#but it was a depression day and I couldn’t even move so I’m okay with that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months ago

Text

Last, Last Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~7.3k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing up, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupitar. writing this was a little bit of a catharsis since it's one of the first things I've been able to write. I'm sorry I've been so m.i.a., i just moved to a new country and that has been a crazy experience. But to cope with that, enjoy some gut-wrenching angst!

Alternate Ending! Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.”

“Y/n…”

“I-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I don’t know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.”

“Wait for the potential of us?”

Spencer’s jaw loosened. You couldn’t read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t trying but come one Spencer. There’s no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.”

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home. A note or....”

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…”

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved.

The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summer’s eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldn’t say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough.

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.”

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..”

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild few weeks trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.

And it stuck.

Now? It stung.

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll...”

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and how your life may have gotten better because of it.

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.

Did you make the right choice? You were happy, you had your dream job.

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both—

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.

This caused some hesitation because your phone’s ringer was always off––the loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years.

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.

Emily Prentiss

______________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.”

Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. “Early this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .

Spencer just stared at the photo.

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was going to be. “Any ideas on the unsub?”

“No.” Prentiss sighed. “Only the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours. I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?”

______________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Weird. Off brand. Something was deeply wrong from them to have to give you a call.

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.”

Emily hummed a brief laugh, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?”

“What?”

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and get to the BAU.”

“Oh my god I totally forgot. It might take me an hour to get there with all this bullshit traffic, could we push the reservation an hour? Would they be willing to do that?”

Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your car—all paranoia that didn’t pay off then, might be paying off now.

You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to do–you knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life.

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.

You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasn’t okay, maybe he had died—you refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely.

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty minutes since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.

You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night.

As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to them–only hanging up as soon as you were out of the car.

Both of them had such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared to your face.

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.”

“Well Em, next time I end an engagement with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed him back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You nodded back and looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?”

The three of you moved inside.

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way around the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this feels like.

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.

“What do you know about Cat Adams?”

That bitch.

______________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.”

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.”

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.”

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was.

“Don’t start with me you two. I know profiling. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try and trick me into giving the answers you want.”

Alvez bit his tongue and looked away, trying to hide a small smile that appeared on his lips.

Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better than him, but part of being previously engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their tricks too.

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file.

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.

“What is the last thing you know about her?”

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.

“What? What happened?”

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove from DC to here, I deserve to know what happened. without some weird sugarcoating, alright?”

Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reid’s life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prison—

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–”

“I’m a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course I’d want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, I’d call you immediately. Faster than the cops.”

Both of them went silent.

“So is he out?”

They nodded slowly, silently.

“How long was he in there.”

Nothing.

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.”

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.

Why didn’t Spencer call you—well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you.

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here?”

“Cat’s execution is coming up, and we….we found out that she’s convinced someone to kidnap some….people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.”

Your eyebrows went up at people but said nothing of it. Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily walked over and stood next to you, a hand appearing on the small of your back as a comfort.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?” The blonde woman spoke up, arms crossed.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed.

______________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.”

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.”

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s. It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.”

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?”

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else.”

______________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you left four years ago. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved in, but there was less of it.

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you had taken half of them, and were in the rest.

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.

Max, as you had learned her name, was just sitting on the couch in your spot . She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would get Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?”

“She took your father and sister.”

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just grabbed your wrist (gently) and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.”

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear.

“So why is she here?” You whispered back.

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.”

Rossi let go of your wrist, and you walked into the kitchen, mostly eyes closed from the stress of the situation.

The apartment was silent, the others watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.

The pity from Rossi's look was palpable.

“Don’t even start.”

He shrugged and stayed silent.

Until his walkie went off and he looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Rossi looked back at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.”

You nodded and gave them both a strained smile as they left the apartment, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home, alone.

Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didn’t even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch.

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.

______________________________________________________________

“Juliette staked out in Reid’s life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancée.” Simmons sighed. “He was probably so focused on Max, he didn’t even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.”

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. It means she must have access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.”

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.”

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.”

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?”

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office.

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily.

Emily sighed in agreement.

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition.Y/n really shouldn’t be in there.”

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.”

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.”

______________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.

And there he was.

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.

And here he was, kissing Catherine Adams.

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit.

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever said it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?”

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.

Remember what Prentiss had said to you.

“You know why I’m here.”

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.

Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off.

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “I think…She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.”

You sat down in your spot on the couch, arms crossed. You were on the full defense.

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, some more disdain on her face than before.

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.”

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“I'm not talking to you.” Cat snapped at him before she turned to you. “I'm talking to you. Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.”

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?”

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

Cat’s voice caused your head to snap back to her. “Yes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.”

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?”

“No.” you just looked down at your hands.

“Thank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” Cat started mocking Spencer. “You see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.”

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?”

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.”

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to the man you realized you might have never really known beside you.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed.

Reid turned and looked at you. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurts. “And you threw her against a wall?”

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore a shock went up your spine.

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.”

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.”

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.”

It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where.

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. “Notice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you.

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you.

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?”

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.”

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?”

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.”

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.”

“Hmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.” She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. “They're so good, the FBI.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?”

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. “Here. Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”.

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?”

“Last year.”

“Was he good in bed?”

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.”

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response wasn't "get out." It wasn't "go to hell." It was "I'm sorry, Mike." That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow.

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?”

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess.”

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?”

“ I planned and I... I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “but I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit "send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.

Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. “When I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.”

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

“That's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. I’m a lawyer, I know how to plead.” You closed your eyes. “But I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.”

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.”

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” .

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.”

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.”

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.”

She took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.”

______________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?”

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

“No... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.” She sighed. “'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about me…”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize 3 innocent people. You could've just written a letter.”

“Would you have written me back?”

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer.

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.

______________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. “We need to debrief.”

Spencer just walked right past her, and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.

“Spencer, are you okay?”

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.

He smiled at her, and grateful returned the hug before muttering that he would be back, and explain everything.

You were never going to get back together with Spencer, but watching it in real time was like unlacing an old wound.

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away.

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.

“I should explain all of this.”

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.”

You cut him off. “It was fake—most of it. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.”

He just nodded, staring at you really.

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, making you remove your hand and take a small step back.

“Thank you for saving my sister and father.”

Spencer watched your resolve fully formed, masking whatever you were feeling. He hated watching it happen to him, watching as you placed whatever feelings you had back into somewhere he couldn’t find.

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.”

Spencer looked up at you, and unlike yourself, every single emotion Spencer was feeling was racing across his face.

He didn’t like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger.

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.”

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…”

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I never knew..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.

You looked over at Garcia. “I need my bag Pen.” You whispered, taking a step away from Spencer. “I shouldn’t…I finished my job. My family is safe…”

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.

He looked up at Emily and walked over to her. “I’m…uh. I’m gonna go walk her out and then I’ll be right back.”

Emily gave him the saddest smile, and just nodded. She knew that nothing she could say could make it any better.

You grabbed your coat, and your bag, and the two of you walked to the elevator in silence, riding it all the way down to the parking garage, where your car was still there from this afternoon, all of those hours ago.

You looked over at Spencer, tears in your eyes, having not said anything to him.

As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you.

Sobbing into his arms, you just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

It was Spencer who spoke first.

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—”

You shook your head slightly, but didn’t move from where you were. Neither of you did.

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately for us, this was always bound to happen.” You whispered.

The hug felt so good, but something about it was just so different.

It’s not the way it used to be.

“I need to go Spencer.”

He nodded, and this time you moved away from him. His hand came up and wiped away one of the remaining tears on your cheek.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Oh fuck, why is this so fucking hard four years later.” You laughed, trying to regain any sort of composure.

“Y/n…”

You took another step away from him and shook your head.

“We can’t—I’m not.” You tried so hard to find the right words without bursting into tears again. “Spencer. I cannot put myself back to where I was four years ago. I can’t do it. And yes things have changed, but maybe that is for the better. Maybe you were always meant to be my maybe, and not my always.”

You took another breath, but kept going. “You are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But this…we ran our course. It didn’t work then, and I don’t know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.”

“Y/n please.”

“I will always love you but this…It’s time to…It’s time to stop. I have to go back to my life, and you go back upstairs to yours, with Prentiss and Rossi and Penelope and…Max.”

Both of you winced as you said her name, but you took a step forward, moving to kiss him on the cheek.

Spencer gently grabbed you face, giving you enough time to back out.

You didn’t.

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.

But it had to end.

You couldn’t go back to the anxiety, the arguing, the petty disagreements. It wasn’t good for you. It was good for either of you.

Stepping away again, you gently kissed his cheek, and started to slowly walk to your car.

Right as you got to your car, you turned around and made eye contact with him one last time before the elevator doors closed, both of you with the most gut wrenching smile slightly plastered across your faces.

You mouthed goodbye, unable to speak it out loud, and he nodded, tears filling his eyes as he whispered it back to you.

The doors shut.

You were all alone in this hollow parking garage.

Your heart was aching, burning.

But there was a sigh of relief, that came with the doors closing, and saying goodbye for the last, last time.

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strawberryvanillafrosting · 10 months ago

Text

success life story ♡

heyy i'm here to share about my success story, the beginning is only before i started manifesting and about when i just started, all my success are on the very end of the blog, so feel free to skip directly at it if you're not interest by all the rambling !

have a good read ☆

michiko is so pretty, i've literally been told so many times i looked liker <3

the old story that i don’t live in anymore

okay so before i didn’t hate my life, at all, but i just found very dull and so poor of entertaining like it was just too fucking regular and repetitive.also a bit depressing. i thought of myself of such an unlucky girl before and i was like affirming all the fucking time that i was unlucky and guess what? everything really used to go the way i didn’t want it to go every single damn time and i’d be like i knew it im so unlucky boo-hoo.

same for the money i would just go every single fucking day rambling to my friends how poor i was and how i wanted money so bad and the same story every single fucking for days, weeks, months.

i really wanted a new appartement and my own room cause i used to share same room as my sister and it really was getting on my nerves, i had no privacy and place for myself. the apartment was small, my mum always kept complaining about it and then she would argue about my dad about it but the reason why we couldn’t move out despite trying for several months was cause my dad had whole lotta debts and my mom had a really low paying and hard job she was exhausted and, it was quiet hard to see them being this unhappy and they still tried their hardest to make us happy so i really wanted to get back at them.

about social life i had very few friends and barely went out, i'd say probably one time a month. and i really wanted to get that life of the party, and those big ass friends group and also i was crazy desperate about having black friends cause i am black and literally the only black out here without none of black friends and i felt pretty left out like wtf am i the only black girl with no black friends cause all of them (that's so dumb tho.. ) were friends and gets invited to the most fun hangouts and i was embarrassingly jealous of that and also complained a lot about it…and kept asking tf was wrong with me.

STRONGLY on this one : i wanted a relationship so bad and i kept hating and being sad to those couple on tiktok’s. one time i actually cried cuz i wanted a boys’s love so bad like i was craving it so bad. i was in such despair state before..cringy ahh ☠️

i used to be rlly insecure about my looks too even tho at some moments i felt more confident, i kept comparing myself and waisting dozens of minutes enumerating my "flaws ". i knew about manifestation but not really about law of assumption , for me manifesting was really all about listening to subliminals, method and scripting. we all once knew that phase yeah? i used to manifest from time to time but then would just give up again,since i was not seeing results and so on. so useful wow.and then there’s the others things like mediocre grades, poor family health, just constant tiredness and fatigue feeling,

tw : mention of being depressed,sh,ed, : felt empty like life had absolutely no meaning, suicidal thoughts, tried to end by over-consumption of medication, self-harm and bulimia, constant complaining and NEGATIVE ONLY mindset.

but now, NOW i tell you ever single thing i’ve just listed changed completely like every single damn thing i’ve just listed is no more, it’s out of the date, dead, buried and no longer existing !

it clicked

then at some point at my life i was just like. yk what? fuck i just wanna change it all. then i really like really got into it all over again and for good. no more 1 week i try then giving up cause i ain’t seeing no « results ».

i watched hours and hours of ppl talking about loa (i’m not saying you should do this at all it’s just that i was very under-informed and wanted to know everything about loa)on youtube, shoutout to rita kaminski and hyler who really put me into it and informed me. then i started reading neville’s pdf books, and tumblr blogs, kinda overconsuming but i liked getting myself informed.

and then that’s where everything started and that i got aware of all the power i actually hold. all the things i actually can do just cause of my mind. i wrote down all my wishes in present tense ,like every single aspect i wanted to change/have in my life. and i started fully living in the end like really got myself into and at first of course, wavering from time to time in the beginning. it was pretty easy for me since i was used to manifestation.but what i didn’t do before is persist no matter what and that’s what was really tricky for me in the beginning to persist no matter what and not just give up to bullshit 3D. but when i kept moving forward no matter the 3D and made it facts the only my 4D matters and everything has already happened, ALL and every single wish down to the last one flowed into my life. ONE by ONE every single hour of the day i would get my manifestations down to the last letter i wrote in my notes.every single thing

success storyy

in a matter of few weeks like really 3 week-ish like- 1 month max.

starting off LUCK i’m extremely lucky now every single time i play gambling activities i win. i’ve won insane amounts at scratch cards i think i’ve won in total more than 5’000$. JUST FROM SCRATCH CARDS.and before i started i NEVER EVER WON. now whenever i play there’s not one time that i’ll win absolutely nothing even just a small prize

won huge lottery prize (from 200 to 12k the biggest i’ve won yet)

winning a gambling games, either online or dice rolling luck,bets, bingos etc.. its literally insane every one keep telling that i literally has got god’s blessing (i’m the god guys🥰)

financially freedom, my parents upgraded jobs and i’ve got lots of incomes + the money my parents give me

all the debts my dad had, he got rid of ALL of them and when i tell you mf had a lot of em☠️

move out in a new huge ass condo which is a duplex (like really like i wrote it it’s actually scary how powerful we are..) I’VE FINALLY GOT MY OWN ROOM and we’re getting my desired furnitures and decorating the house i’m so grateful

friends and popularity i think biggest shock for me is really this. like my social life has gone from very paisible to completely fully booked and passioning life. like seriously i’ve been to more parties, concerts, birthdays, and hangouts during the last 2 weeks holidays than in my entire life

got lot of new friends, healthy relationships and quality time passed on lots of fun activities and sm memories

black groups friend. WITH AN S.so thankful to myself to be this good a manifestation i litteraly got into a black friend group of girls and i’ve never felt more at my place and understood this much. and these girls know the black group boys (when i tell you that 2y ago they were the person that i wanted to be close with so bad..also they’re really hot and funny lol)so we hung out with them and i was literally so highlighted and became pretty much friends with all of them !!

my man. HELLO I LITERALLY MANIFESTED MY DREAM RELATIONSHIP? when i met him i didn’t actually realize right on the spot that he was exactly how i wanted him to be and reading back to when i scripted out all the things i wanted at the beginning, everything matched. he’s literally physically and mentally the man of my dream LIKE REALLY. we’re no bf and gf YET cause it’s just a little soon but we see each others super often and we have the best relationship ever i swear it’s giving wattpad. the flirting is crazyyy.

dream bod.from head to toe my desired body. heavy on the lower body all for that azz and wide hips.ive got smooth and clear skin and smell good all the time!! litteraly flawless face + got my braces which suits so much and dimples

plenty of vacations (went to ibiza, usa and dubai )

lenient parents they use to be so strict before i swear its crazy they let me go so easily now, i can hangout without asking 3 days ,like they accept even if i've gotta go in the next hour or if wanna go on trip that's in another country. i can come back home so much later too

attractive & magnetic aura + being really charismatic (everyone i met keep telling me i’ve got this thing that really makes them want me, get closer to me)

good grades without doing much

perfect self-concept - as i kept living 24/7 in the state of wish fulfilled, my self concept only got better making me really know what i’m worth and never wavering/ going back to the old story

whole ass pc set up

all of my desired skincare/makeups/shoes/clothes

and so much more...

outro

i hope y'all liked my blog and that it motivated some of you to NEVER GIVE UP cause y'all are reallyy some powerful mfs and y'all already got all of yours desires !!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ honey kisses, shayama

#manifesting #law of assumption #sucess story #loa success #loa blog #loassumption #neville goddard #self concept #nondualism #void state #state of the wish fullfilled

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cloudcountry · 5 months ago

Note

I've discussed this with a mutual but I really need to read it: I'd like to request a confession scenario with Jamil where he goes through the 5 stages of grief.

Basically Jamil is fell head over heels into the Mariana trench but forgot that De Nile is a river in Egypt and pulled a page out of Kalim's book by being purposely oblivious about his own feelings.

The poor reader is also very much in love and has pining for WEEKS. One day, they decide to just tip the band-aid off. The pair are in the kitchen hanging out as usual when the reader turns to him and goes "I'm in love with you. You don't have to say anything and you can pretend this never happened. I just want you to know"

They're expecting a rejection but Jamil just stares a freezes for a good three minutes. While the reader is panicking trying to get him to snap out of it, Jamil is going through the 5 stages of grief.

Ultimately, Jamil's thought process ends with "If we don't kiss in the next 5 seconds I'm overblotting again" and the intrusive thoughts win.

SUMMARY: you confess to jamil. he doesn't know how to respond until he throws his inhibition out the window.

COMMENTS: I LOVE THIS REQUEST??? i decided to play off of the actual stages of grief for this even though its an expression hehe

“Jamil, I like you.”

What.

“Actually, no, I’m...I’m in love with you. And it’s okay if you don’t, it's okay if you don’t say it back, I just wanted you to know.”

What!?

Jamil stares at the fridge in front of him, mind blank except for your words. They repeat over and over and every emotion ever swells up in his chest because what!?

Since when? Why? What did you see in him? What did you see in your future with him? DId you even see one? Did he mishear you? Did you mean to say that to someone else?

No, there’s no way you did. You two were the only ones in the kitchen at the moment. Grim was outside in the living room, talking to the ghosts about something or other and why would you even say something like that to Grim anyway?

Denial.

You didn’t mean it. There’s no way you meant it. even after he overblotted and threw you to the other end of his dorm? Even after he showed you all the ugliest parts of himself, the parts of himself that nobody ever should have seen because he wasn’t supposed to be a person, only an aid?

And he certainly didn’t like you back. It’s not like he wanted to do things for you to make you happy, it’s not like he got the slightest bit jealous when he saw you hanging out with Kalim, it’s not like he wanted to monopolize all of your time so nobody else could have it.

Okay, so he was lying to himself. Great. He can deal with this for sure.

Anger.

It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair. If it wasn’t for Kalim and his parents and this suffocating life he’s sure he’d be able to accept your confession in a heartbeat. He’s sure he’d be able to comprehend his own emotions and bring you into his arms. He’s sure he’d be able to process his own emotions and be the partner you deserved, without all the jumbled mess that is his rage and jealousy and resentment.

He didn’t want to be someone else, he just wanted a different life. He just wanted to be free, to be able to exercise his own pure talent, to be able to rise above everyone else.

Bargaining.

He wished there was some way to make that reality for you two. He didn’t want you to go be with anyone else, the very thought of it made his stomach turn and his heart brim with anger. He was a selfish, jealous person, but you loved him. How could he make this work? How could he keep you in love with him, keep you by his side, keep you controlled? Did you have to be controlled? You started liking him of your own free will, maybe he didn’t have to do anything.

But falling for him was one matter, staying by his side was another.

Depression.

There was no way this was going to work.

He had to find a way.

He couldn’t find a way.

There had to be a way.

His mind is moving too fast for him to keep up and he’s still staring at the fridge, and your voice is calling his name and you look so worried, your visage in the corner of his eyes swirling. It’s like he’s not even rooted in reality anymore. How can he make this work? It almost feels hopeless...but Jamil is anything but a quitter. He’s never given up before, and he’s not going to start now.

Acceptance.

“Jamil?” you say for what feels like the hundredth time, your hand resting gently on his shoulder.

He’s still not responding. Oh fuck, you didn’t think confessing was going to mess him up this much. If you’d known that, you wouldn’t have said anything and just kept it to yourself forever.

He murmurs your name and finally, finally turns to look at you. His hands grab your shoulders and he meets your gaze, pupils dilated and eyes wide.

“Be mine.” he says, and your heart flutters at how serious he sounds.

“J...Jamil?” you squeak, pliant in his arms and he pulls you close, clinging to you like he never wants to let you go.

“Be mine.” he repeats, words muffled in your shoulder, “I will...always do my best for you. Always. I don’t want you going to anyone else.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.” you murmur softly, placing a hand on the back of his head as he crushes you against him.

He shifts, bringing his face close to your neck. You barely have the time to wonder what he’s doing before he kisses the junction between your shoulder and neck, a soft smack of lips roaring in your ears.

“Good.” he replies, the word a hot gust of air against your skin.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper fluff #jamil x reader #jamil fluff #twst jamil #twst jamil x reader #gn reader

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wandaslittlebird · 3 months ago

Note

i had a thought of where wanda / step mom wanda comforts reader after a bad day and a lot angst and fluff too

Fairytale

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

CW: Stepmom/Stepdaughter, themes of depression, spoilers for the Disney movie Tangled (??)

Word Count: 2k (whoops this was supposed to be a drabble. Whatever.)

A/N: Thank you for the request! This takes place when R was 18 before she left for school, so a prequel to the main story.

A/N: This is far from my best work, but I still had kinda a cute idea.

It was pouring when you finally got home from work. You walked into the house in your uniform, soaked from the rain.

You saw Wanda in the kitchen, fixing dinner. She’s a wonderful cook, but in your current state the food made your stomach turn. You felt nauseous. You hadn’t eaten all day at work, but you still couldn’t imagine eating anything.

Your dad was at the table reading a newspaper. He didn’t acknowledge you’d come home.

“Hey, little love!” Wanda chimed excitedly, but her face falls when her eyes meet yours. You looked terrible, eyes sunken in, dark with exhaustion. You couldn’t even bring yourself to give her a smile. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You didn’t respond, trying to escape to the privacy of your bedroom before the emotions of the day spilled out of you. You dashed up the stairs.

Your dad set down his newspaper with a frustrated thud. He moved to get up and reprimand you for ignoring your stepmother, but Wanda stopped him.

“Vis, you just make sure my pasta doesn’t burn. I’ll take care of it.”

————

She found you in your room, curled up in the center of the bed. You were still wearing your wet and dirty work clothes, but you’d thrown on one of Wanda’s hoodie. It practically swallowed you with how big it was. The sight melted Wanda’s heart.

“Sweetheart?” She called into the room. You turned over in bed, hiding your face in the hoodie. She came to sit next to on the bed, rubbing gentle circles on the back you’d turned on her. She could feel then that you were crying. You were silent, but she could feel the erratic way you were breathing as your chest heaved. “What’s wrong, baby? It’s okay. Mama’s here. Mama’s got you honey. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” you cried weakly. “I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s just… everyday is like this. I just wake up with this feeling of despair, and then I go to work and everything is so loud and there’s too many smells and I have to pretend to be happy while I make everyone’s coffee, but I’m just so so tired. I feel like my mind and body are screaming and crying for someone to help me, but this is just my life and no one is coming to save me.”

Wanda pulled you into her lap, not caring that you were still soaking wet. She shushed your cries and rocked you back and forth, letting you ramble and sob into her arms. She tucked your wet hair under her chin, pulling you to her chest so you could feel the gentle beating of her heart. “Shhshsh, let it all out honey. You’re home now. Mama’s got you.”

“All I can do is escape to this white knight fairytale where things are different, and I have friends again, and I don’t have to go on like this. But I’m just being repeatedly ripped out of that fairytale and pulled back into this awful reality I have no choice but to live in. I’m a high school drop out, all my friends left me, I hate my job but I’m just going to hate any job that takes up so much of my time. I can pretend all I want that things are or will be different but this is real life and I’m miserable! I’m miserable and I’m going to be like this until I die!” You sobbed, breathlessly heaving into Wanda’s chest.

Wanda felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. She wished she could be your white knight, take you somewhere far away where you didn’t have to worry about all of the awful things happening in your life. She couldn’t imagine what your situation must feel like right now, hopelessly trying to claw your way out of a well you’re stuck at the bottom of. There were things she was working with you on. You were going to get your GED at the end of the year, but it was still going to be another year before you could even start applying to colleges. The road was going to be long, but she was confident you’d pull through.

That wasn’t what you needed right now, though. You didn’t need to hear her say that just maybe, in a whole two years, you might be able to get your life back on track. You needed something now. You needed something to get you through the night.

“How about this,” she proposed, holding your teary face in her hands. “You take a nice warm shower and get all nice and clean while I go downstairs and finish dinner for your dad and the boys. And then I’ll come back up here with some mac and cheese and some chicken nuggets and we have a special girls’ night?”

You sniffled hesitantly, unsure if you could handle it all: the shower, the food, the company. But in the end, you nodded. Your only other option was to sit in here, alone, withering away in your cold work uniform.

“That’s my sweet girl,” she cooed, pinching you lightly on the cheek. “I’ll pick out some pjs for you and get your water running. One step at a time, angel. I know it’s hard, but you can do this.” She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, and walked off to start your shower.

It felt insurmountable, but you got up, washed yourself off in the shower, and dried off before putting on the pajamas Wanda set out for you. On top, there was a fresh one of her sweatshirts for you to wear. You threw it on, inhaling her sweet scent with your arms up to your nose. You made your way back into your bedroom.

Within five minutes of you getting back, Wanda came knocking on your door with some mac and cheese and microwave chicken nuggets. Your stomach turned at the sight of the food. Even your safest meal felt nauseating.

“I know you don’t wanna eat, love, but you’ve gotta try and eat at least a little bit for me, okay? We’ll start with two nuggets and half of the mac and cheese,” she says.

You nodded, reluctantly taking the plate and working on your mac and cheese.

“Now, I think it’s time for a movie and some cuddles, don’t you think?” Wanda asked, already setting up the pillows and blankets on the bed. “What would you like to watch?”

You shrugged, unable to think of anything helpful while fighting your stomach for cooperation. “You pick.”

Wanda gave you a soft smile of understanding. She understood the inability to make a decision, and she was more than happy to make one in your stead. She ended up putting Tangled on the small tv in your room.

She sat against your headboard, legs spread and tapped the space in between, welcoming you to sit. When you did, she threw your favorite blanket over your shoulders and set your favorite stuffed animal, Thomas, in your lap. You rested your chin on his head.

“Do you want me to braid your hair like Rapunzel’s?” She asked once you’d gotten to the hair brushing scene.

You buried your face into Thomas. “I-I didn’t wash it in the shower,” you admitted shamefully. It needed to be washed after being in the rain, but you were out of energy.

“That’s okay,” she assured without judgement, starting a French braid on your dirty, wet hair. “We’ll put some dry shampoo in it in the morning.” She braided your hair with you curled up between her legs, tying it off with a little pink ribbon.

“If I were Rapunzel, I’d let you climb up my hair,” you said when she finished, leaning back against her chest.

She wrapped her arms around your waist, giggling at your silly antidote and kissing the back of your head. “You would?”

You nodded against her shoulder. “Yeah. Not dad though.”

Wanda smiled and giggled again. “You just want your tower to be me and you? No one else?”

You shook your head. “Just me and mama, in our tower together.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Just you and mama in a tower, huh? I can definitely get behind that. What would we do in our tower all day?”

You shrugged. “You could braid my hair, and we could sings songs, read books together, paint the walls, snuggle in our bed. We could do whatever we wanted really.”

She smiled, noting that you had said ‘our bed’, implying your dream castle only had one bed for the two of you to share. “So they would be no one to stop me from doing this?” She turned your head with her hand and placed a gentle kiss to your lips.

You looked at her for just a moment before chasing her lips again. And again. And again.

She giggled. “Okay, honey. That’s enough.” She certainly didn’t mind the kisses, but she knew you’d spend the whole movie kissing her if she let you. And she still had plans.

You curled back up in her lap. Right. You were letting yourself get lost in fairytale again. You weren’t in a tower in the forest with no one else. You were in real life, with your father and step-brothers in the rooms surrounding you. Wanda wasn’t your handsome rogue, she was your stepmother. This wasn’t a quirky pairing between a theft and a princess. This was a disgustingly taboo relationship that would ostracize you from everyone in your life if they found out.

Wanda wrapped her arms back around you, pulling you close. “Hey, princess,” she said, kissing your temple. She sensed your discomfort and could immediately tell what you were thinking. She wanted to stay with you in this fairytale for just a little longer. It couldn’t be forever, of course, but you could play pretend, for now. “We don’t have to leave our tower just yet. We have until morning, just the two of us.”

“M-morning?” You asked. Wanda always had to leave early in the night. She had to go back her room so your dad wouldn’t get suspicious.

She stroked your hair, slicking back the frizzy hairs that escaped your braid. “I told your dad that you’re not feeling well and I was gonna stay in here tonight.” She pointed to the packed air mattress on the floor. She had no plans of sleeping on it, of course, but she needed to make the lie believable.

You looked at her with wide teary eyes, unable to believe she’d do such kind thing for you, even when the risk of it was so high. She just returned the look with a soft smile and redirected your attention to the movie.

The movie was nearing the end, specifically when they finally get to see the lanterns and light on of their own. Wanda leaned forward and kissed your neck, using her hand to direct your head up to the ceiling. She turned on the fairy lights that lined the ceiling. They’d been there since you were a teenager, but you never turned them on. Most days you forgot they were there. She turned them to a setting with a gentle twinkle.

You were so overcome with love, you flipped yourself around in her lap so you were straddling her legs and wrapping your arms loosely around her neck. You felt like your entire body was buzzing with electricity when she pulled you down by the back of your neck into a kiss. A real kiss this time, not just the pecks she was giving you earlier. You whimpered against her lips.

“Shh, angel,” she whispered against you, advising you to quiet down before she had to stop. You slipped your hands under the hem of her shirt, tugging on it in a silent request. “Sweetheart, we can’t…” she said sadly but firmly. There was no way she could fuck you while everyone else was still home, no matter how badly she wanted to.

“I know,” you assured. “I don’t want to. Just let me feel you. Please.”

She looked in your pleading eyes, now twinkling in the fairy lights. She sighed. She couldn’t deny you anything. She slipped the shirt off over her head, leaving her bare under you.

You smiled, lying down on top of her and rubbing your face against her soft exposed skin. She smiled down at you, affectionately wrapping her arms around you to rub your back.

“I love you, mama,” you said, nuzzling your face into her chest with the first genuine smile you’ve had all day.

“I love you too, baby,” she said, squeezing you into her and kissing the top of your head. She couldn’t fix everything for you, but, when you needed it most, she could give you your fairytale.

#wanda maximoff #anon request #request #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #mommy wanda #mommy!wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #stepmom wanda #stepmom!wanda #mama wanda #anon <3

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sprytesukii · 8 months ago

Text

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

#bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x bakugou #bnha smut #bnha angst #hurt/comfort #[ baby daddy : katsuki ]#[ instant nut : n/sft ]#[ i <3 writing : my works ]

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reidrum · 5 months ago

Text

carry the weight of you | s.r

A/N: i had this posted on an old blog but here's this, idk if i like it but it's also one of my first fics so if lemme know if you have thoughts <3

cw: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, reader is sad, depression ?, spencer is a cutie who just wants to love, can be read as gn!reader

wc: 1.8k

_______________________________________________

it was supposed to be a routine case. well, not a routine case. those don’t really exist in the bau, but one that had a clear MO and decent enough leads that garcia could easily use to find the unsub. it wasn’t even a case that was especially creepy in nature, lord knows those give the whole bureau nightmares for days.

so why did you feel this way?

you were relatively new to the team—having one year under your belt to your near decades experienced colleagues. but you had rightfully earned your spot in the bau, and you deserved to be there.

but right now you had no energy to believe that. the ache in your chest was ever present from your younger days, courtesy of the circumstances from your upbringing, and you should’ve expected that joining the fbi would’ve only made it heavier. you bared it nonetheless because that’s what you were taught to do. you felt beaten down by the last few days, and just couldn’t wait to get back home and crawl into your bed.

the team had wrapped up the case, and you all were on the jet flying back home to the district. sat next to the ever observant dr. reid, he noticed your glazed eyes and distant aura exuding from you.

“you okay?” he bumps your shoulder bringing you out of your trance.

“i’m fine, don’t worry about me.” you replied curtly and tried to fold into the crevice between the seat and the walls of the plane.

“bold of you to lie to a profiler while on a plane full of profiles,” he chuckled lightly, “seriously, you look troubled. are you sure you don’t wanna play honesty hour right now?”

“spence, i’m okay, I promise.” you tried your best at a genuine smile that was as see through as a windexed window. he returned it with his own thin lipped smile and left you be.

were you okay? you don’t even know how long you’ve felt like this. small, insignificant, nothing. you do great work at your job, tarnishing evil and saving lives. but you can’t help but find it ironic that it’s your own mind working against you that seems to be your demise.

the jet landed around midnight and the team shuffled through the bullpen to gather their belongings before going home. everyone offered their goodbyes and goodnights and spencer was waiting for you by the door. you both lived in the same apartment building, only because when you first moved to quantico you had no one and knew no one. spencer took it upon himself to help you out, being the newest young rookie on the team, a position he was all too familiar with. his next door neighbor had moved out for an immediate job offer and was looking for a subletter and lo and behold, spencer had become your best friend.

in the few months that you were getting accustomed to the area spencer invited you over for nightly chess games and doctor who marathons. morgan always teased the two of you saying you should be going out on the town having fun only young people can have, and spencer would blush and stammer something out but you would have the brightest smile and look at him saying they were the most fun you’ve had.

so he was surprised to say the least when those nights started to become far and few. you would politely decline and spencer would assume you’d finally listened to morgan and got better plans. but he could hear the patter of your footsteps and the occasional expletive from when you’d hit a table corner and wondered what he did to make you recluse yourself again.

spencer was a profiler after all, mix that with being your closest friend and he could pinpoint the moments you started to change. you’d started making less jokes, even during moments where the team would pause and wait for a little quip from you but hear nothing. you were harder to gain attention from, usually needing three or four calls to get you to even look up. and he just saw you distancing yourself, almost like you didn’t want anyone to perceive you.

spencer loved you. he wouldn’t say it out loud or admit to anyone but point blank he loved you. he felt understood in a way that no one else made him feel. you were kind, smart, funny, and the empathy you held for others was enough to make him tear up. you were there for him when maeve died, letting him cry on your shoulder, and as fucked up as it sounds he realized he loved you in those moments leaking tears onto the stomach of your sweater.

so here stood spencer in front of your desk, “you heading home?” you nodded, “mind if i ride with you? i don’t feel like taking the metro this late.”

“okay, let’s go.”

the walk to your car was silent, and somehow the ride back to your apartment complex was even more silent. walking up the stairs to your apartment doors, you turn the key and step in when spencer goes, “hey actually i think i left my book at your place do you mind if i just look for it really quick?”

you stared at him blankly. you just wanted to be alone and he wants to get his book now? unbeknownst to you spencer was desperate to get to the bottom of your melancholia, and needed any in he could find right now to get there.

nonetheless you nodded your head and left the door open behind you so he could walk in. you dropped your bags and shoes at the front door and trudged through your apartment to your kitchen to put tea on the kettle. you softly called out to him, “do you want a cup of tea?”

“i’d love a cup.” he says sitting on your couch.

you’re fussing around the kitchen getting two mugs out— one doctor who and one snoopy mug. you fill the doctor who one up and add a lemon slice and turn around grabbing your snoopy mug. when you turn back towards the kettle you hit the corner of the island table and watch as your favorite mug drops and shatters into millions of pieces.

when they say a straw is what breaks the camel’s back you fully understand what they mean now because how are you about to lose all your shit over a snoopy mug. you don’t even make an effort to move, just staring at the broken pieces on the floor, trying to make sense of them like a kid pointing out cloud shapes. it’s like you can see the pieces molding into the demons that keep you up at night, the thoughts of uselessness and lethargy personifying in front of you.

spencer has to call your name three times before you finally move your eyes to meet his. you can see his lips moving but you can’t hear him, his hands are out as if he’s telling you to stay put oh wait he is. you wait as he finds your dustpan and broom and brushes up the remains into the trashcan. he slowly approaches you and maneuvers you towards the living room where you sit still glossy eyed and trembling.

he sits down next to you and places a hand on your bouncing knee to soothe it, “why won’t you talk to me?”

you shake your head, “it’s nothing spence, it’s not a big deal i can buy a new mug.” push it down.

“not that, something’s not right. and i want to help. will you let me help you?”

you feel the tears making their way up your face to make their grand exit, and you hold on to last bit of resolve you can as you shakily breathe, “i-, i can’t, it’s stupid and we see so much worse stuff so i have to keep it together and i am but today was just-“ you abruptly got up to get water from the kitchen before finishing your sentence. grabbing a glass from the cupboard, filling it up at the sink, and gulping it down with shaky hands. you set the glass down and placed your hands on the cool counter in an attempt to tether yourself to some string of reality that was left. you couldn’t burden him. you wouldn’t.

spencer gives you a minute alone before rising from the couch and walking into the kitchen. he approaches you slowly from behind, mirroring his hands on top of yours, entrapping you in his warm embrace. “i think you’re carrying so much,” he whispers gently in your ear, “you don’t have to do it by yourself. it’s okay to not be okay.”

the tears win and start streaming down your face silently. spencer continues, “what we do, it’s hard. we all have ways of not letting it get to us. rossi and his cigars, hotch and jack, garcia and her tchotchkes, i mean even emily with her sin city weekends.” you let out a wet laugh in response.

spencer doubles down and intertwines his fingers with yours, “my point is, you are not alone. i am here. let me carry some of it for you, please.”

letting out a soft sob you twist in his arms and burrow yourself into his sweatered chest. this was a new feeling for you, letting someone in to see the horrors that you worked so hard to suppress. why would anyone want to brave that journey? surely you weren’t worth the effort.

but as spencer tightened his arms around you, rubbing his hands soothingly down your back and placing a kiss at the crown of your head, you felt that even if the walls of your resolve came crumbling down that spencer would be there to catch as much as he could. and that was enough.

“thank you,” you mumbled tearily incoherent.

“i will always be here for you, no need to thank me sweetheart.”

his kindness overwhelmed you. how could someone who sees so much darkness and been through so much still hold the level of kindness he does?

you lifted your head slightly as his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, “so, what do you have?”

he hummed quizzically in response. you continued, “you said everyone has ways of getting through it, what’s yours?”

“it’s you,” spencer softly says with the most tender loving look in his eyes, smoothing your hair back as he looks down at you in his arms, “it’s always been you.”

your eyes welled up even more and squeezed him tighter if it were even possible. spencer had you. and now you had spencer.

the next day you show up to work, a snoopy mug with a gift bow sits on your desk.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

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theemporium · 3 months ago

Note

💛 #17 or #53 with Reg or Remus? :)

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

53. holding the other's jaw

“He’s not moved in days—”

“Hours.”

“And he’s started going crazy—”

“He’s just been reading out loud.”

“And he’s—”

James nudged Sirius with his elbow, quieting the boy up as he let out a wince and rubbed his side. He then turned to you, a slightly apologetic but concerned look on his face as he tried to hide his embarrassment on the situation.

“We are just worried,” James told you with a crease formed between his brows. “We know Moony gets a bit…weird before a full moon but he’s never been like this. And he won’t listen to us or even acknowledge us and—”

“You think I can help?” You questioned, frowning in confusion. “I don’t know if you remember, but he doesn’t exactly want me around him. He’s the one who—”

“Merlin, woman, how blind can you be?” Sirius groaned out loud, letting out a small yelp when James smacked him over the back of his head. He glared before turning his attention back to you. “No, I’m done with this! I’m tired of the mutual moping!”

James’ eyes widened. “Sirius—”

“He broke up with you because your bigoted, pureblood father threatened him and convinced him that he wasn’t worthy of dating you,” Sirius said with a serious face. “He has been downright miserable without you but he thinks he is doing the right thing and now he is…well, a heartbroken werewolf. Which, apparently before a full moon, makes him depressed and catatonic instead of testy.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “He what?”

“Please,” James murmured. “Just please try talking to him.”

There was a rush of emotions swirling through you: anger, confusion, annoyance, utter heartbreak. All different and all directed at different people but the one shining through the brightest was sympathy—for the two boys in front of you who just so desperately wanted to help their friend in any way they could find.

You didn’t give them a chance to say anything else that could possibly leave your head spinning in the wee hours of the morning before you pushed past them, finding the boy tucked away in the back of the classroom.

Remus was sitting at a desk in the corner, a number of books surrounding him with the largest one opened out in front of him. But his face was blank, his eyes looking expressionless and he hadn’t even budge a muscle.

Your frown deepened as you walked towards him, noting the bags under his eyes and the sunken cheeks that just made your heart twist even more.

“Remus?”

His head snapped up in an instant, like your voice woke him up. He looked at you, confused and disoriented like he couldn’t quite grasp the fact you were in front of him. He blinked. And then blinked again. And he kept doing it, like he expected to open his eyes and see that you weren’t actually there.

“Oh, baby,” you murmured, your voice soft and heartbroken as you reached to gently rest your hand on his jaw as your thumb soothed over his cheek.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, his voice rough and broken.

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” you told him, watching his eyes flutter shut as you pressed your lips against his forehead. “Let’s head to bed, okay? You need some rest.”

And Remus didn’t have it in him to argue with you, to push you away like he knew he should have.

He needed you as much as you needed him and he didn’t want to lose that again.

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darkmatilda · 8 days ago

Text

ׂ╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

part 1: first day of investigation

part 2 here!

in which you and the BAU are handling the case of a murderer in a small, sleepy town

tw: decapitation, description of a crime scene etc, mention of a suicide attempt, mental illness

contents: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, solving a criminal mystery, angst, slow burn

words: 4k

“And how's school?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“It could be worse,” said Jeremy after a moment, in an indifferent tone. You sighed, wondering if, as a teenager, you also answered everything, even more serious, open questions with vague remarks, driving the person asking how you were doing to frustration.

Answering that question, no, you didn’t do that. When you were a teenager, you didn’t have anyone who cared about you. Precisely for this reason that you practically tormented your brother with phone conversations, feeling immense guilt for leaving him with your parents. The same parents with whom you ultimately decided to cut off contact. You had never faced a more difficult decision — cutting them off or continuing a relationship that tragically affected your mental health? After each interaction with them, you felt weak, defenseless, insignificant, and above all, exhausted. It wasn’t even about your mother’s illness. They were just terrible people.

Your sixteen-year-old brother didn’t have that option. He had to deal with them until he turned eighteen and moved out. You regularly made sure he was okay. However, lately, you had the impression that his voice was becoming more and more devoid of emotion. Depressed. And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Prentiss appeared right in front of you. She noticed you were on the phone, so to avoid interrupting you, she tried to convey something silently. With her thumb, she pointed toward the main deck of the jet. From the movements of her lips, you were able to read, “Hotch is calling everyone.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let this topic go,” you said again to your brother. You could imagine him rolling his green eyes. “I have to get back to work; I’ll call as soon as I have time. Don’t get into trouble and take care. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and noticed a smile on the brunette’s face. Together, you joined the rest of the team.

“I heard part of your conversation,” she confessed. “Don’t tell me you have a kid that you’re hiding from us?”

“Who’s hiding what from whom?” Morgan chimed in as he walked in, holding two huge cups of coffee. He handed one of them to Reid.

Prentiss nodded in your direction.

“Did you know that y/n has a kid?”

You nudged her.

“I don’t have any kids. I was just talking to my brother,” you explained briefly. You didn’t like discussing your family, even with friends. In fact, you were often accused of being too secretive.

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” Reid added, frowning.

He, along with the rest of them, looked at you with mild surprise. You muttered something under your breath, shrugging. You felt a bit embarrassed that your family was the center of the discussion. You were saved from the awkwardness by your own boss.

“Can we start?”

JJ handed out the case files. As soon as you opened yours, you were met with an exceptionally graphic scene.

“ The bodies were discovered by someone from the forestry service, but according to the local police, anyone could have found them. It wasn’t hidden very carefully, as if someone didn’t care about it being discovered. A man and a woman, both decapitated. Before you ask, the heads were found in the same place as the rest of the bodies. Except for that, no serious injuries, just a few minor bruises and scratches. As if they were trying to defend themselves while they still could. “

No one spoke; the only sound was the turning of pages as the whole team focused intently on analyzing the photos. Your brows lowered in concentration, your entire face tense. Maybe you looked at things like this every day, but that didn’t mean it had become pleasant or that it didn’t disgust you. Sitting across from you, Reid was the first to speak.

“What do we know about the victims?”

At that same moment, as JJ spoke up again, you flipped the page and were met with two photos that looked like they’d been pulled from a social media account. Both people were alive, happy. The man was crouching next to a young boy who seemed to be pulling away, unwilling to be in the picture with his father. In the background, there was a garden, a tall white fence typical of American suburbs, and a slide. You barely stopped yourself from glancing at Hotch — he had a son around the same age, and this case might hit him particularly hard. The woman in the photo wore square glasses, with a cheerful, friendly gaze peeking out from beneath them. Round cheeks, a wide smile.

"Andrew Ward, 37 years old. He was one of the city councilors. He had a wife and one son, and he’d lived in this town his entire life. Then there's Jessica Larsen, the deputy mayor—she and her husband were both heavily involved in public life."

“A city councilor and the deputy mayor?” Prentiss repeated, thoughtfully resting her elbow on the arm of her seat. “Does anyone else feel like this could be some kind of score-settling? Revenge? Maybe from someone who was wronged by the city council over… I don’t know…”

"Higher bills," you said absentmindedly, blurting out the first thought that came to mind, immediately wincing at your own foolishness. You were still distracted by the conversation with Jeremy. You pinched your arm, trying to force yourself to focus on the case.

"Raising bills doesn’t typically drive people to murder," Reid corrected, pausing to glance at the files again. You never felt embarrassed when he pointed out your mistakes—he had a way of doing it so skillfully and politely. "Prentiss is on the right track; it could be revenge. Our UNSUB might hate authority due to some personal experience, maybe sees themselves as an anarchist, though it's hard to lean in that direction with so little information. Garcia, have you checked if the victims were connected in any way?"

The blonde woman on the laptop screen nodded.

"I’ve checked everything I could find about them, but unfortunately, I couldn’t uncover a single connection that might move the case forward."

Hotch raised a hand, stopping you from further speculation.

"That’s not all," he began, looking at each of you in turn. "Right after those two bodies were found, three more were discovered."

Morgan raised his eyebrows high.

"Five bodies? No wonder they called us in."

"And here’s where our biggest problem arises," your boss continued “Look at the photos. These three bodies were also decapitated but except for that, treated in a completely different way”

You turned the page again, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight. Other victims were killed with much more brutality, all covers in cuts and bruises. It was even hard to define their gender, but when you looked at the description you knew that this time, they were all women."Were two different people responsible for this?" Prentiss asked.

“Two murders cutting their victims' heads in such a small city?” spoke up Rossi, skeptically.

"I don’t think it’s two different killers," you said hesitated, unable to look away from the photos. As you studied them, you absorbed every detail, trying to imagine the murderer inflicting these injuries. If anyone could have peered into your mind at that moment, they might have gotten serious PTSD. “Just…take a look at the wounds. There’s much more on these women and are visibly more brutal. But they look like they were inflicted by the same hand, the same person. The placement is often consistent," you noted. "How much time passed between the murders?"

“We haven’t gotten this information yet" said Hotch. "But based on my experience, I can say we’re looking at a matter of weeks."

You noticed that Reid was watching you closely. It seemed he was doing it unconsciously. When you sent him a questioning glance, he slightly blushed and immediately cleared his throat.

“I’m curious about what y/n said,” he admitted. It was clear to see the many calculations and analyses happening in his mind. This was evident in the increasing pace of his speech. “It really does look like the same person, but in different circumstances, perhaps influenced by different emotions. Maybe even with different motives. I realize the possibility of that is close to zero, but what if we’re dealing with a murderer with multiple personality disorder?”

A silence fell as everyone contemplated Reid's words. You made eye contact with him again — your tracks of thought began to overlap, your conclusions intertwining. Looking at his face, you felt, in a way, smarter and understood; it became easier to connect the fragments of ideas that had surfaced in your mind.

You shook your head.

"No... I'm not sure. I understand what you're saying, but it seems to me that this isn't entirely true in our case. Your theory would suggest that two different personalities of our UNSUB committed these crimes, but in such cases, the crimes usually contrast more with each other. It's much harder to connect them, and here... I immediately noticed that this was the work of the same person."

Reid leaned in with interest over the table. Everyone seemed to look at you encouragingly, waiting for you to continue your theory. Yet you only took on a resigned, apologetic posture — nothing else came to mind. Any potential ideas felt too chaotic; some instincts accompanied you, but it was nothing you wanted to share out loud. You felt that they wouldn't help at all.

"We'll definitely know more after seeing the crime scene," Hotch stated, closing his files. With that, he ended the official discussion, giving you time to review the photos alone and think everything over one more time.

That’s exactly what you focused on for the rest of the meeting. You sat with one leg crossed over the other, a closed folder resting on your lap. You didn’t need to look at the photos anymore; you just needed to close your eyes and listen to your intuition. It definitely had something to say about this case. You just weren’t sure what…

Just before arriving at the scene, Hotch asked to speak with you privately. You couldn't hide it; you felt a bit anxious.

Maybe it was about your recent distraction. Of course, it was about your worry for your brother, but that shouldn’t have been an excuse; nothing should be distracting you. Or maybe he wanted to discuss something completely different, and you had just imagined this whole scenario in your mind. Knowing you and your tendency to overthink, both options seemed equally likely.

"As I mentioned, y/n, I need to talk to you about something. It’s regarding your accommodation."

First, you breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more serious. Then, your eyebrows raised in surprise. Accommodation?

"There have been some issues with the hotel we’re planning to stay at," Hotch continued. "We couldn’t secure separate rooms for each of you. You’ve been assigned to share a room with Reid. If that’s a problem for you, we can always look for another place, but that would mean you'd be away from the rest of the team..."

“No, it’s not a problem,” you assured him, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. You were relieved that the conversation didn’t involve any serious issues, just a trivial problem with the room. Besides, why would it bother you to share a room with Spencer? It was only for a few nights. "I was afraid you wanted to talk to me about something else," you blurted out.

“About what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing,” you replied quickly and somewhat squeakily.

Hotch smiled slightly at your reaction, but his gaze seemed to analyze you closely.

Oh you idiot, why couldn’t you just shut up? you thought to yourself as you walked away.

The weather decided to play a trick on you.

As you were driving to the crime scene, the waterfall was sliding down the windshield, almost making it impossible to see anything. In any case, there wasn't much to look at. After passing the main part of the town, you were surrounded only by forest — trees shimmering in shades of orange.

The view didn’t impress you much. You definitely preferred warm, sunny weather and lounging in the sun, rather than freezing every day after stepping outside and dealing with frizzy hair from the humidity. You liked the town better. It felt small and cozy, as if it were taken straight out of Gilmore Girls.

Prentiss was behind the wheel, and you were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, while JJ was your navigator. The boys took a different car.

“So,” Emily began, turning left at the intersection with her eyes fixed on the road. “You care a lot about your brother, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, sinking deeper into your seat. Why did she have to bring this up again? It wasn't that you didn't trust them; you just didn’t like talking about your family. It wasn't even about being ashamed — why dwell on unpleasant topics? Besides, as was well known, you were private. You had to be incredibly close to someone to open up, and even then, you didn’t lay all your cards on the table.

Together with JJ, they looked at you kindly and encouragingly. You acted like you were fascinated by what was behind the glass. Soon, you arrived at the crime scene.

That means, before you reached your destination, you had to walk quite a distance into the forest. Since it was late October, the days had grown particularly short, and you could already see the first streaks of darkness between the enormous trees that seemed to watch you with their ancient gaze.

If you hadn't had the girls with you, you would have felt a thrill on your spine.

The location where the bodies were found had been secured very thoroughly. Local police cars gathered there, and soon the rest of your team arrived. You glanced at your muddy shoes and made a mental note to start dressing more appropriately for the weather from tomorrow on.

The rain intensified. Emily pulled her hood tighter around her head.

“Working in these conditions...'"

Her sentence was interrupted by the appearance of an incredibly tall man, somewhat resembling a bear. Long hair protruded from under his sheriff's hat, and he seemed to be about the same age as Hotch, with whom he immediately shook hands.

“Agent Hotchner, we're from the FBI.'"

"Sheriff Russell” he introduced himself, pressing his hand to his forehead with concern. 'I've never seen anything like this, and I've seen a lot. I can't believe anyone from this town could do something like this; I know these people and...'"

“Can we see the bodies?" you asked. It was getting dark, and you wanted to get as good a look as possible. There was something intriguing about this case that had unsettled you since the moment you first opened the file.

Without waiting for an answer, you and Emily moved toward the secured area. Despite the circumstances, the corner of her mouth twitched.

"God, I hate this chatter," she sighed in annoyance. "I know these people; they’d never do something like this," she mimicked the sheriff’s deep voice. "Neighbors of serial killers always say that. Someone can be polite in conversation and keep five bodies in their basement — it’s not mutually exclusive."

You stifled a laugh.

"Don’t forget the how could he have done it? He always said good morning in the hallway!"

“Or about kids. Sure, he was killing small animals since he was four and had a knife collection, but deep down, he was polite! I can't believe he shot up half the school…”

Hotch appeared right next to you, so you cut her off with a firm elbow jab. You accidentally hit her in the ribs, causing her to let out a groan. This only intensified your incredibly inappropriate amusement. Your boss was standing so close, so you covered your mouth under the guise of a cough.

In the next thirty minutes, the laughter faded away.

You began by examining the bodies of the first victims, in chronological order. These were the three brutally murdered women. The whole scene seemed to be waiting for your arrival. Not a single detail had been altered, making it easier for you to connect emotionally with the situation. Most of the profilers you knew were meticulous about keeping their feelings detached from their work. It was the only way to endure this job for more than a year without committing suicide. You applied that strategy yourself, but not entirely.

When investigating a case, you tried to imagine yourself in both the shoes of the perpetrator and the victims. Often, you would close your eyes, attempting to visualize and feel it all in vivid detail. To step away from pure theory and let intuition take over.

It was likely the reason that, for the past year since you started this work, you hadn’t imagined a day without at least one tranquilizer and a sleeping pill.

After thoroughly examining the first crime scene, you drove to inspect the next one. This time, the victims were two people connected to the city council. The previous victims had been a teacher, a former resident of the orphanage, and a social worker. When you learned this, a heavy feeling settled at the back of your mind. You were certain there was a connection between these victims.

"Let’s consider what drives the unsub to remove the victim’s head" Rossi suggested.

Before you could even define the meaning of the question, Reid rushed to answer.

"Decapitation is one of the most symbolic acts of violence. The head represents thought, intellect, and control. By removing it, the killer may be expressing a need to destroy those aspects. It could also be a form of humiliation, a metaphorical stripping of their power and authority," he explained in a slightly robotic tone, as if reciting from a Wikipedia entry.

You smiled subtly at the thought. He noticed and gave you a questioning look, which you chose to ignore.

“That would fit for the two later victims," Morgan said, resting his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "They were on the city council — the unsub might have felt he was stripping them of authority and power. But how does that apply to the others? A social worker, a teacher, and an orphanage employee?"

You fixed your gaze on your dirty shoes, Derek’s question echoing in your mind.

What was it all about?

You’d forgotten your sleeping pills.

Once more, you searched your toiletries bag, where you usually kept them. Not a trace.

You pressed your lips tightly together, angry with yourself. Your sleep problems weren’t that serious — were caused mainly by overthinking and constant worry. You didn’t have the motivation to take care of yourself in that regard. It was much easier to rely on the medication, and as long as it worked. Sometimes you forgot that you were even struggling with it at all.

“Is something wrong?” Reid asked, stepping out of the bathroom. Following Hotch’s words, you were sharing a room with him. “You seem upset.”

You shook your head dismissively.

“I just forgot something.”

Only then did you look at him. He was wearing plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt. You realized it was the first time you’d seen him in such casual, everyday clothing. He usually wore shirts, blazers, and vests — somewhat grandpa-like, but you thought it suited him well.

You realized you had been staring at each other in silence for quite some time. To break the awkwardness, you cleared your throat and decided to return to one of the exhausting topics.

“There’s something strange about this case. You know, I’ve thought a lot about your theory regarding personality disorder, but something doesn’t sit right with me. Aside from the fact that it’s very, very rare, it’s just… my intuition doesn’t agree with it. I hope I don’t sound like a shaman.

Spencer bursted out and sat on the edge of his bed. In your room, only the standing lamp illuminated the space, casting a dim orange light around. Despite that, you could see the thoughtful expression on his face.

“We once dealt with a case where the unsub was struggling with that very disorder. He was abused as a child and developed a separate personality, Amanda, who harmed men similar to his abuser,” he shared in a quiet, less confident tone than the one he used on the jet. He must have been tired after a long day at work, and like you, frustrated that you hadn’t found anything.

Above all, the circumstances were different. Your conversation had shifted to a more personal level, concerning two friends rather than coworkers.

“Do you see any similarities between these two cases?” you asked, intrigued since you had never dealt with a similar case yourself.

“Not exactly,” he shook his head. “At one time, I read a lot about that disorder. There was another instance where we had an unsub who…” he trailed off, a visibly tense expression crossing his face.

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassured him. You didn’t know what was bothering him, but it was clear he regretted bringing it up at all. You had never been one to push for more; you often felt uncomfortable with certain topics, and you were incredibly grateful when someone recognized your withdrawal and changed the subject. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks” he whispered. But I think there’s something to your intuition. This whole case is exceptionally peculiar.”

““Well, you can call me a shaman now. By the way, are you planning to go to bed already?”

“And you?” he replied with a question of his own. “Actually, I’d prefer to read for a while, but I don’t want to disturb your sleep…”

Your broad smile clearly surprised him.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted to spend some time with a book too”

In fact, it didn’t stem from your desires at all. You loved reading, but your brain was usually too tired for it in the evenings. However, you were aware that falling asleep would take you an unusually long time, and you preferred to make use of that time rather than stare at the ceiling.

You pulled out the only novel you had brought, Kafka on the Shore. You were about halfway through. Then you remembered you had meant to call your brother, but when you glanced at the clock, you realized that due to the time zone difference, it was already late at night for him. You sighed with a pang of guilt. You promised yourself you would do it tomorrow.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said when you both agreed it was finally time to go to sleep.

“Goodnight, shaman” he responded.

You smiled in your pillow.

part 2?

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #criminal mind #fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic

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blackenedsnow · 24 days ago

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um i have a request for shadow the hedgehog, can we just have him with a s/o whos just kinda shut down upset and not feeling like themselfs. He hasnt seen them in a few weeks and finally comes over to see how they well really need him and just didnt know how to ask for it. Sorry if this is werid been not so great myself and shadows my comfort character.

when the silence breaks

WARNING: Themes of depression, emotional distress

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: Hey, no need to apologize at all! I hope you’re doing okay and that this brings you some comfort. Take care of yourself, and don’t hesitate to reach out whenever you need. Sending you lots of love, and thank you so much for requesting! I hope this helps in some way <3

SUMMARY: Shadow hasn’t seen you in weeks. When he finally checks in on you, he finds you shut down

It had been weeks since you'd heard from him.

Days bled into one another in a haze of muffled thoughts, the outside world feeling distant and blurred. You had pulled away—retreated into your own head, shutting out everything, even the things that once brought comfort. Even him. Not because you wanted to, but because… well, what could you say? The words were stuck somewhere deep inside, unable to find their way out, and you were too exhausted to chase after them.

You hadn’t meant to disappear like this.

But now, the knock at my door echoed through the empty room, breaking the quiet you had surrounded yourself with. At first, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. It was like your body had forgotten how. But the second knock came, sharper this time, more insistent.

“Open up.”

His voice.

You knew that voice anywhere. Low, commanding, with a quiet intensity that always seemed to cut through the noise in your mind. Shadow.

For a moment, you thought about staying where you were, curled up in bed, hiding from the world like you'd been doing for what felt like forever. But something in his tone – a rare flicker of concern beneath the usual strength – made you force yourself to move. Your legs felt like lead as you dragged yourself to the door, your hand trembling as you reached for the knob.

The door creaked open, and there he was.

Shadow stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his crimson eyes scanning over you with a sharpness that made your heart ache. You knew what he was seeing – the hollow look in your eyes, the weight you were carrying but trying so hard to hide. You didn’t need a mirror to know how broken you must have seemed.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt heavy, but not unbearable. It was the kind of silence that always lingered with Shadow – not because he was cold or distant, but because he didn’t waste words. When he spoke, it mattered.

“You’ve been gone,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. It wasn’t an accusation, but a statement – simple, factual, but carrying a weight of its own.

“I…” Your voice was hoarse, as if you hadn’t used it in days. And maybe you hadn’t. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what else to say. How could you explain that you'd been drowning in your own head, that the world had felt like it was too much and not enough all at once? That you didn’t know how to reach out, even though you needed him more than you could admit?

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft click. His presence filled the room, bringing with it a strange sense of both comfort and unease. He was here now – really here – and you didn’t know if you were ready for him to see you like this.

“You didn’t have to be alone.” His words were blunt, but there was an underlying softness that only you seemed to hear. His eyes softened just slightly, a subtle shift that most people wouldn’t catch. But you knew him. You knew how much he held back – how much he cared in his own quiet way.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know how to ask.”

The truth felt raw in your throat, like it had been lodged there for weeks, waiting for this moment. You had wanted to call him, to tell him that you weren't okay, that you needed him. But the words had never come. And now, standing here in front of him, you felt ashamed for pushing him away when he was the one thing you needed most.

Shadow took a step closer, closing the distance between you. He didn’t say anything, but his presence alone seemed to fill the space with an unspoken understanding. He wasn’t the type to offer empty platitudes or false reassurances. He didn’t need to. Just knowing he was there – that he chose to be there – was enough.

“You don’t have to ask,” he finally said, his voice low but firm. “I’m here.”

Something inside you broke at those words. The walls you had built around yourself, the silence you had wrapped yourself in – it all crumbled in an instant. A sob rose in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you collapsed into his chest, your hands gripping his arms as you buried your face against him.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around you, firm and steady, grounding you in a way that nothing else could. His hand rested on the back of your head, holding you close as you trembled against him, your tears soaking into the soft fur of his chest. He didn’t flinch or pull away. He just held you, his presence unwavering.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tumbling from your lips in a rush of guilt and exhaustion. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to…”

“Stop.” His voice was quiet but firm, a single word cutting through your rambling. “You don’t need to explain.”

You swallowed hard, your body still shaking with the weight of everything you'd been holding in. The world had felt so dark, so overwhelming, and you hadn’t known how to pull yourself out of it. But with Shadow here, it was like a lifeline had been thrown to you in the midst of the storm.

“I should’ve come sooner,” he muttered, his grip tightening just slightly. There was a rare note of regret in his voice, something you didn’t often hear from him. “I should’ve known you needed me.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head against his chest. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t… I didn’t even know how to ask for help.”

Shadow let out a soft breath, his hand gently stroking your head. “You don’t have to ask. I’ll always be here.”

His words were simple, but they meant everything. He wasn’t the type to give grand speeches or make dramatic declarations of love. But in that moment, you knew. You knew that he was here, not just because he cared, but because he understood. He understood what it felt like to be lost, to feel like you couldn’t reach out even when you needed it most.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with an intensity that made my chest tighten. “I won’t let you fall.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. It wasn’t that everything was suddenly okay – you knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. But with Shadow here, you didn’t feel so lost anymore.

Shadow was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic x reader #sonic fanfic #x reader #oneshot #ask #request #fanfic

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vacantwatchers · 9 months ago

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Platonic Stobin discuss Steve's relationship with Nancy. It's kind of critical on Nancy bc I'm biased (and a hater). Read it on Ao3 here.

“Explain to me why Henderson thinks you’re into Nancy again.”

“Fuck knows, Rob. I haven’t seen her around, let alone spoken to her since all that shit at the mall.” He didn’t really like the way she’d frowned at Robin when they’d met up, definitely hadn’t liked the antagonistic tone she used when she’d asked who Robin was.

Steve felt Robin sigh before the gentle weight of her head rested atop his. “The little gremlin cornered me at lunch and demanded to know why we weren’t dating–”

“I’m out of your league,” Steve muttered to her right hand as he slowly coated her index in the dark red polish.

“Keep believing that, Popeye. He asked me if I thought you were repugnant or something and that's why I wouldn't give you the time of day.”

Steve paused to swipe away polish with his nail. “What does repugnant mean?”

Robin hummed, a little delay as she tried to find a definition for him. Steve can imagine her flicking through a little rolodex that’s full of what Robin considers Steve approved explanations.

In the space of his waiting, he’d managed to finish the first coat on her right hand and gently lifted her hand up, smiling to himself at the way Robin moved from his hand to his shoulder.

(It took three weeks of working in Family Video, working back to back shifts so dead they made the burnt shell of Starcourt look lively for Robin to come in one day with a bulging pencil case and the demand that “if you’re just going to sit there, at least paint my nails, dingus.” It took three attempts with Robin smudging her nails with her flailing before they established that when he finished a hand, he would lift it, and she would rest it on his shoulder.)

“Repugnant is like when something is really distasteful, unacceptable.”

“Tammy Thompson’s muppet singing is repugnant.”

Robin snorted into his hair. “Perfect use of repugnant, Steve. It’s also a word you can use similar to revolting, repulsive, disgusting and offensive.”

Pulling her left hand closer to his right side so he could see what he was doing, Steve hummed. “Okay. So Dustin thinks you think I’m revolting, repulsive, disgusting, and offensive?”

“Yeah, Steve, I told him I just couldn’t date such a disgusting man who spends twenty minutes on his hair after a shower and ignores me every time I tell him he needs to go to an optometrist because the way he can’t see makes me sad. No. I said that while I am happy to spend my life with you as my soulmate, we are strictly platonic.”

Sliding the brush back into the bottle, Steve gently swiped his nail down the side of Robin’s thumb. “That absolutely didn’t shut him up. Give them a minute before I do the next coat.”

Robin nodded her understanding, which made him nod. “No, me saying that didn’t stop him. Me asking if the reason he was so interested in your love life was because he was the one with the crush on you, however, did.”

“Ew, Robin, he’s like my brother.”

“That is exactly what he said, just with a lot more volume and yelling.”

Steve leaned further into the weight of Robin at his back, taking a moment to absorb the fact that she lets him take whatever touch he needs without freaking out the same way she does whenever someone else tries to touch her in the slightest. Uses the pause to organise his thoughts out of the jumbled train they come at him in. “I’m not sure when, uh. When we dated, I’m not sure it was love.”

“Okay.” Robin’s hum tingled through his diaphragm. “Talk it through, you were convinced last year you’d loved her. Don’t even try to think it out for me like you do, just say it all.”

“The ol’ Robin treatment, huh?”

“I hate that that is what you call it, but yes. Please proceed.”

“We dated, and I tried to be there for her, right? Like I had to go to these absolutely depressing dinners with Barb’s family every fucking week, because Nancy thought it was the right thing to do and I had to pretend to eat the food, and I tried to give her space when it felt like she was pulling away. I’d take her out to get her away from thinking about it all because I could see that she was struggling and thought maybe doing normal shit teenagers did would help. Would sit with her and listen when she needed me to, or just be with her when she needed silence. I’d ask about how she slept, and if she was still having nightmares, I would reach out and just try and hold her hand or hug her.

“But, I don't know. I’ve been thinking back on it, and Nancy never really did the same shit back, y’know. She would have these moods where she’d just be so angry. Angry at herself, the situation. Me. And I get it, it was fucked up and we couldn’t tell anyone without the threat of being taken away. But she’d go on and on about how we killed Barb and it was our fault and then it would turn into how it was my fault she was dead. And then so often she would say this line and at first I was like, she’s saying it in this fond way so she doesn’t mean it, but she said it so oft–”

“What would she say?”

Steve tilted his head back so he could look up at Robin. “What?”

“Nancy. What would she say?”

“Oh.” Steve looked back down, fiddling with the nail polish bottle. “She’d say ‘you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington’ and she’d make these comments, and I don’t even know if she was aware of it. Like she’d call me dumb and say don’t be stupid, or imply that I wouldn’t be able to do something or understand because I wouldn't get it.

“And when she went over my work she’d say it never made sense, and like, her tone, her tone always said it because I wasn’t smart enough. Like, she’d read over things and point and make comments, and honestly, it was more confusing than anything because the points made sense to me, but apparently not to her–”

Robin made her little grunting sound. She did it every time she needed to interject something. “Yeah but that's like, your mind's process. You do it when you talk too, that structuring thing you do where you make these links to things, and it all somehow flows. My mom said you might have something called dyslexia or dysgraphia. One of those two.”

Steve looked up at Robin, eyebrows scrunching up. “You talk to your mom about me? When did she even have time to figure that out?”

“I talk about you to her all the time because we both love you. And she noticed when you were helping me with my English homework.”

Huh. “Okay then.”

“Keep going with what you were saying, sailorman.”

Seven months, and she still hasn't given up on the nautical nicknames. Jesus.

“After early admissions for colleges had closed, Henderson actually found the essay I wrote, and he said it was good. That the parallels were there and with only a little tweaking it would have been great, and when I mentioned what Nancy said he kind of paused before reading it again and said he didn’t see what she was talking about. He even had his mom read it because for a while, she was admin for a college, and she said it would have gotten me in. After Christmas, I asked Nancy if she wanted to go with me to tour some colleges once and she looked at me when I dropped some of the names and said, ‘Do you think they’ll believe you’d fit in there?'"

“Jesus Christ,” Robin muttered.

“It just, it built up and I think at the time I was blind to it because I was trying to lose myself in the relationship, in being there for her.”

“What about you?” Robin’s hand slid down from its perch on his shoulder to his chest so she could pull him closer. “Was she there for you? Like, you told me that since ‘83 you can’t eat meat because of the smell of burning demogorgon put you off, and that having to lure the demodogs with meat was really triggering. And I know you have trouble sleeping and you have those awful nightmares that make it so that sometimes you can’t eat.

“Which, can I just say, is really concerning because you already have this habit of forgetting to eat even when you’ve brought lunch. And I know it’s probably something to do with the way you get stuck into stock or shelving, but I hate it when you get into that groove. But I’ve also figured out that you will eat anything I hand to you, as long as I’ve taken a bite first, so it’s not that bad.”

Needing to move a little, Steve tightened the nail polish and started shaking the bottle.

“Oh, uh. Those dinners with Barb’s family, it was always KFC, that’s why I never ate anything there. She’d actually get annoyed because she thought it was disrespectful? That I only ate the bread and chips? And after that first night where Barb died, Nancy never came over to my house again because she said it had too many bad memories and it made her uncomfortable to be there. So she never really saw the nightmares. When she wanted to see me, she would have me come over and she’d push me on the bed and then when she was done she’d tell me it was getting late, and kind of push me towards her window to go.”

“Steve– that doesn't sound healthy at all.”

"Yeah."

Lifting the nail polish bottle, Robin took it as the signal it was and dropped her hand in his again.

“I think, even when I was dating her, she talked more to Jonathan than me.”

“That’s fucked up, Steve.”

“I think that’s just trauma, Bobby. We weren’t good together. I don’t know. Whatever Dustin is seeing between us is completely in his head. Especially considering the money moves I'm making with Operation Metalhead.”

“You need to stop saying money moves. All you've done is wave at him and blush when he loaned you a Megadeth tape.”

Gently guiding her hand back into his best field of vision, Steve started in on the second coat. “I don't know, sounds pretty money to me.”

Steve felt Robin inhale for a deep sigh, her warmth increasing against his back for a moment before she exhaled. "I think Eddie might have actually graduated before Operation Metalhead gets anywhere close to being a success."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler critical honestly #platonic stobin #pre steddie #steddie fic

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wandering-winchesters · 3 months ago

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The Weight of Darkness

Summary: In the midst of depression's grip, Dean's presence offers a glimmer of hope and the promise that you don't have to face it alone. Word Count: 782

Masterlist

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly against the world outside. You’d been lying in bed for hours, maybe days—it was hard to tell anymore. Time had lost its meaning, blending into an endless stretch of darkness. The weight of depression pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, making it impossible to move, to think, to care.

You knew you should get up, that there were things that needed to be done, but the thought of facing the day, of even getting out of bed, felt like an insurmountable task. It was easier to stay where you were, cocooned in the numbness that had taken over your body and mind.

The door creaked open softly, but you didn’t react. You couldn’t muster the energy to even turn your head. Footsteps approached the bed, and then you felt the mattress dip slightly as Dean sat down beside you.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He didn’t touch you, didn’t push you to respond. He just sat there, a steady presence in the overwhelming silence.

For a long time, neither of you said anything. Dean seemed content just to be there, to let you know he was with you, even if you couldn’t find the words to express what you were feeling.

Eventually, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s hard right now. I know it feels like the world’s too heavy, like it’s all too much. But you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, not because of anything specific, but because the numbness was starting to crack, and underneath it was a well of sadness so deep it felt like you could drown in it.

“I’m just so tired,” you finally whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t do it, Dean. I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay.”

Dean reached out then, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. His touch was soft, full of understanding. “You don’t have to pretend,” he said. “Not with me. If you’re tired, if you’re hurting, that’s okay. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

You turned your head slightly, finally meeting his gaze. His green eyes were filled with concern, but also with a deep, unwavering love that made it hard to keep the tears at bay. “I just… I don’t know how to get up, how to keep going. Everything feels so heavy.”

Dean nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get it,” he said softly. “Sometimes, the weight of everything can knock you down, and it’s hard to see a way out. But you don’t have to get up all at once. We’ll take it slow, one step at a time, together.”

He shifted on the bed, lying down beside you, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulled you close. The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this, even when it felt like you were drowning.

“Let’s just stay here for a bit,” Dean suggested, his voice soothing in your ear. “We don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe with me, okay?”

You nodded slightly, allowing yourself to relax into his embrace. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, the repetitive motion helping to calm the storm of emotions inside you. With him there, the darkness didn’t seem quite as overwhelming, the weight not quite as crushing.

“You’re not alone in this,” Dean whispered, his lips brushing your forehead. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this, no matter how long it takes.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tears falling more freely now. But this time, they felt like a release, like the first step towards breaking free from the suffocating grip of depression. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a tiny spark of hope in the darkness.

Dean held you closer, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of your mind. “When you’re ready, we’ll get up. We’ll face the day together. But for now, just rest. You don’t have to fight this alone.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him. The road ahead was still long, still filled with uncertainty, but with Dean by your side, you knew you’d find your way back to the light, one small step at a time.

As you closed your eyes, the warmth of his embrace surrounding you, it felt like the first hint of dawn breaking through the darkness—a promise that the sun would rise again, and that you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Taglist: @roseblue373@jc-winchester@hobby27@mishreem

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blond3ang3l · 3 months ago

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🌷♡₊˚geek lover! eren🦢・₊✧

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This is a remake of the already geek lover eren, but specifically a sfw version but I actually really love this story

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Eren is a geek lover. He absolutely is enamored with you. Watching your lips with every word you spoke. The way you got excited telling him about every single new detail of the things you got interested in. Eren worked hard as a famous rnb singer, long days in the studio trying to perfect his songs. Then having to perform when he literally had the WORST anxiety known to man. It always felt like someone needed him and was on his ass about something.

But he did it all for you. So you can have everything your heart desired. He left nothing behind when it came to you. You wanted to see a new sci fi movie? He already bought out the theater. There’s a new podcast you like? He’s downloaded all the episodes for you on both yours and his phone. Don’t even get started on books. On your first date you mentioned you like to read and study psychology in your free time. Once you moved in he had your very own book room built for you. Carefully picking out each book for you on his own. Your own desk and room for you todo your writings in. He even surprised you with a laptop and camera so you can start your own podcast! He just wanted to show you how much he loved and supported you.

For moment like this were he could come home and listen to you tell him. About the things you've watched in your huge list of video essays that you had in a playlist on YouTube. How you lit up telling him different facts from how the dating game killer had a coworker that also happened to be a serial killer and he didn't know to the conspiracy theory of the 27 club, no matter what you said it always made you so happy and seeing you all giddy and stimming while you talked to him made him so content with his life.

"I know cotards syndrome, Koro, Diogenes, fregoli, hypochondria, pica, capgras, boanthropy, apotenmophilia, kulver bulcy, ekbom, erotomania, Stendhal. Pics is like one of the more well known. You know that show my strange addiction that we watch together? Yeah so like those people who eat the random shit like the lady who ate rocks- omg that reminds me!"

Erens ass was not listening one bit. He was watching you, watching your body. You guys had been apart for a little over a month so could do a very short tour in another country and he was sick as fuck that he couldn't bring you.

Everyone knew it too. His attitude fucking sucked that trip. He was antsy, his anxiety was through the roof, he snapped at everyone, overall he fucking hated it. But now, sitting here with you he finally felt at peace.

You were sitting on his lap, yapping his ear off.His eyes couldn't help but wander to your legs which lead him to notice you were wearing his boxers. Your hands thick thighs were filling them out so well. His hands moved to grip them as he watched you talk. You’d kill him later for not listening but he just felt so much dread when he was away from you that he couldn’t help but just stare at you forever.

“Rennie, papa are you okay? You’re getting all red. Are you feeling sick baby?”

You were worried, he had a bad history of getting sick easily. With him coming back from another country he could have likely caught something. It would hurt your heart to know he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine baby. Keep going. I wanna hear you talk.”

“Are you sure baby? We can go lay down if you’d like.”

It warmed his heart how much you cared for him. You made him the man he was. He used to be so closed off to anyone that wasn’t your friends mikasa and armin. You taught him how to deal with the grief of life and got him therapy to get through the rough days of his depression. He just loved you so much and truly couldn’t imagine being anywhere without you.

“I’m fine baby, just missed you so much..”

For my girlie @merakidoll

#spotify #fanfic #x character #x reader #x black reader #x black plus size reader #x black male reader #x male reader #eren x male reader #eren jeager x reader #eren x reader #aot eren #eren x black fem!reader #eren x black reader #aot imagines #aot au #aot x reader #aot x black reader

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shadowandlightt · 4 months ago

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Of Nightmares and Memories | Fourteen| Azriel X Rhys' Little Sister! Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Talks of death.

A/N: SO a lot of feelings in this one. I hope you guys like it, I'm really getting excited about where this story is about to go.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen

When you wake up hours later, the sun is high in the sky. The first thing you notice is that you aren’t in Az’s room anymore. But instead you’re in the room that you grew up in. You haven't been in this room since you came back. In fact, you’d been too afraid to come up here. Too afraid of the memories it would bring.

“Az?” You question, looking around the room to find it empty.

He was gone. No trace of his shadows, even your own that floated about the room seemed to want nothing to do with you. You screwed it all up this time. You used him, Gods, you should never have taken him to bed. That shouldn’t have been your first time with him. That wasn’t how that was meant to go.

Tears blur your vision as you bury your head back into your pillow and begin to sob. You can’t help the tears, can’t do anything to try to stop them. You don’t want to. You need to feel the pain, because you can only imagine how Azriel felt. How used he must’ve felt, knowing you were only there for a distraction.

You loved him, so much. But all you could think of last night was not feeling everything else. Then you were so consumed by the feeling of him, that you forgot to feel about him. You felt dirty, so fucking dirty that you wanted to scrub every inch of your skin raw. But you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of the bed. So you didn’t.

You stayed in bed for the eternity of the day. You didn’t move, opting to stare at the wall instead, feeling everything and at the same time feeling nothing.

The following day, when you finally dragged yourself from your rooms, you were confronted by Rhys, who had nothing but worry in his eyes. You nearly broke down into tears again at the sight. For so many years, you never thought you’d see him again. You never thought you’d have him hold you, and comfort you, even if you didn’t deserve his comfort.

“Take me back to the townhouse,” You cry into his shoulder, “I can’t stay here.”

“Okay,” He whispers into your dark hair, followed by the sound of his wings unfurling.

You hold your breath as he shoots to the sky, being as gentle as possible. Azirel must have told him that you had some sort of reaction from flying. So when you land on the rooftop of the Townhouse, you can’t help but vomit into a nearby plant. You heave and heave until there’s nothing left in your stomach.

“Are you alright?” Rhys asks as he holds your hair back.

You can only shake your head, feeling the scars on your back burn again. You fall to the ground, Rhys’ arms still holding you as you begin to cry. You sob again, feeling the weight of the world that you now live in. The world without your mother, and even your father. The world in which you were the reason your mother died, because you didn't fight hard enough to save her.

“I didn’t fight,” You sob uncontrollably, twisting to bury your head in his shoulder once more.

He smelled like her, and like your father at the same time. Jasmine, like her, and pure night like him. It made you cry even harder. Made you miss them even more. Made your heart break just a little further.

“Shh,” He whispers, “You did your best.”

How he knew what you were talking about, you don’t know. Maybe your mind was wide open for him to read. But you couldn't feel him there. Maybe he just knew you better than you thought, even after all of these years.

“You were a mere child, Y/N, I’m not sure I could’ve done anything differently at your age,” He admits, “No one blames you for what happened. You were a victim, not a cause.”

Your head shakes without permission. You hear what he’s saying, but you can’t believe it. You won’t allow yourself to believe it. So instead you cry and cry, without the energy to fight with him it’s all you can do.

Eventually you make your way to the room that’s now been designated as yours, and hide in the bed once more. It’s all you can do. All you have the energy for. Rhys pokes his head in and checks on you before dinner. The twin wraiths leave a plate at the foot of your bed, but you can’t bring yourself to eat.

All you want is Azriel, but you don’t deserve him. Not after how you used him. Not after what you took from him. Even carrying the weight of your mother’s death, you’ve never felt as guilty as you do thinking about what you did to Az.

You aren’t sure how much time passed before Mor is barging into your room and clinging your curtains open, “Enough is enough.”

“Go away,” You moan, turning away from the windows.

“You aren’t allowed to sulk here any longer. Rhys might be content to let you wither away, but I will not.”

“Leave me alone, Mor.”

“I won’t pretend to know what the devil happened between you and Az, because you seemed to be coming back to all of us before whatever it was ... but it’s time to move on.”

“I’m happy staying here.”

“Don’t make me get Cassian.”

Her warning made you gingerly sit up, muscles screaming in protest due to not being used in so long. You were allowing yourself to become even weaker, something you swore you wouldn’t do.

“Talk to me,” Mor begged, “Let me in…let someone in. Don’t keep locking yourself away, both physically and metaphorically.”

“I don’t know how anymore,” You admit to her, “I don’t know how to be anymore.”

“What happened between you and Az?” She asked softly, “I won’t tell anyone.”

You shake your head, unable to put it into words.Cassian was probably the only other one who knew, unless Az shared with Rhys, so he could understand why you were the way that you were.

“I slept with him,” You whisper, “I used him for sex. And it felt so good. But then when I woke up and realized what I had done...I couldn’t face him.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Mor wraps you in her strong arms. She smooths your hair down, and strokes you back, like a mother comforting her child. It brings tears to your eyes once more.

“Az wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want to,” She confirms, “You did nothing.”

“Our first time shouldn’t have been because I was looking for a distraction,” You cry out.

She continues to hold you, trying her best to soothe you as you work through everything in your head. You tell her about how flying made you feel, and how you needed a distraction and the only thing you could think of was Azriel. You told her about how you and Lucien used to use one another in that way, back when you were being held in Spring. How you were the first person he’d been with since his brothers held him down as they killed his love in front of him.

You told her everything. The words flowing out before you could stop them. What you couldn’t put into words you showed her in her mind, so she could understand. She sat in silence and let you talk until you had no words left, and then she did something you hadn’t expected.

“It’s time to forgive yourself,” She says carefully, “None of that was your fault. You’ve heard us say it before, but really hear me now, Y/N, you know what my power is. So you know I speak the truth, it was not your fault. You did what you had to do in order to survive, the same thing Rhys did under the mountain. You are blameless.”

“But I-”

“Your mother wouldn’t want you to live like this,” She states, “So if you’re going to do anything, live. Live for her, because you and Rhys are all that is left of her.”

You feel something in your chest as you notice a shadow dancing in the corner of the room. It wasn’t one of yours, you realized with a pang in your chest. He was checking on you…even after what you did. He was making sure you were okay.

“Have you talked to him?” You question, nodding over to the shadow.

“He wanted to give you the space you needed to figure things out,” She nods, “Not because he doesn’t want to be around you, but because he thought you didn’t want him near.”

“I always want him near,” You sniff, wiping away your tears.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him,” She smiles brightly at you, “Now, let’s get you dressed. The twins made quite the spread downstairs and Feyre and I cannot eat it all alone.”

“Where’s Rhys?”

“With Amren, trying to help decode the book.”

You nod and force yourself to stand, the shadow now curling around your ankle in an attempt to get closer to you. Like it knew you wanted Azriel near, but his shadows were the next best thing. You wanted to ask where he was, but didn’t want to know at the same time. You knew he was working his network of spies hard.

So you eat with Feyre and Mor, laughing about the random stories Mor seemed to come up with over the course of the meal. And once it was over? You didn’t retreat to your rooms. Instead you found yourself on the terrace soaking up the last few rays of sunlight left of the day. Your head was tilted up towards the sky as your eyes were closed.

You can feel a presence behind you, but you can also feel shadows lapping at your feet. You hesitantly smile and open your eyes, “Are you going to sit?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

“I figured your shadows would’ve told you differently by now,” You try to make your tone light and teasing, even as you feel nothing but anxiety bubbling in your chest.

“They did,” He confirms, “But still.”

You motion to the seat next to you, scooting over slightly to make room for his wings. Those big beautiful wings that even you didn’t touch that night. Truthfully you weren’t sure if he would’ve let you touch them.

“Do you regret it?” He asks you suddenly.

You turn to look at him, golden skin glowing in the late day sun. He looked beautiful. He always did. How could you even think about regretting him? Azriel was like your heart walking outside of your body. The missing piece of your soul. You could never ever regret being anything with him.

“No,” You say quickly, “No Az. I could never regret you.”

“I just thought-”

“I regret how it happened,” You admit, “I regret that I used you as a distraction, but I could never regret you.”

His head is bowed low as he nods. You know him well enough to know that his own need to prove himself, to be wanted, is showing through. You’re both broken, in more ways than one. He spent twelve years in captivity, not being shown an ounce of love. You now know what that's like. You know what it can do to a person.

So, you get up and slide into his lap, gently tilting his chin up so he’ll look at you, “Azriel, I will never regret anything with you. You’re my heart.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. It makes you smile as you lean down to kiss him. Really kiss him, softly and slowly. His hands hold onto your hips, holding you in place as he kisses you back. You can feel pieces of your heart slowly coming back together, like he’s the glue you needed.

“I don’t want space,” You whisper against his lips, “Not from you. Never from you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, princess.”

You stayed with him up on the terrace until the sun was long gone and the stars shone in the sky. You kissed him until your lips were swollen and bruised, but you didn’t care. Being in his arms felt better than any drug ever could. Mor was right, it was time to forgive yourself for everything that happened.

“I’m sorry,” You finally speak, “For making you feel like I regretted you. For making you feel alone.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” He sighs, “Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” You shake your head, “Now come, I’m hungry and smell dinner downstairs.”

He barks out a laugh and stands once you’re off of his lap, leaning down to peck your lips once more. The simple action leaves you feeling warm all over. Leaves you wanting more from him. But you also know now is not the time. So instead you lead him downstairs and into the dining room where the rest of your family is gathered.

“There they are,” Cassian all but shouts, “We were wondering if you were going to join us!”

“Leave them be, Cas,” Mor scolds him before turning and winking at you.

Rhys is nearly beaming, and Feyre is smiling sweetly at you. You take a deep breath and find your place at the table, next to Azriel, like it’s always been. The conversation flows easily as you all eat. You find yourself laughing alongside Cassian, who’s more or less howling at one point. You feel normal again, your chest doesn’t feel empty.

“We leave in the morning,” Rhys finally says, stopping the laughter.

“For what?” You ask, feeling very much out of the loop.

“The Mortal Queens have agreed to meet with us,” He explains, “You’re more than welcome to join us.”

You find yourself shaking your head before you speak, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Are you sure?” Az asked you, “You won’t be an imposition.”

“No,” You say again, a little stronger this time, “I think the best thing for me to do is to stay here in Velaris.”

“Okay,” Rhys relented, “We should be back tomorrow night, at the latest. Hopefully the Queens don’t keep us waiting.”

So you see them off in the morning and then pace around the house whilst you wait for them to return. Amren, being the only one who can possibly translate the book, is busy trying to do just that. So you pace, and pace, and pace. No doubt wearing down the luxurious carpet in the townhouse. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. You know, more than likely, that no harm will come to them. But you still can’t help but worry.

You finally settle on the couch after an hour or so, and must drift off because you don’t hear them when they come back. You don’t hear the hushed conversation, recounting everything that happened. No, you only stir when Azriel gently brushes your cheek and whispers your name.

Instantly your eyes fly open and you surge forward to hold him. He lets out a little laugh, holding you back, tucking his face into your dark hair.

“I was only gone a few hours,” He says softly, arms tightening around you.

“She was worried,” Rhys fills in for him, “Which she shouldn’t have been, it was just a meeting.”

You shake your head, and place a kiss on Azriel’s neck before pulling back and giving your brother a crude gesture. He barks out a laugh before motioning for you to follow him outside. You look to Az who just nods, and moves to help you stand from the floor that you’d ended up on.

“We need to talk,” Rhys said calmly.

You nod and follow him outside, feeling panic well up in your gut. Something happened, something that would change the course of the war. You could feel it.

“We have to go to the Court of Nightmares,” He says once you’re in the courtyard, “I told you that I wouldn’t leave you out of this. And as much as I wish she wouldn’t, Feyre is coming, so you have a decision to make. You may come, and play the part, or you can stay here and they’ll know nothing different.”

“Why are you going?”

So he explains, putting an emphasis on needing a distraction. And as much as it makes you sick to your stomach to think about going back there, after so many years, and playing the part of the cruel princess that you played all of those years in spring…you knew you needed to go.

“If you need a distraction, then you really will need me,” You admit to him, “I’m unwed and unmated, from the most powerful line in our history. If Mor was the top of the market, imagine what I’ll be. No male will be paying attention to what anyone else is doing.”

“I don’t want to put you in that position,” He shakes his head.

“You aren’t putting me in any position,” You argued, “I’m offering. I won’t sit idly by and let others fight this war for me. If this is what I can do to help, then so be it.”

“Azriel won’t like it.”

“I won’t like it either, but I’ll do it. For our family, I’d do anything.”

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