#he’s always so sad and pathetic that it makes my heart hurt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

froggiewrites · 4 months ago

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Bloody Hands

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You're struggling with horrible period cramps, and luckily, Law has the perfect solution. Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Period Sex, Fluff Word Count: 2.1k Notes: Did I write this in one sitting instead of just taking ibuprofen for my cramps like a normal person? Maybe. Anyway, this is my first time writing for Law, so I hope I did him justice!

This is going to kill you.

You say that every month, of course, but you really, truly mean it this time. You’re practically immobilized, laying in the fetal position on your bed trying not to let out pitiful moans every time another wave of pain hits. You fail every time.

Several members of the crew had come to check on you, bringing offerings of heating pads, ibuprofen, and various other remedies, but they hardly helped. After the fifth visit (Penguin bringing you more water while anxiously checking you over), you couldn’t even thank your friends, only letting out a sad whimper to acknowledge their presence before once again squeezing your eyes tight and trying desperately to ground yourself.

Your captain had been noticeably absent from these visits, probably burying himself in work as he always does, and you’re torn between being grateful he hasn’t seen you in such a sorry state and hurt tearing through your chest that he didn’t care enough to check on you. You would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he was doing as poorly as you were. He wouldn’t want you to, of course, would lock his door and burrow so deeply into his bed he wouldn’t see a single speck of light until his illness had passed, but you would come anyway. You would at least try.

You regret the thought the moment you hear a familiar hum at the doorway. You should have known he would never leave you alone when you needed him. “I almost didn’t believe everyone when they said how bad it was.” You whine, and you hear a sympathetic chuckle. “I know.” The heels of his shoes click softly against the ground, and suddenly Law’s warm hand has slid under your shirt, warm and gentle as it rubs circles onto your upper back.

“Everything hurts.” You’re so lost in the pain you can't even bring yourself to hate how pathetic you sound. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzle into it, welcoming the affection gratefully.

“I know, sweetheart.” He doesn’t often call you pet names, and it makes your heart flutter when he does. Usually when you hear them it means you’re going to be taken care of, cherished in a more tender way than the quiet and understated (but no less wonderful) way he normally shows his love for you. His lips ghost over your forehead, and you finally open your eyes to see his own staring at you with undisguised concern, bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. “Can you describe it to me? Is it just the cramps, or is there something else?”

“It’s just cramps. And a small headache, I guess.” Another wave crashes over you, and you pull yourself in even tighter. “They’re…they’re not normally this bad.”

“And the pain meds haven’t helped?”

“Not enough.”

“Hm.” You can see the exact moment he flips from lover to doctor, racking his brain for any knowledge he can use to help you, and the moment he finds his answer. The light flickers on behind his eyes, and he carefully looks over you, assessing the situation, before your lover is back, sly grin slowly creeping over his face and a quiet excitement makes its way into his voice. “I think I know something that could help. If you’re willing.”

“I would do anything for this to stop,” you whimper, and his amusement once again fades into fondness as his eyes soften with pity.

“I’ll do my best to help, sweetheart, I promise.” His lips brush against your forehead again before the bed shifts and his warmth has left you. You cry out, but he gently shushes you. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back, really.”

He probably is only gone for a minute, but it feels like hours. You don’t relax for even a second until you hear a quiet, “Shambles!” and find yourself in the familiar dim light of Law’s room. Your back is pressed against something rougher than his usual blankets, and you turn your head to see you’re laid out against a mismatched array of towels, clearly stolen from the shared bathroom the rest of the crew uses. His pair of towels are separated, one lying directly under your lower half while the other sits folded and ready at the end of the bed. Law is staring at you, unblinking, directly next to it.

“Hi.” Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, barely a whisper, but he slightly smiles when he hears it anyway.

“Hi.” He leans forward a bit, eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light, looking almost like a predator stalking his prey. It makes you tense despite yourself, causing another flash of pain in your abdomen. The vulnerable noise you make causes him to grin, showing just a bit of sharp canines through his parted lips. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Your treatment, sweetheart.” He maintains eye contact with you as he slowly pulls latex gloves over his tattooed hands, covering the letters on his fingers. Once they’re fully on, he lets the material go, making a small thwap as it snaps against his skin. He repeats himself. “Are you ready?”

“Yes?”

“I need you to be sure.”

“Yes.” You repeat, more firmly this time.

“Excellent. I promise you’ll feel better soon.” With that, you can feel the cool latex against your skin as he slips off the loose pajama pants you were wearing in a single fluid motion. You then feel his hands against your thighs, forcing them apart and leaning forward. You let out a soft noise of surprise, and he gives you the same predatory smile as before before muttering, “Just relax.”

His gloved fingers slowly trace up your thighs, before he quickly removes your panties, depositing them somewhere nearby. He turns his attention back to you, fingers retracing their path, and you shiver as he runs a single finger down your slit. He lifts his hand closer to his face as though to inspect it, and you can see the blue latex becomes stained with blood. You can see his pupils dilate, black overtaking the normal steely grey of his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s fascinated or aroused. Probably both.

He allows his hand to find its rightful place again, slowly inserting his first finger into you. You gasp quietly, and he laughs under his breath. You feel yourself stretch around him as the slick of your blood makes it easy for him to slide himself knuckle deep into you. You let out a stuttering breath as you get used to the new sensation. Your pain hasn’t subsided, but this is certainly a good distraction.

“Everything alright?” His voice is low, thick with want, but he tries to maintain an even tone.

“Yeah,” you managed to squeak out. “I’m fine.”

“Only fine?” He lets out a displeased hum. “Next time I ask, I want you to be doing better than ‘fine’.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” You regret the words the moment they come out of your mouth. As much as Law loves to pretend he is some even-keeled professional, he’s easily riled up by a challenge, and challenges relating to you are some of his favorites. “I mean–”

“I know what you meant. Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen.” With that, he begins pumping, keeping a steady slow pace that isn’t nearly enough for you, before suddenly adding a second finger. He curls them, hitting a sweet spot that makes you sing for him, and he gives you an absolutely shit eating grin. “Sounds like we’re already well on our way, hm?”

He speeds up slightly, his other hand leaving the plush of your thigh and finding your clit. The material feels strange against you, but that thought is quickly shoved out of your head as he slowly begins to rub small circles against it. You let out a whine of, “Law!”

“Yes?” His voice is dripping with smugness. You can do nothing but let out another small cry of his name, and you can see the way his chest slightly puffs out with pride at the sound. There is nothing in the world he loves more than making you come unraveled, and he loves any reminder of that, especially those that remind him that you’re his and that he is the one making you feel this way. “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.” He adds a third finger, reveling in the way you clench around him. You see his eyelids drop slightly as he takes in the sight of you splayed out before him, blood and wetness covering his fingers as they pump in and out of you.

You finally, finally begin to feel something stronger than your pain as the coil in your stomach tightens, making every part of you begin to tense as you approach your precipice. Law leans over you, taking his eyes off of your cunt for the first time since he started just so he can look you in the eyes and whisper, “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You gush around his fingers, crying out. He doesn’t look away from your face as your eyes squeeze shut and you throw your head back, taking in every inch of your sweet expression. He works you through it, not removing his fingers until he knows for certain that you’ve ridden your high to the end, leaving you spent and relaxed against the towel below you. Once he slides his hands out of you, he quickly removes his gloves, dropping them into a nearby trash can. He grabs the towel at the end of the bed and uses it to wipe up any blood on your thighs, placing a gentle kiss to each thigh once he’s sure they’re clean.

“How are you doing?” His voice carries no challenge like earlier, only a genuine concern for you.

“I’m great.”

“No cramps?”

You close your eyes, taking in your current state. You feel a little sore, and there’s still a small pressure in your skull, but you realize your abdomen doesn’t hurt at all. “No cramps.” You can’t keep the pleased smile off of your face, and when you open your eyes you see his expression mirrors your own, if a touch more smug.

“Good.” He kisses your forehead before gently gathering you into his arms. You let out a soft noise of protest, but he pulls you into his chest anyway. “After a quick shower and some sleep I think your treatment will be over. …For now.”

“For now?”

“You’ll have to come see me if your cramps return, of course.” His eyes shine with a gentle mischief you don’t often get to see.

“Oh, of course, Dr. Trafalgar.” You expect him to roll his eyes at you, but he smirks further at you using his title. Interesting.

For now, he carries you into his personal bathroom, setting you down and beginning to fuss with the shower. Your eyes spy the empty towel rack, and you have a realization. “Law?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any towels not covered in blood?”

“I–hm.” He leaves for a moment, returning with another clearly stolen towel. The crew is going to have a bad night once showertime rolls around, but you can’t bring yourself to care too much, still caught up in your sudden relaxation after your day of suffering. In the shower, Law pampers you thoroughly, refusing to let you lift a finger to do anything for yourself. His fingers are gentle as he washes your hair, your face, your body. He wraps you tenderly in a towel once all is done, even helping you dress once you’ve dried. He only stops pampering you once he’s tucked you tightly into his bed, heating pad and pain meds ready on his nightstand just in case. And in a very rare treat, instead of rushing off to work, he lays down next to you.

“You aren’t going to leave?” You can’t keep the tentative hope from your voice.

“Not until you’re asleep.” He pulls your head into his chest, and you happily make a home there.

“I’ll have to stay up to keep you here.” Even as you say it your eyes are drooping, and you can feel the rumble of his laugh.

“You can try.” He runs his fingers carefully through your hair.

You lose quickly, falling into an easy sleep, surrounded by warmth and care, and pain far away from your mind.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #law x y/n

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eternal-moss · 10 months ago

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Christ, the whole Wilbur situation is so fucked. Already the things that are coming out of the woodworks so quickly are so sad.

tw for abuse and misogyny. If you aren’t aware of this yet, Wilbur Soot has been revealed as a prolific abuser

My heart breaks for all the people he’s harmed. I think Shelby was really intelligent in the way that she’s brought this to attention, without naming him. This meant that even though some people denied it or lashed back at her, the repercussions were minimised.

Wilbur responding proved it was him she was talking about, although the details she provided made it so patently clear it was him from the start, it made it so that he had to admit he was the one who had been committing essentially serial abuse on young women by the nature of him responding to the description of the unnamed abuser, although he didn’t mention that it was *multiple women* in his absolutely pathetic excuse of an ‘apology’.

I’ve been thinking about this deeply from pretty much directly the moment after Shubble revealed it really. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve ever watched any of Shubble’s stuff, and I’ve not watched streamers for a couple of years now, but the courage she had to do this is fucking immense. Wilbur is very well off financially with a massive and loyal fanbase, the influence he has is very large and not to be underestimated. His ‘apology’ reeks of PR pressure, although it fails to meet the mark on all levels of even a basic apology (which is not even the bare minimum in this situation) and omits some very important details.

It’s so sad that abuse and grooming is so common amongst streamers/YouTubers, but the response to this time (from the community) being genuine support instead of victim blaming does make me feel hopeful. Wilbur’s condescension of women and younger ccs is absolutely disgusting. This recontextualises so many moments when he’s been dismissive of and made jokes at women’s expense. What he’s done is abuse and it’s misogyny. He’s picked on people he knows are less able to fight back from all parameters. Misogyny is massive in the gaming scene, and he’s relied on all these women (it really is a lot at this rate, even an ex-trumpeter from Lovejoy) staying silent out of fear.

Shubble saying keeping their silence protected him more than it protected her is very true, and this will absolutely wreck his reputation. Rather, he’s fucked it up himself, and there really is no one else to blame in this situation. The people who knew about it and were subject to this were typically smaller, younger or female streamers. It’s disgusting that he had relied on their silence for so long.

This is a bit of a mess, but ngl so am I. It’s been eating at me for as long as it’s been going on, I found out almost immediately. I was quite a big Wilbur fan for a damn long time, since his early days of streaming (when skyblock randomiser was made etc). I was emotionally invested in his original music and looked up to him a lot.

The worst thing I think is that I resonated with his online interactions with Tommy (which makes me feel vile), and his adoration of Wilbur, always calling him ‘like a big brother’, and it fondly reminded me of me and my younger sibling. Except Wilbur would sometimes do some unexpectedly cruel things. Like stomping on Tommy’s hand and causing it to bleed. That alarmed me at the time, also when he revealed that he was relying on Tommy to talk him out of suicide, which really made me concerned about how healthy their relationship was. The worst thing is, this didn’t surprise me that much at all when it was revealed. Shelby’s descriptions could fit no other person, and it made sense and lined up with his past behaviour, but that doesn’t make it any less wholly awful and horrific.

I wasn’t going to talk about it on this blog, but I just feel angry. Angry for all these people he’s hurt. Angry that he’ll still be living comfortably off of his fanbase for years to come, young people who trusted and idolised him, the vast majority young girls themselves. Angry for Shubble, angry for Niki, angry for the women’s names we don’t know yet, angry for those who had been intimidated into silence. Angry for those who had been abused and brutalised by him. The main thing that’s coming up again and again is the biting, the bruising, the physical abuse, the way they were scared into saying anything, left traumatised by the way they’d been treated. As if that could be brushed off in any way by some disgustingly shallow and self-centred attempt at self preservation of his reputation. Fuck off.

Like Aimsey said, this isn’t some light cancellation from Twitter, these are reprehensible serial misogynistic crimes, and it’s only been days since the initial reveal and hours since his response and the influx of victims speaking up. My heart breaks to know how much more is going to be unearthed.

So yeah this is basically it, I treat this blog mainly as an archive for fan creations of things I like, but also as a collection of my thoughts. I have been unable to stop thinking about this, and I know that I’ve barely talked about mcyt on here, but I was heavily into dsmp and streamers for a long time. Shubble is insanely bloody brave for doing this, I wish them all the best (and the other victims) in recovering from his behaviour, as well as applauding her for the sheer fucking bravery to make the decision to speak up.

***I’ve seen some people saying Shubble uses they/them pronouns, but most people I’ve seen refer to her with she/her. If I find out she doesn’t use she/her I’ll change this post < Shelby uses she/they

#Wilbur soot #< for people blocking this tag #Sorry if this is a mess but wow yeah it’s not good

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pomefioredove · 8 months ago

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You know what would be sad? If you/Yuu breaks up with Vil (or vice versa) and then runs to Rook afterwards. I wonder if Vil is going to feel betrayed again? If you could do a little scenario for this, that’d be great!

this is such a good prompt, I love rebound scenarios omg. needed this today. and here comes rook with the steel chair!!!

summary: getting dumped by vil schoenheit type of post: long fic characters: rook additional info: romantic, established relationship, vil breaks up with reader, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, kinda angsty, hahhhh, my god

"It's not personal. I just don't think it's fair to you," Vil says.

He doesn't fidget. Maintains perfect eye contact. He doesn't even try to act sorry, which, perhaps, is what stings the most.

He's supposed to be an actor, after all.

That's what this is all about.

"You must have always known this was a possibility," he says. "My schedule is getting busier, I simply don't... want to push you away."

Each word is spoken with a honeyed softness, as if he's trying to cushion the blows. It doesn't help.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your eyes burn. This is the worst thing you've ever experienced. You would take a thousand overblots over this. Any day.

What a bitter sentiment.

"You don't mean to push me away. What is this, then?"

A look of guilt finally crosses Vil's face, cracking the mask of professionalism he'd been hiding behind. It offers little comfort.

His brow furrows, and he sighs. "A preventative measure. It would hurt more if I'd waited,"

A million questions fly through your mind, faster than you can catch them. You want to shout, to tell him exactly how he's making you feel, to ask him who he thinks he is- but all you can manage is a stare.

He frowns, extending a hand as if to caress your face, but you turn on your heels and leave before he has the chance.

You wouldn't sit there and let him make a fool of you any longer.

You had become comfortable with the Pomefiore dorm in the past few months, but today, its elegance feels suffocating. The white and gold decor seems to mock you, every vase of perfect flowers laughing at your imperfection as you pass them by.

It hurts.

Stings, burns, makes you feel like you're drowning in a sea of perfume, choking on lilac and rose. Has the air here always been so sickeningly sweet?

There's still a lingering part of you that wants to run back to him, to beg, to negotiate, but you know he's right. You hate that he's right.

This... whatever it was... wouldn't last.

And you'd always known it.

---

How does one recover from being dumped by Vil Schoenheit?

Short answer: you can't.

You can wallow all you want, drowning yourself in the unhealthy foods he forbade you from eating, skipping the classes he'd so encouraged you to excel in, and using cheap tissues on your formerly-perfect skin, but that doesn't change a thing.

Perhaps if it hadn't been so public, you might have pulled yourself together sooner. But the very second all of your pictures were gone from his profile, everyone knew.

On some nights, you'd torture yourself by reading the thirsty comments from desperate fans under his latest posts, all of them pointing out his recent singleness. You would wonder to yourself if you had sounded that pathetic when you were dating Vil.

Just another hopeless, desperate fan, hoping for a piece of him.

People on campus avoided you. Not out of fear, but pity, a lack of knowing what to say. How do you even comfort someone after this?

It was like having an open wound on full display. No matter how you tried to bandage it, it kept bleeding through.

Even Grim was keeping his distance.

What little comfort came in the form of an anonymous knight in shining armor. Roses left at your doorstep, letters of love and encouragement on your assigned seats, little baskets full of your favorite foods and trinkets on your kitchen table...

You would have questioned it if you were not so consumed by your grief. At least the mystery offered a distraction.

"Another one," Ace comments, pulling a letter off your chair before you can sit on it. "Whoever this guy is, he's slick."

He hands you the letter, which you gracefully accept.

Deuce watches cautiously. "And you're sure it's not just... some kinda of prank, right? I've known my fair share of nasty types, this could be a trick."

"Too much effort," you shake your head. "I mean, whoever this is is spending a lot of time and money cheering me up. Not to mention... I've tried looking up some of these poems, and no matches. They're originals."

You wave around the letter in hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Though, I'm sure whoever's doing it is just being nice,"

"Nice. Right," Ace rolls his eyes. "Cause I know like, a million teenage boys who are just dying to write poetry for their friends."

Even Deuce snickers at that. You roll your eyes.

"Point taken. I guess I just can't believe that anyone would want me after..." you pause. There's no pleasant way to put it, so you let Ace and Deuce fill in the blanks.

"Hey, Vil is a jerk. He doesn't deserve you," Deuce says. "And trust me, if I ever catch him disrespecting you again-"

Ace scoffs. "Woah, there, tiger. Calm down. Vil could kick your ass and we all know it,"

"He really was something, wasn't he?" you sigh, slumping in your seat. Ace and Deuce give each other a panicked look.

"We didn't mean-"

"No, I get it," you say, reaching down to the floor in an attempt to touch your toes. Vil had told you that little exercises help calm the nerves. You hate how you still need his advice.

"Oh, hey, look," you sit back up, another pink envelope in hand. "Another one."

---

There's something about these gifts that doesn't sit right with you.

Each one is arranged to perfection, obviously crafted by a very thoughtful individual, just personal enough to suit your tastes but distant all the same.

It's almost as if the sender is holding something back.

But, not today.

You're greeted by a trail of rose petals leading up to Ramshackle's front door, which itself is ajar. Not uncommon, considering Grim's inability to take care of the makeshift dorm, but with the scent of roses and the candlelight inside, you know it's something more.

You walk in, setting your things aside, and continue following the path of petals into the kitchen, where a rickety wooden table has been set for two.

You, however, are the only one in the room.

"Hello?" you ask, turning in circles. The space is empty, save for a small letter on one of the chairs.

Beautiful,

A little bird told me you doubt the intentions of my admiration. I must amend that immediately, and I see no better way than to say it myself.

Yours truly.

"Trickster," a familiar voice comes from the doorway behind you, and you whirl around to face your admirer.

"Rook!" you gasp, clutching the letter to your chest.

He beams in response. "Oui, c'est moi. Though I was so enjoying the mystery, I feel it's time I made my intentions clear. Sit, please,"

You don't hesitate to follow his suggestion (the surprise left your knees feeling weak, anyway), and he joins you in the adjacent seat.

"But what-"

"Please," he says, holding a finger to your lips to shush you. "Let me start. I first want to say that I have meant every single word, in song and ink, that I have given to you. My heart is true."

Your mind is overflowing with questions, none of which he seems keen on answering in full just yet.

"I have spent the past several months allowing our Beautiful Vil to woo you. I have so enjoyed watching your love blossom from afar, despite my own feelings towards you. But things have changed," Rook says.

"For as much as I love him, this was his own doing. He has made a fatal mistake, one which cannot be undone- he has wounded you, mon amour, in a most vulnerable fashion. Months ago, when we both realized our feelings for you, I willingly stepped aside," he says. "I thought Vil would be the best option for you. I thought I was not ready to commit myself. Now I see what a mistake that was, and I hope you might find it within yourself to forgive me..."

You can only stare back. "Rook..."

"I cannot resent our Roi du Poison for his choice, for it's his to make. But he hurt you dearly, and in the process, he has relinquished his claim on you. I know your wound is still fresh. But, please, Mon Trickster, mon véritable amour, be mine?"

You're silent for a moment, processing every detail of what he said, what he's offering...

He's right. The wound Vil created is still open, and despite the weeks of "recovery", had yet to improve.

If you kept waiting for it to heal, perhaps it never would.

You nod. "Okay. Okay! But-! Let's take it slow, okay?"

Rook just barely manages to stop himself from leaping across the table to take your hands into his, and he reaffirms your request with a nod.

"Of course, mon cœur. What is a hunter if not patient?"

---

Pomefiore is beautiful again.

There are still times where you swear you can see Vil staring at the two of you, a look of discontent on his face, from across the room.

He doesn't utter a word about the way Rook has his arm over your shoulder, or the many terms of endearment he uses on you, though he doesn't have to. The lingering guilt and regret has made a home for itself in Vil Schoenheit.

You're sure Rook has noticed by now, too, although this isn't the first time he's pulled something like this on the housewarden without a second thought, and it likely won't be the last.

Perhaps it's for the better.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #queued #rook hunt x reader #can't stop thinking of the logistics of this bc if rook and vil both liked the mc at the same time they would NEVER fight over it #rook would totally let vil go ahead and then either become vilyuu number one fan OR polycule OR be there to steal mc when vil fucks up #and alas polycule is probably the least likely because vil would Not Want to Share

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lizpottersworld · 5 months ago

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. ۫ ꣑ৎ . JUST NOT HOME. even though you and remus aren’t together anymore, your heart aches for him and to feel his love and care again. even your friends are worried, and even they’re acting off. (remus lupin x reader)

ask/request anything here

play my tears ricochet for the effect if your feeling special and like crying

it was a shock. the breakup. you didn’t even think separating with remus could be so brutal, well truthly you hadn’t imagined it at all. he was it for you, and you thought he thought the same. honestly, he probably did. yet, the way it ended left your heart broken beyond repair. three years thrown away.

not even your guys closet friends saw it coming, they had always looked up to your guys relationship. the high school sweethearts who loved each other like their was nothing else to savour in the world but the being of each other.

even though you hadn’t heard from remus recently, by your friends worry and anxiety for your being you could tell he was probably doing way better than you. to put it nicely, you looked like hell. all the healthy habits you had built over time thrown away, because he helped you get to that point. and now he was gone, what was the point of carrying on?

he was your home. your belonging. your soulmate. the reason you had carried on all these years. where was the loving and tender boyfriend you had loved those years back? where was he when he called it off with no explanation, leaving you crying in your shared apartment?

there was so many questions you wanted to ask, but nothing could soothe the pain you were feeling.

“y/n/n, please just if you need help just call us, any of us.” marlene pleaded on the phone, doing her daily check in with you. it was unusual hearing marlene so panicked and worried, she was all sunshine and parties really.

“i promise, i’ll be fine.” you sighed, the roughness to your voice not supporting your answer. of course you weren’t, you had cried about it non stop.

“okay well, i have to—“ she started, being cut off by the abrupt sound of pure laughter in the background. your breathing naturally startled, it was his laughter. not just anyones. his.

“marlene, is that—“ your voice croaked involuntarily, you knew all your friends had been hanging out with remus recently you just weren’t aware it was a happy kind of hangout. you always assumed it meant they were individually checking up on him. how was he so happy? it had only been a week?

“yes, i’m sorry y/n/n, we’re all just hanging at james tonight, it was only to make him feel better i didn’t—“ she rushed to explain again, surely the others had picked up on the words and all paused and hushed.

“he seems perfectly fine, marlene! meanwhile I haven’t seen any of you, calls are fine but how does he get the normal invitations to hang out? am i just not apart of the group anymore?” you scoffed, tears streaming down your face in anger and the ache of your heart.

“of course you are, its just— he was our friend first and—“ she pleaded with you, only making it worse for herself. your heart pained at her words, a pathetic whine sounded through the phone from you.

“thats always how its going to be it seems. no matter what I’ve done and do for you guys, because your my best-friends. but you know its all good because you met him a year before me so it makes perfect sense.” you managed to say through the sobs you let out. “i think i’m done with being the second choice in this friendship. you shouldn’t have to choose. i’m done mourning my— the relationship i had with remus just as i’m done with all your bullshit. i hope they all can hear me.” you seethed through your teeth, incredibly hurt, and then you hung up.

that same day you booked a flight, away from london, away from the place you only felt sad in. a week later, you moved out your flat and used the money to go to the uni you always wished you could go to. ‘that was always too far for long distance’

and that year, you started your new life, made new friends and had become close with your roommates. hours away from london, now living in Edinburgh. occasionally, your old friends tried to reach out to you but you ignored them. all until you received a message from him.

lover💓 hey. been a while, no ones heard from you, just wondering if your okay and well. i miss you. we all do.

and just like that. your heart ached again, and you found yourself immediately sending a reply. no matter when, no matter where in the world. you would always have that weak spot for him.

#marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin sad imagine #remus lupin sad #marauders sad imagine #remus lupin angst #remjs lupin angst imagine

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dwindlinghaze · 1 year ago

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helloo can i request a fic for introvert!reader with extrovert!remus lupin whos head over heels for her <3

yes u can darlin <3 🫧🫧 i sort of wrote this into a whole new story but i hope you like this one ☁️🌸🩷🤍

everytime

(remus lupin x reader)

contents : fem reader, toxic friendships, kissing, fluff !! not proofread

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the door slammed open, revealing three young witches with their hands full of shopping bags. you knew they were going to hogsmeade together, but a part of you wished they had invited you.

they're your roomates and friends.

you couldn't go as far as calling them your true friends because they don't involve you much in their group activities.

they go on picnics together, shopping for pretty dresses in hogsmeade, having brunch dates, going to the movies.

a part of you wished you're there, being together with them and just fitting in. but the other part of you were thankful as for they're not inviting you because you would feel left out anyways.

it was better to be left out, and only you know it, rather than being left out with other people knowing.

maybe it wasn't their fault. elina is pretty, smart, bright and outgoing. adrienne is cheerful, energetic, and sociable. cassie is ambitious, intelligent, and talkative. you laughed bitterly to yourself, realising that they all have similar traits- all really easy to talk to and would always have an on going conversation.

you couldn't even hold a conversation for more than four minutes. it feels like your fault now.

you sit alone the morning after. you usually sit with your 'friends' for breakfast, but you were hurt from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. it was tiring, you needed break.

which caught the attention of a young gryffindor boy, sitting at the opposite end of the table.

remus lupin always thought you're the most beautiful person he ever saw. you two never talked, there's no reason to.

only his longing stares are the closest thing to interaction.

he thought you're beautiful. not the kind of beauty in magazines or billboards, but the kind of beauty that spreads through a field of mystical flowers. a kind that shines golden in daylight and a night fairy at late.

he saw the way you chew on your breakfast gloomily. he wondered why. you weren't spotted with your usual friends. you were just there. alone.

you would think of yourself as pathetic, but remus doesn't. he would never. he saw an angel-like soul that nobody's good enough to know. nobody's smart enough to notice.

he frowned when he saw you wiping away a tear before you got up, exiting the packed hall.

"frowning moony is not a safe moony," james said, quirking his eyebrows up.

"it's y/n, isn't it?" sirius questioned. the handsome man noticed how remus has been distracted from reality lately. he noticed how remus basically looks at you with heart eyes everytime.

"she looks sad today," remus noted, feeling an overwhelming sense of worry flooding him. it was funny to think about actually, you two never spoke a word to each other yet remus is worrying as if you're his.

"talk to her," james urged. "it's been- what was it? years of pining, you should make a move first because we all know she won't."

"i can't- y'know, my condition," remus huffed.

"she won't mind."

"how'd you know?"

"because- she is her...?" sirius said. "give it a try moony, if she doesn't love you with your condition then she doesn't deserve you, but if she does, it's worth it."

"right..."

that evening you sat down staring at an open window, catching your breath. you had been crying. you don't know why you're being so sensitive lately especially since your friends are always like this. why are you taking it so personal now?

you let the wind hit your face, drying your tears up with the cold breeze.

remus was on his nightly patrol around the castle. he's a prefect. that's how he heard a sniffle down the hall, his vision met with the most enchanting sight.

he walked slowly towards you, not wanting to scare. "hey... you alright?"

you turned around abruptly, wiping away the tears on your eyelashes. "i'm sorry for being out late."

"i'm not going to report you to professor mcgonagal, are you alright?" he asked once more.

"yeah, i'll be heading back to my dorm now," you collected yourself. the quiet footsteps didn't go unheard by you. remus was following you to the dorms.

"don't want filch to get you, i'll walk you there," he smiled a generous smile.

then silence fell between the two of you, only for remus to break it. "i know we're not friends but you can talk to me about it if you want, you can trust me," remus took hold of your upper arm, caressing it gently.

"thanks," was the only reply. you cringed at how short it sounded and he probably thinks you're rude and cold which is the opposite of who you are. your words aren't the best representation of yourself.

remus knew you were an introvert, hiding away from crowded rooms whenever you can. you never go to the parties his friends held. he knew you prefer reading to revelling.

he understands, he was once just like you. but with the help and support of his friends, he feels more comfortable in expressing himself now.

"will i see you tomorrow?" remus asked once you were inside the gryffindor common room.

"yeah, thank you- for not turning me in," you sent him an awkward smile.

the next day, you weren't in a better state either. you found out that cassie was talking horrible things about you with some slytherins. you weren't surprised. it was just your nature to constantly be disrespected by them.

remus saw you again that very day. your eyes were watery and your fingers were shaking.

he quickly ran up to you, his heart breaking into a million pieces. how dare someone did this to you?

"honey, you okay?" remus said, looking at you with the fondest eyes.

you almost cried again, hearing how someone actually asked you if you were okay. you shook your head in response.

"talk to me, we're friends," remus said softly. in reality, you two aren't technically friends. you only met face to face twice.

"we're friends?" you asked, feeling unsure.

"we are. from now on. now tell me who did this to you?"

"oh remus i can't," you shook your head.

"okay... but you can talk to me about anything okay? it doesn't have to be important. that's what friends are for," he smiled.

and oh when you smiled back, was like heaven to him. you looked like an ethereal angel with that divine smile and that archangelic face. he might as well fall in love right then and there.

the sparkles in your eyes that hold such loneliness and hope is what he calls beauty. the way you smiles even when you're sad just to assure him that you will be okay is heart warming. to him you weren't just beautiful for something as temporary as your face. you're beauty hides beneath that broken heart of yours, that delicate soul you have.

you opened up after a while, you feel you can trust remus. he is a calm and caring person. the way he asks 'how are you' every morning since. he wrapped his arm around your shoulder because he doesn't want to lose you in the sea of students. he cuts your breakfast so you can eat them easier. he reads to you softly when you cried again because of your friends.

he didn't know how much this has helped you to be okay again. how much you adored him for everything he does, even the questionable ones. you didn't care.

"rem, want to talk to you," you spoke, breaking his gaze from his book.

"i'm all ears, darling," he replied.

"you wanna know why i keep on crying?," you sniffed, ready to open up for the first time. "it's because- cause cassie, elina, and adrienne. they keep saying bad things about me- that you probably heard already. i used to always think we're friends, maybe not the kind like- you and me. but just friends... i guess. they keep leaving me out. it's like they don't even want me there." you were wiping tears away now, feeling unsure of yourself.

you never spoke of your feelings like this. never to anyone. how can remus made it so easy for you to be transparent to him?

"oh angel, they don't deserve you. they're too full of themselves to see how worthy you are. i think- i think you're the perfect just how you are. forget about them yeah? we will start a new beginning. you can come and sit with me from now on. no need to care about them. i will never make you sad, promise."

he pulled you to his chest, embracing you in a warm hug.

he made a promise to himself that every week, he will give you gifts and such to remind you how important you are. how much he loves and cares about you.

he couldn't let you waste your tears for your past friendship. remus treats you like a princess. he wants to make you smile. seeing you happy is what matters most because a dream girl should live in a dreamworld. and he made it a mission to make a perfect world for you.

he remembered you saying how those girls never invited you to picnics so here he is, inviting you to join the picnic he has set just for you and him.

"oh rem, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done!" you sighed, sitting yourself down on the carpet.

"it's nothing! you deserve it," he smiled proudly, pouring you and himself a cup of chamomile tea. your favourite.

there's something sparkling in your wrist. the shine of it glimmering under the perfect weather. you were wearing a bracelet remus gave to you a few days ago. a pretty silver chain with a moon and angel wings intertwined together.

when he first saw the jewelery on the display, it immediately reminded him of you so he just had to buy two of them. a matching bracelet.

god, nobody has ever even given you a friendship bracelet before.

he saw you, picking up the fresh strawberries with your delicate hands. 'what a dreamy girl' he thought 'and to have an angel like her to call my own'

he wanted to kiss you right there. everything was perfect at the moment. the soft honey rays of the sunshine warms the air surrounding the two of you, there's no reason for remus to scoot over closer to your figure. but he did anyways.

"i like a girl, no i actually love her," he started.

your heart sank, you thought maybe-just maybe remus is the one. he pulled you right out of misery in the best way.

remus saw your crestfallen expression, though he continued, "she makes my heart jump. she's the girl i've been in love with for a long time, i wanna go wherever she goes."

you forced a smile at him, munching on your strawberry that suddenly turned sour.

"she gets sad often, but that doesn't stop her from taking care of the people around her, and herself. she's smart and wise. she inspires me actually. everytime we say goodnight, i go to bed and sleep happily. dreaming of happy thoughts because when she's around, there's no negativity."

"i love her- y/n," he said, hinting at the way he emphasised your name.

"can i know who she is?" you asked shyly.

"can you guess?"

"i don't know..."

"well, i see her everytime," remus said, a smile playing on his lips.

"you see a lot of people everyday," you replied.

"i said everytime not everyday," he chuckled.

"that's not possible!"

"it is actually. i could never get tired of her. anyone is crazy if they do," he shook his head. "okay.. she smells like the most cosiest bakery in town."

"i don't think i know anyone that smells like a bakery."

"of course you don't, darling," remus said, cupping your cheeks. "'cause it's you. i'm in love with you,"

"wha- me?" you knitted your brows. he caressed them away.

"yes you, it's obvious actually. i thought you knew," remus chucked. "i don't have matching bracelets with anyone else, i never go on picnics, i never crochet someone a sweater before, i could go on but i want to hear what you have to say."

"i love you too, it's inevitable," you said, rubbing your cheeks further on his palms.

"can i kiss you?" he asked. he always considered himself a gentleman and he will be the most gentlemanly when it comes to you.

you responded with a soft nod, then he pressed his lips against yours. slowly but surely, he felt you melting in the kiss and god does that feel way more magical than the daydreams he had about this. his tongue manoeuvred its way inside your mouth, meeting yours in a soft touch that sent shivers down your spine. he loves the way you taste, licking the remnants of strawberry juice in your mouth.

he placed his hand on the back of your head while the other wrapped itself around waist, making you impossibly closer to him.

you didn't know how long that lasted but when you pulled away, the both of your cheeks were bright red and the smiles couldn't be wiped away.

#remus lupin x reader #character x you #x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin x reader fluff

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interloved · 10 months ago

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toxic!anakin skywalker hcs

description box; small collection of nsfw drabbles for anakin x reader; i love my insane pookie

warnings; nsfw warnings; basically anakin is absolutely crazy, deranged and utterly obsessed with you. insane psychos are so hot bUT THIS BEHAVIOUR IS NOT TO BE ROMANTICISED!! and also minors dni

has an unhealthy habit of always checking your phone. he has a physical need to know who you’re talking to and why—that coworker named joseph you’re talking to? yeah, he CLAIMS to want to discuss your work schedule, but anakin’s so sure he wants to take advantage of you. and because anakin’s so smart and knows everything better than you do, you should just trust him and let him delete his number. and the number of every guy you have saved on your phone. but since anakin’s so smart, he’s surely right!!

he NEEDS everyone to know you’re taken and that you’re his. he’ll always have an arm slung around your shoulder casually, his hand resting at your hip, his fingers intertwined with yours or you wearing clothes that are obviously his (he really likes you in his clothes!!). but sometimes, that’s not enough, and he knows it’s pathetic but he literally can’t stand seeing you with any other guy except him. so sometimes, necessities like pretty bruises on your neck or marks on your chest are needed. he’s just letting everyone know you’re his, you wouldn’t object to that… right??

he can and he WILL stalk you. what, you’re going out without him? to go clubbing?? with your friends??? at NIGHT????

he can’t just possibly let you do that, he literally can’t stand the thought of even a mere possibility of you getting hurt somehow, it genuinely hurts his heart because how will he survive without you? you’re his world, and he’ll do anything to keep you. he just cares about you so much :(

anakin definitely has problems with sharing you with your friends, especially your male friends, and you’re so grateful he’s letting you talk to your female friends you’re not even considering talking to your guy friends again. oh, he looks out for you so much, awww

he’s a master manipulator and a professional gaslighter. all of your friends hate him, and are telling you to break him with him because he’s “toxic and obsessive”. baby, he’s not!! he’s just jealous sometimes and just very protective :( it makes him so sad every time you bring this up because why’re you trusting your friends over him? he’s the one you should trust the most, isn’t he? does that mean you don’t love him anymore?

needs your attention 24/7, all the time. he absolutely hates being separated from you, and even in his sleep, it’s like he won’t let go of you. he’ll always have an arm draped over your body, or his hands hooked on your waist. anakin is a naturally light sleeper, so he’ll wake up every time you get up—be it to use the bathroom or when you’re leaving for work. if everything went his way, he’d never let you leave him.

definitely thinks about locking you up in his big mansion. you’re so pretty he can’t stand the lingering gaze of other guys checking you out. he wishes he could be the only one to see your beauty.

likes to be in control and to be in charge of every situation regarding you. he knows he’s very intense in everything he does. that’s why he’s so grateful you put up with all his needs, but anakin is a very sceptical and careful person, he needs to know where you are and who you’re with—it’s no surprise he persuaded you to have your location on at all times. for your safety, he claims, and for his easement.

absolutely gets off on the height difference between you. you’re smaller than him, and he loved how cutely tiny you look next to him—and how you look when he uses you as his fleshlight!!

loves having you all submissive and obedient. his favourite positions are every one in which he can look at you, he loves seeing small tears forming in your eyes, loves you looking up at him in adoration, all trapped and utterly defenceless in his toned arms, mewling and gasping, moaning his name. especially loves when you’re sucking his cock, all pretty and desperate beneath him. just the way he likes you best.

why are you working? he makes enough money to provide for you AND a child; he has a house and a car. what do you need more? he knows you like your job, but he’d rather have you at home at all times. where you’re safe.

spoils you so much. he’ll buy you pretty clothes, sparkly jewellery, expensive shoes and anything else you want, he’d buy you an entire country if you asked him to. it’s not about flaunting his money or wealth or anything, he just gets off seeing you wearing stuff and knowing that he paid for it, so essentially, you’re walking around with his clothes.

for your birthday, he gifted you the cutest and most beautiful necklace!! if only you knew about the tracker inside it. he knows he has your location and you’re such a good girl for him he’s sure you’d never turn it off, but… just in case. (he’s lowkey paranoid)

if he could, he would carve his initials on you. (possessive much?)

but since you’d be hurt and he doesn’t like seeing you cry, he’s tried convincing you of getting a tattoo on your collarbone with his initials, and he’ll get one with your initials on his hip bone. you’re scared to death of needles though :( he’ll have to work on that for a while, but he knows he can get you to do anything for him with the right method and the right time.

has thought excessively and extensively about knocking you up. he knows you wouldn’t ever leave him if you were pregnant with his baby, god bless your sweet, kind and loving soul, and he loves to have that reassurance. so when condoms start to accidentally break, he accidentally forgets to wear one in the heat of the moment and he just can’t stop thrusting his load into you, you should’ve known those were not accidents.

but it’s too late now, anyway, you’re trapped, so you might as well just enjoy being trapped by him forever :)

“keep those legs open for me, doll. you can do that f’me, can’t you?” he mutters against your lips hoarsely, and you’re crying of the overstimulation.

“can’t,” you sniffle and your legs tremble adorably, “ani, ‘s too much… ‘s too much, i can’t…”

his gaze hardens, “you can and you will.”

#toxic anakin #anakin skywalker #obsessive anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin smut #star wars smut #star wars anakin #star wars #sub anakin #anakin imagine

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skywvlkersgrl · 1 month ago

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Eye of the storm

⟿ Scott needs comforting during a thunderstorm

Pairings: Scott barringer x reader

Warnings : mentions of past sexual abuse

“Seeing as Scott’s gone off in a sulk, it’s your turn to get the firewood.” Kat tells you, immediately triggering a scowl to your face. It was raining heavily and every few minutes, a flash of lightning would light up the cabin.

And where had Scott gone off to now? That boy was such a nuisance, always off doing whatever he felt like, without a single care to how it would affect others, and now look, you were the poor bastard who has to go out into the storm to fetch the firewood.

With a resigned sigh, you get up from your place on the couch, already missing the comfort of it. “I’ll go see if Scott’s around.” You Mutter on your way out. When you find him, it’s on sight.

You trudge out into the bitter wind and torrent of rain. Barely five seconds out there and you’re already drenched. You make your way over to the little shed where the firewood was kept, taking care not to slip and fall. Once you reach your destination, the sight that greets you is a surprising one.

Curled up and soaking wet, was none other than Scott Barringer. His head was covered by his hands and all you could see was a glimpse of that soft curly hair and hear the quiet sniffles coming from him.

“Scott?” You call out tentatively, not wanting to scare the boy.

He jumps all the same and removes his hands from his face, scowling at you fiercely. If looks could kill…

“Scott, are you alright?” You murmur, taking in his features. Despite the glare on his face, his eyes were red and watering, and you could clearly see the tear tracks running down his cheeks. All thoughts of annoyance were now gone from your mind as you felt the uncontrollable urge to comfort him.

“Will you get lost?” He mutters, his voice hoarse from crying.

If it was anyone else, you would’ve left in an annoyed huff but strangely, you’d always felt fond of scott despite his… less than likeable personality. Sometimes you’d glance at him when he thought no one was looking at him and his expression would just look so sad, so lost and despairing, it made your heart flutter with the need to fix it. To fix him.

“I mean it, go away.” He tries to sound mean, but his voice cracks pathetically and he buries his face in his hands once more. Within seconds, you close the distance between you two and crouch down in front of him.

You gently place a hand on him arm, and for a second his whole body tenses, frozen like a scared creature, then he relaxes and moves closer to you.

“Scott, what’s the matter?” You ask softly, being more gentle than you’d ever been in your life before. “Is it the storm? Are you scared?”

He shakes his head, peeking at you from behind his fingers. It’s silent for a few seconds, nothing but the sound of the rain in your ears.

Then the low rumble of thunder fills the air, followed by a flash of lightning.

Scott instinctively curls up in your lap and buries his head in your chest, his hands reaching up to cling to your waist tightly, as if he didn’t want to ever let go.

“S’just bad memories.” He mumbles, his breathing laboured and his voice wavering once again.

Then, in an almost frantic voice “she won’t leave my head.”

“I said no, I did. It wasn’t my fault, I said no.”

You feel a sense of dread at his words, your stomach dropping as you realise the implications of what he’s saying.

You’re silent for a few seconds as you think of how to ease his pain.“I know scott.” You murmur softly, running your fingers through those soft blonde curls soothingly, trying to calm him down.

He glances up at you with wide eyes, tear drops sliding down his cheeks and dropping down onto your already soaked jacket. The sight simultaneously makes your heart break and makes you furious with anger. How could anyone ever do anything to hurt this poor boy?

“It’s not your fault Scott.” You tell him gently though there’s a firmness in your voice as you say the next line. “You didn’t ask for that.”

His eyes widen further as he takes in your speech. His arms tighten around you as if your his anchor.

As hold him, his breathing slowly returns to normal as he lays in your arms, basking in the warmth and comfort you provide. And though he knows he still needs to heal from the deep wounds that the trauma had caused him, for a brief minute he feels safe and calm in the eye of the storm with you.

#hayden christensen #scott barringer #scott barringer x reader #scott barringer imagines #higher ground #anakin skywalker #sam monroe #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagines #james kelly #lorenzo di lamberti #hurt/comfort

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hotchnerwrites · 26 days ago

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can you do toji? Like where he comes back home to see you but your gone and he would start to panic because he doesn't know where you are and wondering if you left him and the reader left to go shopping for groceries and we wrote a note for him and telling him we was leaving to shop but he forgot and thought we left him Completely until we returned to the house with groceries and Toji on the floor crying? 😼 I hope this makes sense this is my first time requesting this 😊

Running Errands, Not Away

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SFW fic, sad pathetic Toji, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, domestic fluff, panic attack, a couple of swear words

A/N: Thank you so much for your request @sleepypulm ! You were the first to ask so I'm extra grateful to you <3. I got a little carried away and I didn't expect to write so much haha. I tried to do both Toji and reader POV. I hope my illustration of his panic was atleast a little realistic, going off my own experiences. I really hope you like it!

(image found on Pinterest)

Toji Fushiguro fears nothing. Why should he? He is the infamous Sorcerer Killer, after all. Sure, he doesn’t have any cursed energy. But that never stopped him, in fact even the Time Vessel Association begged for his help. He has hunted many and beaten more. Nothing ever gets in his way. But then he meets you. It’s as if the deeds of his past melt away in your wake, and his sins lay forgiven. The heaviness he carried within him seems insignificant now. You somehow brought back warmth and colour in his life. Sometimes Toji lies awake at night wondering what he did to deserve you. He never figured out why you loved him. He could barely express himself emotionally. He was a broken man from the inside and he had done everything wrong to fix that- gambling, killing, shady deals. Yet you never begrudged him of his shortcomings. All you did was love him. Quietly and loudly, through actions and words, in public and in private. You introduced him to all your friends, dragged him along to Sunday brunches and even made those stupid little sandwiches for picnics in the park. He’d never tell you that he actually loved those sandwiches, despite his protests, each and every flavour.

Which is why this hurt. Worse than when he had almost been gutted trying to take out some Grade 2 sorcerer. Worse than having shards of glass shoved down his throat. Worse than anything Toji had felt before in his miserable life. He had come home after a long day and was looking forward to sleep, you, a cold compress, and food. Not necessarily in that order. The keys jangled in his large hands as he pushed the door open. He called your name - once, twice, thrice.

That’s odd. No answer.

You always fling yourself at him like you hadn’t seen him in days every evening when he got home. You’d talk his ear off about your day and steer him to the couch while you asked about his. He had gotten used to this routine and after an initial few days of sulking, he had even leaned into it. But there was only pin-drop silence today. Worry blooms in his chest. Toji tried to tamp it down as he slid his bag off his shoulders. Maybe you were just taking a nap and hadn’t heard him. Or you were in the shower. Yes- that had to be it. Why else wouldn’t you answer him? Unless…

Toji stalks towards the closest door - the study - and flings it open. Nothing but darkness. Obviously unused, he shuts the door and takes off towards the bathroom. He didn’t even bother with the kitchen, the lights were off and only the fridge hummed gently. Nothing in the bathroom either. Toji’s heart was pounding now. That only left the bedroom, and he wasn’t liking his odds. He could see no light coming from underneath the door, but maybe that didn’t mean anything because, of course, you’d turn the lights off when sleeping… right? No such luck. Panic gripped him fully. Toji slowly makes his way over to the bed. The mattress bows under his weight. He can’t stop himself spiralling now.

You’re just late, that’s all. Probably traffic, work’s been crazy. You’re not the kind to just… leave. You wouldn’t do that, not to Toji. The fight you had last week over taking a trip abroad seems so inane now. Surely that wasn’t the reason. People argue, it’s normal. Maybe you’re at your mom’s. You’ll text him, or call him, or something. You probably just needed some space. Yep, that’s it. That has to be it.

The silence in the house suddenly becomes suffocating. It pushes its way into his lungs and threatens to take over his senses. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Toji tries to breathe. It’s the first thing they taught him, even before he lifted a weapon.

Breathe, control your body, control your mind. Panic helps no one, it only disrupts concentration.

Well, fuck that, Toji thinks. None of his training mattered now. Not when- not when you were just gone. Toji checks his phone one last time. His wallpaper- the picture he took of you laughing after he fell on his ass in the snow- seems to mock him now. Nothing in his messages and nothing in his calls.

You’re gone and it’s my fault, Toji thinks.

His breathing speeds up. He feels the weight of it all now like it’s crushing his chest. He slips off the edge of the bed, his wide shoulders shaking. His face feels wet and warm- Toji can’t even remember the last time he cried, not like this. His body heaves and his mind betrays him further- What did I do? What did I say? What did I not say? And then it comes down on him, all at once. The sobs he’s been choking down, his denial turning into sharp-edged grief. It feels like he’s stepped into some kind of quicksand and he’s drowning in the absence you’ve left behind. He doesn’t even try to stop it anymore. For once in his life, Toji lets himself feel.

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

You hum in tune to the music blasting in your ears. Balancing a checklist in one hand and a shopping basket in another, you take a final sweep of the grocery store and confirm that you’ve gotten everything. It’s your second anniversary with Toji. Last year, you both decided to go to the fair like a couple of lovestruck teenagers and shared a slice of cake (black forest with cherries on top, Toji’s favourite) to commemorate the event. This year, you decided to surprise Toji with a home-cooked two-course dinner. The menu consisted of lobsters on pasta and black forest cake. After paying for the groceries and bidding the cashier a good night, you drive home in the quiet evening. The orange of the streetlamps cast a magical glow on the streets and you marvel at the calm in the neighbourhood. A peaceful night in, you conclude.

You grab the paper bags and head to your shared apartment. The keys jiggle in the lock and the door creaks open softly. You slip inside and kick your shoes off. The clock on the mantle tells you that you had accidentally stayed out later than planned so you hurry to the kitchen and begin setting things up. As you haul the fridge door open, you hear it. You freeze in place. Was that… a sniffle? Confusion floods your mind. As you cast a glance towards the door, you note Toji’s bag next to the shoe rack. He’s home already? But that means… was that Toji crying? You’re utterly baffled now. Following the source of the noise, you head to the bedroom.

“Toji?” Your voice is soft but it seems to echo in the stillness. You take another step forward and scan the room. And then you see him- on the floor at the edge of the bed, hunched over, his muscular frame shaking. Your heart twists. You flick the lamp switch on and take cautious steps in his direction.

“Toji,” you call again, firmer but still gentle. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look up. He’s clearly in distress, although you don’t know why. His breathing is uneven and he doesn’t move. A sharp spike of fear courses through you, but you ignore it as you kneel beside him, placing a careful palm on the flat expanse of his back.

“Hey,” you whisper, struggling to keep your voice steady. “What’s wrong, honey? What happened?”

Toji flinches at your touch and finally looks up. His eyes were lined with red and full of something you couldn’t place- Guilt? Despair? He stares at you for a long moment, as if he’s never seen you before. Your worry increases. You’ve never seen Toji cry. Ever. You can feel your heart breaking. Something must be seriously wrong and you open your mouth to ask him again but he interrupts.

“You—” he croaked, his voice raw from what you assume was hours of crying, “You came back.”

You’re even more confused now but you’re slowly piecing it together. “Toji,” you say firmly, wiping the tear tracks away from his face, “I didn’t leave, you silly man. I went out for groceries. Have you forgotten what day it is today?”

He shakes his head and his breath catches again- it’s like he doesn’t believe you, or won’t. You don’t know what’s worse.

“I thought,” his voice cracks, “I thought you were gone. That my past, the things I did… I thought you had had enough. That I—,” You don’t let him finish as you pull him towards you, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. You feel Toji sag against you. His large hands come up slowly, and he clings to you as if you’d vanish if he let go.

You stroke his hair gently and murmur into it, “I’m here, Toji. I’m not going anywhere. I love you. I see you for who you are, and you can’t scare me off, I promise.”

“You didn’t call, you didn’t text… I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend, I know you deserve better than someone like me and I just thought that you’d.. found someone or something better, and that you’d just left me and I wouldn’t blame you but—”

“Toji, stop,” you command. Your heart aches. You had no idea he still had these insecurities and you feel guilt creep in that you haven’t been able to assure him otherwise. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true, all right? I’m not leaving you. I’d never do that. I love you and we’re in this forever, okay?”

He doesn’t respond so you you just hold him tighter, hoping that your embrace conveys the reassurance your words can’t.

“Toji, I left you a note. You didn’t check the kitchen, did you? I thought that’s where you’d go for a snack after a long day, which is why I left you the note on the counter saying I’d be out for groceries. Oh, you big fool, Toji,” you’re scolding him now, “All you had to do was take two steps into the kitchen. I had to run out for groceries, it’s our anniversary tonight!”

Toji’s stiffens in realisation and he pulls back slightly. Embarrassment flits across his handsome features and he wipes a large paw across his face as if to scrub away traces of the panic that had gripped him earlier.

“Anniversary, huh?” He grumbles now, almost sheepish. “You.. uh.. just getting groceries? I thought—”

You laugh, feeling relief wash away your fears. Of all the times he’d called you melodramatic, it turns out he was the drama queen. You’re grinning now, “I wasn’t leaving you. I’ve been planning our anniversary dinner for weeks! I guess I’ve got to make it up to you now.”

Toji’s face turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before and you lean in to plant a kiss on his downturned mouth. He sighs, but he’s not angry; just embarrassed at himself for not taking a second to consider other logical conclusions. A small giggle escapes you as you watch him pull himself back together.

“I… I’m sorry.” He says it quietly, his eyes cast downward. “I just… I didn’t know, and I freaked out, and I thought maybe... I don’t know... you were done with me.”

You soften at his words, brushing his hair back from his forehead gently before cupping his face in your hands, making him meet your eyes. You run your thumb over the faint white scar across his lips.

“Toji,” you say, your voice tender. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, all right? I don’t care how much you think you mess up or how much you doubt yourself. I love you, and that’s not changing.”

His expression starts to shift as he takes in your words, the tension in his body easing slightly, but his eyes are still filled with uncertainty. “You really mean that?”

“I really mean it,” you reply, your smile softer now. “And as for tonight—let’s just forget about the grocery disaster and make it special anyway, yeah? We’ll laugh about this in a few years. How a big lump like you panicked and cried instead of taking the time to read a piece of paper.”

He chuckles, his hand coming up to gently grip yours as if holding on to that reassurance a little tighter, a smile slowly breaking through the wall of his insecurity.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I guess we will.”

thank you for reading! i appreciate any feedback. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. my requests are open. do not plagiarise my work and/or repost it anywhere without crediting me.

#jjk #jjk x reader #toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x you #angst #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #y/n #reader fic #self insert #gn!reader #fem!reader #hotchnerwritesjjk

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notlongtolove · 5 days ago

Text

into the rose garden; for evermore

months of hope, weeks of ache. you’ve stayed. you’ve waited. you’ve stayed in the waiting. more pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. but now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple. this work is part of the burnt norton series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst... with an ending

content: situationship core, fighting, tears, sad...

word count: 5.5k

note: thank you for all the love on the burnt norton series! i hope you enjoy this last and final part (make sure to read allll the way to the end for something special inspired by this!)

a line: You knew you were tied to a fate of loving hard first, crying harder later.

Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden. My words echo Thus, in your mind. - t.s. eliot

It was quiet, but Spencer heard it all the same.

“I love you.”

The confession was as delicate as it was sacred. A soft, almost fragile, wisp of a sound that left your lips.

His breath stilled before coming out in a shaky exhale as your hand curled around his. He swallowed and wished he could unhear it. Unknow it. But Spencer Reid has always been cursed with knowing things he wished he didn’t.

He’d tried not to notice at first. The way your gaze still lingered on him, how your voice still softened with every call of his name.

Of course, he’d known. And then he’d tried to forget.

When you’d suggested being friends instead—your voice trembling but determined—Spencer had known then that he should’ve walked away. He’d read enough, lived enough, to know how this would end. They said if you could still be friends with someone after loving them, it meant only one of two things: either you had never truly loved them, or you still did.

Spencer knew it wasn’t the former. He was many things—awkward, fractured, clumsy with feelings—but he wasn’t a liar.

And he loved you like it hurt him.

He had tried to kick the habit of you. Tried to drag out the time between phone calls and texts, tried to wean himself off the need to see your smile, hear your laugh, feel your lips on his. He’d told himself that he was being kind, that this distance he built between you was mercy. He knew it was cruel to keep stringing you along, holding on to you even as he kept you at arm’s length—but he wasn’t selfish enough to pretend he deserved you.

And so, while you stayed, wanting, waiting, Spencer ran.

Not because he didn’t love you. But because he didn’t know how to stay without breaking you in the process.

Thursday had come and gone. No text, no call. You weren’t phased, not at first, telling yourself the case ran long. It was a willing suspension of disbelief—that he was buried in reports and unsteady sleep, lost in the same work that had stolen him all the times before.

But then Friday arrived. Time dragged, slow and heavy, as each second passed. The news alerts, spam calls, and junk messages that lit up your screen mocked you relentlessly. The silence of Saturday and Sunday wasn’t any better, each minute unbearably long. Before you knew it, it had been a week since you’d last heard from him, since you’d seen even the faintest ghost of Spencer Reid.

Your friends didn’t ask questions. They didn’t bother prying, all too happy to fill in the blanks themselves. “Good riddance,” one of them had said over drinks one night. You laughed with them, too loud, a sound that didn’t quite belong to you. “About time you let that one go.” And you let them believe that was the truth.

You didn’t fill them in on the part where you’d been the one left hanging, the one Spencer had walked away from without a word. You let them believe you were the strong one, the sensible one, that you’d cut the cord and been better for it. You swallowed that truth alone bitterly because you couldn’t bear their pity. If Spencer wanted to close the door on you, you weren’t about to break your nails bloody clawing it back open. You’d already stood there, holding it wide for him, time and time again.

But in the quiet of the night, your bed empty and cold, anger and sadness slipped in through the cracks. They sat at the edge of your bed like unwanted guests, familiar and persistent, whispering the same questions you had no answers to. “What had changed?” Sadness wept, her shoulders shaking between sobs. “What had you done wrong?” Anger screamed, louder, harsher, her tongue lashing.

Each thought was a page torn from you, words unsaid thrown into the fire. Vulnerable and wasted—they could only have ever been meant for him. You hated yourself for it. And, for a fleeting second, you hated him too. He was gone. You were still here—waiting, always waiting. But you’d known all along that the flash of his badge, the weight of the gun on his hip, could never have compared to the significance of you.

In a way, you would’ve been right. Spencer’s work—his pride, his passion, his relentless devotion—It was all-consuming, yes, and it could never compare to you.

Nothing could compare to you.

You were it for him.

He knew it from the way sleep came so easily in your presence, his body finally surrendering to the peace and security he felt only in your arms. You were a quiet reprieve he could find nowhere else. He knew it from the way his heart had splintered when he’d heard you crying, the sounds of your sniffles fracturing something inside him. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the light. It would’ve been too unbearable, too painful, to face the sight of tears on your face.

To Spencer, you were the light at the end of a tunnel he’d stopped trying to run through years ago. He loved you for it—God, did he love you for it. But it was a light he didn’t think he deserved to reach.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Spencer wasn’t made for softness. He knew that. Whatever pieces of him had once been smooth and whole were long gone. He wasn’t the kind of man who could give you love letters or lazy Sundays with whispered promises. He was sleepless nights and cold coffee reheated three times over. He was restless hands and a mind constantly bracing for the next worst thing to happen. His time at the BAU had turned him into something broken and jagged. The last thing he wanted was to ruin you, too.

Because you, his sweet girl—soft, bright, and unshakably steady—you were everything he wasn’t. You didn’t need that. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved someone better, someone less damaged, someone who didn’t need you just to keep from sinking.

Maybe you’d found that in him. He was a friend of a co-worker of a friend of a cousin of a—wherever he came from, you hadn’t bothered to remember. He wasn’t Spencer.

This is your third date. Date. The word itself felt like a foreign concept. It carried a weight of certainty you’d never had before. With Spencer, there were no real beginnings, no clear endings—just nights out cut short, nights in cloaked in secrecy. A thing you never dared—or perhaps in Spencer’s case, cared—to truly define.

“I’d love to see you again,” he’d said, his voice solidly steady. “How’s Friday?”

“Friday’s fine,” you replied.

And when Friday came, so did he. On time, standing at your door with a smile that was easy to read, so uncomplicated, so un-Spencerlike. You’d gotten dinner, had a walk in the park, stopped by the little ice cream parlour you’d always wanted to take Spencer to. It was all exactly what you’d said it would be. Perfectly and predictably fine.

He dropped a piece of his waffle cracker onto the table, then casually blew it off and popped it into his mouth.

“Five-second rule, right?” he grinned.

“You know, actually, germs can transfer in less than—”

You hated the fact that Spencer was still playing on your mind. You hated the fact that you knew you weren’t on his more. You caught yourself, then shrugged, laughing it off.

“Forget it, I do it too.”

You tried to forget it. To forget him. It’d been almost 3 weeks since you’d last seen Spencer at this point. Anger and sadness hadn’t left entirely. They lingered, silent but present. You could feel them, but they were easier to ignore now—especially with a new warmth beside you at night, an easy distraction from the quiet ache.

But then, nostalgia came. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. No, she was more insidious than that.

She sat, cool and poised, on your kitchen counter, watching you with a sickeningly gentle gaze. “Remember how he used to help with the dishes after dinner? He’d wash them twice-over just because he knew you liked them that way. This one doesn't do that, does he? Doesn’t even know.” Her words stung, and they didn’t stop there. "Why didn’t you tell him? Why haven’t you told him?"

You don’t know why.

Sometimes, nostalgia grew meaner. She waltzed through the house, taking root in all the places you thought you’d exorcised him from. She rested on your dresser, her voice soft but biting. “You’re really going to wear that out with him? He bought it for you, remember? It still smells like him." Her tone sharpened. "Don’t be cruel.”

You weren’t trying to be.

Still, as you turned to leave the room, you caught the faintest flicker of a thought—Nostalgia’s quiet, treacherous whisper as she lingered in the doorway. “He’s not him.”

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

It definitely wasn’t fair for Spencer either when he saw you that day, walking down your street with your hands tucked into your pockets and another’s arm casually draped around your waist. It felt cruel, really. He hadn’t meant to be there. He’d only come to drop off your key. But fate, it seemed, had other plans—a twist and shove of the knife already buried hilt-deep in his chest.

The guy next to you looked stupid, so fucking stupid. There was no other way to put it. Spencer hated everything about him—his stupid fucking face, his stupid fucking hair, and his stupid fucking suit that probably smelled like the overpriced cologne Morgan used to wear.

Spencer decided to call him Stupid Fucking Bob. It felt appropriate. Cathartic, even.

Stupid Fucking Bob was tall. Taller than most. Not taller than Spencer, though, which gave him the tiniest, pettiest flicker of satisfaction. But it didn’t last. Not when you threw your head back and laughed at something Stupid Fucking Bob had said, your eyes crinkling in that way Spencer knew all too well.

Stupid Fucking Bob had the audacity to be dressed like he had his life together. A crisp, ironed button-up shirt, perfectly tailored that was worlds away from Spencer’s own casual, comfortable style. His whole look screamed refined—the kind of guy who probably ironed his perfectly matching pair of socks and knew the difference between champagne and prosecco. He’s nothing like Spencer.

Maybe Stupid Fucking Bob, with his stupid suit and stupid gelled hair was exactly what you needed now. Maybe he was a lawyer. Or a doctor. Something respectable and put-together. Someone who wouldn’t cancel dinners at the last minute or drag you to niche bookstores for fun.

Your hair was braided. That hit him first. He’s never seen you wear it like that before, and it felt like a punch to the gut. And your makeup? You looked beautiful. Well, you were always beautiful, but today you looked different in a way that made his heart ache. The heels on your feet—When had you started wearing heels? Or maybe you always did. He wouldn’t know, he’d never been with you anywhere formal enough to warrant anything beyond casual slides or sneakers. It all hit him harder than he expected.

Spencer turned away, swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat. He needed to leave. The ache burned, spreading through his chest like wildfire, scorching every inch of him. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now.

But fate seemed to smirk and snapped her fingers.

“Spencer?”

Fuck.

He took a deep breath, forcing it past the lump in his throat, and tried to steady his breathing. His hands carried a slight tremor, and he shoved them into his pockets, curling them into fists. He managed to muster a smile—strained, but passable.

“Hey!” he said, wincing as his voice came out a little too loud, a little too eager.

“Wow,” you replied, your tone warm but surprised, “I haven’t seen you in—”

“Yeah,” Spencer interrupted quickly, his words tumbling over yours. “We, um, we had a big case.” He let out a short laugh, the kind he’d learned to recognise when suspects were trying to fill the silence with empty words.

You shifted your weight, hesitating for just a second before gesturing to the man standing beside you. “Oh, um, sorry—this is my, uh, friend, he’s…” Stupid Fucking Bob leaned forward, offering a polite, firm handshake.

But before he could reach Spencer, you stepped in, leaning over to stop him. “Oh, Spencer doesn’t…” you said softly. The way your hand gently rested on his arm wasn’t lost on Spencer. Whatever stupid fucking name he gave, Spencer couldn’t hear it over the static in his head.

Spencer couldn’t decide which was worse—the way you stepped in so instinctively, a painful reminder of how well you still knew him, or the way you were touching Stupid Fucking Bob, like you were starting to know him too. You’d called him a friend. He can’t be anything more than that, right? But the hesitation before you said the word told Spencer otherwise.

“Nice to meet you,” Spencer muttered through gritted teeth, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. It was the polite thing to do, even though his palms were clammy, and Spencer couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes for more than a second.

You were looking at him, your expression unreadable. Spencer hated that. And Stupid Fucking Bob just stood there, calm and composed in a way that made Spencer want to throw something.

Spencer hated Bob. Fuck, he hated Bob. Spencer hated the way his hand rested casually on your lower back, a touch that was so possessive, like it belonged there. But more than Bob, Spencer hated the way you didn’t pull away.

“So, uh,” you said, clearing your throat, “just in the neighbourhood?”

Spencer nodded stiffly, his hands still buried in his pockets, fingers curling tight around nothing. “Yeah, I uh, had some errands to run,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual.

You nodded back, your smile polite but tight, “Yeah, same here—”

“We were just grabbing lunch,” Stupid Fucking Bob cut in, his voice too cheerful, too comfortable. Oh my god, shut the fuck up, Bob. Spencer's jaw tightened, his molars grinding together.

We.

The word reverberated through his skull. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Right, right,” he said, nodding a little too much, as if that would make the whole thing easier to digest. It didn’t.

“I um, don’t want to keep you from your lunch,” Spencer finally said, his voice tight, his words clipped. He glanced at you, but only for a moment. “I should... I should get going. Errands and… other things.” He motioned vaguely over his shoulder, like there was somewhere he desperately needed to be. There wasn’t.

You hesitated, and for a brief moment, it looked like you might say something. But then Stupid Fucking Bob shifted beside you, his hand brushing against your back once more, and the words died on your lips.

Watching Spencer walk away felt like betrayal at its sharpest, love at its most humiliating.

It wasn’t fair that you had put yourself through the quiet torment of watching, staying, hoping—only for it all to come to nothing. It wasn’t fair that you allowed yourself to feel, to be seen in all your vulnerability, just to have Spencer walk away as if none of it had ever mattered.

I’ll stay, if he stays. It was your unspoken promise to yourself and your silent plea to him.

But he hadn’t stayed.

So it wasn’t fair that you were still here, while he got to walk away. It wasn’t fair, but you let him go regardless.

Because Spencer’s absence had given your life a strange kind of regularity, one you tried to see the best in. You leaned into it, telling yourself it was what you needed. It was a new kind of normalcy. You should’ve liked it, and you did like it.

At least you told yourself you did.

Three days later, it was a work party that finally unravelled you. Maybe it was the way your coworkers shared plans for the holidays, futures they seemed so certain of, the kind of dreaming you’d stopped allowing to indulge in. Or maybe it was the wine—too much of it, too quickly. Probably the wine. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you locked the door behind you and leaned against the sink, staring at the girl looking back at you in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly tousled, her smile looked convincing enough. She looked alive, happy even—But you didn’t quite feel like her.

Your fingers found your phone, scrolling aimlessly until they stopped, hovering over a name. It was instinctive, thoughtless. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pressed call. “Could you come get me?” A pause, then softer, almost pleading. “Please?”

The party had dwindled to a quiet murmur by the time you stood waiting by the street. You nudged your coworkers along, promising them you’d be alright.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” one of them asked, concern flashing across her face.

“I’m fine,” you assured her, waving her off. “I’m waiting for someone.”

You had someone now. Someone dependable. That felt good, right? It was what you deserved. Dependable was good. Dependable was safe. But when you glanced up, sobriety crashed through your buzzed haze in an instant. It wasn’t dependability that greeted you.

“Spencer?” His name escapes your lips in a whisper, disbelief catching in your throat. “What are you—”

“You called me.”

Your stomach twists. “I… I did?”

“You did,” he nodded, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. The screen lit up with your call log, stark and undeniable. Your eyes flicked back to him—his hair slightly dishevelled, his coat hanging open. He looked like he’d rushed out the door. Your chest tightens, the ache returning in full force.

All you can think is, Oh God. I called the wrong him.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. Your heart hammers away in your chest as your gaze darts toward the street, desperate for a cab. “I didn’t mean to call—You can go. You should go.”

Spencer’s brow furrows, something unreadable crossing his face. “I’m already here,” he says, “Let me walk you home.” “I—” Your voice is soft, tentative. You hesitate. The choice should be simple. He’s already here. He’s offering to walk you home. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it. And yet, this feels wrong. You despise the fact that it does. You shouldn’t say it. You know you shouldn’t. But the silence between you is unbearable, and his presence feels impossibly close. “Okay,” you murmur, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Suddenly it feels more than wrong. It feels like surrender.

The night feels colder than it should as the two of you start walking. The silence stretches, long and awkward, until finally, he speaks.

“I’m glad you called me.”

Your stomach twists. “I didn’t mean to.”

His footsteps falter for just a moment, and when you glance at him, his gaze is sharp, questioning. “Me?”

“What?” you stammer, the word barely forming on your lips.

“You didn’t mean to call me?” His eyes lock onto yours, searching for something. They demand an answer you’re not ready to give. The question hangs in the air between you but the weight of his gaze has you pinned in place.

“I—yes, I didn’t—” You stumble over your words, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Spencer watches you carefully, his eyes never leaving you, “You didn’t mean to, but you called me.”

Your breath shakes as you let out a long exhale. Finally, you whisper, “Yes. I did.”

“That guy,” He leans in just a little, his expression hardening. “Was he who you meant to call?”

You swallow and nod slowly, the answer burning in your throat. The reluctant admission feels raw as something flashes across Spencer’s face—Annoyance? Jealousy? You can’t hold his gaze long enough to tell. “What is he? Your boyfriend?” he mutters when you come to stop at a traffic light. His words strike a match, igniting a quiet anger within you.

“That’s none of your business,” you shoot back, your voice more defensive than you intended. It wasn’t so much that you needed to defend him—it was more about defending this new part of your life, the one where Spencer wasn’t there, the one where his absence hadn’t completely consumed you. A shred of proof that shows you can stand without Spencer.

That you are whole without him.

The silence that continues to stretch between you is heavy and suffocating. You silently curse the city for its sudden and inconvenient lack of cabs. Typical. The universe has always had twisted sense of humour.

“You know you don’t actually like him.” Spencer says under his breath.

“Oh, what the hell do you know?” You burst out. Without thinking, you step forward into the street. The light hasn’t turned green, but the road is clear, and Spencer’s presence is clawing at your throat. You need to do something, anything to get away from it.

Spencer’s hand shoots out, his fingers curling firmly around your wrist. You whip around to face him, anger simmering beneath you. His expression is calm, infuriatingly so, though there’s a flicker of disapproval in his eyes. “I know you,” he says, like he’s daring you to deny it.

“No,” you snap, shrugging his hand off your arm with a sharp jerk. The movement feels more like self-defense than defiance. You press the traffic light button repeatedly, a little too hard each time, even though it’s already lit. It’s a pointless gesture, but it gives your restless hands something to focus on. “You don’t know anything.”

“I do.” His voice was maddeningly steady, calm in a way that made something inside you snap. “I know your hair was braided that day because you probably hadn’t washed it the day before. You hate washing your hair.”

“Just—” You shake your head, voice breaking. “Stop talking.”

“I know those heels definitely hurt your feet,” he continues, relentless, “but you wore them anyway. Probably because you think he likes them.”

“Spencer, stop.” You’re trying to hold it together, to keep the tears at bay, but they come anyway.

“I know—”

“God, Spencer, stop it!” The words explode out of you. “You don’t know shit,” you snap, wiping furiously at your cheeks, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Just—Just fuck off!”

Spencer visibly flinches, but only slightly. The traffic light changes to green, but neither of you move to cross. “You—” Your chest heaves as you pull in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. You close your eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly, “You should go.”

“Is that really what you want?”

His question feels like mockery. What does it matter what you want? It clearly never mattered before, and it certainly won’t matter now.

You’d always been a bit of a hopeless romantic. You liked to believe that love, no matter how complicated or painful, was worth it. Maybe that was the only way you could make sense of the pain no one asked you to endure, a way to quantify the heartbreak Spencer never asked you to feel. You told yourself it had to serve some greater purpose, even when that purpose had yet to reap any kind of reward.

You tried to convince yourself that staying was a decision made from a place of independence, that your willingness to endure was an admirable strength born from the innate human need to love, and of wanting to be loved in return. But you knew it ran deeper than just that. You knew that you didn’t deserve this pain, but you also knew you’d never be the one to let go first. Your mother used to tell you that relationships only work if one person loves harder, and you’d realised early on that that person would always be you.

You knew you were tied to a fate of loving hard first, crying harder later.

And in that, it would never be fair.

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Spencer pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is softer—but no less cutting. “You’re lying to yourself,” he says quietly. “And to him.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you turn sharply, starting to walk. “Oh, I get it,” you said, a scoff lacing your tone. “You’re trying to play matchmaker now? Is that what this is about?” You fold your arms across your chest, tugging at your jacket, a feeble attempt to hide yourself from the hurt he so effortlessly unearthed.

“This isn’t about him.” he says firmly. “This is about you—about us.”

“There is no us,” you spit as you turn to face him momentarily. “Remember?”

“You’re acting out.”

“Wow, real mature Spence,” you snap, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “They teach you that in FBI school? You think just because I’m finally happy—finally not waiting around for you—that means I’m acting like a petty, jealous child?”

“No, I think you’re acting out because you’re hurt.”

“Oh, yeah? Gee, I wonder why.”

“Because I didn’t say it back.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The world stops. The air seems to freeze around you. For a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. A car speeds by, its horn blaring. Spencer reacts immediately, stepping to position himself between you and the flow of any other oncoming traffic like a barrier.

“What are you—Don’t just stop—” His hand grips your arm firmly, tugging you toward the sidewalk. But your feet refuse to move, rooted in place, and you barely register his words. “Would you—would you get off the street?” he says urgently. You can’t do anything but stare at him.

“You heard me?”

His expression softens. “I did. That night.” Spencer’s voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “I heard you.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. The glow of the traffic light pulses in the corner of your vision, steadily blinking. Sadness swells in your chest, but it’s overtaken by something sharper, hotter, darker.

Rage. Inexplicable, undeniable rage.

“You heard me.” You whisper, more so to yourself than to him. “You heard me, and you still—” The tears choke out the rest of the sentence. “Don’t,” you snap, stepping back when he tugs at you again. “Don’t touch me. Don’t—Just go. Please just go.” You turn away from him, your legs carrying you as far as they can, as fast as they can. You don’t even know where you’re headed anymore, only that you need to keep moving. But you hear Spencer behind you, his steps matching your pace.

“I’m not leaving you here.” Another faint brush of his fingers grazes yours sends you spinning back around, wrenching your hand away as if his touch burns.

“But you did!” you scream, your voice raw. Your grief echoes in the stillness of the street. The two of you are locked in some heartbreaking tableau. It feels almost cinematic—the age-old story of a girl who loved and a boy who didn’t. “You already left, Spencer! You heard me, and you still left!”

Spencer’s face crumples, and for a moment, he looks as lost as you feel. “I didn’t know what to do,” his words tumble out, his voice breaking. “I—”

“You could’ve stayed! You could’ve said it back! You—” You shake your head, swallowing the grief that rises in your throat, the words too painful to say out loud.

“I do,” he says suddenly, stepping in front of you. “I love you. I do. I love you. So much.” he repeats, his hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you but knows better. “I love you too.”

That last word—too—cuts through you. It lands with a cruel finality. It should soothe the ache inside you, but it doesn’t. It’s not the solace it should be. It’s only a bitter reminder that he heard you that night. That he left anyway.

“Then why?” The question comes out in a broken whisper, and you hate yourself for how vulnerable it sounds. “Why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t even try—” you whisper through your tears. “You just… left.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you—I was scared that I would,” he says, the words tumbling out in a rush as he reaches for your hands in an effort to ground himself. “I didn’t want to screw things up even more. I thought if I left—you’d be better off.”

“Oh, fuck off, Spencer. Look at us. Look at me. Is this what you call better off?” You stand there, unmoving, tears streaking down your face, each one a testament to your heartbreak. The sight of you, raw and broken, makes something deep inside him fracture.

“You hurt me anyway.” Your voice shakes with unspent grief and fury.

“I know, I know I did, baby—”

"Don’t call me that!" you snap, your heart clenching at the word. You try to pull your hands out of his grip, away from his touch, but he holds on.

“Baby—shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Spencer says, his voice cracking. He shuts his eyes for a moment, furrowing his brows, as if trying to collect himself. “I know I fucked up. I know. I’m just—” He exhales shakily. “I’m trying to fix this. Look at me. Please. Just... please.”

You can’t look at him. You focus on the floor, on anything to avoid his eyes, because if you see that pleading expression, you just might break—You’ll shatter all over again.

“That guy?” Spencer’s voice pulls you back, quiet and desperate. “He doesn’t know anything about you. I knew it the minute I saw him. He said you were going to lunch? You hate everything on your street within a five-mile radius. That’s why we always ordered Chinese. Right?”

Every word he out of his mouth feels like a plea and what’s worse is that you know he’s right.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice breaking. “I was stupid. I didn’t think. I thought leaving was the right thing—that I was protecting you from me. But I see now—I know now. It wasn’t. It was the worst thing I could’ve done. To you. To us. I was wrong.” His voice drops, barely audible. “And I just want a chance to make it right. Please I—”

You hear the break in his voice, and before you can stop yourself, your gaze lifts to meet his, only to see tears pooling in his eyes. The ache in your chest deepens, and this time, you can’t look away.

“Look,” Spencer says, voice cracking, “he’s probably a great guy. Nice, smart—smarter than I ever was if he wants you too. But he doesn’t—” He pauses, swallowing hard, “He can’t love you the way I do. I know people always say I’m smart, that I know a lot. And it’s true—I do. But this? You? Loving you? It’s a fact, the clearest one I’ve ever had. And yeah, I know it took me too damn long to get here. But it’s true. It’s always been true.”

The chasm in your heart splits open, and you didn’t know you were still capable of breaking like this. Of course, Spencer Reid would be good at heartbreaking speeches too. You start to turn away, furiously blinking back the new wave of tears threatening to spill over.

“Look at me,” he pleads, his voice soft but laced with urgency. “Please. I hate that you won’t look at me, I just—”

You try—God knows you try—but the tears in your eyes blur everything. Still, the desperation in his tone is unmistakable.

You shake your head, your voice low, “Spence—”

“I want to do this right,” he continues, his words tumbling out with sincerity so raw it sends another wave of hurt right through you. “Just give me a chance to make it right. One chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“I don’t—”

“I mean it,” he says quickly. His voice is low, but there’s a desperate edge to it. “No more mistakes. No more labels—forget the friends thing. I’d rather die than just be friends with you. We’ll go out. We’ll take our time. I’ll show you. I’ll really show you. I’ll make it right this time.”

You feel like you’ve spent a lifetime waiting for this moment, for him to say the words you needed most. Months of hope, weeks of ache. You’ve stayed. You’ve waited. You’ve stayed in the waiting. More pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. But now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple.

Because for the first time, you have a choice. To go back or turn away.

To leave or to stay.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst

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jenomi · 6 months ago

Text

i love you, i'm sorry

pairing: idol!jeno x idol!reader c/w: light physical abuse (reader falls on the floor) a/n: you ask and you shall receive! i got a lot of requests for a part 2, so here it is :3 read part 1 here!! but this can be read on its own :)

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

I push my luck, it shows Thankful you don't send someone to kill me

"why??" you cried tears streaming down your face, "just tell me why, and i'll go."

jeno could only look down at his feet as you asked him for a real reason why he was breaking up with you.

you were fully aware how pathetic this looks from an outsiders perspective, crying and begging for an explanation from a man. but it wasn't any man. it was jeno. your jeno.

"is it something i did? tell me, i'm sorry! let me fix it and make it up to you" your knees stung from crouching on the couch and your eyes and throat hurt from the tears you're shedding.

"i don't see a future with you, y/n" jeno whispered.

you looked up quickly, your eyes opened wide in shock. your voice is so small, you weren't sure if he heard you when you said, "what?"

you always talked about your future. in all honesty, jeno would talk about it more than you. how he'd buy a house for the both of you to start a family and a place comfortable enough to stay home and never have to leave. you loved talking about your future with jeno. it brought you so much joy and comfort. so him using this as a reason to break up didn't make sense but it also hit you where it hurt. how could it bring you comfort when it was the same reason jeno was leaving you?

"look at us now!" jeno was frustrated now, "we barely do anything together, we can't even go outside without being scared. you barely have time for me. how would we ever last?"

you sat there stunned. you were at a lost for words. you thought your love for each other rose above all those problems. you talked about them at length with each other, and you would always assure each other that it was no problem. even last week, you had reassured each other. but now, jeno's coming back and saying it was all a lie? and he's not happy?

jeno shakes his head as he gets up off the couch, "i'm going out, when i come back, have your stuffed packed up and go"

you chase after him and grab his hand. "please baby no. i'll tell my company, i'll find a way to make it work please just don't leave right now. let's talk." you were back to begging.

jeno tried to shake your hand off his. overcome with emotion, jeno used too much strength, and when he tried to shake you off, his force caused you to fall on the floor.

you cried out when you landed on your hands and knees. jeno was so shocked and confused. it was an accident, he never meant to hurt you.

you started sobbing but jeno couldn't comfort you, so he left. he left you crying and bruised on the floor of his apartment.

jeno winces at the memory. he couldn't believe he hurt you, both emotionally and physically, at the same time. what possessed him to do that? he was raised to be a gentleman, but in that moment, he was everything but.

he's surprised he's even alive right now. he knows you told all your closest friends, including his best friend, jisung who you were closest to. he knows the only reason his life wasn't threatened was because you told your friends not to come for him.

and now he's at your door. he knows there's a high chance you'll slam the door in his face, but he needed to see you and speak to you to ease the pain in his chest. he hopes with his whole heart and soul that you'll let him in, because if you don't, he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to recover.

jeno takes a deep breath before knocking on your door.

I tend to laugh whenever I'm sad I stare at the crash, it actually works

you open the door only to pause in shock to see your ex-boyfriend at your door with take out from your favorite restaurant.

"hi?" jeno meant to say but it comes out as a question, a scratch of nervousness and sadness in his voice. "did you eat yet?" he raises the takeout to his chest.

your heart throbs at the question. he would ask you that all the time when you were together and would always nag you to eat something. in the end, he would always order the perfect thing for you, exactly what you wanted even if you didn't know yourself.

"no.." you whisper.

"can i come in?"

ashamedly, you open the door further to let him in without any hesitation. relief floods through jeno's veins.

jeno moves through your apartment with ease, knowing where all your utensils and plates are, knowing which drawers have soft close and which don't, it's like he never left. your heart splints down the middle once again remembering that your relationship isn't what it once was. despite that, you let out a small laugh.

"why are you laughing?" he faces you, eyes curious.

"i don't know," you reply, "i guess i'm sad."

now it's jeno's turn for his heart to split, since when do you laugh when you're sad? is he the reason why? he hopes not, he wants you to remain the girl whose laughter is full of joy, not a girl who laughs to cover for her sadness.

jeno doesn't know what to say, so instead he asks, "how have you been?"

you think it's ironic that he's asking you that knowing full well that he saw you cry during your performance last week. your performance dedicated to him. that night brought up a lot of memories for you, happy memories and seeing jeno on the verge of tears there made you think he missed you too.

but then you remember how it ended. how he left you broken on his apartment floor and then told you to stop reaching out to him. looking back at the mess that was the end of your relationship, you found yourself pushing the memories towards the back of your mind yet again as a feeble attempt to move on.

"fine," you lie. jeno only nods in response.

I wanna speak in code Hope that I don't, won't make it about me

jeno pulls out a chair for you and gestured for you to sit down, then takes the seat closest to you. he begins plating the take out food for you. you want to stop him and tell him you can do it yourself, but its been so long since someone's taken care of you that you can't help but just let it happen. jeno's glad you're not retaliating since he wants to take care of you. it's like second nature to him. he wants to take care of you for the rest of his days. but he doesn't want to scare you off. especially after what he did.

"i saw a smiski at a cafe the other day," jeno says before digging into his food, "i thought of you."

you loved smiskis. they were scattered all around your house, with one sitting with you at the dinner table now. you loved how they were little companions representing a silly, comfortable home life. it reminded you of your own life, and your life with jeno as homebodies.

you smiled at jeno before taking a bite as well. it was cute that he saw those figurines and thought of you. "my friend went to watch the f1 race in the UK and I thought of you when McLaren didn't win," you tease.

jeno chuckles, flashing his signature smile making your heart throb, in agony or love? you're not sure.

you fall into a comfortable silence as you share your meal together. it was alarmingly easy to act like this was just another day after work with your boyfriend.

"how have you been?" you finally ask in return. it was only right.

"busy," he admits. he doesn't want to say there was a reason he purposely tried to keep busy. he didn't want to burden you. and he definitely didn't want you to think you were the problem because he knows it's all him.

"are you taking care of yourself?" you ask him.

"not as well as i was when i had you," he looks into your eyes.

you're stunned into silence, yet again, but with hope and not dread like the last time he spoke to you.

he sets down his chopsticks before folding his hands and facing you, "i came here to tell you i'm sorry. i'm sorry for how we ended and how i left you. it was a shitty thing to do and it haunts me every time i close my eyes to sleep. i don't expect you to forgive me, i wouldn't forgive me. but i know i hurt you with the way i treated you, you didn't deserve that. and i just want to say i'm sorry and you didn't do anything wrong. i was out of my mind. please don't blame yourself."

the wind is knocked out of your lungs at his confession. you were overwhelmed by him admitting his wrongs and calling you out to tell you not to blame yourself, because you were. he apologized but didn't do it to make you forgive him, he wanted to help take the burden of wondering what you did wrong off your own shoulders. it was the closure you needed.

the back of your eyes tingle with tears.

"don't cry," he says wrapping his warm hand over yours on the dining table, "i'll go. i don't want to bother you any longer."

he grabs his plate and rinses it quickly in the sink before heading towards the door.

much like the last time, you quickly get up and grab his hand, "don't go."

jeno turns around, eyes wide and looking into your soul.

"don't go. stay. it's late. you can sleep on the couch." you say still grasping his hand with tears in your eyes.

"okay," he whispers slowly. how could he leave when you ask him to stay?

you grab an extra pillow and blanket from your bedroom and bring it to the couch. as much as you wanted jeno to sleep in bed with you tonight, you needed space to think about what he said and sort out your own thoughts. but you wanted the comfort of knowing he was at home. with you.

you and jeno work together to set up the couch, working in silent synchrony and harmony. the domesticity of it all makes you both emotional.

as you stand back up after tucking a sheet into the couch, jeno wraps you in his arms and says what he came here to say all along,

i love you, i'm sorry

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