#<- happened one time when i tried to talk to someone new. which is so. oh my god. there r ppl who have avtual fucking issues and then im | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

6toru · 11 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄.

synopsis. gaining the title ‘duke’ not only came with the prestige, but came along the lonely days you spent yearning for your husband as he toggled the new duties and responsibilities he had to face. it was only a matter of time before you decided that you could only have so much patience, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt if you played around a little – watching as your husband who held himself in great temperance and sangfroid fall into pieces the more you attempt to break his composure.

pairing. nanami kento x fem!reader genre. dukedom & arranged marriage au + smut cw. mature content (mdni), breeding kink, rough sex , explicit language + dirty talk

word count. 4.2k

author's note. hehe a repost from an old writing blog of mine ! def one of my favourite pieces + something about someone who's usually so poised losing control of themselves... feral is what i am 😩

NANAMI KENTO, no doubt, was a powerful young man who earned himself the title Duke from the royal king after his contribution and victory in the most recent war. Of course, now that he was given the new title, he was given a whole lot of responsibilities and duties that he’s got to fulfill now that he had plenty more people to protect. Nowadays, the young duke would either be found training his lot of knights, hunting, or cooped up in his grand office busying himself with myriads of documents. Despite being incredibly proud of his achievements, you still couldn’t help but yearn for the affection of your beloved husband.

Many nights were spent alone, staring up at the tall dark ceiling while you silently counted sheep – hoping that once you had reached a hundred, he would arrive and join you in bed (he’d often fall asleep on the sofa in his office). And, many nights were spent with you fending for yourself when you longed for his touch, arching your back when you’d climax on your fingers – however, you never felt fully satisfied. Your fingers could never compare to his larger and thicker fingers, nor his…

You shake your head rapidly, feeling your cheeks growing redder by the lewd thoughts of your husband swimming through your mind. The last time you had intercourse with the male was when you both consummated the marriage, which was almost half a year ago, and then a month after that, the war happened – and two months later, he’d come back with a new title, Duke. Everything else after that was a blur. He was just within your reach — residing in the same manor and all, could almost reach for him but always got farther and farther away. You miss your husband, desperately.

You stroll through the hallways of the manor, taking small strides towards the familiar giant door with a board of your freshly baked bread balanced in your hands. You continue to hum a gentle tune as you got closer and closer to the door. Although, it may appear to other people that his wife was innocently barging into his office thus surprising him with baked goods made with love – However, unknowingly for them, you had other plans hidden up your sleeves.

“Kento,” your voice gentle as you call out his name, “I brought you something that I think you’d love!”

You open the door further, revealing your husband — as per usual — busying himself with his documents. Fatigue was plastered all across his face, though he tried his best to mask it, but the dark circles underneath his hazel eyes were of no help. You could tell that even his muscles had gotten sore from training and staying seated for long periods of time. You placed the bread tray in front of him, and you walked around the desk to stand next to your husband.

“Thank you, honey,” He quickly thanks you, sending you a quick nod of acknowledgement. Your husband was in pure autopilot mode, his hand continuously signing the documents despite him slowly losing focus — desperately trying to keep them open rather than succumbing to slumber.

“You should take a moment to relax, Kento.” You say. Just as he is about to come up with some type of excuse as to why he shouldn’t take a break, you lean in closer to his ear. “Let me help you.”

Your hands travel up to his back, and you applied some pressure on his shoulders while you massaged him. Your husband releases a low groan when you apply even more pressure on a stubborn muscle knot on his shoulders. You smile when he relaxes into your touch, closing his eyes while he leaned closer into you as you massaged into his sore muscles until those pesky knots disappeared. “How do you feel now?”

“I feel much better,” Kento sighs, humming pleasantly, “ Thank you for the bread, too. I’ll make sure to finish it while I continue working.”

“Can’t your break be a little longer?” You probe at him, pouting softly. “I missed you.”

A sudden wave of boldness and confidence overtook your consciousness, and you brought yourself down on his lap, your arms snaking around your husband’s muscular shoulders. Kento looks completely taken aback, and you eat that expression up as if it is candy.

“Kento,” you begin, “can’t you see that your cute and loving wife misses you?”

You press your lips against his ear, before whispering: “I’ve been thinking about you so much, putting a baby inside of me.”

Slowly, you thrust your hips against his thigh, watching your husband in pure amusement as he attempts to keep his composure; his hand tightening on his pen, knuckles white. Almost immediately, you can feel him hardening underneath you, and you grinned almost immediately. Something about his reaction swelled your heart with pride, knowing that despite being busy you still, somewhat, had an effect on him. Even more, Kento was taken aback, completely speechless (and undeniably turned on) from his wife’s bold ministrations.

“B-baby inside..?” His voice came out as a dry rasp, his eyes wide .

Before your husband could process anything else, he felt the weight on his lap disappearing, and he quickly stared up to watch you getting ready to leave. You fixed the wrinkles on the hem of your dress, trying to fight back the grin on your face after having just teased your usually stoic husband. He had always appeared so cool and composed, so watching him try so hard to keep his composure undeniably gave you some type of thrill.

“Y/N?” He called out your name, looking visibly confused. Your eyes traveled down to your husband’s trousers, smiling innocently as you caught sight of the large tent growing between his legs.

“I almost forgot to mention, but the marchioness invited me to her manor for a tea party.” You said, attempting to stifle the giggle bubbling in your throat while your husband appeared flustered. “I won’t be back until tonight.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss on his lips, not before licking his bottom lip as you pull away. You were being far too mean with your husband, but you couldn’t help it — watching him slowly crack beneath your manipulation sent a shock of arousal straight between your legs. “Until then, promise me that you’ll finish the bread and take breaks when you need it, okay?”

Before the man could even muster a single response, you walked out of his office. Only two could play at this game, you thought to yourself as you closed the office door behind you.

Hours had already passed and you finished catching up with the noble ladies, exchanging goodbyes and letters before parting ways. It had truly been a while since you had last caught up with your friends. Nevertheless, the time spent at your friend’s manor was enjoyable, listening to all the spicy gossip while enjoying desserts and tea.

The ride back home in the carriage is silent — the only sound present were the continuous patters from the horses’ steps. You stare outside the window, quietly watching the manor eventually disappearing as the carriage goes further away in distance. It is already a quarter past nine, perhaps the latest you have ever stayed out, and it is safe to assume that your beloved husband is probably resting on the sofa in his office again.

You lean your back against the seat, pressing the side of your head against the window as your eyes begin to grow heavy, the distant sounds of the horses’ steps gradually lulling you into a short slumber.

“My lady, we’ve arrived.”

“Oh my, we’re already here?” You ponder to yourself out loud, groggily opening your eyes. You place your hands atop the coachman’s guiding you down the carriage, and you stare at the tall manor before you. Once you enter inside, you are automatically greeted with your maids ushering you to the bathroom with a change of clothes. Undeniably, you felt a little disappointed, as you believe that your husband had unknowingly proved your point from earlier — you, at least, hoped that he’d stay awake a little longer. You sink lower into the tub, blowing bubbles as you scrunch your brows together, the water hiding pouting lips. The maid had left you alone earlier, telling you that she’d return with a towel soon, but it’s been moments.

You glance around the bathroom, trying to decipher the exact location of your nightgown. Ah, it was on the stool, next to the door. If anyone had walked in on you grabbing your nightgown from the stool, the only thing they’d see is your wet and bare body. It shouldn’t be too bad, though —after all, it’s always been your maids coming in. Slowly, you stand up from the large tub, and you immediately shiver from the wave of cold air rushing to you,, cool beads of water dripping down your body. With careful steps, you make your way across the room, your hand reaching out towards your nightgown.

You suddenly hear a knock on the door, and you instinctively grab the gown to cover the front of your body. It must be the maid, you think to yourself and you try to mimic that of a stern face — however, you can’t bring yourself to be too harsh on a new maid, after all. You watch the door open slowly, and you tap your fingers against your elbows. “Hana, where were you all this… Oh.”

Almost immediately, your face is sent aflame and you scurry away from the door, your failed attempt of a stern persona pathetically crumbling away as the space revealed no one other than your husband standing in front of the doorway with a towel in his hand. Hazel eyes travel up and down your frame, his jaw tensing at the sight of your bunched up nightgown barely covering your body — hell, it didn’t cover anything, he stares longingly at your left breast deciding to slip out of the covers. He steps into the room and closes the door shut immediately, his eyes still locked into your frame and he stays silent.

You press the nightgown against your body even more and you look away from his gaze, as if it could help hide your insecurities that are growing the more he stared and stayed silent. However, all that stops when you glance back at your husband and he gives you a come hither motion with his index finger. “Kento,” you say his name softly, “I thought you were asleep—”

“Come here,” is all he says to you, his voice low and baritone. You easily comply with his words, taking small strides to get closer to the male. “Hand me your nightgown.”

“I thought it was Hana that knocked,” you say quietly as you hand your husband your nightgown, further revealing your naked body. You can hear Kento’s breath hitch for a mere moment before he quickly regains his composure — however, it is already so fragile. He swiftly wraps the towel around your body before pulling you closer to him, his hands resting on your hips while he leans closer to your face with stern eyes. “You’re lucky that it was me, then. What were you thinking about going out of the bath like that? What if it wasn’t Hana or I that walked in?”

“I didn't want to stay in the bath anymore, and I genuinely believed that my maids would be the only ones to walk in. Because of that, I didn’t feel too worried.” You answer your husband softly, squeezing his shoulder ever so slightly. “Despite you giving me a bit of a surprise, I can’t say that I’d rather have Hana come here instead of you.”

“Is that so? That’s a relief, then. I did tell her that I’d take care of the rest and she could rest for the night.” He hummed, before lifting you up in his arms without any warning, immediately eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips.

“W-what are you doing?” You question your husband, stammering as you instinctively place your hand onto his chest.

“You know, after you played your little game earlier, I wasn’t able to do my work properly.” says Kento, opening the bathroom door. “I believe you should bear some sort of responsibility, no?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter under your breath, masking a soft grin as you nuzzle your face into your husband’s neck.

“Putting a baby inside you,” he says, a slight strain present in his baritone voice as he continues walking down the hall with your towel-covered body in his arms. The walk down to your shared bedroom feels like an eternity has passed, the sounds of his footsteps resonating across the quiet hall. You want to question him where the rest of maids and butlers had gone but you relented, your body tense under the man’s carnal gaze.

“If fucking a baby inside of you is what you want, then it’s what you’ll get. It’s what my sweet wife asked for, after all.”

“H-Honey, what are you—?”

With one hand, Kento swiftly opens the bedroom door. You let out a small shriek when he throws you on the soft mattress of your king-sized bed, his large hands pinning your hands above your head. He has this carnal glint in his amber eyes as he stares deeply into yours, it was as if all his self-control was beginning to crumble right before your eyes — you’ve never seen him like this; a cool, composed and reserved man looking so disheveled above you—his dress shirt buttoned loosely, revealing his collarbones and the evident incarnadine flush radiating onto his cheeks. Truly, it is a delicious sight to behold, and the wetness dwelling between your legs only seems to grow the longer you stare at the man.

“What a lewd woman, you are.” He mutters, his grip on your wrists tightening while his other hand trails down your chest, slowly pulling the towel down. “Was my sweet wife having fun playing teatime after leaving me to take care of this?”

Before you can even utter a word, a sudden gasp leaves your lips when Kento grinds his hips against yours; the delightful friction of the erection growing in his trousers rubbing against your clit, your back arching in hopes to get more. “I missed you,” you say between heavy breaths, “I missed you so much—Ah! Y-You’ve been so cooped up in your o-office lately and ngh..”

Your words were cut abruptly by his lips, teeths clashed and tongues intertwined while his rough and calloused fingers trail up your torso, towards your bare chest in a teasingly slow pace. A muffled moan leaves your lips, only to be covered by your husband’s lips, as he teases your already erect nipples.

“Tell me more,” said your husband, his lips leaving yours.

With heavy eyes, you watch Kento’s lips trail to where his hands once rested. His tongue swirls around the mound before sucking on your skin harshly, and you rest your fingers tangled in his blond locks as he continues to elicit those cute sounds coming from your swollen lips.

“You’ve been so busy with your duties as the duke, and—Mhhm..!—I-I’ve been feeling so alone these many nights while I longed for you, so so desperately. I love you so much Kento—Ah!” You mewl out those words in unadulterated wanton, your voice all shakey, it almost sounds embarrassingly pathetic when your husband is doing nothing more than teasing your breasts rather than fucking you relentlessly in the mattress. You can barely care less about how you sound though, because his lips and touch alone are enough to send you into ecstasy. You want him to touch you more. The needy ache between your legs continuously grows more intense the longer he teases you.

“H-Honey, ‘want more. Please.” You beg your husband, your fingers desperately trying to unbutton his wrinkled dress shirt. “I need more of you.”

Kento doesn’t reply back, continuing his little ministrations on your neglected mound. It is adorable seeing him so focused on pleasuring you, but the heat you feel in your pussy feels too overwhelming. You push your husband’s head away from your mound, his lips leaving your skin with a soft ‘pop!’ He glances at you questioningly.

It was a bold and sudden decision that you had made on a whim out of sheer desperation, but his reaction made it all the more worth it. As soon as your fingers leave his half-buttoned dress shirt, you hook your arms underneath your knees and spread your legs open, revealing your cunt drenched in your desperate juices. “Kento, I mean it when I told you that I wanted you to put a baby in me.”

His mouth is left agape at your sudden boldness, his eyes fixated on the juices slowly dripping out of your hole — his breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches your small fingers spread your pussy lips apart. “Kento, touch me. Please.”

“Shit.”

It is almost as if the string has finally snapped inside of him, because before his mind can even start to think properly, his hands are on your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart as he begins the merciless assault on your dripping folds; his tongue lapping at all your wetness as if he was animal thirsty for water. Kento almost groans at the way his finger stretches your pussy, his finger sliding in almost immediately due to your juices. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, “you’re so wet for me.”

He slides his index finger in and out before adding a second finger to the mix. He starts off slow, but his pace gradually quickens to that of which is considered merciless. The sounds of your wet cunt getting demolished by his fingers echoes in the grand room, along with your cries of pleasure. Your hips thrash against his fingers, and you can feel the sensation of pressure that was building up in your abdomen intensifying the more that he pleases you with his large fingers. Within less than a second, you cum intensely around his fingers, a loud moan erupting from your throat as your body slumps against Kento.

‘His fingers feel so much better compared to my fingers,’ you think to yourself as you try to recover from your first orgasm.

While you attempt to catch your breath, you glance back to Kento only to watch him undress with your mouth salivating. It’s already a given that your husband would be incredibly fit as he often trains with the knights and hunts (while not forgetting the night you had consummated with him in the dark the past few months ago — you felt every crevice of his muscles) — but now, seeing it up close and so clearly — he is truly a sight to behold. You reach your arm towards his chiseled abdomen, your fingers drawing hearts across his skin, and your eyes travel lower past his abdomen; staring intently at the huge tent growing beneath his underwear. You want to get fucked by this man already, so so bad.

“Kento,” you say his name softly, tracing your fingers along the outline of your husband’s clothed erection before trailing back up to the waistband, tugging it down slightly to expose more of his v-line. He tugs his boxers down completely, and your mouth immediately waters at the exquisite sight. He is a lot bigger than you had remembered.

When he slowly rubs the tip of his dick against your folds, shivers trickle down your spine as you raise your hips to meet his, attempting to get him inside.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He mumbles, his voice hoarse. “Look at you all spread open for me, desperate to get a taste of my cock.”

He slips his tip in, eliciting a sharp breath past your trembling lips, and then he pulls out. You whine out his name in a bated breath, your cheeks flushed in an incarnadine hue. Kento spares you a soft smile, almost as if it was mocking you, before he fills your hole up to the very brim — splitting your pussy open.

“Oh fuck—Kento!” A scream slips past your lips, your eyes scrunched shut as a huge wave of pleasure rushes through your veins, sending goosebumps on your skin. Your husband is relentless with his movements, your legs spread apart by his strong grip. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours along with cries of his name resonates across the bedroom, coupled with the intense squeaking from the mattress. “F-Feels so good—Ahn! Please—Please don’t stop—Oh!”

“You dirty woman,” Kento sneers, “we’ve just started and your pussy’s already so greedy for my cum by how tight you’re squeezing me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get my sweet wife pregnant—filled with all my cum.”

With that, he spreads your legs even wider and leans his torso closer to yours; his face merely centimeters away from yours. “I can feel you getting tighter,” He says, his hot breath fanning against your skin, “you’re getting real close, hm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to properly reply though, as he trails his one hand down to your clit and rubs rough circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a silent scream—your mouth agape and eyes rolled back as you ride out your orgasm, arching your back against his chest.

You are barely given enough time to recover when Kento returns to work, his lips instantly connecting to yours while he thrusts his cock inside your sopping hole with a stuttering pace. His hands travel up to your breasts and gives them a harsh squeeze, the pace of his thrusts quickening. Your husband looks utterly delectable, his face scrunched up as he focuses on your pleasure, small beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. Pleasure fills your veins, and your cries only increase in volume the closer you are to reaching your second orgasm.

Thoughts of you being all plumped up and pregnant play repeatedly in his mind, and it merely ignites his desire to pump all his cum into you. Breaths ragged, he stuffs his head into the crook of your neck, nails gripping into your hips as he continues to plummet into you. “K-Kento—!” You wantonly whine out his name, wrapping your legs tightly around your husband’s hips. “Cum inside me—please. Want your kids so bad.”

How can he not cum? Especially when the sight of his sweet wife being drunk on his dick is right before his eyes. With a groan (combined with a growl) of your name along with a string of curses leaving his lips, he stiffens up inside you; warm ropes of his cum coating your walls white.

Upon pulling out, he watches large beads of white leaking out of your hole and he sticks his finger inside, pushing his cum back inside. You released a soft sigh in pleasure, your legs slightly twitching at your husband’s touch.

“How are you feeling now?” Questions your husband, Kento. You reach your arm out to his face, your thumb tracing light circles on his cheekbones.

“I’m a happy, happy wife,” you reply to him, laughing softly before leaning into his lips, giving him a soft peck. Kento chuckles lightly into the kiss. “Was I too rough with you?” He asks you once more, and you shake your head immediately.

“I think I’ve realized just now how much I enjoy being manhandled by you,” you reply back to him, giggling. “Rather, I enjoy seeing this new side of you.”

Your giggles quickly gets replaced by a slight gasp when your husband suddenly adjusts your position, your face and chest now pressed against the mattress with your husband behind you, his hand lightly rubbing his erect cock. Swiftly, you turn your head to Kento, your mouth agape as you are just about to question him but the sting of his hand on your ass immediately erases all rational thoughts in your mind. Heat immediately rushes to your face once more at the foreign, yet pleasurable sensation.

“K-Kento,” you are able to utter your husband’s name, your arms already feeling weak from holding yourself up from the mattress. A shaky breath leaves your lips when he slowly rubs his cock against you from behind, your ears picking up a hoarse chuckle.

“I never said I was done with you,” Kento tells you, “not until I’m sure that you’ll get pregnant with all my cum."

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated !

#★ 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustu kaisen fanfic

1K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 20 days ago

Text

Oscat

shifter!Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: when you see an adorable stray black cat hanging around your neighborhood, you can’t resist taking him in … but there’s just one problem, the cat’s not actually a cat

Oscar Piastri never thought his life would come to this — crouched under a battered kitchen chair in a cramped university flat, ears flattened against his skull, tail twitching nervously as he watches you fumble with a small red collar.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” you coo, your voice soft and coaxing. You wiggle your fingers, the sound of the collar's bell jingling faintly as you shake it. “I promise you’ll look so cute in this.”

Oscar can’t believe he’s let it get this far. One moment, he’s wandering the neighborhood as a cat, enjoying the freedom that comes with paws instead of feet, and the next — this. A crazy girl who somehow managed to corral him into her apartment and is now intent on … he doesn’t even know what. But he knows it’s not good. He considers bolting, but you’re blocking the only exit, and he isn’t sure he has it in him to leap past you without causing a scene.

“C’mon, I know you like the tuna,” you say, holding up a plate with some leftover fish you’d put out for him earlier. “Just let me get this on you, and I’ll give you more, okay?”

He narrows his eyes, inching back under the chair. This whole situation is ridiculous, and he’s thoroughly regretting his decision to stick around after the first time you fed him. But there was something about you that drew him in — a warmth, maybe, or just the sheer determination with which you tried to get him to trust you.

But now you’ve crossed a line.

You sigh, clearly frustrated, and sit back on your heels. “Why are you being so difficult?” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, you know? What if you get lost or hurt? You need a collar, at least …”

Oscar’s ears perk up at the concern in your voice, and he feels a pang of guilt. You don’t know what you’re doing — how could you? To you, he’s just a stray cat, not a twenty-three-year-old Formula 1 driver with a secret he can’t afford to let anyone find out. He’s supposed to be smart, calculated, always one step ahead. Not cowering under a chair because a university student wants to play house with him.

You huff and toss the collar onto the table with a clatter. “Fine,” you say, standing up and crossing your arms. “I’ll leave you alone for now, but you’re not getting any more tuna unless you let me put that on you.”

Oscar’s stomach growls, and he curses his weakness. The tuna had been good — too good, if he’s being honest. He watches as you turn away, heading into another room. This is his chance. He could make a break for it, slip out the door before you even realize what’s happening.

But he hesitates.

Why? He wonders, paws shifting restlessly. This isn’t like him. He should be gone by now, back to the comfort of his flat, where he can shift back and pretend this whole mess never happened. Yet something keeps him rooted in place.

Then, he hears you talking to someone on the phone.

“Yes, I found a stray,” you say, your voice echoing slightly through the walls. “He’s so cute, but I don’t know … do you think I should take him to the vet? Get him checked out?”

Oscar’s blood runs cold. This is bad. This is really bad. He needs to get out — now.

You continue, “I was thinking maybe I could get him neutered too, you know? So he doesn’t run off and get hurt or something … ”

He bolts from under the chair, skidding across the linoleum as he makes a beeline for the door. But before he can reach it, you step back into the room, phone pressed to your ear.

“Whoa, whoa!” You exclaim, dropping the phone onto the table as you rush to block his path. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Oscar tries to dart around you, but you’re quicker than he anticipated, and he’s forced to leap onto the counter instead. He glares at you from his new perch, fur bristling in warning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, hands on your hips. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Yeah, help me lose my manhood,” Oscar mutters under his breath, though it comes out as an indignant hiss.

You frown, clearly not understanding his displeasure. “You’re acting like I’m torturing you or something,” you say, reaching out cautiously. “Just let me put the collar on, okay? Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Oscar swats at your hand, his claws barely grazing your skin. He doesn’t want to hurt you — he just wants you to back off. This is getting too close for comfort.

You pull your hand back, eyes widening in surprise. “Okay, okay, no collar,” you say, trying to soothe him. “We’ll figure something else out.”

But Oscar’s had enough. He leaps from the counter to the windowsill, then down to the floor, and races towards the door again. This time, he manages to slip past you, his sleek black fur a blur as he darts through the narrow opening.

He hears you call after him, your voice tinged with worry, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. He sprints down the hallway, paws pounding against the carpeted floor, until he reaches the stairwell. He takes the steps two at a time, his heart racing as he finally bursts out into the cool evening air.

Freedom.

He doesn’t slow down until he’s a good block away from your building, his chest heaving as he ducks into the shadows of a nearby alley. He’s safe. For now.

But then he hears it — your voice, faint but unmistakable, carried on the breeze as you step out of your apartment, searching for him.

“Kitty?” You call, your voice trembling slightly. “Where did you go?”

Oscar slinks further into the shadows, his heart twisting with guilt. He didn’t mean to scare you, but he couldn’t let you take him to the vet. He couldn’t let you get too close. But now, as he listens to the sound of your footsteps growing fainter, he feels a pang of something he hasn’t felt in a long time — regret.

“Please come back,” you whisper, and he can hear the tears in your voice. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to help …”

Oscar’s resolve weakens, his tail flicking nervously as he peeks around the corner. He can see you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together. You look so small, so vulnerable, and it tugs at something deep inside him.

He shouldn’t care. He’s not supposed to care. He’s always kept his distance, never letting anyone get too close, especially not like this. But here you are, and for reasons he can’t quite explain, he doesn’t want to see you cry.

He takes a tentative step forward, but then stops himself. What can he do? Walk back into your life, let you put that collar on him, and risk everything? Or turn away, leave you behind, and never look back?

You’re wiping at your eyes now, sniffling quietly. “I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself. “Why did I think I could just … ugh.”

Oscar’s ears droop. This is all wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t feel this way. But the sight of you, standing there alone, makes him want to go back, to do something, anything, to make you smile again.

Before he can make a decision, you give up and turn back towards the building, your shoulders slumped in defeat.

Oscar watches you go, every instinct telling him to stay hidden, to let you go. But as you disappear through the door, he finds himself inching forward, until he’s standing just outside the entrance, ears perked up, listening for any sign of you.

Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, this isn’t over yet.

***

Oscar can’t help it. He tells himself he’s just checking in, that it’s only temporary. But day after day, he finds himself outside your building, watching, waiting, listening.

It starts with a cautious glance through the window, his keen eyes picking out your silhouette as you move about your flat. The blinds are often drawn, but he can still see enough. Enough to know that something’s changed.

You’re not yourself.

The first day after he ran away, he saw you sitting by the window, staring out into the distance, your face etched with worry. He tells himself it’s none of his business. That he’s done the right thing by leaving. But every time he turns to go, he finds his paws rooted to the spot, his gaze drawn back to you.

And then there’s the phone calls.

Oscar doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he can’t help it when your voice carries through the thin walls of the apartment building. One day, he’s curled up on the windowsill of the flat next door when he hears you talking on the phone again, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness.

“I just don’t understand,” you say, pacing back and forth. “He was here one minute and then gone the next. I’m so worried about him.”

Oscar’s ears perk up, guilt gnawing at him as he listens. You’re talking about him, of course. He knows that. And the fact that you’re still thinking about him, still concerned for his well-being, makes him feel like the world’s biggest jerk.

“He looked healthy,” you continue, your voice shaking slightly. “But what if something happened to him? What if he got hurt or … or worse?”

He winces at the pain in your voice. He didn’t want to scare you, didn’t want to make you worry. But what choice did he have? Letting you take him to the vet would have exposed him — both literally and figuratively. He couldn’t risk that.

“I read somewhere that stray cats have a lifespan of less than two years,” you say, your tone now laced with a mixture of fear and sadness. “I don’t want that to happen to him. I just … I just want him to be okay.”

Oscar closes his eyes, your words cutting deeper than any wound he’s ever felt. He doesn’t want to be the cause of your pain. But what can he do?

Then, he hears it — the soft, broken sound of you crying.

It’s like a punch to the gut. His ears flatten against his head, and he feels an overwhelming wave of guilt and shame. He doesn’t like seeing you like this. No, that’s not right — he hates it. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, yet here you are, crying because of him.

He tries to walk away, to tell himself that it’s for the best, that you’ll move on and forget about him eventually. But the sound of your sobs echoes in his ears, haunting him, and he knows he can’t just leave it like this.

Maybe going back for a few hours won’t hurt anyone, he rationalizes, pacing back and forth in the alley. He’ll show up, let you see he’s okay, and then leave before things get too complicated. Simple.

But as he sits there, tail flicking with nervous energy, he realizes it’s not that simple. Because the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave. Not really. There’s something about you that draws him in, something that makes him feel … safe.

Wanted.

Needed.

And so, with a heavy sigh, he makes his decision. He waits until the sun sets, the shadows growing long and the streets quiet. Then, he slips through the narrow gap in the window that you always leave open, landing softly on the worn carpet of your living room.

You don’t notice him at first. You’re sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, your phone discarded on the cushion next to you. You’re staring at the TV, but it’s clear you’re not really watching it. Your eyes are red, cheeks stained with tears, and Oscar’s heart clenches at the sight.

He takes a cautious step forward, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. He doesn’t want to startle you, doesn’t want to make things worse. But as he approaches, you suddenly turn your head, your eyes widening as they meet his.

“Kitty?” You breathe, sitting up straight. For a moment, you just stare at him, as if you can’t believe he’s real. Then, slowly, a smile breaks across your face, soft and relieved. “You came back.”

Oscar doesn’t move, watching you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. When you don’t make any sudden movements, he takes another step closer, his ears twitching nervously.

You wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “I thought I’d lost you,” you say, your voice shaky but full of warmth. “Where did you go?”

He doesn’t answer, of course — he can’t. But he does allow himself to move closer, until he’s standing right in front of you, his nose just inches from your outstretched hand.

“Can I … ” you ask, your hand hovering in the air, waiting for his permission.

Oscar hesitates for just a moment before he nuzzles against your palm, his fur brushing against your skin. It feels … right, somehow. Comforting. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as you gently stroke his head, your fingers trailing down his back in soothing motions.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, and Oscar can hear the relief in your voice. “I was so worried.”

Guilt twists in his chest again, but he pushes it aside. He’s here now, and that’s what matters. He’ll stay for a little while, just long enough to make sure you’re okay, too.

You sit back, still petting him, and Oscar takes the opportunity to hop up onto the couch beside you. He curls up next to you, resting his head on your leg, and for a moment, everything feels … normal. Peaceful, even.

“You must have been so scared,” you murmur, your voice soft as you continue to stroke his fur. “Running away like that … I don’t blame you, though. I must have freaked you out with all that vet talk.”

Oscar doesn’t react, but internally, he’s cursing himself. Of course you’re blaming yourself. Why wouldn’t you? You have no idea who — or what — he really is. To you, he’s just a scared little stray cat who panicked and bolted at the first sign of trouble.

“But I’m not going to push you anymore,” you say, as if reading his thoughts. “I just want you to be safe. That’s all.”

The sincerity in your voice hits Oscar like a ton of bricks. He knows he shouldn’t be here, knows he’s playing with fire by getting this close. But in this moment, he can’t bring himself to care. He’s missed this — missed you, even though he barely knows you.

You lean back against the couch, your hand still resting on his back, and Oscar feels a strange sense of contentment wash over him. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way — since he’s allowed himself to feel this way. And as much as he knows he should leave, he can’t. Not yet.

He hears you yawn, the sound soft and tired, and he lifts his head to look up at you. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open, your movements slow and drowsy. It’s late, and he can see the exhaustion etched into your features.

“Guess we both had a long day,” you mumble, your hand coming to rest on the couch beside him as you settle back into the cushions. “I should probably get to bed.”

Oscar watches as you slowly push yourself up, stretching as you stand. He expects you to head to your bedroom, to leave him on the couch for the night. But instead, you glance down at him, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Wanna come with me?” You ask, your voice soft and inviting.

He knows it’s a bad idea. He knows he should stay right where he is, let you go to bed, and slip out the window before morning comes. But the thought of leaving you alone, of returning to the cold, empty streets outside, makes his chest tighten with a loneliness he hasn’t felt in years.

So, against his better judgment, he hops down from the couch and follows you down the short hallway to your bedroom.

You open the door, flicking on a small bedside lamp, and Oscar watches as you move around the room, pulling back the covers and fluffing up your pillows. He hesitates at the threshold, his instincts warring with the pull he feels toward you.

But then you turn to him, patting the space beside you on the bed, and he’s powerless to resist.

“C’mon, kitty,” you say, your voice warm and coaxing. “You can sleep here tonight.”

He pads over to the bed, jumping up onto the soft mattress. It’s warm, inviting, and before he knows it, he’s curled up next to you, your presence calming in a way he didn’t think possible.

You slip under the covers, lying on your side, and Oscar snuggles closer, his body pressed against yours. He can feel your steady breathing, hear the soft rustle of the sheets as you settle in, and it lulls him into a sense of safety he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, your voice already thick with sleep.

Oscar's eyes drift closed, his body warm and relaxed as he nestles against you. He knows he should be on high alert, ready to bolt at any moment, but for the first time in what feels like forever, he allows himself to let go. Just for tonight.

As you fall asleep beside him, your hand resting gently on his back, Oscar realizes he’s found something here — something he didn’t know he was missing. He can’t stay forever, but maybe, just maybe, he can stay a little longer.

Just for tonight.

***

Oscar wakes to the sound of a scream that nearly sends him bolting out of bed. His eyes fly open, his heart hammering in his chest, but the feeling that greets him isn’t the familiar warmth of fur or the safe confines of a small, curled-up position.

It’s a body — a human body.

His human body.

And beside him, you’re staring at him, your eyes wide with shock, your mouth open in mid-scream as you scramble to the edge of the bed, clutching the covers around you like a shield.

“What the — who the hell are you?” You shriek, your voice high-pitched and panicked.

Oscar’s brain stutters to catch up with what’s happening. He glances down at himself, realizing with a jolt that he’s completely naked. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This isn’t happening. How could he have been so careless? He’s been shifting for years, but never like this. Never in front of someone. Never in such a vulnerable position.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, his voice rough with sleep and panic. He grabs at the nearest pillow, pressing it to his lap in a desperate attempt to cover himself. “Just, um, don’t freak out. Please.”

“Explain?” You repeat, your voice trembling as you blink rapidly, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. “What the hell are you doing in my bed? And why are you … why are you … naked?”

Oscar’s mind races, the words tangling together in his head. He’s supposed to be good under pressure — he’s faced down race cars at hundreds of kilometers per hour, for crying out loud. But right now, all he can think about is how utterly screwed he is.

“I-I’m not a creep, I swear,” he blurts out, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to — this isn’t what it looks like.”

Your eyes narrow, still full of fear and confusion, but also dawning recognition. You stare at him for a long moment, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Then, slowly, the pieces start to fall into place, and your expression shifts from terror to something else entirely.

“Wait a minute,” you say, squinting at him. “I know you. You’re … Oscar Piastri?”

He winces at the sound of his name. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find the words. “Oscar Piastri is in my bed. Naked. And I’m … wait, am I still dreaming? Did I fall asleep watching Formula 1 highlights again?”

“No, no, you’re not dreaming,” Oscar says quickly, shaking his head. “This is real. But I promise, I can explain. Just … can we, maybe, both take a breath for a second?”

You inhale sharply, clutching the covers tighter around yourself as you stare at him with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “Okay,” you say, your voice shaky. “Breathing. Breathing is good. But you still owe me a pretty big explanation.”

Oscar nods, taking a deep breath himself to steady his racing thoughts. He’s never had to explain this to anyone before, and now that he’s actually faced with the situation, he realizes just how insane it’s going to sound.

“Okay, so, uh …” He rubs the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to start. “I know this is going to sound really weird, but … you remember the cat? The one you were worried about?”

Your brow furrows in confusion, and you nod slowly. “Yeah …”

“Well,” Oscar continues, his voice trailing off for a moment before he forces himself to say it. “That was me. I mean, I was the cat.”

You blink at him, clearly trying to process what he just said. “Wait. You’re saying … you’re the cat? Like, you were the cat?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, wincing at how ridiculous it sounds out loud. “I’m, um, I’m a shifter. I can turn into a black cat. And I was the cat that you, uh, accidentally … kidnapped.”

You stare at him, your mouth hanging open as you try to wrap your head around this. “So, you’re telling me that the cat I’ve been feeding, the cat that I tried to take to the vet, was actually you? The whole time?”

Oscar nods sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I was just … curious, I guess. But then things got a little out of hand.”

You sit back on the bed, your mind clearly spinning as you try to reconcile the image of the cute, harmless black cat with the sight of Oscar Piastri — fully human and fully naked — in your bed. “This is … this is insane,” you say, shaking your head. “I mean, I believe you, I guess. But it’s just … wow.”

“Yeah, I know,” Oscar says, offering a small, awkward smile. “It’s a lot to take in. And I’m really sorry for scaring you like that. I didn’t mean to shift back. It usually doesn’t happen unless I want it to, but I guess I must’ve just … relaxed too much.”

You laugh, a short, incredulous sound. “Relaxed? You were relaxed enough to just shift back into a human? Wow, I must be really good company.”

Oscar chuckles nervously. “You have no idea.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both try to process everything. Then, you look back at him, your expression softening slightly. “So, you’re really … a shifter? Like, that’s a real thing?”

Oscar nods. “Yeah. I’ve been able to do it since I was a kid. It’s not something I talk about, obviously. It’s kind of a secret.”

“A big secret,” you say, your eyes wide. “I mean, it’s not every day you find out an F1 driver can turn into a cat.”

Oscar blushes at that, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief that you’re taking this better than he expected. “Yeah, it’s not exactly something I advertise. And, uh, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep this between us.”

You nod quickly, your expression earnest. “Of course. I wouldn’t tell anyone. I mean, who would believe me, anyway?”

Oscar lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you. Seriously. This whole thing … it’s complicated, and I don’t want to make things harder for myself or anyone else.”

You smile, a hint of playfulness returning to your eyes. “Well, I guess I’m the last person who’d have room to judge. I did kind of … try to get you neutered.”

Oscar laughs, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Yeah, that was … a close call.”

You shake your head, still looking slightly overwhelmed but more at ease now. “I’m sorry for that, by the way. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says, smiling. “I’m just glad I got out of there before it was too late.”

There’s another pause, the awkwardness slowly fading into something more comfortable. You glance over at the clock on your nightstand, and then back at him, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“So,” you say, a teasing edge in your voice. “What’s the plan now? Are you just going to stay here or …”

Oscar’s eyes widen as he remembers his current state of undress. “Oh, uh, right. I should probably … get dressed. Do you have, like, a blanket or something?”

You laugh, your initial shock giving way to amusement. “Yeah, hold on.” You reach over to the chair by the bed, grabbing the throw blanket draped over it and tossing it to him. “Here. Cover up before I have to start charging you for the show.”

Oscar catches the blanket, wrapping it around himself as best as he can. “Thanks. Sorry about that. Not exactly how I planned on spending my morning.”

You smile, still shaking your head in disbelief. “This is definitely the weirdest morning of my life.”

“Same here,” Oscar admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, uh, now that we’ve got that out of the way … do you maybe want to grab breakfast or something? With no canned tuna this time.”

You raise an eyebrow, the playful spark back in your eyes. “Breakfast? With a shifter who accidentally ended up naked in my bed? Sounds like the start of a weird romcom.”

Oscar grins, his nerves finally settling. “Yeah, maybe. But, I mean, the offer still stands. We could … talk more. Or not talk at all. Just … eat?”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve always been more of a Ferrari girlie. But I guess I can make an exception this once.”

Oscar chuckles, his heart lightening at your teasing tone. “Well, I appreciate that. I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

You laugh, standing up and stretching, the tension finally draining from the room. “Okay, then. Breakfast it is. But you owe me a proper explanation over pancakes. I still have a lot of questions.”

“Deal,” Oscar says, standing as well, the blanket still wrapped around him. “And, uh, maybe I can borrow some clothes? Just until I get back to my place.”

You smirk, clearly amused by his predicament. “Sure. I think I have some sweatpants and a T-shirt that might fit you. They’re probably not papaya, though.”

Oscar laughs, feeling more at ease than he has in days. “That’s fine by me. I’m not picky.”

As you head off to find the clothes, Oscar takes a deep breath, letting the reality of the situation sink in. It’s definitely not how he expected this to go, but somehow, it feels right. Like maybe this bizarre turn of events was exactly what he needed.

And as he watches you rummage through your dresser, he can’t help but think that, for once, shifting back to his human form at the wrong time might have been the best mistake he’s ever made.

***

Oscar leaps onto the windowsill, his black fur sleek and gleaming in the afternoon light. He peers through the glass, watching you, seated at your desk, hunched over your textbooks. Your hair is pulled back, a pen held between your teeth as you jot down notes with a furrowed brow.

He feels a surge of affection watching you work so hard, but it’s mixed with a touch of mischief. He’s been patient all day, but now he’s had enough. It’s time for a study break, whether you want one or not.

With a graceful hop, he slips through the open window and lands silently on the floor. His tail flicks behind him as he pads softly toward you, his green eyes locked onto your focused expression. He almost feels guilty interrupting you — almost. But then again, it’s been hours since you last gave him any attention, and he’s starting to feel a bit neglected.

You don’t notice him at first, too engrossed in whatever academic puzzle you’re trying to solve. But Oscar is nothing if not persistent. He jumps onto your desk, landing squarely on your notebook, and lets out a soft, insistent meow.

Your head jerks up in surprise, your eyes widening as you take in the sight of him. “Oscar! You scared me!”

He purrs, rubbing his head against your arm, his way of saying, “Sorry, but you’ve been ignoring me.”

You sigh, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays your affection. “I’ve got a lot to do, you know. Finals are coming up.”

Oscar meows again, louder this time, before nudging your hand with his head. He can feel you wavering, your resolve crumbling as you reach out to scratch behind his ears. His purring deepens, vibrating through his small frame as he leans into your touch.

“You’re so spoiled,” you mutter, but there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “You know that, right?”

Oscar only purrs louder in response, nuzzling against your hand. He steps carefully onto your lap, circling once before settling down. You laugh softly, resigned, as you set your pen aside and lean back in your chair.

“Alright, alright. I guess I can take a break for a few minutes.”

He stretches out, making himself comfortable as you begin to pet him in earnest, your fingers trailing through his fur in long, slow strokes. It’s blissful, the way you touch him, the warmth of your hand against his back.

All thoughts of studying fade from your mind as you focus entirely on him, and Oscar relishes every second of it. This is what he’s wanted all day — to be close to you, to feel your affection without any distractions.

Minutes pass, and your strokes become slower, more languid. Oscar watches you through half-lidded eyes, sensing your fatigue. The stress of studying, of exams, is catching up with you, and he knows how much you’ve been pushing yourself lately. He nudges you with his head, encouraging you to relax even more, to let go of the tension that’s been building up.

You yawn, a deep, sleepy sound that makes him purr in satisfaction. “I think you’re a bad influence on me, Oscar,” you murmur, your voice drowsy. “I should be studying, but all I want to do is cuddle with you.”

Oscar’s purring doesn’t falter — if anything, it grows even more content. He watches as your eyelids grow heavier, your breathing slows, and your hand eventually stills against his fur. You’re falling asleep, lulled by the gentle rhythm of petting him and the comfort of his presence.

He stays perfectly still, letting you drift off completely. You deserve the rest, he thinks. You’ve been working so hard, and a little nap won’t hurt. Besides, he likes being the reason you’re able to relax like this, to forget about your worries for a while.

When he’s certain you’re fully asleep, Oscar carefully extracts himself from your lap, moving with the quiet grace of a cat. He pads over to the couch, glancing back to make sure you’re still sleeping soundly. Then, in one fluid motion, he shifts back into his human form.

Oscar sighs softly, standing by the couch for a moment as he stretches his arms over his head. It’s been a long day for him too — training, meetings, the usual demands of being a Formula 1 driver. But this is the part of his day he looks forward to the most: being with you, in this quiet, peaceful space that the two of you share.

He carefully lifts you from the chair, cradling you in his arms as he carries you to the couch. You stir slightly but don’t wake, your head resting against his chest as he settles you down on the cushions. Oscar smiles, brushing a strand of hair from your face before he stretches out beside you, pulling you close.

He wraps an arm around you, your body fitting perfectly against his. There’s something indescribably comforting about holding you like this, feeling your warmth seep into him as you sleep. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes as he allows himself to relax fully for the first time all day.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, entwined on the couch. Oscar can hear your steady breathing, feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his. It’s moments like this that make everything worth it — the races, the pressure, the endless travel. None of it compares to this simple, quiet happiness.

As he holds you, Oscar’s thoughts drift. He thinks about how much his life has changed since that day you found him in your bed, how unexpected it all was. He hadn’t planned on letting anyone in, on sharing his secret with someone else. But you … you’ve become so much more than he ever anticipated.

You’re his confidant, his partner, his best friend. And though he’s still getting used to the idea, you’re also the person he’s fallen in love with, slowly and completely. It’s a realization that both scares and excites him, because he’s never had something — or someone — this important before. Racing has always been his focus, but now, you’re a part of his life that he can’t imagine being without.

As you sleep in his arms, Oscar tightens his hold on you, a protective instinct kicking in. He’ll do anything to keep you safe, to make sure you’re happy. And if that means taking any opportunity to spend more time with you, to be there for you when you need him, then that’s what he’ll do.

You murmur something in your sleep, your body shifting slightly against his. Oscar’s heart swells with affection, and he kisses your forehead again, a silent promise that he’ll always be here for you.

Outside, the sun begins to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The world keeps turning, the demands of life waiting just outside the door. But for now, in this moment, there’s nothing else that matters. Just you, and him, and the quiet contentment of being together.

Oscar closes his eyes, letting the peace of the moment wash over him. There will be time for everything else later. For now, he’s exactly where he wants to be.

1K notes · View notes

dreamsteddie · 11 days ago

Text

There is an AITA out there that I can't find but it's been haunting me for weeks with visions of semi-angsty Steddie that I need to release onto the world. (If anyone happens to know what I'm talking about hit me up and I'll link it)

Edit: @jazzathebunny found the original AITA from Reddit linked Here for anyone who wants to read it. I'm definitely not doing exactly the same premise but this was my jumping off point 😊

Part Two! ------

Modern AU, Eddie and the guys are a moderately successful local band in the Chicago area playing gigs on the weekends and doing small tours whenever they all have the time. Gareth and Jeff are both in college while Eddie and Freak are both working part-time at a game store. Eddie managed to lock down that assistant manager position that lets him work 30 hours a week with weekends off for gigs. All in all, it's a pretty sweet deal and they can't complain.

Eddie had sworn off dating after a small handful of disastrous relationship attempts in their first year in the city. He dismisses any advances from people who attend their shows and tries not to think about how much he wants to make a genuine connection with someone and have something real. He's been burned one too many times to try and make something with someone he met in a bar or at work.

He knows the guys talk about it behind his back sometimes, he catches Jeff and Gareth fervently whispering to each other and stopping when they catch him entering the room one time too many to not suspect they're talking about him and he can't think of anything else going on in his life that they would feel the need to whisper about.

The fervent conversations take a slight uptick one day and about a week and a half after they do, Gareth hits him up and tells him he wants to set Eddie up with a guy from one of his classes. At first, Eddie is skeptical and cites all the reasons why he doesn't want to try with anyone right now but eventually, Jeff jumps in to plea the case and Freak jumps in on top of that and under the combined weight of his best friends he agrees to meet up with this Steve guy.

The guys set up the whole thing and before Eddie knows it it's Saturday night and he's wearing his best black jeans and a gray button-down, untucked, to go on an honest to God blind date like his life is some low-budget romcom.

Steve is not at all what Eddie thought he would be. Not the kind of guy he thought his friends would pick out for him given they know he usually goes for other alternatives like himself. Steve, who is shyly waving him over and getting out of his seat to great him, is the very epitome of prep. Well-fitted polo, light blue chinos, and what Eddie assumes this guy thinks are casual loafers. He's handsome to be sure, a 12/10 at least with perfect hair and defined biceps but Eddie is fairly sure he's being punked.

But, Eddie doesn't want to be rude so he goes to meet Steve at the table, confirming just in case that he's actually here to meet with a guy named Eddie. Steve gives him a bit of a confused look, saying that Gareth showed him a couple pictures of Eddie before he agreed to meet and figured he'd done the same for Eddie off Steve's Instagram. Gareth had, in fact, not done anything of the sort but they both dismiss it and get on with their date.

In all honesty, Eddie is expecting it to be a complete wash, but it turns out that even if Steve is not at all what Eddie would have previously said what his type, Steve is damn near perfect. He's funny, kind, a little bitchy, and even though he proves himself to be every bit the sports nerd he looks like he doesn't turn his nose up at Eddie's own much more classically nerdy interests. By the end of the date, Eddie has a new type and that type is Steve Harrington. He's quick to lock down a second date for the next weekend which Steve happily agrees to. They exchange numbers and Steve gives Eddie a chaste kiss on the cheek that has him floating all the way home.

Steve texted him that next morning letting him now he had a great time and is really looking forward to their next date and Eddie thinks this might be the start of something big for him. When he gets to practice he's clearly still floating on cloud nine and in his own little world designing their marriage invitations and matching tombstones so he doesn't notice the sly grins on his bandmates' faces.

"So...how'd it go last night? Everything you dreamed it would be?" Gareth asks, a strange glint in his eyes that Eddie doesn't clock.

Eddie goes on and on about how nice Steve was and how he might be The One, thanking Gareth profusely. Freak looks pleased for him, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder in congratulations but when Eddie finally tunes back into the real world he's greeted by Gareth's livid expression and Jeff's overly concerned one.

He asks the guys what the fuck is up and it turns out that Gareth and Jeff set this whole thing up as a prank of sorts. Eddie was never supposed to hit it off with Steve who Gareth selected specifically because he's a "totally brain-dead prep" and as far away as someone could get from Eddie's previous relationships. He was supposed to be someone Eddie could go on a date with and not form a connection with without getting completely burned at the end like all his previous relationships in the hopes of getting him out of his slump.

Jeff was in on it as well. He wanted to get Eddie back out there, so when Gareth presented the plan he sat in on a couple of Gareth's general credit business class sessions to help pick the guy out.

After Jeff and Gareth finish explaining he does a complete 180 and just...leaves. In any other situation, he would be raging and verbally tearing his friends a new asshole but instead, he completely disengages and walks out the garage door, ignoring his friends' shouts to come back.

He goes back home, socked and hurt and so very confused about how the hell he found himself in this position when his phone lights up.

New Message: Steve H.

Fuck.

-------

Part two coming soon??? Maybe???? We'll see.

#is this something?#idk #It's so clear in my head but it hasn't been flowing correctly #so here's this instead #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #corroded coffic #eddie munson #stranger things #dreamer speaks

1K notes · View notes

solelifauna · 22 days ago

Text

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten.

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close.

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back.

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear.

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide.

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore?

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t–”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf.

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they

1K notes · View notes

flwrkid14 · 29 days ago

Text

Tim Drake – From Vigilante to Infinite Realms Royalty

It was one of those things that Tim never imagined would happen, not in his wildest Gotham nights. But then again, dating Danny Fenton, aka Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, came with more than just the usual paranormal hijinks.

Tim was used to strange things, but being royalty? That was definitely new.

The revelation hit him one evening when Danny casually mentioned it, like he was talking about the weather.

“You know you’re technically royalty now, right?” Danny said, lounging upside down in the air like it was the most normal thing ever.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Royalty? What are you talking about?”

Danny grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, you’re dating me. And I’m the King of the Infinite Realms. So that makes you my consort… which, you know, technically makes you royalty too.”

Tim froze. “Wait—what? That’s not how this works. I didn’t sign up for—”

“Oh, but it is how it works. Welcome to ghost politics, Drake.”

And that’s when Tim realized his life just got infinitely more complicated.

Naturally, the bats found out. Because of course they did. And it spiraled into something Tim really didn’t want to deal with.

It started when he casually mentioned it during a meeting in the Batcave. He figured it wasn’t a big deal. After all, being ‘royalty’ in a ghost dimension didn’t really change anything, right?

Wrong.

Bruce didn’t even flinch. He just kept typing at the Batcomputer. “You’re dating the Ghost King, and now you’re royalty?”

“Technically, yes,” Tim said, trying not to sound too defensive.

Bruce glanced at him. “I see.”

That was all he said. But it was enough to make Tim feel like he’d just announced he was moving to the moon.

Jason, of course, immediately jumped on it. “Hold up. So you’re, like, ghost royalty now? Does that mean you get a crown or something?”

Tim shot him a glare. “No, I’m not getting a crown.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jason grinned. “Sounds like royalty to me. Next thing you know, we’re gonna be bowing to Prince Drake of the Phantom Zone.”

“It’s not the Phantom Zone, Todd.”

Damian, predictably, was furious. “This is ridiculous. You, Drake? Royalty? You are not fit for any throne, especially one in the Infinite Realms. The entire concept is absurd.”

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m not ruling anything, Damian. It’s just a title.”

“An unearned one,” Damian muttered under his breath.

Steph, on the other hand, thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Wait, wait. So if you and Danny are together for real, does that mean we have to call you ‘Your Highness’? I need to know. Are there royal ghost duties? Do you have to make decrees?”

“No. Please stop,” Tim groaned.

But the worst part? The teasing didn’t stop. Every dinner, every mission, every time Tim walked into the room, someone had something to say.

“So, Tim,” Dick said one day with a grin. “Have you started planning ghostly state visits yet? I’m sure the Justice League would love to attend a royal banquet in your honor.”

“No state visits,” Tim said through gritted teeth. “I don’t even rule anything.”

“Sure you don’t, ‘Your Ghostliness,’” Jason added with a laugh.

The bats seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world. Tim? Not so much. But he had to admit, ghost politics were no joke. He was already getting drawn into weird Infinite Realms power struggles, where ancient beings would bow to him and ghosts would whisper about “the King’s consort.”

At first, Tim tried to play it off. He didn’t need the title. He wasn’t about to walk around with a crown and robes, or start making royal proclamations. But when one of the ghost courtiers addressed him as “My Lord,” he couldn’t help but cringe.

Danny found the whole thing hilarious. “Don’t worry,” he’d say with a smirk. “You won’t have to do anything royal. It’s just… a perk.”

“Some perk,” Tim muttered.

Still, despite all the teasing and the bizarre ghostly politics, Tim knew one thing for sure: he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Dating Danny came with chaos, sure. But at the end of the day, Tim was okay with it. Even if it meant being ghost royalty.

Just… no crown. Ever.

#brain dead #dead tired #tim drake #danny phantom #dc x dp #batfam #danny fenton #danny is the king of the infinite realms #which totally makes tim royalty now #and despite what he thinks he should totally get his own crown

1K notes · View notes

tititilani · 5 months ago

Text

I can't stop thinking about if Simon had taken Edwin's offer

Like Charles finds Edwin in the hallway as ever but this time there's another boy there too, cowering against the wall next to him. Maybe the dollhead spider doesn't care about Simon, too busy focusing on its favorite target, so Charles is left standing in the hallway with Simon when Edwin is taken.

They get out of hell, but Edwin doesn't confess due to Simon hovering behind his elbow. He doesn't want to confess his emotions in front of his killer, who he probably hasn't even properly figured out how he's feeling towards yet.

The Night Nurse is pissed they came out with an extra soul but Niko's same loophole still applies and Simon stays.

"This is Simon," Edwin says when it's all said and done, finally introducing the boy that's been hiding behind him since the door closed. "He was a...classmate of mine."

"He saved me," Simon says, looking up at Edwin moony-eyed and Charles knows that look and something settles heavy in his stomach.

"Glad to have ya, mate," he tells him even though the words taste sour. This other boy knew Edwin when he was alive, the thought is slightly terrifying to him.

Simon settles in fine with the agency even if the agency feels a little crowded now with five people in it but he continues to moon over Edwin and Edwin just...never tells anyone how they actually knew each other. He reasons it just doesn't matter, that he can't find the right time, whatever.

Charles never really warms up to him, though he tries to hide it, but he sees the looks Simon gives Edwin, a soppy smitten look that is somehow worse than anything Monty or the Cat King ever tried with Edwin because of all of them, Simon arguably knows the most about like Edwardian courting. That, like Edwin, Simon has also survived hell. Charles hates the idea that someone could potentially understand Edwin more than he does.

He hates it so much that nothing further happens between him and Crystal because the idea of Edwin being left alone with Simon bothers him so much. He sees Simon adjusting Edwin's collar one (1) time and it makes him feel sick.

And then there's the fortune-teller.

They only go to her sometimes for cases because she never fails to freak Charles out but her prophecies tend to be accurate like 60% of the time which is pretty good for a fortune teller. She looks at the two of them at the end, because it is just the two of them for once, and then looks just at Edwin.

"How kind you are," she says, the words a compliment but the tone snide. "To house your killer. Pray tell it doesn't come back to you."

"What." Charles says. "The fuck."

Charles is furious, of course, and it takes Edwin a long time to talk him out of smashing Simon's face in with the new cricket bat.

"He's like me," he insists in that quiet but firm voice. Charles wants to scream that Simon is nothing like Edwin - that he doesn't have a fraction of Edwin's kindness or pissiness, that his blue eyes are not nearly as beautiful as Edwin's green - but before he can even open his mouth, Edwin continues. "He...He likes boys, Charles. He likes me."

Oh. Oh.

Charles stares at Edwin who is looking back at him, trying and failing to hide the fact he's terrified, and Charles doesn't give one shit that Edwin likes boys because he's his best mate forever. He's still pissed that Simon is apparently staying but he has to hug Edwin at that. "I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about him," is all he says, swallowing back the other words he wants to say.

Charles grows even more paranoid about Simon being around, who has to get used to the fact that Charles takes to swinging his cricket bat ominously every time he comes within ten feet of Edwin. He finds out that adjusting clothing was an Edwardian courting thing and wants to break something. The very idea the very person who killed his best mate is now trying to put the moves on said best mate pisses him off.

It also makes him think of numerous times Edwin had readjusted his collar or jacket in the past and it makes his non-existent stomach flip.

Eventually, Simon decides he's ready to move on to his after-life and Charles keeps his hands from fisting when he looks at Edwin with that same soppy look. He knows Edwin has forgiven Simon by now but Charles has always been better at holding a grudge and he knows what is going to come out of Simon's mouth before he even asks. He knows that if Edwin says yes, he won't stop him.

Charles also knows that if Edwin does, there is no way he is going to find any kind of his own afterlife.

"You could come with me," Simon says hopefully and the moment after is the longest in Charles' life.

"Thank you, Simon," Edwin says kindly and Charles has to keep himself from crying. "But I have no interest in going anywhere without Charles."

He steps back - away from Simon and back towards Charles. Ears suspiciously pink, Edwin links their hands and they watch as Simon follows the Night Nurse.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #paineland #my writing #fanfiction #i have been wanting to write this so bad #but it's like minimum 5-10k in my head and i just don't have the TIME for it #but i got hit with the idea that edwin getting courted by someone from the same era #also charles confesses first like 0.00005 seconds after simon leaves #and they smooch right after #and simon WAS actually trying to put the moves on edwin but edwin actually realizes bc he at least knows these moves #but he didn't care bc he was too busy mooning over charles and wishing he'd been able to confess on the staircase after all #dbda

2K notes · View notes

logansdoll · 3 months ago

Text

heat

part two of "cottontail"

CW: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, heavily suggestive, profanity, bunny mutation + spring = fun times, girl imma do my best, this took forever, might be a little long, etc.

As much as he hated to admit it, Logan was worried about you.

In his two-hundred years of living, he had never met someone as hot-headed and brash as you—and that was saying something. But as your you-appointed new best pal, he resigned himself to making sure you didn't piss off the wrong people.

Though it was a nice change of role, seeing as he wasn't the loose canon for once, he couldn't help but begin to grow significantly concerned for your safety.

It wasn't that you were a bad person, far from it, in fact.

Always greeting him with a sweet mornin', Logan!

Always checking up on him after missions.

Always inviting him to "sparring sessions", which would inevitably turn into you two striking up conversation about anything and everything under the sun.

Not to mention you were a humongous flirt—Jean called it being "overly friendly".

She noted that you didn't flirt with any other guys like you did him.

You always gave him those cheeky smiles that seemed to irk him to no end, and put that flirty lilt in your voice when you spoke. Not to mention the constant compliments, which would stick with him for days, sometimes weeks.

But that all stopped about a week ago.

After a day of you acting incredibly off—no jokes, no laughter, little talking—Ororo said you suddenly came down with a "spring cold", but that you'd be up and at 'em soon.

Well, soon hadn't come yet, and Logan hadn't heard anything from you in days.

A spring cold couldn't last this long...

Was it the flu? Was it something else?

And why did everyone else seem so unbothered by it?

These thoughts swam in his head every time he passed your locked door.

Until he finally had enough.

The night everyone went out for a field trip to the county fair, Logan stayed back, opting to visit your quarters with a few choice words, and a container of chicken noodle soup.

When he reached your door, he gave it a soft rap.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Only after a third—more aggressive—knock, did you finally answer.

"Yeah?" you called, your voice low and croaky.

He'd never heard you sound so defeated, and almost... pained.

It made something pang in his chest.

"That must be some cold," he quipped, attempting to play off the feeling with humor.

"Logan?" you asked, sounding shocked. "What are you... What do you want?"

"I just came to give you some soup. Jean told me it's good," he answered, glancing down at the bag in his hand. "S'been a while since I've heard from you."

He waited for a response, but when you never gave one, he began to feel stupid.

This was a mistake.

"Look, I can just leave it outside the door if you don't wanna—"

"No," you interrupted, still sounding strained. "You can come in. Just leave it on my dresser."

A little confused by your tone, he entered nonetheless, boots clicking against the hardwood.

And what he found was concerning.

Your room was a mess—furniture askew, clothes and empty water bottles discarded on the floor, a rumpled mess of sheets on the bed.

The smell in the air was thick with sweat and something else. He looked toward the king-sized bed where a heap sat hunched underneath the sheets

"(y/n)?" Logan called, brows furrowed with confusion and worry as he placed the bag on the dresser.

"Don't come over here!"

You sounded so distressed, in such discomfort.

What's going on?

Why did you sound like you were in trouble?

Ignoring your warning, he slowly stalked closer to the bed, taking slow, tentative steps—now able to hear your soft whimpers and grunts of pain.

"(y/n)?" he questioned, firmly.

You stirred, reacting to his voice, breathing raggedly as if you couldn't get any air in your lungs.

"(y/n), what the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Whatever it is, I can help."

But you turned away, the sheets shifting with you.

"You can't," you whined, "You can't."

Patience running thin, Logan stormed over and snatched the sheets off of you. And there, under the covers, he saw you with his own two eyes.

You were curled into yourself, tail significantly fluffier than he remembered, and ears droopier than he'd ever seen.

Through your thin tank top, he could see your nipples were hard and perky, the shorts you were wearing barely covering your ass cheeks.

'Goddamn...'

When you looked at him, your face flushed red, pupils dilated beyond belief as you covered your face with embarrassment.

You trembled in your skin, tail twitching with discomfort and unease.

"I told you not to come over here," you panted, curling further into yourself. "Didn't want you to see me like this..."

You winced, squeezing your thighs together tight, looking to be in complete agony.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm in heat," you sighed, the cat pretty much out of the bag. "S'cause of my mutation. I can do everything a rabbit can, and go through everything a rabbit goes through. No matter how fucking stupid."

You wiped the sweat off your forehead, your curly hair soaked in it.

"S'why I've been hiding," you explained. "I've been tryna get through this, but I just... can't!"

Now he understood.

Your absence, your uneasiness, the smell of something in the air.

You were horny.

"How long's it last?" Logan curiously asked.

"Depends. Could be a week, could be a month..."

"A month?" he stated, surprised. "Are you in pain?"

Your face screwed tight, triggering something in his core.

"Yes," you groaned, hugging yourself closer.

You looked away from him, appearing so utterly humiliated and ashamed that it pained him.

He had to help.

"What can I do?" he suggested.

You turned to him, eyes widening. "What?" you asked. "What do you—"

"I wanna help you, cottontail," he cut in, already kicking off his boots and taking off his leather jacket to reveal his sexy, white wife-beater. "So tell me what I gotta do."

You watched him, looking completely stunned and mortified, but your pussy throbbed at the sight of his outfit.

"No, no, Logan," you protested. "Y-You can't... you don't need to do this."

But he stood firm in his decision, refusing to leave you.

"I know I don't need to," he firmly responded. "I can't let you go on like this."

"It's okay..." you assured. "It'll probably be done by the end of the week. You don't—"

Before you could even finish, his hand grabbed your face, pulling you close and squeezing your cheeks, his tone demanding.

"Don't protest. Don't argue. Don't push me away... Just let me take care of you, alright?"

His gorgeous brown eyes, filled with the promises of safety and acceptance, bore into yours.

How could you deny him?

"Okay," you caved, leaning into his touch.

"Good girl," he cracked a smile, lips suddenly swooping yours up in a firm kiss.

You let out a soft, eager moan as he scooped you up in his arms, the man letting out a quiet chuckle when you squeaked, your feet dangling off the ground.

While still kissing you, he sat himself down on the bed and plopped you in his lap. His soft lips and tongue made you squirm in his lap, brushing yourself against his quickly hardening cock in his jeans.

"Can I touch your ears?" he whispered, breathless. "'N' your tail?"

Gently, his hand moved down to your ass, caressing your cotton tail. Your toes curled, your body tingling from the sensation.

"Y-Yes," you shakily replied. "Go ahead."

And when his fingers began to lightly brush and stroke your bunny ear from base to tip, you nearly had a full body orgasm, your pussy growing wetter with each pass.

"Fuck..." you gasped. "Yes, just like that..."

Logan smirked as he watched your face contort in pleasure, his ego growing with each whimper.

"Like that?" he asked, teasingly, his cock throbbing at the sound of your pitiful whine in response.

Over these past few months, he'd had countless dreams about having you just like this. And now that he was, he could say with certainty that it was far better than any fantasy.

Gently, one of his big hands slid down between your thighs to pet your pussy through your panties, while the other continued to stroke your ears.

Your mouth fell agape, pleasure coursing through you.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, tilting your head back as his fingers ghosted over your clit.

You began to shamelessly grind your pussy into his fingers, turning Logan on even more.

"Needy little thing..." he chuckled, amused. "Adorable."

Under his firm gaze and insistent fingers, you nearly came apart at the seams. But before you could, he pulled away, scooping you up with one arm, much to your surprise and arousal, and sliding himself further down the bed.

With a grin, he dropped his head into the pillows, shifting and forcing you to hover over his face.

"M'gonna taste you, now," he stated, as if it was a fact.

You whined in response, moving to grab the headboard as he pulled your panties to the side, giving your pussy a quick peck before completely dropping you on top of him.

"Logan!" you half-moaned, half-screamed, eyes blown wide with pleasure.

You tried to brace yourself, but it wasn't long before he made you a writhing, whimpering, whining mess.

"Ah, Lo, yes!" you cried. "Oh, fuck! Right fuckin' there! Right fuckin' there!"

You were loud and vocal, much to his enjoyment.

He was having the time of his life, massaging your ass and sucking your wet pussy, your juices dripping down his chin.

He even groaned and grunted into your pussy about how good you tasted, only making you wetter at seeing such a stoic man lose his shit over you.

"You want a finger, baby?" he growled, voice slightly muffled. "Talk to me. Tell me what chu want."

"Please," you whimpered. "Fuck me, Logan! Make me come!"

Logan smiled, slowly inserting one of his thick fingers into your hole while his lips gently sucked on your clit.

You nearly screamed, bawling at the pleasure.

"Oh, my God!" you sobbed. "Shit, Logan, I'm gonna... I'm gonna.."

Your orgasm slammed into you without a second thought, drawing a string of slutty moans out as you came all over Logan's tongue.

"That's my good girl," he smirked into your pussy. "So fuckin' good f'me."

Your orgasm was so strong that you began to tremble, the aftershocks taking over your body.

The release helped with the pain... but it still wasn't enough.

You needed more.

Suddenly, he took hold of your chin, staring into your eyes as if he could peer right into your head.

"Do you want more?" he asked, cockily.

Slowly, you nodded, tears pricking your eyes at how much to needed this.

"Yes, Logan," you pleaded, your arousal making you bold and unashamed in your need to be fucked. "Please give it to me. I don't care how you take me. Just please..."

That was all he needed to hear.

He gave you exactly what you wanted and more. The man fucked you, and he fucked you good. He gave your little body everything it needed to knock out those horny thoughts and relieve you of your heat.

In almost every position, too.

He fucked you in missionary while standing up, his hips pistoning into yours while your feet dangled in the air, his hands pinning your thighs apart and making you take each deep, long, slow stroke that had you seeing stars and frantically rubbing your clit watching his handsome face contort in pleasure.

He fucked you while standing up, your little body bouncing in his arms as you fucked you up and down on his cock, your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your tits pressed flush against his pecs, and your lips locked with his in a passionate, sloppy, wet kiss.

He fucked you on your side, his big body curled around yours and his cock nestled between your ass cheeks before sliding inside you again, your leg hiked up to get deeper.

He fucked you on all fours, using your ears to pull you back on his cock, your back arched and ass stinging from random spanks while he pounded into the deep, wet heat of your pussy that squeezed and griped him for dear life. When you tried to rub your clit, he smacked it away and rubbed your pussy for you.

“Uh-uh,” he growled. “No touching what’s mine. All you need to do is cum. Can my little bunny do that?”

You didn't even answer—you couldn't. But your loud moans and sobs bouncing off of your walls are all the answers Logan needs as he fucked you faster, harder, making your clit sing and pleasure zip through you.

When you felt your last orgasm of the night zip through you, you let out a broken whimper and came all over Logan's cock.

Triggered by your orgasm and sweet little sounds, Logan gripped you tighter and pounded into you without mercy, until he finally released, too.

“Oh, fuck!” he gasped, his loud groans and grunts echoing throughout the room, triggering another mini-orgasm that made your pussy quiver and drip down your thighs.

Logan came deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. He even had enough to give you on your ass, pulling out to spray your perfect cheeks with more of his seed, pumping his cock furiously behind you.

A smile stretched across your face as the aftershocks began, practically melting into the sheets.

You were sweaty, winded, soaked, tired, and covered in cum...but you’d never been more satisfied or happier in your life.

Logan finally settled down beside you, turning you over to face him. He gave you a small smile, his face hot with stray hairs sticking to his forehead.

“Better now?” he murmured, gently stroking down your back.

You wordlessly nodded, a small, tired hum leaving your lips.

“Good,” he nodded, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Get some rest.”

And just like that, you were out like a light, softly snoring into his chest, your body curled into his side.

You couldn't wait for next spring...

#james howlett #james howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #wolverine x reader #x men #x men x reader #wolverine

1K notes · View notes

sunaluv · 1 year ago

Text

'IS SHE TAKEN?'

in which someone asks your man if you're single

feat: ran, gojo

RAN

the club setting was filled with more excitement tonight. don't get it twisted, any club or event hosted by the haitanis was guaranteed to be the event of the day, good vibes, hot people, and lots of money to be made. but when one of the brothers was actually present at the club? something about their aura seemed to bring out the vibes in people.

ran's hooded gaze watched adoringly at you across the club, the setting bringing nostalgia to the first time you met. ever the social butterfly you were, accepting another phone number from one of the girlfriends you made tonight. the other members of the roundtable looked at one another, wondering if the haitani brother was even present.

"no wonder you're so distracted, boss," the man next to him nudged him with his elbow, to which ran side-eyed him. "she's a looker, d'ya think she's single?"

your boyfriend appeared neutral as he let the guy ramble on about how hot you were, and what he would do to you given the chance. he missed the harsh roll of ran's eyes. if he didn't know you were spoken for, he would make sure this guy knew by the end of the night.

as if on queue, you waved bye to your new friends and started to make your way to the table. eyes followed your figure as you passed, but that was to be expected when the prettiest girl at the club walked past.

"hey, sweetheart," his soft lips pressed against the crown of your head. "you alright?"

"i'm good! a little tired though," you let out a deep sigh, melting into his arms. "these heels have been killing me..."

wordlessly, his large hands had your ankles in his lap, undoing the buckles on your heels and rubbing tender circles into the irritated skin.

he smirked at the relieved sigh that left your lips. "my buddy here has something to ask you, sweets."

the man next to you seemed to go silent since your arrival at the table, the consequences of his actions just hitting. a deep breath followed by a gulp as he wiped his damp hands against his slacks. he almost flinched when your hooded, yet dominating gaze met his own eyes, but after remembering who and where he was, he gained his composure almost as quickly as it left.

"nah 'ts nothin'," he waved his hand. "just a passing thought, is all..."

others both around the roundtable and those dancing near it tried not to make it obvious that they were watching the exchange going down. they found themselves pitying a character who would not deserve it, under different circumstances. but, as discussed, the haitani aura seems to throw things off of balance.

if he didn't want to talk, ran would do it for him. "he wants to know if your single, claims he could give you a lay better than your man could,"

your eyes left the man, instead looking over your boyfriends face in silent communication.

'you and i both know he can't'

'...i know, my love, just humor me every once in a while?'

'you're such a character sometimes, haitani'

'you love it though'

eyes darted between you, awaiting your response, thus his sentence in anticipation. he didn't know what telepathic language you were communicating in, but he was glad to not hear his fate get discussed right in front of him.

"i'm very flattered, but i have a boyfriend, sorry." your response was dry towards him, but the gaze you held with ran was anything but.

catching wind of what was about to happen, you excused yourself from the table, leaving a kiss on the corner of rans mouth, whispering a 'be good' in his ear before leaving.

whatever happened after your departure was not your business, after all.

GOJO

"hey man," a hand belonging to an unfamiliar man clasped on satorus shoulder. "do you know if the girl you came here with has a boyfriend?"

you had dragged your boyfriend to one of your friend's parties, much to his dismay. he's sworn off drinking after geto's blackmail folder started getting a bit thick, meaning there was nothing fun to do other than socialise, but he didn't want to after people flocked to him for the wrong reasons.

so now he was maybe the only sober one in this lively scene, which leads to the current events.

he spoke your name for clarity. "uhh, I'm not sure. you can go ask her if you want. ill even put in a good word for you."

has this man been a fraction more sober, he would've questioned why the blindfolded man's smile was so wide, or why he was so willing to help, but alas, this was a party and alcohol was supplied.

"thanks, dude! you're such a lifesaver."

satoru almost felt bad for the guy. he was practically buzzing whilst traversing through the sweaty bodies in search of you. he felt bad until he remembered how bored he was before this happened, he has to put himself first sometimes.

after a couple stumbles, reroutes and a rest break, they had finally found you in your angelic beauty, laughing with a group of girls he didn't know.

he thought it was quite cute how the guy seemed to become more shy at the sight of you, and satoru couldn't blame him. had he been someone more normal, he would act the same in your presence.

one of the girls caught sight of the pair by the entry and gestured you towards them. your face softened slightly at the sight of your six-foot-something boyfriend and his... friend?

"hey toru," you smiled, before looking at the other man. "who’s this?"

satoru said nothing, slapping the guy a little too harshly on the back before stepping back. the floor was his.

"hey," he breathed out, before introducing himself. "i saw you come in with your friend earlier, and just wanted to know if you were seeing anyone?"

your heart rate picked up, but not for the reason the guy was hoping. why was gojo like this? did he enjoy seeing you suffer?

he obviously did as when you looked over your shoulder to the said man, he gave you a big, encouraging grin with both thumbs up. the audacity.

he had thrown you to the wolves and left you to fend for yourself.

"uhm..." you breathed, trying not to shatter the poor guy's heart. "i have a boyfriend, unfortunately. sorry."

"what do you mean, unfortunately!" satoru mocked you from behind the guy. "I'm a total catch, right?" he turned to the guy. "right??"

though delayed, the guy had finally come to the realisation he had been punked by the man who egged him on the whole time. his face burst into a deep shade of red, apologising profusely before rushing back into the crowd.

"you're such an ass, gojo."

"the last name huh?" he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm in for it arent i?"

#tokyo revengers x reader #jjk x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tr x reader #haitani ran imagines #ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran x reader #tokyo revengers headcannons #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen #tokyo rev drabbles #tokyo revengers imagine

5K notes · View notes

mayakern · 9 days ago

Text

I honestly don’t know how to write this; I have spent all week attempting to figure out what to say.

Last Monday I was informed by our factory that our merchandiser and direct point of contact with the factory passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago. She was someone who I have spent a great deal of time speaking to ever since we switched factories two years ago. She helped us realize designs for new products, sent us samples of garments extremely quickly and kept track of all our orders. She went to bat for us if something went wrong with our print shop or if I was unhappy with how a garment pattern was interpreted by their team. As their first American client and a brand that focuses on size inclusion, something that is not typical of their other clients, she handled a lot of crazy requests from us without blinking and she was dedicated to ensuring that both us and our customers were happy. We talked nearly every day, and though it was work related she was one of the kindest people I have had the pleasure interacting with daily.

She was beyond dedicated to her work and to working with us. Turkey has an 11-hour time difference from me in California, which means when she was emailing me at 2pm in the afternoon it was 1am there. You can sure bet that I extended her the same courtesy and tried my best to answer her emails at night too, even when I would rather just be sleeping.

It was also clear just how much she loved her job, and now much she loved you guys. She had been silently watching our social media since we first started working with them. She got just as excited as we did on launch days and would often email me unprompted about how she was glad people were leaving such positive comments and reviews. She read your feedback when no one ever asked her to do that or even expected it of her. She did it because she really, really cared.

Even though she was miles away and we never met in person, she was like a coworker to me and the loss of her is like losing someone on our team.

The Maya Kern team, as a whole, has been dealing with a lot lately. I personally just moved (which took far longer than we expected) and Maya and Devin are gearing up to move back to Minneapolis pretty soon. With the loss of our merchandizer, it has taken the wind out of my sails a little bit. I was trying to push through, even though I am exhausted, and carry out the photo shoot for our new products this weekend, but it has become clear that my body just can’t handle it. My arthritis has finally told me to stop moving, so unfortunately, we are going to have to reschedule the shoot for later on.

We are doing everything we can to make sure our next product drop on the 21st still happens. But as of right now, due to this sudden loss, the garments haven’t even shipped from the factory yet and I am not optimistic that they will clear customs and get checked into the fulfillment center in time for the launch. This means the drop is likely going to be pushed back to December 5th and instead of a full photo shoot, we will probably have to settle for taking quick photos of everyone at home, and likely with our phones.

We work really hard to deliver not just garments we believe in, but also pictures of said garments on bodies that our customers can relate to, and unfortunately I just do not think that is possible this time. As always, we really appreciate your patience and understanding during what has been a very difficult time for us.

Ash

Chief Operations Officer

#store #ash used substitute

968 notes · View notes

reidrum · 5 months ago

Text

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid headcanon #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fanfiction

2K notes · View notes