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reidmarieprentiss · 2 days ago

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Grass is Always Greener

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

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

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

Word count: 7.5k

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

main masterlist

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

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

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

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

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

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

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

Something inside you snapped.

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

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

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

Spencer didn't argue.

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

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

You wanted to stop him.

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

But he had already thrown that love away.

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

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

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

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

—

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

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

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

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

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

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

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

And then—then there had been the moment.

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

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

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

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

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

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

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

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

"You never asked," he said softly.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

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

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

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

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

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

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

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

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

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

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

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

The victims—they all looked like you.

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

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

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

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

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

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

Were you safe?

…

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

No. You weren't safe.

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

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

Then he saw it.

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

His second clue was even worse.

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

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

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

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

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

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

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

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

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

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

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

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

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

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

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

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

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

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

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

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

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

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

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

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

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

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

Robert was never going to replace you.

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

You were never dull.

You were home.

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

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

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

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

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

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

You.

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

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

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

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

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

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

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

But time was running out.

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

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

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

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

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

This was it.

This had to be it.

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

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

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

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

They breached the building in seconds.

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

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

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

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

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

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

His knees felt weak.

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

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

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

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

And the realization that he might never see you again.

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

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

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

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

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

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

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

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

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

His breath caught.

Before you died.

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

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

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

A thick silence settled over the room.

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

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

A lump formed in his throat.

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

He couldn't finish.

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

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

She moved fast.

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

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

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

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

Spencer froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer's throat closed up.

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

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

Elle saw right through him.

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

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

His stomach dropped.

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

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

But he understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

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

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

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

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

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

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

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

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

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

—

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

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

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

Your captor's eye twitched.

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

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

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

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

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

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

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

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

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

That hurt more than anything else.

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

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

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

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

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

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

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

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

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

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

And then Spencer's phone rang.

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

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

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

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

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

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

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

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

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

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

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

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

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

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

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

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

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

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

And that hurt more than anything.

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

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

This was so much worse.

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

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

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

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hivemuthur · 1 day ago

Note

Hello! I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to make a request. Could u write something super fluffy w vik, just pure, cozy domestic vibes with no work since it’s the weekend—maybe soft morning sex, making and sharing breakfast, taking care of Viktor’s potted plants, grocery shopping, or anything along those lines. And vik realises that taking a break from his work isn’t so bad at all. Thank you so much!

Hi Anon! I guess I shouldn't bother anymore, but sorry for the long wait :v here's some morning sex with Viktor hehe (and they do other things too)

Long Weekend

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut + fluff

word count: 2,3K

artist on X

—

Viktor wakes with one arm less than he should have only to realise your head resting in the crease of his elbow acts as a dam holding his blood back from circulating toward his fingers. He wonders, for a moment, what happens there, in his fingertips with all the trapped cells, whether they wither away as his tissues desperately suck out all of the available oxygen or do they squeeze past the press of your cheek, just at a very slow rate.

He connects the tips of his thumb and index finger only to make sure he feels absolutely nothing from the elbow down and wonders again if he should wake you or just shake you off gently. His mind lands on the former, sleep still crusting his eyes as he begins to squeeze his feeling palm between the skin on your cheek and the valley of his joint, accidentally coaxing a protest from your mouth.

“Viki, no,” you groan softly, eyes still closed, brows scrunching. Hand bats his fingers away and he chuckles, voice still hoarse, “Baby, we will have to amputate soon if you don’t free me.”

“Noo,” you whine, wrapping yourself around him like a vice, leg pressing on his belly, arm squeezing between his waist and a mattress, free hand coming to rake through his hair. He sighs, flexing his fingers and elbow, blood crushing back forcefully, almost unpleasantly, as the feeling of thousands of prickling pins surges under his skin, soaking into the muscles.

“That will work,” he says, wrapping his thawing fingers into your hair and scratching your scalp.

“Wait.” You open one eye and throw him a suspicious look. “Are you not trying to flee?”

He shakes his head with a soft smile and presses a kiss to your temple, then sighs. “I promised, did I not? I’m an honourable man.”

You only eye him suspiciously, fully prepared for the I’ll only pop to work for an hour trick. Or the other one, the I forgot something one. You hate them both equally, but you did make him promise, with a hand on his chest and eyes drilled into yours as he repeated the vow word for word after you. Such dramatic means to cage your man at home for two days, if somebody asks you, but desperate times called for desperate methods.

So desperate, that when he folded with an exasperated, “Fine,” it was nearly not enough, so you followed him around the apartment asking constantly, “Do you really promise?” to the point of driving him insane. So he seized your nagging mouth with his, wrapped his hands around you and breathed, “I promise, to everything that’s sacred.” Kissed you some more, kicked your legs so you were the force dragging you both to the bedroom, and then he said, “Shut up already,” with all the love poured into it and then fucked you stupid so you had no more questions left in you.

And now you lay here, promise so far being kept, seeping through Viktor’s arms wrapped around you, his foot tickling yours gently and his stomach rising and falling, your thigh with it.

“Alright then,” you give him the benefit, lowering your head back onto his chest and he chuckles and yawns, loud and wide. You play with the hair curling around his ears, press your nose to the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of sleep on him.

Heartbeat still slow, pumping lazily, Viktor runs his hand over your thigh, fingers spread wide when he gets to your ass and grabs a handful of flesh, kneading and squeezing. He hums, pats one of the cheeks so you snake up a bit to meet his mouth and you share the morning drool with him, heavy and sticky, before your jaw unlocks and your tongue wakes up properly.

“Hmm, what’s this for?” you ask, rolling your weight onto him, your chests now flush together as you tangle all of your fingers into his hair.

“Just exploring the benefits of sleeping in,” says Viktor, lips curving into a smile, and indeed he is exploring, adjusting your ass to rest on his core and he rocks you gently into another kiss. All so slow, sloppy almost, if the two of you weren’t still carrying the sand of sleep within you, hands dry and warm on each other.

“Please explore further, maybe I will convince you to finally take a vacation.” With that you press yourself down onto him and Viktor grunts out something like a warning, keeping you in place when you try to retreat.

“Let’s start with a long weekend, hmm? Baby steps,” he purrs into your mouth and rolls his hips underneath you, holding you still as he licks the quiet moan off your lips. How sweet it tastes on his tongue when you are all warm and pliant and all he has to do is to just shift a little bit to rub himself on you.

He looks so pretty in the morning glow—sun sinking into the room through the cracks in the curtains paints him in golden stains, plays around his eyes and hair as you run your thumbs through the hollows of his cheeks. You sink back into a kiss. His tongue feels soft, and you melt between breaths, first drops of heat slipping out of you onto his cock.

Ass still in his grasp, you do little to no movement and just let his mouth travel from the corner of your mouth to your chin and jaw, where he sucks, then leaves a shy nip, teeth barely there. You flex your neck under his lips, your back arches more and more until he slides freely between his lower abdomen and your pussy, and you have to bury your face back in his neck.

He cocks his head so that his lips brush your forehead when he utters, “I want you.”

Wordlessly, you lick your palm and reach it between you, fingers wrapping around his cock in a lazy stroke. You press gently on the base, drag your touch to the top and rub his head on your clit, everything in the rhythm of your hips rocking together.

“Tease,” he smirks, and you hum a chuckle into his throat.

What is feels like to have your man unhurried, to not have to grasp his belt in haste and press your face into his crotch in an attempt to keep him home for ten more minutes, indescribable. You could whine to this feeling only, the realisation that you could be at it for hours and nothing will interrupt you, nothing will take him away from you today.

It swells in your chest as you slide him inside you, slowly, inch filling you by inch and Viktor squeezes your ass tighter, guiding you down on him with a slow, breathy exhale, as if this brings him relief. You leech your mouth onto the spot where his jaw is sharpest, then lick his ear to finally kiss it as reverently as you would kiss his mouth.

He exhales deeply and you can feel the stretch travelling up your core. Once he is hilted, you just breathe, adjust to him, teasing him with gentle flex of your muscles and smile each time a pretty sound falls from his lips. For a while it’s just a twitch for twitch, gasp for gasp, a non-verbal conversation happening between your mouths while your bodies negotiate who will make the first move.

Viktor does, bending his knees and spreading your thighs further apart. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and respond with a small roll of your hips, rocking his cock inside you. “Yes,” a quiet praise falls from him as the bond between his hands and your ass is finally severed and the white imprints of where he touched fade into pink. The same touch travels up, stops around your hip to hook in its crease while his other hand strokes the curve of your spine and rests wrapped around the back of your neck.

His touch is warm, still sleepy, every deep breath and slow beat of a heart translates into a squeeze here and there as his fingers sink back into your skin.

“It seems I’ve been missing a lot, hmm?” he hums, extending his fingers to the base of your skull, drawing dozy purrs from you.

“You have no idea,” you say, your mind half-there, half of it concentrated on milking Viktor’s cock and sliding up and down his torso. The usually raw country of his body is so welcoming now, his navel peppered with dark hair grinding underneath you, stomach bellowing slowly into yours until you are all mixed breaths and hands holding each other through each slow thrust.

The buildup is creeping into your muscles gently, swelling, pulsing in your lower belly each time Viktor grunts or moans against your mouth. “So good,” he whispers, eyes closed, his eyelashes dusting over your cheek. With the lapping subtlety of incoming tide the shape of you becomes the shape of him and you both wax into one through this calm completion reached between breaths, praises shared like a secret between your mouths.

You come wrapped around him tightly, and Viktor follows soon after, spilling himself inside you with a few slow thrusts, his face buried in your neck. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, arms still holding you close, his body drenched in bliss.

“I will admit,” he murmurs, cradling your head, “this is better than crawling into the lab at seven in the morning.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you smirk, already busy kissing his neck as he softens inside you. “I’ll have you know this activity comes with coffee, too.”

“Does it now? I don’t see any. I think I’ll have to speak with your manager,” Viktor teases, rolling you both over so that he’s now lying on top of you. “I’ll make the coffee. You stay here,” he mutters, pressing a soft peck to your lips.

“Why?”

“I want to explore this activity further once I’m properly awake,” he says, scrambling out of bed, fastening his brace, and throwing the nearest jumper over his shoulders. It’s yours.

You stretch out lazily, and indeed, when Viktor returns with the coffee pot, you explore the activity further—this time, faster. Until your stomach betrays your other basic human need, making it clear that you both need to eat.

Squeezing oranges for juice is your job, yet you barely press on the fruits, too busy ogling Viktor’s hands as he cracks eggs into the frying pan.

“See something you like?” he teases, and you wonder how he knows without even looking at you.

“Shut up,” you snort, putting more effort into dismembering the oranges.

You eat together, and the stupid grin on your face refuses to fade. You don’t even try to hide it. Viktor only smiles knowingly between bites, though he does his best not to look too triumphant about it. His foot nudges yours under the table, and when you glance up at him, he tilts his head, feigning innocence.

"What’s so amusing?" he asks, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

"Nothing," you hum, still grinning. "I’m just enjoying this."

He chuckles, shaking his head, but doesn't argue.

The two of you part only for the essentials—morning routines and quick trips to grab fresh clothes—but for the rest of the day, you remain practically attached at the hip. You go out for groceries, Viktor's hand settling on the small of your back as you navigate the market together. He huffs in amusement as you haggle for the best produce, muttering something about your ‘ruthless negotiation tactics,’ but in the end, he lets you have your way.

Back home, you cook side by side, shoulders brushing as you move around the kitchen. Viktor insists he’s a very precise sous-chef, but you catch him sneaking a taste of whatever he’s chopping. “Quality control,” he claims, entirely unapologetic.

By the afternoon, you curl up with a book, your head resting on Viktor’s lap as he absentmindedly strokes your hair. You feel him shift beneath you every so often, his fingers twitching like he’s reaching for a pen, but he never gets up. He never moves toward his work. You’re fairly sure you’ve achieved the impossible—his mind is not consumed by research or equations. Just you. Just this moment.

Evening settles in, golden light spilling through the windows, and Viktor all but drags you back toward the bedroom. You laugh, half-protesting, but his grip is firm, his intent undeniable.

“Has the domestic life won you over already?” you tease.

Viktor hums, tilting his head as if considering. “Almost. Perhaps a little more convincing would work in your favour, though.”

You arch a brow, playing along. “And what’s in it for me?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Viktor’s lips before he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I think I’ve warmed up to the idea of a long weekend,” he murmurs, his voice rich with suggestion. His fingers trail feather-light up your spine, teasing, slow. “I just need… one last push.”

You gasp as his hands find their mark, but before you can retaliate, Viktor sweeps you up into another kiss, effectively ending the conversation in favour of much more persuasive arguments.

When sleep finally claims you both, tangled in each other’s warmth, Viktor realises something. The world did not collapse. The lab did not burn down. His work is still there, waiting, but today... today belonged to something else. To something just as important.

And maybe, just maybe, taking a break isn’t so bad after all.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests #viktor fluff

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pythonmoth · 1 day ago

Text

cw: violence. body harm. heavy torture. waterboarding. trauma. crude language. hurt/no comfort. explicit suicidal thoughts. self mutilation/harm mentioned.

simon riley x reader. implied simon riley x soap. implied simon riley x reader x soap.

First | Last | Next

He didn't want to get out of bed that day, and the Captain calling for a private meeting just as he dared opening his eyes gave him enough reason to know he was right.

Putting on his uniform was as easy as ever. Really, he hardly ever took it off, anyway. It took about twenty seconds to put on his boots and he was off.

It was cold outside.

The night before had been stormy, so if Johnny's lungs weren't used the damn weather by now, he would be cursing the gods for it. It was so cloudy that he just truly wanted to grab a coffee, and sleep again.

Hell, even breakfast before a meeting would do.

His pace wasn't rushed, the sun slowly coming up. As soon as he spotted Simon walking over to the Captain's office as well, seemingly unaware of his presence, he couldn't help but smirk and slow down. He did his best to keep his boots from making noise, holding his breath. He got closer, and closer.

Then, promptly bumped nose first on the back of Simon's head.

"Argh!" he grunted, holding his nose. Simon made no sound at all and just kept on walking. Johnny knew damn well the cocky tilt on the Lieutenant's head as they got near the Captain's office. "Bastard. Could've warned me, instead of making me nearly break my damn nose".

"Why? It's funnier like this" Simon said, the timber in his voice so amused it made Johnny roll his eyes, not really upset at all.

"To you, maybe".

"And that's how it's supposed to be, Johnny".

The conversation was cut short as soon as they approached the Captain's door. He was arguing with someone on the phone. It was clear he was trying not to make much noise, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

Simon and him shared a look, and waited for a moment before knocking on the door.

"Get in" the Captain's voice cut through the silence, hanging up the phone before standing up, looking at the two men with a hard expression.

"What's going on?" Simon questioned, standing right next to Johnny, their shoulders brushing.

"We've got a mole" the Captain said, his teeth clenched. Johnny watched as he paced behind his desk, his shoulders hardened.

"A mole?" he wondered, his eyebrows furrowing. "Who's the bastard? We'll drag him to the—"

"Goddammit, Johnny. It's the fucking lass" the Captain snapped.

In that moment, the room went colder than the freaky weather outside. The three men stared at each other for one long second.

"We've five lasses" Simon started, the trembling in his voice so evident that Johnny wanted to reach out, and grab his arm to stabilize him. He didn't, as he was trembling just as badly. "You better give me a name right now, or I'll start breaking your shit".

"If it weren't yours, do you think I would be calling you two idiots?" the Captain growled out. He opened his mouth, ready to continue, but Johnny spoke first.

"Is this some kind of ridiculous, fucked up joke?" he blurted out. He just couldn't think. He just couldn't believe it. "She's been here for nearly ten years. Capt'n, there must be a mistake. And you, you can't possibly believe this shit!" he blurted out at Simon, turning to look at him.

Simon was as stiff as a wooden board.

And he was so damn angry it nearly made Johnny shit his pants.

"Is there proof? Do you have it on you? Is it positive?" Simon questioned, the words flowing, barely controlled. Johnny's mouth fell open. "How can you be sure?"

"LT!" he gasped in surprise, his heart pounding in his throat. He felt like throwing up.

"Answer me" Simon demanded the Captain, ignoring him.

It took them two hours to go through the evidence, more than once. You've been sneaking information, your fingerprints, a few hair strands here and there. It all fit. It was almost as if you weren't even trying to hide it at all.

"Isn't it too simple, too easy?" Simon said, not for the first time. "Price, you gotta admit it's at least suspicious. She's not stupid".

"Capt'n, the lass' a smart one. Not even the lamest bastard in this damn base could pull a mistake this big" Johnny added. Needing to sooth himself, he discreetly placed his hand right next to Simon's on the desk.

The slightest curl of the Lieutenant's pinky across his made him take a deep breath.

"That's your pussydrunk heads talking to you. This is unmistakable and we can't risk it" the Captain shook his head, pointing at the evidence in front of them. They both went quiet at that, too troubled to feel offended. "Take her downstairs. We'll do as I ordered, in five. You either do it yourselves, or I'll call someone else" the Captain said. Simple as that.

If the Captain saw Simon snatch his hand back from Johnny's grip before they both stormed out of his office, he didn't say.

What was there to say, anyway?

An empty box suffered all of the Lieutenant's anger as soon as they stepped out. Snapped in half with kicks and thrown to the other side of the hall, alarming a few soldiers that, just taking a look at them, turned away instantly.

Johnny couldn't possibly do anything to make Simon feel any better if he was just as angry and appalled. Hurt, and incredibly confused, mostly. They didn't exchange a single word as they reached the mess hall, their boots heavy against the floor.

Simon's steps faltered when they saw you sitting at the usual table. Johnny clenched his jaw and walked forward, forcing Simon to do the same.

They both watched as you sipped on your mug, no doubt waiting for them to have breakfast. He saw you take a bite of the bread, your eyes brightening as you turned to them, recognizing their footsteps easily.

It's been nine years, after all.

Johnny's heart trembled at the sight. Anxiety and pain bloomed in his chest, but he forced himself to swallow it down. They had orders.

"It's so darn late!" you complained, your voice a little muffled around your mouthful, looking amused. Ridiculous. "Where were you? Come on, let's eat".

Beautiful.

It had been too easy. You didn't resist their touch at all, raising an eyebrow. Johnny heard you nearly choke when you noticed their grip wasn't playful, asking Simon what was happening, you feet dangling between the two of them.

Johnny's grip was tight, fighting to keep his expression blank, but it got fucking difficult the moment you realized where they were taking you, screaming, fighting, and struggling against them, demanding explanations.

The room had been used for many years, even before they got here. It either reeked of shit, piss or blood and bleach. It's never been pleasant.

The Captain was already waiting there.

He kept silent as Simon punched you on the stomach. Kept silent as you begged and pleaded, trying to meet their eyes, their hands tying you to the chair.

The Captain had ordered not to explain anything at first.

And it was fucking hard.

To see you get punched.

To be the one to gag you, despite your attempts to bite down on his fingers. To be the one who made you choke on your fears, on your pain.

Your panic.

Simon's eyes were detached, stuck within himself, the trembling in his hands barely noticeable, but Johnny saw it.

He felt it in his own hands.

Every time the Captain ordered him to yank on your hair. Every time he pressed that disgusting wet rag against your face and poured the water on it. Every time his gray eyes met your pleading gaze.

With each of your screams.

He saw Simon flinch with every one of them.

After the Captain kicked your lights out, the three of them had a serious conversation. Simon and Johnny were quiet, both of them staring at the Captain as if he had grown a second head right in front of them.

"No. I'm not doing that shit".

"Neither am I. Are you out of your fucking mind, Price?"

"Now, lads, I'm not asking. If you don't do it, I'll grab another two. We need information and the evidence is clear" the Captain cut them off. He didn't look happy about it, but he didn't seem too worried, either. "Tomorrow. That's an order".

Simon and Johnny sat on the stairs that night, with you right behind the door, both of them smoking silently. Neither of them acknowledged Johnny's tears, and when Simon turned away, neither said anything.

Your screams were a stab in his heart. And he couldn't blame anyone but himself.

When Price told him what they were going to do because you "wouldn't open your mouth", he had wanted to kill Price right there, but the evidence was too big, and it didn't matter what he thought. He was but a soldier. Price gave the orders, and it wasn't his place to question them.

Not too much, anyway.

But that didn't mean he had to like them.

Had it been anybody else, Simon wouldn't have hesitated. He would've dragged the dickhead to the basement himself.

But you?

Price had ordered him to go slow, to make you suffer as the nails were ripped off slowly enough to make you pass out, but he couldn't.

He couldn't go against his orders, but he could do them his way.

If it's done quick enough, the pain concentrates and dissipates faster, leaving only raw, throbbing fingertips behind.

That's the best he could do.

As you pushed your head against his chest, pleading and screaming in pain as Price asked you questions you didn't seem to hear, another nail would come off.

"Give him their names. Please" he whispered, low enough for only you to hear, but you were too gone with pain to pay attention.

Price would order him to go on, and Simon would grit his teeth, and do it as fast as possible.

Every scream made him want to crawl into the tiniest cave, and rot for the eternity.

If you were truly a traitor, he didn't care. He wanted you to break yourself free and steal their guns so you could end them right there. He wanted you to win and take revenge, dance on their bodies for all he cared.

When you said it was done between the two of you, he was glad his back was facing you. Otherwise, you would've noticed the trembling of his lips under the balaclava.

Orders. He had to follow orders.

When the toenails started coming off, your screams reached a deeper pitch. It was as if it wasn't you anymore, you looked like a whole different person. Simon pressed his head to your leg, panting, whispering and begging you to say their names.

"Please" he would whisper, gripping your ankles in hope to ground you away from the pain.

When he was two toenails into the second foot, deep cuts along the arch of the two of them, Price's radio went off. He went out of the room.

Simon stopped, looking up at you, but you were slowly passing out just from the little break you were allowed without Price in the room.

Johnny was shaking, his shoulder tense as he looked straight to the door in front of you, from where Price bursted inside the room again.

"Follow me" Price said, his mustache shaking. It didn't take long for Johnny and Simon to follow.

The last time he had been this angry, he had nearly killed himself in the middle of his room.

You were innocent.

Simon was faster than Johnny only for a second.

He punched Price so hard that he could hear a finger breaking, but he didn't give a single fuck.

He knew it wasn't Price's fault.

Still, it felt damn good.

Yells could be heard all across the base, confused soldiers who knew nothing of the situation yet would just stare at each other.

"They caught him trying to escape" Price raised his voice again. "He's been detained and has already confessed. He claimed he was—"

"I don't fucking care!" Simon snapped, gripping Price's desk hard enough to break the shit out of it. "Bring him here, goddammit. I'll put a bullet through his brain".

"You know damn well I fucking can't—"

"The fuck am I here for, then? I'm done with this fucking shit hole" he yelled, not interested in whatever Price had to say anymore.

Johnny and him rushed downstairs, panting, shaking. Price didn't leave his office, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

Simon fell to his knees and untied you as quickly as he could, watching you blink your eyes open, your gaze distant.

"I'm so fucking sorry, love. You'll be okay, I fucking promise you that. Fuck, I'm so sorry... I'll carry you, hold on. Hold on..." he whispered, sliding an arm under your legs and carrying you bride style.

He was struggling with his own anger, unable to control his body as he normally would, bumping his shoulders on the walls as he rushed upstairs.

"Watch her head! You're gonna fucking drop her. Let me help—"

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny. Don't fucking try me right now".

If Johnny was hurt by his words, he genuinely didn't care right now. He would get over it.

When he finally reached the clinic, he snapped at however was available to get their fucking arses up.

He knew it wasn't the right thing, but he couldn't afford to be respectful. Not right now. A few medics surrounded you immediately, but one of them started pushing him out.

They kicked him out of your room.

They fucking kicked him out.

Away from you.

"You've two broken fingers, and she doesn't need you. You ain't going in" the head doctor told him. Simon's eyebrows furrowed, his lips curling in a snarl behind the mask, but she was having none of that. "Shut it, you big brute. Now do as I say, or I'm kicking you out of my clinic".

Johnny sat next to him, but Simon wouldn't look away from the door to your room. He sat quietly, not even blinking as the doctor helped him with his fingers. They didn't even hurt.

He didn't matter.

It took you two days to wake up.

As soon as he was allowed in, he barely left your side, only to take a piss or grab a coffee. He would watch the doctors check on you, acting like a dog ready to snap and bite their heads off every time your fingers flicked in your sleep when they touched you.

"L.T. You gotta get some rest" Johnny mumbled, a hand on Simon's shoulder. It was only the two of them and you there. As it should be.

"Not interested".

"Its been four days since you've eaten anything".

"Good for me. Was planning on going on a diet, actually".

"Simon".

"That's my name".

Smack.

Simon finally looks away from your face to look at Johnny with wide eyes, the back of his head burning. "The fuck was that?"

"That's what you get for being a dickhead" Johnny replied, his eyes fixed on you. "She's safe here. Come on, we gotta be fed and rested, so she can kill us when she wakes up".

It took Johnny a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag Simon out. They ate in silence, and slept.

Only a couple of hours.

The moment Simon heard your first scream, just in the back of his mind, he got up to his feet, rushing to the clinic. He wasn't certain if it was his mind or if it was truly you.

When he saw you on the floor, crawling away from him, he felt both relieved and terrified. He sank to the floor instantly, his hands in full display, hoping to ease your fear.

"No, wait. Please. Please. You're okay" he said, his eyes wide, taking in your expression. He will never forget the way you were looking at him, as if he wasn't Simon. Not anymore.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to approach you anymore, didn't know how to even begin.

"W-we were tricked" he explained, at a complete loss. "A mole planted evidence against you, but we found him a few days ago, when we brought you here. I'm so—"

"You're sorry" you crackled, and it felt like a stab to his heart. "You're sorry".

It didn't matter what he did, you refused to listen to him.

"Please. I didn't want to do it. I'm so sorry" he pleaded, his hands flat against the ground. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Johnny and I. You won't forgive us and we know this. Fuck, you should never do so. Lovie... please".

When you started sobbing, shaking and keeping yourself away from him, Simon broke down as well.

He moved slowly, taking his mask off, and leaving it on the floor between the two of you. He didn't dare looking at you, tears or not, but he wanted you to stop being scared at him.

He would've preferred you stabbed him. He would've preferred you made him eat glass and then shot him between the eyebrows.

But scared? He wanted to bite his own fingers off to make sure he would never hurt you again.

Simon was embarrassed. Ashamed.

He had followed orders, but he should've pressed Price harder. He should've helped you somehow instead of just doing as he was told.

The space between the two of you felt disturbing and too big. He wanted to hold you, to kiss your face, and never let go.

He didn't dare trying to convince you.

But you've been clear. It was over.

All he had left was his regret.

by implied I meant fucking obviously. i couldn't leave johnny out, i love him sm. but if you don't like it just picture them as rlly close buddies, then. they might kiss, but who doesn't kiss their buddies, am I right?

i was gonna wait until tomorrow, but i finished way faster than I thought I would, and I'm hyped as hell, so here you go. a gift!

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold

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monstersflashlight · 2 days ago

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Patreon Commission for @wimble_warcrime

Request: So basically, I was thinking of a disgustingly cute fluff piece about a werewolf and his mate going on a winter vacation a month before his mate is due to give birth to his litter. It's like a last hurrah before their family dynamic is changed forever, and they want to spend it alone. But (!), things don't go as planned, and she's forced into labour (after a particularly rowdy round in the sheets), and their also stranded in the middle of nowhere in the log cabin because of a sudden blizzard. So, werehubby and her have to deal with the birth alone, without pain meds or power.

A/N: I hope this meets your expectations, I changed it a lil bit and added power to the mix so there was someone not panicking. It was very interesting to write. :)

Cabin surprise

Werewolf x fem!reader || sfw (mainly), found family feels || tw: pregnancy, labor

When you first arrived to the cabin, everything felt so new and cozy that you felt instantly at home, it was like you could inhale the peace around you, the woods, solitude, the chirps of the birds outside… And your werewolf husband cursing because he kicked a rock while carrying your bags. Typical.

You tried not to laugh, but when you looked back and saw him looking at the rock as if it personally offended him, you let out a soft chuckle. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed and a scowl on his face, but as soon as your eyes met, it disappeared. His face broke into the biggest smile possible, his ears twitching like they did when he was excited.

Staring at him from the porch of the cabin, hand resting on your very big belly and a soft smile as you looked at him. It was just the epitome of relaxing situation. He walked to you in a rush, not caring that he probably kicked a few more rocks in his way. He was a werewolf on a mission, and his mission was you.

He hugged you with his free arm, squeezing you to his side as he walked inside. “Come on darling, let’s get you settled and then I can rub your feet.”

“I don’t need you to do that,” you tried to argue instantly.

He looked down, faking annoyance. “I know. But I want to.”

He had been more than helpful since you found out you were pregnant. Well, since he sniffed your neck and informed you that you were going to be parents. That was a weird breakfast. But it was magical at the same time, he looked so excited his tail didn’t stop wriggling from side to side for hours. Literal hours wriggling his tail, and his ears twitching in excitement every time he looked at you. His excitement had died down a tiny bit, but he was still over the moon about the baby. Or at least he acted like it.

You had the suspicion that what he really liked was seeing you round with his babies, he fucked you harder than ever, being careful not to put too much pressure or weight on your belly, but fucking you until your arms and legs were trembling and you were drenched in his come, your stomach and pussy messy as he marked you over and over.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ear every time it happened, too. He told you how much he enjoyed seeing you full of his cub, how he wanted to keep you full of come so you would smell like him forever… And you lapped it up. You lived for the attention, he was hornier than ever, and that helped a lot with your crazy pregnancy hormones that made you want to jump him every single second you had available.

And good lord if he complied with that.

He didn’t leave any of your desires without fulfillment. You wanted to be fucked raw doggy-style until your body was sore? Done. You wanted to suck his dick until he was crying and begging? Done. You wanted strawberries and cream out of season? Don’t worry darling, he would drive three towns over until he found them.

And right now, you knew full well what you wanted. And that was to be ravaged by your werewolf. “Come here,” you told him, eyes hooded and a primal hunger boiling inside of you.

His smirk was knowing as he approached, lowering his head enough to kiss your waiting lips. You deepened the kiss instantly, grabbing his hair and pulling until he was whimpering against your lips and grabbing your ass, pulling you up and walking you to the room.

And once again… he complied with all your desires.

But when you woke up a couple hours later, soreness wasn’t the first thing you felt, but the agonizing pain of contractions. Fuck. You were in so much trouble. You could hear the wind outside, which wasn’t a good sign.

You tried to remain calm as your brain freaked out completely. “Honey. Honey, wake up. I think we need to go.” He mumbled something in his sleep, and you turned to his sleeping form and hit him right in the chest. “Wake the fuck up, the baby is coming!” You snapped.

He stood up in one fast movement, looking around in confusion. “What?!” He was blinking rapidly, as if he could stop being sleepy if he did that.

You stared right back at him, but when another contraction hit, you squeezed his arm until he winced. “I have contractions. The baby is coming.”

Instant panic. “But… But we aren’t ready. We don’t have the stuff and… and. Hospital. We need to get to the hospital.” You looked at him and pointed at the window, which was obscured by the dark clouds outside and the huge amount of snow falling. That fact hit him harder than you expected. “There’s a fucking storm outside, we can’t go to the hospital. Shit. Shit. Shit. What do we do? What do I do?”

You breathed hard, trying to collect yourself. “Honey, I need you to calm down, and go get some supplies. We can do this together, okay? We can.” You reminded him. “Say it,” it was an order between clenched teeth.

“We can do this,” he repeated, breathing deeply and looking at you with a hint of desperation.

You looked at him, nodding shortly. “Okay. You aren’t going to pass out right?” You were sure he would hold strong, but at that moment you really needed him to be on fucking alert.

He looked offended. “What? No!”

“Okay. Go get towels and clean water and all those stuff they get in movies,” you instructed.

He got everything he could as you tried to remember all the things they taught you in parenting classes, how to breathe, what to do when the worst pain hit… All that things that at the moment felt a bit stupid but right now were saving you from panicking.

But then your amazing husband returned, he had the best idea ever. “Let me call the Alpha, she will know what to do.” You nodded, squeezing his hand until he whined at the next contraction.

He talked in hushed tones as the Alpha told him some stuff you couldn’t pick. Your brain was entirely focused on the pain and the way your lower body was starting to feel too heavy.

“Okay, okay… Darling, I got you. I got you. Alpha is going to walk us thru’ it, okay? She’s done it a thousand times with wolves in the pack, right?” You nodded, looking at him with tears in your eyes. He looked panicked still, but a lot more collected. “We can get through this. And then we’ll have a beautiful baby that will look a perfect mix between you and me, okay? You want that right?” You nodded again, a single tear leaving your eye as he helped you into a better position.

Step by step he followed what the Alpha was saying on the speaker, never stopping giving you encouragement and compliments. How good you were doing, how pretty you looked even when you felt like shit, how much he loved you… And with each word and each contraction, you felt a bit lighter, a bit better. And when the time to push arrived, he held your hand as he guided you through it.

And when you thought your body couldn’t hold anymore, when you thought you were about to die because of the pain… Then you heard a cry.

You opened your eyes enough to see a ball of fur and soft human skin on your husband’s arms, smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing he’d ever seen. And you can understand why. Because he is. He’s the most precious baby. Delivery wasn’t over, but the rest flew by in a few seconds (or you thought there were seconds) because you knew your baby boy was okay and well…

You were breathing hard, body completely spent, when your husband approached you, already clean and with a bundle of covers on his arms. “You did it, darling.” He kissed your forehead. “You did so good, look at him, he’s so beautiful. Looks just like you…” He passed you the baby and you couldn’t hold back the tears. He looked so perfect, his tiny pointy ears twitching at the sound of your voice, and his nose scrunching as you booped him. He was… perfect.

The next morning you woke up feeling more than soreness, your whole body hurting but with a delicious smell of pancakes and bacon arriving from the kitchen. You wanted to get up, but before you could, your beautiful werewolf was walking back into the room, a plate full of food in one hand, and your beautiful baby in the other.

“The whole pack is here to help, the ran through the blizzard to get here,” he told you with tears in his eyes. You were a lot more sensitive than him at the moment, so the contained tears weren’t your reaction. You started to sob very loudly, alerting the whole pack who entered the room in a panic.

You found yourself half naked in bed, with your whole family looking at you with love and understanding in their eyes…

You did good. Both of you did perfect.

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livelaughloveluffy · 2 days ago

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love languages - trafalgar water d. law

a/n: i definitely needed this fic, i've been a bit sad today so writing this cheered me up a bit, hopefully it can do the same for you all as well!! i started a higher dose of sertraline today, so hopefully i level out and feel better soon.

nothing but fluff here 💗

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how he shows love:

acts of service - law is a silent lover. words have never really been his strong suit and he often has a hard time physically conveying his emotions. his silence, however, is not synonymous to lack of effort. law shows up for you physically. he does hundreds of menial little tasks for you (when he found the time to get them done, you'll never know). whether it's pre-packing your lunch, having your meds ready next to water and breakfast when you wake up, drawing you a warm bath, taking care of your laundry and other chores. and he'll never mention it at all, you'll just happen to find these things all done on your own. he'll constantly brush of your thanks and appreciation with a mumble of "it's nothing.. i was already doing it anyways..." but one restless night, you catch him in the act of secretly folding your laundry, a rare sight you savored and committed to memory.

quality time - it doesn't matter if the two of you are together but focused on your own tasks, attention divided from each other, or if you're wrapped up in each other's arms. law truly doesn't mind either way, just knowing that you're close by is more than enough for him. and while the captain of the heart pirates may do his best to act otherwise, he definitely prefers having you a minimum of an arm's length away. of course, law does enjoy actively finding activities for the two of you to partake in together or places to visit and explore, in his opinion, it's all worthless without you to do it with.

how he feels loved:

words of affirmation - as much as it flusters the captain, your small whispers of praise and affection mean the world to him. while law may have a hard time returning the gesture, the way his entire body seems to relax at your words doesn't go unnoticed by you. until finally just the melodious sound of your voice instantly brings him comfort, something that unconsciously conditioned him to unwind. law is the type of man to take every comment to heart, as if he's collecting and saving them in his very being. so your sincere admiration and words of encouragement hold much more power than you'll ever know, fueling him to keep going.

physical touch - despite the limited conversations the two of you have shared about the topic of his rough childhood, it is abundantly clear that law never fully got over a lot of his abandonment issues. he only truly feels safe when your arms are wrapped around him, lips pressing gentle kisses against his forehead as you softly stroke his raven locks. every kiss and hand hold is treasure in his eyes, and if he could freeze time, he'd live in those moments forever. while the crew of the heart pirates may roll their eyes and poke fun at your sickly sweet nothings and other expressions of pda, they will never comment on your physical closeness to the captain. your hands often resting on his thigh whenever the two of you are sitting down, or on the smalls of his back as you two stand together, are acknowledged but never discussed among the crew. though shachi and penguin can often be found with their faces almost turning blue trying to hold back addressing the amount of times you'll walk into meetings, just to stand behind law's chair, resting your chin of the top of his head while you rub his shoulders.

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tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut @twiishaa @chibinasuu @3v37773 @dreamcastgirl99 @acesdiary @suga-tofu @vamphoria @raddelusionaldive @sparkyvibes @chillerkiller @teewon @all-by-myself98 @moonpri @thissaintjessi @sunshineagony

want to join the taglist? click here!!

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littelovelunette · 21 hours ago

Note

sevika and reader with babies/children?

through the power of the hexstrap (or adoption) sevika and reader have kids and fluff ensues

thank you🫶

Sevika's Little One (2)

Even though the childbirth wasn't exactly thought through and planned, you and Sevika still vowed to love her every step of the way no matter how hard life got.

You were in the delivery room, panting heavily after you'd given birth.

You felt a little light headed due to the loss of blood but the thought of holding your baby girl was enough for you to fight to stay awake.

“She's a beautiful, healthy girl.” The nurse said and handed her to you. You saw her, the tiny red face all scrunched up trying to adjust to the lighting of the hospital room, fists clenched tight in the towel she was in.

“O-oh, hi…” you said weakly, “She's so… she's so beautiful.” You said, trying not to sob in happiness but you couldn't help it.

Sevika was next to you, even though she had tears in her eyes although she refused to acknowledge it.

“What do you want to name her?” Sevika asked, her voice a little shaky, as you passed her to Sevika's arms.

She was careful, holding her in such a way that her flesh arm was in contact with her little bundled up body, instead of her mechanical arm. “She looks like me.” Sevika said, voice weak as she watched the little baby in her arms intently.

“Heather.” You suddenly said, “Let's name her Heather.”

Sevika, not really paying attention, because she was still locked in her baby's trance, took a minute to respond. “Heather… it's soft. Like her.”

“Mhm, that's why it's perfect.” You said with a little giggle. Heather, it would be. Your daughter's name.

A symbol that you and Sevika were a married couple, a little sign of your love for each other.

Sevika was extremely careful with the child and although her one hand was big enough to hold the baby without having to use her mechanical hand, she still preferred the baby stayed in your arms.

It was a little sad, Sevika thought her own baby wasn't safe in her arms but slowly the tension began to loosen and one day, when you woke up, Heather wasn't in her crib.

You were instantly in a panic but then you saw it— Sevika walking around with Heather in her arms, holding the baby up, showing her around the house and introducing her to everything with a baby voice you've never heard before from Sevika's mouth.

“And this is the kitchen, where I'm gonna be cooking for a while.” Sevika said to Heather who's big grey eyes were gazing around curiously, “Because mama needs rest, mhm?”

You leaned against the doorway, watching her bond with Heather. “You cooking, hmmm? Well, I guess I can expect to be poisoned first thing in the morning then.” You joked.

Sevika rolled her eyes, “I cook just fine.” Sevika held Heather close to herself, “Look at her.” She said holding the baby side by side to her own face, “She looks like a complete copy of mine!” There was more shock than awe in her voice that made you laugh.

“I think it's evident.” You walked upto the pair of them, taking Heather in your arms, “But she has my lips.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Yeah, they're not asymmetrical.” You said as you held the baby up, smiling at the little face that seemed so shocked to be there. “I wonder what her first words will be.”

“When's her feeding time?” Sevika asked.

“In an hour.” You replied, sitting down at the dining chair, cradling Heather.

“Want breakfast?” Sevika asked and you nodded, “Only if you wear the apron.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please? For Heather?”

Sevika huffed a sigh, picking the pink frilly apron from the counter and wearing it silently. You had to choke back a laugh at the sight. The big mighty Sevika dressed in a frilly pink apron was a sight to behold.

“Look, Heather!” You said and pointed to Sevika. Heather's big eyes looked around and locked on Sevika's face, a very toothless grin appearing on her lips.

“Oh, she's a gremlin.” Sevika said in an uninterested voice as she prepared the batter to make you some pancakes.

“You weren't saying that back when I gave birth.” You muttered before looking at Heather who was outstretching her small hand up as if wanting to go to Sevika. “Looks like Heather already has a favourite parent.” You laughed and got up, walking to where Sevika was, with Heather in your arms.

Sevika glanced up, smirking slightly. “Oh yeah?”

After breakfast and feeding Heather, you were already tired for the day. Sevika was fawning over Heather as per the usual, dolling her up and saying the same thing every now and then, “I can't believe she's our daughter.”

“Sevika?” You called and she hummed looking up.

“She looks exactly like you, save for the lips, right?”

“Mhm…?”

“You were this cute as a kid? Awwww!”

Sevika flushed a dark shade of red, using Heather's body to hide her face. “I hate you.” She mumbled against Heather's back making Heather give another wide not so toothy grin. They were all you needed.

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the-s1lly-corner · 3 days ago

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Having breakfast at the mansion

Admin yearns for old creepypasta days... grrr... GROWLS!!! I miss old creepypasta Fandom!!! Need to make a long fic where it's just everyone in the mansion and it's like a sitcom

Notes: gn reader, long post, shit post/non serious post, LOADS of characters, I prommy I still write for creepypasta my brains just been dry, reader is also a killer and/or non human creature, no Ben due to my hc of "he's in some tech device 99% of the time + there's no need for him to eat + he doesn't feel the need to be included for meals", platonic + you're new to the mansion, parts overlap/character parts intertwine here and there, this was originally gonna have bloody Painter and puppeteer but the post kinda got long and overwhelming SOCKDKVKGLCSISIZ

CWs: none but it's obviously implied EJ is yoinking some organs to eat

Characters: slender, splendor, jeff, Jane, nina, ej, lj, masky, hoodie, Toby, sally

SLENDERMAN

He doesn't really talk and he doesn't eat. He's more private about his dining experience and he's not about to eat a human carcass at the table....

Well saying he doesn't talk would be a lie. He does, just not verbally. It's downright horrific the first time he speaks in your head but you're just gonna have to get used to it... mostly checks in on you to see how you're settling in.. though it comes off as being a host rather than a friend

That aside he's probably one of the best options to sit next to if you want a quiet and calm eating experience

SPLENDORMAN

He doesn't really eat... his diet is the same as his brothers and it's debatable if he even has the capabilities to digest human food. He simply likes feeling included at the table and takes it as a chance to check in on everyone

Especially you since you're new around here! So sitting next to him means you're gonna have him leaning down to your ear and asking you all sorts of questions about yourself

He does try to nudge you into conversations the others are having... horrible if you're shy

MASKY

He responds to your attempts to make small talk so at least there's that...! It's painfully awkward but at least he's not totally ignoring you..!

He doesn't stick around long after he finishes eating though, same for the other two proxies, since he's got things that he needs to get done... but you're free to come to him when he's done...! Granted he doesn't do a good job of communicating that, but...

You can't help but feel like he's watching your every move under his mask...

HOODIE

Odds are he's sitting next to masky so... double interaction! He doesn't verbally speak, only signs. He never much cared for writing what he wants to say down...

He's not much of a chatter either but he doesn't make you feel watched- at least not as badly as masky does... he actually prods back when you question him. Why should he be the only one being asked things?

Actually gives you a faint wave goodbye once he and the others have to leave to do their work

TICCI TOBY

He's closed off but not fully shut down... if that makes any sense. He's definitely down to a morning chat just don't expect him to really open himself up to you- you've only just got here after all!

You kind of get stuck in a conversation between him and jeff... funnily enough you learn more about toby through that than you would've without jeff

Maybe if you're lucky you'll get dragged along with him once he's done doing whatever slenderman wants of him to do... whatever.. so call it a success...!

JEFF

He can be a little mean and snarky... but so long as you're not being annoying or whatever he's not going to be hostile or mean... not overly chatty but not totally silent

You get swept up in a conversation between him and toby, at least both are chill enough to let you get a word in... maybe if your humor is right jeff will take a quick liking to you

Has no obligations unlike toby so if that conversation goes well maybe he'll ask if you wanna throw knives with him or something

NINA

Oh the second you sit down she's going to start talking to you. Good luck trying to have a quiet breakfast- she's more chatty than splendor

And don't try to get out of any plans she makes with you, she's going to drag you around to either get to know everyone or figure out the layout of the mansion... she's simply excited to have someone new around...!

Wastes no time in filling you in on some gossip... you may not have been there but now you know who did what and when

JANE

Doesn't like to talk while she eats so trying to talk to her now isn't the best idea... she does answer the first few times you talk but you can tell she's growing irritated as you fail to get her hints

Meals are genuinely the worst time to try to get to know her because of this, and she keeps to herself in general so trying to form a connection is going to take some time

She's not cruel to you of course, but it's clear she has her own thing going on and doesn't want it to be disrupted... but it's not uncomfortable to sit next to her at the table. There are other people to talk to and... she does listen. Keeps track of things... if you mention liking something she will remember

SALLY

LAUGHING JACK

Doesn't need to eat but is there just to catch up with everyone. His plate is just covered in candy. He does ask you what your favorites are though...! And he's nice enough to pick them off his plate and give them to you! In his eyes it's never too early for sweets!

His humor bounces between being innocent to mean to dark, he's a wild card in that regard... but he's generally pleasant enough- he's an open book and he wants to know about you as much (or more) than you want to know about him... don't let his massive size scare you off...!

He's only known you for one morning but he's already giving you nicknames. Likely the easiest to befriend asides splendor and sally

EYELESS JACK

So he's... different... he doesn't eat at the table due multiple reasons.. mess and shame, mostly. But you do see him dip into the kitchen to retrieve a bloodied bag from the fridge

He doesn't really take any time to talk to anyone outside of muttering a good morning. He does at least stop to look at you for a minute... oh... yeah... you're new... that why he doesn't recognize you-

There isn't really a chance to talk to him in the morning :( not only does he not enjoy eating around others he just... isn't a morning person... maybe you'll have better luck later...?

Perhaps one of the only normal people at the table, though get ready for her to try to plan a little game with you after breakfast

...it may be early but she'd love to do a tea party with you...! She's already got splendorman on board! Pleeeeeeaaaase come play with them!

No hassle in trying to get her to eat her veggies since... she usually just eats cereal..! Scrambled eggs. Things like that! She does still pick at her food though... she may be a ghost with no biological need to eat but it gives her a sense of normalcy

#creepypasta x reader #crp x reader #slenderman x reader #splendorman x reader #masky x reader #hoodie x reader #ticci toby x reader #jeff the killer x reader #nina the killer x reader #jane the killer x reader #laughing jack x reader #eyeless jack x reader #x reader #canon x reader #canon x you

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itsmemuffy · 1 day ago

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Oh, Lover Boy

♡27 Days of Love: A Valentines Series (x)♡

Day One: A Secret Admirer

Contents: Logan Howlett x fem reader, pure fluff, reader is implied to be bisexual

You trotted down the quiet halls to your classroom. The sun had risen just enough to illuminate your surroundings with hazy rays of light. It was one of those slow, easy mornings when it served no purpose to be in a rush.

Skipping a hot morning meal in favor of a breakfast bar, you were setting up earlier than all the other professors. All the others except for Logan, that is. It was typical for him to be up before everyone else, savoring the quiet dawn.

Logan stood facing the hall leaning back on his desk. The hot mug of coffee in his hand was strong enough to fill the surrounding air with its toasty, bitter aroma.

He spotted you passing by his classroom door, greeting you with a wave and a lazy grin. You only smiled in response, the both of you in unspoken agreement not to break the morning silence just yet.

After you enter your class and open the blinds, you notice something you don't immediately recognize on your desk. On it sat a modest bouquet arranged in a glass mason jar- red and pink carnations grouped with clusters of baby's breath.

Beside the makeshift vase sat a plain piece of folded cardstock. Within the card was transcribed;

For the sweetest girl.

I could eat you right up.

You repeatedly turn the card over in your hands, attempting to process what was happening. In your time here, you have received the occasional flowers. Once or twice for teacher appreciation day or to send you well wishes after getting injured on a mission. Never with a note attached like that.

One thing that immediately stood out to you was how... nice the handwriting was. Definetly nicer than what you saw on a daily basis grading worksheets. The cursive on the note was neat and old-fashioned. Every dip and curve connecting the letters appeared to be penned out with care, deliberate but posessing minimal embellishment or frills.

The list of potential suspects that may be behind this was admittedly short. The night previous you stayed up grading papers until a late hour. Not to mention how early you had arrived today. It could only of been from someone within the mansion.

You cancel out everyone already in a relationship. Oh god, unless Jean and Scott need a third... And then you rule out some less likely contenders. It's probably not Charles... right?

Now you analyze the most likely suitors. Did all those times Ororo put a hand on the small of your back mean something? Was there an alterior motive when Kurt asked you to join him on his yoga sessions? You stand there driving yourself crazy with these thoughts until the morning bell chimes, signaling students to start rolling in to class.

To say you were flustered would be an understatement. The warmth in your chest persisted throughout your lessons. You couldn't tell whether to be flattered or embarassed.

The past couple of years you had shifted your focus away from romance, dedicating your life to help build a community for your fellow mutants. February had become just another month. Being the object of a secret affection was not something you were prepared for.

It was all you could think about, and you couldn't look any of your colleagues in the face while not knowing who left those flowers. After you dismiss your students for lunch, you cook up a scheme to get to the bottom of this. Your plan of action was to visit each class in the hall, peeking at the chalkboards and comparing the handwriting to the one on your note.

You start with the room adjacent to your own. On the board, Ororo had written out an introduction on the ecology unit she had just begun with her students. Unfortunately the letters were too small and close together. Decoratave loops gave her writing a regal effect- beautiful, just like her. Unfortunately, not a match.

One door over brought you to Kurt's drama class. His scribe was much more loose and relaxed than the mystery candidate or Storm's. Something about his handwriting was quite adorable. You find yourself getting sucked in reading pointers he left on Shakespearean tragedies before moving on.

You encounter an issue with your strategy when you find Logan's classroom still occupied by its professor. He sat as his desk doting over a stack of essays on the revolutionary war. To make matters even worse, his chalkboard was blank- freshly wiped down and ready to teach the next group of students.

So caught up in thought, you couldn't have realized you were awkwardly standing in his doorway for quite some time. A rough, easy voice spoke out to you and snapped you out of it.

"Can I help you?" Logan locked eyes with you.

"Oh, I uhh..." You wrung your hands as you made up an excuse, "I was wondering if... you had any spare clipboards? I can't seem to locate mine."

"Clipboards?" He scoffed, but his tone was softer than what was usual for him. You felt a wave of embarrassment crash over you. "Yeah, think I got one in one these drawers."

Logan turned to his desk and started digging for your requested item. He rummaged through piles of probably-dead pens and junk he never uses. You slowly step forward until you stand right behind him.

You leaned in closer, trying to peek over his shoulder discreetly. Close enough to smell the stale tobacco that clung to his jacket. Underneath you picked up the scent of the woodsy cologne he always wore. He never sprayed too much, using just enough where you could only sense it in intimate proximity.

You shift your weight to one foot to keep your balance as you lean forward. Suddenly, the bottom of your shoe loses traction with the floor beneath and you slide into his desk. You catch yourself on the surface of the wood with your arm.

Logan jolts as your hand slams in front on him. "What's the hold up, bub?" You picked up the annoyance in his voice and immediately wanted to dig a hole to bury yourself in.

"Oh, I was just trying to see if..." Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was embarass yourself further. "Nevermind, it's nothing."

He takes your wrist within his grasp, touch much more gentle than you anticipated. "Are ya going to tell me why the hell you're acting so weird?"

You were now within his hold facing him, closer than you think you've ever been to Logan. Your hands crane as your not quite sure where to put them. He lets your wrist go to hold onto your arm.

"It's nothing..." your eyes dart trying to avoid his gaze. "It's... nevermind."

"Can't be nothin' if it's got ya actin' so jumpy." His breath is fanning the strands of hair dangling over your face.

"Well, someone left me flowers on my desk this morning." He nods in response. "And I was trying to figure out who they were from by the writing on the note." He nods again, like a light bulb went off over his head.

"Ah," Logan tsks. He steps forward and your hands in front of you naturallyfall on his chest. "Didja like 'em, sweet girl?"

Your breath caught in your throat as he brings his free hand to lift your chin to meet his gaze. His pupils were so dark and wide you could fall into them, but his expression was relaxed.

Logan was now the center of gravity and you were falling into him. Soft, thin lips and rough stubble had you in his orbit. Your mouth goes slack and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hand on your chin traveling to cup your cheek. You never had a kiss that took your breath away quite like this. By the time he pulls back to look at you, you are already desperate for more.

"Figured ya would."

#I normally don't have Logan call the reader bub #but I can do it one time (as a treat)#Wolverine imagine #Wolverine fanfiction #Wolverine x reader #Logan Howlett imagine #Logan Howlett fanfiction #Logan Howlett x reader

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yogurtkags · 3 days ago

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❝ ANGEL ❞ — yukimiya kenyu

tags. gn!reader, fluff, aged up characters, established relationship, so domestic it makes me sick, just disgustingly fluffy → wc: 1.3k

spending eternity waking up to his angel sounds like a plan

masterlist

you don’t know this yet, but kenyu spends the first few minutes of his waking hours admiring your visage.

from the slight scrunch of your nose when you stir in your sleep from whatever story is being written behind your eyelids in your slumber, to the way you instinctively gravitate towards him even unconscious, your head finding a resting place on his bare chest like a moth drawn to a flame, seeking out the warm steady pulse of a heart behind the skin and flesh of the man you love.

sunlight is barely trickling into his bedroom, not enough to illuminate the space, but just enough for a little bit of vision, enough to map out your soft serene features even without his glasses on.

if he has to pick one place to be for the rest of his life, it may just be here in this moment.

it’s not the first time you’ve stayed over, you practically live here with how often you spend the night. his heart still feels like bursting out of his chest when he sees your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, and when he absentmindedly picks a mug from the kitchen cabinet only to realise it’s yours — you’ve left your little bits and bobs around the house that bring it a little more life, and he’s more than happy to do laundry for two.

that being said, you know very well that it’s not out of the ordinary for kenyu to be up this early.

regardless of the day of the week, he’s typically up before nine, sometimes even as the sun barely peaks over the horizon, preparing breakfast and stepping out of the door for one of three reasons: a run, practice, or a shoot. it’s a routine ingrained in him ever since he started taking soccer seriously, his eyes also a living reminder that he needs to make full use of the time he has.

he has a modelling gig today. he’s slightly upset that it’s on a weekend that he should be spending with you, but alas, duty calls. it shouldn’t take long, he thinks that’s the only reason he told his agent that he’d take it anyway. if it all goes well, he should be done by the late afternoon and he can still take you out to dinner after, he can work with that, he muses as his finger barely grazes the sharp of your jawline, keeping his touches light as a feather in hopes of not accidentally stirring you awake.

kenyu can never understand how you seem to have dipped your toes into the fountain of youth in your dreamscape, face shining with a youthful glow and childlike carefree-ness in the dim light of his bedroom. it’s one of the expressions he loves to see most on you, relaxed and at peace, safe in his arms.

a smile stretches across his face at the the soft unintelligible murmurs falling from your lips, a telltale sign that you’re slowly awakening, and as your eyes flutter open and blink the sleepiness away, you meet the honeyed loving eyes of your beloved.

“hi angel,” he whispers, words enveloped with a gentleness thst comes naturally to him, “i didn’t wake you, did i?”

you shake your head with a hum, shoving your face into the crook of his neck to muffle your yawns. he chuckles airily at the gesture, pressing a kiss to the top of your head in amusement and affection, your hair brushing and tickling his chin, how can you get even more adorable?

with one arm still holding you close and the other hand running through your wild strands, he feels you melt against him. you’d be sinking into his skin if you have any say about it, not that he could ever mind.

“it’s far too early, you should go back to sleep, hmm?” he mumbles against your hairline, tightening his hold when you nuzzle impossibly closer.

“mmm i will soon, after you go.” your words rumble against his throat, finishing off with a little peck as you pull back to meet his gaze again with a sleepy smile, leaning your head upwards slightly to capture his lips in yours.

he meets you halfway, a hand cupping your cheek and thumbing against the soft skin as your lips interlock in a slow, sensual exchange, the gentlest of overnight loving poured into each other’s breaths. your legs tangle beneath the plush duvet and your palms rest against his warm chest, feeling enveloped by a warmth that’s reserved for the early hours of the day, just for the two of you.

despite separating for air, you remain close, noses still brushing and breaths intermingling as the pale yellow glow of the rising sun drifts in through the gaps between the curtains. kenyu likes being this close to you, he can see every beauty mark, freckle or scar mapped out like a string of constellations across your face, the position of each one memorised like coordinates.

likewise, you love trailing your eyes over his beautiful features, the dips and slopes of his sculpted face and watching his eyes soften at the intimacy of quiet moments like this, where all concept of time pauses and everything else other than being with each other becomes irrelevant.

no one knows how long you’ve been laying here like this, mutually admiring, drawn to one another like you’re under a spell, maybe someone slipped a love potion into your water last night, no one knows. but it always ends up like this, regardless of how long you and kenyu have been together, simply stuck on each other, mesmerised, like it’s love at first sight all over again.

of course, the moment is always broken by the grating ring of his alarm, and he makes quick work of shutting it off and groaning into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, the vibrations sending little shivers down your spine as you huff out an amused breath and run your fingers through his waves.

“that’s your cue baby, your agent is gonna be pissed if you’re late again.”

“oh come on, it was barely a minute.” he rolls his eyes playfully and nips at your skin in retaliation, “i couldn’t find the entrance of the venue that one time.”

as much as he doesn’t want to, he knows he has to move or he’ll give in to the temptations and be stuck here forever. again, not that he minds. his agent does however, and it isn’t very professional of him to ditch a shoot last minute with the excuse of cuddling with his partner.

it almost physically ails him to pull away and get out of bed, it ails him, the look of pure disappointment at having to unwrap his arms from you making your eyes fall shut in an uncontrollable giggle.

“you minx, laughing at my misery.” he jokingly scoffs, pinching your cheek. the bed instantly feels colder without him in it, but the lingering kiss that he presses to the same spot on your face makes up for it, spreading a comfort that sparks a flame in your heart and warms you from the inside out, “i love you.”

“i’ll come pick you up at six after i’m done okay? let’s go somewhere nice for dinner.”

“mhmm! it’s a date then.”

“say it back or you hate me.”

“i love you too, ken. god, you’re so dramatic!”

laughter bubbles out of your lips with a matching glimmering smile and despite your groggy disheveled appearance, he can’t help but think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, no matter how many times he's seen it. he could get used to this.

and he should really formally ask you to move in.

taglist. open (link to form) @standcom @pneumosia @returntothefae

notes. and just like that, yukki takes the bllk masterlist's virginity. i love my man i love my man i love my man—GUNSHOT

#ᯓ★ : written in the stars !#yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya x reader #yukimiya kenyu x reader #blue lock x reader #bluelock x reader #bllk x reader #yukimiya kenyu fluff #yukimiya fluff #blue lock fluff #bluelock fluff #bllk fluff #dividers: @enchanthings

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fuctacles · 3 days ago

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Not only am I late but also I'm posting this from my phone so sorry if anything looks wonky

<< 17 | 0 | 19 >>

Eddie has to simmer with it over his coffee, while Steve is standing right in front of him, just out of reach. He's right there, cool as a cucumber, debating pouring maple syrup into his coffee, like he hasn't just seen Eddie's boner. And Eddie his.

He hides his face in his palms. And Steve said they'll get back to this! When?! The breakfast isn't happening fast enough, and the anticipation might kill him before they get some alone time. Yet it's all happening faster than he'd like, too. He has just figured it out and he'd like his three weeks notice, thank you very much.

A hand lands on his shoulder, gently shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Maple syrup coffee?" Steve asks, handing him his mug. His eyes are warm and knowing.

"Sure, why not," Eddie shrugs, taking the drink. It's warm and sweet, and he sticks his tongue out in displeasure. "How much sugar is in this thing?"

"I forgot I already sweetened it before the syrup," Steve admits without shame. He takes back the mug, drinking his sugary concoction with no problem.

"Shouldn't you not eat sugar if you're a dog?" Argyle asks, munching on a dry toast. They are waiting for the leftovers from yesterday to bake in the oven.

"No, thankfully. But I do get upset stomach from grapes and raw onions."

"Hey, quick question." Eddie raises his hand, attracting Steve's attention. "When did Argyle find out?"

"Find out what?" Argyle frowns at them, looking from one to the other.

"That Steve's a werewolf?"

"He is?" His bushy eyebrows rise up. He turns to Steve. "You are?"

Steve stares at him, confused.

"You just called me a dog," he points out.

"I told you!" Jonathan smack his friend on the shoulder.

"I thought it was like, an inside joke!" Argyle throws his arms up. "That he's a dog person? The way I am a cat person?"

Everyone is just staring at each other for a moment, looking from one to another for the confirmation that what they've just heard is, in fact, real.

"Technically, I'm a Lycan," Steve mutters into his sugary coffee. The oven beeps, and the warm food spares them from talking for some time.

Steve sits with his plate next to Eddie, pressing his thigh hesitantly against his. Eddie presses back, and leans in close to whisper just between the two of them.

"At least I'm not the last one to find out anymore."

"I said I'm sorry!" Steve hisses back, knocking his knee into his, just hard enough for him to feel it. He knocks back.

"Well, at least my reveal was more intimate," he mocks quietly, before getting back to his food. From the corner of his eye, he can see Steve's embarrassed flush.

"Yeah, I got really intimate with your fist," Steve grumbles under his breath.

Eddie, having left his brain to mouth filter somewhere in his mother's womb, cannot pass this opportunity at a crass joke.

"Not as intimate as you could," he says, waggling his eyebrows. Steve gapes at him, blinking as his brain processes the words.

"There are children at this table!" Robin yells out, covering her ears.

"Well, this is a private conversation and you shouldn't be listening in!" Eddie reprimands her in his best suburban father impression.

"Damn." Argyle nods his head appreciatively. "You guys down for a threesome? I could learn so much from you."

Steve looks so spooked Eddie almost inhales a piece of chicken with how hard he laughs.

Eddie's not laughing later, when Argyle is rubbing delighted Steve's belly. Because after a reveal like that, a demonstration is required, and at first, he was glad. Anything to postpone facing his feelings. But now, he wanted to tear out every last strand of Argyle's luscious, flowing hair.

"Who's a good dude?" Argyle laughs when Steve gives a small bark. "Yeah bro, you are!"

"You guys are shedding hair all over the carpet," Eddie points out. Not like it's his hair to deal with, but they are having too much fun on this probably expensive, beige rug.

"Ah, sorry bro." Argyle withdraws his hands. "Do you mind?" he, rightfully, asks the owner of the house.

Steve gives a bark, paws moving invitingly for more scratches. Argyle laughs.

"I hope I'm not tripping right now, this is so rad."

Eddie scrunches his nose, watching tiny hair land on the carpet around Steve.

"I'm sure Steve won't mind if you want to vacuum for him later."

"Sh-Jesus!" he jumps when Robin materializes next to him. "What the fuck, man?"

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"I've been standing here for a while," she deadpans.

"No you haven't," he bristles. "Liar."

"Sure," Robin snorts. "I'm gonna join the dog petting. You keep doing whatever..." she waves her hand at him, "...this is." She pats his arm before joining Argyle and Steve on the carpet.

Eddie gapes at them. He has just been patronized but he's not sure what for. All he knows is that Steve looks as happy as a buttered pancake, even more so when Robin joins the impromptu petting session. Eddie wants to tear her hair out a little bit less than Argyle's.

He sits on the couch, letting others have their fill with dog-Steve. Just a week ago, whenever Eddie would see him in the wild, hanging out with someone else, there was never this much joy involved. Almost like the kids didn't feel comfortable with Steve being in his dog form with them, though Eddie suspected they were more worried than anything else. If he had an animal form, he'd be hiding in it at the smallest inconvenience, so he can't blame either of them.

Eventually, their friends get engaged in a conversation about some weird movie he's never heard of, and Steve escapes their hands, shaking himself off before he joins Eddie on the couch. After eternity of itching to pet him, he can bury his fingers in the soft fur. Steve falls heavily into his side, stretching his neck out, and he only huffs out a laugh, scratching where he's asked to.

"Does your hair routine translate to the the dog hair? Or do you have to get it washed separately?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Steve's head perks up, and his wide dark eyes meet his.

"It does translate, actually," Robin picks up on the question. "Which is fucking insane but very convenient."

"It is insane," Eddie admits, his eyes only on Steve. Because his puppy dog eyes show interest, a question and a plea, and Eddie would be honored to fulfill whatever his heart desires.

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets

@ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight

@eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #mine #wereshifter au #werewolf steve harrington #shapeshifter steve harrington #steddie fanfiction

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aayakashii · 1 day ago

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YOU ALREADY KNOW I'll be posting Valentine's Day themed headcanons for each House in Tokyo Debunker!

All prompts come from this post here ♡

And dividers are from @saradika-graphics 🫶

Taglist: @wannaberecluse

Valentine's Day in Hotarubi

Subaru

how does he show affection?

He openly tells you (despite his shyness) that he wants to spend time with you. Subaru invites you for afternoon tea every single day, and every single day, he is ecstatic that you are giving him your precious time. If there is a day in which you can't go, he feels like his day is incomplete. Which is why he then started to invite you to spend every lunch together as well. Maybe he should also invite you to breakfast and dinner?

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He likes hugs, but can't ask for them nor give you one of his own volition to save his life. You ask him if he's okay with hugs every time you feel like hugging him, and every time he goes beet red when he says yes. You're gentle when you embrace him, as if he's porcelain under your touch. He hesitantly leans his cheek against your head, and you can feel the faint scent of aromatic herbs on his clothes. His heart slows down; he melts against you.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's too anxious for that, which can be endearing in of itself. Despite that, he still makes small comments that take you aback: he turns to you, a small smile on his features as he quietly tells you how much he enjoys your company and how grateful he is to spend time with you. It may not be a planned pick-up line, nor a seductive remark, but it still warms you up all over.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's great at it. More than anything, Subaru loves to listen to you. He knows every little detail about your personality and your tastes, and that makes him the perfect gift-giver. He spends time researching a way to give you a proper Valentine's Day gift that you would truly love, and he's always successful.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

Slow. He knows what's happening – he has read enough books to know some metaphors for love. He knows his racing heart, clammy palms, and blushing cheeks aren't mere anxiety; the pit in his stomach isn't fear nor anger; he isn't sick, he isn't feverish – he's in love. Subaru immediately decides to just bring it with himself to his grave. Why bother? He's hardly worth it. But when you spend more and more time with him, his feelings seem to create a life of his own and choke him, angry that they're being pushed aside and left unsaid. One day, much to his dismay, they win the battle.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Hard. But, by the gods, he tries it. He takes it like a challenge to be won. He needs to prove to himself that he can be sincere with you, anxieties be damned. He tries and tries. It gets easier after the first time.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

He does. He's not one to explicitly express his jealousy, but you still can tell from the way he stares, eyes half-lidded and darkened with something that looks too venomous to be only disdain. To anyone else, he might look serious, but you know better: he's seething, a quiet storm brewing under his skin. He stares at the guy that's being way too friendly with you, and if looks could kill, that man would have probably been mauled to death by now. You quickly jog your way back to Subaru, and he relaxes his fists. You intertwine your fingers with his, and suddenly, as if he never knew hatred, he gives you a genuine smile. All is well.

what is his ideal date?

A beautiful, quiet, rainy afternoon at Hotarubi. Every day you visit him is his ideal date. Subaru doesn't like crowds nor does he like leaving his quarters – he's happy to be with you, in his favorite place. That's all he needs.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wants to ask. He wants to take the reigns for once in his life and prove to you that you can trust him, you can lean on him as much as he leans on you. He wants to spend his life bettering himself and conquering his fears, so he can become the person he thinks you truly deserve. Let him ask.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

He remembers he used to receive chocolates back when he was still acting, but they were all giri choco. He never had the experience of living a normal student life before Darkwick, and even then, he barely had any thrilling experience. He doesn't want to create expectations, but he can't lie; he wants to know what it will be like to spend Valentine's with you.

does he get protective easily?

He does, but he's afraid he might be too paranoid. He gives you space, only quietly watching you when he sees you walking through the campus. If he could, he'd just have you walk with him wherever he went. But he can't, so it's yet another feeling he pushes down and tries to smother.

does he believe in true love?

Yes. But he has read so much about it and performed so many plays in which love was at the core of everything that he wondered if true love has to be like that: tempestuous and painful. You're teaching him that it doesn't need to hurt at all.

Haku

how does he show affection?

He lingers. Always at the peripheral of your vision, although distant. He watches you from balconies and windows; finds you in the middle of a crowd and lays his head on his hand, content with observing. Sometimes, you catch his gaze, and he blinks his tired eyes as a smile quirks his lips upwards, thinking of gods-know-what. Don't worry, he'll get closer if needed. You know he always does.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He likes hugs but won't take the initiative to give them. Doesn't mean he won't be constantly waiting for you to wrap your arms around him so he can wrap his around your waist. Hugging him is always disarming, though – he makes sure to press your whole body flush against his and nuzzles your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with the same eagerness he had when he still took drags of cigarettes. He sighs loudly, perfectly content, and drowns you in his sandalwood scent.

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

Please. You know he is. It's actually unnerving how easily he turns you into putty in his hands as he teases you with his unabashed comments. Despite that, his flirting is always laced with a hint of self-belittlement, as he puts you on a pedestal for him, a mere mortal (or so he says), to worship. He isn't sure if he deserves to be flirting with someone that's way too good for scum like himself, but he does it anyway.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's good at finding small, meaningful gifts that he likes giving to you in the spur of the moment. He might try to give you a more valentines-esque gift, but he genuinely feels like none of it would feel genuine, because he'd just be following a trend, not giving you what he thinks truly fits you.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

Slower than most. Haku started talking to you in the same way he always talked to the pretty people in whom he had a sudden interest – he flirted without much thought, all double entendres and sweet pet names. But when he noticed his interest wasn't waning this time – in fact, it seemed like he exponentially needed more and more of you near him – alarm bells began ringing on his head. Did he want to pursue this? Did he think he deserved this? He had to fight a long battle with himself before he could muster the courage to confess to you.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Easy, but he only says when you two are completely alone. He says it reverently, like a prayer, looking at you as if you held the answers to all of his problems. And maybe you did.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Kinda? His jealousy translates into passive-agressiveness (towards the other guy, not you) and INTENSE self-deprecation. He says things like "haha it's okay, I knew it was too good to be true, to have you give me the time of your day..." and it makes you wanna scream and shake him by the shoulders because what the actual fuck is he talking about? (kiss him while you do this and he'll stop sulking.)

what is his ideal date?

He's another festival goer. After all, despite all everything, he still loves japanese culture. He wants the whole cliche: a festival during the night, the both of you wearing yukatas, walking around the stalls while holding hands, getting masks (a tanuki one for him) and eating hearty food. And at the end of the night, he would find the perfect spot for you to watch the fireworks show. Because you bet he would only be looking at you.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He thinks about proposing every single day, but his mind gets the best of him: he's too much of a coward, and he can only allow himself to dream of a future with you. Which is why you will probably have to ask him and prove once and for all that, yes, no matter how much he hates himself, you still love him more than enough. And you'd like to keep on proving that every day if he allowed so.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

It's a little bit tiring. He used to dodge all the students that went after him to give him chocolate all throughout high school, so now his Valentine's Days are usually spent in isolation, so he can nap. However, he can't lie: he's kinda looking forward to his first Valentine's Day with you.

does he get protective easily?

Kinda. He's always keeping an eye out for you, checking if you're in trouble or not, but he doesn't pounce at everyone and everything that approaches you. He knows your friends can probably help you too and that you're no weakling. If true danger is nearby, though, he will always keep you safe to the best of his abilities. But otherwise, he trusts your strength too.

does he believe in true love?

Yes. He stopped believing he would know what it is like to feel it, though. Until that one day.

Zenji

(P.s.: in these headcanons, Zenji will be alive because I don't wanna write heavy angst in this series '^^)

how does he show affection?

He is all sorts of loud about his love for you – sings about you, recites poem about you, talks his friend's ears off about you... Sometimes you have to reel him in, because while you're already used to his antics, not everyone has fun when that tall, boisterous man starts playing biwa in the middle of a cafeteria, on a school day. Unfortunately, not everyone has taste, after all.

does he like hugs? what are his hugs like?

He LOVES them, but usually, you have to initiate them. Zenji likes to be as dramatic as possible, so when he sees you, instead of hugging, he straight up kneels and kisses your hand. It's when you roll your eyes and pull him up to embrace him tightly that he finally melts in your arms. He rests his head on the top of yours and sighs happily. (He loves it when you do that, which is why he keeps this routine).

is he good at flirting? how does he flirt?

He's. Actually kinda bad at it. He can write about love as much as he wants, but when it comes to trying to woo you, he's slightly clumsy. He may memorize some charming line he'd love to use on you, but as soon as you look into his eyes, he goes scarlet red and all chance he had to charm you without stuttering is gone. You're still very much charmed, though, because he's oh so endearing.

is he good at gift - giving or does he struggle to get it right?

He's a bit confused, but he got the spirit. He gives you things that he genuinely thinks you might like, but unless you two have the exact same taste in everything (which he firmly believes you do), he might miss sometimes. He likes to give you antiquities, books and old musical instruments. To him, there's nothing more romantic than art itself.

is he quick or slow to give his heart away?

He's quick. It all sweeps him under his feet, as a ferocious wind storm. He doesn't waste any time once he knows that he's in love because why would he? It's a reason to celebrate, whether you return his feelings or not. Your answer will define the tone of his poems and songs from then on, though.

does he find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

It's easy. Being open about his love is so easy to him that it looks like it's natural. He was born to say those words, and he'd be damned not to voice it as frequently as possible to you. He loves you, and he could say that as many times as you'll allow him to.

does he get jealous in a relationship?

Not really. Zenji trusts you so much that he genuinely feels that nothing can come between you two. Of course, if someone is being overly-touchy, he's not gonna like it, but he'll just tell them to respect your boundaries, and then he introduces himself as your boyfriend.

what is his ideal date?

Going out to see a traditional music concert with you would be the perfect evening for him. He gets to appreciate art with you, the one person he wishes to show every little thing he loves. Seeing your eyes admire what he has loved since he was a kid warms his heart in a way he could not put into words, no matter how many times he tried.

would he ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He wouldn't mind proposing first, but he WILL get teary-eyed if you propose to him. It's as if after all of those years of his life, in which he unabashedly loved everything that surrounded him, the love he has put out is finally making its way back to him. Finally, Love decided to prove to him, once and for all, that It loves him back; through you and the promise of a lifetime together, Zenji knows he is loved.

how does he feel about valentine’s day?

Oh he loves it. Love is in the air! He always had so much fun observing the couples and all the brave people that gathered their courage to confess to the ones they love the most! And now he gets to celebrate it too, with the one he loves? He can't wait.

does he get protective easily?

He's a worry wart, but he tranquilizes his anxiety by just. Hanging out nearby, wherever you are. If he can see that you're safe and happy, he's satisfied. But if notices you're not having a good time, or worse, you're in danger, he immediately runs to your side and does his best to tuck you under his arms and run away with you.

does he believe in true love?

If loving so deeply is an art, Zenji is a whole masterpiece. He's true love itself.

#FINALLY #APOLOGIES FOR ANY TYPO OR GRAMMAR MISTAKE I'LL FIX THEM LATER #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker headcanons #tokyo debunker x reader #subaru kagami #haku kusanagi #zenji kotodama

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