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gizmo-writes · 11 months

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caught | spencer reid

warnings: kidnapping, allusion to rape, loss of virginity (not by choice), guns, fuck or die trope, being shot, crying, pain, concussion, spencer is the biggest sweet heart, hospitals, talk of Spencer's trauma, happy ending?

special shout out to @imagining-in-the-margins they are an amazing writer! they inspired me to write this so a huge huge thank you to them!

Your head pounded, you felt light headed and dizzy. You tried to open your eyes but your head hurt too much. The cold floor grounded you, it was a nice constant. You could hear a voice but couldn't quite place it, it echoed in your mind only making your head hurt more. You groaned, you couldn't get up, everything hurt too much. And there was that damned voice again, speaking way too loudly for your comfort. "Please stop," you whimpered, your body ached to the point that you felt nauseous. "Y/n, please.. tell me you're okay," the voice said but once again you groaned. "Shh," you said, trying to get them to stop speaking.

You faintly heard the noise of a lock clicking but you didn't quite understand what it meant. But before you could even think, you felt hands on your body. The hands were gentle on your arms, trying to help you move but you didn't want to. "It's me, y/n It's me. It's spencer. Talk to me." He said. Spencer, oh thank god it was spencer. "Stop, i don't wanna move," you said, voice shaking. "Okay, okay. We won't move, im just gonna put your head in my lap." He said. Once again, you were groaning as he did so. You could feel him moving but you refused to open your eyes. He placed the fabric of his sweater on your forehead, you must've been bleeding, that's the only reason he'd do that. "Can you open your eyes? I need to check if you have a concussion." Spencer said. You whined, "it hurts, everything hurts." You said. "I know, I know but I need to know you're okay. After that you can close your eyes again." He said. You forced your eyes open, looking up at spencer. You would've been so happy to see him but he looked horrible. He was disheveled and obviously been crying. He never cries, why was he crying?

"Follow my finger, okay baby?" He said. You did your best but it was hard. You kept having to close your eyes because the pain was too much. Spencer sighed, giving up, "you probably have a concussion. You can close your eyes now. Just relax, I've got you." He said, petting your hair gently in hopes it would help you relax. "What happened?" You asked after a few moments of silence. "The unsub we've been hunting... he got us. But I'll keep you safe, i promise." He said. "Spencer, we- we've been through this. We don't make promises," you said softly. You were right and Spencer knew that. You two never made promises in hopes you two could never be let down by the inevitable broken promises. He never promised to be home on time due to the fact that it was almost impossible that he would be home on time. You never promised to stay up for him because it was so hard to stay up late in hopes he'd be home on time. Promises were almost never kept, it wasn't ever anyone's fault. You both knew that.

"Is the team on the way?" You asked, hoping, praying they were closer than you thought. Spencer sighed, he didn't answer, instead just leaning down and kissing the top of your head. That wasn't a good sign. "Just relax, remember how you've been planning that beach trip?" Spencer said. "That was supposed to be a surprise," you sighed softly. "I know, but I saw your laptop.. I've been thinking about it ever since. I've never liked the beach but i think with you.. I could really enjoy it. Finding a nice shady spot where I can read and you can drink your fancy little cocktails you enjoy so much," he smiled at the thought. You tried to giggle but it hurt, that sounded so nice, so perfect. "Now, i refuse to get into the water.. but I know you would too. The ocean is so vast, so unexplored. You've always hated the unknown but who doesn't. It's a common fear, just like the dark, it makes sense. But it'll be me and you, on a white sandy beach, reading, talking, drinking. It's perfect." He said, never stopping petting your hair.

He kept talking but you couldn't hear it. You started to doze off and he could tell by how your body relaxed. Part of him was worried that if you fell asleep, you might not wake up. But he knew you were strong, you just needed to rest and if you could sleep, then it was best that you did. He couldn't sleep, he refused. He would not let his guard down. He wasn't going to let someone else be taken away from him. It had happened too many times before, he couldn't let it happen again. He stayed vigilant, keeping an eye on your breathing while also looking around the dark room for any escape or any object he could use to protect the two of you. There was nothing, it was a dark room with a bed in the middle. Not a nice bed, just a mattress thrown onto the floor. He noticed the shackles and his stomach turned in knots, he didn't even wanna think about those being used, especially not on you.

He enjoyed the silence, being able to hear your soft breathing brought him solace. He was as comfortable as he could be in a moment like this. It did worry him how long it had been since the unsub had done anything. Was the unsub out? Was he not home, the team had profiled that the unsub had a family so it made sense he wasn't here. But he didn't know what time it was. It had to have been day if the unsub wasn't here. It meant he was either at work or with his family. But he dreaded when the unsub would be back. He knew a little about how it would go. The unsub took couples, made them have sex before he killed them. He never kept them longer than 3 days. The time was ticking and it was breaking his heart.

You woke up after maybe a couple of hours, you weren't sure. You felt somewhat better. Your body ached but not as badly, your head hurt but you were able to open your eyes. You looked up at spencer. "Spence?" You asked, gaining his attention. "Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked gently. "Better... or as much better as I can be." You sighed. "That's good, how's your head? It stopped bleeding." He said, examining the cut on your forehead. "It hurts but not as bad.." you said. You tried to move but spencer stopped you. "Hey, hey, take it slow." He said. He helped you sit up, very slowly. "There we go, can you look at me?" He asked. You did as he asked. He gave you a gentle smile, moving hair from your face. "You seem a little pale, how's your stomach?" He asked. "I'm nauseous.. but I think it's from the pain." You said. "I understand." He said.

There was a loud buzzing noise making you cover your ears, the noise made your head hurt. A door opened, spencer turned to see the unsub wearing a mask. He sat down a tray of food, along with a bottle of water. He pushed them into the room before slamming the door shut. The noise made you jump. You opened your eyes, uncovering your ears. "What is that?" You asked. "Food.. water.." spencer slowly stood. This was new.. the unsub never fed his victims, never kept them hydrated. The ME reporter the victims had no food in their system for three days. This wasn't right. Spencer grabbed the tray and the water and brought it over to you. You went to reach for the bread but spencer stopped you. "It might be poisonous.." he said, you nodded before pulling back. Spencer inspected the bottle of water, he knew you needed water. Dehydration would only make the concussion worse. It hadn't looked like it had been tampered with. No small holes to indicate poison. No broken seal to indicate it would be replaced with something else. He even took the label off to further investigate but it looked clean. "Okay, take sips. Don't chug it." Spencer said, opening the water. He brought it to your lips, you took the bottle with shaking hands and did as he said, only taking sips of the water.

He went back to the food, he didn't trust it but it also wouldn't make sense to poison it if he was planning on keeping the two of you. "I'm sorry y/n.. I don't think we should eat it. It's not safe, too many variables." He said. You nodded and watched as he pushed the tray to the side. You offered Spencer the water but he shook his head, "you need it baby. Keep taking sips." He said. You wanted to fight him but couldn't, you didn't have it in you. You took a few more sips before closing the bottle and setting it down. "Spence.." you looked around the room, finally taking in your surroundings. It was like he could read your mind, you didn't have to say you were scared. He already knew. He saw it in your eyes. He saw it in the way your hands trembled. "I know.. but it's okay to be scared. It's a natural reaction to what's happening." He explained. You nodded. You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to bring yourself comfort in the cold, dark room. Spencer placed the sweater he had used to stop your bleeding around your shoulders. You took it happily, cuddling into the warmth. "Are you scared?" You asked. Spencer would never admit it, he was ducking terrified. The unsub was deviating from his MO and he didn't know what it meant. He didn't even know if this was the same unsub at this point. His mind was racing and he was so scared but he'd never admit it. He knew you weren't a profiler so he knew he could hide his emotions from you. But he wandered if it was even a good idea. "A little," he admitted, but that's all he gave you.

He was thankful when you didn't push him any further. You took his answer as it was and he was thankful. He wasn't sure what would come next, he had been through so many hostage situations but nothing like this. Nothing where he was stuck with the woman he loved more than anything, nothing where he might be faced to have sex with the woman he loved in a place that he never wanted it to happen at. He had made so many plans in his mind about his first time with you but he never went through with any of them. Not because he didn't want to but because work or his own anxiety got in the way. But he knew for a fact that this wasn't how he wanted it to happen.

The silence quickly ended though when there was another loud buzz, the noise made you shake. Once again the door opened. "Bring me the tray." The unsub said. Spencer grabbed the tray but stopped when the unsub pulled out a gun, pointing it at spencer. "Not you, her." The gun was now pointed at you. Your heart stopped, in reality, it sped up faster than it ever had. "I'm not sure she can stand, she's hurt." Spencer tried to explain but the unsub shook his head. "Bring me the tray or i shoot." He demanded. Tears brimmed your eyes. You stood shakily, spencer was sure you might fall. You didn't though. Spencer saw you about to bend down but he quickly grabbed the tray and handed it to you. Your legs were shaking as you walked. You walked slowly, scared you would fall. Your head pounded just like your heart. You brought the tray to the unsub. The gun was brought to your head and you cried out. "Do not kill her or i swear to god-" Spencer started but was cut off. "I wouldn't kill such a pretty little thing like this. So pure, so innocent. Does he know?" The unsub asked, the gun moving from your temple to under your chin. It didn't take a genius to put together what the unsub had said. But spencer already knew you were a virgin, you never had to say it. He could tell when you kissed, so unsure of yourself. He could tell when your hands shook as your tried to undo the buttons of his shirt for the first time. Every part of your body and how you reacted to him when you two made out screamed virgin, insecurity, unsure of yourself. He knew and you never even had to say it.

"Don't worry darling, I'll film it so you can watch it over and over again. See how he takes that pretty little flower of yours and tears it to shreds. Do you know what men think about when they see a virgin? They only think about one thing, absolutely ruining you. They wanna ruin you, they wanna tear you apart till you are nothing. Then they wanna throw you to the side because guess what? You aren't as special as you think you are, especially after you're no longer a virgin." The unsub said, gun still shoved under your chin. He used it to make you look up at him. "I wanted to tear you to fucking shreds the moment I saw you in that pretty pink dress. So young, so pure. How old are you? 25? Your birthday was recently, I remember the party. You got so drunk that spencer here had to carry you home. I'm surprised he didn't defile you then, take advantage of you. He must really love you if he didn't want to take you right then and there." The unsub said. Tears were streaming down your face by now, you could barely see. You tried to focus, not on his words but on his eyes. It was important to take in every detail you could incase you escaped so you could tell the team what you saw. His eyes were green, nothing special about them. There was nothing identifying about him, no different colored eyes, no black specks that you could place. There was nothing and you felt defeated. "Move back," the unsub said. You did as he said, and with that the door shut.

You couldn't move and neither could spencer. He replayed the whole conversation back in his head. The pretty pink dress he was referring to was the one you wore on your first date with spencer. He knew your birthday, he was at the party. The party was small, close friends and family only. He knew you were a virgin, no one knew that. Unless they were your close friend. This didn't make sense, how did he know so much. They didn't profile the unsub to be a stalker, he was a man that took couples of opportunity. He kept them for three days, never fed them or let them drink. This wasn't the original unsub.. this was someone totally different. This was a stalker, a man who had followed you around for days, months, at this point maybe even years. This was a whole different story, the team didn't know about him. The team wouldn't be here any time soon. And now he had no idea how long the two of you had to live. He had nothing, he had no profile, he had no clues. But maybe, just maybe you knew something.

"Y/n," spencer spoke but you were unmoving. He stood up walking over to you. You were like a statue, the only identifiable form of life was the way your hands shook. "Y/n," he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face him. He saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, his heart broke. "Do you know him?" Spencer asked. "His eyes were green spencer, that's all I could see. I couldn't- I didn't see anything else. Spencer I tried but there was nothing-" you were close to breaking down, going on a rant about how you tried so hard to place him. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You did good. You tried. Green eyes, that's good. That's a start." Spencer said, grabbing your shaking hands. He pulled you into his chest, "do you know anyone, any man with green eyes?" He asked. You shook your head, you couldn't place anyone because you couldn't even think straight. He had been watching you for so long and you never noticed and it scared the shit out of you. "Okay, that's okay. We can try something later after you calm down, okay?" He said and you nodded. Spencer brought you back over to the corner where the two of you sat before. He sat down, pulling you between his legs and holding you tightly. The tightness of his arms grounded you, the feeling of the cold floor against your legs also kept you grounded. "We will get through this, no matter what. Okay?" He said and you nodded.

You didn't even notice when Spencer started to speak, he was repeating a book to you. It took you a while to place it, but then you realized, he was quoting Alice in Wonderland, word for word. It was a childhood favorite of yours and he was doing it to comfort you. You buried your head in his arms, crying. As sobs shook through you, spencer held you tighter. He continued to quote the book, he knew it brought you comfort and he was gonna keep you grounded the best way he knew how to. He would never tell you how he was breaking. As time went on, he broke more. He had nothing, no clue about who the unsub was. He was so fucking scared and he didn't know what to do. He thought about trying to subdue the unsub but he had a gun, he could get shot, or worse, you could get shot. He had no way to get help. There were no windows. The door was dead bolted and connected to some sort of mechanism that made it impossible to unlock unless you had the button or passcode or whatever the fuck the unsub had. He was helpless, he had no team, no gun, no profile and no clues. It reminded him of when he was taken by Tobias Hankle. At least then he was able to talk to the unsub, reason with him and get help when needed. Now he had nothing. There was no reasoning with this unsub, his motives were clear. Fuck or Die.

It had become a waiting game, he was able to finish the whole book by the time you had worn yourself out to the point that you passed out. He was anxious, the only solace he found was in playing with your hair. It kept him calm, grounded. He tried to count the time but he kept losing count with every little noise he heard. His heart raced with every sound, so scared the unsub would come back and put the gun back to your head. The image of your body shaking and tears rolling down your face would be forever engrained in his mind. He didn't wanna remember you like that, he wanted to remember you as the sweet, smart girl he knew. The one he fell so hard for. The girl who was the only one who could help him sleep. No matter how many bad cases, bad nights and nightmares he had, he still found comfort in your arms, in the way you played with his hair and sang your favorite songs to him. He was never into pop music, love songs, but when you sang them, they were his own form of heaven. He replayed the songs in his mind as you slept. He never knew who they were by or what they were called but he could recall every single lyric.

It could've been hours by the next time the buzz came and the door opened. You jolted awake, god he wished you had stayed asleep. He didn't want you to go through it again, the gun to your head. "Come here," the unsub said, once again, gun pointed towards spencer. You moved out of Spencer's lap so he could stand up. He walked towards the unsub cautiously, trying to play through the scenarios in his mind. Ones where he'd grab the gun successfully and subdue the unsub. "Don't try to be smart now," The unsub said, gun now pointed at you. His heart sank, all possibilities of subduing the unsub now out the window. You cried again, knees pulled to your chest. "Don't shoot her, I'll cooperate." Spencer said, holding his hands un in defense. "Good," the unsub tossed spencer a pair of keys. Spencer caught them but was confused, he stared at the keys in his hand before looking up at the unsub. "Don't play dumb, you know what to do." The unsub motioned towards the shackles. "No, no, no, we don't need to do that. She'll listen. I promise she will." Spencer said. "What was that that she said earlier? We don't make promises?" The unsub said, spencer could hear the smirk in his voice. He had been listening the whole time.

"I won't- i can't tie her up, please. She- she'll be good. I'll make sure. Please," spencer pleaded. A shot rang out but thankfully it was just at the wall. You screamed, covering your ears. "Okay! Okay, don't shoot! It's okay!" Spencer's ears were ringing. You were quick to move, going over to the bed. You were sobbing and scared and Spencer knew that. He could feel it in every part of his body. He walked over to you, his own hands shaking. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," was all he could say. He grabbed your wrist gently, grabbing the metal cuff and placing it around your wrist. He locked it, he didn't want to but he did. Then he did the next wrist, he was so gentle, so calm. He had to be because he knew if you knew how truly scared he was, you would break. "There, okay, it's done." Spencer said, turning back towards the unsub. The unsub shook his head, "ankles too," he stated. Spencer felt defeated as he looked down at the bed seeing the shackles for your feet. Your legs were pulled to your chest, laying in the fetal position. "P-please don't, please. Please I'll be good," you cried out but the unsub shook his head. "No, do the ankles, now!" He yelled. You moved your legs to lay flat. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut.

"Hey, hey, listen to me. We're on the beach, yeah? It warm, not too hot, we're not sweating. There's a cool breeze," he spoke as he put the shackles around your ankles. "It's not too cold though, it doesn't make us shiver. You have your music playing.. that one song with the lyrics about, god, what were the lyrics?" For once he couldn't think, he couldn't remember. "The one that goes, "we could leave the Christmas lights up till January," he said. You knew the song, you loved that song. "I-I never understood the lyrics.. leaving the Christmas lights up till January? Why would you do that?" Spencer tried to chuckle but his voice cracked. He couldn't stop the tears from falling. Once he was done with the shackles he looked back at the unsub. "Give me the keys," the unsub said. Spencer nodded, getting up and handing him the keys. With that, the unsub left.

Spencer was quick to be by your side. You broke, struggling in the restraints as you cried. "No, no, relax. You'll hurt yourself. You're already hurt enough, okay?" He said, you couldn't relax. You still struggled, crying. Spencer grabbed your face, "look at me, look at me," Spencer said. You opened your tired eyes, looking at spencer. "It will be okay, i won't hurt you. I won't let him hurt you. If I'm here, you're safe, I'll make sure of it." He said, stroking away the tears on your face. "I wanna go home," you cried. "That's a normal response-" you cried again, "stop! Stop it with the normal responses! This isn't normal! None of this is normal! Please, let me go!" You yelled out, trying to move again. It broke spencer, his eyes squeezing shut as his tears fell onto your shirt. "We'll be home soon, back in bed. Cuddling, watching movies. I promise we can watch a normal movie, none of the old timey russian movies. No need to translate. We can watch Mean girls, or- or some cartoons. We can watch anything you want." He said, trying hard to calm down and calm you down. "Remember- remember when you said you wanted a dog? And i complained, god, i don't know why I complained. We can get a dog now, okay? Any breed, i don't care. We can get a pitbull, a terrier, any dog toy want." He said. "A greyhound?" You asked, sniffling. "Yes, yes, a greyhound. We'll get a greyhound. We'll take him on walks together, bring him to the dog park. He can sleep in our bed, i don't care." Spencer said. He saw a smile from on your face. You leaned into his touch, "maybe we can get a cat too?" You offered. Spencer laughed, "of course, a cat too." He said. You smiled, your crying was slowing down but it didn't stop. He couldn't stop crying either, he tried but it wasn't worth it when he knew it'd start again.

"D-do you think- spencer," you didn't want to finish the sentence. You didn't quite know what you wanted to ask. "It's okay, take your time. We got all day," he tried to joke and it made you smile. "I never wanted our first time to be like this," you whispered. Spencer sighed, "I know, me neither. I wanted it to be with rose petals, music, maybe a nice dinner." He said. "Maybe on a beach," you whispered. Spencer smiled, "you were planning it, weren't you?" He asked, referring to the trip. "I was, but I never- we would never get the time." You giggled. "Your job sucks sometimes," you said. Spencer let out a broken laugh, "it truly does." He said. "But you know, sex on the beach is never what you expect it to be. Sand in places it shouldn't be, not to mention all the dieses in the sand." He said and once more you giggled. "Always ruining the moment," you said. "I never try to, maybe we could have that sex in the hotel room though, just to be safe." He said. "What about all the possible dieses in the hotel bed, huh?" You joked. "Way less than the ones on the beach." He said. You just shocked your head with a smile. "Maybe more than the ones on this bed," you said, really trying to joke. Spencer sighed, you didn't mean to bring the two of you back to reality but you did. You were faced with the horrible reality that you would lose your virginity on this possible dieses ridden bed covered in stains.

"How's your stomach?" Spencer asked, changing the subject. "I forgot about it.. was thinking about the beach, and the dog and the cat." You said. Spencer smiled at that. "Good, do you need some water?" He asked. "That would be nice," you said. Spencer reached over, grabbing the water you had left on the floor. He opened the bottle before placing a hand behind your head. He raised your head, helping you sip some water. You took a few sips before spencer pull the bottle away. "Better?" He asked and you nodded. He set the bottle down after closing it. "You haven't slept," you said and Spencer shook his head, "don't need to." He said. "That's a lie, you need sleep. You need all the energy you can get and you know that," you said. "I'll sleep when we leave." He said. "Spence, we don't know when that'll be. Please, just- just lay your head on my chest and sleep." You said. Spencer sighed, you were right, he needed sleep and he didn't know how long you two would be here. He reluctantly placed his head on your chest, it wasn't the same when you couldn't play with his hair. But then you started to sing, the lyrics flooding his brain. He could barely relax but it was enough to send him off to sleep.

You fell asleep too, you didn't mean to. You were just so tired, so worn out from struggling. You didn't know how long the two of you slept, nothing happened, the unsub never came it. It was a calm night, it didn't make sense but you decided not to think too much about it. Thinking made your head hurt. You woke up before Spencer, you went to play with his hair but the restraints stopped you. You wanted to cry again, realization had set back in as you remembered where you were. You clenched your first but stayed put, you didn't want to wake spencer. He needed rest, especially if he was going to somehow devise a plan to get the two of you out of there. He was your only hope, you trusted him though. You knew you would be okay.. maybe not now but eventually.

Spencer woke up shortly after you, looking up at you with a smile. He must've forgotten where he was as well. But you saw the realization set in. He was brought back to reality as he looked around the room. Nothing had changed which was good. But that still meant there was nothing to help him escape. Then the familiar buzzing came back. You dreaded that sound more than anything. The unsub walked in, gun in hand. He tossed scissors onto the ground. They were children's scissors, it could do damage but not enough to stop him from shooting. He thought maybe if he could get the scissors into his neck it would stop him but that wouldn't, nothing would stop a mad man from shooting the love of his life. He's learned that the hard way.

"The shirt," the unsub said, pointing the gun at the scissors then at you. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, "please, I'll do anything if you just let her go." Spencer said. "No, the shirt." The unsub said. "We could make a deal, you- we- please," spencer didn't have a deal to make. He knew what the unsub wanted and he didn't know how to stop it. "Now!" The unsub yelled. Spencer gave in, you didn't cry out this time like you had before when you yelled. When spencer looked at you, he saw you broken, silently sobbing but not begging anymore. He wanted you to beg, he wanted to know you were still fighting, still willing to fight for your life, your purity. But you didn't, you were silent as you cried, eyes squeezing shut.

Spencer sat besides you, he used the scissors at the bottom of your shirt, slowly cutting the fabric. His hands trembled as he struggled to get through the material. He had seen this part of you before but not like this. Not when he was forced to. The unsub walked over to him, looking over his shoulder. "How pretty, beautiful untouched skin." He said. Spencer held the scissors so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Oh come on now," the gun was now to the back of Spencer's head. "You really don't wanna do that, you hurt me, I hurt you. Not enough to kill you, no, no. I would make you watch as i fucking tear her apart. You don't want that do you? You want it to be you, you want to be the one to take her sweet virginity. I know you do." He said, keeping the gun in place, the barrel placed against the back of his head.

"Not like This," spencer whispered. "Not like This? Are you sure about that? You think she's the only one I watch? I've seen you Dr. Spencer Reid. I've seen you, laying in bed, what dumbass keeps the blinds open?" He chuckled, "I watched as you jacked off to porn, to photos of her, she wasn't even nude in them. Scantily clad, but never nude. How perverted are you? I've seen the porn you watch, BDSM? I bet the shackles turn you on." The unsub said. Spencer was heartbroken. He didn't need this side of himself revealed, especially not to you. He would share those things, but not now. "They don't," spencer said. "Why not? You've watched girls suffer and enjoyed it. But not this?" The unsub said. "BDSM is based on consent. This isn't consensual." Spencer said. "I Can make it consensual." The unsub said. The gun was now pointed at you. "Beg," he said. "W-what? Beg for what?" You asked, trying to not let your voice crack but it wasn't working. "Beg him to fuck you, tell him you want it. Make it believable." The unsub said.

You looked at spencer, he couldn't even look at you. He was so ashamed of himself, so hurt and guilty. "P-please f-fuck me," you said, unconvincingly. "Make it believable!" The unsub yelled. There was that sob again, the one that wracked through your body and broke spencer. "P-please fuck me, please spencer, I need you, I want you. Please i want it," you cried, staring at spencer. He shook his head, "I can't, you don't want it. I can't," Spencer said, tears streaming down his face once more. "Fine, if you can't. Then i will!" The unsub shoved spencer out of the way.

You screamed, cried when you felt the unsubs hands on your body. It felt dirty, his hands were rough. You struggled in his grip on your sides. "Spencer, please, please!" You cried out. You couldn't see spencer through the tears in your eyes. But then you heard it. A shot fired and the body of the unsub fell limp on you. You screamed again, "help, help, help," you cried, squirming. You could feel the blood pouring out of the unsub and onto your body. Spencer quickly grabbed the unsubs limp body and moved him off of you. You were sobbing, shaking. Spencer kicked the gun away in case the unsub was able to get up. He grabbed the keys and quickly started to undo the shackles. Once your ankles and hands were free, you hugged spencer, hugged him so tightly you were sure he might not be able to breathe. "We need to get out of here, we need to find a phone," spencer said quickly, pulling back. You looked over at the body but spencer grabbed your face, "Don't look at him, look at me. We need to get out of here. Okay? Can you stand?" He asked. You weren't sure but spencer was already standing, pulling you up with him.

Your head started pounding again but you ignored it, leaning against Spencer's body as he guided you out of the room. He had to practically pull you up the stares. He opened the door, leading the two of you into a house. "I need to find a phone," Spencer said, leaving your side. You leaned back against the wall, falling down to the floor as you cried. You could still feel the unsubs hands on you, you could still see his lifeless body on the floor. The imagine would be engrained in your mind. The feeling of his hands would be burned into your brain. "The team is on there way," spencer said as he got down beside you. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. "We're safe, we'll be safe soon. We're going home. We're gonna get that dog and that cat. We'll take that beach trip." He explained, keeping you close.

You didn't know how long it took for the team to get there. You were too busy shaking and crying in Spencer's arms, replaying the scene in your head over and over again. The door bust open making you flinch, you didn't scream, you didn't have it in you. "Spence, oh my god, spence," JJ said, running over to the two of you. "The ambulance will be here soon, okay?" She said. You couldn't open your eyes but you could hear the team moving through the house. You didn't want to open your eyes, you were so scared you'd see the body again. "Are you okay?" JJ asked. Spencer nodded then looked down at you, "She was hit in the head, im sure she has a concussion." Spencer said. "Is she bleeding?" JJ asked but spencer shook his head, "It's not her blood," he said. JJ was relieved. She loved Spencer and she loved you. Sure, spencer knew her first, but you felt closer to her than anyone else. "Ambulance is here!" Someone called out. "Okay, okay, we need to get you two checked out." JJ said.

Spencer started to move but you cried harder, clinging onto him. "No, no, no-" you cried. "It's okay, we're going to the ambulance. Okay, im staying with you." Spencer said. You reluctantly stood up with him. JJ was on your other side, helping you walk. You never realized how weak you were till now. Your feet drug against the ground, you felt limp, heavy. You hear hung as you walked. You were so tired. They helped you into the ambulance and laid you down. You clung onto Spencer's arm like a lifeline, afraid that if you let go, the unsub would be back, grabbing you, touching you.

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," spencer said, grabbing your hand and holding it just as tightly as you were holding his. "I'll meet you two at the hospital," JJ said before leaving the car. Spencer just looked down at you, watching as the EMT's checked you out. You felt a hand on your stomach that wasn't Spencer's and you freaked out. "N-no! Please!" You squeezed your eyes shut. "D-don't touch her there!" Spencer said, shoving the EMTs hand away. "I was checking for bleeding," he said. "That's not her blood! Don't touch her there again!" Spencer was furious, these were the people that were supposed to keep us safe but yet they were making you relive the trauma. "I won't, i wont," The EMT said.

They hooked you up to IVs, checking you for a concussion which you indeed had. "She's dehydrated and in pain. We're giving her morphine. She'll fall asleep soon," The EMT said. Spencer nodded and his eyes never left you. You couldn't open your eyes, the lights were too bright and you were too tired to keep them open. "I'm here, I'm not leaving." Spencer said. You squeezed his hand to indicate you were listening. "Did you hear the doctor? You'll fall asleep soon but I'll be right here. I'm not leaving." You squeezed his hand again. Spencer knew the EMT wasn't a doctor but he wasn't about to make things more difficult for you to understand in your fragile state. You fell asleep soon after he told you what was happening.

Spencer was so tired, struggling to keep his eyes open as he watched you sleep. He refused to sleep, he couldn't bare having you wake up without him being awake as well. The doctors hooked him up to an IV after checking him out. He was fine, dehydrated but fine. He didn't have a concussion like you did, he wasn't stuck in shackles like you were. Sure, he had trauma but nothing as bad as you. He had been through the pain, the gun against the head, but you hadn't. This was all new to you and he knew you were about to go through hell when you woke up. You'd need years of therapy like he did. He worried you'd turn to drugs like he did but he would make sure you didn't. He do anything to help you cope but he wasn't going to let you do anything to hurt yourself.

You woke up after a while, eyes heavy as they opened. "Hey, hey, I'm here," he could see the way your hand moved frantically in search of his. He grabbed your hand and held it tightly. Your eyes finally opened and were met by his. "I wanna go home," was all you said. Spencer nodded, "we'll be home soon." Was all he said. You nodded, turning your head with a soft groan. You looked out the window, it was sunny out. You missed the sun. "I was thinking.. when we get home.. we should book that beach trip." He said. You didn't smile this time though, the beach trip no longer brought you comfort. That was ruined by the unsub. "Or, you know what.. maybe no a beach trip. Maybe somewhere more cozy, secluded. Maybe the mountains?" He said. You turned to face him, furrowing your brows. "I know, I don't have good memories with secluded cabins but i think you could change that. A nice cozy cabin, the rain hitting the windows as we cuddle up by a fire. Watching movies, listening to music, reading books. How does that sound?" He asked. A smile formed on your face, "that sounds perfect," you whispered. "Good, then it's a plan. We can set it up when we get home." He said. "And the dog?" You asked. "We'll look into adoption, same with the cat." He said. You smiled, tears brimming your eyes. "I love you," you said. "I love you too," he responded. He leaned in, giving you a soft kiss, things were hard but you knew with him, you could get through it.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you

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muddyorbsblr · 5 months

Text

feels like mine pt2

See my full list of works here!

Summary: On the worst day of his life, Tom receives an offer impossible to refuse: getting you back. Well, almost…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: major character death; possibly a wonky timeline (the math wasn't and still isn't mathing in my pea brain); probably a wonky depiction of soulmates [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: sad meow meow hours

Three days ago…

After a good dozen takes on the same sequence from a variety of angles, Tom finally had a moment to himself, giving his assistant a signal to retrieve his phone so that he could give you a call. You'd been apart for nearly a month at this point and he missed you terribly.

The only remote relief he'd get was hearing your voice as often as he possibly could. You'd tell him all about the plot of the book you were reviewing, or what details you could divulge on the shows you were working on. Considering that you often had ironclad NDAs for them these days, you'd usually tell him of the former as it was less of a minefield.

Once his assistant handed over his phone, however, his heart caught in his throat at the screen that greeted him. Over a dozen missed calls from an unknown number in the last few hours, preceded by a text message from you.

Tom, sweetie, I'm in the hospital. It's no big deal, just a little road accident, don't worry about me. I might not be able to answer your calls for a while, since they're taking me in for surgery in a few minutes. I love you. Always.

With trembling hands, Tom returned the call from the unknown number, his heart so heavy in his chest it was a struggle to even breathe right. The next words felt as if they passed through him in a blur; he could only pick up on bits and pieces from the other end.

Drunk driver. T-bone. Internal bleeding.

And the worst words of all. I'm deeply sorry for your loss.

He took the soonest possible flight back to London, everything around him seemed a blur until he finally got to the home you two shared, his and your mothers waiting for him inside. That was the moment he finally broke, dropping to his knees and breaking out into sobs, the horrible reality cruelly sinking in once he saw their completely distraught faces.

They took your body to be cremated that day, allowing him a few minutes to say goodbye before they began the process. Your mother advised him against looking into the body bag, insisting that he wouldn't want that as his last memory of you, that he should at least get to live on with his final memory of your face being that of the loving, beaming wife he knew and loved.

The next time that you came out, it was in an urn, weighing just about the same as a baby, and he cradled you as such. For the entire car ride back to your home until he settled you in his study.

"We didn't have enough time," he said through his tears, stroking the golden urn as if he was stroking your hair. "We should have had more time."

At that moment, a voice pierced the solemn silence of your home. "I'm sorry for your loss, Thomas."

When Tom turned to see who the unwelcome visitor was, he couldn't find any words to say except one. "Impossible."

"Quite possible, really," Loki shot back, stepping into the study with palms open in a sign to tell your husband that the god meant no harm. "Anything's possible in this multiverse, I'm slowly coming to find. And in that realm of possibility, I have something to offer you."

"All due respect, I want nothing that you can give," Tom declared sullenly. "You can't give me my wife back."

"And what if I said that I can? Well, in a way."

That suddenly got Tom's full attention, placing an arm in front of your urn as if he was still trying to protect you. As if that could really do anything against a god. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.

"I've recently learnt that in every universe, there is an iteration or an echo of me, and a corresponding iteration of Y/N. In this universe, Thomas, you are my echo. In every universe, Y/N's echo is destined to fall in love with mine, and in almost every universe, that love is reciprocated," the god began to explain, creating an illusion with a wave of his hand of your wedding day.

It was nearly enough to mesmerize Tom completely, almost losing himself in the memory. In happier times. "Hang on, what do you mean almost every universe?"

"Ah, yes. That part. Well, you see, Thomas…in the universes where my echo takes on your form, world-famous actor, hordes of adoring men and women and everyone in between at his feet, getting an entire crowd to fall silent with a finger to his lips--"

"I get it, I get it, can we keep it moving, please?"

"Right then. In the universes where my echo is…Tom Hiddleston, while it is a guarantee that Y/N will love Tom, it is not a guarantee that Tom will love Y/N. There are universes where Tom barely even knows of her existence. She's in the hordes, a part of her soul knowing that she's doing exactly what she was designed to do, but confused as to why she feels as if a part of her is missing somehow."

"That's--" Tom's words choked off in a sob at the back of his throat, a new type of sadness overcoming him as he imagined a world where he never even knew you. Never loved you. "That's miserable."

"It is," the god agreed. "My offer to you is that I can reach into one of these universes where her love for you is unreturned, and I can bring her to you. Fulfill what her heart yearns for, and in return, you have an echo of your wife. Have the time that was stolen from you so harshly. So unfairly."

Tom considered the offer carefully, only moments passing before he had his first question. "What of her universe? Her family?"

"In these worlds she doesn't have much of one. For the most part she's alone, and has learnt to fend for herself in lieu of a support system." Both their hearts broke for those iterations of you, the thought of you taking on the world without anyone by your side was nearly enough to bring both men to their knees. "If you were to accept, then it would be a simple enough spell with barely any ripple effect to nullify her existence and memories of her from the minds of those still around to remember her."

Every part of him wanted to jump at the offer. To accept it without thinking. Getting another chance to spend a life with you? There should have been no hesitation at all. Except…

"If she's anything like my Y/N, she'll be smart enough to ask questions. Why her life's different from what she knew before. Whose remains are in the urn in my study. What do I tell her then?"

"That is entirely up to you." Loki's answer was not in the least bit comforting. "You can conjure up a story that she will be inclined to believe, or you can tell her the truth. Alternatively, I can offer you an easier way out of this as well. Surrender your late wife's remains to me and I can keep her somewhere safe. That way you can live on with creating your new life with this echo of your Y/N without being as tethered to your past; after all, if you wish to start this life with her, then she deserves to have you love her to the fullest extent you can afford. She deserves not to be loved half-heartedly by someone still clinging to the ghosts of his past."

Much as he agreed completely with the sentiment, Tom found himself hesitating at the thought of simply surrendering your ashes to the god. He knew what the trade would mean, and that he in turn would have more time with a version of you; however, a part of him still protested.

For would this not be a dishonor to your memory? To simply let go of you and the time he'd gotten to know you and fall in love with you in exchange for something that might not even live up to his memory of you?

And on the other hand, he thought about the version of you that was doomed to live your life with an unrequited love. The knowledge that your souls were only partly intertwined in that world had him hurt for that iteration of you. You did deserve to be loved with the same magnitude that you gave love. And if he could give that to you, then the only way that he could do so was to accept that this wouldn't be a life wherein he picked up where you and he left off. He would be building something new entirely.

It was a near impossible choice. But ultimately he knew which way he would go.

Loki's offer meant more time with you. It meant having you again. Even if it was an echo of you. At its core, it was still you.

Right?

"What would you do?" he asked the god.

"If I lost my Y/N? I'd turn the multiverse inside out to have her again. Rearrange the Realms itself until she was by my side." He paced the room as he continued his answer. "Any version of her." A smirk tugged at the onyx-haired man's mouth before tilting up his chin, assuming an all-knowing stance. "But seeing as you are an echo of me, you already knew that this was the answer, didn't you? You simply needed to hear it outside of your own thoughts. Solidify your decision."

Tom could only nod, the depth of the situation still tremendously lost on him. All he knew was that if he did this, he would have you back.

He placed your urn on the desk, pushing it towards Loki. "What do I do now?"

The god held out his hand. "Firstly, your wife's ring. I'll need it when I find an echo of her that leads her life all alone. It will be her first tie to this universe. Your universe." Tom placed your wedding ring into his hand. "Secondly, you grieve. You've suffered a great loss, and what I am to do is not a replacement of your late wife, and should not be treated as such. Mourn your loss for the next day. Then after tomorrow night, go about your morning routinely, as if she were alive."

Tom nodded again. "How will I know that it worked?"

Loki only shrugged at the actor. "Have faith. Faith that you'll see your wife again the morning after next."

With that, the god disappeared, taking both your remains and your wedding ring with him. And Tom heeded the advice, crawling into the bed you shared with him, all the memories of the life you built together and the possibilities of the life you were yet to build overwhelming him. The weight of your lost future all but crushing his heart into a million pieces.

And he wept himself to sleep.

Today…

On the second morning after Loki's offer, Tom rose from your shared bed and listened to the god's instructions from days before. He laced his shoes up, went on his usual morning run, changed into business casual attire as if he was scheduled for a Zoom call in a short while, and proceeded to start preparing a breakfast for two.

Once he had coffee brewing, he started preparing a lavish breakfast for you two to share, starting with a fruit platter. "Have faith," he whispered to himself, making the last second decision to make it a touch more decadent with a small bowl of Nutella to dip the fruit into.

If this truly was going to work, he would spoil you at every turn moving forward. Never another minute squandered, nor another craving denied.

"Have faith," he whispered again, putting on an apron to prevent any spills from ruining his white dress shirt and proceeding to slice up the fruit.

Then he heard the bedroom door open. And for the first time in days he felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

He waited until you made your way down the stairs, fighting every urge to meet you halfway and take you into his arms. He knew you needed to acclimate into this life you'd been suddenly thrust into; Loki had done his part, now it was his turn to ease you into your new reality.

Your footsteps got closer and closer until finally they stopped just outside the kitchen area. That was the only time Tom allowed himself to turn around and look at you, relief flooding his system once he laid his eyes on you. In the silk navy blue nightgown, wearing your wedding ring.

He finally felt like he could breathe again.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

A/N: *peeks from the corner* I promised I'd have a sequel for 'feels like mine' up, and here it issssss 🫡 This isn't 'sworn fealty' after all 🤣 (in all seriousness though I will be working on a sequel to that I just have 0 idea when)

And technically this isn't a sequel but more of a prequel to part 1…all I can promise you is that there is a part 3 and it's spicy 😳👀 Dunno when that'll be out tho because I'll be returning to the requests pile but we'll see where the vibe takes me

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemis @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

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kpopfanfictrash · 6 months

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The Horrible Un-Haunting of Elliot House

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Ghost!AU / Romance / Comedy (?)

Pairing: Seokjin / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Some houses are harder to sell than others but you, Y/N, are determined to find the (supposedly) haunted Elliot House a new owner. That is, until it's very real and very hot exceedingly well-dressed ghost decides to make himself known. If only you didn't find yourself enjoying the knowing.

Rating: PG-13 (kissing but nothing beyond that)

Word Count: 6,214

Author's Note: hope you enjoy this random Halloween "drabble"! This got oddly angsty? I suppose that happens with ghost love LOL

[ Cross-Posted to Wattpad ]

“Through here,” you say, leading the Gundersons through an arched door. “You’ll find the most adorable sunroom.”

The Gundersons both gasp, appropriately awed by the tall walls of windows. Each panel is topped with stained glass, casting colorful patterns across the checkered floor. Technically, the sunroom isn’t part of the original house – it was added in 1975 during a brief period the address was owned by a cult – but you rarely disclose this fact during tours. Most people don’t care which parts of the house are original, so long as they can say they bought a 19th century Tudor.

Not that you blame them. Most people (or at least, sane people) appreciate the romanticism of an old structure without actually wanting to live in one. Modern amenities are the top benefit of progress, after all. The government couldn’t pay you to live without modern heating, plumbing, or refrigeration.

“Margaret, did you see?” Arthur Gunderson, a slightly rotund lawyer, and husband of said Margaret, gestures emphatically. “I’ll be damned if this stained glass isn’t Tiffany! See there, see that stamp in the corner?”

“Good eye, sir!” you chirp, barely glancing up from your clipboard.

Truthfully, you aren’t sure whether the glass is authentic. The cult that installed could hardly be called profitable (they sold the house at a loss after less than ten years, although this likely had more to do with crimes committed on said property than their income, but you digress), so you’d be hard-pressed to believe they could afford real Tiffany.

If this is what convinces the Gundersons to buy though, you’re hardly a realtor to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Ticking a box in the upper right corner – sunroom – you look up. “Right, well. That’s most of the lower level.” Pivoting on your heel, you head towards the corridor. “If you two will follow me upstairs, we can –”

“What’s that?”

Steps slowing, you stare at the plaster wall. A moment passes, then two before you convince yourself to turn around. When you see where Arthur Gunderson points, a relieved breath leaves your lips.

“Oh, that?” Floorboards squeak as you cross the room, sounding almost like laughter. “That’s the cellar. I’d offer you a look but unfortunately, the staircase isn’t quite up to code. You’ll need someone to look at that ASAP if you buy.”

Hovering at the wooden door, you grasp its bronze knob and pull. Tugging the cord for the light, you briefly scan the stairs but spot nothing unusual. Mostly convinced, you dutifully step aside.

“Feel free to look,” you say brightly.

The Gundersons crowd the landing you vacated.

“Careful, honey,” Arthur warns, holding Margaret’s elbow. “These stairs are steep.”

Standing on tiptoe, Margaret peers beyond him into the basement gloom. It could be your imagination, but she almost seems disappointed. A few cobwebs and shadows line the staircase, but nothing more sinister.

Hiding a smile, you check the next box. Cellar. Sometimes, people request to see this house not because they’re interested in buying it, but for the thrill. Entering the haunted Elliot house and surviving will make a great tale to tell their friends over cocktails.

Lowering your clipboard, you glance upward. So far, everything has gone to plan, which is partly the problem. You must’ve shown this house thirty times and always, something has gone wrong by now. Before being assigned its realtor, you believed in the paranormal, but only in a theoretical way. Not because you’d witnessed anything spectral.

Your opinions since then have changed.

Turning sharply, you plaster a smile on your face. “Shall we?”

Stepping back, Margaret pulls wiry frames from her jacket pocket. “I must admit,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “Based on what our last realtor said, I was expecting far worse from this property.”

Although your smile tightens, you nod. The other realtor had a point – Elliot house could be temperamental, at best. Downright petulant, at worst. You glare again at the ceiling.

“We get that a lot,” you say, ushering them down the hall. Best not to linger. “Whenever a house sits too long on the market, you know – people talk. Lots of rumors!”

“Oh, sure,” Arthur says, passing you with a chuckle. “We’re not superstitious, don’t worry.”

“Oh?” you say lightly, remaining behind. “That’s good to know. Now, if you head down the hall, you’ll reach the foyer. All the crown molding you pass is original. The house’s first owner and builder, Daniel Baker, was something of a craftsman. He –”

Abruptly, you cease talking and stare at the stairwell. Halfway down the steps, where before there was nothing, sits a perfectly ripe orange. Eyes narrowed, you stare at this a long beat before yanking the light cord down and shutting the door.

Glancing upward, you hiss, “Not today, I swear to – well, whatever hellish being you worship.”

The wind sounds almost like laughter, but you don’t stick around long enough to find out if that’s true. Shaking your head, you traipse down the front hall in search of the Gundersons. Luckily, they’re too busy taking pictures of the aforementioned crown molding to have noticed your absence.

“Shall we?” you say, gesturing at the front stairs.

Pocketing their phones, they begin their ascent. You wait at the bottom, giving them space to discuss the house. From personal experience, buyers tend to appreciate when you don’t hover.

Besides, the grand staircase is your favorite feature – equal parts artwork and functionality. From your place at its bottom, you admire the craftsmanship. Starting the climb, your fingertips skim whorls in the wood and for a second, you feel a phantom hand rest over yours.

Scowling darkly, you yank your palm away. Reaching the landing, you clutch at your clipboard tighter and walk forward.

“This way!” you say, practically shoving the Gundersons into the first bedroom.

While they ooh and ah about the bay windows, you tick another box on your spreadsheet. Master bedroom.

The second you’re done, the pen slips from your grasp and hovers in mid-air. It then turns, point-down, to scrawl something in the margin.

‘Master’ bedroom? Kiiind of racist, don’t you think?

Teeth gritted, you snatch your pen back. “I wasn’t the one who created the spreadsheet, okay?” you whisper. “And while, yes, I agree, and other realtors are moving away from that language, I don’t–”

“Pardon?” Arthur Gunderson peers, confused, over his shoulder.

Somewhat manic, you smile. “Oh, nothing,” you say, the words sounding high-pitched, even to you. “I was just reminding myself to show you the main bathroom. Beautiful claw-foot tub.”

“Oh. Sure,” says Arthur, returning to his wife.

Head whipping sideways, you glare at the most likely place Seokjin would be. A chuckle drifts past your ear on the other side, and your scowl deepens.

Once an appropriate amount of time goes by, you usher the Gundersons into the next bedroom. Hovering outside, you calculate how quickly you can convince them to leave. The longer they stay, the worse the so-called haunting will be.

You should have known better than to show them this house, but they were insistent. Or at least, Arthur was. Margaret seems reasonably paranoid, which you deem a positive quality. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius has heard of the haunted Elliot house.

Even the name is confusing, since it doesn’t bear the name of its builder, Daniel Baker, nor its longest resident, Mr. Josiah Whitley. Instead, it’s named for Nathaniel Elliot, the cult leader who murdered a man on its premises in 1978. Obviously, this fact wasn’t known to the public until after the cult sold the house and moved far away.

Eventually, Mr. Elliot was tried and found guilty of murder, but this was much later. Wincing a little, you glance at the ceiling. Seokjin has said many times that ghosts can’t read minds, but you wouldn’t put it past him to lie for a punchline. Even if he can’t read your mind, the faint scent of cedar lets you know he’s nearby.

Quickening your stride, you show the Gundersons the next bedroom. “This is one of my favorites,” you say, pulling hard on its warped door. “The view from that window is stunning. You can see all the way to the brook!”

Taking the bait, Margaret crosses the room. “Oh, look, Arthur!” she exclaims, leaning forward. “There’s a gazebo!”

He follows at a more leisurely pace, frowning when he spots a lone cobweb in the corner. Sighing, you swipe at this as you pass, almost certain the web wasn’t there this morning.

While the two converse, you pull out your clipboard and run down the list again.

Most days at your job are like today – running down lists and waiting for other people to make their own life decisions. Becoming a realtor wasn’t so much a choice as it was thrust upon you. When your mom got sick your senior year of grad school, you returned to take care of her and finished your coursework remotely.

There were only so many jobs with flexible hours, and you ended up getting your realtor’s license to support her on the side. When your mom passed, you stuck around to sort out her paperwork and affairs. Two years later, everything is in order and still, you remain. Stuck in a holding pattern, showing houses and too afraid to try your hand at anything different.

BANG.

The sudden noise from above plunges the room into silence. Both Arthur and Margaret swivel, wide eyes landing on you.

Margaret’s glasses chain trembles. “What was tha–”

“My assistant,” you blurt, backing towards the door. “He mentioned he would stop by to drop off some keys. That must be him – I’ll go and check!”

“But…” Arthur stares. “The noise came from above.”

“Be right back!” you call, stepping into the hall.

As fast as possible without raising suspicion, you rush down the hall. “Seokjin,” you hiss, hand skimming the banister as you descend. “Stop that right now!”

No one responds – not that you thought he would. Crossing the foyer, you reach the cellar door and yank it open. Flicking the overhead light, you see the orange has disappeared. Rolling your eyes, you shut the door.

“This isn’t funny,” you huff out loud to no one.

Far above you, a low groan shakes the house. Honestly, it sounds more sexual than scary, but you suppose that only makes it more sinister. Reaching the foyer, you slow your pace and set down your clipboard. Suppressing a sigh, you glance at the clock. This has happened enough times that you can predict things to the minute.

Crossing your arms, you tap your foot and count down in your head.

One – increased groaning. Sometimes from the cellar, often the attic and, during one memorable visit, from behind a locked bathroom door.

Two – shuffling feet while the Gundersons (insert buyer’s name here) debate whether to run or wait it out. They hastily whisper, wondering if it’s their minds playing tricks.

Third – laughter. Seokjin will say it sounds lilting but to you, his laughter is more akin to a car’s windshield wipers. Today, said laughter drifts from the main bedroom, immediately followed by the Gundersons’ screaming.

Directly above you, Margaret’s heels pound wooden floors. Wincing, you make a mental reminder to buff the scuffs from the wood.

“ARTHUR!” she calls, her voice pitching upward.

“Right behind you!” he bellows.

When the lights in the foyer flicker, you lean against the grand railing. In your experience, there’s nothing you can do now to save the showing. As soon as Seokjin reveals himself, it’s only a matter of time.

“Whoooo dareeessss to disturrrrrb meeeee!” he wails, and you try not to laugh. “This is MYYYY homeeee and you are nooooot welcomeeeee! OoOOOOooooOOo!”

Arthur is first down the stairs. Reluctantly, you step forward – as their realtor, you’ll try to calm them down and get them out. All part of the plan. What’s not part of the plan is Arthur’s blind panic, elbowing you – hard – in the stomach as he runs past.

Concaving, you stumble, your foot catching on a loose floorboard as you fall backwards. Suddenly, a pink cushion slides between you and the floor. You land in the middle of it, shocked but unharmed.

Arthur yanks open the front door. “You!” he blurts, whipping around to point. Blinking, you fight the urge to glance over your shoulder. “Yes, you,” he scoffs, spittle flying as Margaret runs past. “I don’t know if this is your idea of a sick joke or what, but your manager will be hearing from me!”

Before you can formulate a response, Arthur is out the front door. You hear the sound of their car starting, exhaust billowing behind them as they speed down the street.

Propping yourself on one elbow, you release a sigh. The house has fallen silent, almost sheepish in its total lack of sound. Head lolling back, you glare at the ceiling.

“You are so annoying,” you groan, well-aware you sound crazy. “I honestly don’t know what you’re looking for, Seokjin. The Gundersons were fine.”

The front door slams.

An outline of a person materializes between you and the living room, seeming composed of dust motes and sunshine. Turning your glare in their direction, you tap your fingers against the oak floor.

Seokjin solidifies fully, rakishly leaning against the paneled wall. He’s dressed in the same navy three-piece suit he wore when he died, albeit with his hair styled in this century’s fashion. Seokjin once said ghosts are able to change their appearance, but most choose not to. There’s little point to it, and it wastes precious energy.

Sadly, he shakes his head. “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Seokjin says, his deep timbre resonating through floorboards beneath you.

“Show off,” you mutter.

Lips twitching, he crooks a finger. The foyer light ceases to flicker, and Seokjin straightens. Dusting invisible dust from his shoulders, he walks forward.

“The Gundersons were tiresome,” he says. “I would’ve been bored of them in months, started haunting again, and this house would’ve gone right back on the market. Really, I saved you trouble in the long run. You can thank me later.”

“Oh, no,” you deadpan. “Two commissions on the same property. What a horrible fate.”

“Exactly. You’re welcome.”

Fighting an eye roll, you push yourself upward with cushion in hand. At least Seokjin was kind enough to break your fall, even if he caused the circumstances which led to it in the first place.

Brushing the dirt from the cushion, you shake your head. “You do know that eventually, someone will buy this house and you’ll have to make peace with that fact. Right?”

When Seokjin doesn’t immediately respond, you look up. His dark gaze lingers a second longer than necessary, briskly looking away when he catches you watching.

“I know,” Seokjin says, turning around. “Might I point out though, that I don’t have to make peace with anything. Ghost,” he adds, pointing at himself. “Not making peace with things is our bread and butter.”

“People have owned this house before, though.”

“Boring people,” Seokjin mutters.

“That didn’t seem to bother you back then!”

Seokjin enters the living room. “Ugh,” he groans, dropping onto a chaise. Dust motes spiral around him, as though he were solid. “If I must be trapped on the material plane, Y/N, the least the material plane could do is provide some entertainment. And the lovemaking of two seventy-year-olds doesn’t count,” he adds, fixing you with a glare.

Stifling laughter, you follow him into the parlor. Fluffing the cushion, you replace it on its chair and survey the room. Seokjin lounges dramatically and it could be your imagination, but he almost looks solid. More so than the first time you met, anyways.

He nearly scared the shit out of you, back then. Everyone at the firm warned you this house was haunted but were purposefully vague on the supernatural. The warnings they gave you were borderline mundane.

Oh, yeah, that house has been on the market forever. People say that it’s haunted, but I’d honestly be more worried about rats. Or asbestos – popcorn ceilings didn’t age well for a reason. And I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard a convict once lived in the basement for three months before the cops caught him. Watch out for that!

You entered this house with more than your usual trepidation, pepper spray in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Apparently, the wiring wasn’t all up to code – something you’ve since rectified with the city.

The sound of the door creak could’ve been written by the Brothers Grimm themselves, textbook gothic. Your flashlight swept over dusty floors, faint footprints remaining to remind you of its past. Spine steeled, you forced yourself to continue.

Finding a light switch, you flicked upward, and the chandelier came to life. The lighting was dim, barely enough to see by on a rainy day. Keeping your flashlight, you wandered into the parlor and came to a sudden stop. Forest green wallpaper lined the walls, remarkably intact for its age. Stunned, you turned in a slow circle.

Moody maximalism was one of your favorite design styles, and this room was made for it. With a slightly better attitude, you resumed your walk-through, discovering a hidden cupboard in the kitchen and a dumbwaiter to nowhere. The second-floor entry point had been boarded up, but that could be rectified.

Some of the woodwork of the house was scuffed, and a few corners held fallen leaves, but overall, it was in great condition. None of the realtors had prepared you for that – you arrived expecting a war zone and were pleasantly surprised.

On the second floor, you found a library – or what had once been the library, given the shelving was empty – that made you audibly gasp. Blue-black custom shelves extended along three of the walls. Closer to the door, a bright square of color remained from where a painting had hung.

Curious, your fingers traced the edges. “This place is unreal,” you murmured to yourself.

“I know, right?” said a voice directly in your ear.

Like any sane person, you screamed and jumped skyward. Your flashlight fell, its beam rolling over and over until it hit a baseboard. You didn’t stick around to find out, turning fast on your heel and bolting into the hall.

Thundering down the front stairs – wincing as the wood groaned – you nearly reached the foyer when Seokjin appeared.

“Boo,” he said calmly, between you and the door.

Coming to a shuddering halt, your hand gripped the railing. The ghost was impeccably dressed, if slightly invisible, and raised a dark brow in response to your flight.

Gaze darting sideways, you sought a second exit but all you could recall was the cellar and that wasn’t an option. Years of training from watching scary movies kicked in at that point, and you slowly straightened. Running away would do nothing – a ghost could follow you anywhere – so, maybe reasoning with him would be the best option.

“What do you want?” you asked, masking your fear to plant both hands on your hips. “Who are you?”

Surprise flared in his – admittedly attractive – gaze. Some of the shock had worn off by then, and you could admit to yourself (if to no one else) that the ghost before you was hot. Even thinking this felt ridiculous, and you wondered if your already-fragile grasp on reality was slipping.

Taking a single step forward, the ghost cocked his head. When you stumbled back, his lip quirked, and he appeared by your side.

“Who am I?” he mused, walking in a slow circle. “Awfully strange to ask me that, when I’m the person that died here, and you’ve never stepped foot in this house until now. I would know.”

Started, you turned your head.

This was a mistake since it allowed you to see every ridge of his features. The rounded tip of his nose, his enviably full lips, and a curve to his jawline which could likely cut glass.

Forcing your gaze upward, you found him focused on you. “You… died here?” you asked before you could think better.

His lips thinned. “You know, it’s very rude to ask a ghost how they died. It’s personal.”

“Oh,” you said. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask,” the ghost replied with a sigh.

Your eyes narrowed, hearing barely hidden laughter in his tone. This ghost was making fun of you. The audacity!

Incensed by this, you lifted your chin. “Wouldn’t asking you whether it’s polite to ask about death be asking you about death, though?”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged, slipping both hands in his pockets. “There really isn’t a good way for you to bring up that conversation.”

A laugh escaped, despite yourself.

His gaze flickered, as though oddly pleased. Quickly, the ghost scanned you from your shoes to your face, where he lingered.

“I’m curious,” he mused, resuming his walk in a circle.

Despite your discomfort, you forced yourself to stay still. Even though you could feel each place his gaze lingered – your shoulders, your collarbone, tacing the slope of your cheekbones.

“What are you curious about?” you asked, pushing the words past your lips.

He stopped between you and the door again. Slipping both hands from his pockets, he crossed his arms over his chest. The way his biceps strained against his suit was intriguing, implying there was something to strain against. Dimly, you wondered what a ghost’s gym routine looked like.

Your lips twitched at the thought, and the ghost scowled.

“Stop that,” he commanded. “You should be terrified. I was curious about why you haven’t run yet. Anyone else would’ve by now.”

“Would they?”

“Based on my experience, yes.” He tilted his head. “This is the first time I’ve introduced myself to someone and they stayed. Well,” he amended through teeth. “Stayed without crucifixes, holy water, and a priest.”

“Does that really work?” you wondered, genuinely curious.

“Does what work – exorcism?”

You nodded.

“Clearly not.” He waved a hand down his body. “At least, not in my case. When I first died, I wanted to move on. I was even excited when the first priest arrived, but he did nothing, and neither did the next one… eventually, I stopped hoping. Started haunting, instead.”

“Well, sure,” you said, dazed.

His lips twitched. “My name is Seokjin, by the way. Not that you asked.”

“That was literally one of the first things I asked!”

Ignoring this, Seokjin stuck out his hand. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, ignoring the impossibility of what you were about to attempt while extending your palm. “Nice to meet you.”

Your hands met in the middle and, instead of passing through, you felt your palms brush. For a moment, you touched calluses and warm skin, smelling the faint scent of cloves.

Seokjin went utterly still.

Chin jerking down, he stared at your joined hands. “That’s… never happened before.”

Retracting swiftly, you said the first thought that came to mind. “What? Never touched a woman?”

Scowling, he retracted his hand as well. “I was thirty when I died, Y/N. Not thirteen.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, then paused. “You… haven’t been able to touch anyone since you died?”

“Things, yes. People, no.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “A psychic visited me once. The owners at that time brought her, wanting to see if she could get rid of me.” Seokjin snorted. “She got them to pay her, then said, ‘No.’ Hilarious. And interesting,” he added. “She told me she’d met other ghosts, ones that could interact. Never seemed to work for me, though.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. For it being your first encounter with the supernatural, nothing about this had gone as imagined. You weren’t sure how to converse with a ghost who, for all intents and purposes, seemed fairly normal.

Except for the whole ‘being dead’ part.

“Well.” You shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

His expression remained inscrutable, but for the faintest of seconds, you thought Seokjin looked intrigued. After a moment, he moved closer and leaned in. You caught the faintest whiff of orange, cloves, and cedar on what could have been his breath.

“I suppose there is,” he murmured, and then disappeared.

Since then, Seokjin has appeared each time you returned. The second time, you were halfway convinced your first visit was a hallucination. A theory Seokjin seemed content to feed into, refusing to show himself until you were about to leave. Then, he jumped through the hall closet to yell, “MUTINY!” and cement his presence in your mind.

Seokjin doesn’t dress the same every time. A few weeks into your friendship (if one can call it that), he informed you he could change his appearance but hadn’t done it much. It took energy to appear on the mortal pane, more so if his appearance was altered.

Still, you’ve learned Seokjin will do pretty much anything to commit to a bit. His brand of haunting tends to border on comical. Putting his arms on backwards, headless juggling, vomiting wine – really anything is fair game if not truly grotesque. By now, you’ve seen his whole gambit, which is how you can say today’s performance was lackluster.

Sprawled on the chaise, one foot dangling, Seokjin looks every bit of the tragic lothario. Again, you can’t help but wonder whether he’s gained permanence since the last time you saw him. You could almost swear the chaise sinks under the weight of his frame.

“What is it?” he demands, lazily pushing himself upward.

Something in your chest flutters, although you ignore it. Arms crossed, you fix him with a look of disdain. It’s sinful for Seokjin to look as good as he does – and the worst part is, you know it’s not an illusion.

After you met the third time, you Googled his name along with the house and found multiple hits. Seokjin Kim was killed on October 31st, 1978, by Nathanial Elliot, the leader of the Sunny Days cult. Both Seokjin’s parents joined two years prior, and he’d tried unsuccessfully to convince them to leave by mail and phone.

Eventually, he visited in person and convinced them to go – unfortunately, Nathanial caught wind of the situation and killed Seokjin before this could happen. You saw photos of Seokjin from then and can confirm he was always devastatingly handsome. Often, you’ve wondered if he left someone behind – a wife or a girlfriend – but can’t bring yourself to ask. You aren’t sure which answer would hurt more.

Regardless, you know Seokjin was missed. His parents were the ones who took down the Sunny Days cult, putting their leader behind bars for killing their son. Seokjin admitted once that they tried to tear this house down. They didn’t know he was tied to the grounds, and he didn’t want to tell them. It would’ve been harder for them to move on, he explained, and your heart broke a little.

Not long after that, you accidentally let it slip that Seokjin had a scent. It made him howl with laughter, nearly falling down the front stairs – not that this would’ve hurt him. From then on, Seokjin showed off his growing ability to move solid objects by leaving oranges for you in the house whenever you came. Only another of his practical jokes but lately, it’s made your skin hot to think of.

You realized you felt more than you should for him last month when he saved you from falling. Determined to clear out the cellar, your entire foot went through the first step and Seokjin pulled you to safety.

“Careful,” he murmured, one arm wrapped around your waist. Gently, he eased you backwards and onto the landing. “The top step is rotted through. You’ll need to call in someone to fix that.”

Unable to speak, you nodded and quickly disentangled. Each place he had touched, your skin tingled, and not at all unpleasantly. Since that day, your feelings have only worsened. Sometimes, you wonder if he knows.

Sometimes you wonder whether he feels the same, no matter how hopeless it is.

Heaving a great sigh, Seokjin stands from the couch. Lifting both arms, he stretches this way and that like an overgrown cat. The end of his shirt comes untucked, displaying a flat strip of skin you refuse to acknowledge.

Forcing your gaze to his face, you lift a single brow. Weeks after meeting, you considered Seokjin your friend, or at least an acquaintance. Now, you can’t call this friendship, but not because things between you have worsened. It’s because the more time you spend together, the more you find yourself wishing for something impossible. Something more.

“You know what,” you tell him. “There’s no need to scare off every potential buyer.”

Seokjin pauses, then lowers his arms. “There’s a need when they’re terrible. I’m the one forced to live with them for eternity, not you.”

“It’s not an eternity, though,” you tried to joke. “Eventually, they’ll die – or, so one would presume.”

Seokjin’s face hardens. Before you can take another breath, he’s standing before you. “Much better,” he says, his voice like steel. “I love being reminded that, while the world continues to age around me, I never will. I’ll simply stay on this godforsaken plot of land until the earth is destroyed by its own inhabitants. How long do you think that’ll take, Y/N? One decade? Two?”

Eyes wide, you stare at him in shock.

Seokjin has never spoken to you like this before. Usually, he’s far more cavalier about his reality, easily accepting the fact that he’s a ghost. Never once has he ranted about the world passing by. In fact, Seokjin frequently throws in your face that you’ll soon have more wrinkles than him.

For the first time, you wonder if all that is a front. If perhaps, deep down, all his lackadaisicalness is merely a cover for a deeper kind of fear.

Slowly, you move closer. “I didn’t mean to be dismissive,” you murmur. “Of course, I don’t want you to be forced to live with people you hate. I just meant…”

You trail off, uncertain and Seokjin’s face softens. He moves even closer, his scent comforting you in a way you can’t explain. In a way it shouldn’t be.

“I’ll never get used to this,” you sigh.

You aren’t sure why you’re speaking so softly. Possibly due to his proximity and possibly due to the look in his eyes, studying you as though you’re the impossibility, and not him. Dust motes trail through the air when Seokjin lifts a hand.

With bated breath, you watch as he reaches towards you. At the last second, he shifts and lightly brushes your jaw.

Sharply, you inhale because you feel it. You feel him.

“Seokjin,” you whisper. “What are you…”

Gently shushing, he leans in, and you feel his breath, feather-light, across your skin. Utterly shocked, you go still. It’s his breath that you feel. Breath that shouldn’t exist, according to logic.

Slowly, his gaze drops and stays on your lips. If Seokjin can’t read minds, he must hear your heart racing. The sound of it is all-consuming, drowning out rational thought.

“You want to know what I’m waiting for?” he murmurs, his gaze lifting. “I’m waiting for someone to look at this… house the way you do.”

“A lot of people have liked the house, Seokjin. People who –”

“I don’t want you to sell this house."

Startled, you stop. “Why not?”

His expression twists, revealing his vulnerability. “I think you know.”

Roughly, you exhale.

Yes. You do know. It’s the same reason you’ve half-assed the last six showings at this address. It’s why you keep people from looking, and when they insist, barely attempt to stifle Seokjin’s shenanigans. You could have come earlier today and requested Seokjin to be on good behavior. He would have done it. For you, he would have.

Which is exactly why you didn’t ask.

“I… want to hear you say it,” you say, so low, you’re surprised that he hears.

Achingly slow, Seokjin’s hand slips from your jaw to your neck. When he pulls you closer, you can feel the weight of his hand, the solid pressure that comes from his fingers on your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“I don’t want you to go,” Seokjin murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “If someone else buys this house, you’d stop showing it. You wouldn’t come here again, and I can’t leave these grounds. If someone else buys this place” – his breath hitches – “I won’t see you again. I can stomach eternity, Y/N, but not without you.”

“Seokjin.” His name leaves your lips as a whisper, or prayer.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever…” Eyes opening, you look up. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” Your voice breaks. “That might make it real. What I want can’t be real, so if I say it out loud, it might vanish and right now, it exists in this tentative space. We exist in this space.”

Lightly, his thumb strokes your throat, and you feel your knees buckle. Every callous, every touch feels so horribly real, it’s making it difficult to remember why this can’t be.

“I’ve stopped wondering what’s real and what’s not,” Seokjin murmurs, his gaze tracing your mouth. “Most people say I shouldn’t exist and yet, here I am. They say I shouldn’t be here, able to touch you like this and yet, I am. They say I shouldn’t–”

Rising on tiptoe, you cut him off with your kiss. Seokjin shudders, his lips parted and warm in the shock of the moment.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away to stare at you in wonder.

Before you can respond, he returns, his kiss wild and fierce. Your own desire surges, touching him hesitantly at first, and then with full abandon. Hands sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, your fingers curl in his hair to anchor him to you.

Cupping your face, Seokjin pulls your body to his. His touch is reverent, deifying while his hands travel lower to land on your waist. His body curves above yours, catching your gasps with the tip of his tongue. Seokjin feels solid beneath you – solid, and warm, and painfully real.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing heat down your throat and across your bared collar. Shivers of pleasure shoot through you as he walks you backwards, pressing your spine to the wall. Briefly – wondrously – you laugh, the sound caught again by his kiss.

Within minutes, you’re panting, heart beating wildly as you grip his hair tighter. Seokjin’s leg presses forward, pushing your thighs apart and you nearly dissolve. He moves harder, faster, as though scared that you’ll vanish. This is the opposite of disappearing, though.

This is together, beneath, and on top as –

“Shit,” Seokjin growls, the sound torn from his throat.

Dazed, you look sideways and realize his hand has gone through the wall.

Seokjin stares at his wrist, his chest rising and falling. Everything you can feel is solid, but his hand sinks through the wall about an inch deep. It’s hard to concentrate with him above you, looking like that. Seokjin’s hair remains mussed by your hands, proving you touched him – however briefly.

Lips thinning, Seokjin pulls his hand out. Purposefully, he lays his palm flat on the wall but it’s clear to you both that he’s concentrating. Some of his pressure dissipates.

“I – fuck,” he exhales, dropping his chin.

Gently, you soothe a strand of hair behind his ear. This is the first time you’ve seen Seokjin anything less than immaculate and goddamn, if it doesn’t look good on him. That’s making it difficult to focus on the matter at hand.

The matter at hand. Ha.

Thinking this, a snort escapes your lips before you can stop it. Stunned, Seokjin glances up with wide eyes.

“Did you just… snort?” he asks, incredulous.

You shake your head, and then nod, sheepish. “Um, yes. I did. It’s just…” Now that you’ve started, you can’t help but continue. “I can’t believe the hottest make-out session of my life ended with your fucking hand through a wall.”

Seokjin stares for a long moment before – impossibly – his chest starts to shake. Before long, you’re both laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. Once your laughter has faded though, comfortable silence remains.

Pulling you into his chest, Seokjin’s hand strokes your neck. “I don’t know what this means,” he admits with a sigh.

“Me, either.”

“I do know I want to do that again.”

“Same,” you say, pulling back.

“But…” Seokjin hesitates. “Y/N. You know I’m not… real, right?”

Your heart sinks to your shoes. “You’re real to me.”

“I know.” He speaks softly. “But I –”

Lifting a hand, you press a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” you warn. “Please. I don’t want to think about the future right now. I know I don’t have eternity, but I don’t want what I have without you.”

Something in his gaze breaks but Seokjin merely nods, letting silence fall again. You fear that he’ll vanish, leaving you alone but he merely exhales. The breath brushes your skin.

“Alright,” Seokjin murmurs, winding his hand with yours. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

The ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “What if… we talk about me buying this house?”

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #bts fanfiction #seokjin au #jin au #bts au #bts halloween

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 year

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Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler have a well-known channel on YouTube (the name is something horrible and punny that Eddie and Robin made up, way before they blew up - Four Some (just some four guys and gals you perv). They cover pretty much everything - music reviews, various activities like ice skating, pole dancing or sculpting, they do tasting videos, social experiments and much more. Their personalities are so different but somehow that only makes their content more appealing. It doesn't matter if their videos contain Steve and Eddie replicating the famous pottery scene from the Ghost (and Robin's screeches that they ruined a completely fine vase) or Robin testing whether Nancy's vocal range increases proportionately to how many wine glasses she drinks

Gradually they grow their audience and gather a small crew that works with them. Barb Holland does a lot of editing and directing and she is getting recognized for her achievements, just like Gareth Emerson for his work with sound. Everyone in their crew are friends and are supporting each other in growing and promoting their talents.

There is only one person who has always remained a mystery. The person filming them, always hidden behind a camera. Credits always mention Chris C. and the fanbase tries to pry and figure out who they are, they really do, but the group shuts down their attempts almost instantly. "Chris has been instrumental to this channel's success," Eddie says and there is something hard behind his eyes, something that almost never makes it past his laid-back attitude and usual theatrics. "They have decided to stay out of our videos for a reason and we'd like you to respect their decision."

Not everyone drops it, but the four creators assume a united front and eventually, people stop prying. So it comes as a shock when around a year later, a new video drops on the channel. But the face in it is unknown.

"Hi guys," the young woman smiles and she looks so dejected, so scared, but the sound guy Garreth sits next to her and squeezes her hand, grounding her. "I swore I'd never sit in front of a camera again, but...I think it's time. So let me introduce myself. I am Chrissy Cunningham, but you know me as Chris C. And also..." she takes a deep breath, "I am also Chrissy from the Cunningham family channel."

Chrissy goes through it all. She talks about her life with her mother, an obsessive family blogger, who had Chrissy give up all her hobbies, her friends, her privacy from a young age. How her only friend became the school outcast, Eddie, and she had to keep him a secret too - not because she was ashamed, he meant everything to her, but because her mother would steal him too. How she could never have anything of her own, was always on camera, always tested for reactions, always forced to perform and mocked for it at school. How she couldn't handle it anymore and as soon as she was eighteen, she moved in with Eddie and his uncle. How it was only then that she started learning about herself, about who she was and what she wanted to do. "Now that you know who I am, I hope you can look past what I was made to do years ago and see me as...me. Just me."

She and Gareth leave their seats and are replaced with Eddie and Nancy. While Eddie mostly sits quietly, Nancy introduces their newest project that Chrissy suggested - documentaries on dangers of YouTube, TikTok and their insufficient regulations, especially when it comes to family vloggers and loss of privacy. "It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but that is exactly the point", says Nancy and looks directly at the camera. "We're here on camera, showing you parts of our lives that we want to show. But there are many who didn't consent to this, many who are being exploited for views. And on behalf of this chanel, let me address those who think this is okay. We're coming for you."

#steddie #ronance #drumcheer #stranger things au #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #barb holland #chrissy cunningham #gareth emerson #look I love YT #but some things are seriously fucked up there

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sadokasochism · 2 days

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I am destroyed over the whole god/worshipper dynamic and have no idea how to adequately put it into words.

I mentioned in another post that Mizi could not fathom Sua ACTUALLY dying, or comprehend what death really meant, and attributed this to her relatively comfortable and sheltered life as the pet of Shine. She was not taught to conceptualise death as a loss, and she never faced any opposition to that world view. From what we know, she might have never really known true, lasting pain or loss before the end of Round 1.

However, her reaction could also be due to her placing Sua on a pedestal as her personal god and universe. She viewed Sua as her absolute everything, and why would any faithful worshipper believe their god could be killed? Only, while Sua was everything to HER, that perception did not carry over to their captors. Mizi's love and devotion was not enough to save Sua. Forces stronger than them both took her away like she was nothing.

How must Mizi have felt, having her perception of Sua as the centre of the universe shattered that way? Coming to the violent realisation that Sua was just another human, and that humans are indeed that vulnerable and disposable? That Sua could now only exist in memories and in the visions that haunt her? That Sua is not a god, but a ghost?

Now we look at Till's perception of Mizi. Again, in an earlier post I mentioned the tragedy of Till falling for someone who did not have a reason to leave. He had a lot of blind faith in Mizi, and it could be said that he idealised her as a paragon.

It's not hard to see how he reached this point. The poor kid had not been shown a lot of kindness in his life, and so meeting someone who was genuinely good and so full of joy must have had a huge impact on him.

However, his faith is still a blind one, but in a different way to Mizi's blind faith in Sua. He is happy to endure any amount of horrible treatment and does not expect anyone to help him. He doesn't resent Mizi for being so close to their captors, for her dreams stopping at Alien Stage. He doesn't resent her after he gives up on his chance at freedom and is subjected to who knows how many more years of pain and torment at the hands of their captors (Not that Mizi is at fault, Till made his own decision that Mizi likely never even knew about).

He sees Mizi's innocence and ignorance to the cruelty of their reality as something wonderful instead of a character flaw that prevents her from saving herself or her loved ones.

Sua has the same issue, seeking comfort and bliss within Mizi's brightness instead of acknowledging the cruel reality of their world. Maybe she felt sharing her perspective with Mizi would dim Mizi's bright spirit, and so she was more than content to wait out the clock with her god.

Maybe Sua felt that meeting Mizi, loving her and being loved by her in return, was nothing short of a miracle after the life she had lived before Anakt Garden. Maybe she felt in light of that, aspiring for something like freedom or a long, long life of happiness with the person she loved the most was asking far too much. The time she got with Mizi was already a miracle, why expect or demand anything more?

If Sua was afraid of Mizi losing her brightness, no wonder she was so affected by Ivan's lecture about becoming a source of trauma for Mizi after her death.

Ivan's view of Till as his god is a bit different. He is similar in that he doesnt seem to demand his devotion be reciprocated, he just wants his god to acknowledge him as a person, as someone that is at least PART of Till's universe, if he can't be all of it.

He is also very willing to become a martyr for his god while expecting nothing in return but Till continuing to live. He acknowledges Till as vulnerable and falable in a way that Till doesn't with Mizi, and Mizi didn't with Sua. He knows damn well that while Till is the centre of HIS universe, their captors certainly do not hold Till in that same regard. He knows that love and devotion in a vacuum does not save anyone.

Which is why he was always the one to free Till, to try and escape with him, and why he pulled the stunt he did in Round 6. Ivan knew that actually making an impact in this world required personal risk and sacrifice, because their captors don't give a fuck if you're in love or if that other pet-human they're about to kill means everything to you.

Till knew this too, but his idealised version of Mizi is too perfect to be broken and beaten down by this world the same way the rest of them have been. So he's still shattered by Round 5, seeing how far Mizi has fallen and then not knowing if she's alive or dead, but knowing for sure she is far out of reach. I wonder, did he regret not running away with Ivan at that point? Did he wonder what all those years of suffering were for, if he was just going to end up losing Mizi anyway? If this world was able to break her too, no matter what he did?

Mizi is gone and changed forever, and nothing he did could stop it. His love and devotion and sacrifice wasn't enough. He failed his god.

In Round 6, Ivan is faced with the same thing. His god has lost his fighting spirit, is changed forever, and Ivan's love and devotion wasn't enough to save him. The last thing he can give is his life, and hope that will be enough. Just like Sua. But he was never Till's god, was never even part of his universe, he probably won't even leave a ghost behind. So, the choice is obvious, really.

They're all so desperate for hope and connection in this lonely, painful existence that they make a person their entire universe, and then are repeatedly crushed when they are shown again and again that their soul-consuming love for one another is seemingly meaningless in a world that views them as infinitely disposable.

#alien stage #alien stage mizi #alien stage sua #alien stage ivan #alien stage till #alnst #alnst mizi #alnst sua #alnst ivan #alnst till #mizisua #mizitill #ivantill #basically i will never know peace again

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foxylady13 · 4 months

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I think a lot of people continuously overlook the GOOD Nesta did during the series and only focus on her "hateful attitude". Sometimes actions show more than words and Nesta is an action girly.

ACOTAR- She tried to protect Feyre in the market. She went after Feyre when Tamlin took her. She essentially told Feyre to go and save Tamlin and not to worry about them. She was ready to marry someone to help have one less mouth to feed for Feyre. She chopped wood for two days in a row.

Also, I think this quote is important from book 1 from Feyre about Nesta:

"I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn't stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory.... Who had shrouded the loss of our mother, then our downfall, in icy rage and bitterness, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she HAD cared - beneath it, she had cared, and perhaps, loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally."

ACOMAF - She wasn't in here much but both her and Elain opened their home to Feyre and the IC for the war purposes when they were taught their whole life to be scared/fear the fae and ended up turned against their will for their efforts which is incredibly traumatic.

ACOWAR - Nesta helped with the Queens and the High Lords. She helped Feyre and the whole Raven attack thingy. She participated in the war and almost died trying to save Cassian and then beheaded Hybern. She then helped tend to the wounded and dieing. She really had no time to sort through her own trauma during this time either since she was looking after comatose Elain and in a place where she didn't want to be.

ACOFAS - We see her drowning in her trauma. She can't even take baths (which Feyre had said in ACOWAR she'd help with as she never thought about how the Cauldron affected them). She is invited to party with rent money held over her head (despite the fact she had a job as human emissary during the war so where is the money promised to her from accepting that job from Rhysand?) While there, Feyre remarks how uncomfortable Nesta is but doesn't both to wonder why, and come to find out fire bothers her because it reminds her of her father's neck snapping RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. Cassian runs after her and even though she wants to be alone she's hounded and is seen as the bad guy for not taking his gift. A gift he proceeds to throw away, like a child, into the water because she didn't take it...At this point she just wanted to be left alone and they kept hounding her and not respecting boundaries she was putting up.

ACOSF - She is still drowning..she is forced into the HOW (feyre said she'd be tied and thrown there essentially so it wasn't really a choice) where she has to walk down 10,000 steps (which she physically/mentally/emotionally could not do so she was essentially a prisoner since no help was offered by feyre and Amren own words and let's not forget those same steps were used as punishment for Rhysand and the bat boys)..she starts training though and finds her own found family in Gwyn and Emerie. She helps the IC multiple times with things in ACOSF to and even saves Rhysand, Feyre, and Nyx very lives. She even says sorry to Feyre and Feyre doesn't hold anything against Nesta, not even telling her about the babies wings because at least she told her. We also find out she tried to write letters to others to help during their poverty times and her boots weren't as new as Feyre made then out to be showing Feyre as an unreliable/biased narrator.

All in all, I wouldn't say Nesta is an absolutely terrible horrible nasty person that is beyond redemption or forgiveness.

She is a woman who has been traumatized from a very young age starting with her mother/grandmother to being turned fae to PTSD from war/her father and doesn't know how to cope so she lashes out (which is a VALID TRAUMATIC RESPONSE) to push others away because she HATES herself more than anyone else does. She knew lashing out was wrong but didn't have the tools/upbringing to know healthy responses. It's really not until Gwyn and Emerie came along and showed her UNCONDITIONAL LOVE that she began to change and learn better and new healthy coping mechanism to let go of the bad ones.

Now, I'm not saying her trauma response was good or acceptable or excusable, but I do think she deserves some grace and compassion given all she's been through herself. Trauma is not a comparison game after all and we all experience and cope differently. Just like these characters.

Artist is Crisol Crowling or crisolcrowling on IG!

#nesta stan #nesta #nesta archeron #nesta art #pro nesta #acotar series #Nesta isn’t as bad as people make her out to be #acosf #acowar #acomaf #acofas

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its-chelisey-stuff · 20 days

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everybody's favorite scene was the ending (and I mean, what a cliffhanger!! is it saturday yet???) but my heart stayed here and some of my tears Also, the way he looks at her this whole scene aaaaaaahhhhh I'm melting!

so many what-ifs, so much things left unsaid over the years, misunderstandings piling up, so much resentment! ouch! it just hurts so much but at least they're finally having this conversation and hey, better late than never.

I love their opinions on what has happened, because it highlights their insecurities and biggest regrets. HyunWoo wishes he would have done better in their marriage, knows he's at fault. While HaeIn wishes they never married, so they could've prevented all the pain both of them went through, especially HyunWoo. He doesn't want to hear it, because for him there's only been one woman. And for her, there's only been one man, too. But now she knows how alone and miserable he felt fo so long, he wanted to divorce her.

I have come to appreciate and love Hyunwoo a lot more than I did at the beginning. It was easy for me to hate him right away because of the way he conducted himself and the things he did. But the guy was on autopilot, survival mode and just like he said, he'd forgotten what was important. Dislike, resentment and indifference took over.

!!!!! So obsessed by how this implies he would've been still thinking of her, even if they broke up, always wondering about the what-if. He believes she wouldn't have done the same (and this is clearly her fault lol my queen is not without flaws) but it wouldn't have been like that at all. She was as obsessed, and we know she still believed (or wanted to) in the strenght of her marriage even when it was already crumbling down. *Sighs* They're just so stupid.

I look at this man that we have now on ep 10, and realize just how much he's changed back to the man who married HaeIn, completely in love. The man who chased her, confessed to her and promised to take care of her and her family if it was necessary (oh dear, I never thought that'd be a foreshadowing) and even after divorcing, he stays true to his word.

Aaaaah it's just so sad, and so regretful, but they both were such idiots about it. So childish too, in a way. I get that they were angry and dealing with loss (btw the miscarriage started this, but then little by little misunderstandings started piling up... it was death by a thousand cuts) but they should have fought harder for their marriage. Fight for each other, even while upset. Hate is not the opposite of love, it's indiference.

Despite everything, Hyunwoo took the Hong family to his hometown and gave them shelter, food and a place to sleep. Warmth. The very warmth he didn't get to experience in three years of marriage, living with them. But it doesn't matter, because while I know he is doing this for HaeIn, it's also for them. He sees them as family. And I mean, to be fair, they also gave him a job with a big salary, a big house, expensive getaways with the family and they trusted him with a LOT of legal shit. Not to mention, the italian suits and the Mercedez Benz lol

In times like this, I really really hate her terminal illness and find it so unncessary lol Because they can take back Queens, put EunSeong behind bars and his crazy mother or whatever. They can still fix their relationship. But if her time is indeed running out, it makes all the more tragic all that time they lost. And it would be horrible if at the end, HaeIn dies. So unfair, as well. Because then, what was all this for?

#queen of tears #kdrama #kim soo hyun #kim jiwon

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natjennie · 11 months

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just. the fact that ghosts is so family oriented it's insane like. the lineage of button house hasn't always been familial so most of the ghosts aren't blood related but family is literally built into the walls and the grounds and.

kitty's family shunned her, abused and manipulated, naive and misunderstanding.

thomas was betrayed by his cousin, the plaque reads "button house" because of the horrible loss of his love, he died alone and a joke.

most of the plague ghosts children died presumably, and the only child ghost we see is jemima.

humphrey was forced to marry someone who didn't love him, tried his best to make her happy and give them both a chance at life, didn't give up on her even when he easily could have turned her in.

fanny's husband killed her out of fear and shame and she kept his secret for so long, reenacting her death every night without rest.

julian was selfish and nearsighted and ruined his chance at a happy family, only realizing everything he could have had once it was already out of reach.

pat's wife cheated on him, he believed his family hated him, made fun of him, didn't respect him, only to find out they've carried on his memory in his absence.

mike's family is dysfunctional and silly and his parents care, too much, and want to do everything they can to help him and make him happy before they can't anymore.

and alison. alison. no mom, no dad, no siblings, brought to button house by an obscure family tie she had no idea existed. and then lucy had the audacity to take advantage of her loneliness, her kindness, her hope. she made alison believe she had found a family member, but wait a second. she's found nine of them.

"im sorry you lost the sister you never had" "youre the sister I never had" like.... they've been family the entire time. they play games together they laugh together they sing together they fight together they grieve together. in persevering, in finding the humanity in supposed monsters, she achieved a family. family family family.

#DO YOU GET IT #julian's 'thats what makes it all so bloody christmassy'#and them singing in the bleak midwinter #that episode might be my favorite full stop #i just... theyre all so #bbc ghosts #im having a ghosts breakdown roxy help

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intrinsicepiphany · 3 months

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Okay so I recently watched Hazbin Hotel. And I really like Chaggie so looking at some of the comments about the relationship online I noticed that a lot of people's negative opinions about the couple kind of revolve around Vaggie's seemingly one-sided utter Devotion to Charlie and her being so differential to Charlie but I actually think this may be a storytelling device.

(lets not talk about people saying they dont have chemistry - they 100% act just like an old married lesbian couple)

hear me out because if I am right I may have cracked the code to redemption.

from what I can tell of the Sinners they actually over exemplify or are consumed almost by their sins .

Alastor is probably Pride or Wrath, Angel Dust is Lust and Envy (he shows some self hate/self distructive behaviors as well), Husk is greed, Niffty is violence/wrath.

So what is Vaggies sin?

we know that she was originally not a sinner so she didn't have a human sin to be incorporated into her character which is why she looks the most human.

Her fall from Heaven, (if you want to call it that because, let's be honest none of the other angels knew or casted her out) was either caused by

1) her Devotion to her own morals and eventually disagreeing to what the angels were doing,

2) devotion to the exterminators leading to a loss of self, which she realized only when she defied Lute.

Or 3) the self hatred she developed after realizing how horrible Adam and the exterminators are.

so now that she's Fallen she's kind of taken on being a sinner and since her sin was devotion/self hatred she has transferred her devotion onto the one person she sees as being worth it, the most morally correct person she knows, the person who saved her life Charlie.

This may actually not be a bad thing. I think Charlie's devotion back and general good nature allows for this to avoid toxicity. She encourages Vaggie to be her own person, to forgive herself and to love herself. They are actually quite balanced in my opinion. I also think Vaggie getting her wings back shows that she is close to or maybe already redeemed.

( and lets all agree for all that Charlie is Hellborn she is the most selfless and good person we've met on the show - makes me wonder if a hellborn dies with a good soul would they have always gone to heaven? Was this perhaps one of the reasons the hellborn were exempt from the extermination? Look I have theories about Charlie actually being more Angel than Demon. )

Now Onto my redemption theory!

What if the way to redemption isn't so much being Pure but breaking out of the behaviors that are toxic?

I think Sir Pentious was redeemed because he stopped being selfish. He stopped being a coward and envious. His last act was one of selfless sacrifice in the end he overcame his own fears and limits for someone else. The reasons it's never been done before is because Hell by it's very nature puts them in a place where this is basically impossible. To survive you have to be selfish or cowardly or more violent than everyone else.

This also mean there is a the possibility that if an angel is bad like Adam and dies they could reincarnate in hell as a sinner.

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #hazbin hotel spoilers #sir pentious #hazbin hotel redemption theory #hazbin hotel theory

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bolidebelle · 4 months

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So... I had a thought today about the general meh of King Peppy writing off all the trolls lost in the Great Escape and how so does the whole village, but also kind of how they treated Branch? We know from Trolls 3 Branch didn't really grow up with anyone caring for him. And based on how Poppy's involved in the teaching and how the kids in the cartoons kinda just run around and trust any adult we can probably safely assume that trolls have a somewhat Community-based way of raising Trollings. Families first, but everyone helps out where they can. This makes sense in a community that's so used to heavy losses. It also kinda leans into why no one seemed to realize Branch was -alone-. But another part of that may have been this massive community feeling of... not wanting to admit it. It was Generational Trauma to the extreme in the Troll Tree. Dozens of trolls are likely taken every year. There would be no way to realistically move forward without Forcing yourself to not see the problem. They knew it was happening, but it was their normal. It was their life. In all likelihood, none of the living generations had ever experienced freedom. They didn't know any better so they had to make due. When they finally escaped, leaving behind what looks to be easily a 1/4 of their trolls based on how many putt-putts there are. Knowing they all likely died. They don't know any other way of coping except to pretend it didn't happen in anything other than quiet whispers and scrapbook stories. It's their history but it's one they hardly want to acknowledge because then that would mean acknowledging all the terrible horrible things that had happened. So instead it's erased, to an extent. It's not healthy but it's what they know how to do. Then there's Branch, little gray Branch, like a silver neon sign of everything they're trying to forget. They don't know how to help him, because helping him means thinking. Remembering. So they ignored him, like everything else that reminded them. Of Course they didn't know how to take care of him other than keeping him alive. Generational Trauma, the collective cultural trauma of what all of them had been through, how they had unconsciously as a community decided to handle said trauma, didn't have a place for him.

#trolls #media analysis #trolls branch #I will ramble about this for ages

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jinnie-ret · 4 months

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MY YOUTH | SKZ NINTH AU

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

<---------- back to my youth

<---------- back to main masterlist

chapter 3

genre: fluff, angst content warnings: bullying, implied death

word count: 1.2k

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Worried about who was on the other side of the door, Lou braced herself. Whatever happens, we take it with a pinch of salt, she thought, expecting it to be someone that wouldn't take too kindly to her.

She was right to expect that exact kind of person.

"So, finally decided to stop whoring around our oppas?" one girl asked as she barged into Lou's studio.

"Look, poor baby can't go anywhere without a teddy," another girl mocked as she held up a plushie of a little ginger cat.

Lou could only helplessly look around as another headache came on.

"Ouch," she said quietly to herself as she held onto her head.

"Mina-unnie, Sora-Unnie, maybe we should leave this for another time..." a girl who hovered by the doorway said, looking around in case someone appeared.

Lou shut her eyes as she saw something else in her head.

"Promise me, Louisa, that you won't stop yourself from reaching your dreams, okay? Don't do it just because of me," a woman in a hospital bed held Lou's hand as she cried.

"I promise, Mum," Lou wiped her eyes, holding on so tightly to a hand that slipped away from hers, as a machine started beeping.

"Guys, it's gone quiet in the next room, I think we need to go," the younger girl scratched her head awkwardly, watching as Mina and Sora noises around Lou's belongings.

"Hey, Lou-ser, guess you won't mind if we take these. Yah! Don't ignore us!" Sora prodded at Lou who was holding onto the wall for balance and her head in pain. Meanwhile Mina was holding onto that very plushie, sensing it meant something, and onto Lou's purse too.

"Hey look at Lou's plushie, so cute," the members of SKZ cooed as they looked around her room as part of a house tour they were doing in a vlog.

"Guys why are you all in my room?" Lou burst out laughing in her vision.

"Who got you this, so so cute," Felix held up the plushie.

"Ah, my, my mum, my eomma got it for me," Lou sadly smiled, Lee Know going up to her and giving her a hug noticing her slight discomfort around the subject.

Lou blinked her eyes seeing Mina flipping through her notebook too.

"Hey, give that back!" Lou went over to take back her own things. It felt like a big thing for her because in the normal way in her home reality she hated confrontation, but something within her now was bubbling.

"Jiah! Don't just stand there, don't let her win!" Sora hissed at the younger girl who clearly didn't want to be there. She didn't understand why her unnies chose to harass an idol, they were still trainees. This would not look good for them.

"Jiah!"

And so the girl went behind Lou and pulled her back, stopping her from snatching her own items from Mina.

"Stupid girl actually writes some decent songs, mine now," Mina tore out the most recent pages from Lou's book, nodding her head towards the door as she held onto the money and toy.

"Guys, leave her like that."

And so they left, Lou beginning to feel a horrible choked feeling in her chest. She didn't know her mum in this universe, yet she still felt the heartache of her loss and the last thing her mum must have gotten for her being taken away. She couldn't imagine losing her actual mum so having to be forced to live through a life where that was the reality wasn't all too ideal.

Wiping her tears away after doing some deep breathing to get rid of the horrible feeling, she stood up and went back to her notebook, trying to remember as many of the words she had written to 'She Plays Bass' as she could. There was a new found determination to finish the song, before any of those girls could claim it as their own and take all the credit for her hard work.

"Ah! For fuck's sake!" Lou slammed her pencil down, rubbing her temples as the next lines, which already existed, weren't flowing out as they should be.

"Woah, this a bad time?" Seungmin had popped his head through, but was clearly regretting it now as he saw the rarely angry Lou.

"No, it's just, ah maybe..." Lou stared at her notebook tiredly.

"Hey, where did Garfield go?" Seungmin said, pointing at the little seat where the plushie usually sat, shocked at it not being there.

"Ah, I lost it."

"Really? You ok?" he tiptoed around the obvious as he asked Lou, standing next to her now to gage her reaction.

"Yeah, I'll find it, I'm sure, I probably left it at the dorms earlier," Lou hummed in thought.

"Ok well, come on then, let's have some fun," Seungmin had a mischievous grin on his face.

Soon they snuck into the 3RACHA studio, seeing Changbin and Han had fallen asleep and Chan was deep into the zone with his headphones on.

"Okay, so on the count of 3, you press play," Seungmin instructed Lou as they hovered around the doorway.

'Shoot Me' by DAY6 came blasting through the Bluetooth speaker that Seungmin was holding and the two of them started crazily jumping around and dancing as Changbin and Han's screams shocked Chan out of his creative mode.

"YAH"

"AHHHHHH!"

"Guys what the f-"

"Bang bang!" Seungmin and Lou sang along whilst trying to fit the Miroh choreo to the song.

"Turn it off!"

"So loud!"

"Guys I'm on live!" Chan shouted over them, which quickly froze the two mischief makers, Lou rushing to stop the music from her phone as Seungmin did the same trying to find the off button on the speaker.

Lou slowly walked to where Chan was sat and looked over his shoulder at the screen,

"You're live?"

The comments came rushing in:

Hahaha Flo looks so confused

The way Binnie and Han jumped out of their skin 😂😂😂

Seungmin definitely made Lou do this ahahaha

How did Chan not notice ahhhhh

"Yeah, how didn't you see us?" Lou poked Chan's shoulder.

"I was too invested in showing stays how I produce," Chan rubbed his head tiredly.

"Today isn't even Sunday?" Lou carried on confused.

Han burst out laughing, "Yah, Lou doesn't know the days of the week!"

"What day did you think it was?" Seungmin laughed from his spot on the sofa next to Changbin and Han.

"Tuesday?"

Chan shook his head fondly. "We'll leave it there stays, Lou needs to go back to school!"

As Chan was doing his outro, Lou facepalmed and went off camera.

"That was so embarrassing."

"And you don't think it's not embarrassing in the normal way," Changbin joked as he sat back with his arms folded.

"I'm just going to lay here and never move again," Lou laid across all three of them, her head resting in Han's lap who automatically played with her hair. This was sort of Lou's kryptonite because she was already feeling tired.

"Hey don't make her sleepy we haven't had dinner yet," Chan turned around in his chair.

"What's for dinner?" Lou sleepily muttered.

"Bulgogi, kimchi-"

"I'm up. I'm awake!"

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @kai-lee08 @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @lixie-phoria

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nikkisheep · 8 months

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Kill Me Slowly

Dean Winchester x pregnant!wife!reader

Warnings: ANGST, cursing, happy beginning, pregnant reader, death

Summary: You find out that Dean died and you don’t know how to react.

Words: 2,075

To be honest, I cried writing this and I will say, this is probably my saddest piece.

You danced around the bunker as Dean’s music blasted from the speakers. You were cleaning the library when you got bored and put on music so time would go by quicker. You sing loudly with the music as you dust the shelves, the books, the tables, the corners, everything you could think of. Getting finished with the library, you move on to the kitchen. You decide to make a pie and some burgers for the boys when they get back. You were nervous about them being gone without Castiel since his death but you trusted that they would be okay.

Mixing the pie crusts, you realized that I didn't have apples for the pie so you decided to run down to the supermarket to get some. I borrow the truck from the garage and drive to the store. There an older woman needed help with selecting apples.

“Ma’am, could you grab that apple for me?” She asked kindly.

“Of course, I actually need some myself.”

You help gather the apples for her and she turns to you to thank you.

“You know, my husband really likes apples and today would have been his 90th birthday,” she says sadly.

“I am so sorry for your loss. I actually am making a pie for my husband when he gets home from work,” You smile softly at her and she looks down to my belly.

“Oh, congrats. Is it a boy or a girl?” She gushes.

“We aren’t sure just yet but Dean, my husband, hopes it’s a girl. He says that he always wanted a daughter but I hope it’s a boy so he could be just like his father,” You smile as you look down at the growing baby bump that you had been trying to cover.

- - - -

You come home to the bunker and go to the kitchen. Dean and Sam weren’t home just yet so you had a little bit more time before they were to walk through the door. You cut the apples and your belly growls so you get the peanut butter from the cabinet and dipped a few apple slices in to eat. You put on some music and danced along as you baked the pie and cooked the burgers.

Your hands rubbed the seasoning deep into the meat as you heated the grill. You threw in some fries to be made fresh and you pulled the apple pie from the oven and smiled as the smell washed over you and the bunker. Once everything was ready, you jumped in the shower.

Thoughts of seeing Dean after so long flooded your mind and you smiled as you imagined the feeling of his skin against yours once more. You open his body wash and shampoo to use them. Dean always liked it when you smelt like him. It let him know that you were his. You run your hands up and down your body as you wash yourself and you relax into the hot water as your daydream of Dean continues.

Getting dressed into a cute sundress, Dean picked it up when he was on a hunt about a month ago and thought it would be beautiful on you, and you headed to the kitchen and started making plates because you heard the Impala pull up into the garage.

- - - -

Placing Dean’s pie on the table, you hear the door to the bunker open and footsteps begin to fall down the stairs. You gather up Dean’s plate to bring it to the table and you have a big smile on your face as you start walking to the table once again.

“Dean, I made your favorite. I figured that you would want a nice, hot apple pie for when you get ho-” You get interrupted when you round the corner when you only see Sam and his face is all red, with dark circles around his eyes, and his eyes were bloodshot. You stand there and then look around him for your dear husband.

“Oh Sam, you look horrible,” You sigh. “Where is Dean? Surely, he wouldn’t still be in the garage pulling out all the bags instead of greeting his wife?”

You laughed softly, nervous.

“Dean isn’t here.” Is all he said.

He stumbled down the step to the dining room and sat at the table with his head in his hands. You were confused. If Dean wasn’t here, where was he?’’

“Where is Dean?”

Silence.

“Sam, where is Dean?” You demand an answer and this time when Sam looked up at you, you could just read his expression. Tears in his eyes, sobs being held back with all of his might.

“No,” You say quietly. “No, no, no!”

The glass plate in your hand fell to the ground and shattered. Dean’s bacon cheeseburger that you made landed on the ground and fell apart. Your body started to quake as tears filled your eyesight. Your knees got weak and you let out an earth-shattering sob fall from your mouth. You felt a pain in your chest that felt like it was squeezing your lungs until they could barely constrict any further. Breathing began to become painful as your tears fell more frequently. You start to hyperventilate as your knees give out and Sam has to race to catch you before you land onto the broken glass that laid on the floor. Your hand got cut on the glass and you could barely even feel it. Your sobs turned violent as you begged for Dean to be there with you.

“Dean! No, no, this isn’t true. Dean!” You start to shout, hoping, praying that he would walk right through the bunker door with a smile on his face with his green eyes shining.

“Shhh,” Sam said as he smoothed your hair, his arms cradling you as you grew to be weaker from crying.

Your body shook as you let out the painful wails that were buried deep inside your soul. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t hear. You couldn’t see. You couldn’t do anything but feel the pain that was tearing your heart and soul into pieces that would never be repaired.

- - - -

The walk to your shared room with Dean felt like it was ten miles long. Your face hurts from crying, sobbing over the loss of your husband. You laid in bed, your hand was bandaged by Sam after he basically had to pin you to the ground to fix it for you, thinking about everything that had happened.

Four Days Ago

You held out your hand for Dean to take it as you climbed in bed. You kissed his pink lips softly as his hand rubbed over your growing belly. He was being careful about everything around you since you told him the news.

“What do you hope it to be?” You asked as you played with his freshly washed hair as he laid his head on your stomach, hoping to feel the baby.

“I already know that it’s going to be a girl because she is just like her mama,” He said with a smile.

“You know it’s a girl?”

“Don’t call her an “it”.” You laughed lightly.

“Okay, why do you hope she’s a girl?’’

“Because, I have always pictured our first baby to be a girl and then when we have a second one, it would be a boy so she can be a big sister and beat up the boys who try to mess with our little boy,” He said with a very bright smile. You smiled at him and pulled him in for a kiss.

- - - -

Day One: Removing

You start to bring in boxes from the truck and head straight to your room. You walk in and start to gather Dean’s belongings up. You grab all of his shirts and throw them into the box. You grab his blanket and fold it up to put it in the box as well. You gather up his PJ’s, his pillows, his jeans, his Jelly Beans that you told him that they belonged in the kitchen instead of the room. You open the top drawer and find his underwear and you throw them in the box as well. You tear the room apart, removing anything Dean from the room. You didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that Dean wasn’t here anymore.

- - - -

Day Six: Remembering

You stare at the boxes that sit on the other side of the room and you walk over. The first thing inside the box was your wedding ring. You had taken it off because you couldn’t stop crying every time you moved your left hand which gave you a glimpse of the ring.

You turned it over and tears welled up but you quickly put the ring away and then you found the tape that you had made him when he was away for a case on Christmas. You put it in the player.

“Dean, I miss you but I know you are doing what you need to do. I just wish that you had let me go with you.” The frame moves to the kitchen.

“I made all of your favorites and I really hope that I don’t stress eat them all because that would not be a good idea,” You laughed as the camera shook.

You turned it off and then you looked at more tapes. One was when you moved all of your stuff into his room. You watched as you and Dean were smiling sweetly at each other. You were looking at the camera and he was looking at you. His green eyes bored into the side of your face with a loving gaze. He kissed your cheek and you let out a loud laugh at his gesture. You were happy then. That was before you had gotten married. You were so excited that Dean wanted you to move to his room and you were acting like a giddy teenager who just got asked to Prom.

- - - -

One day later: Acceptance; The Funeral

Sam and you were the only people at the funeral. Dean’s body rested on the wooden stand and Sam had to hold you so you didn’t collapse. You were crying and sobbing but you were overcome by grief that you briefly forgot about Sam’s grief. You lost your husband but he lost his brother.

“Sam, can I do it?” You asked, you knew that he had done this for so many people, you didn’t want him to do it for his brother.

Sam gave you Dean’s lighter and you lit the flame bottle and you threw it on his body. Fire burst into the sky as soon as the flame touched the stand. You looked down at the lighter in your hands and you didn’t want to get rid of it but you knew that you had to. You wanted Dean to be at peace.

As the lighter soars through the air, flashes of your wedding day, you telling Dean about your pregnancy, your meeting, you working cases with him, the nights of passion, the nights of tears, the hunts, the singing, the dancing, the reading, the kisses, everything that you ever did together flashed through your mind all at once and you felt a weight being lifted off your shoulders.

You grab Sam’s hand and the two of you walk back to the bunker to eat a burger and a slice of apple pie in honor of Dean Winchester’s life.

Bonus scene:

Three months later:

You lay in the hospital bed with Sam sitting beside you, holding a pink baby blanket and a blue baby blanket.

“It’s twins. A boy and a girl” the doctor said.

She left and Sam gently placed your babies in your loving arms. One look and you saw that they both had Dean’s green eyes and his freckles. You start to cry as you cradle your children and Sam wraps his arms around you and kisses your hair.

“What are their names?” He asks.

“The girl is going to be named Charlie.”

“And what about the boy?”

“His name is Dean.” You looked down at the little boy in your arms.

“His name is Dean.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester #supernatural x reader #supernatural #dean winchester x pregnant reader #dean winchester x wife reader angst #supernatural angst

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