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spencersmopbucket · 1 month ago

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Polar Opposites | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: When you joined the team, it was very evident to the others that you and Spencer may not get along the best. You were water and he was oil — but when working on a team, the repelling can be dangerous. Themes & Warnings: Ummm violence, hurt/comfort with Reid!, enemies to lovers

You were raised in New York. Alone. No siblings or mother.

Learning independence was quick for you. By the time you were eight, you were walking yourself to school, a keychain with the apartment key and a bottle of pepper spray dangling from it. You were tough, bull-headed, but not completely absent of warmth.

Your father was a good man. A strong one. He was on the NYPD, a conductor of justice, yet a fair one. You idolized him, even when he came home with blood on his knuckles and exhaustion in his bones. You learned early that justice wasn't always clean, and rarely kind.

You quickly learned from him.

When you were old enough, he put you into self defense classes. It wasn't much of a surprise to him that you immediately excelled.

He watched proudly as you took down grown men twice your size in the ring, never once hesitating. “You fight like your mother,” he told you once. You didn’t remember her, not really, but something about the way he said it made your chest swell.

You lived by his rules. Protect others. Never back down. Trust your gut, even when it got you in trouble.

By the time you were a teenager, you were patrolling with a police scanner on in the background of your homework, studying both algebra and 10-codes. While other girls wore lip gloss and whispered about boys, you were memorizing the NY penal code and learning how to hold a Glock.

As soon as you could, you joined your father on the force. Not quite where he was. He was pretty far up. But you made him proud, which is all you wanted.

Every commendation, every collar, every time you kept your cool when things went sideways — he’d clap a firm hand on your shoulder and say, “That’s my girl.” And that was enough. It had always been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

The night he didn’t come home changed everything.

You were the one who got the call. Not the captain. Not some rookie liaison. You. Because you were his emergency contact. Because they knew you’d want to hear it straight, from the mouth of someone who cared.

Officer down. Ambush. Three men. Two with priors, one on a vendetta. He died fighting, they said. Died protecting his partner.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t speak for almost twenty-four hours.

Instead, you scrubbed his blood out of his badge chain, boxed up his medals, and sat for hours in his worn recliner with your service pistol in your lap, staring into nothing.

The grief didn’t crush you. It carved you.

By the time you left the NYPD, you weren’t the same person. And maybe that was the point. You needed something new. Somewhere that didn’t hold his shadow in every alley, every precinct, every call sign on the radio.

The BAU wasn’t your first choice. Behavioral analysis wasn’t your strength. You didn’t have three PhDs or a mind built for chess moves and statistics. But they recruited you anyway. Hotch said your field instincts were unmatched, that you had a gut that couldn't be taught.

You were strong. Your suffering had hardened you into a diamond. But you did have a flaw. Sometimes, you rushed into things without strategy, relying on strength and impulse. You were more physically lead than others on the team, opting for the take-down rather than the talk-down.

This was what made you so different from the team's boy genius, Spencer Reid.

He wasn't the softest anymore himself. He was hardened by his abduction by Tobias Hankel, his drug addiction, his prison time, the loss of his first lover. But he didn't let it change him completely. He was still warm, like he'd been before. Still sweet. And he still did his job the same; in the same calculating, analyzing Reid way. He was more logic based than aggression based.

And that’s where you clashed.

Where you were storm and instinct, Spencer was method and measure. He needed answers before action. You needed action before the body count climbed. He quoted psychological journals; you trusted a gut that had never failed you. It was oil and water from the very beginning.

The team noticed it immediately — the sharp way you challenged his statistics, the way his mouth drew tight every time you went off-book, the way both of you refused to yield. Rossi called it "professional tension." Morgan called it "foreplay." Hotch just warned you both not to let it interfere in the field.

Of course, it did anyway.

It had been a difficult case.

A serial killer, targeting women, as was typical. It was a sensitive situation, requiring delicate action and careful steps.

The investigation went fine — smooth actually. It was easy enough to profile and find the man, but the hostage situation needed to be handled much softer.

He was holding a young woman in a cage, down below his house in a bunker. You, Reid, Prentiss, and Morgan were sent to do the confrontation.

The four of you approached the property quietly. The woods surrounding the cabin were thick and silent, the late afternoon sun bleeding orange through the trees. Reid had his tablet out, blueprints of the house and rough sketches of the underground bunker on display. You barely glanced at it.

“We can’t spook him,” Prentiss said, voice low. “If he thinks he’s cornered—”

“He might kill her,” Reid finished grimly. “He’s already escalated twice. He’s unpredictable under pressure.”

That was Spencer’s way — anticipate the worst, measure every variable. Your jaw clenched.

“Then we don’t give him time to react,” you said, cocking your weapon. “He’s not expecting a full team yet. We move fast, controlled. Get in, get her out.”

Spencer’s head shot up. “No. We stick to the protocol. We make contact, distract him, and—”

“There is no protocol for a man holding a girl in a fucking cage, Reid.”

Your voice was sharper than it needed to be, but you didn’t care. The thought of that girl locked up like an animal made your skin crawl. Every second wasted was another scar, another trauma she’d carry forever.

“Exactly. Which is why we don’t risk charging in blind,” he snapped back, stepping in front of you. “You go in there guns blazing and he could slit her throat before you even get your second step down that ladder.”

Morgan’s hand landed on your shoulder, a warning. “Both of you — not the time.”

But you weren’t done.

“Then what? We just talk to him? Offer him therapy? Hope he suddenly sees the light?”

Reid’s eyes blazed. “No. But we don’t rush in and make it worse. You want to save her? Then don’t be the reason she dies.”

It hit harder than you expected. Maybe because deep down, you knew he was right. Maybe because you hated being wrong in front of him.

The plan went Spencer’s way. At first.

You reached them. The man was sweaty, eyes wild. The girl moaned quietly in front of him, wrestling around in the heavy chains she was bound by.

Reid and Prentiss attempted a talk-down.

The unsub paced behind the girl like a panicked animal, holding a long hunting knife inches from her throat. His eyes flicked between Prentiss and Reid, twitchy and erratic, the delusion already thick in the air.

“I didn’t hurt her!” he barked. “I fed her, didn’t I?! She’s mine now — I chose her!”

You could practically feel the tension radiating off Spencer. He stood just a step in front of Prentiss, hands raised, calm as ever — but you knew him well enough to see the strain in his jaw, the slight tremble in his fingers.

“You’re not in trouble,” Spencer said gently, voice even. “You’ve been through a lot. No one wants to hurt you, we just want to help her. Let her go. We can talk, just you and me.”

The unsub twitched. “She loves me,” he muttered, jabbing the blade toward the girl’s collarbone. She whimpered again, and your own hand inched toward your holster.

“Reid,” you said quietly. A warning.

But he held up one hand. Not yet.

“You’re right,” he said to the unsub. “You did choose her. You saw something in her. That’s important. That means you care about her, right?”

The man’s breathing hitched — confused. Hopeful.

Then it happened.

She whimpered again — too loud. Too broken. Something in her tone must have snapped the illusion in his head. Because suddenly he screamed, pulled her tighter, and raised the knife.

You moved before anyone else could.

Gun drawn, aim steady, you crossed the space in two steps and tackled him. Your shoulder collided with his ribs, knocking him clean off the girl. You wrestled the knife from his hand and had him on the ground in seconds, arm wrenched behind his back.

You barely heard the girl sobbing as Prentiss rushed to her side. Barely heard Morgan’s footsteps pounding down the stairs. All you could hear was the pounding of your own pulse.

“God damn it,” Reid muttered from behind you. Not angry. Not even frustrated.

Worried.

The rest was a blur.

Back at the precinct, the girl had been taken to the hospital. The unsub was in custody. Everyone was safe.

But Spencer didn’t say a word to you until you were alone.

The motel hallway was dim and quiet, carpet patterned with decades of wear. You turned when you heard his door click shut behind him.

“You weren’t supposed to go in,” he said. Quiet. Low.

You crossed your arms. “And if I hadn’t, she might be dead.”

“She might be,” he agreed. “Or you might be. We all might've been. You can’t keep putting yourself in the line like that without thinking. You don’t get to be the only one who carries the risk. Not to mention what risk it puts on the other teammates.”

You blinked. Something about the way he said it — like you'd selfishly put everyone in danger.

Your eyes narrowed.

"How come you're always shitting on my busts, Reid? You ever think that one of these times, you might wait too long and get someone killed?"

He swallowed, his face tightening.

"Don't turn this around on me. You continuously stray from protocol like you're above the rest of us. If you just followed directions, I wouldn't have to complain."

You felt the flare of heat in your chest — insult, frustration, maybe even guilt. But underneath all of it, something deeper: hurt.

"Above the rest of you?" you repeated, voice low. Dangerous. "Is that really what you think of me?"

Reid held your stare, but there was a flicker of regret in his eyes now. He hadn’t meant to cut that deep. Or maybe he had. Maybe it had built up between you for so long, he hadn’t realized the blade was that sharp.

“I think you act like you don’t need us,” he said. “Like you don’t trust anyone but yourself. And in this job, that’s not just frustrating, it’s fatal.”

You laughed once, dryly. “Well, maybe I don’t trust anyone else. Maybe I learned a long time ago that trust doesn’t keep you alive.”

That landed. His expression cracked. Because if there was one thing Spencer Reid understood, it was the cost of trusting the wrong people. Or worse, not trusting the right ones until it was too late.

"You need to ease up. Trusting someone besides yourself might keep you alive one day," He hissed, leaning into your face. "You act like a stubborn, impulsive fool."

You scoffed, a snide smirk curling onto your face.

"That's better than constant fear and anxiety. I'd rather be too quick than too slow, Reid," your cold voice biting into him. "You're so busy tucking back into your turtle shell that you don't realize how much time you waste being afraid."

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something fierce igniting behind the calm intellect you knew so well.

“Being cautious doesn’t mean I’m afraid,” he snapped back, voice low but sharp. “It means I’m trying to think. Something you never do until after the damage is done.”

You stepped closer, your breath mingling with his in the tight hallway. “Yeah, well maybe it’s better to act first and think later than to be paralyzed by what-ifs. At least I move.”

You stood face to face, a silent snarl shared between the two of you. Spencer took another breath to snap back, but you were interrupted.

"Guys. Enough. The jet is about to take off." Prentiss said, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged her off, slinging your bag over it instead.

"It's cool. I was done being questioned about my successful take-down anyways." You muttered, walking away.

Spencer watched you go, the frustration still simmering beneath his calm exterior. His jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on him. He wanted to say more; to tell you that beneath his caution was a desperate hope you’d be safe, that he cared more than he knew how to show.

But for now, he let the silence stretch, knowing this was just one battle in a longer war between you. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way to bridge the gap, if only you’d both lower your guards.

The jet ride was tense. You didn't even look at Spencer, opting to pretend he wasn't there. He couldn't help but glance at you, the brooding look always on your face no different than usual. He sighed, returning to his book.

Back at the office, you shoved your go-bag back into your locker. The photo of your father glinted at you, stuck to the back of the door. You knew what he would've said.

You traced the edges of the photo with a tired finger, the worn image of your father — a man who’d always been your anchor in chaos — reminding you of the rules he drilled into you:

"Protect others."

"Never back down."

"Trust your gut."

"I'm so proud of you, kid."

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, the weight of those words settling deep inside you. You’d carried his lessons like armor all these years — tough, unyielding, sometimes too sharp to wield without cutting yourself.

You stared at his image for a few more seconds, before turning away.

You jumped. Morgan, standing behind you.

"Jesus." You said, taking a deep breath. "Don't sneak up on me like that, dude."

Morgan chuckled, his usual easy grin softening the tension in the room. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

He glanced at the photo taped inside your locker. “Your old man sounds like a hell of a guy.”

You nodded, voice quieter now. “He was. Still is… in a way.”

Morgan leaned against the lockers, folding his arms. “You know, you don’t always have to carry all that weight alone. Not here. Not with us.”

You met his eyes, the sincerity there catching you off guard. For a moment, the walls you’d built felt a little less necessary.

"... Thank you."

Morgan nodded, leaning against the lockers.

"I heard you and Reid had a little spat in the hotel earlier."

You rolled your eyes, grumbling. Of course, Prentiss would've squealed.

Morgan’s grin widened, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, I heard. Something about Spencer getting a little too in your space?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “He’s got a knack for pushing buttons. Doesn’t know when to quit.”

Morgan shook his head, chuckling low. “That guy’s all brain and nerves. Sometimes he forgets there’s a person behind all that genius.”

You glanced away, feeling a mix of irritation and something softer beneath it. “I get it, but I’m not exactly easy to handle either.”

He leaned against the locker beside yours, eyes steady. “Look, I get it. You did what you had to do back there. You saved that girl.”

Your jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

Morgan shook his head. “No, I’m saying I see it. You’re a damn good agent. One of the best. But sometimes being the best means knowing when to slow down.”

You scoffed, bitterness creeping into your voice. “Slowing down gets people killed.”

Morgan didn’t flinch. “It’s not about slowing down all the time. It’s about picking your moments. You got guts, no doubt. But guts without control? That’s a problem.”

You finally met his gaze, raw and honest. “So what am I supposed to do, Morgan? Wait around for the bad guy to slit her throat? Let the clock run out?”

He studied you for a beat, then responded slowly. “No. But you gotta trust the team. Not just yourself. We got your six. We all do. Even Reid. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

You swallowed hard. The weight of his words settled in your chest. It was easier said than done. You were used to standing on your own — had been for as long as you could remember.

Morgan clapped a hand on your shoulder, solid and reassuring. “Your dad taught you to protect others, right?”

Your eyes flickered to the photo taped inside your locker, the man who was everything steady in your world.

Morgan smiled softly. “Yeah. And that means sometimes you gotta step back, watch the angles, think a few moves ahead. That’s how you protect the team and yourself.”

The tension between you seemed to ease, just a little. You weren’t used to advice that didn’t come with judgment, but this was different. It was real.

Morgan gave you a wink. “You’re a hell of a cop. Don’t forget, sometimes the smartest move is patience. Not just power.”

You nodded, the edges of your defenses softening just enough for a flicker of respect. “Thanks, Morgan. I’ll try.”

“Try?” He grinned. “No try. You’ll do it.”

You smirked back. “Yeah? You confident in me?”

“Hell yeah. Just gotta let the team catch up sometimes. And don't forget,” he said, nudging your shoulder. "We could all learn some things from you too. Even Reid, when he decides to get his head out of his ass."

You snickered, rolling your eyes and turning back to your locker, shutting it.

“Thanks for the reality check.”

“Anytime,” he said, before turning and walking away, leaving you with something you didn’t realize you needed — a little hope.

The next case came quickly. You almost weren't ready for it.

Your headphones blared into your ears as you trained in the sparring room, sweating as you bounced around a punching bag. Your gloves squeaked with every moment you made, punching into the bag with preciseness and toughness.

Your phone rang.

You yanked a glove off with your teeth and fumbled for your phone, the sweat on your fingers making it harder to swipe. The name on the screen — Hotch — made your stomach tighten. You were still riding the edge of your last conversation with Morgan, and now, here came another case.

“Yeah?” you answered, a little breathless.

Hotch’s voice was calm, clipped. “Briefing room. Twenty minutes.”

You wiped your brow with the back of your forearm. “Copy that.”

He hung up without another word.

You stood there for a beat, the bass of your music still thumping in one ear. The punching bag rocked gently beside you, evidence of your focused aggression. But the tension in your shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, it pulled tighter.

Another case. Another town. Another family ruined. You loved this job but sometimes, it felt like it never let you breathe.

With a grunt, you unwrapped your gloves, tossing them in your gym bag. As you pulled your hoodie over your damp sports bra and headed for the showers, Morgan’s words echoed back in your head:

“Sometimes the smartest move is patience. Not just power.”

You smirked faintly to yourself, voice muttering under your breath, “Yeah, well... I hope patience works on serial killers too.”

You had no idea what you were walking into, but you knew this much: you'd face it head-on.

Just like always.

You pulled your work clothes on quickly and headed for the bullpen, tossing your hair into a ponytail.

The rest of the team was already there, relieved to see you walk in.

"Sorry. I was training." You said quietly, joining them at the table.

Hotch gave you a nod — his version of “no problem.” Reid glanced up from the file in his hands, his eyes catching yours for a moment before flicking back down. You weren’t sure what that look meant, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Victim number three was found this morning,” Hotch began, passing a photo across the table. “Female, early thirties. Same MO. Ligature marks, posed postmortem, and a red ribbon tied around the wrist.”

You leaned forward, studying the image. “Same as the others. No signs of forced entry?”

JJ shook her head. “Nothing. It’s like they let the killer in willingly.”

You crossed your arms, thoughts already sharpening like blades. “So he’s charming, disarming. Makes them feel safe… until he doesn’t.”

Morgan pointed at the map. “All victims lived alone, all in a five-mile radius. He’s hunting in a comfort zone.”

Spencer cleared his throat, hesitant but determined. “Geographical profiling supports that. He’s probably familiar with the area -- might even live or work nearby.”

You glanced at him again, this time holding the look for a second longer. “Then we start knocking on doors.”

Prentiss gave a wry smile. “I like it when you get fired up.”

You shrugged, grabbing a file. “Better than sitting on our hands.”

Hotch raised a brow. “Let’s keep it focused. Morgan, you and (Y/N) check in with local businesses. Reid, JJ, and Prentiss, canvass the neighborhood. I’ll coordinate with local PD.”

You nodded.

"I know that PD pretty well. My dad and I worked with them for a couple of years. I'll pitch in with the communications."

Hotch gave a curt nod, clearly appreciating the initiative. “Good. Familiarity could speed things up. Just make sure they loop everything back to me.”

You gave him a short, respectful salute. “You got it, boss.”

Morgan shot you a quick grin as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “You sure you’re not trying to take Hotch’s job?”

You smirked. “Please. I’d make a terrible brooding authority figure.”

Hotch didn’t even look up from the map he was marking. “I’m standing right here.”

You and Morgan exchanged a glance, both biting back laughter.

As the team filed out, Reid hesitated at the edge of the room. He glanced at you, like he wanted to say something, but then just gave a slight nod and walked away with JJ and Prentiss.

Your eyes lingered on his back for a second before you turned and fell into step beside Morgan.

“So,” he said as you headed for the SUV, “you and local PD go way back?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My dad and I used to consult on cases when I was younger. He was training me even before I joined the Bureau. Some of those officers were practically family for a while.”

Morgan nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a thoughtful smile. “That explains a lot.”

“What does?”

“You move like someone who’s been doing this their whole life. It’s in your blood.”

You paused at the passenger door, his words landing heavier than he probably intended.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It is.”

Morgan didn’t push. He just clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Then let’s go show ‘em how it’s done.”

You gave him a small smile. “Hell yeah.”

You slid into the seat, heart steadier than it had been in days. Maybe the next few hours would be hell. Maybe this case would crack something raw in you. But with Morgan’s support at your side and your father’s instincts still pulsing through your veins, you weren’t going in blind.

You were ready to hunt.

No sooner had you and Morgan hit the pavement than the scent of tension in the air thickened, like something dark had just passed through and left its mark. The PD station felt different now than it did when you were younger. Familiar faces looked more worn, more guarded.

“Agent (L/N),” one of the lieutenants greeted you with a surprised smile. “Heard you were coming in. Damn, you look more and more like your old man every time I see you.”

You gave him a short nod, your voice quiet. “Thanks, Lieutenant. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

Morgan stood back slightly, letting you take the lead. He watched as you moved through the room with purpose; calm, steady, authoritative in your own way. You weren’t trying to be your father, but his legacy lingered around you like armor.

“We’ve already pulled security cam footage from nearby businesses,” the lieutenant explained. “We can have it queued up for you in five.”

“Perfect. Let’s get started.”

Morgan leaned over to you as they set things up in the back room. “You’ve got them listening to you like you’re already in charge.”

You gave a tired shrug. “My dad never tolerated anyone doing half a job. I guess that stuck.”

He studied your face for a moment — sharp, focused, a little worn around the eyes. Then he said, “You know, you don’t always have to be the one holding it all together.”

You glanced at him, surprised.

“You said that already,” you reminded him.

He shrugged. “You didn’t listen the first time.”

You laughed under your breath, but your eyes softened. “I’m listening now.”

Before either of you could say more, an officer called you over. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

The footage was grainy but clear enough: a figure pacing outside a bakery at midnight. Twitchy. Darting glances. Then dragging something — someone — down an alley.

Morgan muttered under his breath. “Looks like our guy.”

Your expression shifted instantly. Calm became alert. You pointed to the timestamp. “That’s two hours before the last body was found. He was still escalating.”

The lieutenant nodded grimly. “He’s getting bolder.”

Morgan stepped beside you, already scanning the angle, escape routes, signage. “What do you want to do?”

You took a breath, already forming a plan.

“We start there,” you said, pointing to the alley. “We follow the trail. And this time, we end it before he escalates again.”

Morgan gave a sharp nod. “Now that’s the kind of leadership I can get behind.”

You smirked faintly. “Don’t get used to it.”

He grinned back. “Too late.”

You quickly phoned the rest of the team, getting them in on it. It was decided.

You'd be bait — the youngest on the team. The prettiest, Prentiss had claimed. But it would take something you weren't exactly versed in.

Patience. Calculation. Thought before decision.

You, of course, had too look like less than an agent. That night, you had to get prepared, dressing down from your usual slacks and dress shirt and opting for a more.. casual.. look.

Garcia, JJ, and Prentiss just couldn't wait to get their hands on you. It was a once in a life time opportunity.

You barely made it into the hotel room before the ambush.

“There she is!” Prentiss announced, arms crossed with a smug grin. JJ was already holding up two hangers, each with an outfit. Garcia was seated cross-legged on the bed with a massive makeup bag splayed open in front of her like a battlefield.

You blinked. “Did you guys.. Were you waiting for me?”

JJ smirked. “Garcia brought supplies.”

Garcia didn’t even look up. “Sweet cheeks, I have been dreaming of this day since you joined the team. And now… finally…” She lifted a compact like a weapon forged in heaven. “The day has come.”

“This isn’t a makeover montage,” you muttered.

“Oh, but it is,” Prentiss said, grabbing your wrist and tugging you into the middle of the room. “You’re going undercover as vulnerable, off-duty eye candy. We’re making sure you sell it.”

“Guys,” you sighed. “This isn’t Clueless. I’m bait for a serial killer, not a Tinder date.”

“Exactly,” JJ said, tossing a pair of stockings onto the bed. “So you need to look like someone who doesn’t know she’s being watched. Not like someone who could break someone’s nose with two fingers.”

The scene was a bar. Wasting some time inside of it, sipping on a few prop drinks all alone, before stumbling out into the alley where he'd most likely take his chances on you.

You had to look the part. The mysterious, lonely temptress who would go quietly if grabbed.

You were forced into a short, red dress, one that hugged your curves and showed off the length of your smooth legs. Your hair was curled, natural makeup on your already pretty face.

You were gorgeous. Not that you weren't usually. But this was much different than your slick-back ponytail and business only outfit, a gun hanging from your holster.

Garcia let out a dramatic gasp when you stepped out of the bathroom.

“Oh. My. God.” she breathed, eyes widening. “You’re not just bait, you're irresistible temptation. Marry me.”

Prentiss gave a low whistle. “Remind me to never stand next to you in public again.”

JJ smirked. “He won’t stand a chance. Poor bastard.”

You tugged at the hem of the red dress, fidgeting. It was shorter than anything you usually wore. Hell, it was shorter than anything Garcia usually wore. “I feel like a walking target.”

“That’s the point,” Prentiss said, coming up behind you to fix a loose curl. “But don’t forget. You’re still the most dangerous one in the room.”

Garcia handed you a tiny clutch with your wire and phone inside. “And just in case he gets any ideas before the alley, Reid and Morgan will be watching from the bar. Hotch and I are set up in the surveillance van. You’re never alone.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror again. It was surreal, like staring at a version of yourself that only existed in smoke and mirrors. A version soft enough to lure in a killer. A version smart enough to trap him.

You took a breath. Deep. Steady.

“I can do this,” you muttered.

“You will do this,” JJ corrected firmly, her voice resolute. “And when you bring this guy down, I want my red dress back.”

You laughed softly, the nerves settling into something colder, more useful. “You got it.”

As the three women saw you off, Prentiss stopped you with a hand on your arm. “Hey. You’re more than bait. You’re the one drawing him out. That makes you the one in control.”

You stepped outside, meeting Morgan and Reid at the undercover vehicle, a sleek black SUV. They stood talking by the passenger's door, only noticing you approaching when you got close.

Morgan was the first to look up; and his reaction was immediate.

His brows rose, a low whistle slipping out as he took in your appearance. “Damn. Remind me what we’re trying to catch again? Because I think you just stunned me.”

Reid, less composed, blinked rapidly. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Y-You, uh, wow. You look…” His brain clearly short-circuited.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Careful, boys. I’m armed.”

Morgan laughed, clapping Reid on the back as if to snap him out of his stupor. “You good, pretty boy? Need a second to reboot?”

Reid cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and very intentionally looking at the SUV instead of you. “I’m fine. Let's move out.”

Without another word, Reid hopped into the car, leaving you and Derek in silence. You rolled your eyes as Derek opened the door to let you get in.

Morgan held the door open with a crooked grin. “You know, I’ve seen you break a man’s nose with the butt of your Glock… but somehow, this might be the most dangerous I’ve ever seen you.”

You scoffed, climbing into the SUV. “Save it for Garcia.”

In a few short minutes, you were at your destination. You got out, securing the wire into a hidden place as Reid and Morgan looked around. You tossed your curls behind your shoulder and cleared your throat.

"Alright. In the bar for fifteen minutes, twenty at most. If he approaches you, play coy. If he doesn't, we still have a chance to lure him in the back alley," Morgan explained, securing his own wire and tucking his gun. "We're more likely to see him out there. He's struck in that area quite a few times."

You nodded.

"Don't be afraid. We'll be right there with you, just at a distance. If you're ever too uncomfortable to stand it, call for us."

You made a gesture of agreement to Morgan before finally glancing at Reid, who cleared his throat.

"Just.. Don't jump the gun." He said. He somewhat failed to keep the entitlement in his voice. You wondered what was plaguing him, but nonetheless, you ignored it, rolling your eyes.

"I got it, Reid. Don't worry. Your teachings will be on my psyche the whole time."

Reid’s jaw ticked slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your response but unwilling to push further — at least not in front of Morgan.

Morgan, on the other hand, was watching the two of you like he was sitting court-side. “Alright, kids,” he said, breaking the tension with a raised brow. “Let’s not make this a pissing contest. We’ve got a predator to catch, not egos to babysit.”

You smirked, giving Morgan a thumbs up as you reached for the bar door. But before you could step out, Reid finally spoke again, softer this time, less sharp.

“Just… be careful. Please.”

You paused, turning slightly to look at him. There it was. Underneath all the attitude and irritation — the worry. The fear. The unspoken something that had been simmering between you both since that stupid hotel argument.

You gave a nod. “I will.”

And then you stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement, shoulders square, mask slipping into place.

You weren’t the agent now. You were the bait.

For a while, it was dead.

You sat at the bar, sipping on a "vodka soda," looking around. You tried your best to keep your emotions off from your face, opting for a more bored look. Your legs were crossed. People filtered in, people filtered out. The music changed. Drinks were poured, people surrounded you. A few approached, but not the one you needed.

You checked the time subtly, tilting your wrist just enough to catch the glint of the watch Garcia had modified for comms. Seventeen minutes. A little longer than planned, but not enough to call it yet. You could feel their eyes on you, Morgan’s and Reid’s from their respective vantage points, watching every shift of your posture like hawks.

The bartop was sticky, the lighting dim, casting sultry shadows that you knew looked calculated from afar. You took another slow sip, letting your eyes drift across the room again. A man at the end of the bar caught your gaze, held it for a beat too long.

But he turned away. Not him.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your glass, nails clicking in a slow rhythm.

Patience. Not just power.

You breathed out through your nose, subtle and quiet. You could play this game.

Just when your boredom began to feel a little too real, movement in your periphery made your eyes flick. A man near the jukebox — tall, late 30s, scruffy beard, not quite drunk but deliberately slow in his movements. Alone. Observing. Not playing music.

He looked at you.

You tilted your head slightly, uncrossing and recrossing your legs. Deliberate. Casual. Vulnerable.

He didn’t move.

But now you knew.

That was him.

And he was watching.

You cleared your throat, turning away and looking disinterested, until you felt his presence get closer and closer. Then, he was right beside you.

"Out here all alone?"

You didn’t look at him right away. You let the question hang for a beat, took a slow sip of your drink, kept your eyes ahead like someone unsure whether to entertain the voice or pretend they hadn’t heard it.

Then you turned, just a little. Just enough for your lashes to lift slowly, eyes finding his. Soft. Unassuming.

You gave a half-smile. “Depends who’s asking.”

He chuckled lowly, like he’d practiced it. Like he wanted it to sound charming but didn’t quite have the tone right. “Just someone who hates to see a pretty girl looking so bored.”

You glanced around the room lazily, then back at him. “Well. Not exactly a thrilling place to be alone.”

His eyes scanned you too thoroughly. It made your skin crawl, but you didn’t flinch.

He leaned on the bar beside you. “Maybe I could change that.”

You shifted, letting your knee graze his thigh — accidentally, on purpose. “Maybe you could.”

From the comms in your ear, you could barely catch Morgan’s low voice: “He’s on her. Stay ready.”

You gave the stranger one last smile before looking down into your glass. “Buy me a refill?”

He motioned to the bartender. “Vodka soda, right?”

You nodded. “Good memory.”

He grinned, and that time it reached his eyes. Just a flash. Something darker.

Bingo.

Your heart kicked up. But your face never betrayed it. You leaned in, just slightly, pretending to laugh at something he hadn’t said.

You held a conversation easily, as if you'd been doing this forever. You barely nursed your drink, immersing yourself into fooling him more than anything else. You crossed your fingers.

And soon, it came. The question you needed.

"You wanna get out of here?" He asked gruffly, a hand coming up to stroke your exposed collar bone. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to snap his arm, slam him to the floor and cuff him immediately.

But you thought about what Spencer had said.

Contemplation. Patience. The art of being cautious. It was just as useful as the fire you usually lit onto anyone you apprehended.

You took a slow breath through your nose, keeping your smile soft, a little shy. You let your eyes flick down, like you were considering it. Like you hadn’t just felt bile rise in your throat at the weight of his hand.

This was the moment. The danger curled just beneath your skin, thrumming like a second pulse.

“Yeah,” you said, voice a little breathier, like nerves. “I could use some air.”

He smiled — victory, hunger, maybe both — and slid off his stool, his hand brushing down your arm as if he had the right.

Morgan’s voice was calm but firm in your earpiece. “She’s moving. Everyone hold position. Reid, keep visual.”

You followed him toward the door, a little slower than necessary, stumbling just enough to play into it. “Sorry,” you muttered with a nervous laugh. “Maybe I had one too many.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding the door open. “I’ll take care of you.”

The night hit you like a slap of reality — cold, quiet, real. Your heels clicked against pavement as he guided you down the sidewalk, toward the alley behind the bar.

Your breath hitched. Not from fear. From instinct. The part of you that was still an agent. Still ready to fight, to break him, to stop this before he could touch another woman.

But you stayed in character. You stayed the part.

“Reid,” Morgan’s voice came again. “Do you have eyes?”

There was a long beat before Spencer replied, voice low, strained. “Yes. He’s guiding her down the alley. Don’t move yet.”

You felt it in his voice. You'd felt it since your argument. The tension. The fear. The anticipation. There was something different about the way Reid talked to you, talked about you, ever since your moment in the hotel.

You turned to the man, letting yourself wobble just enough, brushing against him like you needed balance. His hand found your waist too easily.

“You okay?” he asked.

You gave him a soft laugh. “Yeah. Just… a little dizzy.”

“Don’t worry.” His grip tightened. “I’ve got you.”

And then, just like that, he started to lead you into the dark.

Any second now.

Then, moments later, his grip on you became stronger. More direct. Less friendly.

"What are you—"

Without another word, you were slammed up against the brick, his dirty hands all over you. Frantically searching for something. Pain echoed through your body as he continued ruffling your clothes, pulling at your hair.

You frowned, struggling.

"Please, don't—"

"Shut up, bitch! I know you're a cop." He snapped, jerking you slightly.

Your jaw dropped. You felt as though you had cold water thrown over you, dripping down your spine into your heels.

"But I'm not." You attempted meekly.

Cautious. Don't fight yet. Contemplate your choices.

He snickered snidely.

"Officer L/n. I know your father, sweetheart. Or knew him," He said, his clammy breath fanning into your face. "He got my friends put away for life. And then there you were, following right in his footsteps."

He dragged you away from the brick wall, grabbing you by your face. A knife glinted in his other hand.

The cold edge of the blade caught the faint glow of the alley light, flickering like a warning. Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands were still raised — not in surrender, but in precision. Timing.

"Where's the fuckin' wire? Tell me or I'm slitting your throat and dropping you right here."

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “I don’t have a wire on me.”

His eyes flashed with suspicion, narrowing dangerously. “Bullshit.”

"Please.." You muttered.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

"Where. Is. The. Wire?!" He snapped, pressing the knife into you.

You froze for a heartbeat as the knife pressed sharper against your skin, a searing line of cold fire that threatened to break through your calm. Your breath hitched but you forced it back down, steady and slow, every nerve screaming for you to act.

“Wait,” you whispered, eyes locking with his — steady, unflinching. “You want the wire? I'll give it to you. I'm begging you not to do this.”

His grip tightened, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, just a flash. Then, the knife pressed harder, enough to nick you, enough to cause a drop of blood to drizzle down. You hissed, tears collecting in your eyes.

Before the knife could press deeper, Reid sprang forward in a sudden burst of strength and precision — the kind of controlled force you usually wielded yourself.

He grabbed the man’s wrist, wrenching the knife away in one smooth motion. The blade clattered to the ground.

Without hesitation, Reid twisted the man’s arm behind his back and slammed him face-first against the brick wall with a sharp grunt.

The attacker struggled, but Reid’s grip was ironclad. He never did take-downs. He never felt like it was time. He valued a talk-down, a chance for the Unsub to see the light without an altercation. But something had snapped.

Reid’s breathing was heavier, eyes sharp and fierce — something you’d never seen in him before. The usual hesitation and quiet intellect gave way to raw, unyielding force. It was like watching a different side of him come alive, the side you’d been expecting all along but had never truly witnessed until now. The others had claimed to see it since he'd come home from prison, but it had never been revealed to you.

He hissed quietly, “Don’t move.”

You slumped against the wall, breathing heavily with a hand clutched to your neck. Blood flowed steadily, but not at a dangerous rate. Just enough to need a med team, but not enough to be scared. You stared up at the sky, frowning.

Morgan and Hotch came after, taking the Unsub from Reid, who was pressing him harder and harder against the wall every second as if he'd personally offended him with his existence.

Hotch immediately stepped in, his voice calm but authoritative. “Easy, Reid. Let him breathe.”

Morgan was already pulling out a medical kit, kneeling beside you quickly. “You good? That cut’s nasty, we can’t patch it up on-site.”

You gave a stiff nod, biting back the sting. “I’m fine. Just… keep him away.”

Reid’s jaw clenched, but he finally loosened his grip, stepping back reluctantly as the cuffs clicked shut around the Unsub’s wrists.

Your eyes met his, a quiet understanding passing between you both— raw tension still lingering, but also something deeper. You’d both taken a page from each other’s book tonight: your strength and resolve, his patience and calculated caution.

Morgan glanced at the three of you, breaking the moment with a grin. “Alright, bait and backup — that’s how we bring down monsters."

You rolled your eyes as you pressed the gauze to the side of your neck. "All in a day's work."

Morgan hummed.

"You need a hospital. I can drive—"

"I can do it." Reid interrupted quietly, looking at you more than he was Morgan.

You cleared your throat, nodding.

Reid’s eyes softened just a fraction as he reached out, carefully taking your hand to steady you. “Let’s get you patched up properly.”

Morgan gave you both a teasing smirk, but wisely kept his distance as Reid helped you into the SUV.

The ride was silent. The quick treatment in the hospital was silent, too. You allowed them to clean and stitch you up, flinching every few moments, before your eyes met Reid's again.

There was something different. There was no irritation or arrogance in his brown eyes like what he normally directed towards you. It was only softness. Just simply watching you, like it was a normal habit of his that he could do all day. Thick with tension. Words unsaid.

You couldn't lie. It made you blush. You looked away.

The conversation didn't ensue until the ride back to the hotel.

The engine hummed low as the SUV slipped down the dark road, headlights casting long, sweeping shadows across the pavement. Reid drove slower than usual: cautious, thoughtful. His fingers gripped the wheel with a quiet intensity, knuckles pale.

You sat beside him, your body angled slightly toward the window, but your eyes drifted, again and again, to his face. To the way his jaw tensed and relaxed like he was chewing on words. Like he couldn’t hold them in much longer.

He broke the silence.

"You did perfectly." He said quietly.

Your eyes flicked to him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

“Didn’t feel perfect,” you muttered, fingers brushing the gauze at your neck. “I let him get too close.”

“That was the point,” Reid said, glancing at you before returning his gaze to the road. “You had him completely. You waited. You didn’t react too soon. That’s what saved your life.”

You gave a small, dry laugh. “I thought I’d be the one snapping his wrist and pressing his face into the wall. Guess we traded roles.”

Reid’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, something more fragile. “You’ve always been better at brute force. I just never thought I’d actually need to use it.”

You leaned back in your seat, watching him. “So what changed?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just kept driving, eyes steady, lips parted slightly like the words were there, just hesitant to form.

Finally, he spoke, voice barely audible. “The second I saw him touch you, I didn’t think. I didn’t weigh the risk or the outcomes. I just… moved.”

Your throat tightened. “Why?”

He inhaled slowly. “Because if something had happened to you, if I had waited even a second longer, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. It's hard enough to accept that you were hurt at all.”

You looked down at your lap, quiet for a beat. “I didn’t think you liked me that much.”

Reid frowned, squeezing the wheel.

"Name.. I don't dislike you." He said hoarsely. "I admire you, to be truthful. You're brave. Strong. Everything I want to be and have struggled to be my whole life," his voice was just above a whisper as he stole a glance your way.

"But I worry. All the time. I worry that something will go wrong and I'll lose another person. Another member of the team. And someone that I.." He trailed off.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“Someone that you…?” you echoed gently, coaxing the rest out of him.

Reid’s jaw clenched. He exhaled shakily through his nose, like the truth physically hurt to say aloud.

“Someone that I like. Someone I care about,” he said at last, voice quiet but unwavering. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to. You make me insane, half the time. You drive me completely up the wall.”

You smiled faintly, despite the tension thick in the car.

“But then I watch you work. Or I hear you laugh. Or you look at me like I’m not broken, like I’m not damaged goods. And I—I can’t unfeel it.”

Silence blanketed the car once more, but this time it was full of unsaid things that didn’t need words. It buzzed with the gravity of what had finally cracked open between you.

He pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, putting the car in park. His eyes slid over to yours again.

You reached out slowly, resting your fingers gently over his. He looked down at your hand, then up into your eyes, as if trying to make sure this was real.

You gave a soft, knowing smile. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

Reid huffed a breath, almost a laugh, though his eyes were still glassy with everything he hadn’t said before tonight. “I thought you hated me.”

“I thought you were too good for me.”

His gaze flicked to your neck, then back to your eyes. “No one’s too good for you.”

"You are." You snorted. "I'm mean. Closed off. I don't listen."

Reid shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re protective,” he corrected gently. “You carry the weight for everyone else so they don’t have to. And you listen more than you think — not always to words, but to people. To their actions, their patterns. That’s why you’re good at this.”

You looked away, swallowing hard, your throat tight. “Still. You’re… kind. And soft. And patient. You make people feel safe just by being in the room. I make people flinch.”

Reid’s hand turned beneath yours, his fingers slipping between yours with quiet certainty. “I don't flinch.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, caught off guard by the quiet conviction in his voice. There was no teasing, no hesitation, no irritation in his tone — just truth. Solid and unwavering.

You stared at him for a beat, breath shallow. “No,” you whispered. “You don’t.”

Reid tilted his head slightly, his gaze dipping to your lips for just a second before returning to your eyes. “I see you. All of you. And I don’t flinch.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest like an anchor: grounding, calming, terrifying in the best way. No one had ever looked at you like this. Not with fear. Not with judgment. But with… something gentler. Something that threatened to undo every wall you’d ever built.

“You’re not scared of me,” you said quietly, like you were still trying to convince yourself.

“I’m scared for you, every time you throw yourself into harms' way,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “But never of you.”

There was a pause. Heavy. Electric.

And then, in the dark hush of the SUV, with the sounds of the city and the glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, you leaned in.

"Reid?"

"Call me Spencer."

You snorted softly, rolling your eyes.

"Spencer?"

His name lingered on your tongue, warm and unfamiliar in that intimate kind of way, like a secret finally spoken aloud.

He gave the faintest nod, eyes flicking down to your lips again, and this time he didn’t look away.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough around the edges, like he already knew what you were going to say but needed to hear it anyway.

Your breath caught, lips parting slightly. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

He blinked. “What?”

You tilted your head, your smile barely there. “The staring. The tension. The way you act like I’m a walking risk assessment.”

Spencer’s lips tugged up, sheepish but unrepentant. “I didn’t want to cross a line.”

“You didn’t.” Your voice softened, fingers still tangled with his. “You didn’t cross anything.”

He leaned in a little closer, enough for his breath to ghost across your cheek.

“Then can I?” he whispered.

Your heart thudded once, hard, before you nodded.

“Yes. Please.”

And then, he kissed you.

Slow. Intentional. Like he’d waited a lifetime for permission.

And you, well, for once, you didn’t think. You didn’t fight.

You just let yourself feel.

You knew your father would've liked him.

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modernquackfare · 5 months ago

Note

How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it—but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

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peachii-nitenite · 4 months ago

Text

Don’t Look at Me Like That (Viktor x Reader) sfw- suggestive

Summary: Viktor is scolding you for doing something reckless. Unfortunately for him he feels awful doing it. Fortunately for you, you think it’s a little hot.

Sidenote: extremely self indulgent. Slightly selfship coded. Might be slightly ooc. this has been sitting in my drafts since January and I'm sick of looking at it lol.

Content: pining, protective Viktor, mutual pining, fluff , suggestive thoughts, friends to lovers, technically dom!Viktor even though there’s no smut (yet)

Ao3 link

He had always known he should be stricter with you. He had a habit of indulging your whims too often, letting risky behaviors slide. But now he actually had to to it.

And he was failing miserably

He wanted to be upset. He was attempting to be upset. But now, as he glared down at you, he found he could not truly muster any sort of harsh feeling toward you. Not when you were looking up at him like that with wide, glittering eyes.

“…are you mad at me?”

“……”

It wasn’t fair. Not at all.

He was trying to be stern, to reprimand you for your reckless actions. You had tried to surprise him and Jayce by acquiring some rare metals to see how compatible they were with the new gemstones.

This lead you to the undercity, poking around where you likely shouldn’t have been. In your defense, you were also a Zaunite; but you hadn’t been back frequently for a long stretch of time, and it was evident in the way you carried yourself. All alone, too much of a bounce to your step, and no sharp edge to your voice.

A prime target

So when he came across you while out on his own errand, at a shady stall run by a large man with a crooked, rotten smile, he was startled.

He felt like a hypocrite for worrying, but he couldn’t help it. He makes trips to the undercity for supplies as well, but when it came to you it was…different. He almost felt childish for being too protective when it came to you.

His stomach lurched when he saw the way the shopkeeper leered at you while you were busy inspecting the metal for flaws. He was never one to judge based on appearances, however, he was nearly certain that you were dealing with a simple, honest merchant. He also did not like the way he began to notice bulky figures in the shadows, beginning to hover and slowly get closer and watch you innocently haggle.

A lamb in a lions den

How could you be so reckless, so carefree?

In that moment he was livid.

But that was short lived, and quickly replaced with a sense of urgency. He took the initiative to interrupt your dealings, coming up beside you to pluck the metal from your hands. There was a moment of shock and annoyance, as you prepared to argue with whoever would be so rude. But your expression immediately softened and warmed when she realized it was him.

“Oh! Viktor! Didn't expect to see you!”

The way you looked up at him, your smile surprised but no less warm than any other time that you looked at him. It was tender, like you were always pleased to see him. It was going to be the death of him, he swore it.

Oh, that face. The one that made him so incredibly weak. And those eyes. At times he felt like you could see him down to his core, through every wall he had put up.

It made something inside of him ache.

He had to quickly reign in the skipping of his heart, to complete his intervention and successfully get both of you back home. He said your name with a forced, stern edge as you locked eyes. He gave you a look of “you have some explaining to do later” and had to fight the urge to wince at the way you deflated, shrinking into yourself.

“A good coincidence. Come, we are going home, I need your assistance with something.” He kept his words short, to reduce the sting of saying it too harshly. He handed the metal back to the merchant, who cursed under his breath and grumbled as he put it away. His free hand found the small of your back, leading you away from the stall as quickly as his cane would allow.

The eyes peering from alleyways began to back off, but only shortly after he moved his hand from your back to your waist. He did not miss the quiet gasp you let out as he did, and he mumbled a low “sorry”.

Normally, he would had taken you by the arm, or by the hand, but in this instance he felt the need to assert himself; to say to everyone who could see: she isnt alone, she is taken-

That she was his.

His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly.

He had to swallow down such possessive thoughts. Lock them away, never to be indulged or acknowledged. It was such an ugly, poisonous feeling to him- one that never failed to fill him with shame. He took a heavy sigh as the both of you walked in silence. He mentally recited again and again:

This isn’t about you, this is about her

You are doing this to keep her out of harm's way

He could feel your eyes wandering back up to look at him, no doubt with furrowed brows and concern painting your face. He couldn’t bear to look at you yet, not when you weakened his resolve the way you did.

So the walk and trolley ride back to the lab remained silent. He noticed you open your mouth a few times to attempt to say something, but each time the words died in your throat. It was only on the trolley that he let go of you, immediately missing the feeling of your warmth under his palm.

And now, presently in the process of attempting to scold you, he wanted nothing more than to chase that warmth once more. But he could not get distracted, not when it’s already so difficult.

“What were you thinking, going to a place like that alone? At best you would have been scammed, at worst-“

“But I-“ you weakly interjected

“Do not interrupt me.” He quickly cut you off, causing you to close your mouth into a pout. “It was reckless, no matter how much you think you had the situation under control”

It was easy to be cold and hard with everyone else, but with you? It was asking the impossible.

Seeing the way you bit your lips and avoided his gaze made him feel wretched.

“I thought my lead was solid! I’m sorry, okay?” You pleaded gently, reaching for his free hand to hold it soothingly. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just wanted to help you…”

You did not play fair. You may not have realized it, but you absolutely were not playing fair in Viktor’s mind. And once again, you were gazing up at him with those big, beautiful eyes. He had to huff and close his eyes to maintain his quickly crumbling mask of anger.

Your hands were so much softer than his, so much warmer. His resolve was crumbling. When he pulled his hand away, you reached out for him again as if by instinct. The pleading look on your face was too much for him.

Before either of you knew it, he had seized your wrist, backing you up against his work table. A few pens clattered to the floor as the backs of your legs hit the table, your free hand quickly finding a place on the cluttered surface to stabilize yourself. His face was so close to yours that it nearly made his head spin, seeing the way your eyes widened with shock and how your breath quickened as he cornered you.

Many of his more sordid daydreams had begun like this; with you pressed against his desk and with him pressed against you. It was only the tangible feeling of your hand in his that cemented that he was not, in fact, dreaming. The line between friendly concern and his true feelings was getting blurrier by the second, as something stirred within him once more seeing you like this. How far could he go before you pushed him away?

“I will not be so lenient with you after this. What you did was reckless and foolish-

He had to ignore how your breath hitched as he brought his face closer

“-Not to mention the fact that you should have cleared this idea with me or Jayce before you decided to-

He had to ignore how your lips were slightly parted and your cheeks were starting to flush

“-And on TOP of that, you-

And your eyes. Heavily lidded, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, glittering like jewels. As the sun painted you golden beneath him, he began to falter. He was lost in your eyes, no less adoring than they had previously been, but now clear and intense in the light. Your pupils were wide; much wider than usual.

“I…uh, that is to say….” He trailed quietly

An indication of affection.

Or arousal.

“W-well, uh…” he cursed his tongue for failing him.

He felt his face light aflame, pink spreading across his face to the very tips of his ears at the thought-or rather, the very real possibility that you saw him in that light.

He could not ignore it

Not when you were looking at him like that.

He pulled himself away before anything could escalate further, clearing his throat as he put a respectable distance between you.

“W-well you get it. No need to..eh, repeat myself…” he turned away.

What was he about to do? Was he truly so depraved? He mentally kicked himself for letting himself spiral. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were uncomfortable, and the mere thought of no longer bringing a smile to your face nearly broke his heart.

“I… I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted so severely…” he hung his head as he went to sit in his chair near the desk, still cautiously maintaining the distance.

“N-no it’s alright! Really! I uh…I needed it I think…” you timidly reassured him.

He could not help but observe the way you kept pressing your thighs together.

“…oh?”

“Y-yeah… you were right… I should be more mindful…and sometimes you should probably…uh…”

“I should probably what?”

You flushed, shyly looking over at him.

“You should be more stern with me…sometimes…” your voice trailed off as you bit your lip once more.

There was an expression he hadn’t seen before on that sweet face.

Longing. Yearning.

And your eyes? Desire.

….

Oh.

Oh…you sweet thing.

Viktor was not the kind of man to jump to conclusions merely when the outcome seemed desirable to him. But he was a man who could see and comprehend what was right in front of him.

You are not mad at him. Not at all.

You liked how he got authoritative with you.

He was reeling with this new information. The very task that tormented him was something that you were into.

Very into, from what he could deduce.

He could take a calculated risk. He could ask you directly, or…

He could get you to say it yourself.

He allowed himself to smile, finally, as he beckoned you forward. You came over immediately. Cute.

You shuffled over, standing before him with your hands clasped behind your back, awaiting his next request. He mustered up his stern voice once more, noting the way that it made you squirm.

“Elaborate. Now.”

You blinked slowly, carefully choosing your next words

“Well…you’re always so patient and kind to me, and I appreciate it a lot… but…”

“But?”

“But sometimes I feel like you’re holding back… so just then- when you got more assertive with me….i didn’t mind it.”

He simply allowed you to continue spilling your truth to him, noting your fidgeting. He didn’t want to scare you off with too many questions after all, not when he was so close to hearing what he wanted.

“It’s… a new side of you I haven’t seen before. It’s so…intense.” He could tell by the way you said it that you had a different word in mind, but deliberately chose a more benign one to spare further embarrassment.

He would be lying if he said it didn’t stroke his ego a bit.

“So…um…yeah I…would like it if you showed that side a bit more often…” you awkwardly concluded, hands still clasped tightly behind your back

You would like it.

You liked it.

The prospect rattled Viktor’s skull.

With that, he decided to take the risk.

“Tell me something.”

“Yeah?”

“If it were anyone else, would you still like it? The scolding.”

The silence that followed was deafening, as he watched you attempt to say something.

Until finally….

“No…no, I’m not sure if I would” you quietly admitted.

“Not even Jayce?” He was just teasing now, but his tone was as serious as a heart attack.

“No…only you”

Only you

Your voice echoed inside of him as his heart leapt.

He wasn’t the only one with these feelings; and that realization gave him a relief previously unknown to him.

He leaned forward and held his hand out for you to take, letting his stern mask fall a bit when he saw how you hesitated. You really were too cute.

“Come here” he murmured gently, beckoning you forward. You let your hand rest in his palm, and let him gently tug you forward until you were nearly straddling him. A shadow of a smirk graced his lips when he felt your pulse, your rapidly beating heart betraying you.

He slowly lifted the back of your hand to his face, planting a soft kiss and holding it there for a moment. When he looked up at you, what he saw was nothing short of perfection.

Your lips slightly parted as a sweet gasp left you, the eyes he was so weak to glued to his mouth against your skin;

It was too cute.

“I am not mad at you, despite how much I want to be.” He murmured against your hand before pulling away.

“Is it strange? I find I cannot remain upset with you for longer than a few minutes at a time.” he frowned, sighing and shaking his head “And now… you tell me you like it. How cruel.”

“I..” you weren't given a chance to speak before a high pitched whine escaped you as his lips brushed your hand once more. You could've sworn you saw him smirking.

“I was worried about you-” a feather light kiss on your knuckles “because I cherish you-” Another on your wrist “And the idea of anything happening to you frightens me-” another just below the cuff of your sleeve. “- so no. I am not mad at you.”

You sighed in relief, and felt ever so warm under his touch. His eyes darkened as he pulled away slightly, the serious edge returning to his voice.

“But you did scare me half to death. Never do something like this again without telling one of us, understood?”

You nodded, dazed and flushed; and satisfied with this response, he guided you to sit in his lap with a firm hand. The most miniscule of reactions were clear as day to him now, and he smirked as he noted the way you shivered in anticipation.

“Now, would you like to see how intense I can truly be?”

#pining #protective Viktor #mutual pining #fluff #suggestive thoughts #friends to lovers #technically dom!Viktor even though there’s no smut (yet)#arcane #arcane netflix #peachii fics #my fics #arcane viktor #viktor x reader #viktor lol

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tallulah477 · 2 years ago

Text

Hunting the Tawtute

Kinktober Day 19: Threesome

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader x Lo’ak

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, AgedUp!Lo’ak, Dark!Neteyam, Dark!Lo’ak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Primal Kink (Hunter/Prey Kink), Oral (female receiving and male receiving), P in V, Fingering, Handjob, Breath Play, Dirty Talk, Size Difference, Belly Bulge, Alien Genitalia, Slight Knife Play, Multiple Orgasms, Bukkake, Hair Pulling, Slight Humiliation, Slight Thigh Riding, Knots/Knot Play (but no actual knotting), Marking Kink/Biting

Word Count: 5.4K (of pure self-indulgent fantasy)

A/N: I don’t even know what to say about this. This one kinda like so fucking much got away from me. It’s like I went crazy, blacked out, and this happened. Hopefully some of you guys will like it too as much as I liked writing it.

Summary: When the Omatikaya raid an RDA outpost, you just barely escape the carnage with your life. You're stumbling through the forest when they find you, and the dark grins on their faces make shivers run down your spine. You try to run, but they’ll catch you - they’re little beautiful prey.

Extra: Pretty, But Not Stupid

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Mountain Banshee - Large, dragon-like aerial predators

Sevin - Pretty

Vrrtep - Demon

Paskalin - Sweet Berry (term of endearment)

The ground is shaking underneath you as you run, booming with the force of the explosions and gunfire racking the now nonexistent RDA outpost. You can still hear the screaming, both war cries and cries of terror, echoing through the forest as your tired legs carry you further and further away.

You’re gasping for breath, heart feeling like it's going to pound out of your chest as you sob. You hated the RDA, they were mostly all power hungry assholes anyway, but some people in the outpost were good - innocent people who fled Earth just to get away from the horror there, only to be met with a fate possibly crueler here. All the cooks, cleaners, and medical professionals who just wanted a chance - all dead within minutes of the start of the emergency alarm that blared through the base. If not by the explosions, then currently being picked off without mercy by the Na’vi.

You’re lucky to even be alive right now.

You shake your head, trying to ignore how your heavy, panicked breathing is fogging up your mask and how you can barely see through your tears. You need to keep going. You can’t think about it now. Can’t think about the carnage you're running from and the people you’re leaving behind. You need to find safety.

You run a little further, trying not to trip on any more upturned roots. You fell over one a little ways back, and your ankle protests the more weight you put on it, but the fear of being found and killed keeps you going. You quickly round another tree and stop, bracing your hand on the bark of the massive trunk and lifting your hurt ankle up a bit just to relieve the pressure for a moment. Your eyes hurriedly scan the area, trying to keep an eye out for danger you wouldn’t even be able to defend yourself against. Even if you did have some kind of a weapon (which you don’t, you barely had enough time to sprint away with your life as it was, let alone grab any kind of form of defense), you wouldn’t be able to win against the strength and prowess of one of the natives anyway.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips when your eye catches movement a few trees down from you. There’s a male Na’vi standing there, long braids still swinging around his shoulders from his abrupt movement, and he has an arrow notched and pulled back, strong muscles and chest bulging behind the bow as he steadies the arrow - the arrow that’s pointed directly at you.

“Wait!” You yell, hands instinctively coming up to protect your face as if they could ever stop the Na’vi sized arrow. “Wait! Please, don’t shoot!”

The male stops, curious amber eyes locked on your trembling figure, and to your complete shock, he lowers the arrow. Why isn’t he killing you? The Na’vi kill humans on sight, they don’t hesitate. You should have been dead the second he saw you. But you’re not. He lowered his arrow, and for a brief moment relief and hope flood your chest.

“I mean you no harm,” You call, voice shaking. “Please, don’t k-kill me,”

The male tilts his head at you and you watch cautiously as he puts his bow away, reattaching it to his back, before reaching up to touch his throat. From this distance you can just see the outline of a necklace. A throat comm, you think. He has his fingers pressed against the buttons and you can’t hear what he’s saying, but you see his lips moving as he talks to whoever is on the other line.

A dark smirk curls at his lips as he speaks. He’s looking directly at you and whatever hope you had disappears as dread fills your entire being.

You are going to die.

You can’t stay here, staying still even as he’s watching you is a risk. If you’re going to die, you’re at least going to go down trying to live.

You turn to run, making it just a few steps away from the tree before the canopy bursts above you, a roaring shriek piercing your ears as a large blue and purple mountain banshee descends down towards the forest floor. You scream, falling back on your ass as the dragon-like animal lands just feet from you, the wind from its strong wings beating over your body and making your hair whip around your face.

The banshee’s rider descends from its back, landing on the ground with a thud and disconnecting his neural queue from the animal. He stalks towards you, golden eyes gleaming behind a few loose braids falling in front of them, and he grins, long pointed canines biting into his bottom lip.

“Where you running to, sevin tawtute?”

With another terrified sob, you scramble to your feet. The second Na’vi’s low chuckle, despite being fairly quiet, rings loudly in your ears, and you can hear the footsteps of the first’s getting closer and closer to you each second.

“Don’t do it,” The second warns, and you don’t even have the mental capacity to realize that he’s speaking to you in English. You’re already spinning and darting away in the opposite direction.

You run as fast as you can through the dense Pandorian forest. They’re chasing you, you can hear their footsteps pounding against the forest floor behind you. They mock you, first just making quick yipping and whooping calls, communicating with each other in a way you would never even begin to understand. And then they switch to your language.

“Better run faster, human!”

“Getting tired already, baby?”

“Can you feel my breath on the back of your pretty neck?”

“We’re going to get you!”

Your sobs get louder, terrified as you try to push yourself harder. They sound so close, like they’re right behind you, like they could just reach out and grab you. But they don’t. They’re playing with you. They’re faster than you, their legs significantly longer than yours and more adept at running and navigating the forest terrain. They’re letting you keep going on purpose, finding glee in your terror and enjoyment in chasing their prey.

Your ankle is aching, pain shooting from the twisted limb, and your running is quickly turning into panicked hobbling. You can’t do it anymore. Can’t do it - they’re going to get you. Without thinking, you dive under a slightly uprooted tree - the tilt of the base giving you just enough room to crawl under the trunk, thick roots caging you in and separating you from the two male Na’vi.

The second you make it through, there’s a burst of movement as the long haired male slides in front of the opening, long arm sticking through the roots and reaching for you. You whimper when his fingers brush your mask and you try to scoot yourself further back against the dirt, but there isn’t much room.

“Come out of there,” He says, voice soft like he’s trying to coax you out, but the underlining reverb of a growl taints the attempt. “It’s dangerous under there,”

“Yes, tawtute,” The other says, long legs visible from behind his brother’s upper body. “Much safer out here with us,”

You can’t help the anger and frustration that wells inside you as you hear the absolute lie they are trying to tell you.

“Bullshit,” You spit.

The long haired male removes his reaching arm and peers at you through the roots, eyes alight with mirth. “Oh, you hear that, brother? Our little vrrtep has a mouth on her,”

The other male chuckles and squats down to peer at you through your self imposed cage. “And what a pretty mouth it is. Can’t wait to see what else it can do,”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. That sounded . . . suggestive. That couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like, right?

“What do you say, sevin? Want your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock?” He asks, playful fingers lifting up the front of his loincloth slightly as if to tease you. And then, suddenly, there’s a new fear taking over.

They don’t want to catch you to kill you - they want you.

“My name is Lo’ak,” He continues, lifting his hand from his loincloth to wiggle his fingers at you in greeting. Five fingers, you notice. “You know, just so you know what to scream out later when I’m fucking you,”

More tears well up in your eyes, cascading down your flushed cheeks. “P-please. Don’t hurt m-me,” You beg, wide eyes pleading with the large blue men holding you hostage to show you mercy. “I’ll leave! I promise! You’ll never see me again,”

“She begs so beautifully already,” The other male says, nudging his brother’s arm. “She’s gonna sound so good when she’s crying in pleasure. Go ahead and try it out for me, paskalin. Let me hear you say it: Neteyam,”

Neteyam looks at her expectantly, golden green eyes dark from where his pupils have nearly completely taken over.

“Fuck you,” You hiss. You try to put as much malice and ferocity in your words as you can muster, but Neteyam only grins at your curse.

“Yeah, tawtute. That’s the idea,”

Lo’ak suddenly moves, shifting over to the side of the tree and you panic at the abrupt movement, scrambling over and pressing your back against the roots on the opposite side just to be as far from him as possible.

“Come on out, baby,” He purrs, eyes hooded as he stares at you. “Don’t you want to take a ride? Feel some big alien cock in your pretty, tiny pussy?”

You open your mouth again to shoot some more choice expletives at him, but all that comes out is a scream when the roots behind you rip and a large hand grips at your hair, dragging your body from its hiding spot and into the dimming light of the forest.

Neteyam hauls you up on your feet, fist tangled in your hair keeping you from running and grabs one of your swinging arms, pinning it behind your back. Lo’ak steps in front of you, tall and imposing at nearly twice your height, but you still try to fight, fight for your life and your freedom, and your hand smacks as hard as it can against his hip.

It doesn’t do anything to him obviously, you’re not even sure if he felt it, but all the fight leaves you in an instant when the large knife the size of your forearm waves in your face.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for us now, okay?” He says, tapping the glass of your mask with the tip of his knife as if he were trying to boop your nose. The tip of the knife travels down your neck, over your collarbone, and towards the center of your chest. If you were able to think correctly, you would be amazed at the control he has over the blade to not let it cut you despite your chest heaving with your frantic breathing. “Stay still now,”

The knife travels towards the valley between your breasts, taking the neck of your t-shirt with it and pulling it down and down until Lo’ak just cleanly slices through the whole front of it. Neteyam releases your arm now that you're not fighting against them anymore, but still keeps a firm grip on your hair. The ruined shirt slips from your shoulders and Lo’ak brings the knife back up to hook underneath the band of your bra, slicing through the material like it was paper and pushing the remnants of that off of your body as well.

“Such a pretty little thing,” He muses, running the flat of the blade across one of your exposed breasts, the cool metal making you shiver as it presses against your heated skin. Lo’ak twists the knife and places the very tip of it at your nipple. The sharp edge makes you gasp, the bud starting to harden immediately at the feeling and you can’t help but feel mortified when you feel wetness pool in your panties.

Lo’ak’s nose twitches, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as his large amber eyes catch yours, but it’s Neteyam that digs the metaphorical knife deeper, furthering your humiliation and making your face burn.

“Aw, is the cute little tawtute getting wet for us? We can smell you,” Neteyam laughs, dragging your head back further so he can get a good look at your face. “Look, brother. Look how flushed she’s getting,”

“You think that flush is going all the way down here?” Lo’ak asks, the tip of the knife leaving your nipple to tease your clit over your shorts.

“Rip them off and find out,” Neteyam suggests, and you start to wriggle again in his unrelenting grasp.

“Wait!” You shout. Your neck is still craned up towards the sky, so you only feel rather than see Lo’ak undo your button and zipper. “Wait, please. I’ll do anything,”

“Yeah,” Neteyam agrees, looking down at your pleading face. His fingers latch onto one of your hard nipples and pulls on it, eliciting a sharp gasp from your plump lips. “You will,”

In an instant, Lo’ak yanks your shorts and panties down and Neteyam moves behind you to kneel on the forest floor, one knee pressing into the ground while the other acts as a stabilizer, foot flat against the ground. Neteyam’s grip on your hair is released as he grabs you by your hips instead, pulling you up to sit on his thigh, bare pussy pressing against the bulging muscles.

The feeling of his muscles tensing under you makes more heat pool in your stomach, and your pussy is wet and sticky already as you squirm against him. Your legs fall on either side of his and even with him kneeling your feet still can’t touch the ground, toes just barely brush against the grass and only if you’re actually stretching to reach it. But the additional stretch just makes you push your cunt harder against his thigh and you whimper, not knowing what to do or how to move.

Neteyam wraps a restraining arm around your chest, trapping one of your arms under his and grabbing onto your other bicep, his large hand practically spanning the entirety of your upper arm and pinning it down. His other hand moves up to his mouth, long middle finger sliding between his lips, licking the long digit and pulling it out when it’s wet and glistening in the setting sunlight. He brings his wet finger to your core, dipping it between your folds and circling your clit.

“So wet already, tawtute,” He whispers, lips brushing against the curve of your ear.

You whimper as he rubs you, dipping his finger down lower to gather more of your wetness and dragging it back up to tease small circles around your pulsing nub. When his fingers trail down again, it's to press at your entrance, and you can’t help the whiny moan that escapes you as his finger slips easily inside your leaking hole.

Lo’ak’s been watching you this whole time, crouching down to get a good, clear look at your glistening pink cunt, and the sight of his brother’s finger sliding inside of you prompts him to have some fun of his own. He stands, fingers moving quickly to untie his loincloth, the material loosening and sliding down his legs, flittering to the ground below him.

You’re distracted, Neteyam’s finger is rubbing against your gummy walls, sliding in and out effortlessly while his thumb plays with your clit, so you don’t realize what’s so wrong with Lo’ak’s body until he’s directly in front of you - naked pelvis and even more naked center only a foot away from your face.

Your eyes widen as you look at it, confusion written all over your face as you stare at the empty, flat space where his member should be. Lo’ak laughs at the bewildered look on your face and Neteyam mouths at your shoulder to hide his own grin.

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” Lo’ak says. “I’ve got plenty of cock for you. It’s just hidden. I’ll get it out for you since you're a little tied up.”

His fingers reach down to rub at the empty space and you watch in fascinated awe as he plays down there, fingers pressing in harder and sliding against the hidden slit you hadn’t seen before. His fingers dip inside, eyes closing in pleasure for a moment before they flick back open, sultry hooded orbs locked on your own.

“What the f–ahh!” You cry, eyes squeezing shut, back arching in pleasure against Neteyam as another of his fingers pushes inside you. They’re long enough on their own, the combined thickness enough to feel like a cock inside you already.

When your eyes open again, they lock immediately on what’s happening between Lo’ak’s legs. There’s something poking out from the slit and it takes your scared and pleasure hazed brain way too long to realize it’s his cock. It’s just the head peeking out, the mushroomed lavender tip like a bright, slick beacon between his dark blue thighs. He grins when your mouth falls open at the sight, fingers dipping back into his wet slit and pulling out another inch.

Every inch of his cock has your eyes widening, the long and hard length now fully unsheathed and bumping against his belly. Blue skin and even darker stripes litter the shaft, small bioluminescent freckles scatter towards the top and lead to the light purple tip. A fleeting thought has you thinking it's pretty, the colors blending in beautifully with one another, but when you see the textured bumps decorating the entire length, the panic hits you again.

“Let me go!” You scream, fighting against Neteyam’s hold, but hold is firm. “It won’t fit! You can’t! It won’t fit!”

“That’s why we have to stretch you out first,” Neteyam mutters, mouth pressed against your shoulder. His third finger nudges at your entrance and you stop breathing when it pushes against your already stuffed hole. The stretch is intense, your small body struggling to take the invasion as his long finger pushes in beside the others. His thumb rubs lovingly at your clit, distracting you from the stretch and working up the pressure starting to build in your belly.

Lo’ak strokes at his cock, shuffling forward until the weeping tip of it is inches from your face.

“You wanna taste it?” He asks, his other hand gripping onto the bottom of your mask.

You whimper, terrified at the prospect of him pulling your mask off, but can’t get out anything more than a stuttering, “P-please,”

“Be a good girl and hold your breath for me,”

There’s a loud hiss of air as the seal around your face breaks, and then you can’t breathe. Can’t even make a sound when he pulls the mask halfway up your face to free your mouth, letting the bottom of it sit below your nose as he pushes his fingers into the hinges of your jaw to pry your mouth open.

The lavender tip of his cock pushes between your lips, the underside dragging along your tongue. You can feel every bump and ridge as it pushes in further, the texture both unusual and intimidating as it slides against the warm wet muscle.

And then it’s gone, your mask replaced and the burst of oxygen rushing into your lungs makes you feel even more lightheaded than without having any oxygen at all.

“Good girl,” Lo’ak coos, hand once again gripping the bottom of your mask and leaning down to press a sweet kiss against its glass.

Neteyam’s fingers are still working themselves in and out of your stuffed pussy, and you see Lo’ak’s ears twitch a second before you even hear it: the horrible squelching sounds your pussy is making as it rocks against his three fingers.

“Such a good girl,” He grins. He stands up, holding his cock steady and pulling your mask up again, the hiss of air mingling with the wet sounds coming from your drenched cunt. “Let’s go again,”

His cock pushes inside of your mouth again, barbed length sliding against your tongue and nudging the back of your throat. You gag, choking from both lack of oxygen and Lo’ak’s thick cock, and you can barely register the light and strangely sweet taste of his precum as it coats your tastebuds.

Neteyam’s fingers are ruthless inside of you, curling and dragging against your gummy walls with skilled expertise and his thumb is practically a blur on your clit. When Lo’ak replaces your mask and air once again fills your lungs, it's only there for a second before you’re screaming and gasping, the coil in your stomach almost too much to bear as it tightens, threatening to rip you apart when it snaps.

Your screaming is cut off again when Lo’ak lifts the mask away, shoving his cock harder and deeper into your mouth until the glass of your mask is pressing against his pelvis and his cock has slipped down your throat. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you take it, legs shaking against Neteyam’s thigh. When it's replaced this time and air is once again allowed into your lungs, Neteyam’s teeth latch onto your shoulder, sharp canines digging into the tender skin. The bite brings about a sharp pain immediately followed by a flood of intense pleasure - your body jerks in his hold, shaking violently as the coil in your belly snaps. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, gushing against his hand as your orgasm rips through you without mercy.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Lo’ak grunts, fisting his cock with one hand while checking to make sure your mask is secure with the other.

You mumble a weak reply, but the words don’t make sense, they don’t even sound like real words to your own ears - and your ‘not words’ turn into a forlorn whine as Neteyam pulls his fingers from your still pulsing pussy.

He tilts your upper body to the side, sliding most of you off of him except for your leg still draped over his thigh at the knee while your other foot presses onto the ground, leaving you spread wide. His free hand falls behind you, somewhere around his hip where you can’t see, and then something large and round shaped is nudging between your folds and prodding at your entrance.

“No,” You mewl. “Won’t fit,”

“Shh, be quiet, ma sevin tawtute,” He grunts, pressure pushing at your hole as he starts forwards. “It will fit,”

You take in gasping breaths as the pressure intensifies, dripping hole resisting the push as much as it can before relenting to the large male Na’vi’s wishes and the thick mushroom head of his cock pops inside. Neteyam groans when he breaches you, unwrapping his arm from your upper body and gripping both of your thighs with his large hands, hauling you up and in the air as he stands up.

Your back is pressed tightly against his chest, thighs spread open and vulnerable to Lo’ak’s hungry gaze as gravity pushes you down further on his brother’s cock. You whimper loudly, hands desperately gripping at Neteyam’s forearms as he impales you on him. The bumps on his cock drag without mercy against your sensitive walls, and your right leg shakes in his grip from the overwhelming intensity.

It feels so good, so devastatingly good inside of you, the barbs and ridges sliding just right against your gummy walls and you toss your head back with a silent scream as he bottoms out, tip nudging against your cervix.

You’ve never felt so full before. It feels like he’s all the way in your stomach, cock barreling through your important organs and rearranging your guts just to make enough room for him to fit. You chance a look down, letting out a wailing cry that’s half pleasure, half horror when you see the large bulge protruding from your abdomen.

“Fuck,” Neteyam moans. “She’s so tight,”

Lo’ak grins mischievously as Neteyam lowers his mouth to the side of your neck, pressing gentle kisses there as he starts to rock into you. One moment he’s in front of your face, sending you a cheeky wink when you gasp as the cock inside of you hits just the right angle to brush against your special spot, and then the next he’s crouching down, textured tongue lolling out of his mouth and licking against your swollen clit.

You squeal at the feeling of his rough tongue, textured similarly to that of a cat’s, lapping at the sensitive nub.

“T-too much!” You cry. You can’t close your legs, Neteyam’s hands holding them firmly open as he thrusts harder inside you, and your hands push against Lo’ak’s head, but he doesn’t budge - large head staying put while his tongue continues to swipe against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

When Lo’ak decides he’s had enough, he lifts his head, trailing kisses up your stomach starting just above the disappearing and reappearing bulge in your belly and up your chest, tongue laving over the swell of your breast and latching onto your nipple, sharp teeth nibbling on the hard bud as you yelp.

His lips wrap around it, suckling on it for a moment before pulling off with a pop.

“You taste so good, baby,” He murmurs, reaching down to play with your clit. “Like the sweetest little treat,”

“Feel so good, paskalin,” Neteyam grunts, lifting your body up and slamming it back down on his cock to fuck into your harder. “Snug little pussy squeezing me so well. You were made to take Na’vi cock, weren’t you?”

“Oohh my goooooood,” You moan, eyes rolling back into your head from the overwhelming stimulation. “C-can’t t-take i-itt,”

“Sure you can,” Lo’ak teases, face so close to yours that in your haze all you can see is his bright golden eyes. “Didn’t you hear what he just said?”

Neteyam’s thrusts are getting sloppy, moans and grunts a constant source behind you, and he hisses a quick “Fuck, take her,” at his brother. Before you know what’s happening, you’re suddenly pressed against Lo’ak, chest pressed tightly against his and Neteyam releases one of your thighs in favor of gripping your hip. Lo’ak’s hand cradles your released thigh instead, keeping you steady against him as his brother uses his new found leverage to pound into your tight cunt. Your arms instinctively wrap around Lo’ak’s neck, holding on for dear life as you moan and whimper loudly with the cool glass of your mask pressed against his collarbone.

You can feel the knot in your belly tightening again, and you can’t think about anything other than how impossibly full you feel and how good the ridges and bumps on his cock feel as they scrap and drag inside of you. Neteyam’s grip turns bruising, fingers digging into your hip and thigh as he fucks you harder.

“Who’s pussy is this?” Neteyam growls, mushroomed tip pounding into your cervix. “Go on, tawtute. Say it!”

“Neteyaaamm,” You moan. “Please, please, please,”

Distantly, even through your hazy, fucked out brain, you can feel something thick and round prodding at your entrance, bumping and stretching you out even more with each thrust. You cum, sobbing as you contract tightly around him, body shaking in Lo’ak’s hold as his large hand rubs up and down your back soothingly.

Neteyam pulls out of you with a tortured groan and your eyes flutter shut, pussy still contracting and squeezing and wanting - wanting his long, hard length inside of you again, wanting it splitting you open, and now that it's gone, you can’t believe how empty you feel.

Lo’ak lowers you gently to the ground, resting your exhausted body on the soft moss. You feel the way he pulls your thighs apart again, settling himself between them, what’s left of the setting sunlight filtering in behind your eyelids getting blocked as he hovers over you.

“Stay awake, vrrtep,” He says, smacking your thigh lightly to wake you back up. Your heavy eyes peel themselves open, watching as Lo’ak braces one hand above your head while the other guides his cock to your core. You whimper as he drags the head of his cock through your dripping folds, teasing the tip against your clit before running it down your slit and lining it up with your entrance. “It’s my turn,”

The slide is easier this time as he pushes in, but still no less intense. Your tired and overstimulated body tenses at the intrusion, tightening around him as he spears you open with his thick girth.

“Such a pretty demon,” He moans, pleasure shooting through his veins at the feel of your tiny body hugging his cock like it never wants to let him go. “Tempting us the way you did,”

His hips start up a gentle tempo, rocking inside you to help you get used to his size and letting you feel the pleasurable drag of his barbs against your oversensitive walls.

You whine, denying his comment. “D-didn’t do anyth–”

He silences you with a sharp snap of his hips, upping the rhythm of his thrusts and leaning down further so his pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust. Already you can feel another orgasm barreling towards you, threatening to rip you apart the same way his cock is splitting you open.

“Fuck!” You squeal, back arching as your pussy squelches between your bodies. “Oh my god, fuck!”

“Say my name, baby,” Lo’ak grunts. “Wanna hear you moan it,”

“Looo’aaaaak,” You moan, bliss clouding your judgment as your hips buck into his in return.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Neteyam, standing just to the side, watching as his brother fucks your very soul from your body as his hand strokes along his raging length. Your eyes catch on something unusual towards the base of his cock - a thick, round bulb that shouldn’t be there and he smirks as he sees you gaping at it, hand stroking down to the base and squeezing the thick engorged knot of tissue tightly, moaning at the sensation.

Lo’ak thrusts in you harder and you feel that same thick, round ball bumping at your entrance that you felt when Neteyam was fucking you. The same bulbish ball of tissue that must be the same as the one you're looking at right now.

“Great Mother,” Lo’ak groans, face scrunched up in pleasure. “I wanna knot you so fucking bad,”

“Don’t,” Neteyam growls, jerking forward as if to pull his brother away from you, but Lo’ak curls his body around yours protectively, a deep hiss of warning ripping from his throat as he bares his teeth at his brother.

Neteyam freezes, hands up in surrender but he glares at the brother inside you all the same. “Don’t. We don’t know if her body can take it yet.”

Lo’ak grunts, resuming his thrusts. “I know. Just back off,”

His cock pounds you relentlessly, kissing your cervix and his hand reaches down to caress the bulge in your belly. He presses down on the bulging bump firmly at the same time that his teeth sink into the still unmarked side of your neck, making you scream, the blissful agonized cry echoing through the forest as you cream all over his cock.

He pulls out, groaning woefully like his brother did, and fists his cock furiously, aiming the leaking tip directly at your puffy, spent pussy. Neteyam does the same, crouching low and close, stroking his cock beside you as he aims for your chest.

They cum within seconds of one another, shooting hot, thick stripes of pearly bioluminescent cum all over your body, covering your chest and lower half with their release.

You can barely feel your body anymore, can’t move a single limb on your own, and, despite not having any use of anything, your body won’t stop shaking - oversensitive and overstimulated and completely satisfied in a way you never thought you could be.

“Ready to head home, sevin tawtute?” Neteyam asks, breathing heavy as he recovers from his orgasm. He just came but his eyes are still dark and sinful, looking at you like he wants to eat you whole. Your exhausted eyes flick to Lo’ak only to see the same desirous expression.

There’s a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach as you close your eyes, listening to their dark chuckles as your body forces you to rest. The last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep is a low, deep voice say . . .

“You’re ours now,”

Extra>>>

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife

#lunaskinktober2023 #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #lo'ak x female reader #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak smut #lo'ak x human reader #neteyam x reader x lo'ak #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent #tw: non con

3K notes · View notes

justwinginglife · 2 months ago

Note

So another request hehe but this would be my last one (for the meantime) since I don't want to flood your inbox.

I'm thinking about Hoshina with a Lieutenant reader that has a Disney Princess ability, like ya know the animal whisperer sort of thing. The reader is known for being loved by animals by the third division, so they called them a Disney Princess. They always saw the reader with a random animal in the middle of the battlefield and since then the whole division had a bet on what would be the animal they will be seen every time they enter the battlefield, or how many. One time they got attacked by a Wolf Kaiju, they thought they already killed all of the Kaiju's but Okonogi kept on saying there's still one left, and the reader is missing. When they found the Kaiju, they also found the reader who's now giving the Wolf Kaiju a belly rub.

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ -requester

I swear this request has been in my inbox so long it literally, actually collected dust and for that, I'm sorry. Thank you for your patience. Hope you like this!

Crushes and Crowns

Approx Word Count: 3800 Tags: idk, something like, "Hoshina is a silly brat but you love him anyway" and more Third Divison Shenanigans

“Evening, Princess!”

“Rough day, Princess?”

“See you later, Princess!”

You shook your head, laughing to yourself, as you made your way through the Third Division’s halls. Despite your protesting of this new nickname you’d earned, the soldiers continued to use it anyway (overuse it, really), and it’d started to grow on you (though you still found it rather silly.)

You still remembered the day you’d been dubbed, “Princess.” It was your fourth time in one week, bringing home an animal to the base, and it wasn’t even your fault. Your entire childhood, animals had been drawn to you, and it seemed that none of that had changed in your adulthood. It wasn’t like you purposely brought them along with you, they just…followed wherever you went. The first day you’d settled into the dorms, you’d tracked bees inside. No one had thought much of it at first, as you had brought flowers to brighten up your living space. The second time, a raccoon had trailed in behind you, eager to make its home beneath your bed. The third time, you’d come home with bags upon bags of clothes from your latest shopping spree, and when a bag slipped from your arms, a stray dog had caught it and walked it back to base for you. Soon, it became a running joke that the next time you tracked in an animal, it’d be a horse, as the animals you attracted seemed to be getting bigger and bigger in size. Or maybe this was how they discovered unicorns really existed, was when it sauntered in beside you after your next outing.

It was honestly a wonder how you hadn’t been crowned “Princess” sooner, when your Defense Force exam was only made memorable because a flock of crows had suddenly flooded the arena during the test, working to distract the Kaiju while you took them out, one by one. It was even more peculiar that crows weren’t local to that area, and even if they had been, that would not have been the season to see them.

Either way, as bizarre as these events were, you had never deemed them a result of any particular skill on your part. You just assumed it was pure coincidence that animals were drawn to you. Maybe you had an attractive scent; that couldn’t be helped.

It wasn’t until you started showing up to battle with an animal by your side -completely unprompted- that you thought to yourself, maybe you were what they called an animal whisperer. You could coo to the birds and call them to your aid, you could click your tongue and the moles would burrow out of the ground, you could whistle to the wolves and they’d bound to your side, even the snakes (as stubborn and self serving as they were) answered to your every beck and call. At this point, it seemed there was no beast alive that you couldn’t tame. Or man, for that matter.

And recently, you’d had your eye on one Vice Captain Hoshina of the Defense Force’s Third Division.

While you had eventually, begrudgingly accepted the title of “Princess” (after weeks of scrunching up your nose and wrinkling your brows at the name), you’d never had any real desire for the name to grace your ears. That is, until you fell in love with the Vice Captain, the one person who did not use your ridiculous nickname. And now, after having been accustomed to the pet name (being smothered with it, really), you developed a sudden longing for him to one day take you by the hand, look deep into your eyes, and whisper to you lovingly, “Princess,” as though it were a name only he could bestow. It was all you could think about. He was all you could think about.

It wasn’t difficult in the slightest to fall completely and totally in love with him. Not at all. While you had long proven yourself an asset to the Defense Force, you still remember the days when your every achievement was attributed solely to your animal help on the field. Hoshina was the first person to acknowledge that, while you’d had help, it’d been due to your skill and your skill alone that you achieved what you did. Making an impossible shot, your bullets piercing through a kaiju core with exact precision, even despite the flock of animals crowding around your shot- that accomplishment was the result of your tireless effort and dedication to honing your craft, and the recognition and rewards for such a talent belonged to you and you only. The animals may have done their part, but at the end of the day, it was you firing the shot, you ending the fight before lives could be lost, you saving the day. And you were invaluable to him.

Of course, you longed to be more than just an asset to him.

If he wasn’t interested in you, it wasn't for lack of trying on your part. You noticed he always got up early to go for a run, so you’d join him on his runs. Every single day, without fail, you’d jog up to him, saying, “Fancy meeting you here,” like it was pure coincidence that you just so happened to be up at the crack of dawn even though you’d never woken up so early in your entire life, and you just so happened to run along the same path as him at the same time as him and the same pace as him. He’d laugh. Play along. Every single day, without fail, “What a coincidence,” He’d say with a grin. Some days, you wouldn’t talk much. You’d simply keep pace beside each other, enjoying the crisp, fresh air as your breaths painted clouds of white into the morning sky, and it’d be enough. Other days, he’d acknowledge that he knew you were coming. He’d hand you an extra bottle of water because he’d brought two. He’d pull out his portable speaker because you kept asking him what he was listening to on these runs. Sometimes, if you were late, you’d find him stretching on a nearby bench, and when you’d ask him why he hadn’t started his run yet, he’d raise an eyebrow to you like it was only obvious. He was waiting for you. Of course he was waiting for you. But was it just because he was used to you? Being his running partner didn’t mean you were anything else to him.

So you’d snag seats by him on the transport to the battlefield. Ask if he’d gotten a chance to eat lunch or dinner before the alarm had gone off. If he said yes, you’d tease him for not sharing. If he said no, you’d slip him a snack. He’d nod his head in thanks, and tell you, with a playful grin, that he’d protect your gift with his life. You’d tell him to worry about protecting himself. Tell him that if he slipped up in combat and you ended up having to go on your morning runs by yourself, you’d strangle his ghost. He’d give a little chuckle, and then make his lighthearted promises to you that he’d do his best to remain in one piece. You wondered if he’d ever promise you anything else.

But life went on, your relationship with him progressed at a snail’s pace, and the Third Division remained as rowdy as ever. You discovered that their latest source of entertainment was a betting pool. About you.

It’d become common knowledge on base that wherever you were, the animals followed. Even if you made a trip overseas, they were sure that some sort of whale or shark or dolphin would accompany you on your journey. So they began to place their bets on what animal would make their appearance during your next march into battle.

Haruichi mused that perhaps you’d appear with a fox by your side.

Iharu swore that a fox was too meager, and you were more likely to show up with a bear bounding behind you.

Ichikawa ruminated that it was possible a peacock would be your next companion.

Kafka bellowed with laughter, telling them all that they were thinking too small. He was sure you’d find some way to will dragons into existence and bend them to your command.

Platoon Leader Nakanoshima chided them all for being childish, but inside, she was hoping you’d bring home a kitten next time.

Everyone had their guesses and though you found them outlandish, you were curious to hear what Hoshina’s prediction was.

“Any thoughts, Vice Captain?”

He raised an amused brow to you. “Thoughts? On the betting pool? You’re really buying into what everyone is saying? That you’re some sort of animal goddess with the power to commune with nature?”

“No, of course not!” Your cheeks burst into flames. “That….that would just be stupid…” You grumbled to yourself, a slight pout on your lips, as you turned away from him.

He leaned into your field of view once more, head cocked, a cheeky grin dashed across his face. “I see, I see. So you were hoping to be some sort of deity after all.”

“I would never-!”

“Pufferfish.”

Your thoughts halted in their tracks. “A what??”

He grinned slyly. “You heard me. Bring a pufferfish next time.”

“To a BATTLEFIELD??? On LAND???”

He shrugged innocently, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. “I dunno, maybe you could blow it up big and hang it on a string, like it’s a balloon, or something,”

“You really are just teasing me, Hoshina!”

“I would never.”

“You told me that you found a shortcut on our little running trail the other day and led me straight through mud.” You made a show out of glaring at him.

He burst into laughter, shoulders quaking as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d believe me! We’ve run that path so much, I thought you’d know there was no shortcut. And besides, that’s more of a prank and less of a tease, so your argument is invalid.”

You would’ve fired back at him. Would’ve combat his teasing with a witty rebuttal. Maybe you would’ve even feigned upset and pretended to give him the cold shoulder just so he’d beg you to understand that he was just joking and he would never be so careless with your feelings. But you never got the chance to.

The red alarm went off.

Hoshina’s lax demeanor instantly went rigid, solemnity crossing over his face as he popped his comms in to receive a report of the situation. You zipped up your suit as you watched him nod his head in response to the report. He gestured for you to follow him as he made his way to the door.

“Honju. Ruins outside of town.” He mouthed to you.

You kept pace with him as he began speeding towards the transport, tying your hair up into a ponytail on the way. Along the way, the two of you collected soldiers, updating them on the situation as you all rushed to pull your gear together.

The atmosphere should’ve been tense, the adrenaline buzzing, the fear of death lurking around the corner, the fear of failing your country looming in the air. But it wasn’t. Not when you were around. Your fellow officers raced to catch up to you, whispering to each other, “So did you bet on cougar or coyote this time?” They’d snicker to each other as they made their arguments on which situation was more likely.

Even Hoshina couldn’t help but notice the lighthearted environment. “That’s enough chit chat, everyone in your vehicles now. And besides…I’m betting on a phoenix.” He winked and then hopped in the truck.

A phoenix??? Now he was on team mythical?? You groaned to yourself as you slunk in beside him. “You’re really setting the bar high, you know that?” You grumbled under your breath.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “If anyone can do it, it’s you... Princess.”

Your heart choked on its own rhythm, stuttering to a stop. He said it. He really, actually, truly fucking said it. And by god, you were not prepared in the slightest. Was the room spinning? Was the air increasingly thin? Had the sun filed in behind all the soldiers and made camp in this truck? Why were you sweltering and shivering all at once?

He bit back a laugh, opting instead to clear his throat into his fist. “Cat got your tongue?”

“P-pufferfish.” You mumbled meekly. “Thought you…wanted a pufferfish.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest shuddering, as he attempted to swallow down his own laughter. You were adorable, how else was he supposed to describe it? And how the hell was he supposed to contain himself? And in a truck full of people, no less. He was lucky they were all distracted with placing their bets, because he couldn’t help sneaking a look at your rose-tinted cheeks and it sent his heart into overdrive.

He might’ve reached out to caress them or pinch them, anything to touch them, and soothe his sanity. But then the truck stopped.

“Time to move out.” He ordered.

The soldiers spilled out of the car, and you were left to stumble behind them. Hoshina glanced back at you, suddenly aware that he’d left you all too dazed, and he immediately regretted teasing you so close to battle. He instructed a Platoon Leader to take you into their care, assigning their squad to the very back of the line. On any other day, you might’ve felt offended that he was benching you. But today, you hadn’t even noticed. How could you, when your heart was sprinting in dizzying circles in your chest? Could you even remember how to breathe? Did you remember what oxygen was? Sheer muscle memory allowed you to lock and load your gun, but your heart had no previous practice with gallivanting through sunny meadows and rainbowed skies. By the time you even realized what platoon you’d been assigned to, Hoshina was long gone.

He had rushed to the front lines, as he often did, slashing a path through his every foe with ease, until he reached his designated target. There it stood, hulking and howling, a Honju with a wolvish appearance- a beast among beasts. Hoshina noted to himself that it must have been the Alpha of the pack, as every bark and grunt appeared to be individual commands given to the Yoju that were currently swarming his comrades. He’d be sure to take it out quickly; he had to disrupt their chain of command. After all, he’d never forgive himself if even one of them caused any harm to you. Even as the last line of defense, you were still much too close to the battle for his liking. He trusted your skills, but he rebuked himself for the state he’d left you in. He’d be sure to finish this battle soon, and rush back to your side for a celebratory beer.

But even with all his talent, Hoshina was reminded that there was no such thing as a sure victory in battle. When he had decided to engage the Honju in battle, he had expected it to react much like a Kaiju would. He would attack and, having nothing but primal instincts to guide it, the Honju should respond in kind, bearing its fangs in retaliation. And, of course, it did at first. Hoshina’s blades clashed with its claws, weapons that somehow rivaled his own in both integrity and ferocity, and for a moment, it appeared as though it were anyone’s battle to win, with both sides equally as charged and tenacious. But it quickly became evident that Hoshina was stronger. And after a couple of fiery exchanges, the beast made the decision to retreat, its more animalistic nature winning out over its monstrous nature. Wolves, after all, hunt in packs and, even as the leader, a lone wolf is smart enough to know when to withdraw.

Hoshina pursued its quickly fleeing figure but it was to no avail. Even tracking it did no good, and he eventually made the decision to rejoin his officers in the field, clearing out the remaining Yoju. By the time the battle was over, he had almost been able to forget the humiliating draw between him and the Honju. That is, until Okonogi chimed in on his comms.

“Vice Captain, picking up one remaining Honju on the field, sir.”

He shook his head in frustration. “System must be acting up, Okonogi. I watched it retreat myself. It’s long gone by now.”

“No, sir. The readings are accurate. It’s still on the field.”

Hot blood surged through his veins. “Where?” He demanded.

“Sector Bravo.”

In an instant, his blood ran cold. Bravo. That was your sector. The end of the defensive line. “Okonogi, get me a sitrep on all officers in Sector Bravo. Is everyone accounted for?” His heart thundered in his chest as he sped through alleyways and burst through ruined buildings, all the while, listening to her rattle off each individual officer’s status. He couldn’t very well tell her that no one’s status but yours mattered.

“And finally, Officer L/N. Vitals normal.”

His breathing evened.

“But she appears to be secluded from the rest of the officers.”

His chest tightened. “She what??”

“For some reason, she’s in an abandoned part of the map.” Okonogi reported.

What on god’s earth were you doing out there alone?? His already-rapid pace increased even further. “Get me a status on the Honju.”

“It’s…oh. OH.”

“Okonogi-” He hissed.

“It’s closing in on her as we speak, Vice Captain-!”

She’d barely finished her sentence when he rocketed ahead, renewed strength and renewed desperation propelling him forward.

No, no, no, no. He hadn’t even asked your favorite genre of music, hadn’t asked if you ever minded always listening to his. He hadn’t asked you if you wanted to go with him to see the new, upcoming movie. He hadn’t asked you if you even liked animals or if you just somehow always got stuck with them. He hadn’t asked your deepest fears or your sincerest wishes. He hadn’t gotten to know you as well as he’d wanted. And most importantly…he hadn’t told you how he felt.

Right now, all he felt was panic. Terror. Anxiety.

He heard that familiar growl again and it sent his stomach spiraling into a knot. Why wasn’t he faster? Why wouldn’t his feet obey him? Why couldn’t he simply sprout wings and fly???

Then he heard your laugh.

He stumbled into the clearing just in time to see you, rubbing the wolf’s belly.

“Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are. Yes, you are! You’re not so scary now, are you? Just a lil hungry. Just a lil hungry baby. Have something for you, sweetie pie.” You yanked a nearby, rusted stop sign out of the ground and waved it back and forth.

Eyes lighting up, the Honju lunged forward.

Hoshina’s feet reacted before his mind did and he was at your side in a split second, swords at the ready, eager to spill the Kaiju’s organs all over the pavement.

But the Honju didn’t attack you. He simply gnawed on the “stick” you’d given him as a treat.

“Oh, Hoshina, you’re here. Hey.”

He blinked. ‘Hey?’ That was all he got? He literally broke the sound barrier, rushing to your aid, and he got a simple, ‘Hey?’

“Hoshina- meet Spot. Spot, meet my Vice Captain.”

His jaw dropped and shattered on the ground. “You NAMED it??”

You gave a sheepish laugh. “Well…I couldn’t very well kill it. Not when he’s being such a good boy for me. Aren’t you?”

As if in response, the wolf flopped onto its back once again, eager for more belly rubs, its wagging tail stirring up dirt.

Hoshina waved away the dust, coughing. “He’s not a ‘good boy.’ He tried to kill me.”

“But that was then. This is now. Can’t you just let this one Kaiju off the hook?”

Disbelief, shock, and indignation warred within him. But in the end, he fell victim to your glimmering eyes and your perfectly pouted lips. He sighed. “I…I suppose the… the Captain has her own kaiju pet so…it wouldn’t be completely inconceivable for you to…also have one.” His shoulders slumped in defeat.

Your eyes lit up like fireworks. “Really?? Oh- you’re the absolute best, Soshiro!” Excitement overtaking any sense of rationality, you threw your arms around him and squeezed him tight.

It wasn’t until he was properly snuggled into your embrace that you realized the gravity of what you’d said. And done.

“S…Soshiro?” He asked weakly.

Your arms froze around his waist. “I…I meant...Hosh…Vice…I…”

His body began to quiver and you wondered if you’d really upset him to the point of being so shaken with rage. But then he rested his forehead against your shoulder, laughter tumbling out of his lips. “You really just skipped straight to first names like it was nothing,” He gasped out in between fits of laughter.

You bit your lip, having no choice but to endure the shame and humiliation.

He finally stopped laughing enough to pull back and look at you, amusement painted clearly across his features. “Cat got your tongue?” He repeated his earlier words. “Princess.”

And there it was again. That same, overwhelming flood of crimson that rushed to the surface of your skin, enveloping every inch of your face. This time, even the tips of your ears had begun to dye themselves in the similar shade of rouge.

“Aww. How cute. Fearless in the face of monsters, but speechless when it comes to me. Why is that?” His voice danced with that familiar, teasing tone.

You attempted to shrink away from him but he caught you by the waist.

“No running away from me now, Princess.” His tone suddenly dropped, his words a low purr. “Tell me. What’s got you so worked up?”

“If you’re asking me things like that, you already know.” You grumbled in complaint. He chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ll have to enlighten me.”

“I like you. Stupid Soshiro.” You crossed your arms emphatically.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said you’re stupid, Soshiro!”

He pressed his lips to yours, his taste intermingling with yours as he deepened the kiss. “And…” He pulled away, leaving you entranced, “What was it you said before that?”

“...like you. Stupid.” You repeated meekly.

“Could’ve done without the stupid,” He grinned, “But I like you too. My princess.” He dipped his head down to smother his whispered words against the soft swell of your lips once again. And then he kept kissing you until your lips were chapped, until there was no question about his feelings for you.

You’d never been too fond of your nickname before, but somehow, someway, whenever he murmured it the way he did, in that sickeningly sweet tone of his, as he buried his lips in yours, somehow- you felt like royalty.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

#han's library #soshiro hoshina #kaiju no. 8 #hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #vice captain hoshina #hoshina soshiro #kn8 hoshina #kn8 x reader #kn8 anime #kn8 #kn8 fanfic #kaiju no 8 #kaiju number 8 #kn8 x you #kn8 x y/n

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soraphic · 5 months ago

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mean!remus lupin would take any excuse to fuck the attitude right out of you.

he would relish in the fact that the slytherin princess; descended from an extensive heritage of respect and noriety, one of the highest achieving students in his year — known specifically for giving Sirius Black a run for his money — and a temper so severe students cowered at the prospect of you turning a corner; was his obedient little slut behind closed doors.

he would love the way your sleek, dark hair cascaded over your shoulders like a shadowy cloak, the angular point of your features just visible under the dark shield of anonymity you kept — the same gorgeous hair he had wrapped tightly around his fist while you gagged eagerly on his cock in the odd broom closet or tucked away behind a bookcase when you just couldn't wait.

though his friends could never understand his amusement toward you; seeing that, in their eyes, you were the wickedest bitch they'd ever met; he would find a certain air of fun in the way you'd berate him in public, finding it all the more enticing when he'd drag your arse right back into line later.

"It's coulis. They don't have that where you're from?" you'd snap, your mossy eyes staring at him with certain animosity while your lips were pulled into a deep grimace of disgust.

while James & Sirius both scowled at you defensively, Remus would simply flick his spoon into the blood red mixture, aiming directly for the emerald green of your tie and showering the fabric in hot pink splotches; "'guess not."

you'd scoff at the action, petulantly trying to wipe the steady forming stain with the back of your hand— "It's like jam. It goes with cakes."

It had been the most conversation you'd ever allowed Remus to get out of you in a public setting, despite your visible display of faux detest for him, he excited himself at the prospect; and the way he would use it to taunt you after hours.

he adored the way you'd slip into his dorm room late into the night following the interaction, bodies working like clockwork as his slender fingers wrapped tightly around the back of your throat, forcing your head deeper into the pillow and delighting in the way your little ass perked up at him.

his silky voice would whisper cruel rhetorics into your ear, his sick words dripping with lust— "Not so gobby now are you,baby?"

he'd pull you roughly by the hair connecting to the base of your scalp, making you cry out as your back hit his chest; and he'd laugh meanly at the pathetic little noise you made— "Who's daddy's good girl,hm?" he'd punctuate with a particularly hard thrust, getting a good look at the way your face contorted with a mix of delicious pain and pleasure; the thrill of enjoying something you knew was forbidden.

and if at any point you'd refrain from answering, his short tempered self would be quick to fuck an answer out of you; "Answer me, doll. You like when daddy fucks you like this?"— and he'd only let up with a satisfied groan at the way you'd painfully wail a 'yes,remus!'; addressing him properly so that everyone within a mile radius of his dorm room knew exactly who you belonged to.

#i literally cannot stop thinking about mean!remus someone sedate me #remus lupin #remus lupin smut #remus lupin imagine #moony #remus lupin x reader #mean!remus

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magical-magyars · 6 months ago

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馬毛島　鹿児島～種子島　2024.7.28　日本エアコミューター機から撮影　

豊かな馬毛島の海を育んだ「魚付き林」が剥がされ赤土の大地と化した『馬毛島自衛隊基地』建設現場

#landscape #japan #photography #Self-Defense Force Base #FCLP #Mageshima #Tanegashima #Kagoshima #馬毛島 #種子島 #鹿児島県 #自衛隊基地 #米軍基地 #タッチアンドゴー #魚付き林

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trust-is-a-dangerous-thing · 7 days ago

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Continuing with the Nightmare!AU...

The guys obviously all have their own abilities, fairly strong ones as well.

Price had the ability to completely negate the powers of others, to stop them dead in their tracks. If someone tried to read his mind, they couldn't. If someone tried to teleport away from him, they couldn't. If someone tried to burn him, they couldn't. All he had to do was focus on someone or on an area, and that person---or everyone in that area---would lose their abilit(y/ies) for as long as he was concentrated on it.

Ghost was essentially a mimic, if he was attacked with any sort of power, he could turn around and use that same power right back. If he used them often, he could sometimes keep an ability for several months after his brush with it. So whatever the people around him had---pyrokinesis, mind control, energy manipulation, shapeshifting, anything---he had it too.

Soap was telekinetic, someone who could control things with his mind. He could pull the remote to him if he was already sitting on the couch or he could force a locking mechanism to disengage, if given enough time. He could stop someone from falling from a dangerous height or he could throw a Humvee down a city block.

And Gaz could conduct electricity. He could do things as mundane as turning on the television or restarting a car, and he could do things as dangerous as causing a city-wide blackout or aim an arc of lightning at an enemy, electrocuting them. Hell, he could even work as a human defibrillator if need be.

They were all dangerous, just like you.

The difference between them and you, however, is that other people were never really afraid of them the way that they were afraid of you. Yes, they could hurt people, but that was the thing...they could. It was a choice they made, something that might happen or might not. With you, it wasn't that you could hurt someone, it's that you would---that it was something intrinsic to you, something you couldn't fight, that it was your nature.

And how were you supposed to fight back against that?

Every time you got angry or upset, anytime you gave the same malice and hate back to someone who gave you it first, any time you defended yourself against people that would harm you...well, that was only used to prove their point. It was self-defense, but not for you. Never for you.

So you learned that the only way to survive, the only way to carve out some form of a life for yourself, was to just leave things be. To never defend yourself, physically or verbally. To disengage when possible and, if you can't, just take it. Defending yourself wasn't worth it, all it ever led to was more pain.

So when Ghost has a bad day and snaps at you a little too harshly for something that wasn't even your fault, and you only put your head down and apologize before quickly leaving the room; when Soap randomly tackles you in the rec room one day, just trying to play-fight because you look so stressed and he wants to raise your spirits, and you not only don't fight back but completely freeze up;

When Price tries to get you to run punishment drills for some snarky recruits and you come up with every excuse in the book for why you can't, before "coincidentally" breaking your arm the day of; when Gaz watches you do absolutely nothing as some of the people on base say the vilest things to your face, only brushing him off with a- "it'll only make it worse" -when he asks why you don't fight back...

...it makes them wonder.

#also side note:#in the original concept I put telekinesis instead of telepathy #but I meant telepathy #because telekinesis is something completely different #call of duty #modern warfare #nightmare!au #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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mesetacadre · 4 months ago

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There's a post that's a screenshot of someone calling artists little lords and landowners/aligning them with the bourgeoisie, with commentary making fun of the sentiment because self-employed artists don't make much money. Every time I see it I feel crazy. Isn't that exactly what petit bourgeoisie means? It has nothing to do with how wealthy you are, just your relationship to capital. And self employed artists would be exactly that since they, technically, own their means of production? I never see anyone commenting on that damn post except to agree with it. Please share your thoughts and tell me if I'm being stupid

The issue with the word artist is that it encompasses a very heterogeneous set of groups. Broadly, yeah, artists are petit-bourgeois (own private property, extracts value generated by workers' labor-power) or artisans (owns their own means of production and is paid for their work by other people without having a relationship of employment; commissions). This is also modified by the relationship to imperialism; Jackson Pollock is a very different kind of artist than a photographer, than a commission artist in the UK, than a commission artist in the global south, than someone who outsources their art to an overseas factory, etc.

Still, one way or another, the economic organization of artistic production is closer to the bourgeoisie than the proletariat in terms of economic relations, even if in terms of wealth accumulation, it's the other way around. This is nothing special, most small business owners are in this situation, which is known as proletarianization. In any of the tides of monopolization and the ebbs of wealth redistribution, the petit-bourgeois and adjacent classes (such as artisans) come at the risk of proletarianization, of losing the small amount of private property they own and being forced into becoming a part of the proletariat. Historically this risk has gone as far as becoming one of the factors of the rise to power of German and Italian fascists, and in a more mundane sense, also encourages bourgeois aspirations. One only has to look at the steadfast defense of intellectual property most (imperial core based) artists have deployed as soon as generative LLMs cheapened artistic labor in certain instances.

#ask #anon #seriousposting

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vuesitalo · 6 months ago

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୨♡୧ ── Se-Mi headcanons ౨ৎ

a/n: I LOVED writing this! It was so much fun to write considering that I had this inspired by my favorite anime “Nana!”

synopsis: headcanons that are Nana and Hachi dynamic based. ^_^

1.) opposites attract ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Se-Mi and Y/N are like night and day though. Se-Mi is emotionally reserved, a a bit bit naive cynical about and love. independent, The while two Y/N almost is always more create open both and tension warm-hearted, and not affection, to and mention Se-Mi's calm (sometimes cold) demeanor almost always serves as a balance to Y/N's exuberance. Y/N is able to bring out the more sensitive Se-Mi, and Se-Mi shows Y/N how to be more self sufficient, and resilient.

2.) emotional growth ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Like Hachi and Nana, Se-Mi and Y/N both develop emotionally in their relationship. Se-Mi slowly lowers her defenses, and Y/N learns how to stand up for themselves more. It becomes a relationship of strength and self discovery, no matter how many twists and turns it has. Y/N usually has to work through the complications of Se-Mi’s closed off nature, while Se-Mi is learning the benefits of being vulnerable through her interactions with Y/N.

3.) unspoken understandings ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Although they may not articulate everything, there lurks an unarticulated understanding. Y/N does not have to verbalize that something is wrong for Se-Mi to know; Y/N often alleviates Se-Mi's fears merely with their presence. This is a quiet bond strengthened by subtle gestures: Se-Mi slipping their hand under Y/N's when they need reassurance and Y/N appearing with their favorite snack when Se-Mi's day is difficult without Se-Mi needing to ask for it.

4.) jealousy and complicated love ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

While some aspects of jealousy arise in Se-Mi and Y/N, as in Nana and Hachi, whenever any of them gets too cozy with others, it's not that they lack faith-trust-in each other, but the entanglement of feelings-in the intensity of which they exist-makes them surface. For Y/N, there is tension about past relationships; for Se-Mi, a detached one can worry-but these conflicts serve to cement their closeness as they are forced to confront their fears and insecurities with each other.

5.) protective instincts ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Se-Mi may not display it often, but she is fiercely protective of Y/N. Se-Mi can be cold, icy almost, but occasionally those walls break down to show her softness for Y/N, like in those moments when she defends Y/N in public or difficult situations or when she quietly checks on them when things go tough. Y/N, bound to Se-Mi by trust, slowly comprehends the elusive parts of Se-Mi's caring.

6.) shared dreams and ambitions ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

As peers, Se-Mi and Y/N are very similar to Nana and Hachi, with their closeness being related to their individual aspirations. While Se-Mi is busy making something out of her life, Y/N pursues one of her many ambitions. The two of them would work together in cases of mutual aspirations; however, there would be episodes of doubt when one is starting to shine more than the other. Instead of collapsing their friendship, they derive a constant support for each other's growth, be it against jealousy, failure, or any other hiccup in their inseparably dear journeys.

7.) heartbreak and healing ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Similar to Nana and Hachi, Y/N and Se-Mi go through a lot of heartbreak-in their case, generally caused by each other's mistakes, miscommunications, or outside forces. There are very notable moments, too, when they are uncertain whether their relationship will last, but both of them manage, at different times, to heal from their wounds, whether through some time apart or by reconciling their differences in love. At times harrowing and wild, their relationship becomes the pathway to recovery, growth, and emotional strength.

#player 380 #squid game #won jian #won ji an #player 380 x reader #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game x y/n

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nyc-tophile · 24 days ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

After Hydra held you captive and forced you to watch what Bucky endured as the Winter Soldier, you became determined to get him out. Despite Zola’s haunting words—“He doesn’t care about you”—you'd risk your life for him, even if he didn’t remember what happened between the two of you.

Warnings - ooc winter soldier, kidnapping, captivity, attempted escape, gun violence, physical injury, self-defense, panic, intense action, strong language, emotional stress, and threat of death.

Author’s Note: I’ll be honest—I’m not completely happy with how I wrote this, but I hope you all still enjoy it! Feedback and notes are greatly appreciated. Thank you for all the support and 53 followers!

Translations -

[обыщите здание; мы не можем позволить им сбежать - search the building; we can't let them escape.]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒

You sat in your cell at the Hydra base, eyes fixed on the cracked, gray ceiling, your mind racing with plans and desperate ideas. After witnessing what they did to Bucky earlier, you knew one thing for certain — you had to get out of there, and fast.

But it wasn’t that simple. It took you a long time to figure out how to escape alive — how to get Bucky out without him slipping back into the Winter Soldier, and how to find your way back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Every answer led to more questions, and every plan felt like it could fall apart at any second.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, the words “I’ve got this” echoing in your mind like a promise.

By the next day, you had finally pieced together a plan. You didn’t know if it would work — but at this point, you’d rather die trying than rot in that cell, forced to listen to Zola’s twisted remarks for one more second.

The day began like all the others. Now you were in Zola’s office, lying on the cold metal chair, the harsh lights burning above you. Zola paced the room, droning on about something you didn’t bother to listen to — his voice had become background noise. Your eyes stayed sharp, scanning your surroundings, searching for anything, anything that could help you escape.

Then you spotted it—a bag tucked away in the corner of a cubby, packed with your original clothes. For a moment, you hesitated, daring to hope that your phone might still be inside. If it were, maybe you could power it on and send your location to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Scrapping your other plan completely, you started formulating a new one. Then Zola’s voice cut through your thoughts: “Alright, girl, you’re finished here.” You didn’t reply—just hummed softly and stood up. The guard was waiting at the edge of the bed.

Turning your back to the tray of medical tools, you slipped your hand behind you and quietly picked up the dental pick lying near the edge. You tucked it carefully up the sleeve of the sweater you were wearing.

Back in your cell, you sat on the cot, letting time slip by as you pieced together a new plan, one you hoped wouldn’t fall apart like the rest. When the halls finally fell silent, you rose, your leg still aching as it struggled to heal. Slowly, you crossed the room and gripped the cold metal rails, peering out. The guard stood to the left of the cell, gun in hand, staring straight ahead, still, alert, but unaware.

You turned back to the bed and reached beneath the thin mattress, fingers closing around the metal pick you’d hidden there. You’d taken the time to straighten it earlier. With quiet steps, you returned to the bars and crouched by the lock, heart pounding. Biting your lip to steady your breath, you slid the pick into the keyhole, feeling for the tumblers. Slowly, you worked it back and forth, listening for the soft clicks.

You froze as the soft click reached your ears — the lock had given way. A small smile tugged at your lips. Carefully, you eased the lock free and lowered it to the ground, doing your best not to make a sound.

Drawing a slow, steady breath, you reached for the latch. Your fingers moved with deliberate care, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, as if that might help you will the silence to hold. Inch by inch, you shifted the latch, every muscle tense, praying it wouldn’t betray you with a single noise.

As you felt the latch softly click against the cover, signaling it could move no further, you exhaled the breath you’d been holding and opened your eyes. Bringing your hand back into the cell, you grabbed the pick and held it between your teeth. Rising to your feet, you moved slowly, easing the cell door open.

You took a deep breath and stepped out, crouching low. The cold floor against your bare feet as you crept forward, careful not to make a sound. Before the guard could register what was happening, you pulled the pick from your mouth and closed the distance, clamping a hand over his mouth. With a swift motion, you drove the pick into his neck, then yanked it free, watching as he slowly collapsed to the floor.

Letting out a sharp breath, you picked up his gun and slipped the pick into your pocket. A quick search of his body revealed a knife, which you tucked into your waistband before moving on. Clutching the gun to your chest, you moved swiftly through the cold, dimly lit halls of Hydra’s compound, glancing into each room as you passed, heart pounding, determined to find Bucky.

“Come on, Bucky, where are you…” You muttered under your breath as you hurried toward the lab where Zola kept your belongings. Slowing your pace, you came to a stop at the door, pressing your back against the cold wall. Heart racing, you took a steadying breath before carefully leaning forward, peering through the glass to scan the room.

Scanning the room carefully, you eased the door open and stepped inside, moving as quietly as you could. Only one light was on, casting a dim glow from behind a curtain at the far end of the lab. You took a deep breath, raising the gun, your hands steady despite the pounding of your heart. Step by step, you crept toward the curtain, then slowly drew it aside.

There he was — Bucky. He laid upright, eyes closed, his hands clenched tightly into fists, as if even in sleep he was waging some unseen battle. Slinging the gun across your back, you crept toward him, each step careful, your heart aching at the sight of him.

You stepped to his side, heart pounding, and slowly reached out, your fingertips brushing lightly against his right wrist. But before you could blink, before you could even draw your next breath, his hand shot up and clamped around your throat, squeezing hard.

Panic surged through you as your hands flew to his wrist, trying to pry him off. “Bucky— I-it’s me!” you gasped, your voice strained, nails digging into his skin. His eyes were wide with confusion, searching your face.

His grip didn’t loosen. His eyes, still wild, searched yours as he muttered, confused, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Your vision blurred at the edges, the pressure on your throat making it harder to breathe. Desperate, you fumbled for the knife at your waistband and drew it, pressing the blade against his side. “L-let me go… please,” you gasped, voice strained and trembling. “I’ll explain everything.”

His lips pressed into a tight line as he loosened his grip, though his hand stayed on your neck, the weight of it a reminder of how close you’d come. His metal arm moved with lightning speed, grabbing the knife and tossing it aside, the blade clattering across the floor. His eyes raked over you, sharp and searching, until they landed on the gun at your side. The confusion in his gaze darkened, his face hardening with anger, distrust shadowing every feature.

You followed his gaze, understanding dawning. Slowly, you raised your hands.

“I’ll take it off,” you muttered, voice low, moving with deliberate care as you unbuckled the strap and lowered the weapon to the floor. You nudged it away with your foot.

“It’s gone. You can relax,” you said, arching a brow, hoping he’d loosen his grip.

He said nothing, but after a beat, his hand fell away. He straightened, towering over you as he moved to stand properly.

“We need to hurry,” you whispered, rubbing your neck where his hand had been. “We’ve only got a little time before they realize I’m out of my cell.”

“Hurry for what?” he asked, his voice low, wary.

“We’re getting out of here,” you said simply, already slipping past the curtain, eyes searching for the bag that held your things.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you, his expression clouded with unspoken questions.

“If I can find my phone, I can send out a location ping to the tower,” you muttered, scanning the room, your voice low and urgent.

You bit your lip, eyes locking on the bag. Snatching it up, you dug through it, silently praying your phone was still inside.

Your fingers closed around it. Relief flooded through you as you pulled it free, holding it up for a moment before exhaling quietly.

Without wasting another second, you slipped back behind the curtain. “Come on. We need to leave—now.”

You grabbed the knife, reaching for the gun, but his hand shot out, gripping your arm.

You turned your head, watching him. His face was unreadable. “Give me the gun,” was all he said.

You rolled your eyes but stepped back, letting him take it.

“Let’s go,” you said, turning toward the curtain as you tucked the phone into your shirt. “We need to be quick,” you added in a low whisper, moving toward the door.

You glanced back, just to be sure Bucky was right behind you.

You turned the door handle and eased it open, just wide enough to slip your head out. You scanned both directions—the hall was empty, silent except for the distant hum of machinery.

Slowly, you stepped into the corridor, waiting until Bucky moved in behind you before pulling the door shut with careful precision.

Every muscle in your body was coiled tight as you crept down the hall, the cold floor sharp against your bare feet. The knife stayed clenched in your hand, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

The dim lights flickered overhead as you moved, shadows stretching long along the walls. You glanced back, just once, to see Bucky following close, his steps silent, his expression still guarded but focused.

“We need to move fast,” you whispered, barely more than a breath, your eyes flicking toward the corner ahead.

You stopped, pressing yourself against the wall as you peered around the corner. Two guards stood quietly, one on either side of the hallway.

Before you could react, Bucky’s hand gripped your arm and tugged you back, pinning you gently against the wall.

“Stay here. I’ll do it,” he said, his voice low, steady.

Without waiting for a response, he slipped around the corner, moving like a shadow. You strained to listen as the guards spotted him.

“Soldier? Why are you out of the lab?” one of them asked, his voice laced with confusion.

The second question never came. The crack of a gunshot split the air, sharp and final, echoing down the hall.

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, heart pounding. That sound would draw attention—there was no way it hadn’t been heard.

Before you knew it, alarms blared—the once yellow lights now flashing an ominous red.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, skidding around the corner, sprinting toward where Bucky stood over the bodies of the now-dead guards.

“You had to shoot them?!” you hissed, snatching up one of the guards’ guns before grabbing Bucky’s arm and yanking him forward.

“I got the job done,” he said, voice calm as ever.

“Yeah, well, now we’re done for if we get caught!” you snapped, feet pounding against the floor as the two of you ran down the corridor, alarms screaming around you.

Before you could round the corner, a voice crackled to life over the speaker system—Zola.

“Do you think you can escape here without being killed?” he taunted, amusement dripping from every word, as if he were on the verge of laughter.

You froze in place, heart hammering in your chest. Bucky nearly barreled into you, boots skidding, but he stopped just in time.

His eyes flicked to yours, jaw clenched, waiting.

The corridor ahead pulsed red with the alarm lights, the flickering glow casting jagged shadows on the walls.

Zola’s voice crackled through the speakers again, low and mocking, as if he relished every word.

“You have hundreds of guards surrounding this place, inside and out… and worse yet, you have the Winter Soldier with you.”

Bucky stiffened beside you, his expression darkening. His metal fist clenched at his side, the sound of the plates grinding together barely audible over the blaring alarms.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears as you fought to keep breathing, to think.

“Fucking hell…” You whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of the alarms.

Your eyes lifted to Bucky’s. His jaw was tight, his expression carved from pure fury—but beneath it, you saw it. The flicker of fear. The weight of what Zola’s words meant.

“All it takes is those phrases, and he could kill you within a second. You know this,” Zola hummed, his voice smooth, almost gentle, like he was sharing a secret.

Bucky’s metal fist flexed at his side, the sound of the metal groaning under the pressure. His breath came hard and fast, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

Bucky grabbed your wrist. “We have to move.”

“Are you going to risk it? Risk your life for a man who’s killed more than two dozen people?” Zola demanded, his voice sharp. “The same man who snapped necks without even blinking?”

You blinked slowly, your gaze steady on him. For a fleeting moment, confusion and sorrow flickered in his eyes.

Still, you didn’t look away.

“He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care about you,” Zola pressed on, his words like needles sinking deeper. “Stop fooling yourself into thinking you matter to him.”

You couldn’t stand to hear another word. Grabbing Bucky’s arm, you pulled him with you, breaking into a jog down the hall, the world around you blurring in your rush to escape.

But then, the sound of heavy footsteps pounded against the floor, growing louder, getting closer with every second. Before you could react, Bucky yanked you into a nearby room, pushing you down beneath the glass. His body shielded yours, his breath steady against your ear.

The soldiers stormed past. One barked out an order “Обыщите здание; мы не можем позволить им сбежать!”

Taking a chance, you pulled your phone from beneath your shirt, powered it on, and prayed it still had some battery left. Beside you, Bucky shifted, ready to move, but you grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.

“Not yet. I need to send the location,” you whispered, your voice low.

Your gaze lingered on his face—on the piercing blue of his eyes, on the scars that marked his forehead and cheeks, some old, some still fresh.

Your eyes flicked to his lips, then back to his—those blue eyes now faintly illuminated by the glow of your phone’s screensaver. The warmth in them made your chest tighten. You tore your gaze away, knowing that if you didn’t, you might lose control of yourself.

Forcing your focus back to the screen, you drew in a slow, steady breath, your fingers trembling slightly as you began tapping, trying to move as fast as you could.

"Alright, we can go now. But we have to be quick," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as you rose slowly. You peeked through the glass, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

You could feel Bucky’s body heat just behind you, a quiet presence that sent a shiver down your spine. Fingers tightening around the door handle, you eased it down and gently pushed the door open, cautiously scanning the outside.

The coast was clear. Moving quietly, you stepped out, the weight of the gun steady in your hand, Bucky following silently at your back.

You moved quickly but silently down the dim hallway, every sense on high alert. The air felt heavy, thick with tension. Just as you turned a corner, you came face-to-face with four armed men.

“Hey! Stop right there!” one of them yelled, raising his gun and aiming it straight at you and Bucky.

Time seemed to slow. Without hesitation, you dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the first shot that cracked through the air. Bucky lunged forward, grabbing the nearest man’s arm and twisting it until the gun clattered to the floor. A swift punch to the jaw sent him sprawling.

You rolled to your feet, gun in hand, and fired at the man who’d shouted, hitting him in the leg and dropping him with a pained yell. Another came at you fast, swinging the butt of his rifle, but you ducked beneath it and slammed your elbow into his ribs, feeling the breath rush out of him.

Behind you, Bucky was a blur — metal arm catching a fist mid-swing, driving his knee into an attacker’s stomach, then hurling him against the wall with a loud thud.

The last man hesitated, gun wavering as he took in the scene. His eyes darted between you and Bucky — fear creeping into his expression, but desperation keeping his finger on the trigger.

You saw the decision flash across his face a split second before he acted. He raised the gun, aiming straight at Bucky.

Before he could fire, you lunged forward, knocking his arm to the side as the shot rang out, the bullet sparking off the metal wall. The recoil threw him off balance, and you took advantage, driving your knee up hard into his stomach. He doubled over with a grunt, but didn’t go down.

He swung wildly at you, fist grazing your jaw, you caught his wrist, twisted, and shoved him back, straight into Bucky, who was already moving.

Bucky’s metal arm closed around the man’s throat, cutting off his air. The man thrashed, clawing at the unbreakable grip, but Bucky held firm, eyes cold, jaw tight.

“Enough,” Bucky growled, slamming him hard into the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath, heart racing. The sharp tang of gunpowder filled the air.

You picked up your gun, fingers tightening around the grip as you stepped forward. The hall stretched out before you.

Instinct made you glance back. Bucky followed close behind — hair frizzed and messy, strands clinging to his sweat-slicked face. His chest rose and fell with deep, steadying breaths, eyes sharp and alert.

Stop it, you told yourself, tearing your gaze away before your mind wandered where it shouldn’t. Not now. Not here.

You forced your focus forward, scanning every shadow, every doorway, your pulse still hammering from the fight. The air felt heavier with tension, the red lights pulsing, and the alarm’s blare pressing into your ears.

Bucky’s footsteps fell in quietly beside yours. He didn’t speak, but you felt his gaze.

“Follow me,” he muttered, taking the lead, his voice low but firm. Without waiting for your reply, Bucky moved ahead, guiding you toward a narrow hallway, slipping through first.

You fell in behind him, weapon raised, every sense on edge. The walls felt like they were closing in — the flicker of red emergency lights casting warped shadows that danced across Bucky’s broad back.

Bucky paused at an intersection, holding up a hand. You froze. He tilted his head, listening.

A voice echoed faintly down the next corridor. Footsteps. More than one set, moving fast.

Three men rounded the corner, moving fast, weapons raised — but the corridor was too tight for gunfire, and they realized it an instant too late.

Bucky surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the first man’s chest, knocking him hard into the wall. His gun clattered to the floor, and Bucky didn’t hesitate — his metal arm swung up, delivering a brutal backhand that sent the man crumpling.

The second man lunged at you, swinging the butt of his rifle like a club. You ducked beneath it, feeling the rush of air as it missed your head by inches. You drove your elbow up into his jaw, the crack of impact sharp and satisfying. He staggered back, dazed, and you grabbed his wrist, twisting hard until the weapon dropped.

He snarled, swinging at you with his free hand. You caught it mid-strike, using his momentum to flip him. He hit the floor with a thud.

The third came at Bucky with a knife, slashing wildly. Bucky sidestepped, metal hand shooting out to catch the man’s wrist. There was a brief struggle — then Bucky yanked the man forward and drove his knee into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. With a swift twist, the knife clattered to the floor. Bucky ended it with a clean, brutal punch that dropped the man cold.

Without wasting a heartbeat, both of you sprinted down the hall, your feet pounding against the cold concrete. The alarm blared relentlessly, its echo bouncing off the walls like a warning.

You burst through a side exit and into the biting Siberian night. The sharp, icy air burned your lungs, but you welcomed it. Anything was better than the stifling, suffocating atmosphere inside that base.

Snow whipped around you, driven by a ruthless wind that cut through your clothes as you and Bucky moved toward a nearby cluster of trees. You crouched low, eyes scanning the distance, while behind you, the dark silhouette of the base loomed against the gray sky.

Steve and Natasha were coming. They had to be. Because if they weren’t… well, you already knew how this nightmare would end.

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