#just piles and piles of soft fluff

[gleafer]

IT IS TIME to unleash another EDEN ADVENTURE.

“Too Fast”

[quietwingsinthesky]

🔫 what’s ur oldest WIP

This was actually more difficult to find than you’d think. My WIPs are spread all over the goddamn place, but I think it’s this one I found in my notes app. The premise was a pre-Lucifer’s Fall fic about the archangels wherein Lucifer thinks it will be very funny if he pushes Michael into a black hole. (Gabriel is running interference on Raphael so that they can’t prevent Michael from being an idiot and falling for this really obvious trap.) and he’s right! It is funny!

For about 10 seconds before the remaining three of them realize that Michael can’t get himself free and start panicking. Eventually, they have to get their dad’s help to pull Michael out.

You know what? Might as well post the snippet I had written, just in case I never finish it. Taking place immediately after Michael is retrieved from the black hole he was shoved into:

Michael looks terrible. His wings, held tightly against his back, are a mess, feathers bent and disorderly, more than a few missing completely. He holds himself stiffly under their father’s gaze as he inspects Michael for any serious injury. After a moment, their father steps back to look at all four of them. Gabriel’s wings tremble, and Lucifer extends his own to cover them without dropping his father’s gaze.

“Whose fault is this?” he asks. Raphael looks at Michael, but he doesn’t look back, keeping his eyes on their father. He waits, and the four of them say nothing. “I asked you a question.” Gabriel shrinks further back under Lucifer’s wing. Raphael kind of looks like they want to do the same, but they’re too far away.

It was Gabriel’s plan. Strictly speaking, he should be the one their father disciplines.

But he’s already paid the price for it in Lucifer’s eyes. He was terrified they’d actually gotten Michael hurt. He’d nearly gotten sucked in himself trying to get Michael out. His wings are still trembling slightly, upsetting the feathers on the underside of Lucifer’s wing, but Lucifer doesn’t move. He’s older, he’s God’s favorite, and he’s gotten in trouble far more times than Gabriel ever has. He can weather any punishment better than his little brother.

“I wa-“ Lucifer starts.

“Lucifer warned me not to get too close.” Michael interrupts. He meets Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer shuts up.

“Did he?” Their father presses. “Michael, if something happened…”

“I made a mistake.” Michael stands his ground. “My siblings tried to help me.”

“Gabriel and Lucifer did try to pull him out,�� Raphael says to bolster Michael’s lie. Lucifer can’t help feeling proud of them. “I told them it was a bad idea, but they tried anyway.”

“You’re lucky neither of you got trapped as well,” their father says, “and that if you did, Raphael had the sense to stay behind.” Raphael smiles a little. Their father sighs and manages to give the impression of rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration without actually doing it. “And you’re sure that’s all that happened, Michael?”

“Yes, Father.” Michael nods.

Their father looks over them all, one by one. Lucifer still refuses to look down. Raphael does. Gabriel hasn’t met his eyes the entire time. Michael does look away, briefly, but he looks back, standing up straighter. There is no doubt in Lucifer’s mind that their father doesn’t believe a word they’ve said.

“Alright,” he says. “Don’t play near the black holes again, children.” There’s a chorus of Yes, Father’s from all four of them. He glances over them again, sighs louder this time, in a way that Lucifer thinks might be purposefully dramatic, and leaves. Gabriel finally peeks out, nudging Lucifer’s wing up.

“Are we not in trouble?” He asks. Lucifer tilts his head at Michael in question.

“You lied to Father’s face.” He feels the need to state, in case Michael doesn’t realize what he just did. Michael’s wings flap once, and he grimaces, like the movement hurts with his feathers so crooked.

“I did not.” He argues. “I said I made a mistake, and I did. I believed for a minute that you think about anything other than mischief.” His voice is light, not reprimanding. Raphael snorts, and Lucifer understands Michael’s game. Lucifer scowls at him. Michael rolls his eyes.

“Well, I suddenly can’t remember how to groom your wings,” he retorts. “After all, if all my knowledge is solely devoted to mischief-“

“I imagine it takes up a lot of space, Lu,” Michael says with joking condescension, “and with a mind as small as yours…” He’s cut off by Gabriel starting to giggle. Raphael joins in a few seconds later. It feels more like a release of tension than anything. Lucifer huffs, feathers puffing up with faux annoyance, and Michael smiles softly.

[kizzer55555]

Ok, so this inspired me. Basically, Jazz and Danny are running away after Jack and Maddie died in a lab accident due to the GIW. The Guys in White are now hunting both Danny and Liminal Jazz so the two run away. However, the GIW manage to keep tracking them down. So Jazz and Danny need to find a new tactic. They manage to get their hands on some magical amulets that Danny tracked down using his powers and ghostly connections. These are similar to the dragon amulets that Dorothea and her brother used. Put them on, and you will turn into an animal of your choice.

Danny and Jazz used the amulets to shape-shift and give the GIW the slip. They need to cross a forest? A pair of deer is no bother. Had to get over a canyon? A simple sparrow and hawk could be seen flying by. Had to cross a river? That fish and turtle seem awfully determined to cross.

Then eventually they reach Gotham and turn into a common dog and cat. However, things get…complicated. During a. Rougue attack, they lose the amulets and they discover a small side effect. Apparently, unlike Dorathea and Aragon, if the amulet comes off, they do not automatically revert to their natural form.

well, at least they have their ghost/liminal powers (Jazz is stronger, faster, and tougher than a normal person and can sense/taste emotion.) Now they have to get their amulets back.

Then they stumble across a local vigilante stuck under some rubble caused by the same villain attack. Well, it’s not like they could just leave him right?

Jason awoke to two random street animals saving his life and doing things that normal animals…really shouldn’t be able to do. That dog just lifted an entire steel beam in it’s jaws like it was a common stick. And he’s pretty sure the cat just phase shifted to his side. Because of the helmet, the siblings don’t realize Jason woke up.

Once finished and sure that help is arriving, Danny and Jazz leave to find their amulets. And Jason meanwhile, takes note of the two meta animals in his part of the city.

They keep running into each other. Danny and Jazz are having a hard time getting food now that they can’t shift back into human. It’s also harder to find a place to stay. The city is too crowded to use their powers, that would be a dead giveaway that they weren’t normal and likely get the GIW’s attention. And they can’t talk in this form either. Sure, they can understand each other and other animals but no matter how hard they try, the dog and cat mouth just wasn’t made to speak human language and all that comes out are grrrs and soft mews. Jazz does her best to keep her little brother safe now that he’s in such a tiny and vulnerable form. She growls at anyone who comes close to them. Danny meanwhile, uses his abilities to secretly get most of their food.

Then they spot that vigilante guy from before and he starts leaving out food after seeing how skinny they are (he must not have noticed before with the concussion). Slowly but surely, he earns their trust. At least enough for him to get close without the dog growling at him. It sort of evolves from there. Jason had made it very obvious when he enters or exists certain buildings, letting them know without words that these were his places. He even makes direct eye contact (Jason knew these animals were more intelligent than normal, although he assumed it was due to the ‘meta gene’), and he leaves his place open for them to come in (he’s not sure how they managed to get in through the 4th story window but once he realized it was possible he just started leaving the window unlocked).

Jazz and Danny recognize Red hood’s apartment as a safe place with food and shelter and they stop by there when they need it as they search for the amulets. They do so more and more until it starts being more common to see Jazz sleeping on Jason’s couch or Danny curled up next to the vigilante as he sharpens his knives. They spend more time in the apartment than out. They also start following Jason around (never out in public though, only his goons know about Jason’s two little shadows. They think it’s adorable. Danny absolutely deliberately curls up on Red Hood’s shoulder while in view. It is a universal law that when a cat sleeps on you, you cannot move. And Danny abuses that power, especially in front of Red Hood’s henchmen. His bad boy rep is being shredded to pieces by tiny little claws without a shred of mercy).

Jazz and Danny become comfortable with red hood and he even gives them collars so that no one messes with them or they end up at the pound (again). Picking out names was a chore though. Danny and Jazz refused every suggestion until Jason got them right. Danny’s was pretty easy, he just kept going through names until he eventually got it. Jazz was a bit harder as he only got it when the dog kept changing his speaker music to Jazz music. She would just come over and swipe at his phone with her nose or go to a nearby radio and turn the dial with her teeth. So for a while, it was just Danny and Dog (affectionately known by the goons as the DDs) (although Jason never caller her Dog to Jazz’s face.)

Danny and Jazz wish they could talk to Jason and explain to him what they need. After all, as comfortable as this is, they need to be able to return to human form some time. Jason hasn’t actually claimed ownership of them. They come and go as they like. But he’s starting to learn why people get therapy animals. He hasn’t been this relaxed in months.

On an unrelated note, Damian is ecstatic when Jason tries to casually ask for pet care advice and he weasels out the information that Jason got two animals. Not only that, two meta animals. Jason absolutely must bring them over for play dates and walks. Titus recognizes Jazz as an alpha and respects her while Danny does his absolute best to get Alfred the cat to play with him.)

Danny would fail the wall test 😔 (click for clarity)

[goxjo]

♥︎ 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 ♥︎

⟢ ┈ ﹒꒰ the morning after your first time with him, he’s not quite finished with you FT. gojo, nanami, geto, naoya, toji x fem! reader ꒱

AUTHOR’S NOTE. yeah, this could end up being very sweet or very horny. either way, please mind the warnings uwu. also, gojo’s is longer than the rest just bc <3

CONTENT. explicit smut, some sprinkles of fluff, eepy jjk men. ♡ gojo ♡ pet name: baby, princess, cuddling, early morning banter, frottage, v! fingering. ♡ nanami ♡ food cw, he wears a cute lil apron and you show up wearing only his shirt, v! fingering. ♡ geto ♡ pet name: angel, morning wood, early morning stretch, daddy kink. ♡ naoya ♡ pet name: kitten, consensual somnophilia, cunnilingus, kinda rough, squirting in his mouth sorry not sorry <3 ♡ toji ♡ pet name: sweetheart, consensual somnophilia, waking him up by giving head, 69.

LINKS. GEN. MASTERLIST ┆ JJK MASTERLIST

♥︎ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 ♥︎

ੈ♡‧₊˚ GOJO SATORU

“Satoru, can I tell you something?” You lightly trace your finger down his face. The tips of his eyelashes feel ridiculously soft to the touch, not to mention his glossy lips- ones that have explored your own and your body so thoroughly just a few hours ago, you’ve memorized its shape at this point. His mouth slightly opens when you graze his bottom lip with your thumb. Through his pearly white teeth, warm breath fans the tip of your finger as his chest rises and falls in sync with his light snoring.

“Hm?” For the first time, you’re hit with his raspy morning voice - one you can definitely find yourself getting used to. He catches your hand, peppering lazy, half-asleep kisses at the back of it. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Just- I’m insanely attracted to you, that’s all,” you whisper and his eyes light up at the sudden confession. You haven’t been together long so you saying something like this out of the blue is more than enough to take him aback. Next thing you know, big strong arms wrap around you, piling your weight on top of him.

“This feels nice,” he breathes, sleep finding its way back to his eyes, and you can feel his breaths slow down as he drifts off again.

Flick. “Hey, wake up. Need to hear that voice again.” You lightly flick a finger to his forehead and his eyes flutter open for a few seconds. But that wasn’t enough to fully wake him.

“Can’t. You’re so warm. So soft,” he mutters, tightening his grip around you. He shifts a little, trying to nestle the back of his head into his pillow as he shuts his eyes. “Could stay like this all day long.”

You lean closer to his face, studying his sleeping profile. How could anyone be this perfect? Most people wake up with bed heads, dried up drool on their chin, troll-like attitude, and crusty eyes. Not Gojo Satoru. He’s an angel. He wakes up in the morning looking as if he had a 30-minute head start to his daily skincare routine. As if he even needs one.

“Sooo soft,” he mutters once more, squeezing your sides.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news you big pervert but you have to get ready for class.”

“Wrong!” He jolts awake. “That’s not something someone ‘insanely attracted’ to me would say.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m insanely attracted to you as well, and I say ‘5 more minutes’. Actually, make that an hour.”

You try to brush off his comment, pretending as if heat didn’t just rush to your cheeks at what you’d call a poor attempt at banter. A lie, because of course he’s an expert. “Come on you big baby. Wake up.”

“45 minutes, baby.” A big hand reaches underneath your shirt, soothing your bare back.

“Think you’re being slick, huh?”

“Mmm, shut up and come closer.”

“15 minutes?” you suggest, legs straddling his sides, pussy grinding on his half-hard cock as you draw hearts on his jaw, his hands finding their way to your bare ass.

“Hmm, 30.” He groans and you feel his cock twitch underneath, his hands grabbing the fat of your ass.

“You’re a bad negotiator- mmf.” You purr when he spreads your ass, walls clenching at the slight stretch.

“The worst. So, 30? Actually no. 30 is a done deal if you throw in a little kiss.”

“Deal—”

“On second thought…” his fingers slide down your folds, your mouth pops into an ‘o’ and you know for sure you’re done for the second he slides two digits into your slippery hole. “How ‘bout we make it 30 minutes after round 2?”

You’re definitely going to have to stay in all morning.

ੈ♡‧₊˚ NANAMI KENTO

A wave of confusion hits you when you’re awoken by the sound of something that dropped in a pan, aroma of something frying filling the room. Your eyes dart to the door slightly left open and you’re suddenly aware of the empty space beside you.

You try to look for the clothes you discarded last night but they’re nowhere to be found. So of course, you go for the next best thing.

Coming into the kitchen, you’re met with your partner’s broad and bare back, and your eyes immediately dart to the white lace-trimmed ribbon tied around his waist.

Clad only in pajama pants and that frilly little apron you gifted him as a joke, one that has a pretty pink ‘kiss the chef’ embroidered text at the front, Nanami is way too preoccupied with preparing breakfast for two.

You whistle in a way that’s too flirty for his comfort. Nanami looks over his shoulder, eyes trailing your form up and down, staring way too long at where his signature blue button-down ends just slightly above your upper thighs.

“Careful, your hashes are about to burn.”

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, completely turning off the heat as he makes his way towards you.

“You’re not gonna finish that? Aren’t you going to—” he doesn’t let you finish when he captures your mouth, pulling you into a deep kiss. His hands reach underneath the hems of your (his) shirt, finding your slick folds before pumping you silly with two of his fingers.

“Nope, I’m suddenly craving something else. Sit on the counter, now.”

ੈ♡‧₊˚ GETO SUGURU

You’re woken up by the sound of an alarm. Looking at the clock, it reads ‘7:00 am’ and you’re surprised to find a heavy arm around your waist and something hard pressed up against your ass.

You shift to turn off his alarm, to which Geto’s eyebrows furrow, protesting over your sudden escape from his hold. “Come back here,” he groans, voice a tad deeper than his usual key, swiftly pulling you close to his bare chest.

“You sound so sexy,” you whisper, planting lazy kisses on his nose and on his lips, his erection leaking something warm on your stomach.

“Really? You sounded sexier last night. Need to hear you screaming my name again, angel.” He reaches down, knuckles sliding across your slit as you feel his fist pumping his cock at the same time. For the first time, you’re oriented with what mornings with Geto are like.

The head of his cock runs through your slick folds before finding your hole. You purr at the friction as he enters you, giving a whole new meaning to ‘early morning stretches.’

“Ohh, ohh~” you hum. Your core grows heavy with need, forcing you to try to bounce on his cock, clit grinding against his abdomen as you hold onto his bicep.

“So impatient.” Geto chuckles at your eagerness. “Want daddy to pay attention to your clit?”

“Daddy, daddy, n-need you to move pleasepleaseplease,” you whine. He hooks your leg around his waist, fingers digging into the fat of your ass as he bottoms out.

“Good morning to you too.”

ੈ♡‧₊˚ NAOYA ZEN’IN

You think maybe you’re having one of those dreams. The best kind- one where a warm, wet muscle runs across your puffy slit before sliding in and out of your hole. It feels so hot, so good. Too hot, too good, you feel an orgasm coming-

“Fuuuck,” you cuss breathily, whines choking back a wake up yawn, and your body arches to the sensation in your pussy in place of an early morning stretch. Your eyes blink away the sleep in your eyes. Looking down, you find that black and white head of hair you love so much in between your thighs. And he doesn’t stop devouring your pretty cunt even as you mewl through your high. “Fuck, baby, fuck me!”

It’s real and it’s definitely his tongue sucking on your throbbing clit, definitely his thick fingers relentlessly fucking your wet velvet walls, definitely your pussy squelching from how good his tongue and fingers play with you at this ungodly hour.

“Grrood, mm-you’re-mm-awake,” he talks as if he’s speaking to your pussy, unwilling to part from your sweet little cunt even for a second. He was also like this last night. He told you the taste of your pussy is so damn fucking intoxicating, he could eat you up like a three-course-meal.

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop!” Your fingers rake through his locks, making him use his teeth on your pussy just because he knows how much you like it when he gets rough. He feels so good going down on you like this, you just can’t help but squeeze his head between your thighs.

“Babybabybaby, fuuuuck- shit!” You feel your pussy twitch two or three times before he gulps, and with his lips still glued to your pussy, you could feel him release a deep chuckle at how much you came undone. Worry washes all over you, heat rising to your face when you realize what you’d done.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You taste heavenly kitten, do it again.”

ੈ♡‧₊˚ FUSHIGURO TOJI

Toji wakes up to an all-familiar feeling around his cock, something that wasn’t uncommon before he had you but now that it is you and your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, one arm propped on his thigh for dear life-

“God, I fucking love you.”

He absolutely adores the sight of your head in the morning bobbing up and down his hard length, ass perked, other hand struggling to play with your cunt.

“C’mere and turn around sweetheart. Show me that pretty pussy of yours.”

Ass still perked, only now it’s dangerously close to his face. He spreads your folds with his thumbs, stretching your juicy, clenching entrance and huffing out hot air before he drags out his tongue to lick stripes on your cunt.

“Rrmfh~” Your mewls are muffled as you’re gagged with the head of his cock. The feeling of his tongue on your pussy tickles something in you that makes you suck on his cock, releasing a pop when your mouth leaves his length.

“Ohh~ T-toji baby-fuck-let’s cum together.”

“So fucking needy.” Toji kisses your clit a couple times before making out with your lips. He alternates between nipping the sensitive bud with his teeth and flicking it with his tongue, driving you insane while your own mouth is stuffed full of his cock.

“I rarely have breakfast, but this is a nice little treat.”

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[vampcubus]

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui & wives, poly obamitsu, tanjiro kamado, inosuke hashibira, zenitsu agatsuma.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, big spoon coded reader cus i said so, wholesome fluff, cuddling n snuggling, polyamory (tengen & obamitsu's parts), kamaboko trio aged up as per usual.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— A teddy bear in the shape of a man and enthusiastic to be used as one! As a Hashira, Kyojuro is often kept away for days and weeks at a time, so he makes the most of every moment you spend together.

— Kyojuro's not happy unless he's got his arms full of his favorite person, so you can expect him to seek you out the moment he arrives home.

— If you’re a civilian and he finds you in the kitchen, he’ll drape himself over you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck and lavishing it with smiling kisses, rugged hands settling on your hips.

— Kyojuro wants to be cuddled to sleep and truly can’t bear to be parted from you, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets in the summer months. And if he has obligations, he tries to wake up a little early so he can have a few minutes of cuddle time with you before he’s whisked away. You don’t even have to be awake for it, he just wants to hold you for a little while <3

— He started out as a big spoon but converted into a little spoon when he discovered what it felt like to be properly held. He’s no more content than he is when he’s got his back pressed to your chest and you’ve curled yourself around his broad frame. 

— He likes it best when you rub his belly when his eyes are too big for his stomach, always easing a bit of the discomfort <3

— Kyojuro is comfy to lay on, with two perfect pillows for you to rest your head on (his pecs <3). His muscles are quite soft when relaxed, and the way his heart stutters when your cheek rests on it is so cute.

— Kyojuro feels safe in your presence so he’s very prone to falling asleep on your shoulder or with his head in your lap. With his workload and inconsistent sleep schedule, he’s often a cuddle session away from nodding off. Particularly so when you start playing with his flaxen hair, it’s like his off-switch 🤭

— He’s a bit of an oversized lapdog and’ll climb into your lap every chance he gets. As far as he’s concerned, that’s his seat. It looks funny to outsiders if he’s bigger than you, but he hardly cares, all too eager to get all comfy in your lap and tell you about his day.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 & 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Big, tough man too cool to cuddle? No sir. Tengen is a touchy lover and raises a brow when you try to sit anywhere other than his lap, like why aren't you in your assigned seat? 🤨

— Pulls you flush against his side every chance he gets, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders. You often get a companion wet kiss to the cheek to boot just to see you scrunch your face up and wipe his spit off your cheek >:(

— His wives are just like him– Suma especially who practically hangs off of you with those big doe eyes, clinging onto your arm during outings as a group. Between Tengen and Suma, your hands will never be lonely and you'll certainly never be cold. Those two are space heaters and can't keep their hands off their partners to save their lives.

— Makio is easily flustered by affection but ultimately craves it, even if getting her to admit it is like pulling teeth. A hopeless romantic at heart <3 She’s a big spoon and overheats easily, so she prefers to linger on the edges of the cuddle piles. She’ll smack your thigh if you move around too much with an annoyed grumble. She can be such a meanie sometimes 😔

— Hinatsuru doesn’t mind holding or being held, she just wants to be close to you. Though generally more soft-spoken than Makio, Tengen, and Suma, her affectionate touch translates her love for her partners so clearly. Often rubs soothing circles over your back, rests a comforting hand on your arm, and pets your hair while you cuddle.

— Tengen likes to talk when you cuddle, prattling on about his or your day while rubbing your side or back mindlessly. Most times, he talks you to sleep or vice versa, considering what a busy guy he is before retirement. Sometimes you’ll get caught up in deep conversations about your past lives, silly theories, or ping-pong flirtatious banter until you can barely keep your eyes open.

— Tengen likes it most when you and the wives crawl right on top of him, all to eager to be living furniture for his beautiful spouses while you all gossip and giggle to each other.

𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 & 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

— Dare I say the clingiest partners ever?

— Obanai hesitates where as Mitsuri openly throws herself into your arms at every opportunity. Just be patient and take things slow and he'll follow Mitsuri's example. It’s a subtle shift, maybe he leans his head on your shoulder to test the waters, unable to meet your eyes. He melts if you wrap an arm around his shoulders and rub his arm, eyelids drooping as he relaxes further against you.

— Mitsuri is a cuddle bug in every sense of the word, like a tiny, purring kitty rubbing its body against your legs when you come near. You swear she chirps like one too, especially when her affections are met with a head pat or tender kiss.

— Obanai won’t say it, but he likes it when he’s in the middle, tucked safely between his two favorite people. The three of you spend many long hours this way, just relaxing in each other's embrace before your obligations call you away from the cuddle puddle– with no shortage of complaints from your lovers (Obanai’s longing wistful look as you go is just as painful as Mitsuri’s whines)

— Their clinginess only worsens as your relationship progresses, I’m afraid 💀 Obanai has a death grip comparable to a boa constrictor, especially when he’s in a deep sleep.

— I have a vivid image in my mind of Mitsuri having to use her insane strength to pry his arms off of you and scooch herself in your place so you can pee in the middle of the night, barely able to stifle her giggles. (Obanai is very much this meme)

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— Touch starved but doesn’t know it, and is also unintentionally touchy. Until he isn’t. Until his touches seem all too intentional, never without meaning.

— Cuddling with you is one of his favorite activities and he’ll even schedule official cuddle time if you let him, so you never go without the comfort of one another’s arms for long. He’ll even decline plans if it’s the wrong time of day…

“Sorry, I’d love to, but it’s almost four and I always cuddle with my partner around that time.”

— And no it’s not negotiable. What if he was late, or missed it and hurt your feelings? No no, he’s far too considerate for that.

— Besides, he misses cuddle time the most when he’s out in the field, miles away from your warm embrace. You can tell he’s missing you in the letters he sends home, commenting about how it “ sure is cold out here,” though the longer he goes without the less subtle he is, rephrasing how he misses you in every paragraph. Can you really blame him? He truly adores you so it’s hard to be away from you :((

— Prefers to be the little spoon but ultimately will be happy no matter how you’re cuddling. (I expand on little spoon Tanjiro in this post <3)

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Instinctually touchy and yet so unused to cuddling. Inosuke doesn’t know much about positive affectionate touch so he tends to squirm out of hugs and gets a little anxious when you hold him still too long, much like a dog would. He asks you what you’re doing, voice a little softer than normal, cheeks a little pink beneath his mask.

“Cuddling you?” you reply, equally confused by his reaction as he is to your affection.  “Well stop it. It feels weird,” he huffs, and you comply, albeit a bit disheartened. You can’t help but be curious about his rejection, so you push past the sudden awkwardness of the moment to inquire about it. “Feels weird how?” “I don’t know! It just does!” he snaps defensively, a little frustrated, an emotion you can’t help but mirror. But then you relax, reminding yourself to be understanding. It must show on your face though, because he follows you around until he’s sure you aren’t mad at him. Your understanding nature is something he’s still getting used to as well.

— Take it slow with him if you can help it, form positive associations with touch, and then try again another time and he’ll be more receptive <3 REALLY receptive after a while, like before you know it you’ve got a stage 10 clinger on your hands 😭 

— Especially if you start sleeping together, cus he likes to cover you with his whole body as his way of protecting you while you’re in a vulnerable state.

— However, he will get bitchy if he catches you taking naps without him there to cuddle up to you. Like just say you don’t love him 😔 You’ll wonder why he’s giving you dirty looks and the cold shoulder all day, yeah it’s cus you didn’t immediately come find him to nap. Traitor.

— He associates cuddling with sleep so he’s prone to nodding off, and if you guide his head to rest on your chest and massage his scalp? He’s dead to the world, snoring and everything.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You cannot pry this man off of you and I mean it. He was clinging to you before you were even an item, often to your leg, your kimono, your hand, wherever he can reach. If you reciprocate once, he’ll keep coming back for more of it. So touch starved it’s pitiable, and he’s smart enough to know that looking pathetic earns him sympathy.

— That said, he’s taken aback if you initiate cuddling, almost unable to fathom being desired. It’s only then that he gets a little shy, chuckling nervously as you take him into your arms. Doesn’t know what to do with himself.

— Zenitsu isn’t picky about how you cuddle, just that you’re touching in every way possible. Tangles his legs with yours, wriggles as close as humanly possible, and holds your clothing in an iron grip.

— Oftentimes he looks so blissed out when he’s wrapped up in your embrace, eyes half-lidded or drooping with sudden sleepiness. You’re just so comfortable, and comforting, and beautiful and aaaa before he knows it he’s muttering all these things to you.

You awaken slowly to a considerable weight on your chest, squinting with your eyes closed you feel around blindly and find the familiar shape of your husband sprawled out on top of you. You sigh, recognizing his snores and a smile tugs at your lips despite it being tough to breathe. Your palm rests on his back, bunching in the thick fabric of his hoari. Your eyes finally crack open, the morning light illuminating your fully-dressed partner. Must’ve been a long night, you mused to yourself, able to picture a half-asleep Zenitsu stumbling into bed so clearly in your mind. Though even his unconscious alter-ego tended to seek you out. You turn, shifting Zenitsu onto his side. He stirs, but only slightly, immediately tucking his head under your chin with a grunt. “Don’t go,” he murmurs in his sleep, most likely to a dream version of you and a fondness warms your chest. “Stay.”

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[bythepen98]

So while half of my time has been spent preparing for work to pick up and get hectic (and it will be so for months; won't be able to churn out as much rendered art during that time), my fanfic reading has switched from hp, naruto and then to mha again, and one of the gems I found was a Hawks centric fic that inspired me enough to doodle him.

I've already drawn him three times(I think) before so It wasn't too difficult to get used to him, plus it's hard to ignore the image of a soft, more bird like Keigo once it latched onto my brain so I've been spending half of my days filling up a canvas with doodles of him. Never been satisfied with just drawing one and sticking to it.

I'm not done with it yet though so I'm not too excited at posting it until it *feels* complete. I'm also taking advantage of the free time I still have before things get difficult and I'd be too tired to even sit up and use my tablet.

[granddaughterogg]

Simon Riley truly wants to watch movies with you before sleep.

Of course he does.

Your dedication to the case disarms him, even though he wouldn't let it show. The amount of time you spend on choosing the right flick. The way you arrange your battered laptop on top of a pile of books set on a chair, placed at a strategic distance from your shared bed.

He loves to watch as you fluff the pillows (each one from a different set, including Blahaj the plush shark). To watch as you press the 'play' button and then look up to him with starry eyes, saying: "This is gonna be good!"

He's endeared to the way you crawl under the duvet (and under the electric blanket as well, because Simon is perpetually cold) to snuggle trustingly into his side. How you throw your short leg over his massive thigh, clad in grey sweatpants.

Here's the problem though. All those small luxuries...the soft bedding, the familiar warmth of your body and the pleasant buzz emitted by the laptop engulf Simon in a soothing sense of safety. And there's only one way that a trained soldier's body can metabolise such a feeling.

The man conks out instantly and sleeps like a stone.

At first, you felt offended by this rejection of your honed cinephile taste. By the fifth time, you've realised it wasn't about the films or about you.

You've stopped poking him. You'd just slid your fingers into his tousled, reddish-blond hair, which gets all wavy whenever Simon skips his bi-monthly trip to the barber. You've learned to enjoy the rest of the film by your lonesome, listening to Simon's quiet snores by your side. You let this troubled soul enjoy his moment of peace.

Yes - the fearsome Ghost snores. He's had his nose broken more times than he can remember.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lucky

Summary: Based on this request! Reader encourages Penelope to go on a date, which ends in tragedy. This event shakes the team, leading to conflict, particularly between reader and Spencer, who blames her for what happened.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: gun mention, Penelope gets shot, typical BAU crime stuff, people getting mad at reader/blaming reader, Spencer icing reader out, Spencer being questionable boyfriend, Spencer saying mean things about reader, happy ending, Penelope is okay, self doubt/blaming

Word count: 16.7k

a/n: Spencer is kind of an ass for a while but it will make sense ! He is still an angel baby

main masterlist

“So,” Derek says with that familiar smirk, “who’s the lucky guy?”

Penelope's eyes sparkle as she smiles, her fingers toying with a brightly colored pen on her desk. “His name is James. Just this sweet guy I met at the coffee shop. You know... normal, stable. No dark criminal past.” She tries to sound casual, but the happiness in her voice is unmistakable.

“Uh-huh...” Morgan leans in, tilting his head as if scrutinizing her every word. “And you’re sure you want to go out with him?”

A slight defensiveness takes over as Penelope puts her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Yes! Why not? Am I not allowed to date now, Derek Morgan?”

Morgan's grin widens, and he shakes his head, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say that. Just... be careful, alright?”

Rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh, Penelope can’t help but huff. “Yes, Dad,” she quips, wondering why Derek is being so weird about this.

But then Morgan’s expression shifts, softening into something deeper, more earnest. “No, seriously.” His voice drops, gentle but firm. “Just... be careful, Baby Girl. Don’t give away your heart to some guy who hasn’t earned it.”

Penelope hardens slightly, feeling slightly hurt that Derek feels the need to lecture her. “I know, Derek. But... he seems nice. Really.”

Morgan nods slowly and walks away, still caught in the cloud of his concern and overprotectiveness. She lets out a soft sigh, looking down at the pile of case files on her desk, feeling a little bit deflated despite her earlier excitement. She loves that Derek cares, but sometimes he can be a bit... much. She starts to drum her fingers nervously against her desk, mulling over their conversation.

That's when you come in. You'd been passing by and couldn't help but notice the tense exchange. Taking a quick survey of Penelope's expression—anxiousness and longing—you decide to step in, offering a soft but encouraging smile.

"Hey, Pen," you say gently, leaning against the edge of her desk, careful not to crowd her. "You doing okay? I saw the little showdown with Morgan. He can be a bit... intense sometimes, huh?"

Penelope chuckles softly, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You could say that. I mean, I know he means well, but... I just want to do normal things, like go out with a guy. And James... he seems so sweet, you know?”

“James?” you say, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you lean a bit closer. “Who is this James?”

Penelope's eyes dart to yours, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights, her surprise quickly melting into a flustered smile. “Oh, he’s... just this guy,” she says, her voice rising in pitch as she tries to sound nonchalant. “Met him at the coffee shop. He's sweet, you know... normal.”

Your grin widens, clearly unconvinced by her attempt to play it cool. “Normal, huh? And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this ‘normal’ guy?”

Penelope tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a playful huff. “Oh, come on. It’s just a date... no big deal.” But the glint in her eyes says otherwise, and you know it’s a big deal to her. And that’s exactly why you’re going to keep teasing.

“Well, it’s still a deal!” you exclaim, leaning forward in your seat, eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me all about it!”

Penelope laughs, the warmth of your enthusiasm easing away the hesitation she’s been holding onto. She fidgets with the edge of her sweater, a shy smile creeping onto her face as she starts to talk. “So... I was at my usual coffee shop, you know, the one with the really good chai lattes,” she begins, her voice picking up speed as she gets lost in the memory. “And then, out of nowhere, this ridiculously attractive man just... walks up to me, like he’s in some kind of rom-com or something. And he... he asked me out.”

You lean back, eyes wide, soaking in every detail of her story. “No way,” you whisper, your excitement infectious. “What did you do? What did you say?”

“Well, I said yes, obviously!” she chuckles, though there's an underlying nervousness. “But... I felt so... I don't know. Conflicted. This just doesn’t happen to girls like me.”

“Girls like you?” Your expression shifts from curiosity to confusion, brow furrowing as you try to make sense of her words. “Penelope Garcia, you are one of the most beautiful, kind-hearted, brilliant people I have ever met in my life.” You lean in, your voice gentle but insistent, making sure she understands every word. “ ‘Girls like you’ deserve the world and more. Don’t you dare think otherwise for a second.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, your words hitting her like a warm, unexpected wave. Her smile softens, and she blinks a few times, trying to brush off the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You really think so?” she whispers, her voice almost breaking with vulnerability.

“Are you kidding?” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you reach out to squeeze her hand. “James is the lucky one here, Penelope. Trust me on that.” 

She squeezes your hand back, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she ducks her head a little. “So, you’re saying I should go on this date?” she asks, the nervousness wavering just slightly in her voice. “Because... Derek didn’t seem so sure.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “Derek is a man, and men are weird,” you say with a knowing smirk. “I bet he’s got some strange alpha-male possessive thing going on. It’s like, in his DNA or something, to protect his pack. Don’t listen to him. You should absolutely go on this date.”

Penelope’s smile widens, and she lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “Well, when you put it like that... maybe you’re right. I mean, he is just one guy. And he did buy me a coffee...” 

“Exactly!” you exclaim, nodding fervently. “You’ve got a very attractive guy who bought you coffee and wants to spend time with you. And, Penelope, you deserve to have fun. So don’t overthink it, okay? Go on the date, be your amazing self, and if Derek has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

She chuckles at that, the tension finally leaving her shoulders, and the smile that spreads across her face is brighter than ever. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll go on the date.” 

“Good!” you say, beaming. “And when he inevitably falls head over heels for you, I expect a full play-by-play report.”

“Deal,” Penelope says, grinning, the confidence returning to her eyes as she envisions a night filled with possibilities.

When you walked out of Penelope’s office, a spring in your step from the lighthearted conversation, you made your way back to your desk in the bullpen. As you approached your workspace, something immediately caught your eye — a fresh mug of hot coffee sitting on your desk, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. A secret smile spread across your face as you set your things down and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, the scent of your favorite brew filling the air.

You didn’t need to guess who’d placed it there. Glancing up, your eyes found Spencer across the bullpen, and sure enough, he was looking at you with that sweet, soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat. The quiet gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes about the thoughtful, caring man he was.

You mouthed a silent “thank you,” lifting the mug slightly as a toast of gratitude, and playfully blew him a kiss. Spencer’s cheeks flushed that adorable shade of pink that always surfaced whenever you flirted with him, and he shyly ducked his head for a moment before glancing back up to meet your eyes. With a wink and a barely contained grin, he turned back to his work, trying — and failing — to hide just how pleased he was to have made your morning a little brighter. 

The sweetness of the morning, with its light teasing and the comfort of Spencer’s coffee, was short-lived. The moment Hotch called everyone into the conference room, a palpable shift in energy settled over the team. You quickly gathered your things and followed the others into the room, the coffee that had moments ago been a small joy now forgotten as you braced yourself for the case that awaited.

On the screen in the conference room was the face of a young woman — a bright, smiling 19-year-old with curly brown hair and freckles that dotted her cheeks. The smile in her photo seemed hauntingly out of place for what followed. Abby Connors, the name beneath the picture read. Hotch stepped forward, his face grave, and began the briefing.

“Abby Connors was a 19-year-old freshman at the University of Florida,” he explained. “She left home a little over a week ago to move into her dorm, but she never made it back. Her parents reported her missing, and after three days of searching, joggers found her body near a park in the Everglades, near an area the locals refer to as 'Alligator Alley.'”

A murmur rippled through the room as the next image appeared — a crime scene photo, one that showed just half of Abby’s body. You instinctively held your breath as you took in the gruesome details: everything beneath her waist was missing, consumed by the predators that roamed the swampy area. But it was the condition of the remaining part of her body that made the room go eerily silent.

“She was found with an inverted pentagram carved into her chest,” Hotch continued grimly, pointing to the markings on her torso. “Her fingers were all cut off at the second knuckle, and her throat was slit cleanly.”

You exchanged uneasy glances with your teammates, the horrifying nature of the crime setting in as you processed each detail. “So what are we dealing with?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Some kind of satanic cult?”

Rossi, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, shook his head. “It's not as simple as that. The idea of satanic cults operating as organized serial killer groups has been widely debunked.” He sat up, his expression thoughtful but firm. “The satanic panic of the ‘80s and ‘90s sensationalized a lot of things, but ritualistic killings like this? They don’t happen often in the way people think.”

“So, not a cult,” JJ mused aloud. “But this is still a ritualistic killing, right? The pentagram, the mutilation... it’s not random.”

“Absolutely ritualistic,” Spencer added, nodding in agreement. “The precision of the throat slitting, the removal of the fingers, the inverted pentagram... they all suggest that this was premeditated, and that the unsub wanted to send a specific message with Abby’s murder.”

“This type of ritualistic behavior can escalate,” Derek said, leaning over the table, a serious look in his eyes. “It’s got all the hallmarks of a kill that’s part of a larger motive. If we don’t catch this guy, he’s likely to do it again.”

“Which means we’re looking at a potential serial killer in the making,” Emily concluded, her voice grim. “Someone with a specific set of rituals and a willingness to mutilate and kill.”

Rossi cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him as he spoke with an almost reverent gravity. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” he quoted in a low voice, his Italian rolling off his tongue smoothly. Seeing the questioning looks on some of your faces, he translated: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

A silence fell over the room as the weight of those words hung in the air. You knew, as did everyone else in the room, that this case was going to be dark, disturbing, and an all-consuming race to catch a killer who seemed to find something meaningful — perhaps even sacred — in the brutality of his crimes.

And with that, the team set into motion, knowing that every second mattered if they were going to save another girl from meeting the same fate as Abby Connors.

—

After the team closes the case, the team sits in relative silence on the jet, each member deep in thought, processing the horrors. The soft hum of the plane’s engine provides a strange comfort, and the tension of the day slowly begins to ease. Morgan sits across from Rossi, resting his elbows on his knees, staring off into the distance. Rossi watches him for a moment before speaking up.

“You did good work out there,” Rossi says, his voice steady and calm, the kind of voice that always has a way of grounding everyone. 

Morgan looks up, giving a half-smile, but there’s a heaviness behind his eyes. “Yeah... but you know how it is, man. No matter how many of these cases we close, it never feels like it’s enough.” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as if to brush away the exhaustion. “I just keep thinking about Abby’s family. They’ll never be the same.”

Rossi leans back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, it’s tough. But we gave them answers. And sometimes, that’s all we can do. You know as well as I do, it’s not about winning every battle. It’s about making sure we fight it.”

Morgan nods, his jaw tightening as he absorbs Rossi’s words. “I know,” he says, voice a little softer now. “It’s just... there’s so much darkness out there. And some days, it feels like it’s winning.”

Rossi’s expression shifts into something more reflective, a small, wise smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe it feels like that,” he admits, “but the fact that it bothers you — the fact that it bothers all of us — that’s what makes the difference, Morgan. It means we’re still out there, shining a light in the darkness.”

Morgan's shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I guess you’re right. Just gotta keep fighting, right?”

Rossi raises a glass of bourbon from his side table, offering a silent toast. “To fighting the good fight.”

Morgan grins, and they clink glasses in a quiet, shared moment of understanding. The jet continues its journey through the night, a small point of light against the vast expanse of sky.

—

Meanwhile, Penelope walks arm-in-arm with James, her laughter bright and infectious as it echoes down the sidewalk. They reach the front steps of her apartment building, and she turns to face him. “Well, this was... really nice,” she says, giving him a genuine smile. 

James grins back at her, and for a second, he leans in as if he’s about to kiss her. But at the last second, he pulls back, laughing playfully. “Sorry,” he says, scratching his head sheepishly. “Didn’t want to be too forward.”

Garcia giggles, shaking her head at his little fake-out. “You almost had me there,” she teases, turning to fish for her keys in her bag. “Well, goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he says, stepping back and starting to walk away, giving her one last wave. 

As she turns to unlock her door, James suddenly stops, a strange stillness in the way he holds himself. He calls out to her over his shoulder, voice casual but loud enough to make her pause. “Hey, Garcia?”

Penelope looks up, smiling as she begins to open her door. “Yeah?”

James turns fully toward her, the smile gone from his face, replaced with an unsettling calm. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Before Garcia can even process what’s happening, James pulls out a gun, his movements quick and fluid. The world seems to slow down around her — her eyes widen, her mouth opens to scream, but the sound never comes. 

And then, in an instant, the gun fires. The crack of the shot echoes through the empty street, and Penelope’s body jerks back, eyes wide with shock and pain as she collapses to the ground, her keys scattering across the pavement. 

James stands there for a moment, the smoke from the barrel of his gun curling into the night air. He watches as she gasps for breath, a cruel smile curling on his lips before he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving Penelope lying there, her life slipping away on the cold, unforgiving ground.

—

Back on the jet, you lean back in your seat, facing Spencer with a thoughtful look. “You know, I keep wondering what Penelope’s date is like,” you muse aloud, spinning your half-empty cup of coffee between your hands. “I hope she’s having fun. She deserves it.”

Spencer’s brows knit in mild surprise, his mouth opening to respond, but before he can even utter a word, Derek’s voice cuts across the cabin. “Wait — hold up.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide and brimming with concern. “Garcia actually went on that date?”

“Yeah, she did.” You nod, meeting his incredulous stare with a small smile. “I told her to go for it. She’s gotta put herself out there, right? No reason for her to hold back just because you’re all... alpha about it.”

“Alpha?” Derek echoes, looking around at the others as if searching for an ally. “I’m not... okay, look, I just want to make sure she’s safe. And how do you even know if this guy’s legit? Did you see him? Talk to him?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “No, but she deserves to have fun, Derek. She seemed excited, and it’s not like she doesn’t have a good head on her shoulders. I think it’s great that she’s taking a chance on something new.”

Emily nods along in agreement, leaning back with a relaxed smile. “I think it’s sweet. And Penelope isn’t some naïve kid — she’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

JJ chimes in with a bright smile, “Yeah, and besides, it’s not like she’s going to let someone walk all over her. She’ll know if something’s up. And if he treats her right, then it’s all the better for her. Maybe it’ll turn into something special.”

Rossi, watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, adds, “Sometimes people surprise you. And sometimes that surprise is exactly what someone needs to get out of their comfort zone. Our girl deserves someone to treat her well.”

Derek’s shoulders stay tense, and he shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I get that, but... I just want to make sure she’s happy. That’s all. You know Garcia — she’s got a big heart, and I don’t want some guy messing with it.”

You reach over and pat Derek on the shoulder, a soft smile on your lips. “I get it, really. But maybe you should trust her on this. Penelope’s stronger than you think, and she’s allowed to take some risks. It’s not always about protecting her, Derek — sometimes it’s about letting her live.”

Spencer, who’s been listening quietly, finally speaks up. “She’ll be fine, Derek. And she’s lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do. But I think what she really needs right now is support... and maybe for us to just be happy for her.”

Derek looks around at everyone, the tension in his expression easing as he sees the genuine support in the eyes of his teammates. He lets out a reluctant chuckle, running a hand over his shaved head. “Alright, alright. I guess I’m just overprotective.”

“Just a bit,” you tease with a playful nudge.

“Fine,” Derek relents, lifting his hands in surrender. “But if this guy hurts her...”

“Then we’ll all be there to kick his ass,” Emily assures with a wink, and the team laughs, the conversation flowing into lighter banter, the tension dissipating as they talk about how much they hope Penelope enjoys her date — all of them unknowingly letting go of their worry while the truth of the night's events remains just out of reach.

You leaned into Spencer, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer until your head rested comfortably against him. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of support and affection.

The chatter of your teammates surrounded you, playful jokes about first-date jitters and guesses about how Penelope’s night might be going. It was one of those rare lighthearted moments that made the job feel less heavy. And as you closed your eyes for just a moment, feeling the calm of Spencer’s presence, everything felt okay.

The jet touched down smoothly, and you straightened up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Spencer’s side as everyone prepared to disembark. But as soon as the wheels hit the ground, Hotch’s phone buzzed loudly against the table. He picked it up immediately, his expression going from relaxed to steely in an instant as he answered.

“Hotchner,” he said, his voice flat and professional.

The team began to gather their things, their attention still mostly on wrapping up the casual conversation, until Hotch’s face went stark white, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. His mouth opened slightly, and you saw the shock in his eyes before he steeled himself again.

“What happened?” he demanded, his tone shifting from its usual calm to something far more urgent. He stood up abruptly, stepping away from the team, but you could all still hear him as the rest of the plane went silent, each of you glancing at one another with rising concern. Spencer’s hand instinctively found yours, and you squeezed it, anxiety blooming in your chest.

“Where was she?” Hotch’s voice was clipped, a mixture of alarm and anger. “When?”

You exchanged quick glances with your teammates. It wasn’t normal to see Hotch like this, and that fear in his voice made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Is she...?” Hotch stopped, and there was a pause, a terrible pause that seemed to stretch on forever. You held your breath, waiting, every second feeling like a lifetime.

“Understood. We’re on our way.” Hotch’s voice was low, tight with a struggle to maintain control. He hung up without another word, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his muscles.

He turned back to the team, his expression grim, and you knew, you just knew, that whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

Hotch’s voice was like ice, cutting through the stunned silence of the jet as he delivered the news that seemed impossible to process: “Garcia’s been shot. She’s in the hospital, in surgery.”

The world seemed to tilt, a rush of chaos and confusion drowning out everything else. In an instant, you and the rest of the team scrambled to grab your bags, shock and fear flashing in everyone’s eyes. It was like all at once, the air was sucked out of the room, and before anyone could fully understand what was happening, you were rushing down the steps of the jet. The roar of the engines and the slap of your feet against the tarmac seemed distant, muffled, as adrenaline took over. 

Within seconds, you piled into the SUVs, slamming the doors shut as the engines roared to life, and the cars sped off toward the hospital. The journey felt agonizingly long, despite the breakneck speed. No one spoke, but the tension in the car was palpable — every breath was shallow, every heartbeat loud in your ears. Your hand was clasped tightly in Spencer’s, and he held on as if anchoring you to reality, but all you could think about was Garcia and the thought of losing her. 

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everyone practically flew out of the cars, running toward the entrance. The white lights of the waiting room were harsh and sterile, amplifying the dread that hung over the team. Hotch was the first to speak to the receptionist, his voice firm and demanding answers, but the only thing they knew was that Penelope was in surgery — no word on her condition, no updates, and, most importantly, no word on who had done this to her. 

And so you waited. 

The team paced, hands running through hair, fists clenching and unclenching as they tried to contain the storm of emotions within. The minutes stretched into hours, and the silence felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on each of you. Spencer held you close, one arm wrapped tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest, tears streaming down your face. He murmured gentle reassurances, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, but his own eyes were red-rimmed and his voice strained, betraying his fear. 

Across the room, Derek’s frustration finally boiled over, and he lashed out, yelling at a nurse who could provide no new information. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know anything? That’s our friend in there! You have to know something!” His voice was raw, the anger masking his pain, but before he could cause more of a scene, Hotch intervened, gripping his shoulder firmly and steering him outside. 

The tension in the room didn't lessen, only growing heavier in Derek’s absence. Emily sat with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly together, staring at the ground as if willing time to move faster. Rossi paced back and forth, his jaw tight, not a word leaving his mouth, but the anger and sorrow on his face spoke volumes. JJ stood near you, hugging her arms to her chest, eyes fixed on the swinging doors that led to the surgery wing, willing them to open with some kind of good news.

Hours passed in that awful purgatory, time stretching and distorting until it seemed like you’d been waiting an eternity. And then, finally, a nurse came out and told you that one person could go back to see her. As a unit, the decision was made for Hotch to go — Garcia had named him her emergency contact, and he was the steady hand, the one who would be able to bring back the information without being overwhelmed by the storm of emotions all of you were feeling. 

The waiting resumed, and all you could do was cling to Spencer tighter, the fear and worry seeming to squeeze the breath from your lungs. 

When Hotch emerged from behind the doors some time later, his face was unreadable, a mask of professionalism over whatever emotions he was truly feeling. The rest of you gathered around him quickly, every muscle tensed as you waited for him to say something, anything, about Garcia. 

“Garcia’s going to make it,” he said, his voice low but firm. You let out a shuddering breath of relief, and the room seemed to collectively exhale. “She’s stable, but...” He paused, glancing at each of you, and in his eyes, you saw a darkness that made your stomach drop.

“It was her date who shot her,” he said quietly. “James. But his real name... is Jason Clark Battle.”

The name seemed to hang in the air like a curse, and it took a moment for the shock to register. And when it did, Derek’s expression twisted with a rage so violent it was almost frightening. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if refusing to believe it. “No, no, no—” His voice rose to a shout, and before anyone could react, he lunged toward you, face twisted with anger and pain. “You told her to go! You told her to go with him!”

His hands reached out to grab you, but before he could touch you, Rossi and Emily were on him, grabbing his arms and holding him back. “Derek, stop!” Rossi’s voice was sharp, his grip firm as he held Morgan in place. “This isn’t their fault!”

“Let go of me!” Derek struggled against their hold, his voice hoarse with fury, his eyes wild and filled with a grief that had no outlet. “I should’ve stopped her... I should’ve...”

Hotch stepped between you and Derek, his face set in a stern, controlled mask. “Enough,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “This is not how we handle this. We find this man, and we make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

It felt like everything around you was falling apart, the walls closing in as the weight of the world crashed down on you, pressing in from all sides. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to the one person who could always make things feel right — Spencer. You reached out to him, seeking his comfort, his steady reassurance. But instead of the familiar warmth of his embrace, you were met with a coldness that hit you like a blow to the chest.

He stepped back, his eyes fixed on you with a look you’d never seen before — something between shock, hurt, and a kind of betrayal that cut deep. The warmth was gone, replaced by an expression that made your stomach drop. 

“Spence?” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a whimper. You felt your world spiraling, desperately trying to grasp onto something to steady yourself. 

Spencer’s eyes darted to the floor for a moment, then back to you, and he shook his head, his expression clouded with confusion and anger. “You told her to go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with pain. It wasn’t an accusation, not quite, but it felt like one all the same. He kept backing away from you, his face crumpling into an anguish you’d never seen before, like he was fighting to hold himself together. And then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the waiting room, his footsteps echoing.

“Spencer!” JJ called after him, her voice urgent, but he didn’t stop. Without hesitation, she rushed to follow him, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you tried to piece together what had just happened, a sob choking in your throat. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, and you were falling, tumbling into a void. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your own body, trying to stave off the cold emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones. You wanted to scream, to cry out and make sense of the look in Spencer’s eyes, the pain in his voice. But all that came out was a soft, broken whisper.

“Spencer...”

Rossi was there in an instant, a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently to a nearby chair as the reality of the situation crashed over you in relentless waves. Emily crouched down in front of you, her face tight with concern as she spoke softly, her words trying to break through the fog in your mind. But you could hardly hear her. The only thing echoing in your head were Spencer’s words — “You told her to go” — a statement that seemed to slice through your heart, over and over again.

—

You left the hospital soon after Spencer did. The cold night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but the chill did little to clear your head. Everything felt like a blur — Spencer’s words, the look on his face, Derek’s anger — it all played on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with sharper edges, digging deeper into your heart. You didn’t know how to feel, how to process the whirlwind of fear, guilt, and confusion. But one thing was clear: you had to find the man who hurt Penelope.

The next morning came all too quickly. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise when you arrived at the BAU. The bullpen was already a flurry of activity, the team moving with a frantic energy that matched your own desperate need to do something, anything, that could bring justice for Penelope. But as soon as you stepped inside, the adrenaline wasn’t enough to mask the raw pain that hit you when you saw Spencer.

He sat at his desk, fingers typing furiously at his keyboard, his face drawn tight with concentration. You stood there for a moment, holding your breath, waiting for him to look up — to give you some sign, any sign, that you could start to fix whatever had broken between you the night before. But Spencer wouldn’t look at you. It was as if you didn’t exist, like he’d built an invisible wall around himself, and you couldn’t break through. The red puffiness around your eyes was the only outward sign of the sleepless night you’d had, but the exhaustion in your soul ran much deeper.

When you walked past JJ’s desk, she reached out and touched your arm gently, her eyes full of concern, the pity unmistakable. “Hey,” she whispered, trying to offer comfort, but you shook your head, swallowing hard. The last thing you could bear right now was pity. Not when you had to keep it together for Penelope.

The rest of the team looked at you with the same expressions — sympathetic, worried, but no one knew what to say. And the truth was, neither did you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise in your throat, and forced yourself to look away, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was time to work, and that was something you could still do. Something you could control.

Well, the whole team except for Derek. 

Every time he walked by, you could feel his eyes burning into you, his anger practically crackling like static in the air between you. And he didn’t hold back, either. With each passing hour, he took every chance to let you know exactly what he thought, throwing thinly-veiled digs and outright accusations whenever he could. 

“This is your fault, you know,” he muttered under his breath when you passed each other in the hallway. “You’re the one who pushed her into going out with that psychopath. If she’d just listened to me, she’d be safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his words stabbed into you like a knife, but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You just kept walking, heading back to your desk with that guilt clawing up your throat, making it hard to breathe. There was no time to argue, no room to let Derek’s words take over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shut them out.

And then there were the moments when Derek couldn’t hold it in, when his anger boiled over and his voice rose loud enough for the whole team to hear. “You know that if she dies... if she dies, it’s on you,” he spat, his eyes burning with a fury so sharp it left you feeling gutted. “Her blood’s on your hands. Because you thought it was a good idea to let her go out with some random guy.”

You could feel the eyes of the rest of the team on you whenever it happened, the tension in the room growing thick and heavy as they tried to balance the grief for Penelope and the pain of watching their family fall apart. JJ would try to step in, her voice gentle but firm as she said, “Derek, now’s not the time—” or Hotch would give him a stern look, that unspoken command to drop it. But nothing seemed to get through to him, and each word he threw at you landed like a punch, his grief and fear bleeding out as anger directed at you.

You couldn’t argue with him. You didn’t know how to defend yourself. How could you, when deep down, a part of you agreed with every word he said? 

So you did the only thing you could — you kept your head down and worked, staring at files until your eyes burned, listening to updates and following every lead until you were numb to everything except the hope that finding Jason Clark Battle would somehow make it right. You tried to drown out Derek’s voice, drown out the guilt, drown out the sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t encouraged Penelope, things wouldn’t have gone this way. But no matter how hard you tried to bury it, Derek’s words followed you, hanging over you like a dark shadow. 

And the work continued, relentless and desperate, with everyone pushing forward to find the man who’d hurt Penelope. But the team was fractured, split between their grief and their anger, and the chasm between you and Derek seemed to widen with every word he threw your way.

Even as you worked, though, you could feel Spencer nearby — that familiar presence that you could always sense, whether you were looking at him or not. But this time, it felt different, like an ache just below the surface, a heavy, unspoken rift. He still wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak to you, even as you shared the same space, both working to the same goal. And no one pushed him. No one had the time or the energy to force him to talk through his emotions, not when there was a dangerous man on the loose and a life hanging in the balance.

But every time you heard Spencer’s voice — every rapid-fire observation, every note of urgency — it felt like a reminder of how things had changed in the space of a night. You worked side by side, but worlds apart, both desperate to save Garcia, but more than that, desperate to find your way back to each other.

And so, the hours wore on, a relentless, all-consuming search for Jason Clark Battle, with every member of the team driven by the same furious need to bring him to justice. Because in the midst of all the uncertainty and hurt, one thing was clear: no one was going to let him get away with what he’d done to Penelope. Not while any of you still had breath left to fight.

The team found Jason Clark Battle quickly, all things considered. The determination to bring him to justice — to make him pay for what he'd done to Penelope — fueled every moment, every step, every search through records and combing of evidence. But as the moment of his arrest neared, it became a new kind of challenge: keeping Derek Morgan away. 

Hotch had to physically block him from joining the takedown, knowing all too well that if Derek got his hands on the man who shot Penelope, it wouldn’t end in an arrest. “Stand down, Morgan,” Hotch had ordered, his voice like a steel blade, cutting through the thick fog of Derek’s rage. It took Rossi and Emily to finally pull him back, their hands firm on his shoulders as Derek cursed and seethed, every inch of his body vibrating with the need to rip Battle apart. But they couldn't afford to lose two team members to the fallout, and Morgan was forced to stay back, simmering with fury as the rest of the team moved in.

When Jason Clark Battle was finally caught, subdued, and taken into custody, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing that the man who hurt Penelope would face justice. But the victory was bitter, the relief tainted by the damage left in the wake of what had happened. The case might have been closed, but for all of you, it didn’t feel like a win — not when someone you loved was still lying in a hospital bed, healing from wounds she never should have gotten.

Once the reports were turned in and the team was officially dismissed, you watched as everyone else gathered to visit Penelope. There was a sort of reverence in how they spoke of her, quiet smiles and gentle jokes exchanged as they planned to bring flowers, chocolate, and anything else that would bring a smile to her face. But you couldn't go. The thought of stepping into that hospital room, of meeting her eyes, of seeing the pain and understanding what your advice had led to... it felt unbearable. You couldn’t face her, couldn’t let her see how broken you felt, knowing how close you’d come to losing her because you thought you were doing something good.

So, while your teammates headed to the hospital, ready to surround Penelope with love and support, you went home. The silence of your apartment was suffocating, and it took everything in you to not collapse under the weight of your own regret. The emptiness of being away from the team, from Penelope, only deepened your guilt. But it was better than showing up and making things worse — better than her having to see your face and be reminded of everything that happened. 

Instead, you did what little you could from afar. You sent gift baskets filled with all of her favorite snacks — crunchy caramel popcorn, brightly wrapped candies, a couple of silly trinkets you hoped would make her laugh. You sent care packages with magazines, crossword puzzles, and soft blankets she could curl up with while she healed. You tried to send all the comfort you couldn’t bring yourself to give in person, every basket and letter a quiet apology you weren’t sure you deserved to offer. You only hoped she knew that, despite the distance, you were thinking of her. That you were sorry. 

And as the days went on, and Penelope stayed in that hospital, you wondered if she could ever forgive you — if one day, when she was better and things returned to some semblance of normalcy, she might understand that all you wanted was for her to find happiness. That, even though your advice had gone so terribly wrong, it had come from a place of love. But the uncertainty of her forgiveness lingered, hanging over you like a cloud, and all you could do was hope that, in time, the rift could be healed.

Until then, you stayed away, waiting for the moment you could finally make amends — if that moment ever came.

—

The next workday, you sat at your desk, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, but your mind felt miles away. The sound of your own heartbeat seemed loud in the quiet of the bullpen, pounding relentlessly in your ears as you willed yourself to focus on something — anything — other than the turmoil of the last few days. You barely slept, and the fatigue sat heavy on your shoulders, making every moment feel sluggish, disconnected from reality. The tension still hung in the air, lingering after Penelope’s shooting, and it felt like every step you took was on eggshells, threatening to crack under the weight of all you hadn’t said. 

You didn't hear Derek's approach at first, lost as you were in your own thoughts. But when you did catch the sight of his broad form looming in your peripheral vision, your whole body tensed up instinctively, bracing for what you knew would be another wave of anger, another round of accusations that would leave you feeling raw and exposed.

Here it comes, you thought. The guilt clenched in your chest as you waited for the onslaught, already picturing the words he’d throw at you, the blame you knew you deserved.

But then, you looked up, and the expression on Derek's face made you pause. It wasn’t what you expected. The hard lines of anger that had been etched there were gone, replaced by something softer, something regretful. He stood before you, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice low and rough with emotion.

“Hey.” You nodded back, your voice barely more than a whisper, your body still taut like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Derek glanced down for a moment, and when he looked back up, there was an apology written all over his face. “I, uh... I came to talk to you about... you know.” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “About what I said. What I did. And... I’m sorry.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a punch you didn’t see coming. “You’re... sorry?” you repeated, trying to make sense of it, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I... I was angry, and scared, and I let it all out on you, and that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, what happened to Garcia. You were just being a good friend.” He paused, letting out a long, heavy breath. “And I guess... in a way, I’m mad at myself. Mad that I couldn’t keep her safe, that I didn’t know who this guy was, that I couldn’t stop it... so I put all that on you. And I’m sorry.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any trace of the rage you’d seen before, but all you saw now was sincerity, and pain, and a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to find there. Derek Morgan — the strongest person you knew — was admitting his own fear and guilt to you, and it felt like the world was tilting just a little bit on its axis.

The tightness in your throat made it hard to speak, but you forced the words out, your voice cracking around the edges. “I... I get it. I mean, I don’t blame you for being angry, Derek. And I’m sorry too. I never would’ve... I never thought something like this would happen.” You looked down, feeling your eyes burn with tears you didn’t want to shed, not here, not now. “If I could take it back, I would. All of it.”

Derek stepped closer, and before you could react, he reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t put this on yourself. Penelope’s strong. She’s gonna be okay. And you didn’t do anything wrong — you were just looking out for her, just like I was.” He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his voice softening. “We’re all just trying to do right by each other, you know? And sometimes we mess up. But that’s not on you.”

The tears that you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you bit down on your lip, nodding as you tried to gather yourself. “Thanks, Derek,” you whispered, managing a small, shaky smile. “I just... I just want her to be okay.”

“She will be,” he assured you, his voice full of quiet confidence. “She’s got all of us in her corner. And I know it’s hard to believe, but... we’re gonna get through this. Together.”

He gave your shoulder one last squeeze before letting go, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small sliver of relief, like the weight pressing down on you had been lifted just slightly. 

“Derek...?” you said, your voice small and timid, almost afraid to ask the question that had been weighing on your heart since you’d stepped back into the bullpen. 

“Yeah, baby?” he answered, his voice gentle and warm, and the nickname — your old nickname — made you smile, if only for a moment. Spencer had been the one to call you that more often lately, and hearing it from Derek felt like a return to something familiar, something safe.

You took a breath, biting down on your lip as you looked down at your hands, your fingers nervously twisting together. “Have you... have you talked to Spencer?”

Derek’s expression darkened, and he sighed deeply, the sound heavy and full of exhaustion. He ran a hand over his face, the weariness showing in the lines around his eyes, and when he looked at you again, there was a sadness there that made your heart sink even further. “No, mama,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Pretty boy hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s got something going on in that big head of his, but he’s not letting us in yet.”

You nodded slowly, trying to keep your face neutral, but you knew Derek could see the worry in your eyes. The way Spencer had looked at you — the way he’d walked away from you — it was like losing a part of yourself, and the uncertainty of not knowing where you stood made it so much worse. And now, knowing that he wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t letting anyone in... it made you feel like you were watching him slip further and further away, with no way to reach him.

Derek watched you for a moment, then reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. “Whatever’s going on with him, it’s not about you, alright? He’ll come around. You know how Spencer is — sometimes he just needs to get in his head before he can come out again.”

“But what if... what if he doesn't?” you asked, your voice breaking on the last word, the fear you’d been trying so hard to suppress finally spilling out. “What if he never forgives me, Derek? What if—”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Derek cut in gently but firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “You know how much you mean to him. He’s just... processing. And it might take him some time, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. Just give him space to figure it out. And when he’s ready, he’ll come to you.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding, trying to hold on to Derek’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said, though the doubt still lingered.

Derek smiled softly, a warmth in his eyes as he gave your arm one last squeeze. “Of course I’m right,” he said, his tone lightening. “And in the meantime, you’ve got me and the rest of the team. You’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, trying to believe it. “Thanks, Derek.”

“Anytime, mama,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “Now let’s get that coffee. We’ve got a lot to do, and moping around ain’t gonna help nobody.” 

And with that, he led you to the corner of the bullpen, and you did your best to push the worry from your mind, to focus on what you could do here and now, hoping that Spencer would eventually find his way back to you.

—

The day Penelope returned to work felt almost like a holiday. The bullpen was transformed, bursting with bright colors and streamers that cascaded down from the ceiling. Balloons, in every vibrant hue imaginable, were tied to the chairs, and the break room was packed with all her favorite snacks and drinks — colorful cupcakes, glittery cookies, and more caffeine than the doctor would ever allow. The team had gone all out, putting together a grand welcome fit for the one and only Penelope Garcia. The room was buzzing with laughter and excitement as she entered, everyone cheering loudly as she walked through the doors, wide-eyed and grinning.

It was exactly the kind of entrance Penelope deserved. And as she hugged each person, the joy on her face made the space feel warmer, brighter. But you stood in the back, a small smile on your lips, content to watch from a distance. You clapped along with everyone else, but you kept to yourself, too aware of the gnawing guilt that still sat in your chest. It was wonderful to see Penelope smiling, to see her back on her feet and surrounded by the love of her family. But being there, knowing what you’d encouraged her to do, left you feeling like an outsider, not quite sure where you fit in anymore.

When Penelope finally got to you, it took all your courage to step forward and pull her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, and you clung to her a little tighter than you’d intended. The relief of finally seeing her in person, of knowing she was safe and whole, made your throat tighten with emotion. 

Penelope returned the hug with a strength that surprised you, squeezing you tightly as if she didn’t want to let go. “I’m just happy to see you, hon,” she whispered, her voice warm and forgiving. “It’s been too long.”

You pulled back, offering a small, apologetic smile, but the warmth in her eyes made it clear that there was no anger there, no bitterness — just pure gratitude and love. And for a fleeting moment, you felt the overwhelming urge to spill everything, to apologize for not visiting, to explain the guilt that had been eating away at you. But Penelope gave you a knowing look, a slight shake of her head, as if to say not now. And you understood. This moment was for her — for the joy of being back, for the healing that still needed to happen. The deeper conversation could wait.

But as the celebration continued and the week went on, you still kept your distance. You showed up, of course, participated in the day-to-day, but any time Penelope tried to engage with you beyond work matters, you found ways to cut the conversation short, to avoid anything that could bring up what happened. You didn’t want to push her; you didn’t want to burden her with the weight you were carrying, the idea that anything you say could put her in danger. And you could see she was trying to give you space, to let you come to her on your own terms. But the longer you avoided it, the harder it became to find a way back to the easy friendship you once had.

By the end of the week, it seemed Penelope had had enough. As you were leaving the office one evening, walking toward the elevators, she appeared beside you with a determined look on her face.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, planting herself firmly in your path, hands on her hips.

“Just... heading home,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the way she was looking at you made your heart skip a nervous beat.

“Well, change of plans,” Penelope said cheerfully, not giving you a chance to argue. “You’re coming over tonight. We need some serious girl talk, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Penny, I—” You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on her face was unwavering, her smile patient but insistent, like she’d already made up her mind and wasn’t going to let you wriggle your way out of it.

“Ah ah ah, don’t even try it,” she said, holding up a finger in playful warning. “We’re way overdue for some quality time, and if I have to drag you to my place myself, I will. And believe me, I’ve got the strength to do it.” She gave you a pointed look, raising her eyebrows.

You let out a sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders slowly give way. How could you say no? Penelope was right; you did need this. And no matter how afraid you were of having that conversation, of putting her in more danger, you couldn’t keep running from her. “Okay,” you said finally, giving her a small smile. “I’ll come over.”

“Good!” she exclaimed, beaming as she linked her arm with yours, pulling you into the elevator with a bounce in her step. “I’ll see you at seven. And trust me, it’s gonna be like old times. Pinky swear.”

And just like that, with Penelope by your side, the world felt just a little bit brighter again.

Being with Penelope felt so easy, so natural — just like it had always been. From the moment you stepped into her apartment, it was as though nothing had changed, as if the heavy cloud of the last few weeks wasn’t hanging over you. She’d set up her place just the way you remembered, warm colors, quirky decor, fairy lights draped over bookshelves, and the familiar scent of lavender. And Penelope, as if sensing your hesitation, knew exactly how to guide you back into a comfortable rhythm.

It started with laughter, of course. The kind only she could pull out of you, a sound that seemed to break down the walls you’d built around your heart. She leaned back on her sofa, legs curled under her as she went on about the latest gossip in her stack of magazines, her voice rising with excitement and exaggeration. 

“Okay, so tell me this,” Penelope started, waving around a magazine with glossy pages. “How is it possible that Bruce Willis can just get hotter every year? It’s like the laws of nature don’t apply to this man!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I guess some people are just blessed like that.”

“And don't even get me started on what I saw in the office last week,” she continued, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “I swear to you, I saw a hickey on Hotch’s neck. A hickey. On. Aaron Hotchner’s. Neck.”

You nearly choked on your drink, the image catching you completely off guard. “No way!”

“Yes way!” she nodded, her eyes wide with the thrill of gossip. “I’m telling you, our stoic unit chief has a spicy side. And speaking of spicy sides, have you seen how Emily and JJ have been looking at each other lately? I mean, come on, are they not totally vibing?”

The conversation flowed easily, effortlessly, and before long, you found yourself leaning back, laughing, the warmth of Penelope’s company soothing all those frayed edges that had been gnawing away at you for so long. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. It was fun to catch up, to just be with her, to hear about all the little things you’d missed — the world outside the darkness you’d been living in. And you could see how much Penelope was thriving, back in her element, glowing with that infectious positivity you’d always loved about her. 

But eventually, it happened. The laughter faded, and the unspoken truth sat between you like a presence too big to ignore. Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes meeting yours with that gentle understanding you’d come to know so well. “Okay, hon,” she said softly, resting her hand on yours. “We’ve gotta talk about it. About what’s been eating you up inside.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to make an excuse, but it was like the dam broke before you could stop it. All the guilt, the fear, the shame — it all came flooding out. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the trembling as you finally voiced the things you’d been holding onto for so long.

“Penny, I... I don’t know how to say this,” you started, your voice cracking. “But I’m so sorry. I... I didn’t know, I couldn’t know what was going to happen, but I feel like it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told you to go, if I hadn’t encouraged you to see him, then maybe you wouldn’t have...”

“Stop,” Penelope said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just stop right there.” Her eyes were intense, her voice steady in a way that cut through all the panic you were feeling. “You didn’t know. None of us did. And what happened — what he did to me — that is not on you. Do you hear me? It is not your fault.”

“But what if it happens again?” you whispered, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “What if I give you bad advice? What if I invite you somewhere, or we’re just hanging out, and I somehow put you in the wrong place at the wrong time and you get hurt again? I don’t... I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

Penelope’s eyes softened, and without missing a beat, she pulled you into a hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Shh,” she murmured against your hair. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you that.”

You clung to her, the sobs coming freely now as all the fear and self-blame poured out of you. Penelope held you firmly, stroking your back, soothing you like only she could. “I know you’re scared,” she said gently. “But, sweetie, you can’t carry the weight of things you can’t control. What happened to me — that was on Jason. He was the one who did this. Not you. You were just being a friend, trying to help me find some happiness. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I should’ve known better,” you mumbled against her shoulder, the words muffled but filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go.”

“Hey, listen to me,” she said, pulling back to look you in the eyes, her hands gripping your shoulders. “You didn’t push me. I chose to go on that date. And yes, it turned out horribly. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being my friend, or stop giving me advice, or living your life like you’re walking on eggshells around me. I need you, okay? And I need you to be you, because that’s the person who’s always been there for me, the person I love. I don’t want you holding back because of fear.”

The sincerity in her voice, the love, and the forgiveness shining in her eyes broke down the last of your walls. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to believe her words. “I just... I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered again, your voice small and vulnerable.

“And you won’t,” Penelope said, her voice steady and resolute as she held your gaze. But then, her expression shifted, her eyes searching yours with a gentleness that only she could carry. “But I know that’s not all.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

Penelope hesitated, biting down on her lip before speaking, her eyes dropping to her hands as she fidgeted with a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap. When she finally looked up again, there was a hint of sheepishness in her expression, like she was tiptoeing into territory she wasn’t sure she should tread. “I know you were worried about me, hon,” she said softly. “And I love you so much for that, for being there for me even when you couldn’t actually be there. But… I can tell I’m not the eye of the hurricane inside your head.”

You felt your breath catch, the truth of her words hitting you with a force that left you momentarily speechless. It was as though she had seen straight through you, through all the guilt, all the fear — to the thing that lay beneath it all. And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell her that it was just about her, you knew you couldn’t lie to Penelope.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything you’d been holding onto crashing down on you again. You sniffled, trying to steady your voice as you nodded slowly. “Spencer,” you said, the name leaving your lips like an admission of a wound you hadn’t yet looked at directly. “Spencer hasn’t talked to me since we found out what happened.”

Penelope’s eyes widened with sympathy, and she reached out to take your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Oh, sweetie...”

“It’s like he just shut me out,” you continued, your voice trembling. “The day we found out about you, he walked out of the hospital without even looking back. He hasn’t said a word to me since, and every time I try to talk to him, he just... shuts down. I know he’s hurting. And I know he’s probably just processing everything, but...” Your voice cracked, and you shook your head as the tears welled up again. “It feels like I lost him too. Like I lost both of you. And I don’t know how to make it right.”

Penelope listened intently, her face softening with every word you spoke. She could see how much pain you were carrying, how deeply Spencer’s silence had cut you. “Have you tried talking to him? I mean, really talking to him? Not just about work or everyday stuff, but about how you’re feeling?”

You nodded, though your shoulders slumped as the hopelessness of it all settled back in. “I’ve tried, Pen. I’ve tried so many times. But every time I get close, it’s like he just... builds a wall. He won’t even look at me sometimes. And it hurts, because I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Penelope was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she processed your words. Then she sighed softly, her fingers intertwining with yours. “You know what I think?” she said gently. “I think Spencer is hurting more than he knows how to deal with. And I think he’s taking that hurt and turning it inward — or maybe even outward. But I also know that he cares about you so, so much. He wouldn’t just turn his back on you for good.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over again. “But what if he has? What if he’s blamed me for this just like everyone else did?”

“Honey, listen to me,” Penelope said, her voice firm but full of compassion. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but he’s also a human. And sometimes, humans don’t know what to do with all the pain they carry. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He just needs time, and you might need to let yourself be okay with that. I know it’s hard, but you can’t carry both your own guilt and his.”

You sat there, taking in her words, trying to let them sink in. It was easier said than done, but hearing Penelope — wise, compassionate Penelope — tell you that it was okay to not have all the answers gave you a sliver of relief. 

“Do you really think he’ll come around?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability clear in your eyes.

Penelope smiled, a genuine, warm smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “I know he will. And until then, you’ve got me.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand, feeling a small, fragile hope begin to grow in your chest. 

—

The kindness and warmth Penelope had shown you was not extended to Spencer when she found him in the breakroom Monday morning. You were still settling in at your desk when you saw her storm across the bullpen, determination in her eyes and anger practically sparking off of her. You didn’t think much of it at first — Penelope’s strong-willed presence was no stranger to the office. But when you saw her walk straight up to Spencer, her expression dark and unyielding, you knew something was about to happen.

Spencer, who had been stirring his coffee absently, looked up in surprise as Penelope closed the distance between them, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. And then she let him have it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Spencer?” she hissed, her voice low and venomous as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Ignoring Y/N for weeks? Shutting her out like she’s some stranger? After everything you’ve been through together, and everything she’s done for you, you have the nerve to treat her like this?”

Spencer flinched at her words, his face going pale as the berating continued. He opened his mouth to respond, but Penelope wasn’t letting him get a word in. 

“Y/N’s been tearing herself up over what happened, blaming herself for something that wasn’t even her fault! And you know what? Instead of being the partner she needs — the person who supports her no matter what — you’re just adding to the guilt. You don’t get to treat her like that. Not after—”

“I almost lost one of the most important people in my life because of her!” Spencer choked out suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion as he interrupted Penelope’s tirade. His eyes were wide and filled with fear and frustration, and he looked like he was unraveling with every word. “I almost lost you, Penelope, because she told you to go on that date.”

Penelope’s expression shifted then, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sympathy as she let Spencer’s words sink in. There was a silence, a heavy silence that felt like it filled every inch of the breakroom. And neither of them knew that in that very moment, you’d walked up to the door, hearing Spencer’s words, and froze. The world around you seemed to fall away as his voice echoed in your head, the raw pain in his tone seeping into your bones. You stayed there, heart pounding, unable to move.

“Spencer,” Penelope said slowly, her voice gentle but firm, trying to rein in her own anger. “That was not her fault, and you know it. Do the math, genius. Jason was targeting me from the start, whether I was on that date or not. He had me in his sights long before Y/N ever said anything. Stop blaming her for something no one could control.”

Spencer scoffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if trying to brush off the weight of her words. “Yeah, well, you say that, but it’s not that simple. If she hadn’t—”

“No, Spencer!” Penelope’s voice cut through his, sharper now, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “You listen to me. That is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Your life partner. Your best friend. Y/N has been there for you through everything. Do you remember when you were so drugged up that you didn’t even know what you were doing, or who you were with, when you lashed out at her in the middle of the night? And did she blame you? Did she shut you out? No. She held you, she comforted you, and she made sure you got the help you needed. She has never given up on you, not once, and you’re giving up on her?”

Spencer was silent. His mouth opened as if to respond, but nothing came out. He looked at Penelope, his eyes burning with anger and anguish and something far more complicated. And for a long moment, the silence stretched between them, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, cracking with the strain of what he was feeling. “I love Y/N more than anything else in this world. But how can I trust her to make good decisions for herself, at all, if her last one almost got you killed?”

And that was all you could take. The words hit like a blow to the chest, and before you knew what was happening, you let out a sob, loud and choked and broken. The sound tore through the silence, and both Spencer and Penelope whipped around, eyes wide in shock as they realized you’d been standing there, hearing everything. 

“Y/N—” Spencer started, panic flooding his voice as he took a step toward you.

But you were already moving, already running. You turned and fled, the tears blurring your vision as you rushed down the hall, away from the breakroom, away from the words that had shattered you all over again.

“Shit!” you heard Spencer yell from behind you, followed by the sharp slap of his hand hitting the cabinet in frustration, the loud bang echoing down the hall. But you didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. All you could do was keep running, trying to outrun the pain that seemed to chase you down with every step.

“Was it worth it, Reid?” Penelope asked, her voice breaking the silence that filled the breakroom after you’d fled. There was no anger left in her tone — only a sadness, heavy and deep, that seemed to echo around them. She looked at Spencer with a sorrowful expression, searching his eyes as if she could somehow pull out an answer that would make sense of what had just happened. “Was it worth it? To get that off your chest?”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his hand still resting on the cabinet door he’d slammed shut in frustration. The thud of it still seemed to reverberate in the air, mingling with the ghost of your sobs. His jaw clenched, his eyes staring blankly at the floor where you’d stood only moments before, now empty. 

He didn't respond, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t find the words. He just shook his head, unable to meet Penelope’s gaze. 

“Did it help?” Penelope pressed, her voice gentle but insistent. “Did it make you feel better? Because from where I’m standing, you just broke the heart of the person you say you love more than anything else.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Penelope. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. I was just... I was so angry. So scared. And I... I took it out on her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to take it back.”

Penelope’s face softened, but there was no pity in her eyes, only a deep, aching understanding. “You can’t,” she said softly. “You can’t take back what you said. But you can make it right. You can own up to it. You can tell her the truth — that you were hurting, that you let the fear and anger get the best of you. That you don’t actually believe she’s to blame for any of this.”

Spencer finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with regret. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me?” he asked, his voice raw with desperation. “What if I’ve lost her?”

Penelope took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him in her touch. “Then you fight for her, Spence,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “You do everything you can to make her see how much she means to you. You remind her that you love her, that you need her, that this — all of this — was just you not knowing how to handle almost losing two of the people you care about most.”

She paused, her voice softening even more as she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “But first, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. Because all that anger you’ve been carrying? It’s not about Y/N. It’s about you.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right — he knew it all along. But knowing it and facing it were two different things. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly sit with the pain of it, to feel the regret for what he’d done, and the fear of what he might have just lost.

And in that moment, the truth settled in his chest like a stone: if he had any chance of making things right, he’d have to confront his demons, no matter how much they scared him. Because he loved you. And he was going to do whatever it took to get you back.

—

You found an empty office as soon as your legs carried you far enough away, stumbling inside and shutting the door behind you before you could even think of stopping the sobs that clawed their way up your throat. You leaned against the wall, your hands over your face as you let yourself cry — really cry — until the tears came freely, the weight of Spencer’s words sinking in like a stone in your chest. Every breath hurt, and the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long finally broke. It wasn’t just about what he said, but how deeply it cut. 

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours; you couldn’t be sure. You let it all out, every sob, every tremor that racked through you. And then, as the tears finally slowed and the pain dulled into exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. The team was counting on you. Penelope was counting on you. So you pulled yourself together as best as you could, taking slow, deep breaths and wiping your face with the sleeves of your shirt until your hands stopped shaking.

The mirror in the bathroom was unforgiving as you stood there, splashing cold water on your face. You ran your fingers under your eyes, trying to erase the smudges of mascara that had stained your cheeks, and did your best to fix your hair, to smooth away any evidence of your breakdown. But your eyes were still puffy, red-rimmed, the remnants of your tears clearly visible. And you knew, even as you straightened your posture, forcing a calmness you didn’t feel, that everyone would see right through it. That they’d probably all heard what happened.

But you had work to do, and you couldn’t afford to fall apart again. So, with a deep breath, you steeled yourself and walked back out into the bullpen, your head held high, your shoulders squared. Even if your composure was a fragile thing, even if you felt like you could shatter with the slightest touch, you made your way to your desk, focusing on each step as if it were the only thing holding you together.

The bullpen felt different now, the energy heavier than it had been before. Conversations were hushed, the usual buzz of the office subdued as you passed by. You knew they were watching, that they’d seen or at least heard what had happened in the breakroom. But you didn’t look around; you didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. You just sat down at your desk, opened up the stack of files in front of you, and forced your focus onto the work, letting it be the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his own desk, and as soon as you walked in, he saw you. He saw the way you held yourself together — the straight line of your back, the tightness in your expression, the way you refused to let your gaze wander to his. And he hated it. He hated knowing that he had done that to you, his love, that he’d been the reason for the pain and exhaustion etched into your face. He’d never seen you like this before — so closed off, so... dim. 

He watched you bury yourself in your work, your fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard, your pen scribbling across the pages as if each word was a way to silence the hurt. And all Spencer could do was sit there, guilt and shame wracking his mind as he thought about what he’d done — how he’d let his anger and fear control him, how he’d let it spill out onto you, the one person he swore to protect, the one person who deserved none of it. His brilliant, loving, beautiful girlfriend, who had always stood by his side, even when he didn't deserve it.

He made you cry. He made you doubt yourself, blame yourself for something you had no power over. And the light that usually radiated from you — the brightness he loved so much, the joy you carried so effortlessly — was gone, dulled by the weight of the hurt he’d caused.

Every fiber of Spencer’s being screamed at him to get up, to walk over to you and wrap you in the biggest hug he could manage. He wanted to hold you, to whisper a thousand apologies, to promise that everything was going to be okay and that he’d never, ever make you feel this way again. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to move, because he knew that it would take more than that — more than a hug, more than an “I’m sorry” — to fix the damage he’d caused. It would take time, and understanding, and patience — all things he wasn’t sure he even deserved from you after what he’d said, what he’d done.

—

Later that evening, the weight of the day still clung to Spencer like a thick fog. Unable to concentrate, unable to push past the regret that gnawed at his insides, he found himself reaching for a small comfort — your favorite book. It sat on his shelf, the well-worn cover soft under his fingertips as he pulled it down. You had gifted it to him long ago, lovingly annotated with notes, doodles, and highlighted passages. Each page was filled with bits of you — your humor, your thoughts, your heart. Categories like “reminds me of you,” “our jokes,” “my favorite quotes,” and “scenes I wish I could live with you” peppered the pages, showing just how much care, time, and love you’d put into making it special for him. It had been one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received.

He settled onto the couch, the book resting heavily in his lap. And as he flipped through the pages, he let himself be pulled into the memories, letting his fingers brush over your handwriting, your underlines and notes. He read the small snippets where you’d connected a moment in the book to a joke only the two of you shared, where you’d drawn silly little hearts in the margins or underlined lines that spoke to you. And he could almost hear your voice as he read your thoughts, your teasing comments, your kind words. It felt as though you were right there with him, the warmth of you emanating from every page.

The tears came slowly, silently, at first just a sting in the back of his eyes that he tried to blink away. But as he read deeper, the notes growing more tender, the love you’d put into every word more apparent, he let them fall. He let them fall because he could feel the depth of what he’d pushed away, how much you’d loved him, how much you still loved him. And how horribly, deeply he’d hurt you.

He was reading a note that simply said, “This reminds me of the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching”. He laughed softly through his tears at your handwriting, slightly wobbly from when you’d annotated it while on a train, but the joy of that memory only made the pain sharper, cutting through him like a blade. He wished he could take everything back, go back to when things were easier and he hadn’t let his fears get the better of him.

Then his phone started ringing. Spencer’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for it, and when he saw the screen light up with your contact photo, his breath caught in his throat. It was that picture — the one he’d taken when he brought you to New York City for the first time, to the MET and the New York Public Library. You’d insisted on making a goofy growling face next to the stone lions out front, hands curled into claws as you posed, trying to match their fierce stance. He’d laughed so hard as he took the photo, snapping the picture while you were mid-roar. And now, as he stared at it, the memory made him smile, even through his tears.

His thumb hovered over the answer button for a moment, heart pounding in his chest, before he finally pressed it, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello? Y/N?” he managed, his voice cracking slightly, unsure of what to expect.

“Hi, Spence,” you sighed, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “I’m... um, I’m outside. Can I come in?”

The relief and panic hit him all at once. You were here. You’d come to him. “Y-Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, fumbling to stand as he set the book aside, the pages fluttering closed. “I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, practically stumbling to the door, his heart racing with both fear and hope. And as he reached for the door handle, he tried to steady himself, knowing that whatever came next, whatever words you had to say, he was ready to listen. Because you were here, and he wasn’t going to let this moment slip away.

As soon as Spencer swung the door open, he was met with the sight of you standing there, tears staining your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy, your breath coming out in shaky gasps.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you choked out, your hands trembling as they twisted together in front of you. “I’m so, so sorry for everything. I should have never told Penny to go on that date. I should have... I should have called to check on her, I should have thought about how all of it affected you. I’m—”

“What?” he whispered, his voice coming out strangled with confusion and pain as he cut you off. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours desperately, trying to make sense of your words. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I messed everything up,” you continued, the sobs making your voice tremble as you tried to hold yourself together. “I never meant to hurt you, or Penelope, or anyone, but all I did was make things worse. If I hadn’t told her to go, if I had just stayed out of it, none of this would have happened. And you—” Your voice cracked, and you struggled to find the right words, to get out everything you’d been holding inside for so long. “You wouldn’t have had to go through this, you’d still trust me, and you wouldn’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me, Spencer. Please don’t hate me.”

Spencer’s heart shattered at the sight of you breaking down in front of him, blaming yourself for something you had no control over, something that had haunted him every day since it happened. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of you carrying this burden when it was his anger, his fear, that had driven you away. And all he wanted to do in that moment was take away your pain, to make you see that you weren’t to blame, that he had been so, so wrong.

“Hey, hey, stop, stop,” he said urgently, stepping forward to close the distance between you, his hands hovering for a second before he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “Please, don’t say that. Don’t be sorry.” He pressed his face into your hair, his voice desperate as he tried to find the words that would make this right. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I love you so much. I’m the one who’s sorry, I’m the one who hurt you, who shut you out when I should’ve been there for you.”

You trembled in his hold, your tears slowing down as you clung to him, and Spencer tightened his grip, trying to convey everything he felt through the warmth of his embrace. “I was scared,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I was so scared of losing both of you. And I know that’s not an excuse, but I... I let that fear control me, and I took it out on you, and it was so wrong. You were trying to help Penelope, trying to be a good friend, and I blamed you for something that was never your fault.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes filled with confusion and anguish, and Spencer could see the questions there, the doubt that still lingered. “But... but I was the one who—”

“No,” he said firmly, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked down your cheeks. “No, Y/N. What happened to Penelope — that’s on Jason. Not you. And I should have been there to tell you that, to support you, instead of shutting you out. I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away and I hurt you. And I am so, so sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice, the tears that filled his eyes as he spoke, the pain of being apart, and the love that still held you together, left you breathless. 

“Please don’t apologize,” Spencer said softly, his forehead pressing against yours. “You did nothing wrong. You were just being you — the caring, loving person I fell in love with. And I am so sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t be that person.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as you pulled away, giving yourself some space. Grabbing a tissue from the side table, you dabbed at your nose and wiped away the tears that still clung to your lashes. Spencer watched you carefully, the anxiety on his face clear as he tried to read your silence. You didn’t speak for a long moment, your gaze fixed on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you thought through everything that had happened. He stood there, holding his breath, afraid to interrupt whatever was going through your mind.

“I love you, Spence,” you whispered finally, your voice shaking but full of truth. “I love you so much.” You finally lifted your head to look at him, letting the words hang between you like a fragile thread of hope. 

His shoulders relaxed slightly, a small flicker of relief crossing his face as he stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours. “I love you too,” he murmured, the words spilling out quickly, like he was afraid you might change your mind if he didn’t say it fast enough. “More than anything. And I’m not going to let anything come between us again.” He reached out, his hands hovering just in front of yours, desperate to close the space between you. “Please... don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion as you took in the worry on his face. “Spencer, why would you say that?”

“Well, I—I treated you terribly, and we weren’t talking, and we fought, and I was so awful to you,” he stammered, his voice shaky as the fear spilled out. “I... I know what I did, and I know I hurt you, and I just... I was scared that maybe... maybe you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Spencer,” you said softly, taking his hands in yours, your fingers intertwining as you squeezed them reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean we’re breaking up. We had a fight. A really bad one. But now we have to work through it. Together.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, all you saw was vulnerability — the way he was trying to hold himself together, the way he was fighting not to let the guilt and fear overwhelm him. “But what if... what if I hurt you again?” he asked, his voice so quiet it almost got lost between you. “What if I say the wrong thing, and you...”

“Then we’ll talk about it,” you said firmly, your voice steady as you spoke. “We’ll talk, we’ll talk and we’ll figure it out, and we’ll make sure we don’t let it happen again. But I’m not leaving you, Spencer. Just because we had a fight... that doesn’t mean we’re over. We’re stronger than that.” You paused, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “I know we have a lot to work through. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I love you, and I’m here. We’ll do it together, okay?”

He nodded, a flicker of hope brightening his eyes, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. “Okay,” he whispered, tightening his grip on your hands. “Together.” 

“And, baby?” you asked, your voice soft but steady as you tilted your head to look up at him, trying to catch his eyes and make sure he really heard you.

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes meeting yours with that familiar mix of love and uncertainty, as if he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

You squeezed his hands gently, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles, grounding both him and yourself in that touch. “You have to talk to me if something is bothering you,” you said, your tone gentle but firm, the words full of the honesty you both needed. “I can’t fix anything, and we can’t work on anything, if I don’t know what’s going on inside your head. If you’re hurting, or if you’re scared, or angry... you have to let me in. Okay?”

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see how hard he was trying to take in your words, to let them settle in his heart. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I... I’ll try. I promise.”

You gave him a small smile, leaning in just a little closer. “That’s all I’m asking,” you said gently. “We have to be able to talk to each other. No matter how hard it is, no matter what’s going on — we have to do it together.”

He closed his eyes, and you watched as he took a slow, deep breath, the tension in his body finally loosening as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. When he opened his eyes again, something had changed. It was subtle, but you saw it — a spark of determination that hadn’t been there before, a promise to do better, to be there for you in all the ways you both needed. But there was something else, too — a hunger, an intensity in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long. It was the way he used to look at you, that mix of need and devotion that made your heart race.

“God, I missed you so much, darling,” Spencer sighed, and before you could respond, he pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost lost your breath. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if to remind himself of your scent, the comfort of your presence, the closeness he'd gone too long without. His hands gripped your back firmly, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go. 

You melted into his hold, your own arms winding around him as he pulled you flush against him. It was a hug that spoke of all the longing and pain and love that had built up between you, a hug that was both desperate and grounding all at once. You could feel the way his breath hitched as he held you closer, the way his fingers dug gently into your back, and you knew that this was more than just an embrace of comfort — it was everything he’d held back for so long, all the love and want and need finally spilling over. 

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you pressed yourself closer to him. And for that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, tangled together, holding each other like you never wanted to let go. 

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with a need that made your stomach flip. His hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks as he spoke, his voice low and breathy. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, the words full of both desire and hesitation — a question that held the weight of all that had passed between you, of all he hoped to mend.

You giggled softly, your heart swelling at the sight of him so close, so vulnerable. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” you teased, leaning into his touch, a smile tugging at your lips as you nodded.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw that light return to his eyes — that playful, loving look he always gave you before pressing his mouth to yours. And then he was kissing you, soft at first, like he was trying to remember how it felt. But as soon as his lips met yours, you felt the relief and longing melt between you, and he kissed you deeper, his lips moving against yours with all the tenderness and passion he’d been holding back. 

The world around you seemed to blur, everything fading away as you sank into him, the feeling of his mouth on yours so familiar, so perfect, like coming home. You could taste the salt of tears, his and yours mingling together, and as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him — his warmth, his love, the steady rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

He kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered, like he was trying to memorize every second, every touch, making up for every painful moment you’d spent apart. There was something so intense, yet so tender about it — a kiss filled with all the love and longing, spilling over with every movement of his lips against yours. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t slow either; it was the kind of kiss that lingered and sank deep into your bones, like a promise of something stronger, something unbreakable.

It was the sweetest kiss you think the two of you had ever shared. You felt every ounce of passion and desire radiating off him, every bit of love poured into that moment. Spencer’s hands were gentle as they rubbed your back, his fingers moving in small, slow circles, not daring to roam too far but enough to make you shiver at the warmth of his touch. Each caress was careful, as if he was both holding you close and holding himself back, trying to savor every second of feeling you close again.

You clung to him, your own hands gripping the fabric of his shirt so tightly your knuckles were turning white, and you couldn’t bear to let go. You didn’t want to lose even an inch of contact, afraid that if he pulled away, even for a moment, you’d lose this — lose him. The world seemed to dissolve around you, and all that existed was the pressure of his mouth on yours, the faint taste of coffee on his lips, the way his hair brushed against your forehead as he leaned in closer.

Spencer broke the kiss for just a second, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mixing with yours as he let out a soft, shaky sigh. And then he was kissing you again, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You could feel the desperation in his touch, the depth of what you meant to each other — not just words, not just promises, but something tangible and real. Something that neither of you were willing to let go. 

And in that kiss, you felt the world right itself, felt the cracks begin to heal, and the pieces of both your hearts start to fall back into place. You didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but for now, this was everything. And that was enough.

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[bunnis-monsters]

aww the bee sons that are all mama’s boys and like her spies 😭😭 i know they’d go insane if their new hive and their moms hive had a diplomatic visit and they got to see her ☹️💗

Your attendants helped you out of the carriage, buzzing happily. Getting to accompany the queen to a diplomatic visit was an honor, and this time they got to go!

A few guards surrounded you, ready to sacrifice their lives to make sure you would survive any attack. A hive without its queen was destined to fall, and they loved you too dearly to let that happen.

“My queen…”

Your attendant nuzzled against you, his soft fluff comforting your nervous heart. “Don’t be nervous, we have an entire army waiting just a small flight away. You have nothing to worry about.”

But that wasn’t what made you nervous. Death or injury wasn’t on your mind.

It had been nearly a year since you had last seen your sons that had been married off to this hive’s queen. She was a bit too possessive of them, knowing they favored you.

Part of you was afraid they may have forgotten you, their mother. After all, a bee hybrid was supposed to be loyal to its queen. Perhaps their hearts were now occupied by and dedicated to this new queen…

But you were wrong.

“MAMA!”

Your guards tightened up around you, buzzing menacingly. “Stay back, no one is to get near the queen without permission from her majesty.”

That voice…

“Guards, stand down.”

They moved aside without hesitation, and you were immediately pulled into the arms of one of your sons. Tears fell down your cheeks, and you held him tight, letting him rub his face all over you in an attempt to cover himself in your comforting scent.

“Mama… mama, we missed you…”

He sniffled and buried his face into his neck, immediately becoming docile and small. If he stood at full height he’d tower over you, but your son wanted to be babied by his mama, to be held and comforted.

He was still your baby, even if he was all grown up.

Your son led you to the others, and they formed a happy cuddle pile with you, all buzzing and purring as they napped with their mama.

The other queen was beyond pissed, but stayed quiet and let the meeting happen even as your sons clung to you, not paying her any attention.

This would cause drama in the future, you were sure of it, but your babies would always come first…

Part 2?

———————

SFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @peachesdabunny @misswonderfrojustice @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @zyettemoon1800 @kassandra-hawthorne @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @readeryn68 @danielle143 @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @hammerhead96-blog @bubblez-blop @snugglyshoji @wanderlustingcastaway @amberexe2 @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi @nenggie

[buckyalpine]

Just a fluffy little thought. A grumpy, moody, broody Bucky, moping and grumbling through the compound with a scowl on his face. He was restless and annoyed the whole jet ride home. He tosses his bags off to the side, throwing off his tactical gear without a care in the world and Sam and Nat are utterly baffled because the mission was a complete success. Bucky's plan worked perfectly, his strategies were what got them in and out, he'd even saved a group of civilians that were unexpected.

Why was he grumpier than usual?

Because something is not right.

Everyone gathers for dinner and he barely takes a bite. He's shifting his food around his a fork before getting up and sitting on the couch instead with his arms across his chest and shoulders tensed. No one breathes a word, letting him storm to himself. Except you. You'd noticed Bucky's less than pleasant attitude but it doesn't scare you and you felt bad seeing him sitting by himself clearly stewing over something.

Maybe you had a crush on the soldier too. Maybe.

"Hey" You give him a soft smile as you take a seat beside him, still giving him space, "You okay?"

He gives you a shrug in response but that was normal with Bucky. You'd check in again and if he still didn't want to talk, you'd leave him alone.

"What's wrong"

Usually his standard answer of telling people to fuck off was easy but not with you. Never with you. Not when you turn him into a pile of mush and fluff. Bucky's grumpy face turns more into a pout as he contemplates telling you what's been making him so mad.

"My tummy hurts" he mumbles and you have to hold every fiber of your body together to keep from melting into a puddle because he could have said he felt unwell. Stomach pain. Stomach ache.Felt sick. Felt off. He could have said absolutely any other variation of what he was feeling but no.

The poor, grumpy, angry soldier was huffy and puffy because of a tummy ache.

"I'm sorry bub" you coo, not even realizing what you'd called him,"What would make you feel better?" You ask but Bucky doesn't actually know the answer. When he usually felt queasy he'd just grit it out until it went away.

"When I was little, my ma would make me some soup" He wasn't sure if it actually cured anything but he remembered it always being the yummiest thing he'd tasted and the one thing that made him feel all better. "But that was for when I had a cold"

"What about for tummy aches" You asked, noting the way the soldiers cheeks turned pink, his fingers fidgeting with each other. Of course he knew what his ma would do for his little achy belly but it's not like you could help...

"Um, sometimes she'd tuck me in bed and then.."

"Then?" You cock your head in curiosity while Bucky's voice dies on his tongue.

"Then she'd rub my tummy till I went to sleep" He rushes out with a small voice while keeping his eyes trained on his hands. His eyes grow wide at the giggle you let out, worried he'd made a complete idiot of himself, what were you to do with that information, it's not like you'd-

"C'mere" You take his hand gently in yours, gauging his reaction before moving him to lay his head on your lap. Bucky's stomach is now a mess of butterflies and whatever was upsetting him, his muscles melting into Jello as soon as you'd touched him. "Is this okay?" Your hand rests closer to his hip than right on his stomach and Bucky is barely able to squeak out a yes along with a quick nod.

You hum, moving your hand to rub soft circles around his tummy, his firm muscles under making you giddy on the inside. You recollect your nerves, focused on soothing motions, your other hand moving to play with Bucky's hair. You card your fingers through his short chestnut locks, smiling at the way he closes his eyes, his breathing starting to slow, muscles releasing their tenison.

"Better?" You whisper, giggling to yourself at the deep purr he made in response, relaxing with your gentle ministrations. He rolls over, smushing his face against your stomach, far too relaxed to care. The soft snores that follow after let you know the remedy certainly worked. As soon as you move your hand away, he blindly reaches out, placing it right back where it belongs and going back to sleep immediately after, tummy ache all gone, flutterly little butterflies replacing them. He's already dreaming of all the ways he could return the favour.

Isn't he an absolute precious baby.

So cute.

Bonus scene:

Of course the team gawk at what they see; the grumpy soldier now happy as a clam on your lap.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Bucky's tummy hurts" You reply with a smile and honestly the answer sends everyone into chaos.

"Awww Buckyyyy"

"So that's why he was so grumpy. Should've known when he kept pouting everytime we had turbulence"

"AWWWW The winter soldier as a widdle tummy ache?" Sam coos, only to silence his cackles when Bucky's eyes shoot open, staring daggers at him. "Don't give me that look when you're curled up on y/n's lap like a cat"

"Does rubbing it help ya feel all better-oh fuck"

Bucky's glare sends everyone scrambling right out, the empty room leaving him all content again.

Yes.

Rubbing his tummy made him feel all better.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hello!! If you’re still taking requests I’d love to see a Nanami x Reader fic where the reader is pregnant but doesn’t realize yet but I’d like showing OBVIOUS symptoms and for Nanami to start to catch on to them, I don’t know if that’s like weird? 😭 Also I hope you’re doing good!!

THIS. IS. EVERYTHING.

Yeah, we're doing this right now

Nanami realizing you're pregnant before you do

Pairing: Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,2k

Synopsis: well, basically the request above hehe

Warnings: I mean, reader is pregnant lol, fluff fluff fluff, Nanami is just the greenest flag I can't, please tell me you enjoy this as much as I do, I LOVE THAT MAN

Lately, everything feels… off.

It's subtle at first. Mornings are harder than they used to be, a strange kind of sluggishness that lingers in your limbs no matter how much coffee you drink after waking up. Your back aches at the most random times. And don't even get started on the nausea that strikes out of nowhere, leaving you clutching the bathroom sink with trembling hands.

But, still, it doesn’t cross your mind - not at first.

Nanami’s been noticing though. He’s always been perceptive, sharp in the way he observes the world, but lately, his focus seems to rest more on you. It starts with the small things: a subtle glance as you push your breakfast away with a grimace, the way his brow furrows when you wince, pressing a hand to your lower back. He doesn’t ask you about it immediately, and you’re grateful for that. Nanami doesn’t rush things, never has. He knows you well enough to wait until the right moment.

Today, however, something is different.

It’s a quiet Saturday morning. You’re both in the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the curtains in soft beams. Nanami’s making coffee, his movements precise as always, while you sit at the kitchen table with your hands wrapped around a cup of ginger tea. You’ve been craving that instead of coffee these days, the rich scent of the brew turning your stomach in a way it never used to. To be honest, you’ve never been a tea drinker your whole life.

He’s noticed that too.

You yawn, stifling the sound behind your hand as you stretch in your chair. There’s a strange heaviness in your body, and the thought of going back to bed, even after a full night’s sleep, is oddly tempting. It’s the third time this week that the idea of a nap has crossed your mind before noon. You blink hard, forcing your eyes to focus, and turn to Nanami, who’s watching you over the rim of his cup.

“Are you feeling alright?” he questions, his tone neutral but his eyes searching.

“Yeah, why?” you respond, but your voice lacks its usual energy.

Even to your own ears, it sounds tired. You clear your throat and offer a small smile, hoping to brush off the question as well as the wave of concern that starts bubbling up your chest all over again.

“I’ve just been a little out of it lately, that’s all.”

Nanami places his cup down on the counter, his gaze never leaving your face.

“You’ve been ‘a little out of it’ for a while now, darling.”

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet concern that has your defenses rising instinctively. You sit up straighter, forcing a more convincing smile this time.

“I’m fine, really. Just tired. It’s probably work.”

It’s true, to some extent. Work has been stressful, the usual demands piling up, but this exhaustion feels… different. It’s deeper, sinking into your bones in a way that no amount of rest seems to fix.

Nanami doesn’t say anything right away, but you can feel him assessing you. His silence is almost louder than words. You know he won’t push you to talk, but his patience, the way he waits for you to come to your own conclusion, can be just as insistent.

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and rubbing at your eyes. There’s no way you’ll get out of this situation, not when your beloved boyfriend sits opposite of you with his calm but demanding orbs staring straight through your soul.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with something?”

It’s a flimsy excuse, and you both know it. But before you can think of anything else to say, a wave of nausea hits you hard and fast, making you lurch forward. You press a hand to your mouth, eyes wide as the world tilts just slightly. Oh god, not again.

Nanami is at your side in an instant, his hand on your back, warm and grounding.

“Hey, hey… breathe,” he murmurs gently, his thumb rubbing small circles against your spine.

“It’s okay. Just breathe.”

You close your eyes and focus on the rhythm of your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale until the nausea begins to subside. Slowly, you sit back, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand. The embarrassment is hot on your face, and you can’t quite meet Nanami’s eyes.

“I’m fine, Kento”, you mutter, though you can tell it sounds unconvincing.

Nanami’s hand is still on your back, his touch firm yet gentle. He doesn’t say anything, not yet. You know he’s waiting, giving you space to figure out what’s going on. But even through your haze of denial, a part of you knows the truth is starting to unravel.

“Does this happen often?”

His voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, not sure how to answer.

“It’s just been the past couple of weeks,” you admit quietly.

“I think it’s stress. Maybe some kind of stomach bug?”

Nanami’s brow furrows slightly, and he crouches down beside your chair, his eyes searching your face with that same quiet intensity.

“Are there any other symptoms?”

Your mouth opens to say no, but then you stop, thinking back over the past few weeks. The tiredness, the nausea, the strange sensitivity to smells, your shifting moods - small things you’d brushed off or tried to ignore. But now, all at once, it feels like they’re adding up, slotting together in a way that you hadn’t considered before.

You glance down at your hand, the one resting on your stomach, and something inside you clicks.

Oh.

Oh.

Nanami must notice the shift in your expression because his hand stills on your back.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat before you finally manage to speak.

“I think… I might be pregnant.”

There. You’ve said it. And the weight of those words hangs heavy in the air between you, a truth you hadn’t been ready to acknowledge until now.

Kento doesn’t react immediately. His expression stays calm, though you can see the flicker of something in his eyes - surprise, perhaps, or maybe something more. Did he already suspect this? Is this why he pushed you to think about your symptoms further? Slowly, he straightens up, standing in front of you now as he takes a deep breath.

“Are you sure?”

You shake your head, feeling a little lost.

“I’m not. I… I hadn’t really thought about it until just now.”

The truth is, you hadn’t considered the possibility at all. With everything going on - work, life, the general busyness of existing, it hadn’t crossed your mind that this could be the reason behind everything you’ve been feeling.

But now that it’s out in the open, you can’t help but wonder how you missed the signs.

Nanami’s hand gently cups your chin, tilting your face up so that you’re looking at him. His gaze is steady, calm in a way that grounds you, just like always.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions yet,” he says quietly.

“But if you think there’s a chance…”

You nod, your throat suddenly tight.

“Yeah. There might be.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels thick with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding settling between you. Nanami steps closer, his hand moving from your chin to cup your cheek instead, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“We’ll figure this out,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

“Together.”

The sincerity in his words washes over you, bringing with it a flood of emotions you hadn’t realized you were holding back. You blink, your vision blurring slightly as you reach up to cover his hand with yours.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nanami’s expression softens, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together. I promise” he mutters against your skin.

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of fear, uncertainty, and something else, something warmer, softer. You aren’t alone in this. No matter what happens, you have your boyfriend by your side, steady and unshakable.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours again.

“Do you want to take a test?” he asks, his voice careful, as if he’s gauging your readiness.

You hesitate, biting your lip.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I guess I should, right?”

Nanami nods, but he doesn’t push.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The idea of taking a test feels overwhelming, like it would make everything real in a way you’re not sure you’re prepared for. But at the same time, the uncertainty is starting to weigh on you, the not knowing gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you try to gather yourself. When you open them again, Nanami is still there, watching you with that quiet patience you’ve come to rely on so much.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice trembling just a little.

“Okay. I’ll take a test.”

Nanami squeezes your hand gently, a reassuring presence beside you.

“I’ll go get one,” he offers, his tone calm and matter-of-fact, like he’s suggesting something as simple as picking up groceries.

You nod, feeling a little more settled now that a decision has been made.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

He leans down, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling back.

“I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he grabs his keys and heads for the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder before he slips out into the hallway.

Once he’s gone, the quiet of the apartment feels almost too loud. You sit there for a long moment, staring at the cup of tea in front of you, your mind racing with thoughts you can’t quite hold onto.

Pregnant. You might be pregnant.

The idea feels too big, too surreal to grasp, and yet it’s there, lingering just at the edge of your awareness. A part of you is scared, terrified of the changes this could bring. But another part, a part you’re only just beginning to acknowledge, feels something else. Hope, maybe? Excitement? It’s hard to tell.

All you know for sure is that everything feels different now, that your whole life will be turned upside down if this test comes out positive.

When Nanami returns a short while later, test in hand, you take it from him with trembling fingers. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you a small, reassuring nod as you disappear into the bathroom.

The minutes that follow are some of the longest of your life. You pace back and forth in front of the sink, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for the results. The silence feels deafening, and all you can do is focus on your breathing, trying to keep yourself calm.

Finally, the time is up. You glance down at the test, your breath catching in your throat as you read the result.

Positive.

You stare at it for a long moment, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. And then, slowly, the reality starts to sink in.

You’re pregnant.

With shaking hands, you open the bathroom door to find Nanami standing just outside, waiting. He looks up at you, his expression calm but expectant.

“Well?” he asks quietly.

You swallow hard, your voice catching in your throat as you hold up the test.

“It’s positive.”

For a moment, Nanami doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker to the test in your hand, and then back to your face, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle, grounding embrace.

“We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs against your hair.

“You’re going to be okay.”

And somehow, with his arms around you, you really believe him. Maybe you will be able to work this out. After all, you have none other than Kento Nanami by your side, right?

“Kento…”, you begin, the flood of sniffs and wild emotions now slowly but surely calming down.

“What is it, darling?”

“Did you…did you know?”

He sends a small smile your way while gently stroking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I couldn’t be sure. But after seeing you like this for a couple of weeks now, I had some suspicions”, he admits quietly.

You let out a huff.

“I can’t believe you realized it earlier than I did.”

“You are my life, (y/n). I notice every little thin about you.”

“And now you’ll be the father of a child”, you breathe out.

The words still feel strange while rolling off your tongue. Kento Nanami will be a father – the father of your child.

You are pregnant.

This is real.

“And I couldn’t ask for a better mother for my child.”

Tags:

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@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr @ryumurin

[reidsfilm]

LIKE A GODDAMN PRAYER — LOGAN HOWLETT

WARNINGS: SMUT!!! (18+) age-gap (the reader is over 18+) p in v (wrap it up peeps) dirty talk, soft dom! logan, has no plot whatsoever, just straight-up filth petnames: baby, sweetheart, angel, darling, etc. fluff at the end. a tad bit of degarding.

WORD COUNT : 2k

Notes: i'm just now realizing how hot hugh jackman is.

Logan Howlett who swore he wouldn't stain a beautiful thing like you. With your sweet smiles, wide eyes, and flushed apple cheeks. He wouldn't, but the allure of you was too tempting.

And a visit to give him a basket of cookies led to something that couldn't be erased. But now, he wasn't sure if he wanted it removed at all.

Here you were, laying sprawled out underneath him, clothes strewn in piles on the floor, only a pair of white lacy panties covering your sweet pussy. God, it made his boxers feel all the tighter like they were suffocating him, literally and figuratively.

''Look at you... so pretty for me, huh?'' He cooed as his large and rough hand came up to grope at your tits, watching as they spilled between the gaps of his fingers. His eyes darkened further at the sight. A whiny moan left your lips as you wriggled underneath him, pushing your chest up, seeking more.

''S'okay... I got you. Gonna make you feel real good, darlin'.'' And you could only manage a whine, unable to form any words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. Logan tsked at you, head tilting to the side as he looked at you, eyes flickering from your flushed chest back up to your face, ''Haven't even fucked you yet, and your already going dumb?''

You nodded, slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, and Logan practically growled at the sight as his hand moved down, caressing your ribs, over your stomach, fingertips grazing against your belly button before moving lower.

Your breath hitched as he teased at the waistband of your panties, not quite going further and that made you only feel more desperate, and needy. ''These are cute. Did you wear them on purpose?'' He questioned, snapping it against your skin and eliciting a moan from your lips. ''Answer me, pretty angel.''

The nicknames were doing nothing to help the ache between your legs, instinctively making you rub your thighs together. ''Y-Yeah...'' You replied and he hummed.

''Can I take 'em off?'' And you wasted no time in nodding, bobbing your head up and down. God if you weren't so deeply rooted in this, you would've found yourself pathetic. And maybe you were, but you couldn't care less. You just wanted him. Like he was the answer to all your prayers. Someone you wouldn't think twice about listening to or worshipping.

You were a hundred percent sure this man was a God.

''Yeah, yeah please.'' You were quick to say and Logan didn't need more confirmation than that before he shuffled down a bit. His large hands planted on each side of your hips, ''Lift your hips f'me.'' And you did as he said, lifting up a bit from the soft mattress and allowing him to grip onto the material, dragging it down.

And he did it, oh so slowly. Tease.

''Logan...'' You whined as you watched him, how he kept those hazel eyes locked on your own pair as he tugged them down. ''Patience is a virtue.'' And you wanted to roll your eyes at the words as if you hadn't heard those before. You weren't in the mood for patience, not at all.

You just wanted him to fuck you until you could barely think straight.

''I'm not a patient person.'' You muttered as he slid them down to your ankles, before tossing them somewhere on the floor. His eyes met yours once more, ''Figures.'' He chuckles as he moves closer, grabbing underneath your thighs, and spreading your legs.

His eyes feast upon the sight of your glistening and awaiting pussy. His hazel eyes darken a tad as he takes you in. The prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes upon, and he almost feels ashamed for a split second. A man like him, who's brutal and lives within the darkness of his life, seeing something so eternal like you, it feels illegal.

Like you a forbidden fruit he shouldn't even have laid eyes on to begin with. But your voice pulls him from the depths of his mind.

''Something wrong? Am I not—'' He doesn't even let you finish your sentence, because god forbid something as angelic as you get to be insecure about yourself. ''No... no no. Just admiring the pretty sight laid before me.''

And you blush at his words, biting your lip. ''Yeah? Well if it's such a pretty sight, fuck me.'' You tried to sound confident, you really did. But the crack in your voice, the obvious desire yet nervousness was extremely evident.

And Logan was quick to catch onto it, a smirk gracing his lips, spurring the man on leaving any regret or anything like that behind as he dragged you closer to him by your thighs, making you let out a small squeal. ''Oh, I'll fuck you. Gonna make this pussy sing, yeah?''

He had a silver tongue on him, that's for sure. And it only made you wetter, if that was even possible. His hand slid down between your legs, making you shiver as his thick fingers inched closer to where you needed him most. And you spread your legs wider, opening up more for him.

Logan's rough, calloused fingers brushed against your slick folds, feeling the heat radiating from your core. He groaned at the sensation, his own desire rising rapidly. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already, darlin'," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

You whimpered, arching your back as Logan's fingers teased your entrance, not quite entering you but applying delicious pressure. "Please, Logan," you pleaded, your voice breathy and needy. "I need you."

Logan chuckled darkly, his eyes smoldering as he took in the sight of you sprawled out before him, your body on display, your breasts heaving with each shallow breath.

Logan's fingers continued their torturous teasing, circling your entrance without delving inside. He leaned down, his stubble grazing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your legs.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers up your spine. "I wanna savor this moment with you. Make it good for you."

You whined, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you as you tried to arch into Logan's touch. "Logan, please," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me."

Logan hummed, the vibrations traveling through your body. "So impatient," he chided, but there was no real disapproval in his tone. "Alright, darlin', I'll give you what you want."

He got to removing his boxers, and you swore your eyes were about to pop out of their sockets at the sight of him. His cock was so thick, fat, and decorated with veins. He was definitely a god, no going back on that now.

He shifted, positioning himself between your spread legs. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you. "You're fuckin' beautiful like this," he said, his voice low and rough. "Spread out for me, so eager for my cock."

You blushed at his words, but the embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the desire coursing through your veins. You needed him, needed to feel him inside you, needed to be filled and stretched and claimed by this man who had captured your heart, soul, and body.

Logan reached down, grasping his hard length in his hand. He stroked himself a few times, his eyes never leaving your face. "You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you breathed. "God, yes, Logan. Please, just fuck me already."

Logan chuckled, positioning himself at your entrance. "As you wish," he said, and then he was pushing forward, his thick length sliding into your slick heat inch by inch.

You cried out, your head falling back against the pillow as you felt Logan fill you up. He was so big, stretching you most deliciously, and you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he sank deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan groaned as he felt your tight warm heat envelop him, your walls clenching around his shaft as he bottomed out inside you. "Fuck, darlin'," he grunted, his hips stilling for a moment as he savored the sensation. "You're so fuckin' tight."

You whimpered beneath him, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Logan," you gasped, your hips rocking slightly as you adjusted to his size. "You're so big. I can feel you everywhere."

Logan chuckled breathlessly, his forehead pressing against yours as he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and rough. "Take my cock. Fuck, you feel so good."

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillow as Logan set a steady rhythm, his hips snapping forward in a way that had him hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust. "Yes, just like that," you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he increased his pace, driving into you harder and faster. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, the slap of skin on skin, your labored breaths, and needy moans.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last," Logan grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt his orgasm building. "You feel too fuckin' good, darlin'. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up."

You cried out, your body tensing as you felt your own release approaching. "Yes, Logan, yes," you chanted, your nails raking down his back. "Come inside me. I want to feel you come."

With a final, brutal thrust, Logan buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled his cum into your awaiting womb. You screamed, your body shaking as your own orgasm crashed over you, your walls clamping down around Logan's shaft, milking him for every last drop.

You stayed like that for a moment, Logan's weight pressing down on you as you both struggled to catch your breath. Finally, he rolled off of you, pulling you into his arms and holding you close.

"That was...'' Logan trailed off, large hand caressing against your back.

''Amazing.'' You finished the sentence for him, head snuggling up against his chest, his chest hair tickling against your cheek. Your legs were still twitching, spasming at the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Logan's chest rumbled with a chuckle, his arm tightening around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, his voice a low, satisfied growl. "You're amazing. Fuckin' incredible."

You felt yourself blush at his words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "You're not so bad yourself," you teased, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "For an old man."

Logan scoffed, his hand coming up to tickle your side. "Old man? I'll show you who's an old man," he threatened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I can go again, you know. And again, and again."

You giggled, squirming in his arms as his fingers danced over your ribs. "I'm sure you can," you said, your voice breathless with laughter. "But I think I need a break first. You kind of wrecked me."

Logan's expression softened, his hand stilling on your skin. "Sorry, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I didn't mean to be too rough."

You shook your head, reaching up to cover his hand with your own. "No, it was perfect," you assured him, your eyes locking with his. "I loved every second of it."

Logan's gaze searched your face for a moment as if trying to determine the truth of your words. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

When he pulled back, his eyes were warm and soft, a rare vulnerability shining through. "You're something else, angel," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm fuckin' grateful for it."

Your heart swelled at his words, your own eyes growing misty with emotion. "I'm the lucky one," you whispered, your hand coming up to cup his cheek.

And you were, having a man such as himself, making you reach heights you never thought you would, says a lot. And you'd seek him out more, eager and needing more of him.

[parfaitblogs]

daylight ❀ s. reid x reader

in which communicating with your boyfriend is scary, and spencer reid can't stand to see you cry.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort/fluff! tags: reader avoids her issues... for a little bit. that's kind of it. it's just fluffy and simple! word count: 1.5k a/n: something short & sweet because i thought it was cute and i write the most when i'm procrastinating assignments... um… inspired by a conversation sam willow and i were having a few nights ago🫂 reminder that pretty girls cry when they’re confronting somebody!!

Spencer Reid was not oblivious to all things in the world. In fact, he was rather perceptive compared to most people. Psychology degree and human behaviour-based job aside, he noticed things. 

A lot of it was good. He knew exactly how to wake you up on mornings he started earlier than you. How to keep you half-asleep enough to allow you your return to sleep, but also awake enough to ensure you'd remember him kissing you goodbye (there had been an argument a few months ago about it — you thought he had left without a word). He knew your go-to Thai order from the restaurant down the street, and he knew which pair of wooden chopsticks your favourite were to pull out of his kitchen drawers. 

He was also observant enough to know something was wrong. 

He was back from a case. A long one, that had worn him down enough that he felt like a pile of creaking bones when he re-entered his apartment earlier that afternoon. You had returned from your own job an hour after that, and despite the initial excitement that came from your boyfriend being back in the state again, you were a bundle of nerves. 

And he knew that.

You were on his couch, legs across his lap and back up against the arm, his hands resting comfortable in the dip between your two knees. There was a quiet episode of New Girl playing on the television (you had convinced him to watch it after he had sat you through every Star Trek movie), but your thoughts were anywhere but the sitcom you had been using to entertain yourself as of recent. 

"You've been awfully quiet," Spencer said, piercing the less than comfortable air settled around you two. 

"Sorry," you answered, tearing your gaze from the screen to look at him, meeting a worried expression you had somewhat expected. 

Hands ran up and down your legs, erupting goosebumps along the skin. "Is something wrong?" 

"No," you immediately shook your head and forced a smile onto your face. "Nothing's wrong."

He furrowed his eyebrows, lips parting in that confused look he always had on his face when he was thinking, and he stared at you for a few seconds longer, before, "Yes there is."

Profilers. "Seriously, Spence. There isn't. I'm just kind of tired tonight."

"I am as well," he said, hands stilling on your legs rather abruptly. "I was in Idaho for a week. I'm also exhausted. And usually my girlfriend is a little touchier and more talkative than this when I come home. So I'm assuming something's wrong."

"You're assuming incorrectly, then," your shoulders shrugged.

He said your name chidingly, and it was at that tone of voice that you retracted your legs from his lap, instead tucking your feet beneath yourself, gaze dropping to the couch cushion. 

"I just missed you," you told him, a slight stretch of the truth. 

"I missed you too," he said, and your shoulders softened. "But that's not all it is."

You blinked, before you fell silent, shaking your head instead. 

"Talk to me. What's happened?" his voice was achingly soft, your heart shattering in your chest to the point you wanted to take back every thought you'd had over the past week and burn them to ashes. They didn't mean much now in front of him. Not when he was reminding you of how kind he was. 

"You barely talked to me," you said, hands dropping to your lap, and you fidgeted with them under his gaze. "I never knew what was going on. You didn't call once, except for when you landed."

"I was really busy, honey," he answered, and you could hear the frown in his voice. "If I had time to do anything other than the case and sleep, you know I'd have talked to you more." 

"I know," your voice shook, and you could feel your emotions overriding your brain. As usual. So, you kept your head down. "But I would've liked you to tell me that, at least."

You heard him sigh, and curiosity got the best of you as you lifted your gaze, inspecting to see if he was sighing out of irritation or not. He wasn't — just exhaustion — and that made you feel a little better.

"I know for next time then," he said, and he met your eyes, which had watered since the last time he looked at you. Which wasn't very long ago, and so he was drawing his eyebrows together, again, confusedly. "What's that? What's wrong?"

On instinct he leaned forwards, and you let him shift his body closer to yours, hands coming up on either side of your neck. You sniffled, trying to suck the tears threatening to fall back into your eye sockets. 

"I can't communicate," you mumbled, quietly, a tear escaping and dripping down to the lower half of your cheek. 

"You communicated pretty well just then, angel," he said, voice soft as he caught the remainder of the tear and swiped it away with his thumb. 

"Yeah but—but now I'm crying," you moaned, pathetically, more tears slipping down your face. His lips twitched — though not in humour, you noted — as he adjusted his hands to your jaw, thumbs continuing to wipe falling tears. 

"Yeah. That's okay," he answered. "You've got a flood of hormones going through you right now, and so your body reacts to it in the best way it sees fit. In your case, it's tears."

"I hate it," you mumbled, and this time he did laugh a little, nodding his head. 

"I know," he said. "Are you feeling embarrassed about communicating with me?"

"I guess," you replied. "I don't know. I think I just..." you trailed off as your voice disappeared, breath beginning to hyperventilate acutely. "I—I just feel kind of sil—silly."

You cursed each sob that broke up your speech, and yet his gaze and focus on you never once wavered. In fact, his touch seemingly had grown softer, and the concern in his eyes had only grown. 

"You aren't silly," he said, once he was sure you weren't going to continue speaking. "If me not talking to you for a week upset you, I'd say that's pretty reasonable."

"I don't know..."

"Want a secret?" he asked, fingers poking into your cheeks enough for you to crack a small smile. You only nodded your head in response, chest still jolting with each sharp intake of breath. "I have to physically restrain myself from calling you every hour on a normal day."

"You're lying," you mumbled, and his smile only widened, a bashful laugh leaving his lips. 

"No, honestly. I have so much I want to talk to you about during the day, and I need to remind myself that you're busy and at work too."

A few uncontrollable tears dripped down your face, and your gaze dropped to the top of his shirt, though the smile never left your face. "I don't believe you."

"I wish you would, but that's okay," he said, evidently seeing right through your defying statement — you believed him a little.

His forefinger and thumb caught your chin, and he tilted your head back up so his eyes could meet your glassy ones. 

"I'm sorry," you murmured, before he could get a word in.

"For what?"

"Crying."

"Do you take in anything I say to you?" he chastised, though the smile on his face eliminated any fear of him being genuinely irritated, and so your shoulders simply shrugged. 

"Sometimes," you said, and his eyebrows shot up. 

"Sometimes?" he repeated back to you, and you had to bite your lip to keep the amused expression off your face. He was smiling back at you, before his face settled into something more serious, as he continued, "I don't mind you crying, angel. It breaks my heart to see it, but I'm not sitting here and judging you for it. You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good," he finalised with a short nod, and you sniffled with a nod of your own. 

"I mean, technically, crying is good," you said, tongue poking between your teeth as you forced back a smile. 

"Yeah? Why's that?" 

"Releases endorphins and oxytocin."

He huffed a single laugh through his nose, nodding his head. "Yes. It does."

"I know things," you grinned. 

"You do," he agreed with a nod. "My smart girl."

"Yeah. Don't ever forget it."

"I could never," he replied, and a comfortable silence enveloped your two bodies, your heart fluttering in your chest. 

"Can you tell me about Idaho?" you finally asked him.

"You really want to know?" 

You nodded your head, and he sighed, but complied regardless. And you eventually found your head in his lap, staring up at him as one hand danced gently over the skin of your slightly exposed stomach, the other entangled in your hair, brushing through it. 

And he told you about the case he had been away on — it became glaringly obvious behind why he hadn't called or messaged you at all — and consequently eased any other remaining worries behind it.

And it dried your tears up.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[gojonanami]

c/w: fluff, crack, dad!satoru, domesticity, he just loves his family, suguru never defected, based slightly on phantom parade

“Satoru, do we really need all of this?”

And you thought you had overpacked.

In comes your husband with several bags, two duffle bags, and three tote bags full of things for your son.

For a two and half day trip.

“Of course, what if our son needs any of this? I did limit it only to necessities,” and he sets everything down in a pile, only for a toy to roll out of one of the tote bags.

“All these toys are necessary?” You raise an eyebrow, “Satoru it’s just a weekend trip to Kyoto, we’re not going across the ocean,”

“Huh? My son needs all this. What if he cries without any of this stuff?” and you shake your head, walking over, “plus I want him to have a good time. We’re going to the mountains. I want him to roast marshmallows and grill with me—“

“Why is everything sound dangerous and involves fire?” You raise an eyebrow, before wrapping your arms around his neck, “you know he’s three, he’s gonna have a good time regardless, as long as he gets marshmallows,”

Satoru leans into your touch, leaning down to bury his face in the side of your neck, “I know but I want him to feel normal,” his voice is soft, “I never got to do this stuff as a kid. I was always stuck inside or escorted around by clan sorcerers constantly. Those geezers make Gakuganji look like a fun time,”

You chuckle softly, running your fingers through his hair, “I get it, baby. But I’m just saying you don’t have to try so hard. He’s already going camping in the mountains with his favorite person,” and he grins, “me, of course,”

He gapes at you as you dissolve into giggles as he scoops you up in his arms and you’re laughing and yelling, “Toru! Stop!” He’s unrelenting, spinning you around, as you try to squirm out of his grip.

“You—!”

“Yes, dear?” He grins, “I’m sorry I was trying to show the favorite a good time,”

“It’s always a good time with my two favorite people, weirdo,” you kiss his lips, “even if one of them has freakish strength,”

“Hey!”

“But I know our son will always safe with you, and he will always have fun,” you press your forehead to his.

“You sure?” And you’re nodding, kissing his lips, “so I shouldn’t bring rainbow dragon with us?”

….

“No, Satoru, we’re not bringing rainbow dragon. Send him back to Suguru.”

(He brings him anyway).