#and that sleeping on your back makes it worse

[comatosebunny09]

helpful | sylus

— summary: you can’t sleep because aunt flo is a bitch. sylus decides to help. — cw: female reader, female anatomy described, dry humping, riding, menstrual cup mention, period woes, mild language, praise, incredibly self-indulgent, bro this is a hot mess, i wrote this instead of carpe noctem ‘cause i wanted sexy time, mdni — now playing: monster - irene & seulgi

For the umpteenth time that morning, you fidget. 

Stupid restless leg syndrome. Stupid cramps. Stupid period. 

Man, fuck!

He stirs behind you, and you stiffen. He groans something abrasive. Brushes his lips against the outer curve of your ear, his hold around your waist tightening the slightest bit. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You wince at the grit of his tone. Feel shitty because he sleeps like shit as it is. With your added squirming, you’re only making things worse. 

“Nothing,” you sigh, hoping he won’t pursue it and fall back asleep. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

You shrink. Of course he’d press.

“Cramps again?”

You nod wordlessly, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his wrist and rubbing his ankle with your toes. He shifts against you, curled around you like a clingy feline, legs entangled, body a warm, calming pressure at your back. 

“How can I help?” purrs your love, rooting his nose against the sensitive space behind your ear. Inhales, taking in the warm scent wafting off your skin, leaving a shudder and goosebumps in his wake. 

“Dunno,” you return with a pout. “Maybe take my uterus out.”

His chuckle is throaty. Sleepy. Alluring. 

He eases a hand beneath the hem of your shirt, battle-worn palm smoothing over your belly. It’s soothing. Like your own personal heating pad, somewhat easing the gnarl of your gut.

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that, sweetheart. You might need it later. Any other way I can assist?”

You chew on your lip, listening to your pulse thrum. To the sound of his even breaths, the slide of his hand over your stomach, and the wrens singing their morning hymnal outside your window. 

You’re too lazy to grab medicine for the pain. And you don’t want Sylus leaving the bed, either—you’d miss him too much, no matter how briefly he’d be gone. 

You recall once reading up on other methods to ease cramps. 

Your cheeks warm with the memory of one particular bullet point that stood out.

You clear the phlegm from your throat in an attempt to redirect your thoughts.

Sylus, the observant bastard, senses your evasiveness. He lifts his chin from the hollow of your neck, snowy strands tickling your skin. You don’t have to glance back to know he’s looking at you with those dangerous duel flames and wariness pulling at his sleepy face.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, patting the meat of your belly. 

You swallow past the barbs in your throat, fidgeting once more. Your voice is small. Tentative. “Well, there is one way.”

You picture an inquisitive brow lifting. “Enlighten me.”

Quietly, you shift around on your bed in his arms until you’re faced with a mop of white. With drooping eyes glistening like the sun refracted off sea waves. 

You take his warm cheeks in your palms, sliding your thumbs along the scratchy stubble residing there. Trace over his bottom lip, entranced by its elasticity. Its fullness. He groans something soft and bitten-off, tugging you closer until your chests meet.

You look down between your bodies, a hot wash of embarrassment flooding your insides. A dismissive smile rounds your lips. “It’s stupid. Go back to sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

His hand slinks down your side, settling on your hip. He pitches himself forward, stealing the taste of your lips with a sticky, languid kiss. Nuzzles your nose with his beautifully sculpted one, a youthful quirk to his mouth. 

“Nothing is ever stupid when it comes to you. Tell me. I want to ease your pain.”

You worry your bottom lip again with your teeth, mulling over your next words. You burn hot when, in your peripheral, his eyes darken whilst following the action.

“I read somewhere that, um…”

Sylus strokes reassurance into your waist with his thumb. Wordlessly encourages you to continue, painting an attentive line between your mouth and lashes. 

“Orgasms…help.” 

“Oh?”

You flinch at how his voice rolls like thunder in his chest. You shut your eyes tight, to which he chuckles, dragging you impossibly closer until your pelvises acquaint themselves with each other. He traps your legs with his, mooring you to the spot. To him. 

Gentle digits pinch your chin, guiding your gaze back up. The look on his face makes your stomach twist, contending with your cramps. He kisses you once more, pressing that devilish smile to your lips. You relax after some time, letting him guide you through the languorous waltz of your tongues.

Your arms snake about his neck, and you pour the deftest little sound into his body, allowing him to plunder every ridge and crevice of your mouth. He pulls away with a sticky click, and the smolder of his gaze is unmistakable. 

Lust. Playfulness. Danger.

“Allow me to help,” he says, voice warm milk and honey. 

Your stomach flips. 

There is no warning. No preamble when he effortlessly maneuvers your body until you’re straddling him, legs bracketing either side of his devastating hips. His fingers burn like cinders, clasped around your waist. The seam of his pants digs something harsh against the inner cut of your thigh. You throb, blinking dumbly down at your love.

He tugs with a chuckle, and you careen forward, catching yourself on palms perched on his virile chest. With a smirk canting one corner of his mouth, he pillows the back of his head with his palm, watching you expectantly, the pinnacle of smugness.

“Use me.”

Your face contorts with confusion, a hot thrill shooting through you. “Huh?”

“To get off,” he returns as if it’s as obvious as the night’s transition to day. 

He lightly swats your ass, and you release an indignant sound, bowing forward, a warm, dizzying pressure pushing against the seam of your cunt.

Is that—

Sylus scoffs at your indecision. “Do I have to do everything for you, sweetie?” 

It’s a tease, a challenge. Yet, before you’re granted the time for a response, his hand is firm and possessive on your hip, sliding you forward, and—oh, fuck.

You pulse at the pleasant glide of your cunt against his awakening bulge. He repeats the motion, this time sliding you back on his lap. And spurred by your pleasured response, he begins undulating your hips like the lazy pull of a tide receding into the sea. The friction brewing between your thighs is enough to make your eyes roll and your head loll back, your mouth falling open with a silent gasp.

His lips part slightly, his unoccupied hand clasping around your other hip to keep you in rhythm. “Just like that,” he rasps, watching the strings of your resolve fray slowly. 

He knows what his voice does to you. How his tender instruction curls in your stomach like smoke, unfurling upward to scorch your chest. 

When he’s convinced you’ve caught on, he releases your hips, blistering palms closing around your wrists to keep you anchored to him. To keep your palms pressed firm against the rigid pane of his chest for leverage. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Use me. Take what you want from me.” His voice is murky. Gritty. Intense. Strained as if he’s enjoying the steady wind of your hips, the union of your bodies, just as much as you are.

Something twists low in your belly. You peer down at him with half-slit eyes, not once relinquishing the pleasurable knock of your hips. He studies you with equal fervor, pelvis slowly surging off the bed to meet you rock for rock. He’s goaded by your pleasure. By the soft, pathetic keening sounds leaving your lips, and his grip on your wrists is almost bruising.

“Take me, sweetheart. Take me.” He groans something heady, throaty, and it puddles in your core, searing hot like magma. 

Your walls quake around the menstrual cup nestled within, amplifying the sparkling sensation threatening to wholly take hold of you. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges on a groan. “Take your pleasure. Keep going until you’ve had your fill.”

You’ll lecture him later on his obsession with being used like something disposable. For now, you chase the tingling sensation stewing between your bodies, riding him a little faster than before, your clit perfectly dragging against his dick.

Your mouth hinges open as your hips paint a rhythm of their own accord, driven by feeling alone. Your orgasm creeps up your back like spindly, spidery limbs, and the world falls away, making way for a blinding surge of white. Your hips stutter. Stiffen, your tongue wrapping around his name. 

You barrel forward, falling into Sylus’ embrace, and you laugh as the final vestiges of your orgasm wade over you, leaving you a shaking mess of tendons and sweat. 

He smooths a hand over the notches of your spine as you come down, humming low, whispering dulcet words of encouragement into the crown of your head.

“That’s my girl. So good for me. So sweet. So pretty.”

His heartbeat is mollifying beneath your cheek. You smile, breaths evening out, sleep beckoning you with her feathery call. 

That’s one way to combat menstrual pain.

[lalunanymph]

💭 thinking about . . . . ex-husband caleb

tw. colonel caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, smut, mentions of angst, divorce, cross-posted from x, yandere-ish caleb, ex-husband, whiny caleb, begging, pathetic caleb, second chances, 2k+ words

The day you married Caleb was the happiest day of your life. 

You still remember the excitement in the air, the hush wedding reception filling up with closest friends. Those in attendance swore to keep this a secret��Caleb’s clandestine occupation as Colonel of the Farspace Fleet deterring from any illusions to a safe, stable job, not when he had enemies all around.

Gideon stood as his best man while Tara was your bridesmaid and makeup artist. 

A handful of Hunter colleagues, Jenna, and Professor Lucius who surprisingly sniffled quietly into his silk handkerchief, watched the two of you say your vows and promise before the law and men alike that you would always protect and cherish one another, for better or for worse. 

But, that was a year ago. 

While vows don’t change, people do. 

Sad story short, not even a year into your marriage, Caleb and you got into a huge, marriage-altering argument which resulted in six days of no-contact. You can say the divorce was mostly your fault.

Your husband of 342 days reluctantly agreed and while you two remained childless, he still insisted on paying the necessary support as per the pre-nup he insisted you get. 

The nascent, sharp ring of the doorbell distracts you from the rest of your straying thoughts, and you look up from the bouquet of flowers you’re halfway arranging. For a moment, your idle mind blanks and your heart trembles in your chest. 

It must be him… 

Your throat tightens at the prospect of seeing your ex-husband again. 

While the two of you didn’t have the most pleasant relationship, you had mostly agreed to keep things civil. That is, until you open the door to find Caleb beaten up and bloody with your ring in a velvet box. 

“... what the fu—?” 

You don’t get to finish your sentence, not when he ushers you inside with a scowl. Towering over you with his 6’2 frame, you remind yourself not to be thrown off by his boyish charms and playfully bright violet eyes, even as a trickle of blood runs down his chin. 

“Sorry, princess. Got caught in a tussle. But, I’m here with your ring as you requested.”

His voice is light, deceptively casual. 

You gape at him. “... care to explain to me why you're bleeding out all over my foyer?” 

In answer, he pats your head and breezes past you. “You mean the foyer of this house I pay with my own money so I can put a roof over my dear old ex-wife’s head?” He arches a brow. “I say I can bleed on these floors all I want. But, you—”

Your ex-husband scrutinizes you from head-to-toe. “—don’t look too hot. Not sleeping well?” 

You bristle at his glib comment. “Oh, shut up, you big dummy.” 

The bravado doesn’t last long. Your eyes betray you, and your concern flares at the sight of more sanguine red seeping into the carpet. Without a hint of warning, you grasp the lapels of his thick, embellished jacket, and tug it down his shoulders. He relents, your sudden show of concern drawing a pensive silence across those deep set eyes; a furrow in his brow.

You gingerly lead him to the couch, and tell him to stay there, as you make a beeline for the first aid kit up in your kitchen cabinet. Setting to work, you clean up his wounds, and bandage them, focusing on the gash of his arm. 

“You’re practically untouchable,” you shake your head. “How did you get this sloppy?” 

Caleb grunts, wincing when you tighten the makeshift tourniquet around his injury. “They… got me when I had my back turned.” You know better than to press him for details—Caleb is adamant on not drawing you deeper into his bullshit, any more than necessary. You do the best you can; despite not being married to him, Caleb was—is—still your friend first, and you would rather take care of him than risk him not seeking out proper medical attention for himself. 

As you bring his heavy-duty military jacket into the quaint laundry room, you scrub it, lost in your thoughts, the egg-shell white walls pressing down on you. With a stealthiness that belies his broad frame, Caleb slips right behind you, and you feel the heat of his broad chest seeping into the thin, old shirt you wore.

“Is this mine?”

He runs his fingers over the frayed hem, and you bristle.

“... no.”

As much as your stubbornness infuriates him, the dark-haired man can also admit how it amuses him to no end. “Sure?” He raises one brow. “Says ‘DAA’ right here—”

“Fine. You want me to take it off and give it back?” you seethe. He laughs, gives you a faint smile that doesn’t exactly touch his eyes.

“Nope,” he sighs. “Can’t risk you getting cold. I’m just messin’ with you.” 

Silence blankets the both of you in reassuring waves. There’s nothing awkward about being in the same room with Caleb, and you don’t think twice when he inches closer—close enough for his chin to hook over your shoulder. Warm palms tentatively slide down your sides, and you stiffen, but don’t push him away.

“I…” his voice breaks, and all his bravado brought on by the adrenaline from before starts to dissipate. “I missed… you.” He finishes lamely, and you resist the urge to snort. Your tender heart bleeds behind a wall of brambles and you put on a front. 

“What? Already getting sad I’m mooching off your Fleet paycheck?” 

He hears the forced derision in your tone and doesn’t comment on it. If you’re stubborn, Caleb is downright bull-headed. Never one to take ‘no’ for an answer, he spins you around, soapy water sloshing down the front of your shirt as he tilts your chin up to look at him. 

Purple eyes that remind you of bruises bore right into yours, and your heart catches in your throat. 

“You're going to be the death of me someday ” he murmurs huskily. 

“Caleb—”

“Come back to me,” he murmurs, wearing his entire heart on his sleeve; begging you to take him back with those sad, puppy-dog eyes.

“You know I can't be your wife again.”

That irrational part of him which loses control every time he's around you rears its ugly head. 

“Why not?” he bites out, almost a whine. 

He leans in closer, the scent of blood and his skin grazing your nostrils. 

Despite the complications that might arise, you're freefalling right into the gravity of his plush lips, feeling the chapped softness pressing to your mouth. Caleb groans, the sound soft and frayed with yearning, his kiss full of pain and love. He caresses your cheek softly, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your jaw. 

“Why,” he whispers hoarsely. “Why are you so stubborn? Why do you always insist on hurting me?”

“I don't mean it,” you whisper. “I just… I don't want to lose you again.”

He glides the tip of his nose down your jawline and huffs. “Y'know I would never do that again. I'm not gonna be the same stupid bastard the second time, Pipsqueak.”

The old nickname brings a wave of nostalgia washing over you. You can barely keep eye contact with him. 

“Caleb… we tried and it didn't work out…”

You trail off and the guilt inside his chest grows heavier and heavier.

He's torn between respecting your wishes and giving this a second shot. Caleb is nothing if not a determined man, and he can't accept failure when he hasn't fully assessed the problem and determined its roots. A part of him desperately wants to fix this… to fix things between you two before it's too late.

He was an idiot who let go of the most precious person in his life. The young Colonel had already lost you once, and he's not going to stand around as you move on with your life and forget about him.

“Stop defying me… I know you want this, too,” he mutters hoarsely, pressing his lips to your neck. “I know you miss me… call out for me… need me as much as I need you and no matter what it takes—”

His tone is rough with suppressed need and stubbornness. 

“—you will come back to me. We will be together again.”

It was a mistake. 

You knew it from the roots of your head to the tips of your toes, and yet, you fell for his charms (again) and let him carry you into the bedroom, where he lays you down on the soft mattress like it’s your honeymoon—again. 

Caleb’s larger build presses down onto you, nimble and sure fingers inching off his old DAA shirt from your frame as he gazes down at you with pure hunger in his eyes. He slots himself in between your thighs, warm palms kneading the fleshy dough of your breasts as you gasp and writhe.

Stupid, you chastise yourself as he leans forward to trap your turgid nipple in between his teeth. Stupid, you groan inwardly when his free hand pinches your other swollen bud. You absolute idiot—you suck in a huge breath when he feathers kisses down your sternum, mentally berating yourself on how you got here. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And, yet, you could never say no to Caleb, not when he’s hellbent on claiming you as his again. 

But, that’s fine, right? 

Ex-spouses sleep with each other all the time, is what you’re trying to delude yourself with as he removes the rest of his uniform, leaving him just in his thick military pants. You squeeze your thighs around his waist, and he grunts, letting you drag him deeper into your ardent embrace. 

Caleb kisses down your neck and you lose yourself in his scent—his presence.

He hitches your thighs around his waist and it’s all over for you. Warm and slightly chapped kisses feather down your thighs, and he kisses the sole of your feet before he enters you; a worshipper at your altar.

And, oh—how you’ve missed his devotion.

When the electric storm of desire has passed, you lay in his embrace, sated and warm, a wreck looking for an anchor. He gently smooths his hand down your hair, the motion comforting and reminding you of all those times he would hold you tight in the afterglow.

“Marry me,” he whispers, just as your eyes droop close. 

They shoot wide open again and you gape at him like he’s lost his marbles.

Maybe he did. Maybe Caleb’s not all that right in the head.

“What did you say?”

“I said: marry me,” he mumbles and perches his head on one arm to look at you. The lovesick foolishness in his gaze must’ve been contagious, for you to find yourself falling back into the delusion that everything is as it once was.

You close your eyes, all the walls you’ve erected after months of trying to get over your ex-husband showing the cracks of your crumbling resolution. “Caleb, we—“

He covers your mouth with a palm, and the look in his eyes is nothing short of stubborn misery. “It’s okay if you say ‘no’, but… can you give me this one night, Pipsqueak? Just one night…”

You’re not some heartless monster to deny him an innocent delusion. And besides, you have to tend to his injury and you can’t do that when he’s away from you again. 

Wordlessly, you hold onto him and Caleb exhales as if he’s been holding his breath for a long time. 

As night gives way to morning and weak sunlight pours in through the wispy curtains, you wake up in bed with him beside you. 

Rubbing your eyes, you can’t believe he’s actually here—that he stayed.

He never used to stay in bed past 7 in the morning. 

Caleb tightens his grip on you and nuzzles your hair, stuck in a light doze. He slowly stirs when you muffle a yawn behind your palm, and shakes off the grogginess in those pretty, purple eyes. 

When you move your hand from your face, you notice something sparkly on your ring finger. On closer inspection, your heart skips a beat when you realize it’s your wedding ring. 

The familiar band around your finger fills you with a maelstrom of emotion, and you take a moment to forlornly study the modest cluster of diamonds—a testament to your love for Caleb that sadly never met its defining end. 

“Did you—?” The question dies in the back of your throat. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“I was serious before, princess,” he murmurs softly, and tenderly strokes the band with his thumb. “Want you to marry me—again.”

Caleb is never going to take your refusal as an answer. Maybe you can convince him not to repeat the same mistake twice.

“But, the Fleet—“

“Will never come between us again,” he promises. The firm slant of his brow never wavers, and so does the resolution in his tone. “I made the mistake once of trying so hard to keep two parts of my life separate that I lost the only person who ever made anything make sense. I know that now.” He tenderly strokes your cheek, those mercurial violet eyes fixed on you with unwavering devotion.

“I want us to try again. Can we do that, princess?” 

The earnest hope in his tone breaks your heart, but the steadiness of his adoration strengthens it.

“Okay,” you whisper after a moment. Hope lights his gaze, lifts your heart to soaring heights. 

“Let’s try again.” 

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[sweetdispatch]

A break - L. Hughes

masterlist pairing: Luke Hughes x girlfriend!reader summary: Luke announced that he's going back home for the break, assuming that you're working anyways but he doesn't know that you took week off from work to spend time with him warning: argument, misunderstanding note: ahh, i didn't write anything for the past month because i've been doubting my writing skills, let me know what do you think! feedback is always welcome🎀

---

You picked up Luke when he returned from Montreal. It was the last game before a national team break. Since he didn't get called up, you thought that the two of you would spend a whole week together. When the two of you returned to the apartment, you noticed that he’s packing his suitcase. This looked suspicious because he didn't mention going anywhere.

“Umm… What are you doing?” You asked Luke. He closed the gap between the two of you and kissed your forehead.

“I’m packing because tomorrow’ morning I have a flight back home. Since it’s my free week, I want to spend some time with friends and family back in Michigan” He said casually and returned to packing. 

“Oh… You didn’t say anything earlier” You replied trying to cover hurt in your voice. 

“I didn’t plan it honestly but I talked with boys and they’re also going back to Michigan and we’re having a little reunion. You have work anyways so I didn’t bother you with this” 

“So you just decided to leave without saying anything? Very kind of you” You said with sarcasm. Luke sighed loudly.

“Look, it’s not a big deal, you have work so I don’t see a point in sitting here bored and waiting for you to return every single day, I think I can see my friends or are you gonna act possessive now?” You couldn’t believe in his words. 

“I’m not gonna act possessive but it would be nice to know about it earlier” 

“Well, I booked the plane ticket this morning so deal with it” Luke said nonchalantly and you could feel the anger boiling inside of you. Instead of arguing with him, you decided to drop it.

“Whatever…” You turned to go to the bathroom before you spoke again. “And for your information, I took a week off from work so we can spend time together” With that, you closed the bathroom door louder than you should. 

“Well if you would have told me this earlier, I would stay” Luke screamed so you could hear him. You rolled your eyes and started preparing a bath for yourself. You needed to rest and rethink what just happened.

In your opinion, you did nothing wrong and Luke is guilty. You wanted to spend time with him since he doesn’t have training and games and he decided to leave you. Even worse is that he didn’t bother to invite you to go to Michigan with him, knowing that you’re not working and he’s blaming you for this whole mess. You laid in the bath longer than usual because you didn’t want to face him. 

Luke didn’t see a problem in his decision to go back home. It’s his free week and he can do whatever he wants. He’s seeing you every single day and he has a full right to go and see his family and friends. In fact, he thinks that it’s all your fault. If you told him earlier that you took a week off from work, he would stay in New Jersey. He returned to packing, not even bothered that you’re sitting in the bathroom for the second hour. 

You left the bathroom, still mad at him and ignored his presence. Luke did the same. The minute you left the bathroom, he went in to take a shower. You went to the kitchen to eat something before going to sleep. You prepared yourself mac’n’cheese and didn’t even bother to make one for him. You knew it’s petty but in your thinking, he deserves it. 

You returned to the bedroom and went straight to bed. You saw that Luke is still in the bathroom and sighed deeply. You didn’t want to argue with him over something so silly but at the same time, you didn’t want to admit that he’s right and has full right to go and see his family and friends. You closed your eyes and tried to get some sleep. Luke left the bathroom and saw that you’re facing the window and even when he knew that you’re not sleeping, he decided to play your game. Without a word, he laid in the bed and fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up and saw that there’s an empty spot in your bed and the whole apartment is quiet. You stepped out to go and make yourself a cup of tea and notice that Luke left. You send him a quick message. 

Very mature to leave without even bothering to say bye

Have fun in Michigan and hope you won’t return to an empty apartment :)

You were well aware that you’re overreacting but you couldn’t help. You were mad over this whole situation. You drank your tea and decided to get ready for the day. You called your friend to meet up with her. That was the last time you checked your phone for the day. Since Luke left you, you didn’t want to have contact with him or anyone else and thought that maybe the break would be nice for the two of you to figure things out. You left your phone at home and decided to enjoy the day with your friend. 

Luke read your messages and laughed. He knew how petty you can get so he wasn’t even bothered by it. He blocked his phone and returned to the conversation he had with his mom and dad. 

“What’s so funny?” His dad asked. 

“Me and Y/N had an argument yesterday and she sent me a text that I should hope that she’ll be in the apartment when I return” He chuckled. 

“That sounds serious Luke, what was the argument about?” Now his mum asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing. She’s just mad that I flew to Michigan for my break and didn’t told her earlier, later she said something about taking week off from work, thinking that I would be feeling guilty” Luke shrugged 

“If she has a free week, why didn’t you bring her with you here?” His dad questioned and the realisation hit Luke. He didn’t even think about this scenario. He left you alone in New Jersey. His face lost all the colors when he realised it. His mum quickly noticed this.

“You didn’t ask her. You didn’t even think about inviting her here” His mom said and he nodded ashamed of the situation. Luke knew that he messed up real good now. 

“I need to call her” He excused himself and went to his bedroom. He called you 5 times but he couldn’t reach you. All the bad scenarios were going through his head. 

What if you really left him?

Luke knew he had to do something about it. He returned to the living room and asked.

“Mum, can I use your phone?” Without a doubt, his mum gave him her phone and Luke tried to call you. Again, he couldn’t reach you. “I think I need to get back and save my relationship” Luke replied and left again.

Luke booked a flight for tomorrow’ morning and prayed to see you there when he gets back to the apartment. He started to think about the argument you two had and he knew that he was the one who’s wrong. He should invite you when you told him that you took a week off to spend time with him. 

“Everything is going to be fine between the two of you. Y/N loves you too much to break up with you over this misunderstanding” His mum said standing in the entry to his bedroom. She could tell that his youngest son is scared that he might lose the love of his life. 

“I really hope for it. I’m scared mum” He sighed and closed the laptop. 

Around 9PM, you finally got back home. You spent a wonderful day with your friend where you drank overpriced coffee, ate the best carbonara that you could find in New Jersey and had a couple drinks. You went straight to the bathroom to take a shower and lay in your bed. You needed sleep after all the adventures you had today. Because you left your phone in the kitchen in the morning, you forgot to check it when you returned. It was your worry for tomorrow, today was all about you.

The next day when you woke up, you went straight to the kitchen. You grabbed your phone and saw 30 missed calls from Luke, 10 from his mother and over 100 messages from his whole family. You started feeling guilty and bad that you ignored them and quickly tried to call back to Luke. He didn’t answer the phone and you felt that it’s over between the two of you. Fact that you left your phone at home yesterday was his final straw and he’s gonna break up with you. 

Tears were falling from your eyes while you were making tea and didn’t even hear that someone entered the apartment. You were too deep in your head thinking about what are you gonna do. You and Luke had been together for the past 5 years and now it’s over. 

Luke entered the house and the first thing he heard was you crying. At first he sighed, relieved that you’re at home but then he realised that you’re crying. Quickly he dropped his suitcase and ran to hug you. You screamed in panic but then you recognized the strong grip. 

“Don’t cry, please don’t cry” Luke tried to calm you down and it was working. He was smothering your hair, whispering sweet things into your ear. When you finally cooled down, you spoke.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’re in Michigan” You wiped your cheeks and looked at him.

“I was but my parents made me realise that I messed up. I tried to reach you but you didn’t answer your phone so I decided to return and sort things out between us. I don’t want you to think that I’m choosing my friends over you. I’ll always choose you” Luke looked deeply into your eyes while he said the last sentence. 

“Sorry that I didn’t answer the phone calls from you. I left my phone at home yesterday when I went out and after I got back home, I completely forgot to check it. I did it this morning and tried to call you but you didn’t pick up and I thought that you’re breaking up with me” You hugged him and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I would never break up with you. I didn’t answer because I was already under the building apartment” Luke kissed your head again. “Sorry for all the misunderstanding, I should tell you about me leaving for Michigan when I…” 

“Stop. You have nothing to apologise for. I was wrong for being mad that you want to spend time with your family and friends. It was a bad call and I deeply regret it. Sorry for ruining your free week and that you couldn’t spend time with them” 

“We both messed up but that’s why we love each other right?” Luke joked and you giggled.

“True. I love you Luke” You tiptoed and kissed his lips. 

“How about I'll take you on a nice dinner today and you’ll tell me about yesterday?” He smiled at you.

“Okay and sorry again for ruining your trip. That was the last thing I wanted to do” You felt guilty for this whole mess and it was bothering you that he dropped everything just to see if everything’s alright between the two of you. 

“Everything’s fine baby. As long as we’re good, it was worth it” Luke smiled at you and you hugged him again.

[sucker-just]

I really get Desperately Wanting A Vitamin. Right now I'm trialling light therapy glasses (just blast the shit out of your eyes in the money and bam you're doing more stuff) and retrying vitamin D (had a test come back literally undetectable levels and my feet have started hurting again). I'm going to try THC this year too maybe, it might help with some stuff if used judiciously.

I always feel like I'm a failure positing that there could be Another Vitamin, like I'm some soulless husk of a wellness junkie for saying hey, maybe taking up running again would be nice. Maybe a sleep study. Maybe I need iron tablets again. Add in the fish oil and the b vitamin and some magnesium. Maybe try another antidepressant or get a more structured food plan. Fantasize about hey, maybe if I got a formal diagnosis on some stuff I could try better treatments for that. Maybe I should try psilocybin or something just to see if it helps. Maybe I need to do my floor practise (getting up from the floor no hands style) or lift weights or pat my cat more or do any particular thing to improve things.

As if it's an admission of failure to want things to be better, like if I was strong enough to be better by this point I would be and it's pure wishful thinking to want to have been broken in some easily fixable way this entire time, a way to abdicate responsibility for the pain of admitting that failure. I think it's from years of mental health problems being equated by people with authority over my life as simultaneously with "attitude", something that is supposed as entirely within my control, and being fundamentally irredeemable as a person, which is not, in a pattern of shifting rhetoric that places the fault on whatever is most convenient for the placer. That and a fear of being in any way like those dead eyed people who run to sun their testes or fast for days on end drinking nothing but salted water or take ozone enemas to run away from some glaring internal crisis, oftentimes interpersonal sometimes their own mortality or such, and never really seem "okay". They always seem deeply hurt or deeply hurt covered with a manic glee at how great the new thing they have found is, how much it will or is going to fix, until it doesn't again. You see a lot of those guys on the internet. I get stuck in a dual dilemma of, you just need to have the right attitude to get better a choice you are making actively but unknowingly constantly and forever but could totally stop any time so you don't need to do something to make it better but also you'll never really change and how stupid you look here with your dumb glasses that blast your eyes and new migraine meds and vitamins and hopes for maybe more energy.

I think sometimes it gets so mortifying to even think, like imagining how you would save all your friends in a fire or cow those who've hurt you, a juvenile fantasy best suited for some romantic fantasy manhwa. But like, this one is worth betting on a little maybe. Better living is possible maybe and hey if it doesn't work at least you get to tell people how much keto really sucks (so so so bad) and that blasting your eyes has been tried already. I'd be living worse if I hadn't learned to brush my teeth or gotten an IUD (one of the most premium Vitamins for me), maybe there's more. Maybe there's more for most people.

My deepest darkest fantasy is that I collapse on the street and I am rushed to the hospital. They perform a bunch of tests and find out I am severely deficient in some kind of vitamin. Then I start taking the vitamin and I become the happiest cleverest person alive because all my problems were caused by this one deficiency

[reidmarieprentiss]

Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

main masterlist

For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks—since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 @asobeeee

[abbyslvrrr]

Ultraviolence dark!abby Anderson x fem!reader

So I had this fics in the works before I posted this little Drabble thing, I just wasn’t sure if people wanted it! I really hope that this is good, I honestly haven’t written much dark stuff so I’m sorry if this is actually asscheeks. Anyway hope you enjoy!! Love u angels 🤍

Cw: dark!abby she’s abusive and toxic. Reader is kidnapped and held in a basement. Abuse. I guess reader lowkey being starved. Literally basic human necessities taken away from her. Abby is manipulative.

Songs to listen to if you want: ultraviolence by Lana

𝜗𝜚 Abby, who kidnaps you and holds you captive in her home on the outskirts of the city where no one really comes.

𝜗𝜚 The first couple of weeks you fight, you scream, you do everything to get away from her. She entertains it, but why the 4th week does she get fucking irritated

𝜗𝜚 After a failed escape attempt, she throws you down the dark basement and locks you there for however long it takes to break you and to make you depend on her fully.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE, YOU BITCH!” Your throat is practically raw at this point from all the screaming. There was a small dirty mattress, pillow, and blanket there, a bucket, and a small window that had iron bars on it so you couldn’t escape through there. She would come back for you, right?

You were wrong, the only time she would come down was to give you food, and the food wasn’t much. Just a sandwich and water for the whole day, it’s safe to say she was depriving you of basic human necessities. You tried to stay strong the first week, talking to yourself, sleeping most of the time, anything to keep you grounded, but after that week when Abby still didn’t come to get you is when you start to freak out. You so desperately wished someone would talk to you or touch you.

God, Abby’s touches you missed, whether it had been because she was beating you black and blue or helping you change clothes, you just missed them lots. You needed her, you needed her praise, her degradation, you needed her to validate you as a person.

The second week in is where you break, You get scared, very scared. You scream for Abby, not stopping, but she does not come get you, little do you know, she’s behind the door listening to your screams and cries and relishing in the fact that you are breaking down bit by bit.

By the third week, all you can do is curl up in a ball and hope that Abby will take mercy on you and come back.

——————————

After a while, the basement door opens and Abby walks in, your eyes open. You don’t know whether to believe what you’re seeing, you feel a hand on your cheek brushing away a tear you didn’t know you let out.

She’s really here

“A-Abby?…” You call out to her weakly, more tears spill out. She doesn’t say anything but picks you up and takes you to the living room, where she sits on the couch with you in her lap. She wraps a fuzzy blanket around you.

All you can do is bury your face in the crook of her neck and cry, she rubs your back in a comforting manner.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me, angel?” She questions as she lifts your head up to look at her. Nodding your head ‘yes’ puts a smile on Abby’s face, she knows she’s broken you, and she couldn’t be happier.

“None of that escaping stuff anymore, okay? You’re here to stay with me, angel. If you’re a good girl, everything will be fine, and you’ll get rewarded. If you disobey me again, I’ll punish you ten times worse, got it?” Her face is serious and scary, which makes you let out a small whimper. You don’t have a choice in the matter anymore, it’s better to just be good and obey, right?

By now you’ve also forgotten the fact that you were kidnapped by Abby and that your face is all over the news. Your family is distraught that you’re gone, but hey, Abby thinks the missing person poster would look so cute framed in her office!

“Mhm, I get it, Abby. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Sorry this fic is actual ass it’s so BORING

𝜗𝜚 Tags! @livvietalks @rhyrhy @cstbdf @kaykeryyy @h2pinky @dollaches @killerbait @frillydolle @ch-4-eri

[caitified]

Bella askin' cait about her black eye and kissing it to make her feel better during cuddle time in yall bed 😂

BLACK EYE

CAITLIN CLARK X READER

notes: this is too cute, more bella as always pls! i haven’t updated my masterlist in so long, im sorry!!!! warnings: black eye

caitlin came home late, as usual after a game, but this time, she looked a little worse for wear. you barely had time to greet her before noticing the deepening bruise around her eye.

“oh my god, babe,” you gasped, stepping closer to examine it. “what happened?”

she shrugged, dropping her bag. “just basketball, babe,” she said nonchalantly, even as she winced slightly at the movement. “took an elbow, no big deal.”

you rolled your eyes at her usual tough act. “cait, you look like you just got into a bar fight.”

before she could respond, a tiny voice cut through the room. “mommy!”

bella, with her chubby cheeks still flushed from sleep, came toddling into the room in her footie pajamas. her wild curls bounced as she ran straight for caitlin, her tiny arms reaching up.

“hey, baby,” caitlin cooed, scooping her up with ease despite her sore body.

but bella, ever observant, immediately fixated on her injury. her big eyes widened, and she pointed a tiny finger at caitlin’s face. “mommy, what is that?”

caitlin chuckled, adjusting bella on her hip. “it’s just a little boo-boo, baby. mommy got hit at work.”

bella blinked, processing, then gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with her little hands. “who did that to you?”

you snorted, crossing your arms. “yeah, cait, tell her who did that to you.”

caitlin shot you a playful glare before turning back to bella. “someone on the other team, but it’s okay. it doesn’t hurt too bad.”

bella, suddenly finding the whole thing hilarious, burst into giggles, her chubby cheeks squishing up as she laughed. “mommy, you look silly!”

caitlin gasped, feigning offense. “i do not look silly!”

bella, still giggling, poked the bruise gently. “yes, you do!”

caitlin groaned, pulling bella in for a cuddle. “my own daughter is laughing at my pain,” she mumbled dramatically.

bella giggled even more before suddenly leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss right to caitlin’s bruised eye. “all better!”

your heart melted at the sight. caitlin, clearly just as affected, let out a soft sigh, hugging bella tighter. “thank you, baby,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. “you’re the best doctor ever.”

bella nodded proudly. “yes, I know.”

you shook your head, grinning as you leaned against the doorframe, watching the two of them snuggle up together on the couch. “i’m glad you’re okay, cait,” you said softly.

she glanced up at you, smiling, her bruised eye barely dimming the warmth in her expression. “with my girls taking care of me? i always will be.”

[m-3-rcil-3-ss]

Arcane sleep headcannons

vi, jinx, caitlyn,jayce, victor, mel, sevika

vi- She sleeps like a rock. Dead weight, periodt. definitely not a morning person, reallyyy grumpy she defo sleeps really weridly on top of you tho, like full on starfish, head inside your shirt, toes locked with yours. she starts off just head on your stomach comfy, then it just gets worse. she drools and snores, NOT a pretty sleeper. loves skin on skin contact tho :((

jinx- holy shit this girl cannot sit still, never mind sleep, she's constantly moving, kicking poking punching, all off it, she falls off the bed, sleeps upside down and everything. you wake up and shes wrapped round your head. Sleepwalker. I said it. she'd definitely need to be close to you while falling asleep, preferably holding your hand, and god forbid you move that hand. shes up

caitlyn- im feeling little spoon energy, pretends to hate it, loves it really, i feel like she mumbles alot in her sleep and drools abit, will deny it forever tho. likes too tangle your legs together, you wake up with a mouth full of hair tho

jayce- fucking pathetic man, little spoon, his head inside your boobs, in your thighs, anything that makes him feel small, he loves it. baby him!! he snores soo loud. i feel like hes also a deadweight but a really light sleeper. hes just pathetic, im sure you can tell my opinion on him

viktor- hes a pretty sleeper, we know it, i feel like hes not big on physical touch, maybe back to back, i would be scared too lay on him incase he breaks, as a heavier girl, im too scared to even think about it. Quiet breaths, hardly ever in bed tho, too busy in the lab

mel- another pretty sleeper, just effortlessly gorgeous, has a matching silk slip, eye mask and bonnet. loves nuzzling her face in your neck, both of you on your sides cuddled up together

sevika- mmm big lady!!!! shes so LARGE, sleep ontop of her, next to her, on her head, trust she can take it. she has to have a cigarette and be holding you before she can fall asleep, physically cannot settle if your not touching her. i feel like she loves holding you ontop of her, she loves how small you feel against her. shes always like slightly awake weridly, like never fully gone, not fully awake. scowls even in her sleep,

[dafterdarling]

pretty picture // leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

warnings: reader has lots of tattoos and is a little prickly, fluff

summary: you meet leah through a teammate of hers and fall in love immediately

word count: 1668

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Steph tries to encourage you and you scoff back.

You were currently sprawled out on your sofa watching TV with Steph leaning against the kitchen counter that, with the open concept, can oversee the living room.

It's a Friday and unlike everyone else you don't want to go out, it's actually the last thing on your mind. It's been a long week of non-stop work and all you want to do is rot on your sofa until you have to go back to work on Monday- you're actually very thankful that you don't have to work the weekend as well.

So you'd rather not waste your time in some bar or pub that Steph drags you to- or God forbid spend any time with people other than Steph.

"I don't want to go, Steph- All I want is TV and ice cream,"

You have a pint of chocolate brownie ice cream waiting in the freezer and it's begging to be opened. That was your plan- eat the whole pint while watching a crappy dating show that you had found on Netflix but Steph wanted to ruin all of that.

"Come on, you can have ice cream tomorrow and the TV will be here when we are back,"

You glare at Steph and then she looks at you with those puppy eyes that she knows melt your heart a bit- You bite the inside of your cheek and resist the urge to immediately agree.

You had known Steph for most of your life and the two of you had moved together to England so she knows exactly what works on you.

"How long is this thing?" You sigh.

Steph jumps up excitedly, "You'll be back before midnight, promise,"

Midnight? You try not to comment because you really don't want your age to show but you normally went to sleep before it hit eleven pm.

"Okay... who is coming?"

You secretly pray that she says it's just going to be the two of you but you know not to get your hopes up because the last time you hung out without a small crowd was in Australia- when you were seventeen.

"You'll find out," Steph says cryptically and you don't like the sound of that but it's too late to say no when you've already agreed.

You shake your head and mutter under your breath then turn off the TV before making your way to your room. You open the closet and sigh- because Steph has told you absolutely nothing about where she is dragging you.

"Steph?" You call for her and hear the semi-silent sock footsteps of her heading to you.

You turn to her, "What's the dress code?"

"Wear something hot," She smirks and you roll your eyes.

"I'm being serious,"

Steph chuckles and pushes you aside so she can look in the closet-

"So am I,"

You watch as she gathers some clothes and shoves them in your arms before turning and walking out the door.

You sigh because this is typical Steph behaviour but trust her anyway- you get dressed and look in the mirror. It's not bad, it's just dark washed jeans and a white t-shirt with a track top over it. It makes you think that this place you're going to isn't fancy, which you're thankful for because your bank balance is looking worse for wear after paying the bills this month.

Also because you'd rather not have to wear a turtleneck to cover your tattooed neck in the middle of July- last time you'd stepped foot in a fancy restaurant, they had asked you to leave and you really couldn't be bothered to argue so you did.

You meet Steph by the door to put your shoes on, you choose the least beat up pair out of your small collection- a pair of black boots that somewhat work with the clothes Steph picked out.

You give yourself one last check in the mirror- you would try to hype yourself up but you remember that you hate doing that more than anything. So instead you head out the door without any weird affirmations and Steph follows behind.

You make your way to your car- an old beat up little ford that is half your age and sometimes stalls, you get into the driver's seat and slam the door shut.

"Charming," She comments on a plastic bottle on the car floor.

You roll your eyes, "I've yet to throw it away-"

"No, no it adds to the... charm of it all,"

You laugh and turn the radio down slightly so Steph can give you directions. You eventually make it to a bar that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 80s but you don't comment on it. Instead you lock the car and follow Steph inside, she leads you to a table in the corner where you already can make out Beth- one of Steph's loudest friends.

"Y/N!"

You groan internally but not because you dislike Beth or anything- just because the music is already too loud and it's so hot inside this cramped bar.

"Hi, Beth," You greet her with a polite smile and a hug.

Then you sit in the semi round booth, immediately taking off your jacket because you'd rather not sweat to death. Beth and Steph sit somewhat opposite you and you begin to catch up,

"Any new ones?" Beth points down at your arms.

You smile since this is probably one of the few topics that you can discuss without issue,

"Yeah this one," You hold up both of your hands to show her the flowery design on the back of them.

"And then one on my back."

Beth smiles, "Must have hurt,"

You brush it off, "I've gotten used to it,"

The three of you discuss football, pets and a few other topics before the rest of the group arrive- You recognise Jen and give her a hug, then Alessia whom you've heard of in passing from Beth and a few others.

That's when you see her- Leah as she'd introduced herself and your breath is completely taken away because how can someone look so effortlessly good?

She's wearing a lovely leather jacket over a dress shirt that has the lightest of pinstripes with dark baggy trousers and so many rings- You immediately flush, half embarrassed at your own clothes and half in awe at Leah.

She greets you with a light hug and you think your heart skips a beat when she sits down next to you. You don't think you've ever been so starstruck by anyone and your throat is suddenly far too dry.

"So what do you do for work, Y/N?" Leah asks with a smile.

You can practically feel your face flush, you hope the bar is dark enough that Leah doesn't see it but you seriously doubt that because the pink lights from the dance floor are far too close. You try to play it off casually by leaning on the table and half turning your body towards her but all you can do is internally cringe at yourself.

"I'm a photographer... for an agency,"

You wished it sounded cooler but it was a little late to take it back.

"That's cool, what do you photograph?"

You swear Leah leans into you slightly but maybe it's just you,

"Err... Houses, like for sale."

It's not what you really wanted to do but it pays the bills for now and finding a new job in this economy was beyond difficult.

Leah nods then her attention focuses on your arms and you feel her touch you, making goosebumps flare up on your skin, before suddenly flinching back.

"Sorry- I have no idea why I did that-" She stutters out but you cut her off,

"It's fine, I did that one myself,"

You point at the small black blob looking cat that's surrounded by other tattoos, the rest of them looking much more professional than the self-made one.

You feel Leah's hand run up your forearm again, this time not pulling away instead tracing some of the tattoos. You swallow nervously and you have no clue why because you don't typically get nervous- not with friends.

You look away from Leah for a brief second and meet Steph's eyes, she wiggles her brows at you and you roll your eyes back before focusing on Leah again.

Her eyes meet yours and you swear that you've never looked at someone like you did her- It's weird because you don't believe in love at first sight but now swear it's happening to you.

You breathe out a soft sigh, "You're beautiful-"

"You're gorgeous-"

You laugh because you can't believe this moment, it's as if out of one of those rom coms that you secretly love to watch. Leah looks so pretty and you really want to snap a photo of her.

"Err..."

You clear your throat,

"Can- Can I get your number?"

You think she's going to say no because you're clearly out of her league and she must have a thousand different options lined up but instead She laughs and pulls her phone out,

"'Course you can, darling,"

You spend the rest of the evening talking to Leah whilst running your hands up and down her back or occasionally letting an arm rest over her shoulder. The two of you practically ignore everyone else, as if stuck in your own little world- Until it's time to go because it's way past midnight and Steph is pretty smashed.

You say goodbye to Leah outside the bar with a hug and kiss on the cheek that makes you flush red before walking back to your car with Steph.

The car ride, for the most part, is silent until Steph decides to comment,

"So you and Williamson?" She giggles like a little girl and you scoff but don't reply- letting her have it.

Mostly because yeah- you and Leah Williamson did create quite the pretty picture.

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend V

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: You drop a mug

You could feel the blood.

There was more of it than you thought.

You hadn't really felt the pain, not exactly.

Your hands had been shaking for hours now. You'd probably had too many energy drinks in a twenty-four hour period and the shaking was probably a combination of that and the serious sleep deprivation you were feeling.

It was almost inevitable that you would drop your mug of tea. It was almost inevitable that the sound of the impact of the ceramic on the floor had you knock your bowl of dry cereal off the counter as well. It was almost inevitable that you would scramble around in the darkness trying to clean up. It was almost inevitable that you would end with cuts.

You hadn't exactly felt the pain, not really anyway. It was more like you felt the initial slice but then there were more slices and too much pain for your brain to keep up with and your shaking limbs was too much.

You just couldn't grab things without the shaking making everything worse.

You don't know how long you spent on the kitchen floor, numb and confused. It was still dark, still the middle of the night and you could barely see anything.

"Nar-Narla?" You manage to croak out as the familiar warm body of your childhood dog nosed at your body.

You grip her fur, trying to bring yourself back to the present but you can feel the blood drip down your arm.

Maybe there were cuts on your arm. You're not really sure but you can't close your hand without bursting into tears at the intense pain that seems to echo around your body.

Narla tries to nose at you again but you can't bring yourself to touch her anymore and she skitters off, finding her way into Lucy's room where she and Ona remain blissfully asleep.

"Nar-Narla?" Lucy croaks as the dog insistently barks from the floor," What is it?"

Narla, of course, can't speak so responds in another high pitched, yappy bark.

"Narla, man," Lucy groans," Go back to bed. Bed! Go!"

But Narla doesn't go and Lucy switches on her lamp to properly look at her but all she can see is the red stains on Narla's fur and sits bolt upright.

She reaches for the dog but Narla is too quick, scampering away briefly before waiting for Lucy to catch up.

"Narla, it's too early to play these games, come here. I mean-"

Lucy flicks on the light to the kitchen.

She spots you first, sitting down with a glazed over look in your eyes are you cradle one of your arms close to your body.

She can see the blood too and the shattered mug and bowl on the floor, the blood and the tea and the dry cereal all mixing with each other.

"Ona!" Lucy yells," Ona! Get up! We-We need to get in the car! Ona!"

She grabs a stray tea towel, wrapping it tightly around your arm to stem the blood flow as she does the same with another one for your hand, pulling the limb up above your head.

"Hey, hey," She coos at you, lightly tapping you on the cheek," Are you with me, y/n? I'm here."

Your eyes are still glazed over and it's like you don't have control of your own body as you shake and Lucy can smell the overly sweet scent of one of your energy drinks in your breath.

"Mu-Mummy?"

You don't call her that often, not unless you're angling to get something that you wouldn't usually receive. Or, unless you were hurt to the point you weren't thinking straight.

"Yeah," Lucy says," Yeah, it's Mummy. Come on, stay with me, alight? We're going to get you some help. Just hang in there....Ona! Come on!"

Ona comes skidding down the stairs, hand covering her mouth as her eyes try to make sense of the trail of carnage in the kitchen.

"The nearest hospital is a twenty minute drive," She says," We'll get there quicker than if we call an ambulance."

"Can you stand?" Lucy asks softly but you give no response apart from your shaking," Let's try."

It's easy work to lift you to your feet but the shaking clearly isn't localised to your arms because you can barely stand up straight and Lucy isn't sure if it's because of the energy drinks or the blood loss but she hefts you up onto her back on the walk to the car.

"My-My girlfriend..." Ona chokes out to the nurse in charge of triage. "Her daughter...There's...There's a lot of blood."

The nurse types something on her computer. "Well, if you all have a seat and we'll-"

You're still on Lucy's back when she comes in. The towels she's tried to use to stem the blood flow have all been bled through and you barely look conscious, your skin pale to the point of concern and the nurse grabs at the phone on her desk.

"Go straight through," The nurse says," I'll have someone come to you immediately."

The rest of the night is a blur to you.

You go in and out of consciousness, moments of complete clarity and moments where you can barely recognise where you are.

You get flashes that you're not sure you even lived through.

Like Lucy holding you in her lap while someone strange holds your arm down against a table or like Ona lightly talking to you, soothing words in a language you can only half hear or like a hanging bag of blood connected to your uninjured arm.

"M-Mummy?" You ask weakly as you blink back into full consciousness in the car, your head pillowed against her shoulder.

"Hey," Lucy says softly," You with us again?"

You blink a few more times, to clear your head and vision.

Ona's in the front seat of the car, stealing a few looks at you in the rear view mirror.

"I...I feel weird."

Your voice sounds strange even to your own ears as you hear yourself, all slurred and strange.

"You're on some pretty hardcore medication right now," Lucy tells you gently, fingers carding through your hair," You bled out a lot. A blood transfusion too."

"I...Really? I didn't...I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," Ona says," We know. It's alright."

"I..." You stare down at your arm.

A long bandage is wound from your elbow down to your hand and the skin feels oddly tight under it. Your other arm had a tiny little plaster stuck onto it from where you assume the needle from your blood transfusion went in.

"It's alright," Lucy says softly," You're tried. It's late. We'll talk more in the morning."

"The...My mice..." You manage to croak out," I wasn't meant to leave them out for so long. They're still in the playpen."

That shocks a laugh out of Lucy.

"The mice will be fine," She says," Let's get you to bed first and then me and Ona will sort out the mice."

You nod, the energy feeling like it's been sapped from you as quickly as it'd arrived. Your eyelids droop down and you snuggle more firmly against Lucy's shoulder.

"That's...That's good. Just-Just be wary of Princess Zelda. She's started biting."

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter four

⭐︎ While I’m alone and blue as can be

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, mentions of blood and wounds, gore, post apocalypse au, major character death

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of Steve's outburst leaves him guilty and regretful, but a conversation might fix things... a little.

Word count: 6k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult thank you for proofreading, for fixing my dumbass mistakes and for writing with me hehe

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

It was surprising how well you adapted to this change, to being back on the road. You imagined it to be harder when you were still back in Hawkins, you thought that you would struggle after days spent in warmth and safety but you didn’t, you don’t struggle – maybe it’s got to do with the fact that you are not alone this time, that you still have a warm bed to sleep in every night, that you still have the feeling of safety thanks to the people you are with, that you still have a roof over your head. The RV almost feels like home. For now, you have enough food and water to last for a while, though you still stock up on cans, water bottles snacks wherever you can find some, gas stations, grocery stores, and shops that you stop by on the way. 

It’s been three days since you left Hawkins, three days since you saw Steve fall to his knees and cry out tears that you know he must’ve pushed away since the day he lost her. You felt so bad for him, your heart broke at the sight of his pain and at the sound of his cries. You pitied and felt for him, though it still didn’t take away the pain he left you with. His words hurt, and they stung deeply. You were stupid to think that things could work out between you and him when he shared a moment with you in the kitchen, you got too hopeful. He was mean and cruel to you; it was a mistake to try and be his friend.

Now, you don’t talk much to him, only when you have to. You don’t look at him all that much either, nodding at his questions and giving short replies. He tries. He tries to talk to you, to strike up conversation but you don’t want it, you don’t want to talk to him, knowing that he only does it out of guilt. It wasn’t a surprise to you when he approached you on the first day and offered his help to cook dinner with you. You declined and asked for Eddie instead. 

He isn’t heartless, nor is he a bad guy, of course the guilt and the regret would catch up eventually but it doesn’t make the feeling in your chest go away, the dread and the sadness he put inside of you. 

The tension between you is thick and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie and Nancy. Even on the day of your departure, they knew something had happened the night you ran after Steve. You came back crying, and the next day you barely talked, sat there with puffy red eyes and a sad look on your face. 

And now, whenever he comes close to you, whenever he tries to talk to you or help with something, you bolt, not wanting to be anywhere near him, not wanting his help, not wanting to talk to him, nothing. 

Maybe it would have gone unnoticed by them if it wasn’t for the time you’ve spent together cooking the night before you left Hawkins. It was tense between the two of you before, but it was different because you still tried and he didn’t have that guilty look on his face he has now. Every time he asks you something and you reply with less than three words before walking away from him, his eyes follow you, filled with guilt and sadness. 

‘He looks like a kicked puppy’, Eddie had said to Nancy. 

He looked like one for the past three days, and it’s seemingly getting worse. The longer you behave this way towards him, giving him nothing but a cold shoulder, his eyes sadden a little more. 

You are completely unaware of it all. If only you took a better look, you would see it too. 

-

Leaning against the side of the RV, Eddie is smiling with his eyes closed, enjoying the faint warmth of the afternoon sun as he puffs out the smoke from his cigarette, humming the melody of a song Steve doesn’t recognize. 

Unlike the metalhead, Steve looks anything but relaxed, his eyes glued to the dusty windows of the gas station you and Nancy are currently inside of, looking for food to stock up on. He is swinging his bat back and forth, pacing around as he waits. 

He wanted to be the one to go into the gas station with you, though Nancy didn’t even give him the chance to before she followed you inside and told him to stand guard with Eddie. 

The guilt of what he’s done, of what he said to you has been eating at him, worsening every day. He despises what he did when he was angry, and he can’t forgive himself for directing his anger at you. You were right, you were right from the start and deep down he knew it. 

Nothing waited for him back there, not her, not even the ghost of her but he didn’t want to accept it. 

Now he has to deal with the aftermath of the ugliness that ripped out of him when he hurt you. You can’t even look at him and it makes him feel like the worst person alive. 

Eddie peeks one eye open, taking a look at his friend, he can see the distressed look on his face, the deep frown and the way he constantly runs his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit. He would be amused by this if it wasn’t for the hurt look in your eyes. 

The door opens and Nancy walks out with a box, grinning at Eddie, “we got corn, tuna, beans, we even found some trail mix and chips, they might be a little stale but–”

“Is she still inside?” Steve asks, interrupting her as he looks over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, she’s desperately looking for something sweet,” Nancy chuckles as she moves past him, getting into the RV to put away the things she gathered. 

Eddie takes one last drag of his cigarette before he throws it on the ground, killing the flame with his boot; he starts making his way over to the entrance when he feels a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the RV.

“Stay here,” Steve orders as he makes his way inside instead, wanting to use this moment to be alone with you, to talk to you, to apologize. He closes the door behind him and takes a look around. Most shelves are empty, covered in dust and cobwebs, some cans and bottles are lying around, and an unpleasant smell hangs heavy in the air. He hears some rustling to his right, followed by a string of curse words falling from your mouth. He follows that sound, careful not to step on any fallen object. He finds you in the last aisle, and he notices that one of the shelves has fallen over, leaving a mess on the floor, some bags of candy and chips lying beneath it and you are crouched before it, searching for something, the variety before you seemingly not satisfying enough. 

Steve opens his mouth but he quickly closes it again when he feels the coil in his throat. 

“Reese’s pieces and sour patch kids are not the most popular candy in the apocalypse I guess,” you mumble as you turn around, not expecting to be met by hazel eyes and that guilty face. “Oh… it’s you.” 

Your face falls and his heart drops, he grows nervous. 

“I-I yeah, uh,” he stutters, bringing his hand up to his hair to run his fingers through it. Now that he stands here before you, he doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to start with his apology, he doesn’t even know how to apologize, he was so mean to you when all you wanted was to help, you wanted him to come with you, you wanted him to leave the dying town because you didn’t want him to die with it. “I wanted to check up on you… Nance found a bunch of cans.”

Your eyes scan his face, the nervousness and the guilt filled eyes – that is the only reason why he is here, the guilt is eating him alive and he can’t handle it, it’s not even about you and that he hurt you, it’s about himself, only about himself.

“Yeah, we got lucky.” You mumble as you turn around again, no longer focused on the candy, you just don’t want to face him. It’s difficult enough avoiding him in the RV. 

He hates the stoic tone in your voice, it’s so unlike you. Even when he was cold towards you back in Hawkins, you were never like this with him. 

He looks down at you, noticing how slow your movements have become, how you are no longer moving the bags of candies around, looking for that one specific one. You don’t want to look at him and he doesn’t blame you, he can’t. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, not knowing how to start this off, not wanting to make it any more awkward than it already is. 

A sigh falls from your lips, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

Steve is being nice, kind – it’s the side of him you were looking for a few days ago, and you couldn’t find it then. If it’s driven by guilt now, then you don’t want this kindness. 

You push yourself up, taking another deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You know you have to start talking to him again at some point, you can’t bear this awkwardness for long either. 

You also can’t bear this look on his face, those stupid eyes, the pout and his tousled hair. You don’t want to look at him in that way. You know he wants to apologize, you also know that he sucks at it. 

“No, I’m done here.” You shrug, gesturing to the box you filled with snacks and toiletries you could find, along with other things you could need for the RV. You’re about to bend down to pick up the box when he stops you by placing his hand before you. 

“I got it,” Steve murmurs, adjusting his bat as he bends down to grab the box. 

“Okay…” You mumble, pulling back. 

You wait for him to move, to turn around and walk out of the store but he doesn’t, instead he straightens his back, with the box on his hands, he directs his gaze at you again. 

You brace yourself for what he is about to say, taking a deep breath, you cross your arms over your chest. 

He starts by saying your name, softly, carefully. You realize how foreign it sounds rolling off his tongue. 

“I-I know this won’t change what I did, what I said but I’m really sorry, I’m sorry for hurting you, for saying those things about your family. I was… I didn’t want to leave, I was angry – and I know that’s not an excuse – I… fuck… I’m horrible at this but I’m just, I’m really sorry. I hope your family is okay and that you will see them again… soon.” 

You can hear the desperation in his voice, the need to make this right. You can see the softness in his eyes, something you aren’t familiar with in the slightest. His lips are curled downwards, the sadness in his features so clear. 

You nod, the tension in your shoulders from all these previous days slowly falling. 

“Thank you, Steve, I appreciate your apology.” The tone in your voice and the look on your face isn’t so convincing though. “And I know that my family is okay, I will see them soon.” 

Good. He didn’t kill your hope. He hopes that it’s good. 

His lips curl up a bit, you are so set on it, you are so sure of it, that your family is okay and that you will reunite with them. It scares him a bit. You are so hopeful now, so confident about it – what will happen when you won’t find them the way you wish to? What will happen to you? Will you lose yourself the way he did when he lost her? Will you die the way he did? Will you be a ghost trapped in a living body? 

You forgive him, but you don’t crack a smile, not even a small one, not like you used to even when he was being an asshole to you. You clear your throat and break eye contact, brushing the fallen strands from your single braid behind your ears. 

The tension between you is still there, the awkwardness and the hurt in your features. He has to try harder than this, an ‘I’m sorry’ won’t cut it. 

“I–”

“We should go, we need to set up camp before it gets dark.” 

Before he can even say, or try to say anything, you move past him, hurrying out of the store, wanting some distance between you just like before. He can’t blame you, he can’t be mad at you but his shoulders slump still, and his face falls too. He didn’t feel this before, he didn’t feel this kind of guilt back in Hawkins because he wasn’t vulnerable, his feelings were bottled up and the lid was closed tightly, there was no space for those kinds of emotions, anything other than anger was impossible for him to feel. 

But after he let her go, after he allowed himself to finally grieve and cry, to empty that bottle of emotions, he started feeling everything again, all at once, overwhelmingly so, and now it all feels so intense. 

The urge to run his fingers through his hair is strong but his hands are full. He sighs loudly, shifting on his feet, he is about to follow you out when his eyes catch a glimpse of something red underneath one of the broken shelves, something you must have been looking for. 

-

The fire crackles before you, the flames are kept low to not attract attention. You sit close to it, needing warmth on your cold skin, the blanket around you isn’t enough, the gusts of wind cause goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s mid fall, but it’s already getting so cold, and you could smell the hint of winter nearing. 

You can’t help but feel a little jealous of Nancy and Eddie, they get to sleep in the warm RV tonight while you stay out here, doing night watch with Steve. You volunteered yourself, though you quickly regretted it when Steve said he’d join you. 

You were successfully avoiding that the past three days, you either did night watch with Eddie or Nancy. Last night you were the lucky one who got to sleep in the big bed while Steve took the couch – now you are sitting here, out in the cold, tugging the blanket closer around you. 

Steve left to do a perimeter check, not trusting the area despite how safe it seems compared to the ones you have spent your nights at in the past when you were still by yourself. He didn’t want to listen to you though, he grabbed his rifle and left about twenty minutes ago. 

You hold your mug filled with coffee tightly to your chest, chasing that warmth and the smell that reminds you of the past, of simple mornings in your bed with a freshly brewed cup of coffee and your favorite book. You wonder if you will ever get to experience that, if you will find a place that will allow you to live like you used to. 

The sudden sound of footsteps behind you, startles you a little, and he seems to notice. 

“Just me.” 

You wish you could lose that tension in your body again, but you don’t, knowing that you will have to spend the night with him, that you can’t use excuses to run from him, to avoid him, to avoid talking to him. 

He walks around you, glancing at you briefly, he places his rifle down, leaning it against the other free camping chair. You expect him to take a seat, instead he walks away and towards the RV. You watch him curiously, how he carefully opens the door and steps inside on tiptoes, not wanting to wake Nancy and Eddie. 

You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward a little. You keep staring at the door, waiting for him to come back out, though when he steps back out, you quickly look down, hiding your curious eyes from him. 

You hear the click of the door and his boots against the stairs as he walks down, his feet hit the grass in soft thuds. You hear the rustling of plastic. It sparks your interest again, wondering what he got from the RV but you don’t look up, not until his boots come into your vision and he stands right before you. 

Your eyebrows pull together even more, a confused frown making its way onto your face. You tilt your head up to look at him, though your eyes meet his only briefly before the bag in his hand catches your attention and suddenly, all the tension in your body disappears, your lips part and you straighten your back, a little too quickly, causing the blanket to fall from your shoulders. 

Steve’s lips curl into a small smile, he tries to hide it but the excitement on your face and how your eyes light up, make it impossible for him to. 

"Kitkats!?" You yell in a whisper, trying not to shriek and jump to your feet. “You found Kitkats!?”

He can’t hold back the chuckle now, his chest bubbling with an unfamiliar feeling as he looks down at you. 

“Yeah, the last bag, it was stuck between one of the shelves,” he explains, biting his cheek when your eyes look into his. “Your favorite candy… it’s what you were looking for, right?”

Your eyes soften and your lips curl into a small smile. He remembered. He remembered your favorite candy even though it was mentioned only briefly. Warmth floods your chest and something flips in your stomach. 

You nod. 

“Yeah,” you whisper as you bring up your hand to take the bag from him, “I’ve been looking for them everywhere!”

“Yeah, it nearly got you killed,” Steve shakes his head at you and at your gas station incident before you found your way to Hawkins. 

You shrug as you place the bag onto your lap, “now you know how much I love chocolate.” 

Steve gives you half a smile and a breathy chuckle, he looks at you for another long moment before he steps back and sits down on the camping chair next to you. He leans back and crosses his feet, staring into the fire. 

“Please don’t get yourself killed for chocolate,” he murmurs. 

“It’s the only thing that brings me happiness!” You exclaim in that tone that he began to miss. 

“Is it really?” He asks you, turning back to look at you. You have got to be the happiest person he has ever met, you always find a reason to smile, you always find something to be excited about, to look forward to, even in a world like this. He can’t relate, not in the slightest.

You look down at the bag of candy, shrugging, “no, you know me. I have a lot of hope.” Your words come out with a saddened look on your face.

Guilt fills him instantly, he judged you for it, he judged you for something that he no longer has. Hope. Life – there is none of that left in him anymore, no light turned on, while yours is still blazing and glowing brightly. Yours didn’t fade, yours hasn’t been touched by the ugliness of this world. 

He whispers your name softly, his faint voice so guilt filled. 

“It’s good that you have it, that you still have some… life left in you, makes it a bit easier to bear this world.” He admits nervously. “I know you must think I’m a horrible person, I’ve said horrible things–”

“I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Steve,” you interrupt him, turning your head towards him to find him looking at you already, his hazel eyes filled with regret, you know he wishes he could take his words back. “You were hurt and angry, you were grieving.” 

He blinks. 

“Yeah, but I was an asshole–”

“It’s okay, you apologized, you’re not being an asshole now, that’s what matters.” You shrug, not wanting him to feel bad anymore. 

He nods slowly, not moving his eyes away from you. The light from the fire illuminates your face, he sees all the emotions flickering in your eyes, every twitch of your lip, every frown, the softness of your skin, the color of your lips– he catches himself quickly, and instantly forces himself to look away. 

“And maybe you can find that hope again…” You add, carefully. 

“I doubt that. I never had that in the first place, not even then…” He stops when he catches himself spilling more than he would like to. He turns to you, and you are looking right at him, with a frown on your lips and a curious look in your eyes. You want to know and a part of him wants to talk, to let things out. A part of him even feels like he owes it to you. 

He takes a deep breath, looking back into the flames. 

“I-I… I feel like a part of me…” He hesitates, struggling to find the right words. “When Robin died, it felt like a part of me was ripped out of my chest and I buried that part with her. The day she died, I died too – only that I am still breathing and she isn’t… I didn’t want to leave Hawkins because I felt like she was still there, like I could be with her. Leaving meant accepting her death, accepting that she is gone, accepting that I am still alive, that I have to find a way to live without her.” 

His eyes glisten with tears, his cheeks burn red, illuminated by the flames. He doesn’t hold back, he doesn’t hide the sadness on his face. 

You don’t either, you can’t imagine what goes on inside of him, how the sadness eats at him, how the darkness took hold of him. 

“I was so angry at myself for not being able to protect her, I was so angry at this world for taking her from me that I grew hateful of everything and everyone, I didn’t want to leave, I didn’t want Nancy and Eddie to leave. I now see how selfish that was but in the state I was in, I was just so… mad and unaccepting of the fact that they wanted to live, something that I did not want. I didn’t want to live again. I knew I’d have to the moment I’d step foot outside again, I would have to fight to protect them, I would have to fight for survival, I would be forced to move. I wouldn’t be able to visit her or be with her… ever again.”

Your chest feels tight with grief for him, you can’t imagine what he felt like when he lost her, and even now. You can see how much he is struggling still, the pain in his eyes is so clear, his voice is slightly shaky, like he is about to break into tears again. 

He lost someone he loved so dearly. He lost his best friend. You had them too, best friends. But they never stayed that for long, none of them ever loved you the way Steve loved Robin.

You can’t help but wonder if he felt more for her, if it wasn’t only friendship for him. 

“Robin was the first person who was my friend not because I was King Steve,” he scoffs at his popular nickname from High School. “She was my friend because she liked me, she was the first person who wanted to get to know me, who wanted to spend time with me, who was there not only on my good days but also on the bad. She loved me for me.” There is a tremble in his voice, a stronger one than before, he is pained, so pained that it hurts your heart. 

You don’t know what to say, there are no right words to comfort him, to make him feel better, to take away his pain. He needs this, he needs to talk, to let it out – though you are surprised that he chose to do it with you. 

“She was the first person who held me, who comforted me, who was there.” He sniffles, staring down at his shaky hands as he goes back to the day when they were covered in her blood. “I was the last to hold her.” 

You blink when you feel your own tears welling up, the warmth stinging in your eyes. You watch how tears start rolling down his cheeks. A part of you wants to wipe them away and take his hand or even hug him, to give him the comfort that he needs. But you doubt that he’d want it from you. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” you whisper so sadly that it brings a new wave of tears into his eyes. 

His heart feels so heavy, the sadness burning in him, the grief coming back to life once again as he thinks of that night when he lost his best friend, his soulmate, his other half. A moment of weakness and she was gone – it was only a second that he looked away, it was only a split moment that he turned his back before he heard her scream, the pained sound, the ripping of flesh, blood spilling from her neck and staining her clothes and her hand as she clung desperately to the cut in her throat from where the Demogorgon had sliced her skin open. He remembers how he turned around in horror, how his heart stopped beating and the world stopped moving. They almost made it out, they almost made it out of Hawkins together like they always wanted to. Almost. She wasn’t supposed to be the last to get on the bus, it was supposed to be him but he had a child in his arms, a little boy who lost his parents, he needed to get him to safety. Robin was right behind him, she was right there, they were in the clear, she was already one foot inside the bus when that monster came out of nowhere. 

He remembers the look in her eyes when he saw what had happened, he remembers the adrenaline that flooded through his body when he jumped out of the bus with an axe in his hand, he doesn’t even remember how he killed it, he only remembers dropping to his knees and pulling her weak body into his arms, he remembers how he promised her. 

‘You will be okay, Robin. I promise, you will be okay. I got you, I got you, Birdie.’

But the life in her eyes was fading, tears slipping from the corners and down onto the cold ground, mixing with her blood as he pressed his hand to her wound. She held his hand, gripped it tightly, like she was afraid to let go. She struggled out his name and looked at him with nothing but fear in her eyes, a look that haunts him to this day. 

She didn’t want to die, she said so herself, she even begged because she was so afraid, and he was too. 

There was nothing he could do, there was no fixing it, there was no saving her. He could only hold her and watch how she died, how she slowly slipped away from him, how in her last remaining moments she only looked at him and into his eyes because that is the only place she found comfort in. She died in the arms of someone she felt at home with, she died in the arms of someone who loved her more than anything and he… he lost that, he lost his home. 

When he is done recalling that night, telling you every gory, every heartbreaking detail, he only tastes the saltiness from his tears, feels himself choking up though he doesn’t let the cries fall the way he did that night. He feels his heart hurting once again – though at the same time, it hasn’t felt this alive in a while. 

He wipes away his tears, and his voice dies. He doesn’t look to you, not yet but he hears your soft sniffle, hears you shifting around. From the corner of his eye, he watches you put your things down, the mug that must be cold by now and the candy he gave to you. And then, you scoot closer to him and you slowly lift your arm and place your hand on his shoulder, a comforting touch he has grown unfamiliar with. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and he notices how shaky your voice is too. 

He turns his head slowly, his eyes searching for your own, he sees every emotion – shock, sadness, pain, understanding. 

“I can’t imagine this… pain and what you are still going through. Robin deserved better, both of you.” You look back into the fire, frowning. “I understand why you didn’t want to leave, why you feel that way. I’d feel dead if I lost someone I loved that much.” 

Your heart hurts for him, squeezing in a painful way. His words sadden you. He feels dead, lost in a world that took away his other half and now he’s just a shell of himself, a pained soul. You wonder if he will ever find his way back to himself, you wonder if you could if you were in his place. 

“I do believe that she is with you though, i-if she was your soulmate, then she is with you… forever. She might have left this world but her energy is still there, always with you, following you every step of the way.” 

Steve purses his lips, tilting his head at you, “like a guardian angel?”

A small smile appears on your face, you nod, “yeah, kinda. Maybe she will send you a sign, maybe she did already and you haven’t noticed.” 

“A sign?” He shakes his head, still looking at you curiously, “like what?”

You shrug and turn to face him again, “you’ll know it, it has to be something that is– was special to you both, whether it’s a song on the radio or her favorite animal.”

“Oh,” he nods, furrowing his eyebrows as he wonders if he had missed any signs, if he was so focused on his grief that he paid no attention to what was going on around him. He falls silent, eyes focused on the flames before him. 

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper after a long moment of silence. 

He leans forward, pressing his hands together over his knees as he fiddles with his fingers, he looks back at you, raising his eyebrows in question. 

“Thank you for telling me, for opening up to me, that means a lot.” 

He nods, taking in your softened features, your kind eyes that gleam again, and the comforting smile you look at him with. It warms his insides and causes his cheeks to flush but among these reactions, he also feels something else, a lightness in his chest that he hasn’t felt in so long, he needed to do this, to talk about this, to tell someone what he truly feels. 

“Thank you for listening,” he retorts, offering you a smile–a first, a genuine one. Your eyes light up at that, your shoulders rising a bit as you straighten your back, surprise flashes in your features and your smile only widens. It’s endearing, he has to admit that. 

“Always.” 

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment. You are surprised to see kindness, genuine and real kindness, and you can’t help but feel giddy at that. 

You are surprised when he moves closer to you, the smile still lingering on his face. He bumps his shoulder against yours, “I’m gonna be nicer from now on.”

You accepted him for who he is, his grumpiness and his rough demeanor sometimes. You don’t want him to change, you don’t want him to feel like he has to. 

“You don’t have to pretend–”

“I am not… I know I’m… kind of returning to who I was… slowly,” he murmurs. It’s something he didn’t want. He didn’t want to heal. He didn’t want to move on because he knew it meant accepting that she was gone but you were right, that night when you found him at her grave, you told him that she wouldn’t want this for him, and he hated it, hated that you were right and he hated how he felt that sparkle inside of him ignite again after he finally allowed himself to properly cry and grieve. 

“And who were you?” You asked with that tilt of your head as always. 

He knows what Robin would have said and he can’t help but smile. 

“... A fucking idiot.”

You giggle at his words but shake your head. 

“No, I doubt that!” 

“I saw the good in things… something I haven’t in over a year, and now I can– I am starting to feel it again… It’s not there yet but…”

You smile again, looking into the fire. You saw him smiling with Eddie today, heard his chuckle when the metalhead tripped over a log. It was a nice sound and the smile looked good on him. 

“Yeah, it looks better on you.” You whisper, not looking away from the flames. 

He tries not to look at you for too long but he can’t help it .He likes the way the golden light touches your skin, the way your eyes shine with contentment, the way your body is so relaxed again, something that wasn’t the case the previous nights. He likes the faint dimple on your cheek as you smile. He admires the way your lashes flutter every time you blink, the way you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, the way you–

He breaks himself out of his thoughts, forcing his eyes away from you, he clears his throat, jumping a bit when he looks down at his backpack, “ah wait–” he grabs it and unzips it quickly, taking out the radio from their living room back in Hawkins. “You guys left it, I thought we could use some music… sometimes.”

You smile widely at him, nodding. 

“Let’s see what stations we can pick up.” 

While Steve is trying to find a signal, to find a station that plays music, you reach for the second mug you had prepared before and grab the jug where you had cooked the coffee earlier. It’s still hot, steam rising up into the cold air when you pour him a cup. You place the mug on the small camping table that Eddie had set up earlier. Steve flashes you a smile, whispering ‘thank you’ followed by your name. 

You open the bag of Kitkat’s, excitement bubbling up in you to taste your favorite candy again. You pick out one of the bars and place it next to his coffee.

“You’re sharing your Kitkats with me? No way!” Steve gasps and chuckles when you roll your eyes in amusement. “Did you just roll your eyes at me, sunshine?” 

You giggle at the perplexed look on his face, ignoring the way the nickname made you feel warm all over. 

“What if I did?” 

“Then I’ll say that one of them,” he points his thumb at the RV, “is a real bad influence on you.” 

You snort and shake your head, “hmm, I don’t know. You're sassier than Eddie and Nancy.” 

“Me? Sassy!?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, you’re sassy, Steve. Accept it.” 

He shakes his head in amusement but doesn’t comment on it, he looks down at the radio when the static noise suddenly disappears and he finds a station. 

And surprisingly… ‘Dream a little dream of me’ by Ella Fitzgerald starts playing, filling the space between you. 

The song is calm, warm, a distant memory of your father dancing with your mother in the kitchen while they prepared dinner on a sunday afternoon. Then, your brain processed what Steve had said, a question lingering in your lips.

“Why sunshine?” 

“Hmm?” He asked, his eyes closed in relaxation as he leans back in his chair. You could see the expanse of his neck, the markings around it, his Adam's apple– You shake your head to focus once again.

“You called me sunshine. Why?” You tilt your head in question and his eyes open, his head turning to face you again.

“I don’t know. You’re just… You just remind me of the sun.” He says as if his words mean nothing, as if his words were just that. Words. You giggle, not understanding the meaning of it.

“The sun? Hot and unbearable?” You say in a joking manner, earning a chuckle from his part, an authentic one. He closed his eyes again, leaning back as the song played along.

“No. Bright and warm.” Your smile fell instantly, not because you didn’t like his definition. Not because you thought that what he described you as was stupid. Not because you thought he was lying to you or making fun of you, because you could hear it in his voice that he wasn’t.

No.

Your smile fell because you swear your heart just skipped a beat.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk

[imsofreakingtired]

HI. sorry for dropping this bomb on you all right after what i said about being less active in the future BuT. i'm deleting this old fic of mine from ao3 because i'm just not interested in it anymore... but i'm kinda proud of the first chapter so i revised it to be an x reader (it was originally sevika x oc) and i'm gonna just drop it here. pls don't come at me i'm so sorry guys 🙏

"i can hear the sound of a heartbeat (before it goes out)"

content warning(s)!! graphic descriptions of injury, mentions of surgical procedure, heavy angst, hurt/comfort(?)

summary: you are the brilliant young apprentice of the undercity apothecary. after Powder's explosion, Sevika is brought into your care. notes: i wrote this like a month ago? soon after watching arcane for the first time and i started hyperfixating on who the hell performed sevika's amputation if singed was also caught in the explosion and what the process of recovery must have been like for her and oh...my baby 😞 kind of a character study more than anything. disclaimer: i'm not a doctor or even a med student. apologies for any and all inaccuracies wc: 4.7k

~~~~

What she remembered: 

A blue flash. No; she recalled earlier than that. There was the acrid smell of something foreign and metallic. Something strangely human, even though she knew there was nothing human that night. Not the desperate rage in Vi’s eyes. Not the monster she was ousted by to fight in her stead. Not the pink rivers in expanding skin. Not the smoke rising lazily from the forges. Not the gleam of Silco’s glass eye, not the muscles seizing in her arms. 

There was the smell; there was the impossible, cartoonish noise. Wood splintering and bodies hitting a distant floor. And then all thought gathered into one concentrated bundle of instinct, in which nothing existed, nothing in the past, present, or future—nothing mattered except leaping in the way of the blast, which Silco was standing directly in front of. 

She didn’t know if he made it out of the explosion, or if he took the fall anyway. For one glorious, enormous second, her eyes were dazzled by a light so pure it felt like looking into the face of love itself. The light, blue and benign, innocent in its enormity, seared her vision and sizzled into every nerve of her brain. She was aware of a pain so distant it seemed to be happening to someone else far away from her. She was making a beautiful arc in space. She was saving a cause, she was somebody else. She was making the greatest sacrifice. She was everything that existed, from her first infant cry to this senseless blue light. And now the arc was falling. Clockwork stopping. A choking sound in the back of a scorched throat, a name dropped in the void. She was forgotten. She never mattered at all. 

And then she hit the ground, and remembered nothing more. 

~~~

“Is she alive?”

“She’s breathing, sir.” 

“Bring her, then. See if we can save her. She’s valuable to us. Singed will handle her.” 

“Sir, we found Singed in his lab. He’s not moving. Must’ve been caught in the explosion.” 

“Shit.” 

(Pause.) 

“Just pick her up, Locke.” 

(Fire. Unbearable heat everywhere. Sour smell of sweat and bitter tang of blood. And the sweet, simmering, ever-pervasive stench of Shimmer.) 

(Then, a child’s weeping.) 

“Hello, little girl.” 

(Rain on skin. Rain, the drops feeling like acid. Makes the smell of everything worse.)

“Where is your sister?” 

“She left me.” (Weeping.) “She is not my sister anymore.” 

(The sounds leave. The welcome smoke of sleep curls into her brain. Her eyes close. She thinks her body is in fragments, and no one can see or touch her anymore. Before everything goes blissfully dark, she sees the Shimmer-veined mass that was and was not Vander. Is he really gone? Is she really here? Perhaps…perhaps that was not what happened at all. Perhaps they were both dead. Perhaps they would be walking side by side again soon, the way they did before everything went bad, when they were only kids, with him making jabs at her habit of drifting from one woman to another, and her countering by asking about the shifting thing he had going on with a gentle, intelligent Silco both had long stopped knowing.) 

~~~

You were in the back room, mixing powders. Behind you hung a wall of carefully collected and sterilized surgical tools. The Apothecary disapproved of such tools. She had a firm belief in the old remedies, that anything short of death could be cured with a good potion and a drop or two of strong liquor. As her assistant, you could only defer to her opinions and gather the few good weeds you could find at the riverbank, make trips to Topside for the more expensive ingredients if there was a dire need. The people on the other side of the river had found out a substance with a numbing ability. They were performing amputations, open-heart operations. You felt like you were trying to breathe underwater every time you heard of such achievements. The people of the undercity were dying by the hundreds from inadequate medical means, their only hopes of surviving the pestilence in their lungs or infected flesh wounds some sham apothecary who gave them a snake oil potion and then drank away her earnings. 

So you slipped away when you could. Under the pretense of gathering roots to grind into powder, you made your way across the bridge and hung around the medicine stores of Piltover. You eavesdropped on the conversations of medical scholars. You stole books from the libraries of reputable doctors and alchemists. You devoured information on the inner workings of the body, its fragility and beautiful net of nerves and cells. By degrees, you came to know everything there was to know about operating on a human body. You knew the procedures of a liver transplant in your sleep. You knew the exact place to tie a tourniquet to stem the flow of blood. 

The bell chimed. Not a lick of wind had made them ring as urgently as they did now—the Apothecary’s reputation had soured as word about the uselessness of her potions went around the Lanes. 

You looked up from your work, listening for the Apothecary’s steps but knowing damn well she wasn’t going to answer the call. More likely than not she was sleeping off the effects of last night’s drink. The bell chimed again, louder. 

Sighing, you went to the door yourself. You slid open the window and found yourself staring into the enormous, pierced, tattooed face of a man you recognized to be Locke, a formidable henchman of Silco’s. 

“We don’t want your Shimmer samples,” you snapped. “Go find another test bunny.” 

That was when he stepped back, and you saw the unconscious woman in his arms. 

“She ain’t got much time,” Locke said. “An’ for shit’s sake, she’s no bag of feathers.” 

Even in the sparse light, you could see the woman was an inch away from death. Beneath the soot her tone was ashen. You could smell the charred skin from where you were standing. 

Without another word, you swung open the door and led him into the shop. 

There was nowhere to lay the woman. You spotted the table you had been working on, and swept everything off it to the floor with a deafening clatter of metal bowls and spilled dried roots. You pointed to the table. Locke laid the woman down, then stood uncertainly. 

“Out,” you ordered him. “Come back when I send word.” 

Not bothering to hide his relief, he disappeared. You then turned to the task at hand. 

You adjusted the overhead lamp, turned it on so that the light fell brilliantly on your first ever patient. 

You were not a person to turn sick easily. From a young age the things that made other kids squeamish fascinated you, enchanted you. You spent hours picking apart dead animals you found in the streets, taking as much delight in observing the small ragged caves of their rib cages, the limp softness of their organs, as other kids did in playing with toys and dolls.  

But when you saw the woman you felt a small failing in your heart, a drop in your pulse. 

It was the kind of burn you had only ever read about. Every inch of skin on the woman’s left arm was scorched to the bone. You could see without touching her that you could slide a knife into the flesh without the woman ever feeling it: every nerve was burned away. The left side of her face wasn’t in much better condition. You could only guess at what might have caused such a great burn as this—maybe the woman had been in a fire, or an explosion. 

You closed her eyes, opened them again. Took a breath. Then the nausea passed, and left only a grim excitement. You went to the door and locked it. Then you went back to the table, with renewed resolve, to better examine the woman. 

The arm would have to come off, that was certain. It was beyond saving. If she had been taken somewhere sooner—right after sustaining the burns—the arm might have been saved. But by now the flesh was eaten raw. You took a pair of shears and carefully cut the woman’s clothing away from her skin. The fabric clung to burned flesh, ripped it away, despite your caution. The woman stirred slightly but did not wake. For the first time you looked at her face. 

She was handsome, with a strong jaw and dark brows. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. She was so tall that her boots hung over the edge of the long table.

You forced your gaze away. There was no time to lose, and you had to be meticulously careful. This was your first real operation.

You went to the cupboard and took a dose of caffeine. It steeled you, cleared your brain. You filled a syringe with the anesthetic you had swiped from the alchemist in Piltover and wiped the woman’s good arm with antiseptic before injecting it into her strong, raised vein. 

Janna in Heaven, the woman was built like a god. 

You were made to think rationally, scientifically. You knew the arm would have to come off, the damaged tissue rendered it useless. But it was almost tragic to think that such a substantial part of the woman would be lost, an arm that once mirrored the perfect art of its surviving counterpart, with the veins and scars and ropes of muscle telling of astounding strength. 

You waited until the woman’s  pulse slowed, until her breathing grew even, until you knew the woman would be far enough away from the pain to survive the loss of her left arm. Then you got to work. 

~~~

Sevika saw first another bright light and thought, oh, fuck, here we go again. 

She then discovered that she could not move her body. She was one tangled mass of tightness. Every fiber of her body seemed to be knotted up in another. She had the childish fear that if she made a movement she would tear apart at the seams, like a cloth left to freeze in the winter air. 

She then waited—waited for the second blast, waited for the sure and swift hand of death, waited for anything, really—a fucking change—anything better than this hellish state of immobility. 

The sound of metal striking metal jolted through her senses. Instinct caused her to start up, hands curled into fists. 

That was when the pain hit. 

She hadn’t actually moved—her body was still too sluggish for that—but the seizing of her muscles set every single cursed remaining nerve in her screaming. She couldn’t yet register what had really happened, where the sound came from, why she had tried to move so quickly. She could barely even think of who she was, her own name, why she was lying flat and shirtless on her back on a table in a chill dark room with a lamp in her face. All she could do was breathe hard and slow, trying to fight back the yell rising in her throat. 

Then there was a person hovering over her. Cool hands touching her face, which she hadn’t realized until right that instant was burning like hellfire. 

A voice drifting above her, like sweet rain, like mist by the river. 

“You’re okay. It’s okay. Breathe. It’s over.” 

What’s over? Who are you? Where am I? What did you do to me? 

“Mom?” Was the only question that actually made it through Sevika’s cracked lips. 

“Drink. Slow. It’s okay.” 

A rim of a cup was now at her lips, and instinctively she jerked her head away. The water splashed over her cheek, a blaze of cold fire. She winced and gasped, “No.” 

“Drink,” the voice repeated. “Or the shock will kill you.” 

The cool fingers rested firmly on Sevika’s jaw, guiding her mouth back to the cup full of fire and glass. This woman was going to kill her. This woman had her locked in a room tied to a table and now she was trying to kill her with a cup of poison. 

“Drink,” you said again. Your voice was too soft, too deep for a murderer. But Sevika had long learned not to trust any kind of exterior. 

Her lips parted, nearly against her will. As if they moved in response to a thirst she wasn’t aware of herself. And then the taste of sweet, cold water on her tongue. It shocked her. Never had she tasted pure water—the filth of the river and sewage water had everyone drinking liquor or getting by on fish guts. She got over the initial shock, then reached hungrily for the rim. It was drawn cruelly away from her. 

“Swallow,” you instructed her, like she was a small child. “You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke.”

She didn’t even care about the burn as the water went down. Her only thought was the cold sweetness on her tongue. 

“Good, isn’t it?” you said. “You wouldn’t believe the stuff pilties drink up there. Filtered water on the top of the list.” 

Slowly, Sevika inhaled the water in short breaths until the cup was empty. She could feel it clear her head, move the blood in her veins. Her vision cleared until she was aware of the ring of light above her, see the outline of odd instruments hanging on the walls. And she could feel the pain coursing through her in sharp, acute waves, with nothing now to take her mind from it. 

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything to help with the pain,” you said. “The only painkilling potion we have here was recently marked down by about twenty clients as utterly useless.” Sevika could see you moving around the room, fixing up something here, cleaning something in the sink. 

“Who are you?” Sevika rasped out. The movement of her voice in her throat felt like the grating of metal. 

You turned to face her. Sevika could make out a young, serious face. You smiled slightly, and your exhaustion showed in the rings under your eyes. “I’m a doctor.”

It was then that Sevika realized her hands were still curled into fists. With an effort she freed the fingers of her right hand. When she moved to do the same with her left, she discovered that she could not. She turned her face to look at her left hand. It was not there. 

The anesthesia was wearing off by the second, and everything was becoming bright and hot and terrifying. She could not see her left hand, but everything else began to move, as if something restraining her had suddenly broken loose and all her limbs were freed at once. Sevika struggled into a sitting position. This time she let out a ragged scream. 

“Easy, easy, easy.” Your hand on her right shoulder, the other braced against the back of her neck. “Easy,” you said again in a low voice. 

“What did you do, what—what the hell did you do?” Sevika gasped. “What did you do?” 

“Don’t move like that. You’ll mess up the tissue.” 

“What did you do what did you do what did you do?” Somewhere above her senses, even in a situation like this, Sevika was ashamed of the wild fear she knew was showing in her eyes. The crack in her voice, hinging on madness. She felt like a trapped beast waking out of a tranquilizer, looking for the first time into the eyes of its captor. 

“Stay still. I’ll get you another cup of—”

Sevika’s right hand reached up and tried to close around your throat, but by then the strength had drained out of her. You calmly detached Sevika’s fingers from your neck and held her hand tightly in both your own. 

“You need to calm down. I know how much pain you must be in right now, but panicking won’t help anything.” 

“Woman.” Sevika’s voice was too weak for yelling, and in a whisper it sounded even more dangerous. “What. Did you do. To me.”

“It had to be done,” you said quietly. “It was beyond saving. I’m sorry.” 

She didn’t want to look at it. She felt the vast absence, the great emptiness, the wide arc of space filled only by the mind-bending pain. She didn’t want to see her right hand in your grip, not when she knew she couldn’t see the left safely at her side. She closed her eyes and tried to will it all away. This was some mad dream she was in. One drink too many. Any minute now she would wake up and face a warning from Silco for drinking on the job. Any minute now this pain would all fade to a funny misunderstanding, a trick of her subconscious. 

Still it pulsed on, as hot and alive as a separate being. Sevika opened her eyes and looked down at the left side of her body. Her torso was wrapped in white bandages. A million needles of light danced between her bandaged shoulder and the empty drop beneath it. 

Then the tears came. 

She would be embarrassed later. She would be violent later. She would make the ridiculous, childish demands later—demands for her arm back, refusing to believe she had really lost it, cursing everything and everyone and every single fucking force in the universe that had allowed this to happen. She would hate later. She would be angry later. 

For now she just wept. And her head was buried in the crook of your shoulder and she could feel you holding her, rubbing circles into her back like her mother did when she was too small to know herself properly. She cried like a child who had just lost her mother. She cried as if she had lost a close friend. 

“It’s okay,” you kept saying. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

The word lost its meaning, but it was strangely comforting to hear it. She was lost in a world of pain, and the word with all its nonsensical certainty was gratifying to cling to, like a rope. 

She thought she felt your hand against her forehead, the brush of whispered words against her ear. She fell into a troubled sleep. 

~~~

Sevika (by now you had wrenched at least that bit of information from your patient) had been in your care for several days when Silco himself came by. He spoke through the window in the door, and you did not invite him in. 

“How soon can she return to work?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “She just lost her fucking arm. How soon do you think?” 

He stared back, and his glass eye twitched slightly. It seemed to be a challenge of its own. She lost her arm, I lost my eye. Do you think that ever stopped us? Do you dare underestimate us?

“What is her condition?” Silco asked.

You thought back to the morning. Sevika had tried to rip the bandages off her shoulder, saying she would attach the arm back on herself or die trying. 

“Furious,” you said. 

“So.” 

“She’s recovering. You need to give her time.” 

Silco studied you through the door. “You look terribly young for someone to perform an operation so serious.” 

“And you look awfully old for someone making the judgments you are now.” 

Silco seemed taken aback at this, but didn’t reply immediately. He looked down—even smiled. You watched the deep scars in his face shift as his lips moved, and thought unintentionally of the healing wounds on Sevika’s face, the burn scars settling into a curious web of tissue that glowed—inexplicably—a pale blue. 

“Tell her I came by,” Silco said. “Can you at least do that?” 

“Yes,” you said. “Nice seeing you, Silco.” 

“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” 

“Can’t afford to be, you know, in the undercity.” 

He stayed a moment longer, watching you as if trying to extract a secret. You met his gaze unblinkingly. Then he turned and walked away.

You walked up the stairs into the room you had made as some kind of makeshift wing for Sevika, with a bed that hadn’t been occupied in god only knew how long and a basin for washing. It was littered now with rolls of gauze and bottles of ointment, whatever you could swipe from Piltover shelves. You didn’t like to leave Sevika long. The damned woman was filled with a dangerous restlessness. You had resorted to giving her strong doses of whiskey to knock her out for a few hours while you made the trip up and down the bridge. 

When awake and sober, Sevika was calm, almost cordial. She denied that she was in much pain, even apologized for taking up so much of your time and energy. She didn’t eat much, asked only for an occasional smoke to calm her nerves. It was when she was drunk, or half-awake, when the pain seemed to trigger a primal rage in her, when the pain made her dangerous. She would cry storms of tears that quickly turned into fury against whatever lay in her line of vision. She would throw whatever she could grab with her right arm, as if trying to prove the functionality of that remaining limb. She swore at you, accusing you of mutilating her on purpose. You did not fight, did not raise your voice. You kept heavy objects out of Sevika’s reach and were careful not to hurt her even when you were forced to immobilize Sevika for your own self-defense. 

It was when Sevika was asleep that tore at your heart. It was the helpless thin cries that rose from her lips, the cries for her mother, names of people you had never heard of who must have been close to Sevika once, long ago. When you changed the bandages, bathed the shoulder with pungent medicine to keep it from getting inflamed, Sevika looked so pitiful and small in her agony that your chest seized. 

You would not get attached. You would stay professional. Human sympathy, that was all it was, you told yourself. It was a hard thing, losing a limb. You have seen countless people die from it. Sevika was lucky to be alive, considering everything. That was it. Basic human sympathy. You knew nothing about Sevika. If anything, you knew enough about Sevika to know you would be glad when she was fully recovered and out of your hands. 

But still there were moments. You had seen her scared, you had seen her crying. Sevika knew this. Mostly it embarrassed her—all of it—and she was more than willing to pretend no such thing had ever happened. Other times, she seemed to give it all up. Abandon herself to her vulnerability. She would sit quietly and let you wash her hair. She would tell you about her dreams for the free nation of Zaun. 

You didn’t care for these airheaded political ideas. You thought there was enough to do on the ground without shooting for the stars. But you still loved, with a grudging and reluctant rapture, to listen to Sevika speak. She didn’t speak like a leader—her words were too short, her feelings too strong. But she spoke what was true to her, and you knew how rare it was to come across a person like that. 

~~~

Dusk was falling. You were lighting a cigarette for Sevika as she stood at the window, watching the light fall from the city rooftops. Standing so close to her, you had the urge to rest your head on Sevika’s right arm. She wore a tank top and from this angle she stood as tall and strong as a guardian angel of some sort, watching over the city and its million workings of fear and hope. The amputated shoulder was healing nicely. The burns on her skin had faded into thin veins of scarring, like cracks in the surface of a lovely broken marble statue. 

Sevika turned to you, and looked down at you through the cigarette smoke as if seeing you for the first time. You rearranged your features into indifferent serenity. Sevika had caught you off-guard; you had been watching the perfect curve of her nose, the ridges of her lips, her short lashes. Now you stood as guilty as a kid caught shoplifting. You waited for whatever Sevika was going to say, or do. You waited for something without expecting anything. You wanted nothing from Sevika. You wanted nothing and everything and then some. 

“Has…have you heard from Silco?” 

You looked up. Sevika had turned her gaze away. She was staring at the cigarette between her fingers, knocking the ash out the window. Funny, you thought suddenly, how her eyes seemed to change color between a matter of seconds. 

“I have,” you said. “He dropped by a week ago.” 

“A week?” Sevika echoed. She kept her eyes down. 

You thought of a soldier awaiting orders. Even if the order was for self-destruction, you realized Sevika would not hesitate to carry it out. Oh god, you thought. Oh god oh god oh god. 

“I waited to tell you. I didn’t want to upset you while you were still recovering.”

“Am I done for?” Sevika asked. Her voice was quiet. “Tell me. Was it a week's notice, or am I fired immediately?” 

You stared at her, unable to understand. Sevika looked at you. 

“He wanted to know when you could return to work,” you said. 

Then something changed in Sevika’s expression. She didn’t smile, nor did she scowl. A lightness came into her grey eyes, a hope, a lifting of a heavy weight that had been in her features all through the time she was with you. She took a long pull from the cigarette. Blew out the smoke in one long curl before speaking. 

“I’m ready tomorrow.” 

“What?”

“I would have gone back sooner,” Sevika explained, not quite to you, not quite to herself, “if I knew he wanted me back.” 

“You’re not serious,” you said. “You’re not serious, are you? You’re not actually going back?” 

“Not like this, I’m not,” Sevika said. “I need a new arm. Something better. Make up for the one I lost.” 

“Sevika, he’s the reason you nearly fucking died.” 

“I was doing my job.” The grey eyes cut you like a blade. “You don’t understand.” 

She was right. You did not understand. You did not understand the long nights sitting by Sevika’s side, pinching yourself awake, watching like a hawk for a trace of fever, a hint of infection. You did not understand the bouts of violent grief in which you held Sevika and listened to her tears until you yourself began to weep. You did not understand the hours of shifting daylight, changing bandages and lifting from stores in Piltover and running from enforcers and brewing calming potions and doing everything you could to keep Sevika from destroying herself. You did not understand anything but the empty sense of loss, a dislodgement in your world. You did not understand how you had been so blind. In the past weeks, Sevika has been everything to you. 

“You did so much for me,” Sevika said, and her words clouded into one another so that she already sounded as if she spoke from a great distance. “I won’t forget you.” 

You will, you thought. You already are.

~~~

You were sleeping when Sevika left. It was in the early hours of morning, and everything was ready. You had given the name and address of a well known mechanic in the undercity. You couldn’t be sure if Smeech was still in business, but Sevika had said it was good enough for her. Then there was nothing left to do. An awkward pause had settled. You muttered something about letting her get enough rest for tomorrow. Told her not to forget to take the medicine you packed for her to help the phantom pains. Then you went to your own room, shut the door, and sat without moving or making a sound until it got dark. 

You could hear your door open, and you could see through one half-opened eye that Sevika stood in the doorway. You did not get up. You feigned sleep, keeping your breaths even. You saw Sevika’s hesitation, you saw it in the uncertain way she stood. You watched Sevika raise her right hand and touch the door frame, as tenderly as if it was alive. Then she went away. You listened to her receding footsteps until a door somewhere closed and you knew for certain that Sevika had gone.

~~~

additional a/n: if you made it this far... um... pls accept my sincerest apologies🙏 ik i used the same title as my other sevika angst fic, that song breaks my heart every time i hear it. i don't know why i do this to myself. i am in tears.

[chiasaaa]

— right here

nagumo yoichi x f! reader

summary: nagumo couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— nagumo knew the consequences of letting a fragile thing as love into his world. directing that love to someone within his world makes it even worse. as much as he loves to flaunt his carefree personality that made even his group of friends doubt the amount of care he puts into things, he knew to himself that he cares more than he lets on.

it’s one thing getting a scratch. it’s another to be admitted in the hospital in the name of a job.

he didn’t know how it came to it. you were the strongest in the order after sakamoto left, after all. but you had fallen injured badly, enough to send you off to a hospital bed. maybe it was that sheer strength and dependability you had that allowed people to forget that you are still first and foremost, a human being. maybe it was the relaxed smile you gave him that eased away his tense shoulders. he didn’t know, but he believed you’d come back the same way you departed.

unscathed and safe, the complete opposite of what you look like right now.

he sits by your hospital bed where you lay, silently observing how your chest rose and fell repeatedly. every time it does, a part of him feels a little relieved. it was a reminder that you were alive—that you haven't completely left him just yet.

then, the slightest twitch of your finger.

nagumo nearly fell off his seat rushing over to you, observing as your eyes slowly fluttered open. immediately, nagumo pressed the button by your bed and called for the nurse frantically.

"you're ok." he whispered, barely audible as the sight of his relieved face pooled your vision for the first time in a while. somehow, even in such a delicate state, you managed to crack a smile at him.

"hey, handsome." you grin.

"shh, save your breath." it was so unlike him, to be so serious. he didn't even respond to your light-hearted greeting like he normally would.

nagumo was, in short, different since then.

from the moment you woke up to the time you were discharged, nagumo never—not once—cracked a joke. everyone who had come to visit you were a witness to his change in demeanor. it was eerie, and it was beginning to get uncomfortable. the nagumo you knew isn't anything like that. he would have laughed at death right at the face—maybe add a poking finger or two at the cheek. that was the kind of man you knew him to be.

it gets weirder when he became a little more clingy since then. in your shared home, he would never be more than two meters away from you. when you go from one room to another, so does he.

need a drink? he does too. wanna cook lunch? he's already making your favorite. wanna take a walk to the park? oh, the sun's lovely for a picnic date! anything you do, nagumo does too.

you love that he spends more time with you, especially since your profession doesn't care much for cherished moments, but it's beginning to worry you more than relax you.

it was one day when he cuddled into you and the warmth of your bed that you decided to address the situation. you were simply reading a new book when nagumo declared himself the little spoon and laid his head on your chest to "read along". we all know he wasn't reading.

"nagumo, darling." you call softly, nestling your nose onto his mop of raven hair. then, you shut your book. "we need to talk."

"aww, we were getting to the good part!" he whined, referring to the book you just closed. with a pout, he raises his head up to lock eyes with your own. "you need anything? do your stitches hurt? shit, did it rip open?!"

"no, no." you sigh, easing him down with a brush of your hand through his hair. your fingers carded through gently, almost lulling him to sleep. "nagumo, while i do appreciate your increased concern, i fear it's getting a little out of hand."

"how could caring for you be out of hand?" he chuckled lightly. "if anything, i should have done this a long time ago!"

you look at him for awhile, pausing. it's hard to decipher what he thinks about at times, but the main factor as to why he knew you were the one was because you figure it out one way or another. "i'm right here." was all you could muster to say.

who knew that such simple words were enough to rip the sickening fake smile right off his face? before you knew it, his tattooed arms tightened around your figure, fearing that you might slip away if he hadn't held on tight enough. his face buried itself on your chest in shame, as if he knew he was caught in a heinously unforgivable act.

"you could have died." he mumbled through your skin.

"yet i'm here."

"you won't leave me, right?"

with a tender smile, you carefully raised his face from your chest. you didn't need to tell him. your eyes were filled with so much love, he couldn't be happier to see it manifest in real life. suddenly, the heat from your palm were a little warmer on his cheek that day. his fingers jolted with electricity at the touch of your skin. his eyes narrowed down to you, forgetting about everything else as only you remain in his vision. like a deer caught in a trance, too enamored by your presence.

"you can't get rid of me that easily, darling." you whisper against his lips, and oh he loved how it caressed on his skin. then, he indulged in your aphrodisiac, letting go of all the heavy weight he's been carrying around since your accident. the feel of your lips on his was real enough to convince him that you were there to stay—that if there is anyone in the world who wouldn't die on him, it would be you.

the one good thing he ever allowed himself to have in this world, and not once did you let him regret it.

[cherrycherryves]

MADNESS IN MANSION AU MAIN CHARACTERS !

DISCLAIMER: this is just my au to have fun with, so not everything is gonna be completely accurate or “canon!” A lot of these characters have different stories from their source materials! And also this au is mostly about friendship, love, and family! It’s just something I think is cute and fun to work on! :3 Also also! Since some of them don’t have catchphrases, I made up little quotes!

The main cast! The main line up! The main players!

More info is down below!! :D

Judge Angels — “I will sentence you!” — Dina Clark was brought in by Slenderman while on the run for killing their CEO father and most of their family’s staff. Traveling with them, their mother’s corpse neatly packed in a suitcase. They just wanted to find a safe place for their beloved mother to finally rest.

Bloody Painter — “Don’t be excited for tomorrow.” — Helen Otis sought out Slenderman after realizing the police were hot on his trail. The pressures of life had built up, and all he wanted to do was create a new world from scratch. One filled to the brim with beauty and art. The world will bend to his will.

Ticci Toby — “Follows…” — After moving from Wisconsin to Alabama, Toby Roger’s life spiraled out of control. He had endured countless hardships, and the death of his sister was more than he could take. After burning it all to the ground, Slenderman gave him a place to seek refuge.

Jeff the Killer — “Go to sleep.” — Some people are dealt a shitty hand. Jeffery Woods’ life was standard, but that didn’t make it easy. In high school, things only got worse. At the hands of his peers he was burned alive. He survived, but his mind had completely shattered. He wants to pick up the pieces.

Homicidal Liu — “Today’s a better day.” — Liu Woods had always done his best to be a proper older sibling. He wanted nothing more to protect his younger brother. Maybe that’s why he barely fought back when his brother attempted to kill him. There was a moment of hesitation, and in that moment he ran. Slenderman had found him bleeding out, he promised he could keep him alive.

Eyeless Jack — “Do no harm.” — Jack Nyras had his whole life ahead of him. He was at university studying to be a doctor. However, unexpected things can happen at any moment. What was supposed to be a college party had turned into nothing short of cult activity, Jack being their ultimate sacrifice. He doesn’t remember much after their torture, only that Slenderman had found him bloodied and fundamentally changed in the forest.

Kate the Chaser — “Don’t look…or it takes you.” — Sometimes Slenderman sees potential. Slenderman saw great potential in Kate Milens. But not just anyone can become a proxy. Kate had gone through multiple trials without even knowing, always coming out favorably in the Slenderman’s opinion. Being so close to Slenderman, however, comes with symptoms… consequences.

Nina the Killer — “Go to sleep, my prince!” — Childhood friends with Liu, Jeff, and their friend Jane, Nina Hopkins was always a bright and cheery force of nature. Despite her efforts to get along with her peers, rumors had a way of creeping up. It was a good thing she had her friends to lean on. She always had her friends. She’d always have her friends. Friends don’t give up on each other.

Eyeless Lulu — “Gimme your eyes.” — Lucille-Tiffany Greatfeild never had luck making friends. It seemed no matter what she did, her peers found her weird. Growing up, she was a lonely child, however, going to college filled her with determination to break out of her shell and at least make a few acquaintances. She was befriended by a group of peers who were seemingly kind and caring, but sometimes things are too good to be true. Having heard of an new internet legend, they pressured Lulu into playing a stupid game, performing a silly ritual. They all paid the price.

Clockwork — “Time’s up.” — Natalie Ouellette came from a broken home. Ever since she was young, she was starkly aware of how unfair life can be. She had poor health as a child, often in and out of doctor offices due to various reasons, a bad flu or broken bones. Every time she exited the hospital, she heard the tick in her head, like her time was running out, being wasted, rotting away. As she grew up, this tick only got louder. Time was against her, and the abuse was getting worse. She had to do something. And she did do something. And then she ran.

BEN Drowned — “You’ve met with a terrible fate!” — Benjamin Lawman was a very lively boy. He loved making friends, drinking soda, and of course, frequenting arcades and internet cafes! Life for him was simple, it was perfect! But there are things that are out of your control, circumstances one is born into. Divorce is hard for the whole family to go through, but Ben had hope, an optimistic outlook. The look in his father’s eyes was scary as they drove to the lake alone, but his father was a rational man. Surely there was a rational explanation for all of this.

Sally — “Wanna play?” — Sally Williams had just turned 12! Her birthday party was held in Loblolly’s very own, new and shiny park! The year was 1973 and the summer air was warm and inviting. Sally had just finished opening her gifts, her favorite being a new teddy bear from her mom and dad. A true friend, soft and kind. While many kids showed up to her party, they didn’t have good intentions. One girl suggested they play a game before Sally got to the piñata. They blindfolded her, giggling and exclaiming, “We’ll guide you!” Really, they just wanted to see if they could get her lost. What they didn’t account for was the truck barreling down the road as they told her to cross it.

Lazari Swann — “I can do this!” — Lazari Swann never knew her mother and father. Her mother had died during childbirth, leaving her to the care of foster homes. She did her best. She made the best of any situation, always selfless, always helpful. But as she grew up, it gnawed at the back of her mind. Her father… where had he gone? Who was he? What did he look like? She only had one clue, a picture from her mother’s photo album with a location marked: Loblolly, Alabama. She’d get her answers one way or another.

Masky — “Always watches, no eyes.” — Tim Wright is a man of few words now. Not many know of how he came to be so reliable in the Slenderman’s eye, why he’s so guarded and keeps to himself, why he’s so close with Brian. They just know that his word is to be trusted, he knows what he’s doing. He is regarded as the most capable human in the mansion, and despite his attempts to keep everyone at a distance, many of the mansion’s inhabitants look to him for guidance.

Hoodie — “Can’t run.” — Brian Thomas is just as reliable, but because of his elusive nature, many don’t know how to read him quite right. He is more personable than Tim, handling most of the talking when the two of them are together. Brian is easy going, despite his circumstances, and can even crack a few light hearted jokes. But no one really knows much about him. Still, people in the mansion recognize his survivability and will take his guidance if Tim isn’t around.

Nurse Ann — “It won’t hurt… much.” — In the 1800s, there was a hospital in the woods of Loblolly, and Ann Lusen Mia worked there. She was a dutiful nurse, very caring and dedicated to her job. She believed in the good of humanity, and cherished being able to care for the sick and injured. A doctor within the hospital, a colleague of hers, informed her that he was working on a new method of care and asked her to be a part of it. She agreed, enthusiastic for the progress of medicine. Little did she know she would be the experiment. As she felt herself dying, she pleaded with any entity she could to help her, save her, and that was enough for Zalgo to offer her a deal.

Laughing Jack — “Round and round the mulberry bush…!” — The Laughing Jack is a mystery to many. He is a demon, taking the form of a monochrome clown with many nonsensical traits. He speaks in riddles and rhymes for the most part, always eccentric and mind-bending. He thoroughly enjoys being a nuisance to humans, a pest, a bother, but when it comes to more sensitive people or children, he can actually be quite a sweetheart. His morals are unknown to anyone as he is not tied to Slenderman or Zalgo and acts on his own accord. He seems to favor Slenderman though, for whatever reason, and so he has become a trusted ally!

Slenderman — “…” — The Slenderman’s origins are unknown. He has existed for thousands of years. After a gruesome battle with the underworld’s ruler, Zalgo, Slenderman was severely weakened. The battle ended in a stalemate, though it was surely in Zalgo’s favor. Too close to a victory for Slenderman’s liking. At the end of their battle, Slenderman had used most of his energy to lock Zalgo in the underworld dimension for good, but his seal wasn’t perfect. Many zalgoid creatures can still access earth, but as long as it’s not Zalgo himself, he has time. He started taking in lost and weary souls in hopes of building an army. He feeds off negative energy, his mansion feeds off negative energy, the forest feeds off negative energy. But what he didn’t expect was that these beings, human and possessed and undead alike, have started making him feel. He cares for them. And this care might be just what he needs to get rid of Zalgo for good.

[haarrrys]

└➤ LEE KNOW (이민호)

indications ; ♥︎ - smut , ✿ - fluff, ⬤ - angst

# - lightyears -✿⬤- three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him. w.c 4.2k

# - hyungas sleeping -✿- fueled by pure, unadulterated minho & soon-doong-dori (SDD) brainrot. w.c 1.1k

# - silky shorts and stained shirts -✿♥︎- when best friend!minho sees fem!reader in revealing clothes for the first time… w.c 11.9k

& pt ii, kitty keychains and pudding paybacks -✿- best friend!minho can't help but recall memories of him and fem!reader in the middle of their grocery trip

# - nightmares -✿⬤- it takes you longer than you want to admit to notice it - the fact that minho doesn’t sleep in front of you. 

# - hand holding -✿-

#- sweeter-♥︎- jealous minho smut; oral sex (m. receiving), grinding, unprotected sex

#- feline tendencies-✿- “quit it or i’ll bite.” + “do it. i dare you.” + suggestive

# - flower -✿⬤- you're the only person whose opinion he cares about. when all is said and done, he doesn't care if the rest of the world thinks cold and heartless, as long as you know who he is.

# - shark week-✿-how he would take care of you during shark week.

#- telling them-✿- reader and minho plan a fun way to tell the other 7 that they’re pregnant and the kids react in a happy way and how they’re gonna be amazing uncles and stuff

#- just cuddle me already -✿- he tries to keep this cold façade but deep inside he's a little cutie who would die without his daily cuddles

#- first date -✿- friends to lovers

#- depressive episode drabble-⬤-

#- soft minho thought -✿-

#- what are we? -✿⬤-

#- pampering minho -✿- pampering minho and kissing his ouchys and treating him like a princess until he feels better :((((((((

# - minho in love -✿-

# - his second chance -⬤- text messages

# - middle of the night -♥︎- dom!minho, sub!reader, fingering, implied piv, implied unprotected sex (pls don’t be stupid), creampie, breast play, name calling (angel, kitten, brat, slut), slight praise; not proof read w.c 1.5k

# - taste -✿♥︎- your boyfriend has been working out, but when you notice his appeal for praise being ignored by his friends, you decide to show him how beautiful you think his body is. w.c 4.3k

# - lingerie -✿♥︎- minho’s reaction where you’re wearing cute lingerie but then you become shy

# - scared to sleep-✿⬤- mentions of nightmares but no details, hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, chris is literally so sweet, mentions of sleep related fears

# - nsfw headcannons -♥︎-

# - key chain -⬤✿- you fight with minho and he comes back to make things right.-

# - fluff headcannons

# - im so sorry -⬤✿- you guys have an argument and eventually u just burst into tears right infront of him and he doesnt know what to do but comfort you

# - waiting for us -✿- lee know with a "waiting for us" kinda vibe. Just being together in their own place with lots of domestic fluff. Dancing whenever, seeing movies whenever…

# - soon you'll get better -⬤✿- your boyfriend tries to help you with your headaches, but when a doctor diagnoses you with something far worse than you ever expected, your world shatters.

# - dad lee know -✿-

# - aftercare -✿♥︎- aftercare w fiance lee know

# - the adults are busy -✿♥︎- in which the mornings with Minho can be silly and suggestive all in one. primarily silly.

read other members here !

[petrichoravery]

But you peeked right over somehow | s.r

summery: your disbelief in love has always held you back from a relationship with Spencer, but you think it's time to be brave now.

word count: 2k

warnings: reader is avoidant and makes some weird decisions, but, like, be nice to her please, she's scared; mentions of avoidant attachment style, toxic relationships (someone having made r feel stupid and worthless in the past) and of parents fighting, but nothing detailed; reader is also mentioned to be drunk once, but it’s in past tense and it’s really just the word mentioned. English is not my first language.

a/n: the pictures are obviously no indication of how reader looks, they are just there to make this all look pretty and aesthetically pleasing. I've tried my best not to describe any physical appearance of reader. reader means a lot to me, I hope you’ll like her. Also, the gorgeous!! dividers are not mine, all credits to @/enchanthings-a on tumblr. The title is from 'circling' by tiny habits

You didn't believe in love—not the one in the movies, anyway. Your sad attempts at it have always ended with you feeling lonelier than before and your parents… well, let's just say they're not the best example either. So you built the walls higher and higher, placing brick upon brick, so no one would be able to look over them.

Until you met Spencer.

He has nested himself between the bricks like wisteria and has been so impossibly stubborn, but so kind about it, too. Never asking for more than the few fleeting moments you had. To the point were you weren't even sure if you wanted to rid yourself of him anymore.

You had met him at a reading of your favourite book a few years ago. You had forgotten your book on your seat and he had ran out and handed it back to you, a white piece of paper with messy handwriting in black ink slipped in between the pages. I like your taste in books, maybe you could recommend me some:). it had said, with his number on the bottom.

You had been friends for a while after that, because you always blocked his attempts of turning what you had into more.

Until one drunken mistake on your side turned into two and the two of you decided that: friends kiss, right? (Well, you decided it, Spencer was just happy to go along with whatever you were most comfortable with.)

For a while you convinced yourself that whatever you were feeling—the butterflies in your stomach, the way your heart was racing every time he touched you—was just lust. It was easier than admitting that you were falling hopelessly in love with him.

So when you woke up this morning, in your bed with him sleeping next to you, you couldn't help but watch him. The way the soft morning light, shining through the silk curtains, drew shapes onto his skin, the way his brown curls framed his face. You just hardly resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, your hand curling into a fist so hard that your nails dug half-moon shapes into your palm.

You got up after a few moments. Quietly, so you wouldn’t wake him. He landed in Virginia late after a case, but still decided to come over to your apartment, because he had forgotten something there. You ended up, self-sabotagingly, inviting him to stay the night and now you were here; with an angel in your bed and a devil on your shoulder.

You tip-toed into your kitchen, finally being able to breathe a little louder. Leaning onto the counter, hanging your head, you felt pathetic. This wasn't how things go for you, normally. You didn't pine and, even worse, yearn (you gagged at just the thought) for men like you were right now.

Then again, Spencer was far from normal.

And because of that, your heart was racing and you caught yourself, more often than not, at the bookstore in the classic section, asking yourself if Spencer had that copy of war and peace already. He probably did.

You scoff at yourself. Maybe you just needed to go to the club again. Cleanse yourself of this feeling. Forget about him and his stupid brown eyes, the way his hands feel when they— Stop.

"Are you okay?" A sleepy voice asks from the doorway.

You turn slowly. Spencer was still in his oversized gray sleep shirt, the fabric worn-out and thin. His hair a mess of brown, soft curls. God, get it together.

"Yeah," you mumble, "just…headaches."

He steps closer, careful, as if not to startle you. "Do you need anything? Ibuprofen?"

"No, I'm okay. Thank you."

He nods, but his eyes search your face. It’s clear that he knows something is off—he's a profiler, after all. He smoothes his hand over your wooden counter top and you wish so badly that those calloused hands were running over your skin instead.

"Breakfast?" You croak, already turning around and rummaging the cabinets for two mugs.

A hand finds your wrist, turning you around with a gentleness you're not sure you deserve. You pull away quickly, as if his touch burned you.

He frowns a little, but doesn't comment on it. "I'd love breakfast," he pauses, "Can you talk to me? Please?"

His idiotically big puppy-dog eyes and the way his hand feels on your skin makes you want to kiss him stupid.

So you do, impulsively. Kissing him was so much better than answering his questions and he might forget, as a good side affect—

Spencer pushed against your shoulders gently, untangling your lips from another after indulging for a short second—he was just a man, after all.

He knew that you were only kissing him to distract from the topic at hand and he also knew, that he would forget about this conversation too quickly if he let you.

"Not that I don't love kissing you, but something is bothering you and I want to understand what it is. So can you please talk to me?"

"About what?" You try and he looks at you, disbelieving.

"Come on—" he says your name, and it's so soft, "You've always been careful with the idea of an relationship with me, but it's been getting worse. You tense up every time I touch you and tip-toe around me. I just want to know if I did something to upset you. I want to fix it."

Your skin is crawling with his rejection of the kiss and you can't help the words of defensiveness bursting out of you. "You can't always fix everything, Spencer. I'm not just another case to solve."

Spencer doesn’t even flinch. "I know you're not. I'm sorry, my wording was off. I know something happened to you in the past and you need it slow and that's okay. I never pushed and I'm not pushing right now, but I want to understand what it is, what's going on in your head."

He was being so, so kind. You felt like crying. "Nothing! Nothing is going on in my head, just—" You feel like an animal in a cage, ready to chew off your foot to get out of the trap.

Spencer lets his hands drop from your shoulder to his side again, knowing you well enough to know that touch may not be comforting to you right now.

The gesture grounds you, reminds you that you are talking to kind, gentle Spencer, that he is only worried about you. So you try to reel back, trying your best to be just as kind, to be deserving of him. But you're a viper full of venom and you're sure you might never be able to purge it from your body enough to ever deserve him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, looking down at your miss-matched socks.

"It's okay. I understand." He's not sure what to do. An aggressive UnSub was nothing in comparison to you being uncomfortable and him being unable to help. "We don't have to talk about it. We can eat breakfast and I'll tell you about the stars again."

His lips quirk a little as you laugh, even if it was just the smallest sound, it was something.

"No, it's okay. I—" You have been knocking on Spencer's door and running away before he could welcome you in for too long. You have decided that you're ready to pass the doorstep now.

Your therapist has advised you to get out of comfort zone more, anyway, and if Spencer leaves after this conversation, at least you can go back to not believing in love. "I figured I had to tell you at some point. If I really wanted this to be a thing."

You gesture between the two of you at the last part, voice dropping to a quieter tone and you look up at him though your lashes without lifting your head.

He looks surprised. That's okay. You'll just laugh and pretend it was a joke—

"Yeah," he steps closer, brushing hair out of your face, "if that's what you want. I’m not forcing you to."

"I know you're not." You sigh, closing your eyes as his fingertips brush against your jaw. "Truth is, nothing really happened. I guess I've just had rotten luck in love."

The hair tie you're wearing on your wrist is suddenly so interesting and you chew on your lip to have something to do with your mouth, otherwise you'd just blurt out everything he wants to know.

"My parents have been fighting more than they haven't since I've been really young. Nothing too bad, but it was obvious that they weren't in love. I doubt they ever were."

Spencer doesn't say anything, choosing to let you finish without comment. He knows what's coming, he's been through it, too. Parents who fight, relationships that fail, never feeling loved in the way the movies show you. It can make you feel hopeless.

"I was a late bloomer, I guess. I've had my first relationship at twenty-two. Not that I cared, I had convinced myself that I didn't want love at that point, anyway. So when I did find it… I was elated. I thought, yes! finally it's my turn. Well, they hurt me quite badly, made me feel bad for everything that I didn't know, like—like they were better than me. Maybe they were, I don't know, it doesn't matter."

Ouch. Spencer thought. No one deserves that. Much less you. His hands find your wrist again and his thumb slides over your pulse point.

"They're not." He says with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe him. "Someone who makes people feel bad for trying to learn things is not, in any way, better than the person who is trying."

You shake your head. "No, it's okay. I— yeah. It's whatever. It just hurt in that moment."

You do that a lot, Spencer notes, pushing your feelings onto your past-self like they don't affect you now, when he knows they do. Or else you wouldn't be here.

"I did go on a few date after that," you continue after a short pause, "but I kept myself locked away pretty tightly. Never let it go further than the third date. A few years later, when I let someone else in, it got quite toxic, quite quickly. From both sides. We were dependent and avoidant at the same time. They were just…they showed me off a lot and were so gentle and kind, but I realised after a while that it was just their way of making sure I stayed. And I…I started feeling trapped and accused them of some pretty messed up stuff. We didn't make it really far after that."

Tears start building on your lash line and you look at the ceiling, begging them to stay buried. That was your tell, Spencer knew it too well. He brushed his thumb under your eyes.

"You don't have to." He murmurs.

"I'm almost done." You promise and look at him for the first time since you started the story. "I didn't have any serious relationships after that, just…harmless flirting, but I was too scared to let myself fall again. I never felt loved enough, I guess…or I was just selfish and greedy."

Spencer shakes his head. "You deserve the love you want." Ducking his head, he makes sure you're looking at him. "That's not selfish."

"I think I did." You whisper with the shyness of a high-school kid, eyes searching between his. "Find it, I mean."

The corners of Spencer's mouth lift into his wonderful smile and for once in your life you know you've said the right thing.

"Lucky me." He answers, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against him gently.

"Yeah. Lucky." You breathe out, wrapping your arms around his waist. It was clear that you don't quite know just how lucky someone must be to have you in their life and Spencer was going to work hard to make you will.

You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "Thank you." You whisper.

"Don't thank me yet." He chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling the top of your head. You melt into him at his words, as if his stupid joke had a magical soothing effect. Of course you'd thank him. You won't stop thanking him for being him until you were six feet under.

"I'm sorry for snapping. I just—"

"Don't. It's okay. You don't need to explain yourself to me." He says, earnestly, into your hair.

"I know I don't. It wasn't fair of me, though."

"Maybe. But better unfair and raw, than fair and polished. I want you, un-performing."

You sigh into his shoulder and try not to cry in gratitude.

Being open was hard when you've been burnt for it before and you knew there was much to overcome, but you didn't doubt one bit, that you could overcome every hurdle with the help of Spencer. Step by step growing on your walls together. Wisteria and ivy.

a/n: please don't hesitate to send me your thoughts and show support by re-blogging, commenting and liking if you liked the fic!!