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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 3 years

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OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp pt.4

(This is a long fanfic and will consist of multiple parts.)

Stolas sat in the family limo, enjoying the smooth rumble of limos engine as he travelled home. Along the way, he felt... at peace.

As though, all the problems that plagued his mind before, had... evaporated.

Stolas ran a hand down his chest, his thighs grinding together as he thought about his time with you.

You were so gentle. So tender and elegant with him. As though he were some delicate piece of art.

But he knew the truth...

You handled him so delicately, because you wanted him to feel loved.

...Because you loved him.

The thought sending a whole new wave of warmth threw him.

So focused on the events that just transpired was he, he didn't even notice his arrival home.

He walked through the building blissfully unawares of all around him, almost in a drunken state.

Entering his chambers he found the bed made and empty.

Of course it was, Stella hadn't shared there bed since Blitzø fell into Stella's brunch.

He'd once found it all so charming. Blitzø's brash, rough and tumble attitude had once made him swoon.

But now when he thought about being with Blitzø, he just felt like an idiot for having thought there relationship was anything beyond a business transaction.

But now he had you. And you were all he needed now.

He fell onto his bed, not bothering with the covers. Content to just lay there and bask in the light you brought to his life.

But those tears he shed had took a toll on him, and as much as he wished to bask in this warmth he could feel sleep taking him and with one more happy thought of you, he allowed sleep take him.

He awoke early the morning, and despite being bathed in the light of Hell's crimson sun.

He felt cold.

As though all the warmth youd given him yesterday had simply vanished.

He sat up, sluggishily removing the covers went about preparing for his day of... nothing.

Stella hadn't allowed him anywhere near his usual meeting or appointments, not since- well you know what happened.

Perhaps he'd try and talk to his beloved Octavia. If she was feeling hospitable.

Hmmm. Perhaps not. He should probably just give her some space.

Besides he realised an even more important thing he could do with his morning.

Learning everything he could about You.

Turning over, he found his phone. Looking through his contacts.

He found your name, going into your contact he considered messaging you, but decided against it. He didn't want to bother you so early in the morning.

Instead he pulled up Voxtigram, his main form of communication, before typing in your name.

But he couldn't find you.

So he checked Blitzø's friend list, he eventually found you, it turns out you just had your name backwards, something that made him chuckle.

Seeing pictures of Blitzø sent pangs of sadness through his chest, but he soldiered on.

Scrolling through your pictures, he didn't find much.

Alot of them were just pictures of the places you'd been, or one of the weapons you used on the job.

He eventually did find some of you.

The first he found was you and the two other Imps that worked there, Millie and Moxxie he was pretty sure were there names.

The next was you on your first day at work.

It was a selfie of you in a group hug with Blitzø and the others.

You were all clearly being forced by Blitzø.

The awkward little smile you wore sent a wave of warmth through him.

Scrolling further down, he found more pictures of you. Most of them were just you relaxing at a variety of places, or after after getting a new outfit. Just general stuff about your life in hell.

Then he found one that made his heart skip a beat.

It was a picture of you. Wearing just a pair of shorts at the gym.

You were pulling a little pose, flexing your muscles in front of a mirror, a shy little blush across your cheeks.

Stolas' swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

He rubbed his thighs together as he fantasised about licking the sweat off your abs.

With a shake to his head, he decided now was a good time to get out of bed.

Leaving his phone as he went and took a nice long shower.

A nice long, cold shower.

Getting out, he chose a more casual outfit.

An old T-shirt and some jeans he reserved for comfy home clothes. He didn't have anywhere to be.

He made his way to the kitchen, where he found Octavia sitting at the table.

The more calculating part of his brain told him to just leave her alone, but he decided against it. He shouldn't hide from his daughter, she needed to know he was still there for her 'Hello darling, how did you sleep.' He asked pleasantly.

Octavia looked up at him, her eyes looking cold and annoyed. So, not all to different from her usual teenage gaze.

'I slept fine dad.' She sai, her voice dull and lifless, before looking back down at her phone.

Stolas swelled with joy.

His daughter was speaking to him again. Everything seemed seemed to be getting better for him.

Pouring himself a bowl of serial, he took a rather lecherous lstroll down memory lane, Thinking about his time with you.

He didn't know how long he'd been thinking about you, but he was quickly pulled out of it when he felt something hit him on the back.

The clanging of cutlery that followed soon after gave him a good idea of what it was.

Turning around he found a rather angry teenage owl glaring at him.

Before he could ask what was wrong. The owlet released a frustrated growl. 'Can you just not?' She asked rhetorically.

Running down her face she told him 'I have do deal with you and Mums B.S. all the time, can you just not fantasise about your fuckin Blitzy~ in front of me.'

She fell back into her seat with a huff.

Stolas was a little shocked. He hadn't thought his beloved daughter could be so course.

'I-I... I didn't realise I was being so bothersome.' He said, sounding perhaps a bit to wounded.

Octavia sighed, 'Can you just not in the kitchen. Where we eat, please?' She asked, going back to her breakfast.

Stolas sighed, picking up his now soggy bowl of serial. 'How long had I been in that state?' He asked himself.

'Five minutes' answered Octavia not looking up from her phone.

'Oh' he said to himself, taking the bowl he poured it into the trash. 'Well that's disgusting.'

He chuckled to himself. Looking over his shoulder he said 'Well, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear you won't be hearing much about Blitzø... ever again.' He told her being perhaps a little vitriolic.

Getting a cup from the cupboard, he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Walking over to Octavia he went to take a seat, but stopped upon seeing her distrustful gaze.

Taking a seat he sighed. 'Octavia, darling... I know these past few weeks haven't been easy on you. And I know much of that-" He had to stop as Octavia glared daggers at him. "...All of it, was my fault. But I promise, things will get better... for both of us.' He took her hand into his own. 'I promise.'

Octavia looked up at him, she looked so startled by his words.

It seemed like she was gonna say something, dew drops forming in the corners of her eyes.

He was about to say something when Octavia shot up and ran away.

Stolas sat there. For a long while. His conversation running over in his mind.

Taking a drink from his coffee he stood up, put his cup in the sink and left.

He found himself in his garden, perhaps the last place he still felt at home on the palace grounds.

Trying to calm himself down went about his usual grooming routine.

Trimming bushes, feeding his plants, pulling weeds and just general plant care.

And as much as his plants soothed his nerves,, he could feel his mood shifting.

The depression beganing to invade his thoughts.

He felt himself become that miserable husk that got shoved out of Blitzøs office.

He clutched his head, hunching over on the brink of tears. His thoughts became like daggers, stabbing into his thoughts.

But before he could shed a tear, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he found it was a call from you.

In something of a surprised stupor, he answered the call. He tried to clear the emotion from his voice before saying 'Hello?'

'Stolas? Are you okay? You sound upset.' You asked him, concern in your voice.

'(Y/N)?! I... I'm...' he was going to tell you some fluff story, pretending he was fine and probably throwing a few lewd innuendos I'm there.

But, he choked... He just couldn't.

'No... No I'm not okay.' He told you, on the brink of tears. 'I feel like everything is broken and it's all my fault.'

You took a moment to respond, clearing your throat you said. 'Stolas... why did you sleep with Blitzø?'

Stolas was taken aback, 'P-Pardon?'

You sighed, 'Did you want to hurt your family when you chose to sleep with Blitzø?'

Bringing up it was he who made of decision to sleep with Blitzø, made his self loathing grow like a fire.

'N-No!' He told you 'I would never want to hurt my family...'

'Its alright Stolas, I know you wouldn't want to hurt them... But you slept with him for a reason Stolas, you need to know what it is.'

Stolas wasn't sure how to answer, he didn't really know the answer. He could lie, tell you it was just a spur of the moment decision, but that just wasn't true.

'I-I don't know.' He stated, more then said. 'I don't know why I did it... I just... don't know.'

He sat there for several moments, his mind going into overdrive as he thought over the question.

'Its alright Stolas, I believe you. But you need to figure it out, this is something that will haunt you until you figure it out." You told him, trying your best to be serious.

Stolas wiped his eyes, before asking you, 'why did you call (Y/n)? I... don't remember giving you my number!' He mumbled out, rubbing his eye.

You coughed, clearing your throat, 'Don't worry about that. I actually called you because, well I mean, I was wondering, if maybe you wanted to do something tomorrow?' You asked him, voice thick with bashfulness.

Stolas was really taken aback, 'You... You want to do something... With me?' He asked incredulously.

You chuckled on the other end of the phone. 'If I were there right now, Stolas, I'd probably boop you right on a nose.' You tell him through a smile.

'I'd love to do something!' Stolas practically cheered. You chuckled, before telling him 'Great, Ive already got an idea, but if youd like to do-'

Before you could finish your note, Stolas shouted, 'I'd love Too!'

Stolas quickly calmed down, before clearing his throat, 'Sorry... I mean, I'd love to do whatever you had in mind.' He said, cringing at how desperate he'd sounded.

'Good to hear' You chuckled, 'Well, there's this great wine place I know that makes the best little pizzas, and I, uh, wanted to share it with you.'

Your words sent a wave of ecstasy through his body. You not only wanted to spend time with him but actively sought him out to spend time with him.

You were everything he wished Blitzø was.

And he loved it.

He didn't need Blitzø.

He had you now.

'Of course (Y/N), It would be my pleasure to spend some time with you.' He told you, biting his lip.

He felt like a school girl with her first crush, a youthful giddiness clouded his mind.

'Oh? Well I've got tomorrow off, does that work for you? We can do it another day if your busy.' You told him, concern clear in your voice.

It was Stolas' turn to laugh at the tone in your voice.

'I don't have anything on tomorrow, so I'd love to accompany you to yor wine and pizza place. Nothing would make me happier.' He told you earnestly.

He could hear the smile in your voice, as you told him. 'Well, I'm happy to hear that. I'll send you the address later today, call me if you need any directions... I'll see you then, Stolas.'

'I...' Stolas wanted to tell you how much he loved you, just how much joy you brought him with one simple phone call.

He wanted to tell you, but didn't have the words.

As he tried to manifest the words he needed, he heard say through the phone.

'Its alright Stolas. I look forward to seeing you too.'

You told him simply, Stolas just sighed. How you always knew what he was trying to say.

'I'll see you tomorrow, My Beloved.' he told you before you hung up.

Hearing the tell tale dial tone, looking down at the phone, your image in the caller I.D. bringing a smile to his face.

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #x reader #headcanon #helluva stolas #stolas x reader #stolas #helluva boss headcanon

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Leaden Dreams

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,908

Warnings: Vague depictions of sleep paralysis

Premise: In which the reader experiences sleep paralysis

Author’s Note: First time writing Kazuha! I just finished his story quest today, so I hope that I have an okay grasp on him. Still working on his talking style a bit but I adore his personality.

Also though I experience the part of sleep paralysis where you’re awake but can’t move (can’t recommend the experience) it’s usually during the day so I don’t really experience dreams. As of such if this is inaccurate in any ways I’m very sorry.

Albedo

Albedo knew about sleep paralysis on a theoretically level, knew that it was a phenomenon that caused one’s brain to awaken when the body was still fast asleep. He’d never given the concept much thought, not any more than he might any other bit of science that remained shelved in his mind.

Now that was certainly not the case.

Albedo knew the telltale signs, the small spasms that revealed the battle between your mind and your body. Knowing that you were fighting to move your limbs, open your eyes, relax your jaw, he would always speak first, knowing that you might not immediately respond.

“It’s alright my dear, I’m here. I know it’s frightening, but I promise you’ll be able to move soon. Just focus on one thing, alright? Maybe your eyes this time, since last time you tried moving your tongue. That’s it, just one thing first. It’s always better to start small.”

He wouldn’t move from his sleeping position until you regained control of your body, afraid that a sudden touch might cause you even more distress. Keeping himself carefully pressed into the mattress he didn’t fare lift his head, for fear his face might melt into something frightening. Since he knew he was helpless, his goal became to stop things from getting worse.

The moment you began to move however the alchemist would jump into action. Turning lights on he would pick up the glass of water from his nightstand before gathering you up into his arms, positioning himself so you could listen to his heartbeat as you drank. The first time it had happened he had left the room to get the glass to soon, and the memory of you curled up desperately into the covers still tugged at him.

Albedo would then go through what you had half-dreamed with you, thoroughly debunking all the distortions of your normal life. That shadowed human outside the window was a combination of the balcony and the half opened curtains. The voices were partially his own, partially your brain trying to process your own breathing. The figure hiding behind the door of the hallway was because of the boxed piled along the other side of the wall. The people dancing on the ceiling could be fixed with a repaint. Over and over he would remind you of the fact that you were safe, that your amygdala was simply going into overdrive. Over and over he would thoroughly debunk your nightmares until once more things settled into place, piles of clothing becoming one more fabric, dressers no longer dancing as if possessed.

He would tell you to wake him up if he began falling back to sleep, determined that he should be watching over you to make sure an episode didn’t happen as you were falling back asleep.

In reality though you didn’t mind if he drifted off a little before you. His breathing was a soothing melody, his slow, steady heartbeat a rhythm with which you could anchor yourself. He was staid and sure, and that was something you grasped onto desperately, something you would never stop appreciating.

Soon enough his reasons would soothe your mind, and you’d fall once more asleep.

Kazuha

The first thing Kazuha always did was pull the blankets over you. If the outside world was threatening you, then he’d simply block it out.

Making a cocoon around the two of you he would begin to tell stories. Fairy tales, things that had happened to him during his travels, anything that you brain might latch onto. The stories were always very short and self-contained, easy to understand, and through your panic addled brain you always seemed to find them.

Sometimes when things were particularly bad he’d softly cradled your hands, careful not to move to quickly or too suddenly in case the sensation caused you to panic even more.

“Our hands fit together so well, don’t you think? I could write a poem about them, or maybe about yours. Maybe you’ll help me with it after this is over? It will be soon dearest, I know it will.”

Sometimes he would sing little songs that he’d picked up. Usually sea shanties, their rhythm helped you, less complex than poetry, more lyrical than the jagged fear that screamed at you.

Kazuha wouldn’t ask you to share immediately. When you finally moved he would first squeeze your hands gently, kissing them before your forehead, asking if it was too hot beneath the blankets, then making sure a light was on if you needed a little fresh air.

He never acknowledged what had happened before you did, but he wouldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen either. Instead he would ask if you wanted to listen to a story or tell one. Whichever you chose he would keep holding your hands, making sure that even when he gave you space there was still something that grounded you.

Sometimes when you cried he would tell a very specific story.

“There once was a warrior, brave of heart. So brave were they that shadows tried to chase them. Someone this noble cannot exist! They cried out. The warrior must be false. We will find their weakness. However no matter how hard they tried this weakness was never found. For the warrior was truly brave in heart and soul.”

Normally you might consider such a story overdone, but in those liminal moments between fear and sleep the story format helped. This was simply a harrowing part of a story, but there would surely be a better end.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche never thought that he’d ever sleep next to you.

Humans were loud and irritating, and that only became more true when the Harbinger was trying to get a few precious hours of sleep.

However after a particularly bad week he decided that the only solution to your terrible lack of attention was to deal with the matter himself.

He wasn’t necessarily nice about it, grumbling about your poor sleeping habits, saying that this was an awful waste of time. However the moment that panic consumed you, the moment that things started to twist around you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm.

“These idiotic phantoms are nothing. Come on, I know you’re strong enough. How could you ever let something so puny win against you.”

Though you certainly didn’t agree with him about that you had to admit it helped somewhat. Though your initial panic never disappeared, it became easier to climb out of your dreams, to see a light at the end of the endless tunnel of fear.

Every time you jerked once more awake Scaramouche let himself admit some sort of relieved satisfaction.

“You’ve done it again. As you always have. I don’t know why I bother sleeping here when you’re competent enough on your own.”

Nevertheless Scaramouche would always let you embrace him, not commenting on the tears that often accompanied you. Loosely resting his arms on your back he let out exaggerated breaths.

“Will you sleep now?”

It didn’t matter if you said no. Scaramouche would simply mutter something about bad sleep habits, but he would nevertheless stay awake.

He would always fall asleep last, even when his eyes burned slightly and his body called out for rest.

If he was going through all this trouble after all, he might as well see it through to the end.

Xiao

Xiao saw dreams as extensions of human karma, of human wants and needs and wishes.

If a human dreamt a good wish, it was a revelation of their hearts desire. If they tossed and turned with nightmares it was their fears and shames manifesting. A dream was never just a dream, a shuffle of random events and names and faces. Dreams were alive; dreams had their own wills, all connected to the will of the human they were attached too.

Xiao loathed to see you haunted by your dreams. How could someone so wonderful as your be chased by something so awful? The little that you told your partner caused a distant sort of dread. He could never understand your fear of falling asleep, but he surely felt the dread of whether or not you might be allowed peace.

The threads that surrounded you, that surrounded all humans, always tensed when you were entering an episode. Careful not to leave your side too much Xiao would light a few candles, not too much to be jarring to your eyes, not too little to add to your nightmares. If you could only open your eyes then Xiao would pay even more attention, making sure that the dim lighting didn’t add to your distress, shifting the candles or blowing them out if need be.

Xiao didn’t talk much normally, but he would keep up a steady stream of questions in these moments, even if you couldn’t answer them. Whether you were aware of his presence, whether the window being open was a problem or not, whether you needed more light or less. He would keep these questions in the back of his mind for you to answer once you could again, not only so he could do better next time, but in case the nightmares we too close to be spoken about.

Usually Xiao would ask about them again in the morning, and sometimes you would discuss it then. Though the yaksha knew that nightmares were often the fears that humans accumulated, the curses that attached themselves to unsuspecting victims, he never talked about that aspect with you, indeed when he talked about it at all. Most of the time he would just listen, tracing soft circles along your back and down your arms.

Right after an episode Xiao would make his way over to you. Most of the time he would stay in one place while the episode was happening, near the candles or by the window, making sure he didn’t startle you anymore. Now though he might move every once in a while, or turn your head softly towards him if your eyes became fixated on one spot in the room. Always he’d go to open the window, and the familiarity of the routine became something that lulled you back into a sense of piece.

Not sleeping himself Xiao never told you that you need more rest, that you should go back to sleep. If you needed to stay up the rest of the night so be it, he would be there with you. If you were too tired and found yourself drifting off to sleep he would promise to protect you, to fight off any demons that might be lurking.

Sometimes Xiao feared that his burden of curses exacerbated your sleep paralysis. Those evenings he would wait for you to sleep before slipping away. Always he would leave his sleeve and his mask, making sure that if you woke up you would still have something of his presence to comfort or protect yourself with. Those nights he would stare out into Liyue and think about all the things that he carried with him, all the things that you did too.

Regardless of those nights he would be there in the morning.

“Did you sleep well afterwards?” He would always ask. Regardless of your answer, which he would surely pay attention to after his second question, he would stare into your eyes.

“Do you think things would be easier without my presence?”

Always you said no.

#idk why but I enjoyed writing xiao especially for this #not that I did love all of these this is such a good prompt #genshin impact fanfiction #albedo x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin albedo #kaedahara kazuha #genshin scaramouche #genshin xiao #genshin impact #scenarios #headcanons #very short scenarios lol #requested #my writing

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

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The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spence reid #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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fortunatelyfresco · 3 years

Text

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

------------

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

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himaboroshi736 · 3 years

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IronDad fic recs

Here. I’m a french reader, but I’ve read A LOT (like...a lot) of IronDad, so, eventually, here my fic rec. (I tried to class it by categories, but well...) (it’s gonna be very long, guys)

Peter Parker has anxiety

Don’t let me get me, by hopeless_hope

He picks up his phone and sends a quick text. "hey, happy! i’m not feeling too hot today, so i think i’m gonna have to cancel. tell mr. stark i’m sorry!"

He stares at his phone, waiting for a response. It never comes, and Peter sighs sadly. There was a part of him, a small part, that really hoped he was wrong. His insides burn, and he curls up tighter into a ball and turns off his phone.

(No one’s going to try to contact him anyway.)

Anxiety has a way of convincing Peter that everyone hates him. Tony has a way of proving him wrong.

Midnight Oil, by @jolinarjackson

After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

Tony Stark has anxiety

do you even remember what the world looks like ?, by @iron--spider

Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

not like megatron, by @iron--spider

“Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.

“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

Hypothermia trope (i really like it so if you have any suggestions...)

i knock the ice from my bones, by hopeless_hope

Peter tries to move his legs through the water, dread filling him when they don’t move, and he just hangs there, doing anything and everything he can not to focus on the feeling of ice clinging to his bones. He feels sluggish, the world blurring around him, and he rests his head on the ice, not even registering the cold anymore.

He’s just so damn tired.

“PETER!” he hears someone yell, but it’s all muffled, and he lazily drags his eyes up to see a figure descending towards him.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thinks, This is not how my vacation was supposed to go.

While on what's supposed to be a relaxing vacation with the Starks, things for Peter quickly go south, and he finds himself on thin ice. Literally.

Ice Ice Baby, by @wolfypuppypiles

If Tony, Bucky or pretty much anybody that knew Peter had seen him that morning they would have smacked him upside the head. Helping people was great, everyone should give it a go, but when helping people puts you in danger it’s not so smart anymore.

AKA Peter can't get from Avenger tower to the subway without giving his winter clothes to homeless people and ends up with a severe case of hypothermia

Candle in the Window, by @madasthesea

Finals are over and Peter just wants to go home. The weather has other ideas.

Burn This Out, by @ephemeralstark

It's summer and Peter is free to be Spider-Man all day which is great, but it's summer and Peter is out as Spider-Man on the hottest day of the year which is not great.

Or, Peter gets heat stroke because he can't thermoregulate and things could not go worse for him.

(yeah, it’s not an hypothermia, but it’s linked to the fact that Peter can’t actually thermoregulate)

Post-Endgame (really like this trope too lmao)

the first birthday after, by iron_spider

(Endgame spoilers. But The Thing doesn't happen.)

The rain falls harder and Tony turns, his neck creaking and cracking, and he sees Peter asleep over by the window. He’s holding a small, flat box, and he’s slowly slipping to the right side of the easy chair he’s in.

Tony thinks about letting him sleep, but he finds himself speaking anyway. “Pete,” he says, his voice rough and raspy.

Peter immediately startles awake. “Happy Birthday,” he says, almost like he’d fallen asleep practicing it, planning to say it as soon as he woke up. He blinks at Tony, shivering a little bit, and then he smiles. “Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday.”

Tony snorts, smiling back. “Thanks, bud,” he says.

Second Best, by Rowan_M

Tony had adjusted to parenthood quickly when Morgan came along, and was always conscious of making sure Peter isn't left out ... Almost always. When Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan, Tony obsess over his daughter and takes his anger out on Peter, without even checking to see if he was okay. Steve finds Peter later that night in serious pain and in need of immediate medical attention.

Or, Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan and Tony basically ignores him.

when you’re feeling empty keep me in your memory, by JkWriter

after everything with thanos he forgets it's his birthday. he just assumed everyone else did too.

All For You, by @ironxprince

Three weeks after the snap that saved the world, Peter learns he was the reason behind it. He learns that Tony risked death, and now has to live with the ramifications, both physical and mental, all because of him.

This doesn't sit right with him.

you save everybody, but who saves you ?, by @iron--spider

Tony doesn’t sleep, because he can’t, because too many things are plaguing him, most of all where Peter is and what he’s doing. Tony has a good view of the hallway through the windows to his room, and he stares and stares until his eyes cross, until he hallucinates, until he knows he’s going insane.

He sees Peter sneaking into the med bay at about four in the morning.

The kid’s mask is off and he’s got two short, harsh slashes across his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a slice across his neck. His suit is ripped in a few places and he’s holding onto his middle, and Tony can see his hands are shaking.

It’s like something splinters in Tony’s already broken brain, like his world narrows and there are hazy edges, both weakness and strength entwining in his veins when he sees Peter struggle up onto one of the beds in the main atrium, starting to tend his wounds without calling anybody to help.

BAMF Peter Parker

Pizza, a Movie, and... an Attempted Kidnapping ?, by Pogokitten

“Tony. We’ll be fine,” Peter tells the man for what must be the tenth time in the last half hour.

Peter’s sitting on the couch of his and May’s apartment and building Legos with Morgan as they both watch their father’s methodical, yet anxious, pacing. He’s dressed to impress, as is Pepper who is watching the scene slightly exasperated.

“Are you sure? We can ditch the gala, kid. Just say the word,” Tony offers, halting in front of his kids.

Or: Tony and Pepper leave Peter in charge of Morgan while they go to their first gala since the third snap. Peter is expecting a calm night in with his adopted sister, but some thugs throw a wrench in his plans.

he’s good like that, by @iron--spider

“Get the hell outta here, boy,” the man says. “Or you’re gonna watch your boss die in front of you.” Then he grabs Tony by the shoulders hard, and shoves him down to his knees. The gun is louder now, like it’s filled with words that are eager to be shouted, and Tony winces when he feels the barrel press against the back of his neck. His knees weren’t ready to hit the ground that hard, and he tries to keep the pain from reaching his face.

He must fail, because Peter looks pissed.

“You’re not gonna shoot him, mister,” Peter says, somehow still trying to maintain a respectful tone, despite the clear anger written all over him.

stark robotics and technology conference, by @iron--spider

Peter leans against the wall while Tony chooses their floor, and the doors close. “Do you, uh, want me to do some interning stuff? Like go and get you coffee? Make sure the, uh—programs are all ready? Make sure the paintings are straight in the ballroom? Make sure the chairs are—”

Tony snorts. “Kid, I just thought you’d enjoy this. May told me about when it came through Queens but you two couldn’t make it because she was working and didn’t want you to go alone, and I thought, after all the shit you’ve been through lately, that you deserved something fun. No interning for you. That’s just an excuse.”

Peter remembers that. It was six months after Ben died, and he wasn’t gonna bother May too much about the conference. He didn’t know how much tickets cost anyways, or if kids his age could even go.

He really hung onto the idea of Iron Man after Ben died. Peter held him closer than ever.

Peter and Tony fighting

dinner and a jailbreak, by killerqueenwrites

“I’m not your kid!” Peter shouts.

“Don’t walk away from me, I’m not done–“

“You’re not my dad!”

Peter fitting in after the Blip isn't as easy as Tony hoped it would be. He wants his kid back, but they can't seem to stop fighting.

and then Peter goes missing.

my old man, by parkrstark

"I just want to help you. I want to help you understand what's wrong here and how to stop it. I used to be the same way until my father showed me how to be a man." He glanced back at Peter to sneer. "He's old enough to know better by now, but it's not your fault you didn't know how to teach him." "Teach him what?" Tony asked even though he didn't want to know the answer.

"Discipline, of course," Junior said with a wink.

Tony takes Peter on a weekend trip to try and change his mind about college and things go wrong. Then, they go even more wrong.

Between how it is and how it should be, by @frostysunflowers

''Doesn’t Captain Rogers ever…wonder,'' Peter winced as he fumbled for the right word, ''where you are?''

Bucky smirked. ''Steve’s a regular mother hen. Used to be me that worried about him.'' He gave Peter a pointed look. ''Better question is, isn’t Stark wondering where you are?''

Soulmates trope

presumed dead, by killerqueenwrites

Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen, his second when he's thirty. He's forty-six when his third appears, and forty-eight when it fades to grey.

did you see the flares in the sky ?, by justt-ppeachy

‘hi’

One simple word was displayed proudly on the inside of his right wrist. Tony wasn’t sure when this word showed up or how long it had been there.

A line formed underneath the word and Tony could almost feel the pressure on his arm from the marker his soulmate was using to push one phrase from their skin into his.

‘i loev yu’

The letters were written slowly and messily as they showed up upon his wrist while he watched in disbelief. Not sure if he was hallucinating or just going insane, Tony rubbed at the writing, wondering if they would disappear once he looked again.

The words were barely recognizable, but they were still the best thing Tony had ever seen.

IronDad Fluff (yeah)

peter wearing tony’s hoodie, by killerqueenwrites

Tony’s used to his clothes going missing. His MIT hoodie doesn’t often leave his closet, though, which is why he notices its absence straight away. There’s a lifetime of safety and comfort in this old hoodie, for both of them, and that’s all Tony could ever wish to give Peter.

Career Day, by @superhusbands4ever

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Peter’s enhanced senses picked up the familiar voice from outside the door. “I had a meeting this morning and then I got lost looking for the class… anyway, I’m here for Peter? Peter Parker?”

He frowned at hearing his name, still unsure what exactly was going on. He watched as his teacher continued to stand and stare out the door for a minute before seemingly remembering herself and taking a step back.

“Of course! If you could just go sit next to him until your turn, he’s in the back on the right side.”

The man stepped through the door and Peter gaped with the rest of the class as Tony Stark, in his signature suit and goatee, sporting a pair of red sunglasses and carrying a suitcase walked through the door.

Kryptonite, by forensicleaf

The kid is acting weird.

Tony tries to figure it out.

father’s day, by @iron--spider

It’s Father’s Day, and Tony never really had a father. Not in the real sense of the word, not in the way that counts.

Peter Parker doesn’t have a father, either. Not anymore, anyway, not since he was little, and the amount of years that have passed since then outweigh the amount of time he got with Richard Parker.

Tony wouldn’t call himself Peter’s dad. He wouldn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t think of himself that way, no way, no way.

He stares at himself in the mirror. He pulls down on his cheeks, makes his eyes water. He runs his hands over the roughness of his jaw and sorta hates everything about himself right now, because he’s acting like a goddamn idiot. It’s Father’s Day and he’s not a father. He doesn’t know why the hell he’s pining for something that isn’t his, shouldn’t be his, can never be his. He isn’t a father, he isn’t Peter’s father, so there’s no reason on God’s green earth for Peter and him to do something for Father’s Day.

ain’t no valley low enough, by @iron--spider (yes, again, ‘cuz she’s the best)

Peter snorts. “You know I didn’t apply anywhere in Florida.”

“Please, kid, you know all you have to do is write a beautiful essay with my recommendation attached to it and you’re in. You’ve got the scores.”

Peter has a list. Of all the places he applied to, all the places he got into. A lot of it was encouraged by the adult role models in his life, some of it by Ned daydreaming about places like California and Colorado. Mostly, Peter just applied everywhere he could think of, because he’s known for a long time that Tony was gonna help May pay for it, and he didn’t wanna limit his options. Thinking about college has been strange for him, strange to the extent that he had a full blown panic attack about it in the middle of Avengers taco night last month. He can’t really understand it, doesn’t get why it feels like the end of the world—because he’s experienced the end of the world, and it’s not which campus has a bowling alley and which school has circus classes. But he nearly blacked out all the same, sobbed in Tony’s arms on the balcony until Tony proposed this. The road trip.

and when it’s hard, i’ll place your head into my hands, by hopeless_hope

“Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

Peter likes cuddles (and Tony too, but he always denies it... until he can’t)

my arms will hold you (keep you safe and warm), by parkrstark

“So, you’re telling me your body...is going through Oxytocin withdrawals?” Tony asked slowly.

“Cuddle withdrawals,” Peter corrected him. “Mr. Stark cuddles.”

TW : Rape/non-cons

make me strong, by parkrstark

It all started when Tony introduced Peter to Skip Westcott. He just didn't know until it was too late.

(There is a lot more, but I can’t find it rn ;-;)

5+1

5 times peter clung to tony, by parkrstark

... and the one time tony clung to him.

You are my Dad, you’re my dad, boogiewoogiewoogie, by Hittinmiss

“Peter? What’s going on kid?” Tony asked, him popping up on the phone’s screen.

“Hey da-” Peter started automatically before immediately noticing his mistake, the look on Ned’s face proved that yes, he almost called Tony Stark dad. He needed to try recover quickly because the look on Tony’s face seemed confused, especially with his slight pause. “-aaaaaamn Mr. Stark I really like your shirt. Where’d you get it?”

Smooth.

---

5 times Peter called Tony Dad and the 1 time Tony called himself Dad

5 Times Tony Took Care of Peter..., by As_Clear_As_Crystal

“Think if I coded a sign into your suit that says ‘Baby on Board,’ maybe criminals wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about murdering you?” Tony asks airily, poking at the bottom of Peter’s foot.

Peter halfheartedly kicks at Tony with his toe. (“That’s offensive, Mr. Stark.” )

- - -

aka: Five times Tony took care of Peter, and one time Peter took care of Tony.

5 times Peter is stuck with Tony, by @iron--spider

(...and one time he’s stuck alone.)

“I wonder if Pepper’s reported me missing yet,” Tony says, with an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder if this is some kind of scheme to kidnap me or something.”

“I think the ride’s just broken,” Peter says.

“Today of all goddamn days,” Tony says, exasperation clear in his voice and in his eyes. “Ruining our trip—”

“It’s not ruined,” Peter says. “Look, we’re hanging out."

“Real quality time,” Tony huffs. “Us, a few other trapped members of the general public, and a handful of animatronic pirates. Drunk pirates. Repeating themselves.”

5 times tony forgot peter was just a kid, by @parkrstark

...and the 1 time he didn't.

Or the one where it was hard for Tony to remember that the kid fighting next to him was still just a kid.

can i get a good night’s sleep ? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep ?, by peterstank

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is completely fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

or: five times peter doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

Five Times Peter and Tony Had Each Other’s Back, by Sahiya

... and One Time They Needed Help.

Peter is Tony’s Biological Child

I Had the Dream Again, by Skeeter_110

Peter calls Tony in the middle of the night crying.

Congratulations, it’s a Boy, by capiocapi

"Sir, I have the results.”

“Okay, Jarvis. Hit me.”

“It’s a match. 99.9% chance that he is your biological son, which is the percentage needed to be recognized by law as a biological parent.”

Tony’s stomach did a funny swooping dance. “Great. Congratulations to me then, eh? It’s a boy.”

You Are My Sunshine, by @iamconstantine

Tony Stark had always been a man of science and he always would be. It was his personal and fundamental belief that everything had an explanation. His eventual encounters with Norse gods, alien life, and sorcerers did kind of quake this a little bit, but still.

One thing that had always confounded him as the one thing that had no scientific explanation was fate. Murphy’s law, Finagle’s law, the butterfly effect, the domino effect, the snowball effect, and the wisest of all: “Shit happens.”

So how peculiar was it that one of the greatest things to ever happen to him began with a tray of champagne?

Serie i love you more than anything, by @iron--spider

The highs and lows of Tony unexpectedly becoming a single dad at 31– from Peter’s early baby years, all the way past the defeat of Thanos

May’s abusive boyfriend trope

A Peter Parker Problem, by @spagbol99

Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He'd been snapped out of existence until some sort of time travel and an active death wish by his mentor had saved him and the universe. Just your average sort of life for a 16 year old from Queens.

Peter comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. But he has done it before, he can do it again.

The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now. He knows Tony would be there for him through anything. But Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. He is Spider-man. He's been to space and fought aliens. He can get through anything. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

(again, I’ve read a lot more but can’t find it...)

Peter Parker Whump (everyone’s favorite trope)

Danger Pizza, by alice_in_ink

The window was pushed open, and Iron Man’s head popped into his bedroom. “Here’s where I’m confused—why lock the front door but leave the fire-escape-accessible windows unlocked?” He clambered through said window. “Seems like a safety hazard.”

Peter eyed the metal suit as it straightened to a standing position. “Did you break into my window to kill me?”

The face plate lifted, and Tony’s eyes quickly looked over the teen. “Christ, kid. It looks like you’re halfway there.”

...

A wild night on patrol leaves Peter with a broken back, and boy, does he want to be able to move without dying. (So he calls Anthony Stark, obviously.)

If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest), by @losingmymindtonight

"And I would hurry. Little Peter is about to be under quite a lot of pressure, and it might get a little hard to breathe.”

I’ve Got You, by @thedumbestavenger

Peter runs into a Copycat Vulture out on patrol, from there, everything escalates.

Meetings and Migraines, by AllThingsGeeky

Peter has another migraine at an unfortunate time and despite his best efforts he can’t ignore it forever.

The Most Important Thing In The World, by S0lstice

Peter’s door creaked and began to bend under the force of the crowbar and for the first time since regaining consciousness, fear began to press into him. Something very bad was happening and it was happening fast - too fast for his sluggish mind to keep up.

He went with his instincts instead, the first one always being, Help Mr. Stark.

Friendly Fire, by @jolinarjackson

Finding a careful truce with the government, the “rogue Avengers” are allowed to return to the Compound where they are put under house arrest. Peter coming to spend one week at the Compound during his summer break couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time as the opportunity to bond a little more with his mentor is overshadowed by a conflict he doesn’t quite understand. When he starts to develop a mysterious medical condition, however, the former team is forced to work together – not just to protect Peter’s identity from the DODC, but also to find the cause for his illness before it’s too late.

“He’s my kid,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. “He’s my kid and I failed him.” He covered his eyes and took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “All I ever do is fail him.” Natasha knelt down in front of him and cupped his face in her hands, waiting for him to meet her eyes before she said, “Right now, he doesn’t need you to fix this. He doesn’t need you down here. He needs you over there, in the medbay, by his side.” She thumbed tears from the corners of his eyes and ignored the ones running down her own face. “You haven’t failed him yet.”

alarm bells and panic levels, by @iron--spider

Tony lands heavy on the dock, the wood splintering hard under the metal suit. He’s having trouble breathing, his nose is bleeding, he most definitely has more than the recommended amount of broken ribs. But none of that fucking matters. The sky is clear, the assholes are down, but there’s one thing missing.

He looks over his shoulder when Rhodey lands too. His suit is dented in a few places but other than that he looks alright. His face mask flips up and Tony lets his mask retract.

“Where’s Peter?” Tony asks, his voice rough with the amount of yelling he’s been doing. Fuck these stupid assholes. They were supposed to go mini-golfing today. The kid had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Rhodey looks around, breathing hard through his mouth. “I thought you knew.”

there’s something wrong, by @iron--spider

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers. “We should have checked you for something like this when we were resetting your arm and checking on the concussion. Goddamnit. We didn’t think.”

“He poisoned us both?” Peter asks, trying to open one eye to look at him.

“Yeah,” Tony says, brushing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s dying. He got the brunt of it, a nice fucking cocktail of bullshit, including mercury and a bunch of other toxic shit—”

“Am I dying?” Peter whispers, voice breaking.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces), by aloneintherain

Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Collections/Series (’cause I could make an inventory of all @iron--spider stories, you know, but you have to read all of her work, if you haven’t yet) (God she doesn’t even know who I am)

iron dad bingo, by @iron--spider

stay at home, by @iron--spider

whumptober, by @iron--spider

Whumptober 2019, by @marvelous-writer

Day in the life of the Iron Family, by @marvelous-writer

The Tumblr Archives, by @losingmymindtonight

Everything comes back to you, by @losingmymindtonight

Nice work, kid, by @madasthesea

Irondad Bingo 2019, by sahiya

The Adventures of Spidy-son and Iron-dad, by eva7673

Tony adopts Peter (why everyone kills May, btw ?)

Accepting the Tides, by @emma--anacortes

Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

Series Out of Darkness, by @starryknight09

“Is this Peter Parker?”

“Yes…”

“This is Dr. Nguyen. I’m sorry but your aunt’s been in an accident and we’re going to need you to come to Queens Memorial as soon as you can.”

Peter's life shatters with a phone call. The last person he expects helps him pick up the pieces.

#irondad #irondad spiderson #irondad fic #fic recs

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

To You (4)

Summary: harry dates y/n to get closer to her best friend

Warnings: mild angst (what else lol), not a lot of dialogue for this one, and a bit of fluff

Word Count: 2775 words

A/N: I've had the worst writer's block for this series but then inspiration struck me at 2 am and I had the chance to write a lil sumthin sumthin for the next part :D

Read the full series in my masterlist (bio)

As I mentioned before, this story kind of goes backwards.

____

As self-deprecating as it is, Y/N couldn’t help but feel her guard lower with each fleeting glance at her phone. She didn’t mean to, really. It wasn’t as if she was bored out of her mind because she was the opposite of that.

Going on her phone and tapping on Instagram was more of a distraction from studying if anything. She was hounded by piles of homework and pages of readings to do by the end of next week. It seemed that her brain was working in constant overdrive to try to remember the endless concepts and theories that were catapulted at her with no signs of stopping. Her eyes were straining from the constant stimulation from her laptop screen, and from trying to read the small letters plastered on the computer.

Y/N was studying on her designated studying days, as usual. She was quite proud of sticking to the schedule, except for the few weeks that she opted to coddle herself in the confines of her warm blanket because that was around the time that she found out her boyfriend, Harry, was only using her to get close to her best friend, Louise.

——

In retrospect, Y/N should have seen all the signs blaring right in front of her face all along. She gave herself facepalms more than she could count by the way she was—quite literally—blinded by love to realize that Harry’s feelings were nothing but a façade. That Y/N was nothing but a pawn in his game; a character to manipulate, disposable in order for him to get the woman he actually wanted. And Y/N had no doubts that her ex-boyfriend was treating Louise like a queen.

Y/N wore red-tinted glasses while she was with Harry and she didn’t see the red flags rising every time he shaped their evening around Louise’s schedule. She thought that Harry was making such a good effort in getting to know the people close to Y/N’s life that he insisted on having Louise around whenever they hung out with her friends.

Harry asked endless questions about Louise; from where she worked to what she was interested in—to which Y/N had foolishly answered, believing that she had found the perfect man to share her life with. But she should have known when he didn’t do the same for her other friends. Hell, he didn’t even do the same to her!

___

When Harry and Y/N were just friends, he didn’t bother getting to know her as thoroughly and comprehensively as he did with Louise. In fact, it could be argued that Harry hated Y/N when they were first introduced by—and this was ironic—Louise!

Louise spoked highly and excitedly of ‘my friend, Y/N’ and with Harry being the loved-up simp that he was—wanted to please Louise by appearing interested in her friend. He guessed that he was probably too good of an actor (not to toot his own horn) because that meet up turned into a set-up.

Louise had planned a date for her friends, Y/N was indifferent to it; she was even a little excited because she thought that Harry was sort of nice. Despite the fact that he was indirectly rude to her in their first meeting, Y/N didn’t hold grudges on people for their first impressions. She believed that anybody could have a bad day and that might just be the time when Harry was dragged by the arm to be introduced to her.

Y/N understood if that was the case. She was not too keen on acting nice and friendly after a stressful day at work, or a hard study session at the library. So even if Harry was practically snarling at every word she said from his seat around the rounded booth table of the bar—she agreed to go on a first date with him.

——

Harry was in shambles.

He got himself into quite an intricate mess trying to attain the woman of his dreams. He was such a pleaser that he was now contemplating inside his car, outside of Y/N’s address. Was this all worth it? Of course, it was. As much as Harry would like to say that this was part of his plan to make Louise his girlfriend, it really wasn’t.

But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t use it to his advantage.

It was a good thing that he was early—about twenty minutes or so. That was only because he was huffing the whole time Harry was buttoning the clutches of his dress shirt, shaking his head at the bathroom mirror and reprimanding himself for letting his lovesickness to get him deeper than he would like. But hey, the sooner Harry got to Y/N’s place, the sooner this ‘date’ would be over.

So here he was, hidden in the shadows of the night sky and shielded by the heavy tint of his Range Rover. Palms were pressed on the lush leather steering wheel as Harry formulated how he could turn this around in his favour. He was already in Louise’s good books for even agreeing to this in the first place—why not make Y/N his own personal wingman?

Granted, that she didn’t actually know Harry well enough but maybe this date could reach Louise’s ears about how much of a romantic, perfect, and chivalrous gentleman Harry could be. That would surely make Louise like him, right?

Wrong. Absolutely wrong.

It was safe to say that Harry was feeling guilty the moment he decided to use Y/N in order to get to her best friend, but that ship sailed long ago when anger and frustration took over. Why in the hell was he so perfect to Y/N’s eyes that she had gushed about him to her best friend minutes after he had dropped her off?

Why did Harry have to knock on her door with a single-stemmed rose clutched in his fingers, doing a little bow to add humour when she opened the door? And what in God’s name possessed him to say that she looked beautiful that night in her pretty, deep green dress that he thought was absolutely gorgeous on her—but his heart was with another woman—fully knowing that it would look better on Louise?

“Why. . . just why,” Harry asked himself as he sat at a table with Y/N, Louise and her boyfriend, Dylan.

That was what being romantic got him. That was where declaring Y/N as his unofficial wingman ended him upon. A double date with the woman he wanted with Y/N looking at him as if they’ve been together for years, when in fact, they had only known each other for a few weeks.

Harry’s pride was too big to admit that this time; he couldn’t get the girl. And so, his bruised ego declared that this date was just another unplanned situation that would benefit him—somehow, someway—in the future.

Wrong again.

Because a month later, Y/N was running off to her lecture with a bag strapped over her shoulder, leaving Harry a passionate kiss on the lips. He was quite ashamed to say that he enjoyed the affection, but not enough to ignore the throbbing of his heart

Harry wasn’t all in with his relationship with Y/N and he knew exactly why. For months, he had been pining for Louise and well, he ended up with her best friend, Y/N. Now that was just super unlucky for him. And he wasn’t usually a mean person, but Harry was very annoyed with fate (or destiny) for leaving with an ultimatum.

First, leaving Y/N risking her tattling to Louise about him breaking her heart was a no-no. Second, staying with Y/N until she realizes that both of them were no good together. The latter was a much more pleasant choice, except the fact that it could take months for Y/N to acknowledge that she and Harry were both too different for each other.

——

It was another four months later when Harry drew upon an epiphany very similar yet completely different from the ultimatum he had presided.

Y/N was sure of her feelings more than ever, even dropping the ‘L’ word during a drunken stupor of wine and bubbly champagne. Harry was sure that she hadn’t remembered her confession the next morning because she never brought it up. However, those words that escaped her lips were enough for Harry to overthink each night one or the other slept over.

Sometimes Y/N’s snores would serve as background noise to his serene imagination, wondering why the images of Louise and him doing couple-y stuff were now replaced with Y/N’s figure instead.

He also pondered if his memory was so impeccable that he could hear Y/N’s laugh fluttering in his ears while she was sound asleep beside him or was it just because she released a chuckle every time he made a horrible joke?

(It was true. Y/N never left Harry hanging in the air with a questionable punchline of a head-scratching joke. Both of them knew that her giggles were pity laughs. Harry was thankful for it and Y/N just couldn’t resist painting a genuine smile on Harry’s face, looking so proud that he had made her laugh.)

Harry was certain that his feelings for Y/N wouldn’t quite reach the threshold that he held her for now. But it seemed that he was getting a lot of his sworn predictions wrong lately. Sure, their first encounter (and the second, and the third. . .) were purely for satisfaction’s sake. A mere plot for Harry to build his boyfriend resumé for Louise.

Harry wasn’t sure when his feelings shifted from civil and friendly to an ever-evoking, lovesick puppy.

Maybe it was the way Y/N walked, straight into his heart and stole it, keeping it safe in her tender hands when she pressed a lingering kiss on his lip while she ran off to catch the bus. The way Harry would pout when Y/N forgot the routine she had set, resulting in him whining her name and sometimes chasing after her to get his much-needed kiss. He even started calling it his ‘good-luck charm’ because it seemed like without it; Harry came home more drained and tired than usual because nothing went right that day.

Or maybe it was the way she giggled while reading something on her phone, laptop, or a book—even if it was for school purposes. How absolutely pleased he was to hear her melody of giggles, straining his ear to listen more closely and wanting to do nothing more than to hear it again because it was music to Harry. It usually ends with Y/N’s heaving breaths, begging him to stop tickling her.

Was it because she was the most adorable little thing while she was asleep? No, it couldn’t be, Harry thought, even though the admiration in his eyes cannot be described as anything other than glazed over with love and affection with the way he stared at Y/N’s sleeping face.

But why can’t he stop thinking about her when she wasn’t around? Harry felt like he was missing a part of himself as soon as he shut the door to his house because Y/N had to go to her own place.

Why did a smile splinter his lips visualizing Y/N studying at her kitchen table with a topknot wobbling on her head and a pair of her thick-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose? Harry still remembers the first time she asked him to redo the bun on her head, complaining that it was loosening and that she couldn’t focus when strands were haywire.

Harry made sure to be extra careful as to not accidentally pull on her scalp, stretching the hairband around his fingers.

Now, he only had a minute experience in hair styling, reminiscing to his long-haired days were he slipped his hair into a neat ball in a few seconds or less. But this was Y/N, his girlfriend, who had an adorable pout on her face. The finch between her brows deepening when she tried to understand the concepts written on the screen yet she would giggle when Harry would ask her, ‘Am I hurting you?’ and shake her head ‘no’.

——-

So it was a bit questionable when Harry jumped at the chance to kiss Louise when the time came.

She had just broken up with her boyfriend and called Y/N for comfort. However, Y/N was about to leave for an exam worth half of her grade and she couldn’t just not attend it. She may love her best friend with all of her heart, but not enough to waste thousands of dollars to redo a course because she missed the final exam.

Hence, why Harry was sent in place of Y/N instead. And that was also how his plump lips managed to lock itself with Louise’s’ glossy ones. He should’ve felt guilt stab him right away when he tasted wet, salty tears on his tongue when he battled for dominance with Louise.

Harry should have pulled away when his phone buzzed in his pocket; a message from girlfriend that she had just finished her exam and was ready to be picked up now so that she could give love and comfort to her best friend.

Harry’s subconscious must have reminded him that this was the woman whom he had spent months pining on; desperately trying to make her his yet failing. And now that he had the chance to, he couldn’t stop.

Instead of doing everything his conscience had practically yelled at him to do, Harry’s brain had buffered—his body numbed every nerve except the ones controlling his mouth because their persisting kiss was captured by a photographer hidden amongst barricades that Harry had failed to take notice of.

Harry was sure that his presence was hidden to the best of his abilities, but he guessed that Louise’s hands had pulled his hoodie off in the midst of their make-out session, revealing his side profile and the unruly curls on his head.

And that was how Y/N identified the image on her phone the time she felt her heart being ripped out and crushed into pieces. That, and the fact that Harry wore the same clothes she had seen him in before she left.

____

And now, as Y/N paused her thumb from scrolling away from the image on her screen, the same pain and heartbreak still throbbed in her chest.

She couldn’t seem to forget, as a lot of people say, what Harry did to her. Despite the fact that he was spotted outside her door, leaving boxed gifts of chocolate and flower bouquets a few minutes ago—Y/N simply didn’t have the capacity to sweep everything under the rug.

The wound was still fresh—feeling air was enough to have her hissing, aiming to cover the cut in fear that it would become too painful to even ignore. For weeks, Y/N had to wallow in agonizing self-pity to remind herself that Harry didn’t deserve her or her love for him and now she was somehow ready to run back into his arms?

She absolutely despised the way her hands twitched to send him a text. To leave him a voicemail or to simply tap his contact just to hear him speak to her again. Y/N was ashamed to admit that he thought about knocking on his front door just for another chance at seeing him again. An opportunity to ask him if he was happier with her (ex) best-friend—if Harry loved Louise more than he did with her. Or—and most of all—if Harry ever did love Y/N during their short relationship. Was everything just a game to him?

She was doing good so far; she was strong enough to withhold from the urges of communicating with an ex. However, Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before Harry took extreme measures to speak to her, unlocking her door with the spare key she had given him. One day she would be met with his figure in the hallway with a sad smile on his face and three long-stemmed sunflowers in his hand and Y/N wouldn’t be able to resist him.

Y/N hated herself for being so weak whenever Harry was involved. He was her Kryptonite; getting too close to him was what ripped her to shreds.

___

Let me know what you thought!

____

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gojoscloset · 3 years

Text

Stand Still.

Geto Suguru x F!Reader Angst!

Synopsis: Geto allows his insecurities to take over his mind resulting in him hurting your feelings when you show a little too much interest in Gojo.

Please read the notes at the bottom uwu ❣️

Warnings: ANGST! Swearing???? DIDNT PROOF READ LOL

PT. 2

❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

You stood in the living room you shared with your boyfriend, the usual loving and welcoming atmosphere was no longer there. The reds and oranges you felt when you spent time with him was now replaced with emotions that felt like muggy shades of blues and grays. *

Everything felt like it was slowed down, like you had just witnessed everything in slow motion.

You looked into Geto’s eyes filled to the brim with bewilderment. Chest heaving as the remainder of adrenaline rushed through him. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, You've never seen him this worked up. You have never seen him this...mean.

Every last word he spat out was Accusatory. Harsh. Unfiltered. All the words came from a place of insecurity, an insecurity even he didn’t know he had.

It took you a minute to process everything that was said, well rather spat, to you. It was like your mind couldn’t fathom the fact that your sweet boyfriend stood before you in the aftermath of an emotional bomb he just dropped.

You knew this would happen at some point. You knew that relationships came with obstacles that you would have to face together. You knew that, but you were so hopeful that you would be able to talk things through like adults.

You two were always so adamant about communicating, and speaking up when something is bothering you, promising each other to put pride to the side and speak up and compromise on whatever the issue may be.

All it takes is one to fuck it up.

You finally processed what he said to you, the weight of his words crushed you into a million pieces. The heat reached your face and the stinging in your eyes was what made you finally look away.

You plopped down on the couch giving yourself a moment before you looked back up at him.

“I...” You approached with caution as you spoke, afraid he would cut you off as he has been since the argument started. Spewing Words as sharp as a knife not allowing you to get a word in edgewise and raising his voice over your calm one in order to try to get his point across, and oh did he get it across.

“You……..it’s…….Uh….” You lifted a finger up. Silently asking Geto to give you a moment to gather your words. Quickly you looked away ,your tears beginning to flow, not seeming to stop anytime soon. But still, you couldn’t talk, the lump in your throat stopping you, words only coming out in hiccups.

You cursed yourself for not being able to hold them in long enough to explain how you felt about the situation. About his accusations. Cursed yourself for not being able to speak freely, or be upset without looking like a crybaby.

Getos anger diminished the instant he saw the tears roll down your face. His knitted brows relaxed and his eyes softened at the sight of you, shaking as you tried to speak your mind. Unaware of the weight his words had.

He has seen you worked up and upset like this countless times, but never because of him. To say the guilt hit differently was an understatement.

You took a deep and shaky breath and held it for a few seconds. You were quite surprised at the fact that Geto didn’t move or say anything to interrupt you the entire time.

How long have you two been here?

“I tried so hard to avoid this, Suguru..... I looked past my insecurities….pushed the doubts to the side and all of that so you could receive my love without obstacles….without me projecting my fears onto you and the relationship.” You somehow managed to speak shakily of course, voice cracking almost the entire time.

He internally cringed at the formality, the lack of pet names made his heart wrench in pain, reminding him how bad he really messed up.

“And to know that you feel this way about me...and to know that my efforts are evidently not reciprocated...hurts like a mother fucker..”

You covered your mouth, eyes on the wall beside you, still unable to look at him.

“But honestly Geto… what hurts the most is that I already know you could do better…” you rolled your eyes upwards, dropping more tears and shook your head, your own insecurities laying themselves out on the table.

Geto’s eyes widened then immediately his expression turned to a pained one, remembering the words he spat in the heat of the moment. **

‘If I would’ve known that you would turn into Satoru’s little cheerleader, ready to kiss his ass whenever he came around, then I wouldn’t have asked you to be my girlfriend!! I could’ve and should’ve done wayyy better I swear!’

For someone who was talking so much shit five minutes ago, he found himself at a loss for words.

There was a lump in his throat , and when did his mouth turn dry?

Was it when he recalled the things he said after that? Mentions of how many opportunities he had in the duration of your relationship in order to hit you where it hurt most?

Or was it when he mentioned that ‘Gojo wouldn’t date you anyway’ in attempts to mask the underlying jealousy he had at the very thought of you falling for the man who could quite literally do anything.

Who could have everything.

Who had the world crafted specifically for him.

“and I always wondered…” he snapped out of his thoughts and his brows furrowed once again, creating a displeased look. He was disgusted with himself, disgusted that he selfishly ran his mouth without considering your feelings.

“Like….what I could have possibly done to have been chosen by you? Geto Suguru….chose me? Of all people.” You wiped tears away from your face, you looked so small doing so, Geto wished he was the one wiping those tears, but he couldn’t move. His feet betraying his commands. Knees weak knowing he did this to you.

“And for you to even think that I would betray you and break your trust.” It was your turn to speak now, holding in so much up until this point, however you did not raise your voice, nor did you cause a scene. You loved him way too much for that.

“Geto Suguru, a man the gods have blessed not just with looks but with a heart of gold..dating me? And you think I would throw all of that away to be with your best friend?” You choked on a couple of sobs, continuously wiping your tears away, seriously wondering if you have ever cried this hard in your life.

The fact that you still somehow managed to praise him while scolding him made his blood run cold. Guilt through the roof, enough to make his fingers cold and shake slightly by his sides. A stark contrast compared to his words.

‘What have I done?’

It was no surprise to him that you were still somehow being kind despite your anger. You were kind, not nice. ***

The love was there and he knew it, he felt it. Because if it were anybody else the results would’ve been different.

“I’m...sorry if I make you feel that way...but please know it was not in my intentions to hurt you ..” You finally looked at him while apologizing, you made sure he knew you were being as genuine as possible.

You pushed yourself up from the couch and made your way to the bedroom. Geto’s eyes followed you, but still he couldn’t not move.

‘Move you fucking idiot!’

A Switch in his brain went off as soon as you were out of his sight. He sped walked in your direction, but he was a little too late. You locked the door behind you just before he was able to put himself in between the door.

“Y/n! Please let me in! I’m sorry!” The knob shook as he tried the door. He knew it would be locked but he’d be damned to let you go through this alone. He already did enough damage, he was determined to at least try and fix this.

The knob shook harder and soon the whole door shook. He slammed his hands against the wood and called out your name desperately begging you to let him in.

You ignored the cries to the best of your abilities, stepping away from the door. The sounds of his voice begging for you made you want to throw up, it hurt so much.

“Y/n please...I just want to talk..” his voice cracked and you began to sob quietly just at the mere sound. You wanted to open the door, you really really did, but at the same time you didn’t want to see him.

He was adamant though. He could hear you try to muffle the sobs on the other side and that’s what put him into overdrive.

“Move away from the door!” He commanded, kicking it down easily, startling you in the process. Thankfully he gave you time to step away before doing so, and his heart broke again at the sight of you.

Your eyes were dull but still streaming tears, but the duffle bag slung over your shoulder full of your items made him feel so powerless.

“Hey hey hey……what are you doing..” his eyes desperately scanned your figure, moving from the bag to your eyes then to the room, noticing drawers were left open and things tossed around the bed.

“...W-Where are you going…?” His voice was small but he stood his ground in the doorway, blocking the exit unintentionally but intentionally.

You didn’t look at him, but more so past him. Your eyes were on him but they weren’t on him.

“I’m going home for a little bit, until I’m-“

“What do you mean? Home..is here..”he cut you off. Again his voice was small, not matching with his towering form that slowly began to deflate when he noticed how the love in your eyes was nowhere to be found.

You sighed and placed a hand on your temple. He cut you off again, and you didn’t want to do this anymore. You didn’t want to fight him anymore.

“Suguru. You know what I mean. I’m going to my paren-“

“No!” He yelled, causing you to flinch. “You’re not leaving me!” Geto snatched the bag from your grasp and unzipped the bag, he made his way into the room and dumped the contents into an already opened drawer, a majority of the clothes and items dropping to the floor but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to lose you.

His breathing was heavy again, and tears threatened to drop. Oh how you wished you hadn’t seen the way his eyes looked at you.

“Suguru...please…” you cautiously approached the bag he flung on the bed, and repacked the bag slowly, afraid of him snapping again.

“Can we Please just talk about this?” He forcefully grabbed you by the forearms, pulling you away from the duffle bag and pushed you up against a wall, not in a harsh way, but in a way that felt desperate.

“Please let me explain myself, I didn’t mean anything I said I-“ he tried spilling out what he had to say before you tried pushing him away, but now it was his turn to be interrupted.

“I know, Suguru…I know..but before we talk about this...I really need to clear my head..Otherwise I won’t be able to do things in a rational way...and you know I can’t do that if I have you around to influence my thoughts.”

Your eyes searched for his and you regretted it, you were feeling so many things but your eyes held no emotion. However, seeing the way he looked down at you, hair messy and in his face from going awol earlier, his face flushed from the raw display of emotion brought life back into your eyes.

Tears dropped on your cheeks when you looked up at him. That was enough to get the waterworks going again.

He never realized how afraid he was of losing you until now. It never occurred to him that this would even be something to happen in your relationship until this very moment.

He realized how much he fucked up, allowing his emotions to have snowballed into this big ass mess. You were always so open to talk about things, but he never took the opportunity because of his pride, and now the consequences of his actions are coming to bite him in the ass.

“I gotta go..” you whispered and easily got out of his grasp, he didn’t fight back, he knew he couldn’t change your mind once you had your mind set on doing something. Another reason he fell in love with you , another wave of regret.

He watched your form as you left, eyes never leaving your body.

You didn't look back and that was a sight that would haunt him in his dreams forever.

—————

**** notes:

* - in the paragraph where it talks about feeling colors

When I think of memories and how I felt, I associate them with colors, reds oranges, pinks, yellows green = warm/ happier memories

Shades of blue = cold, more depressive moments

So when it talks about y/n feeling the blue, gray atmosphere, it’s because the tension was so thick, the usual ‘red’ atmosphere was now ‘blue’ at the flip of a switch.

Lol super self indulgent

**- this fic is so self indulgent, I do this. Well used to, but when I used to get mad and things would get heated I won’t remember what I said or what I did because I was so upset.

***- to me, Being nice is superficial and being Kind comes from within.

——-

Hello! Welcome to my new blog!

I was GOJOSGLASSES

But something happened to my account and I think I’m being shadowed and I’m sooo sad cause I had a whole theme and master list (a short one but still) now I have to start over )^:

Anywho! Welcome! Requests are open and hopefully I’ll get around to moving the fics here or maybe just linking old ones but I think I may transfer them over here )^: big sad!

—————

Hello babies! Thank you for taking the time to read this!

This fic is super super self indulgent

I love Angst so much. I don’t know why LOL

Of course this is an Angst to fluff type stuff and I’ll get to part 2. When I feel like it

(Or if it’s highly requested) but I just felt like being extra dramatic.

Also LOLOLOL I love angst but please don’t leave your partner in the dark like this, communicate please. I’m just being extra dramatic because I love hurting myself with fics.

BAHAHA Also this Drabble thing was inspired by the song:

Stand Still - Sabrina Claudio

Very angsty and I feel like I’ll make more drabbles and stuff based off this song because I love love love it so much omg very sensual very sexy!

Thanks for reading!

#drabbles #fanfic #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #geto suguru #geto x reader #suguru x reader #saturo gojo

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septicace-writes · 4 years

Text

Come here, love

Summary: Reader is having a depressive episode and Henry comes home and comforts them

Genre: fluff

Warnings: Henry calls the reader puppy and refers to himself as wolf at some point. Other than that this is pure fluff

author’s note: reader is completely gender neutral. This is, again, just something I’ve whipped up for myself as comfort because I’ve been having a rough couple days but I hope you can enjoy it as well :)

1.1k words

“Baby??” you hear his voice from the corridor downstairs but don’t find it in you to respond. “I’m sorry it got so late. Where are you?” You can hear Henry coming up the stairs as his voice gets louder. It takes a couple more seconds until the door to the living room opens and your boyfriend spots you curled up on the floor in front of the sofa. Netflix is on “Do you want to keep watching” but you hadn’t bothered to confirm for at least an hour. You’d just managed to grab one of the cozy blankets from the sofa and haphazardly thrown it over your body when you started shivering a little while ago.

“Hey puppy” Henry’s voice is significantly softer now, seeing what state you’re in he slowly approaches you. Still no movement from you. He kneels down next to you and places his hand on top of the blanket. “Did something happen?” he gently inquires. You just retreat further into yourself, burying your face in your arm and mumbling something.

“What was that, love?”

“Just leave me be.” You repeat, not looking at him. You hear a slight sigh from Henry as he processes just how bad you’re doing. “Now why on earth would I ever do that to the love of my life when they’re so clearly in need of my love?” he tries to give the line a little bit of a joke-y tone, but he’s genuinely concerned for you. You hadn’t had an episode this bad in a long time. “When was the last time you had some water?” You shrug. Time hasn’t really been real for you, so it could’ve been an hour or 10 at this point.

“We’ll start there.” Henry decides, giving your form a slight pat before getting up to get you a glass of water. He’s back in less than a minute, holding not only the water but also some fruit, both of which he puts down on the coffee table. “Will you sit up for me?” he tries to coax you, getting a slight lifting of your head as a reaction. Seeing that he crouches down to you again, stroking the side of your face and giving you a soft, loving smile.

“Come here, love” he says as he pulls you into a sitting position in between his legs, one strong arm holding you there while the other reaches for the water. “Drink a little bit for me, yeah?” Obediently you take the glass and take a small sip, but he doesn’t take it back after that. “A little more, puppy. At least half the glass.” You raise it to your lips again and actually drink a little, suddenly relishing in the feeling of cold liquid running down your throat. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. Before you notice you’ve finished the glass and Henry takes it from your hands.

“That’s better. Well done, puppy.” He praises, the hand around your waist stroking your side. The other one reaches for the fruit. “Have some of this and then I’ve got some chocolate for you as well.”

After you’ve finished taking in the bits of food Henry turns you around in his arms so you can wrap around him and bury your face in his chest. “That’s my little puppy. Are you feeling a little better?” You nod, feeling as though just the tight hug and gentle hand on your head is putting some of your pieces back into place. “Do you want to talk about it?” There’s no demand in his voice, just gentle inquiry, an offer to be your shoulder to lean on. You stay silent for a while. And then a little longer, trying to puzzle together what it was that got you to the living room floor. Wrapped in the strong arms of your boyfriend the world doesn’t seem as big and overwhelming anymore. He patiently waits, holding you, rubbing your back, humming lightly to make his chest rumble because he knows it soothes you.

After another couple of minutes, Henry talks again “How else can I help you? Do you want to sit up on the couch?” Immediately, your brain spins into overdrive again, not wanting this comforting position to change and not wanting to let go so you just press you arms around his torso tighter, clinging to the strong form. “hey hey it’s okay, we can stay down here. I’m not gonna let go of you. Your wolf’s here to hold and protect you.”

It’s then that he notices the front of his shirt getting wet where your face is pressed into it. “Shh puppy I’m here it’s okay” he shushes, starting to rock you a little. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe and whatever is bringing this about, we’ll figure it out.” His voice is low and soft and drenched in love for you, every word vibrating in his chest. You start silently sobbing, your breathing getting uneven and your whole body shaking in Henry’s grasp. He just holds you tighter and rocks you through it. One large hand rubbing up and down your back and making soothing shushing noises.

When your tears dry up and your breath begins to even out you look up at him with cried-out eyes. “I’m sorry” you whisper with a cracked voice. “How was your night out?” This draws a chuckle from Henry. “Do you know how much I love you, puppy? There’s no need for apologies, I chose this. I choose all of you every day. And my night out was fine, thank you for asking.” He replies with a glint in his eyes. The corner of your mouth twitches up ever so slightly at his response. A hint of a smile, which Henry sees as a victory. He reaches for your hands but flinches when he touches one.

“Your hands are freezing! C’mon love, lets get us into bed and cozied up.” He shifts to get up and has you hoisted up sitting on his waist before you can even think of getting up by yourself. You sling your arms around his neck and bury your face at the base of it, breathing in his scent. In the bedroom Henry sits you down on the bed and removes your clinging grip from his neck. “Just for a moment puppy, I just need to get rid of these clothes.” In moments he’s stripped down to his boxers and sits next to you on the bed, getting you out of the clothes you’re wearing. Together, you crawl under the covers and he wraps you into his warmth again, entangling your legs and burying his nose in your hair.

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill fic #2nd person #comfort #they/them #gender neutral reader #gn reader #comfort fic #reader-insert #sfw #fluff

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tuiccim · 4 years

Text

Icing, cupcakes, and confusion

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 1188

Summary: Fluff. Just stupid, ridiculous fluff because it’s what I need in my life right now.

——————————————

"Hey, Doll." Bucky says as he walks in the kitchen.

"Hey, Bucky." You say as your mouth goes dry looking at him. Those damn low slung sweatpants and tight t-shirt.

"What are you making?" He says.

"Buttercream icing for the cupcakes I made." You reply.

“What’s the occasion?” Bucky asks coming over to lean on the counter next to you.

“Just thought I’d make a treat for everyone. Mostly because I wanted cupcakes.” You concentrate on measuring out the confectioner’s sugar into the bowl of the stand mixer with the softened butter and vanilla. Once you start the mixer you glance up at Bucky who is just watching you and decide to add blue food coloring to the icing to match his eyes. And then you berate yourself for being a love struck idiot over the hunk of man next to you. You add a splash of milk into the icing.

“You know how to make this without a recipe?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah. It’s only four ingredients. Plus food coloring.” You keep your eyes on your task. Bucky has stayed right next to you while you’ve been working.

You had been with the Avengers for three months and you had fallen for the super soldier about three minutes after meeting him. He talked, flirted, and used pet names with you, but you noticed he also did it with every female he came across. That’s when you decided to keep your distance. You stayed aloof whenever you were around him. You didn’t return his flirtations and never touched him unless absolutely necessary. You were much more free and easy with the rest of the team. With Bucky, you almost felt uptight when talking to him.

“You, uh, bake a lot.” Bucky says.

“Yeah. It’s a hobby of mine.” You turn away and get your decorating kit out of the pantry. You grab a piping bag and add a star tip before you begin scooping icing into it.

“Well, I’ll look forward to trying one later.” Bucky says. You look over at him just because his voice sounded almost awkward.

“K.” You say with brows furrowed.

Bucky begins to walk away but then turns back to you suddenly. “Why don’t you like me?”

You look at him and raise an eyebrow, “Contrary to popular belief, every woman isn’t required to flirt with you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Bucky says in an exasperated tone.

“What did you mean?”

“You are so curt with me. Only me. What did I do to you? DId I offend you somehow? Everytime I talk to you it’s like you just tense up.” Bucky looks at you hurt evident across his face.

“No, you didn’t offend me or anything.” You shrug one shoulder.

“Then why?” He pushes.

You groan. “What does it matter?”

“Because I want to get along with all my teammates and you can’t stand me for some unknown reason and it’s eating at me!” Bucky exclaims.

You look at him in shock. Surprised at how emphatic he is. “Because you flirt too much, Bucky.”

“Wait, what?” He says.

“Ugh. Look, the flirting and pet names, I’m sure are cute with all the other ladies, but it just rubbed me the wrong way.”

“So, I did offend you.” Bucky says.

“No, Bucky, you hurt me.” You declare and then kick yourself immediately.

“What do you mean I hurt you?” Bucky steps closer to you.

“Damnit.” You say, “Nothing, nothing.” You turn away.

“Doll, talk to me. Please.” Bucky says. He walks around you so he can see your face.

“Look, I was stupid. I thought you were flirting with me because you were interested. And then I saw you flirt with everyone like that. So, I felt like an idiot and I decided to keep my distance. Protect myself. I didn’t mean to be rude to you or anything. I just didn’t want to get hurt. I already felt stupid enough.”

“Doll.” Bucky puts a finger under your chin and lifts your face to look at him. “I do flirt a lot. You’re right. It’s a way I control perception. But, I was flirting with you because I was interested. You, uh, you ever notice you’re the only person I call ‘doll’? It was the first thing that I thought when I saw you. ‘What a doll.’ You looked so beautiful, so perfect that day. And then you spoke and it was like your voice was music and I wanted so badly just to sweep you off your feet. I nearly stumbled over myself to get to you. And for a few days I thought I had a shot. Then suddenly, you turned cold. The harder I flirted the colder you got. I’ve spent three months trying to figure out what I did wrong. Turns out, what I did wrong was trying to flirt with you instead of just asking you out.”

You are dumbstruck at this point. Staring up at Bucky, mouth agape at his confession. Your brain is running in overdrive trying to wrap itself around his words. Finally, Bucky decides to take the chance and lowers his lips to yours. Gently, he brushes his lips against yours waiting a moment to see if you pull back. Instead, you tilt your head to give him better access and press into him. He immediately deepens the kiss and your tongues dance around each other. You break apart when you hear a voice behind you.

“Man, Natasha wins another bet. I thought you hated him.” Sam is grinning at the two of you despite his words.

“Don’t you have something better to do than bother us, Birdbrain?” Bucky throws Sam a glare.

“No, not really. Besides, someone told me they were making cupcakes and I was coming to get one.” Sam says.

“I guess I should finish icing them.” You say with a chuckle. Your face feeling a little heated after having been caught kissing in the kitchen. You pick up the piping bag and quickly finish the first cupcake which you hand to Sam in hopes that he’ll go away. He thanks you and leaves.

“Any chance I can get another one?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, of course.” You pick up another cupcake to ice, but Bucky stops you.

“That’s not what I meant.” He says before capturing your mouth again.

You manage to ice the remaining cupcakes in between kisses with Bucky, who insists each cupcake is so perfect you deserve another kiss. Not that you are complaining. When the last cupcake is complete you take the remaining dollop of icing and put it on your finger before delivering it to Bucky’s lips. He wraps his mouth around your finger and you have to stop yourself from shuddering as you feel his tongue sweep over the pad of your finger. His eyes never leave yours and, as you pull your finger from his mouth, he pulls you into another kiss. When you finally separate, he puts his forehead to yours. “Looks like you have desert covered, but can I take you to dinner?”

You laugh, “Yeah. Yeah, you can.”

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cup-half-full-of-anxiety · 3 years

Text

Taron Fic - Working Title (Chapter Seven)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

So I somehow found the juice to finish this filler chapter that has been sitting for 8 months. I have more to come. I do not plan on abandoning ship but the creativity tank has been on empty so please bear with me.

Enjoy.

---

Richard sat nursing his second pint while Taron waved the server over to order his 4th. It had been a few hours since they left the lot and it was clear that whatever Taron needed to talk about was anything but light. Neither had said much since they had arrived at the pub. Richard sat patiently, waiting for Taron to open up but it had been at least a half-hour since either of them said anything. You could almost hear his brain in-process mode, he was clearly trying to find the best way to broach the subject.

“I have a daughter” he finally blurted.

Richard’s head jerked around to face Taron quicker than he thought possible.

“Come again Mate?”

Taron laughed humorlessly as he took a large drink from his glass.

“Yeah” He paused to wipe the beer off his upper lip and collect his thoughts before he continued

“I have a daughter” He said just as plainly “A 4-year-old daughter to be exact” Richard was shocked, he had no idea what to say or where to begin. He knew something had been bothering his new friend ever since the night of the mixer but this was the last thing he expected it to be.

“T, I am confused. What do you mean you have a daughter?”

“Adelaide” he said simply before raising his now empty glass to the waitress as she walked by, signaling he wanted another. “Just over 5 years ago, she and I were together. We had been together for 6 years. Tilly had introduced us when we were like 10-”

Richard’s eyes widened with realization as a long-forgotten memory came rushing to him, but Taron was too lost in telling the story to notice. He was unsure if he should share the memory with his friend or keep to himself that he had met his daughter once a couple of years ago in LA, it was just after he had met Adelaide, they had run into each other at the grocery store one weekend. Adelaide had introduced Richard to a then-toddler aged Eleanor.

He shook away the thought, he would tell Taron but not today.

“Even from the start we always flirted with each other, we were each other's first real crushes, but we didn’t start dating right away. I think deep down we both knew that once whatever we had going on between us started, that would be it, we would never have another, or love another but we couldn’t fight it for long and the inevitable happened, we started dating and that was it. We were always together, never one without the other but not in that annoying way. We were still our own people, but we were so much better together.”

“So what happened?” Richard was engrossed in the story.

“She disappeared” He shrugged nonchalantly even though Richard knew the memory had to kill him every time he thought about it “I came home from the last day of filming the first Kingsman to a quiet flat. She took everything of hers that she could, a lot had been left behind but everything she could take, she did and that was it.”

He pulled out his wallet, pulling out the note Adelaide had left behind. “This is all she left as an explanation” he handed it to Richard.

“I am still confused Mate” Richard said as he handed the note back “She just left? She didn’t stay so you guys could raise your child together?”

Richard was truly confused by the situation. He and Adelaide were not the closest but they had kept in contact over the years since they had met. They’d meet up for drinks when Richard was in LA, text on birthdays and holidays but they never formed the tightest bonds. He would never guess she would knowingly cause someone this much pain.

Taron began explaining what Adelaide had told him, how she was scared he would leave everything he worked hard for behind for her and their child, how she didn’t want to be the reason for him doing something he would regret further down the road. How she was just plain scared at the moment.

Now maybe Richard could understand the situation a little more.

“Wow, I still have no idea what to say” he needed another drink after this.

“Love” he grabbed the waitress’s attention “can I get another pint and we’re gonna need two whisky shots each please”. They both needed something a little stronger.

“So what are you going to do? I assume you want to be in your daughter’s life” Taron nodded “do you still want Adelaide in yours? Do you still have feelings for her?”

Taron did not have to think at all about the first part of the question.

“Of course I want to be a part of her life. I have already missed out on 4 years of it, I can’t miss out on anymore.”

“And Adelaide?”

“I’ll always love her” He paused.

Taron was quiet for a few moments. His mind still running in overdrive.

“I went over to her place the other night” he confessed; Richard raised an eyebrow in question. “After the mixer, it was late, and I just called her. She was awake, and I asked if I could come over. There was nothing sexual about it” he gave Richard a look before he even said anything.

“I was going to ask; I didn’t want to assume” he thanked the waitress as she set the drinks down.

“I don’t know mate” the boys took their first shot, both slightly wincing at the taste “I just needed to hold her. She literally disappeared from my life. Gone. I did everything I could possibly do to find her. I went to her Grans, to Tilly’s. I went to places we hung out, our favorite places. I called her more times than I can even count, I sent her bloody emails. I left voicemails every few days for well over a year but eventually, I had to stop. I had to accept she was not coming back. I had to accept I wouldn’t get closure.” Taron had to wipe at the few tears that fell.

“Before that, I never understood actual heartbreak. I had seen my parents’ separate and I had seen the pain that brought but now I was feeling my own. I threw myself into work, I took on everything I could get my hands on. Thinking back, I feel like a lot of it was because of her. I wanted to make sure she couldn’t forget me, that she wouldn’t be able to get away from the fact that she just left.” Taron paused, a vengeful look in his eyes at the thought but it was lost as he ran his hand over his face with a sigh.

“Then there she was. Really her, not some glitch in the matrix that my mind manifested to torture me.” He paused again. Trying to wrap his mind around it. “I don’t know mate. It’s like my body knew she was close, and I needed to feel her, even if it was just sleeping in each other’s arms.”

“And that’s all that happened?”

“Yeah, until I woke up a little while later.” He shook his head at the still-fresh memory, he knew he was not wrong for getting angry about the situation but that did not mean he felt great about what happened or what he said.

“She is staying at her Grans place, a home we spent a lot of time at in our adolescence until we moved in together. The house is very familiar to me. I went down for a drink and it didn’t take long to notice the kids toys in the corner, a stuffed animal on the couch, and then I found Eleanor’s room and realized that they have been coming to England to visit her Gran and Tilly, and I kind of lost it.” The boys took their second shot when Taron made another pause in his story.

“She woke up and found me in Eleanor’s room” He paused again and smiled to himself at the mention of his daughter “that’s her name, Eleanor. She found me in her room, lost in thoughts of what could have been while I held one of her dolls, just trying to feel close to this little girl I didn’t know yet but already loved so much. She said something and I honestly cannot even remember what it was now. I was so overcome with anger and then we fought, well it was more of me yelling than anything.”

“I just don’t...” He sounded so broken. “Fuck...I just want to put this behind me. I want to move past this anger and have a relationship with my daughter”

“You can mate but you need to remember that you just found this news out. You need to give yourself time to process it and you’re allowed to be angry or feel hurt.” Richard patted his friend’s arm.

“I have no doubt that you are going to be an amazing father. That little girl has no idea what is in store for her.” Taron could not keep the smile off his face. He’d always wanted to be a father; since the day Rosie was born.

When he saw Adelaide hold his baby sister for the first time, he knew it then. Adelaide knew when she watched Rosie’s tiny hand wrap around Taron’s finger. That night as they laid in Adelaide’s bed at her Grans, they had their first real discussion about having children. Both laughing at the thought, both thinking it would be a lifetime before parenthood would make its way into their lives.

The boys were quiet again. Taron’s body beginning to buzz with warmth from the alcohol, he knew if he ordered anymore he would be in trouble with Dex tomorrow, showing up for blocking hungover.

“I think it might be time to call it mate. We both have early days tomorrow and neither of us is going to be any good if we get pissed tonight” Richard raised his almost empty glass, clearly reading Taron’s mind. They cheered before they both finished off their drinks.

The boys paid their tab and made their way outside.

“Sleep on it mate.” Richard dropped his hand on his friend’s shoulder “Think about what is best for you and your daughter and your relationship with her mother. You have a lot of people around you that will be there to support you, but you need to do what you think is best.”

Taron hugged his friend tightly.

“Thanks mate. See you tomorrow”

The boys parted.

As Taron leaned against the wall waiting on his train his phone pinged with a text.

Doll:

I’m sorry about this afternoon.

Doll:

I’m just trying to figure this all out.

Taron:

Will she really be here in 3 weeks?

Adelaide sighed; she assumed he must have heard some of the conversation with her mom, she had a feeling it was the reason for him leaving set early. She took a deep breath before she replied.

Doll:

Yes. I wanted some time to settle and to talk to you before they came.

Taron:

Okay

Was all Taron replied with. He had 3 weeks to get everything figured out.

To be continued

@xceaf @sarahegerton96 @primaba11erina @shereighties @aberystwythboy

#taron egerton #taron egerton fanfiction #taron x reader #taron fanfiction

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youhearstatic · 4 years

Text

After the Story and the Song...

“Those bandages are filthy,” Lup says.

It’s a second before Barry realizes she’s talking to him. He’d been staring, lost, reveling in the sound of her voice, dumbstruck that’s she’s made the sounds herself it’s not just an echo his brain produced as a trick.

And also he’d forgotten he’d been injured.

He looks down and yeah, the quickly patched up bandage a harried healer had wrapped around his shoulder and upper arm during a brief respite in the fighting has seeped through with blood and whatever fluids leaked out of the shadow monsters they’d been fighting.

“Yeah,” he says disinterestedly. His offhand comes up to scratch his jaw, fingers rasping against his stubble, but he makes no other move in response.

Lup laughs and the sound is bright and cheering. It’s dark out - true dark, not the stuff brought on by the apocalypse - but the sound of Lup laughing makes him feel sundazed and giggly. He remembers a distant cousin at a long ago family reunion whose toddler had sat on a blanket in the sun delighted by everything the world had presented her that day. That’s how he feels now, like a child grasping their pudgy little hands, trying to hold all the delicious goodness around them.

“We need to do something about that, babe,” she prompts but he hears the same humor in her voice as in her laugh, knows she understands and feels the same.

“You’re here,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s said it. Even in the midst of the battle they’ve just been through, ever so often he’d turned to see her red spectral shape and with a tone of absolute amazement said those same words again and again.

Which is maybe how he ended up sliced from shoulder to elbow, actually. Lup blasted the clawed shadow that ripped the jagged wound open before it could strike again and render him a lich. When the shadow disintegrated, she’d reminded him to try and stay a little more focused.

Now the shadows are gone and they’re both free to just fucking bask for a minute. It’s all he can do: look at her.

Taako checked in once during the battle then just a minute ago as they were wiping up the last of the things. It had only been a few stragglers, injured and striking out at anything, after the rest had simply stopped. Taako had said where he was going but, for Barry, those details are hazy at the moment.

Lup’s here.

“Let’s get you to a healer, babe,” she says and his mouth stretches into a grin.

He swipes a dirty hand across his face, smearing - well, let’s call it grime and leave it at that - across newly minted tear tracks. His emotions are in overdrive at the moment, everything feels turned up to eleven when he looks at her shimmering form and reminds himself that it’s actually over and she’s here.

Her magic sparkles over him, familiar even after more than a decade where it wasn’t even a memory half the time.

“How do you still have spell slots?” he asks. His own magic ran out ages ago, leaving him swinging a rough wooden improvised mace for a while until his injury made even that impossible.

“I am magic,” she reminds him.

He laughs, a bit chagrined because duh, he knew that but also just because she’s here and everything is kinda funny and wonderful.

He runs his hand over his face again, exhaustion creeping up on him fast now that the fighting is over. “The healers’ll have their hands full,” he tells her, reluctant to bother anyone when, after all, worst case scenario he’s got a get-out-of-jail-free card, so to speak.

Lup must read his thoughts cause he feels the subtle charge of displeasure in the feel of her magic. “Huh uh, buster, you’re keeping that fine body of yours intact even if I have to stitch you up myself.”

“I just meant I’d take care of it later,” he counters half heartedly because honestly, it’s just a little blood. It takes more than this to stop him. He should know. He’s done the research.

She makes a tut-tut kind of noise and he wonders briefly how she even does that without a mouth or tongue but then she’s using her magic to peel the bandage back and, oh, fuck. “Yeah, okay,” he concedes, because hell a-mighty just that bit of jostling hurts.

Her response makes him curious again because how do you snort when you’re a lich? He’s pretty sure he can’t do that.

A ball of water is summoned above him and then, carefully (though he has all ideas she considered handling it differently) she lets a stream of it run down over his wound, rinsing away the assorted gore to soak into the ground with the rest of the runoff.

Lup hums to herself as she works and he’s struck again: Lup’s here.

Reaching up with his offhand he trails his fingers delicately along what would be the edge of her sleeve. It’s a subtle thing, feeling the difference between air and the magic that makes Lup, but he’s particularly attuned to it.

“Stop distractin’ me, handsome,” she admonishes lightly, her voice that wonderful teasing tone he knows so well.

“You’re here,” he says again and this time it’s a bit less dazed and a bit more certain. “I thought I dreamed you,” he says. Because he did. So many times he woke up, not knowing where he was or what he was doing, but sure someone - SHE - was supposed to be there. “Thought I was losin’ my godsdamned mind,” he mutters. Because he’d thought that too.

Then another thought hits him. “How did you survive?” Because for all he’s been through, she was alone and trapped.

Her form seems to stiffen slightly, though she doesn’t pause at all in her diligent care of his wound. “It…” She sighs, and continues, and if he wasn’t so concerned, he’d be sidetracked again wondering where a sigh comes from for a lich. “It wasn’t great,” she says lightly. “But I wasn’t really aware for a lot of it.”

He senses that what she was aware of was terrible and he’s nearly blinded by the keen need to hold her, so acute it steals his breath for a moment.

“But as you’ve noticed,” she continues, “I’m here. That’s what matters.”

He nods, head bobbing forcefully as his throat works to push air around the heavy knot of emotion that’s formed there.

“I heard you,” she tells him. “I… I heard a lot of things and I know how hard you were trying.”

It’s all he can do to swallow back the sudden influx of new tears. After he’d seen Taako with the umbrastaff… he’d worried what it meant. Later, once he realized where she was, it was all he could do not to snatch the umbrella out of Taako’s hands and snap it. Only fear that breaking it wouldn’t save her, might actually make things worse, had stopped him. He’d figured they’d talk after everyone had their memories back - if there was an after - and figure it out from there.

“I should have broken the fucking thing outside Refuge,” he apologizes. She could have been out months ago, could have - oh fuck, he realizes, suddenly nauseous with the realization - she could have been in a body by now.

“Shush it, Bluejeans. It worked out.”

That’s all she says and he lets it go. There will be time to talk about it all later.

For a few minutes they’re just silent together while she works. She rinses the bandage and hits it with a Prestidigitation spell then reapplies it. The material is cool on his hot skin, still slightly damp.

“That’ll hold you for a little while,” she says. “But you’re finding a healer tomorrow. I’ll drag you to one by your black leather belt if it comes to it.”

“Whatever you say, Lup.”

Her magic ruffles through his hair, pulling it slightly the way she has a hundred times when teasing him and he feels the smile spread across his face again.

She snorts a laugh and he reminds himself to ask her later how she does that.

Because there’ll be time for that, he thinks.

Time. They have all the time in the world again.

#blupjeans #barry and lup #lup #barry bluejeans #taz balance #i found this in my drafts last night #and for a solid ten minutes i didn't even know where it came from #i wrote it in the middle of march #and it took several minutes of looking at the edit history to convince myself i even wrote it #and then i finally realized it was prompted by playing a game #and an npc said that line: 'those bandages are filthy'#and that's what inspired this #mystuff #mywriting

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yunhowhoitiss · 4 years

Text

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫!𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 𝐱 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐟𝐞𝐦)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k+

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, student au(?), strangers to lovers sorta

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after a particularly mediocre routine for the past two years, all it took was a sweet, pink haired boy to brighten your day. every day.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a teeny tiny bit of swearing

𝐚/𝐧: I just hit 100 followers!! I didn’t know how to celebate so here’s a fic I wrote in a couple of hours (-_-;) i hope you enjoy it!

masterlist

You woke up to a room full of sunshine, and the early autumn air left drops of moisture outside your window. Upon hearing your roommate already out and about in the living room, you dragged yourself out of bed, flinching when your toes hit the cold floor tiles. Trudging out of your bedroom, you gravitated towards the apartment kitchenette. You sleepily scanned the living room to find that your roomie had moved all the furniture around to make space.

“Bobbi, I don’t mind you doing yoga every morning, but if you forget to put everything back one more time I’m cutting your mat to pieces,” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“Well hello sunshine,” she laughed, “I made juice this morning, it’s in the fridge.” You hummed in response.

“Sure. Could you put some in a tumbler? I have to leave in 10 minutes and I’m not even dressed yet. I’ll miss my train if I diddle-daddle.”

“Of course!”

You and Bobbi had been roommates for a little over a year now after you decided to move off-campus. She was a friend of a friend who was looking for a roommate to split the rent, so figured you’d give it a chance. There are plenty of benefits to living off-campus: it saves money, you have more living space, you can gain some life experience, and Bobbi is a sweetheart– even if she refuses to be more than half-dressed around the house and never puts all the furniture back after her morning yoga. Your only issue when you first started renting the cosy two-bedroom apartment was finding a way to class without a car. Your best choice was to buy yourself a metro card and stick to taking the subway. The apartment wasn’t that far from campus, but you could afford to pay for the card and you had little-to-no motivation to walk or cycle to school nearly every day. At this point, you valued your time spent on the train listening to nothing but your favourite playlist as your me-time; every other minute of your day was spent studying, working, or sleeping. Somehow, this year didn’t feel significantly different from your first two years of school except for different classes, even more fees to pay, and an impossibly alluring boy that sat across from you on the subway.

You don’t remember the day the boy started taking the same train, but it wasn’t hard for you to start noticing him. He always sat idly in the seat across from you, backpack in his lap, head gently bouncing to whatever tunes played through his earphones and smiling when a good song came up on shuffle. Cute. When you first spotted him stepping off the platform into the train you couldn’t help but observe his relaxed style, soft features, and an aura that radiated kindness and comfort. On chilly mornings he even had the reddest of ears, matching your own ruby-kissed cheeks; but you weren’t cold at all. It quickly became a habit of yours to throw shy glances at him when he wasn’t looking, hoping that he’d remain oblivious to you very obviously checking him out. Jokes on you, he’d noticed you eyeing him long before you ever noticed yourself doing so.

You were so intrigued by his presence that you even started to consider putting away your headphones and sparking up a conversation, but he just looked so peaceful humming along contently to an unfamiliar song that you couldn’t find it in yourself to interrupt. You found yourself simply exploring his features, your eyes flitting from his slender fingers to the soft slope of his nose, to his chestnut irises who always seemed to sparkle like– wait. His eyes. They’re looking back at me. He’s looking back at me. In a panic, you whipped your head back towards the phone settled in your lap, feeling your cheeks, nose, and ears heat up out of embarrassment. Nice one, y/n. Despite your mortification, a shy smile swept over your face.

After multiple futile attempts to drown out the sound of Bobbi’s horrendous singing blaring from the kitchen, you groaned into your pillow one last time before tiredly swinging your legs over the side of the bed and checking your phone. Your eyes widened almost comically when the screen read 7:30 am.

“I slept through my alarm?” you muttered to yourself and let it sink in, “I slept through my alarm!” You dashed towards your closet, grateful that you’d prepared an outfit the night before. You hopped towards the bathroom while simultaneously wrestling with the zipper of your skirt. After half-assedly brushing your teeth and not even bothering with your hair, you darted through the living room searching for your bookbag. “G'morning, Ms I’ve-been-hit-by-a-tornado!” you winced at your roommate’s unbearably cheerful tone, “Want some eggs?”

“I’m late, Bobs, no time!”

“Well, I have some slightly burnt bacon if you want it,” she suggested, “and a couple of Eggo waffles…”

On your way out of the door, Bobbi stuffed something in your bag and sent you out with a friendly pat on your butt. You couldn’t help but smile at her kindness and made a mental note to repay it. Just a couple minutes later you were already running to your train in hopes you wouldn’t miss it. Reducing your pace to a speed-walk, you dug through every one of your pockets to pull out your phone which read 7:53 am. “Shit, I have two minutes!”

You slammed your card into the scanning machine– not that it helped you go any faster– and scuttled towards the train who’s doors were slowly sliding shut. Sprinting your way to the doors, you managed to slip through just before they closed, and looked around. Every seat was taken, and an abundance of people stood around, leaving nearly no space for you to situate yourself. With a heavy sigh, you tried to make your way through the mess of arms and shoulders, only to find yourself stuck between even more people. You figured you shouldn’t let your chaotic morning ruin your day and some good music would lift your spirits, so you searched your bag for your earphones; to no avail. I must’ve left them in my bedroom. Another defeated sigh escaped your already chapped lips, and you just dropped your gaze to your feet, lazily tracing shapes on the ground. You were unaware of the sympathetic gaze resting on you trying working out what had you so frustrated. You were still watching your feet when a large hand interrupted your focus, holding a white earbud. You lifted your head to be met with gentle eyes and a kind smile. Pretty boy?

“You look- uh, do you- I thought-” he muttered. You struggled to contain an amused smile. He looked like a lost puppy. The boy paused and bit his lip, “you wanna share?” He looked a lot taller from where you stood in front of him, much less than arms-length away. Thoughts of him flooded your mind, and you stared blankly into his eyes. He tilted his head in confusion, and you noticed his hand still holding the earbud in front of you. As you broke out of your daze a swirl of excitement and relief set off butterflies in your chest. You smiled giddily, unconscious to how obvious your excitement was.

“I’d love to!” You blurted loudly. The deep chuckle that followed your exclamation nearly sent your brain into overdrive. The boy lifted his hand and gently settled the earbud in your ear. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as soon as an unfamiliar song played in your ear, and you nearly forgot you were on the subway. The train must’ve stopped at a station because you were suddenly jerked forward and lost your balance; only to be met with a hard chest. You looked up at the pretty boy’s face, and he seemed just as surprised you were. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, but being in his arms was just so comfortable you didn’t really care anymore. A giggle erupted from his smiling lips. A giggle. You spent so much time thinking about how comfy the boy was that you hadn’t stepped back; you were still resting up against him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You took a small step back and bit the inside of your cheek in embarrassment. The young man remained frozen in his spot, and his eyes danced over your features, as if deep in thought. He offered you a boyish half-smile then proceeded to do what you had hoped he would do for months.

“My name’s Yunho, it’s nice to meet you…” he trailed off, realizing he hadn’t asked you for your name.

“Y/n.” You answered.

“Y/n…” he mumbled, “that’s a pretty name.” His half-smile turned even further upwards, forming a comforting grin that turned his eyes to half-moons.

He couldn’t be any more beautiful.

#ateez fanfic #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #ateez #yunho #ateez imagines #kpop #ateez scenario #ateez x reader #yunho x reader #jeong junho fanfic #ateez timestamp #ateez fluff #ateez smut #yunho fluff #ateez jeong yunho #yunho smut

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something-fanfiction-ie · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse of kidnapping. Again, details of murder/crime scenes, curse words.

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! So, again, I find myself having to cut this in half. I originally planned on the team getting to you at this point in the story but I got a little carried away. I’ve been thinking about this series so much that it’s ridiculous. Low-key wish I’d been able to direct a CM episode like this. The things I could do with a camera... solely focused on Matthew for a 45 minute episode. Heh. Anyways, remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and basically do the job of producing serotonin for me like my brain is supposed to do naturally. Thank you so much for sticking around and I’ll be sure to get the next part out to you ASAP!

___

[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]

It was hours later before Spencer felt the incessant buzzing of his phone against his thigh.

Immediately annoyed and already tired of the day, he didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before sending it straight to voicemail. Blindly, he rummaged around in the bottom of his satchel for his keys. Spots danced across the back of his left eyelid as he tried to rub the exhaustion away.

Everything about today had been awful. From finding out the girl of his dreams, who he had only known for three weeks, mind you, could be a serial killer to the fact that, without you, nothing made any sense in this case. Even if you weren’t the unsub, you were an integral piece to finding out who was.

After you had left the office earlier this afternoon, Spencer had made it his mission to investigate every other person connected to you. He’d even gone so far as to track down your father to the other side of the globe, having somehow made his way to Europe in order to stay out of you and your mother’s lives.

Try as he might, every possible lead led to a brick wall spray painted to say, ‘She’s the killer.’ Having spent most of the day trying to convince himself that you were the unsub, he was tired of fighting his instincts for fear of compromising himself. Something wasn’t right in this investigation and he just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When his phone started to buzz again as he pushed the key into the key hole, he couldn’t help the sudden surge of anger that seemed to take over his body. Hastily yanking one hand from the door, he reaches into his pocket and presses the answering button.

“Hello, this is Dr. Reid.” His tone is harsh and mechanically echoes back into his ear. Whoever is on the other side of the line is quiet for one second, then two. For five seconds no one responds and Spencer has the time to balance the phone between his cheek and his shoulder so that he could go about removing his bag and shuffling into his car.

“You really thought it was her, didn’t you, Dr. Reid?” Although the natural pitch of the voice suggests a woman, or maybe even a young boy, there is an underlying tone that suggests that it’s a man. Spencer is frozen in place, his bag sitting in the passenger seat of his car, one hand on the inside of the door and the other on the steering wheel.

Slowly, he reaches up to relieve his shoulder from the duty of holding his phone, his long fingers curling around the device. His eyes squinted, the way they usually did when he was thinking. With his other hand, nervously, he reaches up to push away a curl that has escaped from behind his ear.

“Who is this?” He regrets the question the moment it falls from his lips. Someone who has gone the painstaking lengths that this man has gone through to keep himself out of the investigation would not simply reveal his identity when no one even had a suspicion of him.

“Wrong question, Doctor. Try again.” Swallowing past the lump that has started to form in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action, Spencer stretches back across the driver seat of his car to grab his bag. The leather strap digs into the palm of his hand and he drags it toward him, feeling like he was stuck on rewind as he goes about undoing everything he’d just done.

“What do you want?” The click of the door lock is the only sound for three seconds before the man responds again, a sadistic excitement escalating the pitch of his voice.

“Out of life? From a specific restaurant? Be specific in your questioning, Doctor.” He laughs a little breathlessly. In the moments where he doesn’t talk, Spencer strains to hear anything that could help him, but he can’t even hear the guy breathe let alone identify background noise.

“What is your purpose in calling me?” Getting back into the building is a hassle while on the phone, but he manages it nonetheless. There would be no sleeping tonight after a call like this. The elevator button glows a pale yellow as Spencer stabs it with one of his long fingers. For now they are steady, his hands that is, but the full effect of what is happening and what it means hasn’t actually hit him full force yet.

“To inform you of two things; the first being that you are wrong. I killed all those people and I killed them because of you.” The breath in his throat hitches. All of his worst dreams and nightmares have come crawling out of the woodworking and across his skin like thousands of tiny spiders.

“The second being that I’ll be hanging out with our mutual friend for a while, so you may not see her for a little bit.” There is a creaking of a door before he hears you. Your voice is already hoarse from screaming and the sound of restraints clacking against a concrete flooring puts the picture of you in a dungeon deep into his head.

“Spencer?! Spencer his name i-” The sound of a hand making contact with skin makes Spencer’ blood boil with rage.

Curling into the corner of the elevator, hunching his shoulders into himself and covering an ear with the palm of his opposite hand, Spencer speaks slowly and deliberately into the speaker.

“Do not touch her.” The man on the line chuckles, reaching out to run a finger along the edge of your jawline. You snatch your head away, your slapped cheek already turning pink, and push back against the wall.

“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that. Happy hunting.” The doors of the elevator open as soon as the line goes dead. Everything in Spencer kicks into overdrive, his mind flying so fast that he could barely manage to keep up with it himself.

Hotch, ready to leave for the day, stands in the opening. The tired look in eyes only grows when he sees the young profiler standing in his way, his face drained of blood and his phone still desperately clutched to his ear.

“What’s happened?”

Not so far away, the door to the empty, concrete basement shuts you in by yourself. Around your ankle is a handcuff attached to a car chain that is anchored to the floor. If you crawl to it, dragging your injured leg behind you, you can see the shoddy soldering done to create this makeshift dungeon.

In the corner is a mattress with a thin cotton blanket probably from dollar general or somewhere equally as cheap. A lamp sits beside it, the wooden bottom nailed into the floor to keep you from using it as a weapon. The only other thing is a wooden chair that is planced just below a high rectangle window. A couple of desperate shakes against the leg confirms that it is also nailed to the floor.

With nothing of use, save maybe the blanket, you go about taking a collection of your injuries.

The top of your head is leaking a steady stream of blood that drips down the side of your face and sticks your hair to your cheek. The sight of so much blood coming from your head is alarming at first, but just as quickly as you started to panic, you remember that head wounds can bleed quite a lot. No matter how small.

On the opposite side as your head injury is a deep cut on your cheekbone. It has stopped bleeding, dry blood clogged around the torn skin and flaking along your cheek when you run your finger over it.

Your thigh is a different issue all together, the knife wound throbbing with pain no matter how you shift or apply pressure. You’ve coated your hands in gloves made of your own blood trying to staunch the bleeding, hissing and whimpering the whole time.

All three injuries had happened in a matter of minutes, starting with the knife to your thigh.

You drove for an hour and a half toward nowhere in particular, only pulling off the road when the gun jammed into your neck and Harvey snapped at you from the back.

“Turn right on the dirt road.” The tiny car bumped and bounced around the dirt and gravel, driving straight for another fifteen minutes. You were surrounded by nothing but trees and hills and although you’d been familiar with the area where you’d pulled off the road, you weren’t sure where you were.

When the gun jammed back into your neck and Harvey screamed for you to stop, you slammed so hard on the brakes that he rocked forward and hit his head on the back of the passenger seat. The crunch of his breaking nose was sickening to your ears, but the bite of the seat belt digging into your collarbone and neck was enough to keep you from vomiting.

“You bitch!” He cried, the hand not holding a gun to your neck flew up to catch the blood that fell from his nose. Despite his attempts, a drop or two still managed to fall to the floor and soak into the fabric. His DNA would be on this car, you could only hope that he was in some sort of system. Even now, after everything you’d been through today, you still trusted the team of FBI Agents to find you before it was too late.

The safety on the gun made a clicking noise, your entire body freezing in place as you looked at everything around you. You were in a big dirt field, trees surrounding a patch of land that may have once been the grounds for a home. Now, only your car, a red SUV, and red soil were the only things there to see.

Harvey moved around in the back seat, you could see him in your rear view mirror as he pulled tissues from his pocket and shoved them into his broken nose. When he was finished he pulled out a pocket knife. His eyes were two beady slits of black as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“We’re going to get out of this car, and get into that car right over there. I’ll get in the driver’s seat, and you get in the trunk. Understood?” Sweat slicked your hair to your temples as you shook your head, your grip on the steering wheel so tight that your fingertips had started to tingle.

“You aren’t a good shot, Harvey. The moment we get out of this car, I’ll run.” The knife in his hand popped to attention at your words, gleaming in the sunlight. Somehow, it was only four o’clock in the afternoon and you had already been through hell.

“You won’t be able to.” He said, his hand shooting forward and sinking into your leg. Through the shock of it all, you’d barely felt it even after he pulled the bloody knife back and flipped it shut. You gaped at the wound, watching as the blood seeped out, soaked into your pants, and smeared onto the leather covering of your seat.

The back door opened, the car still alive and thrumming underneath you as he hurried over to your side of the car. You didn’t think, you just acted, throwing the car out of park and letting the adrenaline pumping through your veins mask the pain it caused you to slam on the gas.

Maybe you would have made it, drove out of here and been able to make it to a hospital before you bled out in your own car, but it had been raining nearly nonstop for three weeks and your car was not made to go fast in mud. Your tires spun long enough for Harvey to throw your door open and slam the butt of his gun into your head, causing your face to slam into the steering wheel and render you unconscious.

By the time you came back to yourself, Harvey had been carrying you down the steps and into a basement or cellar of some kind. You had no idea where you were or how long you had been out, only that your entire body was sore and cold.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good. I wanted to apologize about earlier, you just made me a little angry. But we’re better now. I even took those bloody clothes off you. I’ve got your room made up for you and if you’re good, I might let you talk to a friend of ours.” His tone is cheerful, his dark eyes complimenting the dark bags underneath them.

Harvey had been in several of your classes when you went to Georgetown, a friendly face amongst all the older kids who used to sneer at you when you tried to do anything. You wouldn’t actually say you were friends, just two people who were kind to each other. Later, once you parted ways after graduation, he became the personal assistant of your agent. He told you he was just trying to make ends meet while he was going back to school for his masters. It was such a surprise to see you again!

Then last month he quit after the death of his mother, thanking your agent for the experience and moving back to whatever town it was he used to lived in that you never bothered to ask about. Agents have multiple clients, yours was no exception, so you thought nothing of the change in personal assistants based solely on the fact that you barely noticed. Her life didn’t revolve around you and yours didn’t revolve around her.

But now, locked in a basement wearing nothing but your underwear and a tank top, blood soaking through a bandage around your thigh, with the really cute man you’d based a character on believing that you were a serial killer, you wish you’d noticed him more.

...

Garcia was the one to suggest looking at the security footage of the parking lot. She’d been clacking away on her tablet and trying to not seem disappointed about being dragged back to the BAU so quickly, when someone asked where you would have gone from here.

“What if he took her from here?” Everyone had looked at her with varying degrees of peculiar looks. Someone being kidnapped from the parking lot of a building full of FBI Agents? It would be comical if kidnappings weren’t a serious issue. Ironic. That’s the word Penelope was looking for. It was ironic.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at the security footage but her lawyer walked her to her car, it was broad daylight. What are the-” Prentiss’ mouth snaps shut and her lips purse just a little when Penelope brings up the video on the big screen.

Just thirty minutes before you walk outside, a small and stocky figure jimmies open your back door and slides in. He must slide to the passenger side of the backseat because he disappears from view. While he isn’t dressed in an extremely unusual manner, the hat and the black hoodie he is wearing help to hide his identity from the camera hanging over him.

Fast forward thirty minutes and all eyes trained to you as you drop your keys and bend to pick them up. Guilt hits every single member on the team, Spencer probably more than the rest, when they watch your head drop into your hands once you’re in the confines of your car.

An arm extends across the backseat, coming into view of the camera as the unsub presses a gun into your neck. In a matter of fourty-five seconds, you start the car and pull out of the parking spot.

“So we can rule out Jeremy.” Spencer says plainly, shuffling the papers in front of him as he thinks. Across the table Hotch nods his head in agreement. Jeremy was tall, maybe an inch shorter than Spencer, and he while he had an athletic build it was more lean muscle than the wide and stocky build the unsub had.

Penelope is quick to gather her things and head for her office, already planning on trying to follow your path through traffic cameras. It would be a grueling process, but it was the least she could do after digging through your life to, unintentionally, frame you for eight murders you didn’t commit.

“We interviewed everyone she has a connection to, in state or not. She’s an extremely low-risk victim, her circles don’t run that big.” Morgan has his own tablet pulled into his lap and he tilts his chair this way and that. A coin weaves in and out of his fingers and his forehead wrinkles as he goes over the list in his mind.

“Then we’ve already talked to our unsub, we just have to figure out which one it was.”

The first names to go are those out of state; your mother, your father, your best friend, and a handful of people you were connected to through the publishing firm. While the remaining names are few in numbers, it still puts Spencer on edge. They didn’t have the kind of time to be wasting energy of persons of interest, they needed one name identifying their unsub.

Nevertheless, the names are split amongst the group of profilers who work tirelessly through the night. The sun soon rises and glares through the window of the BAU conference room, putting Spencer Reid right into it’s spotlight.

There are bags under his eyes, eyes that take longer to open every time he blinks. He’s read the same paragraph eight different times, his cheek perched against the heel of his palm and his elbow propped on the tabletop. When he pushes back from the table, taking the file with him as he tries to walk away the exhaustion, it isn’t for the first time that night.

All he can think about is that final look you gave him as you walked out the door. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, like you’d been trying to convince yourself that he was somehow oblivious in your being accused of the murders and seeing him there had been a punch of truth in the gut. He’d gone forward when you stumbled, reflexively reaching out to steady you on your feet before his mind could process the action.

Spencer has been doing that since he met you, trying to protect you like he was a giant ball of bubble wrap around you. He’d done it that day in the bookstore, throwing all precautions to the wind when he held the back of your head to keep you from hitting that bookshelf. He’s done it several times at a coffee shop you both enjoy visiting on his days off, physically maneuvering your body when he realizes that your current trajectory will cause you to ram your hip into a table corner.

One time, he’d been walking with you across the street when a man on a bicycle had come flying out of nowhere. You’d been just a step in front of him, your head tilted over your shoulder and your hands flying around with animation as you told him a story. Truly, he wasn’t sure how he knew to reach out and grab your shoulders, you have a way of telling stories that makes the entire world fall away. Yet, as if he was Spider-Man or something, every cell in his body suddenly cried out and he didn’t hesitate in pulling you back.

The force Spencer used to pull your body into his chest had sent you both tumbling to the sidewalk behind you.

“Are you okay?” You’d said, turning so that you were hovering over him with the sun framing you like a halo around your head. Surely you could feel the rapid escalation of his heartbeat with the way you tenderly place one of your small hands over his chest.

In the end he had to pull you to the side of the busy street to put a band-aid on your elbow where it had hit the concrete. It had been in the bottom of your bag and it had Scooby-Doo on it.

Despite his eidetic memory, some moments always manage to fade a little more than others. Some moments stick out more, like when you had reached out to smooth a stray curl away from his face. Your fingers were featherlight against his temple, your head tilted just a little to the side, and a soft smile stretched your lips.

“You’re my guardian angel.”

Some guardian angel he was, accusing you of murder on eight accounts and then letting you be kidnapped by someone who had no qualms about slapping you. God only knows what else he was comfortable with.

“I’ve got a lead!” Garcia burst into the room, her chest heaving as she sent videos and pictures to the screen for everyone to see. Spencer couldn’t see her face as she bent over her tablet, punching in information and instructions, but he nearly peppered it with kisses when she started to explain what they were all seeing.

“I managed to track (Y/N) to a little town about and hour and a half away when she, probably on purpose, ran a red light just in front of a gas station.” The video of your car creeping through a four-way traffic light until it turned red and captured you on camera was time stamped for yesterday afternoon around four o’clock.

“If you look closely, she turns onto a dirt road just a few seconds later,” Sure enough, every eye in the room watches as your car disappears behind a cluster of trees across from the BP on the left side of the video. “Satellite pictures show that little dirt road leads to one house that burned down a year ago.”

Mouths open, cogs turns, but Penelope Garcia once again proves her intelligence when she merely waves one hand in their direction and uses the other hand to pull up several documents and articles.

“Don’t sweat it. There’s no connection at all. Belonged to a Martin and Elisa Lewis back in the fifties before it was abandoned in the seventies. It was a local haunt where teenagers went to smoke, get drunk, have parties, and do the crazy and reckless things teenagers love to do. One of these reckless things led to a fire and burned the place down. But what’s important is what leaves this place fourty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after (Y/N)’s car enters.”

The video jumps forward in time, resuming as a red SUV pulls off the road and comes back for the stoplight. They can’t manage to get a license plate, the car being recently purchased by the unsub and the paper temporary being stuck to the inside of a tinted window, and they don’t manage to get a good image of the unsub driving. It feels, for a quarter of a second, as if there is no lead at all, until Spencer jumps to his feet.

“We need to see if her car is still there.”

The hour and a half drive takes fifty minutes with their lights on, mud kicking up beneath their tires as they pull into the empty lot. Your car sits abandoned in the middle, your back tires sunk into a pile of mud. The mass collection of blood on your driver’s seat makes Spencer nauseas. Rossi gives him a reassuring pat on the back.

It does nothing for Spencer’s nerves. He is truly the worst guardian angel ever.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert

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amylillian22 · 4 years

Text

What If I Never Get Over You - Part 2 - Chris Evans Imagine

Summary: Chris finds the invitation to Y/N and Cody’s wedding and he needs to see her before the wedding as he’s ready to show her why he broke up with her unexpectedly years ago.

Word Count: 2,280

Warnings: Mentions of cheating

Author's Note: If your name is Abby or Kayla, I'm sorry. I just randomly picked two names off the top of my head for two other characters in this chapter.

[Part 1] /// [Part 3]

"Do you want anything? I'm going to the kitchen," Chris asked Scott. Scott shook his head, not taking off his eyes from the screen as the Saints we're currently beating the Patriots.

Chris quickly made a beeline to the fridge to get another beer. He grabbed a can and closed the door. He froze once he saw a wedding invitation hung on the fridge. He pulled off the magnet and got a closer look at the invitation.

Join us for the wedding of Y/N Y/L/N and Cody Christian

Chris heart dropped to his stomach as he read those words in black cursive. The beer can slipped out of Chris hand, causing it to explode once it hit the tiled floor. Scott heard the commotion and rushed to his kitchen.

"Shit," he whispered under his breath as he realized the invitation in Chris' hand. He completely forgot to hide it from his older brother before he came over.

Chris looked up at his younger brother, the invitation still in his hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You know why."

"She can't-" he dropped the invitation on the kitchen counter and ran his hands through his hair. "She doesn't know the truth. She can't marry him until she knows. She deserves the truth, Scott."

"Yeah, she does. I love you, bro, but you did everything wrong with Y/N. She deserved the truth before you broke up with her without an explanation. I'm always going to support you and be there whenever you need me, but when it comes to her... I'm on her side."

"Fuck," Chris groaned as he fished out his car keys from his jean pockets. The game had just started and he only had one beer so far. He was nowhere near buzzed and was perfectly fine to drive. He's not one to walk away from a Patriots game, but he had to see Y/N.

"I gotta go to her," he walked around the spilled beer.

"Oh, don't worry! I'll clean up the mess you made!" Scott yelled out scarastically.

"Thanks!" Chris yelled back before slamming the front door.

***

Chris walked up to a small house, one he remembered fondly and had so many memories in. He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. He heard Y/N say 'I'm coming!'. His heart was pounding against his chest not knowing what would happen when she would see him.

She opened the door, her smile completely vanishing as she saw Chris standing at her front door with his hands in his jean pockets. She hadn't seen him since he showed up to her live show in Boston. Before then, she hadn't seen or heard from him since he dumped her.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I need you to come with me," he answered nervously. He wasn't sure if she would go anywhere with him. Maybe years ago, she would have without any hesitation; but, it's been 6 years.

"Give me one good reason why I should go anywhere with you," she crossed her arms to her chest.

"If you come with me, I promise you'll get the answers to everything that happened 6 years ago."

She stared at him. The look in his eyes were serious, but also pleading. She wanted nothing to do with him anymore. She wasn't in love him anymore. She had moved on. She was getting married in a week.

Yet.... a bigger part in her heart was telling her to go. She deserved to know the truth and finally get the closure she needed to end her chapter with him for good.

She closed the door on him. Chris let out a deep sigh, feeling defeated. He had hope. He believed she would go with him.

He turned on his heel, about to head back to his car when the door opened again. Y/N had her purse in her hand while she locked her front door with the other. She turned around to see him surprised, his lips forming a small smile.

"Hurry up before I change my mind," she said, walking pass him and towards his car.

The entire ride neither one of them said a word. Chris had his eyes focused on the road in front of him, occasionally seeing Y/N from the corner of his eye. The further he drove, the more nervous he got. Although they hadn't talked in years, it wasn't like her to not talk to him.

Y/N looked throughout the passenger's side window, never once bothering to take a peek at Chris. She was too afraid to look at him for many reasons, but she only got in the car with him for one reason: To get some answers.

They were already out of Boston and entering Cambridge. Y/N had no idea where he was taking her. Just when she was about to ask, Chris pulled up to the gate of a gated community. He pushed in a code causing the gates to open a few seconds afterwards.

"You moved?" She asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Not exactly," he said as he continued to drive. He past a couple of streets before turning down a cobblestone street. He drove a mile in before he parked in front of the small park.

The park was empty. There were no kids or adults around, which Chris was thankful for. Although he trusted the small community that lived in this gated area, he still didn't want people to witness what was about to happen.

Without saying a word, Chris turned off the car and left the keys in the ignition. He got out of the car and made his way to the swing set. Without being told, Y/N followed him and sat on the swing next to him. She looked at her feet before slowly swaying herself on the swing.

"Why are we here?" She asked. "I don't exactly know how a playground in a gated community you don't live in gives me answers I deserved years ago."

Chris let out a sigh. "I should have told you the truth. I didn't because the truth hurt me knowing you would hate me forever. The truth would have broken us... but it might have even broken you more."

Y/N stopped swinging as she heard the seriousness in his tone. Yet, he also sounded scared and somewhat sad. She didn't understand it. None of it.

"I still don't get it..." she trailed.

"Just give me a minute or two," he said as he looked down at his watch. The explanation to his break up would be arriving soon.

Y/N's mind ran with a million ideas as she stared at him. Her brain was on overdrive with the cryptic message Chris gave her. She had no idea what he was talking about.

Chris stood up as he finally saw her running towards him. His lips formed a huge smile at the sight of a beautiful six year old girl with his piercing blue eyes.

"Daddy!" She squealed as she ran up to him. Chris immediately caught her when she lunged at him. "Mommy said I get to go home with you early today! I'm so excited to spend the whole week with you!"

Chris hugged her tight and saw her mom, Abby, over her shoulder. On the drive to pick up Y/N, he not only asked if he could pick up his daughter early today, but also kindly ask her not to come to him as he was finally really to tell Y/N the truth. Obviously, Abby knew the truth. She knew Chris was dating Y/N at the time. Back then, she didn't care. Now that she's older and a mother, and although sleeping with Chris gave her the greatest blessing in life, she wish she hadn't slept with someone who was with someone else. It wasn't exactly a good example for her daughter.

"We'll call you tonight," Chris waved at Abby.

"Bye mommy!" The little girl yelled as she saw her mom walking back towards their house. She turned around to see a woman she had never seen before. "Who's this daddy?"

Chris squeezed her shoulders, "this is Y/N."

"Why is she frozen?" She asked confused as Y/N had been standing there the whole time with wide eyes and her jaw dropped.

"Y/N..." Chris gentle grabbed her elbow, causing her to snap out of her shock.

"You have a daughter..."

"He sure does!" The little girl giggled. "And I just turned 6 years old!"

"6?" Y/N paused for a second as she finally figured out the math. Chris had broken up with her 6 years ago. She was the reason Chris broke up with her. He had an affair and got someone else pregnant.

"Six?!" She asked angrily, causing the little girl stood behind her dad and wrapped her small arms around his leg.

"Yes, Y/N. Meet my daughter, Kayla," he lifted Kayla up. She had a huge smile on her adorable face, a smile very similar to Chris'.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, trying to fight back the tears forming in her eyes. She looked at the little girl, and gave her a small smile. She wasn't angry at her. She did nothing wrong. If she was to be angry at anyone, it was Chris, and she was furious at him.

"It's nice to meet you, Kayla, but your dad-" she swallowed hard, not realizing it would be hard to call him that until now, "needs to get me home."

She headed towards his car. Kayla looked at her dad. "I don't think your friend likes me."

Chris sighed. "It's not you. She doesn't like me, baby girl."

"Then, I guess she's not your friend, uh?"

"Honestly, she never was," he said as he grabbed her hand and led her to his car.

***

Kayla talked about her birthday celebration at school with her friends and teacher. Then, talked about the surprise party her mom and stepdad threw on her real birthday. She asked what Chris had planned for her birthday as she was with her mom during her real birthday when he pulled up in front of Y/N's house.

"Hold that thought, baby girl," Chris said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Let me walk Y/N to the door."

"No, that's okay. You shouldn't leave her alone in the car," she said without look at him. She turned back to Kayla. "It was nice meeting you."

Y/N quickly rushed out of the Chris car. She knew he would go after her. After all these years, she still knew him best and he proved her right as she heard his car door close.

"Y/N," he called after her, climbing up the front steps two at a time.

"Don't Chris," she yelled back at the same time the front door opened.

"Babe," Cody said as he saw his fiancé walking up to him with tears in her eyes. He immediately engulfed her in a hug when she crashed into him. Looking over her shoulder, he saw a man he only heard about. The man that broke the love of his life's heart. The man who gave her so many emotions to write songs about that became platinum singles.

He didn't know what happened, but he knew it wasn't good as his fiancé quietly sobbed against his chest. He slammed the door on Chris, hoping once and for all he would be gone and out of her life forever.

"He had an affair," she said between sniffles and pulled back.

Cody noticed there was more to it as she couldn't even look at him. He pushed her hair out of her face, and gently cupped her cheeks before wiping away the fallen tears.

She cleared her throat, pushing the tightness back. "He's a father to a beautiful girl with the woman he cheated on me with."

"Oh, babe, I'm so sorry," he kissed her forehead.

"Please don't ever do that to me..." she whispered. "I can't go through that again."

Cody's hands dropped from her face and took a step back. She saw the sudden change in his face as his eyes narrowed at her. "How many times are you gonna ask me to not do something he did to you?"

"Cody-"

"I'm sick and tired of you always bringing him up. When are you gonna see that I'm not him?! I'm never gonna be like him! I'm never gonna hurt you like he did. I couldn't live with myself if I did because I love you too damn much," he sighed as he ran his hand over his face. "I'm so stupid. It's been six years..." he trailed. Y/N's heart began to thunder against her chest, not knowing where this conversation was going.

"We've been together for 2 years. We're engaged. I thought you wanted forever with me-"

"I do!" She immediately said.

He shook his head. "We can't have a future if you keep bringing your past in our lives. We sure as hell can't have a future if you keep writing songs about him and not me. You need to let it go. Move forward so we can move forward. So, think about what you want and when you decide what that is, give me a call."

Tears fell down her cheeks as she watched Cody grab his coat and walk out of their house. She felt a familiar pain, a pain she hadn't felt since Chris dumped her in the pouring rain. Except, she didn't know exactly what was the cause of her pain. Cody calling calling her out and letting her decide their future, or finding out Chris cheated on her and had a kid?

#chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #cody christian #cody christian imagines #cody Christian imagine

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bluesora · 4 years

Text

blurred memories of love

oikawa torū x fem! reader

fluff ; highschool ; soft angst ; abstract

in which i tried to explain the concept of how it’s really easy to take the love of your love ones for granted because you see them almost every day

he had always been there for you. always.

when days were bright and warm, his cheery voice was like music to your ears. the way he easily charmed his fans with his words, the way he pouts whenever iwaizumi would land a hit on his head; he would always never failed to put a smile on your face.

when the nights were a little rough and your thoughts were really loud, you found solace in the cage of his protective arms. he would run his hand along your back tenderly, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the palm of your hand—telling you he was there, and he was real.

oikawa had and will always be with you.

why hadn’t you realized it yet?

there you were, sitting at a crowded table in a family restaurant the team decided to have dinner at, staring at the guy you found yourself having difficulty recognizing.

you knew him. of course you did. he was the oikawa tooru. you grew up with him. you had many ups and downs together, you practically saw him almost every day. and yet, for the first time in your life, you finally saw him.

it was chaotic to have everyone (almost everyone if you exclude the first and second years) squeezing themselves into a booth at the corner of the restaurant, trying to bond over a simple dinner after an intense practice session. hanamaki and matsukawa were trying to talk over oikawa while iwaizumi tried his hardest to keep them in check. the others were clearly doing their own thing, joining the conversation as and when they felt like it.

you, on the other hand, did not have the energy left to partake in their lovely bonding session so instead, decided to just observe from the sidelines. they were noisy, without a doubt, but somehow you found your stare lingering at oikawa’s profile as the mix of their voices and the background music slowly drifted away in a distant.

they say, the more frequent you meet someone that’s close to you, the more you tend to neglect the details of that person.

your eyes scanned the male's unfamiliar features when you noticed the barely hidden dark circles below his pearl-like eyes, the way the corner of his brows would twitch a little before he masked the tiny frown tugging his lips with his usual pout. those hazel brown eyes—the ones in which you found yourself loving to get lost in—held such tiredness and uncertainty, you wondered who had you been looking at all those time?

they say, the brain would capture a rough image of every person you meet and if you see a person so often, it would not remember any new details unless you made the effort to.

have you not been paying any attention to him? even when he had constantly been making time for you whenever he could; even when you knew volleyball meant everything to him, but he still kept his mondays free for you.

you could feel it, taste it even, the bitterness at the end of your tongue when your mind pulled out every memory you could remember when you were together with him.

him? who’s that?

why couldn’t you remember his face?

you remembered the weather, the clothes you both had worn, the places you guys had been to, everything was so vividly portrayed, why was his face the only thing that was blank?

your heart raced, panic surging through your veins when every memory resulted in a harsh blur.

“y/n-chan...?”

it was getting much harder to breathe.

since when did you start to not pay attention? when did you get complacent? would he hate you if he knew?

you could feel your gut churning, not in a pleasant way, as your hand naturally covered your mouth from the overwhelming dread that was gradually building up.

“y/n-chan!”

oikawa’s voice brought you back to reality, his worry-filled eyes stared right into your hesistant hues.

“are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he looked so tired. you could clearly see now, he looked like he had been pushing himself so hard and yet there he was, worrying about you when he should’ve taken better care of himself.

you could almost feel it, the tears that were threatening to fall at the corner of your eyes so you grabbed your things in a hurry and left as quick as you could.

oikawa did just the same, utter confusion written all over his face when he gave a quick apology to the other members before he chased after you.

“y/n-chan! what happened? why did you suddenly leave like that?”

he managed to grab hold of your wrist when he struggled to catch his breath.

“aren’t you tired?”

“what?”

“isn’t it tiring to juggle both volleyball and me? i thought you were fine, you said you were but look at you tooru!”

he could hear the crack in your voice when he watched your trembling figure distance yourself from him. what the heck happened that made you like this?

“look how tired you are! how many times have you practice a little longer just to make up for those times you were with me? how many times did you lie to me that you weren’t overworking yourself whenever you showed up at my door, in the middle of dawn, making sure i’m all right when clearly the one that needs it more was you!”

tears were already spilling from your eyes when you tried to look at anywhere but him after your little outburst. you felt like, for the lack of a better word, utter shit. he’s silence was what made you wish the world could crumble beneath your feet and you’d disappear right then and there.

“everyday was just fine so why are you bringing this up now y/n? okay, maybe i did lie a few times but i still truly care about you! that’s why i promised i will always be there when you needed me so—”

“what about you? when will you ever tell me that you need me?”

it dawned upon you just then, why you never truly paid much attention to the male who—supposedly—meant everything to you.

oikawa had and will always be with you.

but you had never once been there for him.

“y/n i—”

“maybe i just wasn’t good enough for you, tooru. i assumed everything was fine, taking you for granted each time i struggled to catch my breath, going on with my life while you slowly crumble yours away...i’m so horrible, aren’t i? and i couldn’t even be bothered to see if you really were okay!”

you couldn’t take it anymore. oikawa couldn’t understand why you were being like that.

was he tired? maybe a little but it was still manageable. perhaps he did lie a few times, but iwaizumi was there to make sure he did not send himself to overdrive so why did it matter that much? you had always been his happy pill; knowing you needed him to be there to make you feel better was enough to have his heart brimming with warmth. and love.

he really did love you with all his heart.

“but i am okay y/n! what made you think i’m not? sure, i am a little tired but nothing too much for me to handle. and just knowing how much i meant to you for you to worry about me like this is making my heart swell,”

your hand that he had been holding onto the whole time was brought to his chest as you feel his heart quickened by each passing second.

“i don’t understand why you’d think you’re not good enough for me when you’re the only one who can make my heart race like that.”

you felt his hand brushed your hair away before resting on the side of your cheek when he leaned down to kiss the last drop of your tears.

“i don’t know what those thoughts of yours had told you but i had always and will always love every bit of you, y/n-chan!”

the way he just cupped your cheeks together in his hands and giving a soft peck to the tip of your nose—pulling you into his arms like how he had always done with ease.

“it still doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me shittykawa.”

you grumbled against his chest.

he chuckled, a faint smile made it’s way up to his lips when he rested his chin on top of your head.

“all right all right, no more lies from now on okay? so don’t call me that y/n-chan, you’ll break my heart!”

you thought for a bit, tilting your head up to look at the face you could finally recognized—the one with the softest gaze and the prettiest smile. you really did love him with all your heart.

“promise?”

you stuck your pinky out for him.

“promise.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenerio #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa scenarios #hqappreciation #hq x reader #hq imagine #oikawa angst #oikawa torū #oikawa fluff #aoba johsai #seijoh #life thoughts series

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