.”

you stare at him for a moment. because your silence isn’t punishment—it’s your own unraveling. choosing your next words — “you said I was just a distraction,” you whisper finally, voice shaking despite how hard you try to steady it. “that I make things worse for you. that I don’t understand you, and maybe never will.”

jason flinches. physically recoils at the words he remembers far too well. the words that have been haunting him for the past few days.

you swallow, continuing. “you didn’t just lash out, jason. you hit where you knew it would hurt. you said things I’ve been afraid of ever since we met.”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers again, desperate. “god, if I could tear the words out of the air and bury them, I would. I would’ve rather taken a bullet than see you walk out that door. I just—” he breathes in deep. “I’m not good with… emotions. with fear. and losing you? that’s the scariest thing in the world to me...”

you nod slowly. “you self-destruct.”— he presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut. “yeah. and I took you down with me.”

silence stretches again, but it’s different now. heavy, but not hostile. like the fog after a storm. “I wasn’t leaving forever,” you whisper. “I just needed time. space. I needed to remember who I was outside of what you said.”

running your fingers through his hair. “I love you, jason. that didn’t change. but you hurt me. bad. I will never stop loving you. i will always come back to you— I needed to know I could still choose to come back on my terms. not because you begged. not because you were falling apart. but because I wanted to.”

his arms tighten around you again, and for the first time since last night, his tears start to fall freely. once again. no restraint. no pride. just a man drowning in his own grief, relieved to be seen, still loved despite everything.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers into your shoulder, his voice small and shaky.

“no,” you say gently. “but you have me. and that means doing better.” and you both stand there for a while. two exhausted people wrapped around each other like maybe the world will stop spinning if you just stay still long enough.

after a while, you hold out your hand. “come inside.” and he does.

the apartment is small, quiet. the kind of place that smells like lavender and old books and something that’s just you. jason steps inside like he’s walking on glass—like the walls might collapse if he breathes too hard.

you close the door behind him. lock it gently. like you’re not locking him out, but keeping the world away.

neither of you says much as you move to the small couch in the living room. he follows you, slow, cautious. sits on the edge like he doesn’t deserve the whole cushion. like if he gets too comfortable, you might change your mind and tell him to leave.

you notice the way he keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye. the way his knee’s bouncing, nervous. his shoulders are curled in, defensive, like he’s ready to run the second you flinch.

finally, you break the quiet. “why are you sitting like you’re afraid I’m gonna hit you?” jason freezes.

you don’t say it to hurt him. you say it softly. genuinely. because you see it—the hesitation, the fear, the way he’s pulling away without moving an inch.

he exhales. “because I don’t wanna fuck this up again.”

“you think being quiet is safer?”

he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s safe with you anymore. I keep playing every version of this in my head—if I say too much, if I touch you too soon, if I breathe the wrong way—maybe you’ll walk out again.”

you shift toward him slowly. “I didn’t leave to scare you.”

“I know.” he finally meets your gaze. “but it scared me anyway.”

you nod. “and now you’re trying not to want anything.” he doesn’t answer. “jason, you’re allowed to want me.”

his breath catches. you reach out, gently covering his hand with yours. he looks at the contact like it might vanish.

“you’re not scaring me off,” you say, voice soft but sure. “you’re hurting. and so am I. but I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t forget all the good just because of one night.”

jason’s voice is raw when he answers. “It was more than one night. I’ve been shutting you out for weeks. I didn’t let you in when you were trying. I turned everything into a war when you just wanted peace.”

“yeah. you did.” he flinches. “but,” you continue, tightening your grip on his hand, “you came back. you searched for me. you let yourself fall apart. that means something to me, and im sorry too. i didn’t intend on being away this long. i just felt so lost” he closes his eyes, jaw clenching.

“i’ve never felt this afraid,” he murmurs. “not even when I died.” you squeeze his hand.

“I’m not good at soft,” he admits. “I can be violent, I can be angry, I can be the guy who kicks in doors and breaks bones. but being… gentle? I don’t know how to do that without thinking I’ll screw it up.” you lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“you’re being gentle right now.” he nods, barely. and for the first time since that fight, he lets his hand curl into yours. not tight. just enough.

enough to say I want this.

enough to say I still love you.

he presses his lips to your temple, hesitant at first, then lingering. not hungry. not desperate. just present.

“i love you eternally jason, im sorry too, i’m truly sorry for walking away.”

“i love you so much (y/n), so.. so much it’s a unbearable pain i never want to let go of. you are my heart.. my soul.. my person”

he pressed kisses on your hand inbetween words. whispering softly to you, sweet nothings. just wanting to cherish you. “i cried to alfred, cried like some damn kid and I was just—gone. full-on sobbing in his arms like I was ten again.”

(y/n)’s eyes softened, reaching out but letting him keep going.

“I told him everything. told him I screwed up. told him I was scared you’d leave for good. and he just… held me, made me miss your touch.— i’m still sorry,” he whispers

“I know,” you say. “i am too jay”

the two of you sit there, wrapped in the silence that used to hurt—but now, maybe, it’s just healing in disguise. you pulled jason in to cuddle him. he wraps his hands around your body. feeling fortunate to have you, to touch you, to kiss you. he hasn’t been able to breathe normally since you left, but now his chest feels lifted. he’s calmer and exhausted. he can tell you were too. he rubs your body while kissing all over you until he knows your asleep in his arms. watching you sleep so peacefully puts him at ease, helping him drift off into a wonderful slumber he’s been dreaming about for the past five days.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

ahhh :3 i couldn’t do a sad ending— i was going to!!, but he’s been out through to much already!! haha

hope u enjoyed!! im trying out different writing, angst is one im not the best ask but i like trying! it feels repetitive sometimes :p

have a good day / night!! xx

733 notes · View notes

strawb3rry-hon3y · 7 days ago

Text

Echoes of You

Pairing: Ahn Su-ho X !Femreader Requested: No

Summary: Memories of Ahn Su-ho and the others stay close after everything changes. While dealing with Su-ho’s coma and Si-eun’s move, bonds are tested and new friendships form. Even surrounded by new people, the past remains a constant, shaping every step forward.

Length: 4921 Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Friendship, Light Romance.

Warnings: Spoilers! Weak Hero Class 2. Violence Mentions, Hospitalization, Emotional Distress, Grief/Loss Themes, Past Trauma, Mild Angst. Status: Complete!

My feet pounded against the pavement, the world blurring at the edges. I didn’t know if I was chasing something or running from it, maybe both. Every breath burned. Every step dragged pieces of the past out of hiding, raw and stubborn.

Si-eun’s voice still echoed faintly in my ears, but everything else started to slip away. The noise around me, the ground beneath my feet, the weight of the moment. The present faded until all that was left was the past, unfolding around me.

The tires hummed beneath me as I pedaled toward Eunjang High, the path so familiar I could have ridden it blind if I truly wanted to. I was supposed to meet Su-ho, like always. As i approached the street right Infront of the school entrance the sudden buzz of an engine snapped me out of my thoughts, and I barely had time to react before a white motorbike streaked past.

I recognized it instantly, the big black box strapped to the back, covered in a mess of peeling stickers he never bothered to take off. Su-ho was in the front, his posture relaxed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Behind him sat someone I didn’t know, a boy with a cautious grip on Su-ho’s shoulders. For a moment, I thought maybe Su-ho hadn’t seen me. Maybe he was distracted, in a hurry.

But then he turned his head just enough to catch my eye, a smirk tugging at his mouth, and kept going without slowing down. The boy riding with him glanced back at me, his expression confused. I called out for Su-ho, the words sharp and desperate but they were already too far.

My hands tightened around the handlebars, the metal digging into my palms and before I could think better of it, I pushed hard on the peddles of my bike making a quick U-turn to trail them at a distance. Something was strange. Not wrong exactly, not enough to set off alarms but it prickled at the edges of my mind stubborn and persistent. Su-ho wasn’t the type to ignore me, Not without a reason atleast.

As I followed them, it wasn’t long before they came to a sudden halt. I skidded my bike to a stop a few good feet away, just in time to see Su-ho swing off the motorbike and dart down a narrow alleyway without a word. He was obviously in a rush.

The stranger followed him, not as quick but fast enough to disappear with Su-ho into the shadows. I didn’t know what was going on down there, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. That wasn’t my business.

So, I pulled my bike up next to his motorbike and moved to sit on it, planting myself stubbornly on the seat. The big black box on the back wobbled slightly under my weight. I settled in, watching the cars blur past on the street, counting them without really seeing them.

It didn’t take too long before I heard footsteps, slow and uneven, followed by a loud yawn. "I'm hungry after doing all that. Let's go eat. I know an awesome place we can go. Time to pay your bill..." His voice trailed off as I twisted my body to face the direction it came from.

Three boys stood in front of me all with different facial expressions. I stayed where I was, resting casually against my childhood friend's bike. The boy riding behind Su-ho earlier blinked in surprise, like he hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting.

He hung back a little, shifting awkwardly on his feet, glancing between me and Su-ho like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. The other one, standing a few steps farther away, Shorter then the others, didn’t move at all. He just watched all calm and quiet, with a sharp kind of look that made it clear he was taking everything in, saying nothing. There was something different about him. something harder to read.

Su-ho didn't seem bothered at all by the way I was sitting on his bike. If anything, the grin on his face widened like he found it funny. He walked up casually, swinging his helmet off and tossing it onto the seat next to me with a careless thud.

"You know," he said, leaning a little too close like he was letting me in on a secret, "most people ask before they hijack my ride."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, not moving an inch. He chuckled under his breath, like he knew I wasn’t actually mad.

Straightening up, he turned to the two boys still standing a few feet away. He jerked a thumb toward me, casual and proud.

"This little pest is mine," he said, almost affectionately. "Been stuck with me since we were kids." I moved my hand up to slap him in the arm for calling me a 'pest' before turning my glace at the new boys once again, "Y/N" I said plainly before glaring at Su-ho once more.

The boy who had been riding behind him looked even more confused now, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to introduce himself too. The shorter boy stayed quiet, still watching me with those sharp eyes.

Su-ho didn't seem to notice the awkwardness, or maybe he just didn’t care. He grinned at me again, wide and boyish as always. "Come on. If you’re gonna lurk, you might as well come with us."

At first, I try to distract myself. I pull out my textbooks, sit at my desk, and tell myself I will just study for a little while until they answer. It is fine. Everything is fine. Su-ho always takes a while to text back. Si-eun too. Beom-seok is skittish, but that is nothing new.

The words on the page blur together. I keep checking my phone every few minutes. Still no messages. Still no calls. The pit in my stomach grows heavier, gnawing at my ribs.

I text them again. Nothing. I call. Still nothing.

When Si-eun finally picks up, it is rushed and cold. "I'm busy," he mutters before hanging up without another word.

That is when the studying stops. That is when the panic really starts sinking in, slow and suffocating like someone has thrown a weighted blanket over me. I cannot sit still anymore. I pace my room. I stare at my phone. I jump every time it buzzes, even when it is just spam.

Then finally, the call comes. A number I do not recognize flashes across my screen. My heart jumps to my throat as I answer. "Hello?"

"Y/n?" a voice says, softer than I expect. It is Su-ho’s grandmother. "I just wanted to let you know... Su-ho is in the hospital, but he’s okay. Nothing to panic about, sweetheart. Just come when you can."

Her words are gentle, careful, but I can still hear the worry tucked under them, hidden like a frayed seam.

I do not even remember moving. One second I am in my room, and the next I am flying down the streets on my bike, pedaling so hard it hurts. I can barely see through the tears stinging my eyes and the panic clouding my head.

When I get to the hospital, there are two people waiting in the chairs near the front. Si-eun is hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees, staring at the floor like he is trying to disappear. Sitting next to him is a girl I have never seen before. She has neat dark hair, simple jeans, and a jacket that looks way too big on her. Her face is pretty but serious, completely guarded.

"What happened? Where’s Beom-seok? Is he okay? What is going on with you three? Don't lie to me." My voice is raw, panting from running more then i ever have. I wanted to cut the the chance, i was done the the lying in this friend group.

Si-eun looks up slowly. He does not say anything right away. He just stares at me with that same exhausted, hollow look that makes my skin crawl. For once, he does not try to dodge the truth. He tells me everything. About the fights. About Yeong-bin. About Beom-seok’s fear. About Su-ho trying to fix things himself before it all went wrong.

It is too much. I stand there for a long minute, feeling like I have stepped into someone else’s nightmare. My eyes snap toward the girl next to him. "And who are you?" I demand, sharper than I mean to be.

She stands, calm and steady, like she is ready for me to ask. "I’m Yeong-i," she says quietly. "I am... part of it."

I do not have time to unpack what that means. My focus is already on the hallway leading to Su-ho. As I start walking, Si-eun's voice follows after me. "He threatened us if we involved you in this." He says it so plainly, like he knew he didn't mind the earful he was going to get from his bestfriend.

I do not answer. I just keep moving, following the sterile scent of the hospital until I find the right room. Inside, lying still beneath the white hospital sheets, is Su-ho. He looks so small, his breathing steady and slow. He looks fragile in a way I have never seen before, so unlike the boy who used to grin at me like he had the world in his hands.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, just staring at him. His face is relaxed, the lines of tension gone, but it doesn’t comfort me. I wish I could hear him talk, see his smile again. But instead, I just watch him sleep, my chest tight with worry I can't shake.

Su-ho looked a little beaten up, but he was okay. His face had a few bruises, his cheek was bandaged, but there was no mistaking the relief I felt seeing him awake. As I stood there, staring at him, he stirred slightly and blinked his eyes open. When his gaze met mine, my chest tightened, the tears I had been holding back threatening to spill over.

I couldn’t help it. I sighed in relief, watching his eyes, knowing he was alright. But the worry didn’t leave me yet. It lingered, heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Su-ho’s lips curved into a small smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, well, if it isn’t my personal stalker," he teased, his voice rough from sleep. "Didn’t think you’d be the type to break into hospitals just to check on me."

I rolled my eyes and made my way to his bed. Sitting down next to his legs, I reached out without thinking, gently touching the bandage on his cheek. He winced slightly but kept up his usual cocky attitude.

"Seriously, you’re unbelievable," I muttered, my fingers brushing the bandage carefully. "You really worried me, you know that?" My voice softened as I looked at him, feeling the weight of everything that had happened the unknowns, the fears, the secrets.

He just smirked, his usual charm somehow intact even after everything. "Hey, I’m fine. Nothing you need to worry about," he said with a shrug. "It’s all just a scratch. It’s nothing."

Frustration built up inside me. "Cut the crap, Su-ho," I snapped, my voice rising slightly. "I know everything. Don’t pretend like this is all nothing. I’m not stupid."

His smile faltered. His eyes grew more serious as he leaned back, clearly trying to find the right words. "You don’t get it," he said, his voice quieter now. "I just didn’t want you getting involved. It’s too dangerous for you."

I blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean? We aren’t kids anymore. I’m not some helpless little—" "I know we aren’t kids anymore," he cut in, his tone soft but firm. "That’s not what I mean."

He hesitated, like he was gathering courage. Slowly, a smug smile started to pull at his lips. I frowned, confused. "Come on," he said, teasing again but with something deeper behind it. "You really didn’t know? I’m in love with you."

The words hit me hard. My face heated instantly, my heart racing so fast it made my head spin. I stuttered, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Y-you... what?"

His smile only grew wider as he leaned in a little closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch mine. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and almost playful. "Thought maybe you would've figured it out by now—you being the smart one and all."

I was too flustered to respond. Before I could even think, he was pulling me toward him. His lips met mine, soft at first, then deepening as he held me close. For a second, I froze, completely overwhelmed, before I melted into him, my hands finding their way to grip his shirt.

The world slowed, everything else fading away...until a throat clearing broke the moment.

I jerked back, my face burning hotter than ever, and looked over to see Si-eun standing awkwardly in the doorway, clearly trying not to laugh. The girl next to him, Yeong-i, was grinning like she had just witnessed the cutest thing in the world.

I shot her a look, but even that couldn’t erase the warm, fluttering feeling in my chest.

Su-ho just chuckled and pulled me back against him casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. "Guess we have an audience," he said, smirking.

When I pushed the door open, the first thing I noticed was how quiet it was. The room still carried the faint smell of pizza and frosting. The table was filled with a few boxes of half-eaten pizza, some plates stacked neatly nearby. Sodas sat opened but unfinished. Balloons floated lazily near the ceiling, and a "Happy Birthday" banner hung across the wall, a little crooked but still holding strong.

And there on the couch, Su-ho was fast asleep. He was sprawled out comfortably, one arm draped over his stomach, his head resting against the couch cushion. His breathing was slow and even, the quiet room making it sound louder than usual.

I stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind me without a sound. For a moment, I just stood there watching him. The sight of him like this relaxed and safe made my chest ache a little.

Quietly, I made my way over and crouched beside the couch, resting my arms on the cushion and my chin on top of them. I stayed like that for a while, just studying his face. Without the teasing grin he always wore, he looked softer, almost boyish.

Without thinking, I reached out and brushed a bit of hair from his forehead. The slight touch made him stir. His eyes fluttered open, confused and sleepy at first, until they landed on me.

When he saw me, a slow, lazy smile spread across his face.

"Hey," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

"Hey, birthday boy," I said softly, smiling back.

Still heavy with sleep, he reached out and tugged at my arm, pulling me gently onto the couch with him. I let out a breathy laugh as I shifted, ending up half lying against his chest, fitting easily into the space beside him. His arm wrapped around me securely, his chin resting lightly against the top of my head.

"You came," he whispered, sounding happy.

"Of course I did," I said quietly, settling into him. "Like I'd ever miss your birthday."

We stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the world outside the room feeling miles away. His hand moved slowly up and down my arm in a soothing motion, and after a few moments, he spoke again, his voice even softer this time.

"I love you," he murmured, the words barely above a whisper.

My heart skipped, then raced, but I didn’t pull away. I tightened my arms around him instead, closing my eyes and letting the warmth of him sink into me.

A few seconds later, I felt him smile against my hair. "Best birthday," he mumbled, sounding completely content.

I let out a small, quiet laugh and lifted my head just enough to look up at him. "You’re so dramatic," I whispered back, but my voice was thick with emotion.

Everything had been weird lately. Si-eun barely talked to us anymore. Beom-seok was hanging out with the wrong people, and Su-ho... he just seemed off. It was worrying. He’d still tell me everything was okay, kiss me like nothing was wrong, but I could see it in his eyes — he was planning something. I knew it. But deep down, I believed that if it was truly bad, he would tell me.

I tried texting Si-eun, but he only ever insisted he was fine, just busy. Beom-seok didn’t talk to me at all. Once, he sent me a message asking to meet somewhere, but I had a horrible feeling about it and didn’t go. That pit in my chest was back — like something bad was happening, and I was the only one still in the dark.

I pushed the feeling away and forced myself back into studying. That was until my phone rang. It was Si-eun. His contact photo popped up — a picture of him and Su-ho smiling together.

I answered quickly. “Is Su-ho with you?” was the first thing he said, his voice tight, panicked.

“No... he hasn’t answered my calls either. Si-eun, what’s going on?" Beep. Beep. Beep. The call ended.

My heart dropped. I immediately started freaking out, calling him back, then calling Su-ho, then anyone I could think of — no one picked up. Desperate, I scrolled to Beom-seok’s contact and called. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Finally, someone picked up.

"Beom-seok?... I’m really worried about Su-ho, is he with you?" I asked, my voice trembling.

All I heard was a loud "Hey! Eat shit!" from somewhere in the background. That pit in my stomach grew bigger, swallowing everything else.

"Where are you... Beom-seok, where are you, you son of a— WHERE IS SU-HO?!"

He tried to say something, but I wasn’t listening. He must’ve realized, because he hung up. I called Si-eun again, my heart pounding in my chest, before running out of the house without even thinking. My feet carried me blindly down the streets, to anywhere I thought they might be. Anywhere Su-ho might be.

No answer. No answers anywhere. Everything was hurting by the time I finally couldn’t run anymore. I collapsed onto a bench, trying to catch my breath, when my phone buzzed. A text.

It was from Su-ho’s number. "Working out." That made it worse. It was late. What could he be "working out" at this hour?

I didn’t sleep that night And the next day at school, just as I tried to keep my mind from spiraling, I got a call.

Yeong-i. Confused, I answered. The moment I heard her sobbing voice, I knew it was about Su-ho. it didnt take long for her to tell me, Told me what Beom-seok and his gang had done. That Su-ho was in the hospital.

I didn’t think. I just stood up from my desk and quickly left my class, ignoring the calls of my teacher.

By the time I got there, Yeong-i was sitting outside the hospital room, crying into her hands. I sprinted up to her, panic exploding in my chest.

“Is he— Is he okay?” I asked desperately. She couldn’t answer. She just looked up at me with those tearful, broken eyes.

I moved to the hospital door in a panic. my legs moving on their own. Inside the room, I saw Si-eun first, he was crying, shoulders shaking. Su-ho’s grandmother was sitting next to the hospital bed, her face buried in her hands.

And there he was. Su-ho. Lying on the bed, a breathing mask over his face. Still. So still. His eyes weren’t opening like last time.

I covered my mouth with my hand, a muffled sob breaking free from my chest. I heard Si-eun cry, My eyes burned with tears as I forced myself forward, my hand instinctively resting on Si-eun’s shaking shoulder in hopes to comfort my friend.

Su-ho’s grandmother looked up at me, her face pale and worn. She shook her head slowly and explained through broken words he was in a coma.

My breath hitched violently as the reality hit me, slamming into my heart. He wasn’t just hurt this time. He was gone somewhere I couldn’t reach.

Without thinking, I stepped forward, taking my hand off Si-eun. My knees hit the cold hospital floor as I collapsed beside Su-ho’s bed. Grabbing his hand tightly in both of mine, I lowered my forehead onto it, whispering his name, willing him to wake up as cry's escaped my lips.

One afternoon, after another brutal day where everything felt too loud, too heavy, I found myself at the hospital again. The hallways smelled like bleach and cold air, but it was the only place that felt even remotely right anymore.

Si-eun was already there, sitting quietly next to Su-ho’s bed, his shoulders hunched forward like the weight of everything was pressing down on him too. He didn’t even look up when I walked in.

I quietly slid into the chair beside him, the scrape of metal legs against the floor the only sound between us. For a while, neither of us said anything.We didn’t need to.

The low beep of the heart monitor filled the room, steady and soft, a cruel reminder that Su-ho was alive... but not really here. My throat tightened as I stared at Su-ho's peaceful face. I hugged my arms around myself, feeling so small, so helpless.

"I miss him too," I whispered, the words breaking free before I could stop them. Si-eun stiffened slightly beside me, like he hadn’t expected me to say it out loud. I bit my lip hard, trying to keep the tears from falling, but it was no use. They slid down my cheeks, warm and painful.

"I don’t know how to do this without him," I said, voice cracking, eyes never leaving Su-ho. "You’re doing it," Si-eun said quietly, almost like he didn’t believe it himself. "You’re still here."

"But I’m not me anymore," I choked out. "I feel like I’m just... surviving. Like I'm stuck in some nightmare and everything’s wrong." Si-eun finally turned his head to look at me. His eyes were glossy too, raw from the same grief I was drowning in. "That's all any of us are doing," he said quietly.

The room felt heavier than ever. The weight of everything we were too young to carry sinking deeper into our bones. Unable to hold it in anymore, I leaned forward, pressing my forehead gently against Su-ho’s hand. His skin was warm under mine, but it wasn’t the same.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the heart monitor, and my own broken breathing. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, Si-eun’s. Steady and grounding.

I let myself cry, Really cry. Not just quiet tears, but the kind that shook my whole body And Si-eun stayed right there. Silent, Hurting too.

We sat there like that for what felt like forever. Two people who loved him so much, just trying to survive the wreckage he left behind.

Months had slipped by. I was getting better at surviving the days not really happy, not really sad. Just... waiting.

I still visited Su-ho every chance I could, sitting by his side, telling him about everything and nothing, even when the room felt too big and too quiet.

Si-eun and I had gotten closer too, finding time for each other even after he moved. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped.

One day, we were supposed to hang out, but he canceled last minute, claiming he was busy. I didn’t believe him. Not this time.

So I went to his mom’s apartment, where she casually mentioned he was volunteering at a youth cultural center for the weekend. I asked for the address and went straight there.

The building was huge older, with tall windows and the kind of floors that echoed your footsteps no matter how quietly you walked. Kids’ voices bounced around the halls, laughter and shouting bleeding through the open doors.

It smelled faintly like cafeteria food and something cleaner, more sterile. I wandered for about fifteen minutes before I heard it: a loud burst of muffled laughter coming from deeper inside. I followed the noise until I found the cafeteria.

It wasn’t packed, just scattered groups here and there. The light overhead flickered slightly, and the tables were old, the kind you could still find gum stuck underneath if you checked.

Near the back, four boys sat gathered around a table.

One had messy black hair and sharp, narrow eyes that flickered up as soon as I got close. Next to him was a lankier boy with glasses, his frame thin and awkward. Across from them sat a broader guy, shoulders hunched slightly as he focused on his food. And finally, there was Si-eun sitting quietly among them, not laughing, not talking, just eating with that same stoic expression he always wore lately.

I stepped closer until I was standing right beside the boy with the messy hair — the one who had noticed me first.

He looked up at me properly now, giving me a bold once-over before flashing a cheeky grin. "Lost, pretty girl?" he said, voice teasing but not unkind. "Or were you looking for someone?"

He leaned back casually in his seat, one arm draped over the back of his chair, looking way too pleased with himself. I give him a unamused look.

Across the table, Si-eun finally glanced up at me, his eyes meeting mine. He didn’t say anything, just stared, frozen mid-bite, his face impossible to read. "Since when do you volunteer?" My question was directed towards Si-eun, the three strangers around him looked surprised that I knew him, or that I actually spoke to him. "Y/N...What are you doing here?" His voice was calm as he set his chopsticks down. I shrugged walking past the other boys to lean on the table next to him. "I came all the way here to hang out with you this day, as always and you say 'I'm busy" I mock his calm tone, trying my best to make a bored expression like he does. That caused a snicker from the loud boy at the end of the table.

"I am." is the only thing he says before taking another bit of his food. I roll my eyes looking around before grabbing another chair and pulling it up sitting next to him. "well then I'll be busy with you. Y/N. Nice to meet you all" i give a kind smile to the three boys who look utterly confused.

The world blurred around me as I ran, my feet pounding against the pavement and my lungs burning with every desperate breath. I didn’t know exactly what I was running toward only that I had to get there. Had to see it for myself.

I stumbled onto the hospital property, my heart racing faster than my legs could carry me. Just ahead, standing outside the entrance, were four figures. Park Hu-Min, Go Hyun-Tak, Seo Jun-Tae, and Si-eun. I didn’t even think. I just kept moving, the ground beneath me almost nonexistent.

The three of them stood with their backs to me, facing something or... someone that I couldn’t see. I pushed my way between Hu-Min and Hyun-Tak, desperate to get through. As I brushed past Hu-Min, I caught a glimpse of his face, and for the briefest moment, I saw the sadness lingering in his eyes.

My eyes locked forward. There, just beyond them, was a wheelchair. And Si-eun, speaking softly to someone I couldn’t quite see yet.

My ears were ringing from the adrenaline, the noise of the world around me dulled to almost nothing. My heartbeat drowned everything else out. Each step closer felt like I was moving through thick water, like time had slowed just for this moment.

"Si-eun..." I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear. "Is that...?"

He turned at the sound of my voice, and when he moved, I finally saw him. Su-ho. There he was, awake.

His hair was a little longer, and he looked thinner, paler than I remembered, but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered except that it was him. My childhood best friend. My boyfriend, The person I thought I had lost forever.

When his eyes met mine, I saw the light return a tired but unmistakable smile slowly growing across his face, the same crooked grin that had once made me fall so hopelessly in love.

I stumbled forward, tears already spilling over. My hand lifted, shaking, reaching out to him like I needed proof that he was really there, that this wasn’t another cruel dream I would wake up from.

Before I could touch him, he reached up first, his hand finding mine and holding it tightly, like he was grounding me back to the earth.

"There you are, stalker." Su-ho said, his voice rough but teasing, full of more life than I could have ever hoped for. "I thought you gave up."

Taglist: N/A Header’s Creator: @saradika-graphics

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millerskitty · 2 days ago

Text

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

warnings: denial of feelings, rejection, brief/comical mention of drugs, angst, insecurity

click here for chapter 1

Chapter 2

In a perfect world you could simply pursue Joel Miller. But you did not live in a perfect world, so instead you pined over him from afar, thinking of scenarios where you had kissed him, closed the space between your lips and shown him how you felt. You tried your hardest not to make it obvious that you were holding onto something, a feeling, a shift from that evening in his garage.

You had spent more time getting ready than you meant to. You dusted on some light makeup with a clear gloss on your lips. Your hair looked good, you felt good and you spritzed on some of your favorite perfume.

You were running too late to make coffee and Pop had already gone to work. That man was impossibly responsible. Even after a night of drinking, he was always up and ready to go to work. Pop worked in the oil field; he oversaw operations across Texas and was often out of town every couple of weeks.

You decided you would ask Joel to stop for coffee on the way to the shop. There was a knock at the door and you grabbed your purse and keys before heading out. Joel stood there wearing jeans and a T-shirt with his contracting company’s logo on it. His beard had grown out some, but wasn’t overgrown and shaggy. You liked the way he took care of himself while also not trying too hard. He was handsome in a simple way, his masculinity and sense of self respect were the most attractive things to you.

“Ready to get movin’?” He smiled at you, boyish and wide.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir? Hmm. Don’t know if I like that.” He said, hopping in the driver’s seat of your car.

“Okay, ‘Yes, Mr. Miller,’” you teased. His face dropped.

“Joel, you call me Joel, dork.” He said, as the ignition turned over.

You shrunk at his correction, feeling bad. You wondered if you had made him feel old or something. You shrugged it off, flipping on the radio.

“Can we stop at 7Brew for a coffee first?”

“I don’t know if she’ll make it that far.” He tapped on the steering wheel sarcastically.

“Pleaseee,” you whined.

“Yes, yes of course I’ll get you your crack cocaine.”

“It's coffee!” You smacked his arm playfully.

“I could use a cup anyways.”

“You’re gonna get the jitters, but yes, you should definitely try it.” You couldn’t ignore his arms while he gripped the steering wheel, muscles sculpted from years of doing manual labor.

“Whatcha lookin at?” He snapped you out of your trance. He held your gaze while you waited for the stoplight to turn green. Something fluttered in your stomach, causing you to press your thighs together, which also caught his attention.

You blushed, it felt impossible to be in such close proximity with him. He certainly didn’t want to lean over the console and kiss you as badly as you wanted him to. You were making a fool of yourself and it hadn’t even been five minutes. You turned your body to face the passenger window.

It was silent until you reached the coffee shop. You got in line at the drive-thru.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing.” You lied.

“Come on, you were just excited about coffee and now you seem quiet.”

“Joel…” You whispered.

“Yeah, Doll?” He looked at you seriously.

“You have an eyelash underneath your eye.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Get outta here.”

“Can I get it?” You asked innocently. “Just so it doesn’t make its way into your eye and blind you permanently and cause us to die because you can’t see anymore?”

“Jesus Christ. Yeah, go ahead.”

You got up in your seat and leaned over the console and you watched his eyes travel from your eyes, down your neck and land on your cleavage as you pressed your soft fingertips to his cheek. He swallowed thickly, and you pulled away, showing him the single eyelash between your thumb and index finger.

“Make a wish and blow.” You said, holding it out to him.

He blew it away and then he pulled up to the window to order. You got something sweet with caramel drizzle and Joel got a cup of hot coffee, black with one sugar to cut some of the bitterness.

“What did you wish for?” You asked, licking a bit of the whipped cream from your straw.

“Can’t tell ya, cause’ I want it to come true.” He smirked before getting back onto the road.

He only made you more curious but you decided to let it go. There was something about showing interest in him that made you feel silly.

When you arrived at the shop, Joel led you into the room and took a seat beside you, your knees resting against each other’s. Nope, not intentional. These seats are tiny, in no world would he choose to make prolonged physical contact with you. You mentally checked yourself, willing your cheeks not to blush.

At some point during the hour wait for your car to be fixed it started to pour rain outside. Neither of you had known that there was a storm in the forecast.

“Stay here, I’ll pull the car around and pick you up.” Joel said, bracing himself for the incoming downpour.

“What? No, we’ll go together.”

“No, kid, I don’t want you to get all drenched if only one of us needs to.”

“I’ll wait here if you stop calling me that.”

“Done, sorry.” He said, ducking out and jogging over to the car. You watched the lights flicker on as he reversed and pulled up to get you.

You ducked and shielded the top of your head using the papers you’d just received from the clerk.

“Fuckin’ rain in the summer?” Joel shouted as you slammed the car door behind you and buckled up.

He proceeded to head in the direction of your home which was about thirty minutes away. You gripped onto the console, your whole body tense with fear. You were terribly afraid of driving in the rain. Joel noticed.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re going slow, everyone has their hazards on. We’ll be fine.” He said, looking down at you sympathetically.

“Mmhmm.” You mumbled, trying to be less obvious about your state of panic.

“Do you want the radio on?”

“Mm-mm,” you shook your head.

“Use your words, Darlin’.” He said calmly.

“No, I’m fine.” You’d blush at his pet name if you weren’t so afraid.

You drove in silence for a few minutes. You were halfway home when you’d started to relax your muscles at the worst possible time. There was a sound of rubber grinding and then you were swerving to avoid flying off the road, but it was useless. Joel tried to keep the wheel straight, but it was too late.

The car swerved uncontrollably and you went flying into a ditch, hitting the fence of someone’s farm property. When the car stopped, Joel ripped off his seatbelt and turned to you, grabbing ahold of you and checking you for damage as you cried silently.

“Comere’ baby, s’okay.” He said softly, unbuckling you and pulling you against his chest.

You whimpered, trying to hold it in, but your fear had just unfolded in front of your eyes. Joel’s hand rubbed up and down your back as you cried for a minute.

“We’re safe. You’re safe. We hydroplaned, we didn’t hit anyone else. Are you hurting?” He asked.

You shook your head no. “Okay, so let’s get out of here and get you safe at home, okay?” Joel reached over you and buckled you back up before putting the car in reverse and making his way back onto the road.

The rest of the drive was hazy, you were coming down from panicking and the adrenaline fading made you drowsy. You were starting to feel embarrassed about crying in front of Joel, but you put it out of your mind. You were rightfully afraid; it could have been worse.

“That could have been worse.” Joel said as he entered your neighborhood.

“Yeah, I’m glad we’re okay. You’re okay, right? No neck or back pain?” You asked, sitting up.

“Not a scratch on me, but your car… might have a few scrapes here and there.”

“What a bitch,” you chuckled.

“Just perfect,” he laughed after a moment.

“Ugh, dad’s gonna trip when he gets home on Monday.”

“Well you’re fine, he’ll be glad you’re safe, that’s the most important thing anyway.” Joel said as he pulled into your driveway and parked the car.

You didn’t know what possessed you to do it, but you unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned over the console and kissed him. He was rigid for a moment, then his lips softened and he kissed you back hard. His hand came up to cup your jaw and his tongue pressed forward, asking permission to explore your mouth. Butterflies swarmed just below your navel, causing you to moan into the kiss. It was more than you’d imagined it would be. It was an all-consuming, needy kiss.

You broke away for a moment, pressing your forehead against his.

The tension was thick, you heard your own heartbeat pounding even with rain pelting the windows of your car. The quick rise and fall of Joel’s chest matched yours. You didn’t want to make another move, afraid that you would do the wrong thing. Joel slumped back into his seat and dropped his head, beating you to the punch.

You reached out to touch his arm and he flinched. “I can’t do this.” He said, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I’m sorry, I thought, fuck, I made a mistake thinking you wanted this.” You stammered, filled with embarrassment.

”Never said I didn’t want it.”

“Then why can’t we?” You asked after a moment of registering the fact that he wanted this, wanted you.

“What kind of man would I be if I took up with m’ best friend’s little girl?”

”There you go again, I’m not a child, Joel.” You sighed, “I’m halfway to thirty and more mature than plenty of women my age.”

”You’re not gettin’ it.”

”No, I get it. You’d deny what this is between us to make my dad more comfortable. It’s not like you changed my diapers, Joel.” You started to gather your things to leave.

Joel looked embarrassed, “We can pretend like nothing ever happened.”

“Maybe you can.” You said, sliding out of the car and slamming the door. You punched your code into the keypad on the garage, not wanting to face Joel to ask for your car keys.

The rain was beating down on the top of your head and down your back as you failed the code twice. You took a deep breath, steadying your anxious fingers before putting the code in one last time. It unlocked and the garage started to open when you heard Joel’s door open and close.

You took your keys from him without looking at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you turned on your heel and left him standing in front of the garage in the pouring rain. He called out your name, but you didn’t care. Your cheeks burned with shame. You heard him groan as you pressed your back against the door that led to the garage.

What the fuck just happened?

chapter 3

#joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel x female reader #joel x y/n #joel x you #joel miller x you #tlou fandom #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel #slow burn #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #angst #angst with a happy ending

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