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shiningjustforreid · 3 days ago

Text

you missed my heart

— based on this song <3 even though title is title of another song ;)

where bau!fem!reader, Spencer Reid, and the bau deal with a case very close to home for reader.

word count: 5kish

a/n: i wanted to try to write something with a little more story line!! thus, this was born. it’s mostly angst because i fear that’s my forte, but there’s a little fluff and implied intimacy, as is my typical route <3 also wanted to mention i’m not from the town in this fic, but i am from the midwest, somewhat close to there! enjoy!!

warnings/tags: 18+ for dark themes and implied intimacy which reader cries after bc this case is a lot, referenced childhood neglect for reader, reader has trauma but she’s working on it, typical canon-level violence and dark content for criminal minds, case fic, season 10ish Spencer, spencer and reader are dating <3, Spencer is absolutely in love with reader (as he should be!), no use of y/n

- ✩ -

Cheery and bright December has molded into a bleary January, and it’s on one such morning that Penelope, dressed in an - almost garish, but who’s Spencer Reid to complain? - orange and yellow dress, to ‘combat the gray’, as she chirps, tells him they have a case. With three teen girls, all already found dead. Wincing, because he never understands why these local police forces wait until there’s multiple people dead when’s it’s clearly serial, he follows Morgan to the briefing room.

When he glances back to see if you’re coming, he finds your desk vacant, chair pushed in and files in a tidy pile, as is your nature. Frowning, he hurries to catch up with Morgan, only to find you already sat, all the color washed from your face, as Hotch discusses something clearly serious with you.

Then again, everything is serious with Hotch.

Before he can sit by you, at least to provide some comfort, Kate finds that chair, and Penelope is starting the presentation, her voice quiet, tight, as it always is when the cases make her a little more on edge.

“We are sending all of you lovely crime fighters to the small, and less lovely, town of Constantine, Michigan.”

Oh. So that’s why Hotch was seemingly deep in conversation with you.

That’s where you’re from.

“Three girls—“

She flicks through the pictures and their names, and you look absolutely sick to your stomach. Spencer fights the urge to walk to your side of the table and take your hand - you just look so scared. Taking a deep breath, Penelope braces herself to just force out the next part.

“—have been found dead just outside of town, dropped along a river that runs right along there.”

Morgan’s brows furrow, as Penelope taps through the images of the crime scenes, clearly thinking.

“This guy is bold. Dropping these girls at night is a precaution, sure, but small town like that, right by those houses, he’d get noticed.”

Rossi nods, while all Spencer can do is look at you and your tense shoulders and the way your jaw is clenched.

“He’s obviously a local. And doesn’t care if these girls get found. Sure, they’re clearly concealed some—“

He glances up at the pictures, of the teen girls wrapped in weeds and river mud,

“But he isn’t taking major precautions. I wonder why.”

Hotch nods, at each of their deductions, before he uncrosses his arms, glancing down at you before he speaks.

“Either way, three girls in 3 weeks, with the cooling off period decreasing, we need to get there soon. Wheels up in 30, no less.”

As the briefing room clears, Spencer’s at your side without pause, his palm resting against the cotton of your turtleneck, against tight muscle.

“Angel, you know you don’t have to work this case.”

You shake your head immediately, although he notices you don’t stand, hands still gripping the table in front of you with enough force to whiten your knuckles.

“I need to. I’m a part of this team, aren’t I? Plus, if there’s any way I can be of more help, since I know the area and the roads, it’d almost be wrong not to help, right?”

“Hey, breathe. I know. But Hotch already told you that you should sit this one out, didn’t he? And you told him no.”

One small movement of your head, and you finally meet his eyes. His heart twists - the apprehension in them is clear.

“I told him whatever memories this drudges up for me doesn’t compare to the lives I can potentially save. That makes sense, right?”

The hand moves from your shoulder to tuck a strand of hair from your face, thumb soothing down your cheekbone, a cold contrast to the warm flush of your skin.

“It does, angel, it does. But if you feel-overwhelmed, or too anxious, or even just a little off, please, let—“

“I’ll be fine. I can visit my hometown without having a mental health crisis.”

You didn’t mean to snap, cut him off. Sighing, you swallow thickly and look away.

“Sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant that-that I should be able to do this.”

“Should and can are two different things, my girl. You’re not weak, you-you couldn’t be. Trauma has literal physical consequences for the brain, such as making your amygdala hyperactive. Additionally, reduced activity in your prefrontal cortex can lead to—“

Letting him ramble soothes your nerves, just enough, as the two of you head to the jet. The nearly two hours of flight, where the team discusses the crime scenes and the potential profile, doesn’t have you saying much. Once, JJ asks what you think about the murder weapon, a knife, and how it relates to the unsub’s feelings about these girls. Spencer jumps in when you meet the blonde’s eyes with a deer-in-headlights look, claiming you ‘didn’t sleep well last night’ and just ‘need some time to wake up.’

In a plane full of profilers, no one believes this, of course. Rossi and Morgan’s eyes both say, you’re kidding, Reid, while JJ and Kate both sigh in tandem. Flashing Spencer a ‘thank-you-so-much-I-love-you-endlessly’ look, you then open the case file again, heart in your throat.

And your most integral organ doesn’t leave its spot in your throat when you land, and drive down a bit south to your destination, January here even more blech and dull than January in Quantico. As the SUV holding you, Spencer, Morgan, and Kate makes its way down 131, your eyes are glued out the window at the familiar landscape.

Lifeless cornfields, decorated only with gray snow and currently useless irrigation systems. Green-brown grass peeks through certain spots, and for a majority of your drive, the only buildings you pass are houses with a shutter or two missing, dirt coating the sides, shingles missing in sections, blown off by wind. The soft despair and growing hopelessness of this land is not lost on you. It never was.

As Morgan brings the vehicle into town, he grimaces, taking in the small, falling apart homes and once-was businesses.

“This is dismal, huh? I wonder how long until this place is a ghost town.”

Spencer doesn’t miss your soft sigh, or the way your fingers twist around the deep navy edge of your FBI windbreaker. When both SUVs park outside the local police station, he sets his hand on yours, just for a second.

I’m here. I’ve got you, angel girl. I love you.

Heading inside is at thankfully a somewhat new experience, at least at first - you’ve never been inside this police station, not even when you lived here. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ are already inside, and what you hoped for - that no one would recognize you on first glance - turns to be a foolish pipe dream.

“Aren’t you Paul’s girl?”

One of the officers asks, his eyes narrowing once they land on you. Suddenly, it seems like every body in this damn tiny precinct is turned your way, and you gulp down your insecurities, trying to stand tall and not turn and dash right back out that door onto salted sidewalks and into winter slush.

“Yeah. I am.”

Quiet confirmation on your part leads to surprise on your teams’ faces - sans Hotch and Spencer, of course - and a mixture of bland dislike and ambivalence amongst the officers in the room.

“Thought so. Look at you, all high and mighty. FBI, huh? I for one, would have never guessed—“

“That’s enough. She’s my agent, on this case, and you are to have no other issues with her. Am I clear?”

You thank any deity that’s listening for Hotch and his firm command, ending that officer’s insults. If he knows your dad, who knows what else he knows, and right now, you don’t want to talk to any of these men, let alone your team, who are bound to have a slew of questions.

“Kate, Morgan, I want you two to head to the morgue. Look at the wounds and see what you can add to our profile. Rossi and I will head over to the crime scene and look around. JJ, Reid, I need you to interview our victim’s families, see what we can learn about these girls.”

As half the team heads to the SUVs, you turn to Hotch, confused.

“Hotch, you didn’t tell me where I’m going.”

The unit chief sighs and glances around before turning back to you.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d be comfortable with. I can send you with Morgan and Kate, if you want?”

You shrug, still feeling people’s stares like sniper’s lasers, and meet Hotch’s eyes.

“Yeah, I could. I-I also thought I should go home. See my parents, I don’t know. They might have seen something valuable.”

Dark brows raise, and his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“If you go, take Reid. It won’t do any good to go alone.”

As much as that makes you cringe - how little does he think you can handle? - you also know, at the bottom of your heart, that he’s right. That going home after all this time will do nothing but put you right back in that headspace you clawed your way out of not so long ago.

“I’ll go with Kate and Morgan. Thanks Hotch.”

He nods, and you shoot Spencer a quick look of I’m okay before you jog to catch up with your selected teammates for the day. As you climb into the SUV, both of them turn to look at you, questions in their eyes. Biting back a groan, you keep it short.

“I grew up here. Got out first chance I got. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Kate looks sympathetic, and Morgan nods, soft.

“Yeah. I get that. No pressure. If you wanna talk about it ever, I’m all ears.”

Tension eases out of your muscles at Morgan’s words. Your drive to the coroner is next to silent, but as you look over the girls, covered with those white cloths, you let your mind dip into profiling mode; removed, and carefully curious.

“One stab wound, straight to the heart, no defensive wounds. That precision implies that they were unconscious when he did this.”

You muse, as you take in the colorless, innocent face of the girl in front of you.

Did I know her? Or her sister? Brother?

“There’s no marks from being restrained, either, so he had them knocked out before he did anything.”

Maybe I know their parents.

Morgan nods, looking at another one of the victims.

“They all have abrasions on the back of their heads. Enough blunt force trauma, that would knock them out.”

“He must of got what he wanted, and then disposed of them so the secret- died with them.”

Kate adds quietly, and you and Morgan both look unwell, for differing reasons. It’s not quick enough that you can drive back over to town, even though you’re dreading seeing those officers’ faces again.

Thankfully, what you see first when returning is Spencer’s face, and you make a beeline for him, as he stands by the tiny map of the - your - town. Resisting the urge to cry out the last few hours of feelings into his sweater vest, you instead take his hand, subtle, you hope. Concern immediately floods his features, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Hey, you okay? Typically, you’re the one reminding me of HR’s policies regarding interdepartmental relationships and uh, ‘PDA.’”

“Mhm. One stab wound, straight through the heart. Victims knocked unconscious beforehand, which means the unsub can’t subdue them unless they’re out first.”

The hand holding yours climbs to your bicep, fingers smoothing over the crinkly fabric of your windbreaker. He hears your checked-out tone, and knows he’ll help bring you back out of the fog later.

“Makes sense. That lines up with what Hotch and Rossi learned too. Apparently, these girls walk home from school, and this guy, whoever he is, offered them rides home because of the weather. That’s all anyone has seen, but no one has a plate number yet or any good description, just, ‘tan sedan.’”

It’s not him. God, stop it, it isn’t. Lots of people drive those cars.

Nodding, you turn to pull away, go find Hotch, presumably, give the profile, but the fingers latched in your coat tighten.

“Hotch told me that you want to go visit your parents. Is it because of the case, or—?”

“Why did he tell you that?”

Groaning, you turn back to face him, clearly just itching to give this damn profile and go hunt this unsub.

“Because, angel, he knows that you would be better off if I go with you. You know that. Besides, I’ve-well, I’ve never met your parents, and as your boyfriend—“

Spencer’s ears turn the slightest shade of rosy, and you grin, barely,

“-I’d like to. Okay?”

Screw this and his sweet smile and his puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. After the profile, I’ll go see my parents. And you can come. I guess.”

Before you can hardly think, the seven of you have gathered in front of a small group of cops. Chin held high, you stare just over their heads, and the back of the room, where a dusty clock is hung.

“Our unsub is a 40-50 year old male who lives in the area, and probably has for a while. He manages to secure his victims by offering rides to teen girls, from the high school, back home, to help them avoid walking home in the cold weather.”

Hotch starts, voice calm and sure, and then Spencer chimes in.

“Based on our geographical profile, he definitely lives in the area, and close to the St. Joe river, where he’s dumping the bodies. He has to be able to walk them there, so no one sees his car.”

“That’s why he’s picking smaller girls. So he can lift them and carry them a short distance. Additionally, so there’s less chance of resisting. He might stalk these victims beforehand, but, since this is such a small town, and he’s a local, he might already know what time their parents get off work.”

Derek explains, arms crossed, until Kate adds her piece.

“He could also be using some ruse to take them back to a garage or basement he has. Once he has them subdued, he doesn’t appear do anything else - just stabs them through the heart, ending things quickly.”

“He could be using these victims as substitutes for a girl he holds resentment for. Perhaps he feels like he’s been wronged in the past, and he’s taking out his anger.”

Rossi finishes, as the team nods along. Thank God Hotch said you didn’t have to say anything.

“Based on the acceleration rate of these kills, we guess he’ll attempt another soon. However, please don’t do anything more to make it known that we’re here - it could cause him to panic, and flee. Thank you.”

JJ tells the officers. The entire profile runs through your head on a loop, all consuming - local, 40-50 year old man, tan car, stabbing, dumped by the river, clearly confident, barely contained rage - so much so that you don’t even see Hotch coming over to you, and say your name.

“The rest of the team is going to do some interviews with potential witnesses at the high school, and look at men that fit the profile. I figured you could use this afternoon to visit your parents, with Reid.”

Discomfort pools in your stomach. Teeth catching on your chapped bottom lip, you nod, trying not to sound ungrateful - because you’re not, not really, just anxious as hell.

“Yeah. I-that’s fine. I’ll have Spencer drive us over, or I can walk, or—“

“Take a car. It’s chilly, and I don’t need either of you sick. If they’re not proving helpful to our investigation, you can always leave.”

He’s giving you an out. If you feel like you’re drowning, you and Spencer can swim right out, and Hotch knows that you need it. Nodding again, you tug your jacket tighter and nod.

“Thanks sir. I’ll- thank you. If they don’t have anything to say, we’ll go help somewhere else.”

That’s how you and Spencer end up in a squad car, with him behind the wheel - “I can drive, I can, just let me, okay, beautiful?” - and you let him, because you honestly feel like you could lose your lunch at any moment. Hands twist in your lap, and, it’s mere minutes of quiet until the tires of the car sink into the mud that’s your parents’ driveway.

Spencer almost jumps when you immediately speak, ending the silence.

“I don’t want to do this. I can face serial killers of every variety, but I can’t go in my childhood home.”

You stare out the windshield - the house hasn’t changed. The front still needs a power wash, the siding almost gray instead of white, and that one shutter is still hanging loose, barely there. Dead grass is visible through the browning slush that once was fresh snow. Vaguely, you realize that your parents gave your swingset, which sat rusting and paint peeling for years, to your neighbors. But you don’t live here anymore - and it never really felt like home, anyways.

“This is ridiculous. I need to just go in. I’m being stupid-“

“Stop it.”

Spencer interrupts, quiet, but firm. It stops your self-deprecating spiral, at least. Your eyes stray over to the mailbox, which is nearly fallen over from when those boys bashed it in with a baseball bat. Dad never fixed that. Typical.

“You have every reason to be hesitant, okay? To not want to go in there makes sense. They made your life hell for 18 years, sweet girl. As far as I know, I can’t name anyone who wants to return to hell.”

Something sort of like a smile makes its way onto your face, and you turn to meet his eyes, the coldness in your stomach warming marginally.

“But I should do this. They might know something.”

“They might. I’ll follow you anywhere, angel. You know that.”

Running shaking hands over your face, you nod, trying to collect yourself into coherent sentences.

“Mom’s probably home, but it’s-Spencer, it’s going to be a mess, and she’s not going to be welcome, just so you know in advance, and-“

Spiral slashed through again, this time because of his hand on your arm.

“Baby. Breathe. I’m not going to think any less of you. I know.”

He only calls you that when he’s talking you down from some anxiety-induced hill, coaxing you back to reality.

“I already know what I’m going to see, and I-honestly, if anything, it just gives me more respect for you. Okay?”

So, in you go. The porch creaks when your boots and Spencer’s Converse make contact, and in your mind, when your fingertips brush against the screen door and turn the knob - unlocked, how can you be surprised? - it almost feels like you’re just coming home from school.

You got out. You got out.

That mantra never left your head until almost a year of college. Inside, it’s dim - the kitchen lights are off, and that sick smell of cigarettes - ew, do you smoke? You always smell like it - hits your lungs, and you almost turn right on your toes, until you bump into Spencer. He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can breathe again, the ash cleared from your lungs.

“Paul? That you?”

“No, Mom. It’s me.”

Passing through the kitchen, trying not to look at the cracked linoleum or the days old dishes in the sink or the overcrowded countertops, you head into the living room - there she sits, in the patched together red sun faded armchair. Smoke in hand, ratty blue Bears hoodie, graying hair in a frizzy ponytail. She says your name like it’s something that somehow tastes worse than her cigarette.

The conversation you have isn’t pleasant - it never was. After she finishes making you feel as small as you ever have, you manage to give her the profile, as Spencer sits tensely next to you on the couch.

“Nah, I ain’t heard nothing.”

Sighing, you look over at Spencer, too stressed to look at body language, look for tells, to profile her, for goodness sakes. He meets your eyes, warm hazel that only shows you love, and then all that love melts away as he turns to your mother.

“Thanks, for your time, we’ll be leaving-“

Because he knows you’re on the edge of some sort of collapse, and he has his warm hand on the small of your back, when the screen door creaks again, and you freeze as boots stamp across that decades old laminate in the laundry room entry way. Keys jangle and then get hung on a worn hook, and tobacco, freshly smoked, wafts in anew.

They say you never forget the sound of your Dad coming home.

In that moment, something thick and viscous fills your lungs, and your head, and your ears ring. You hear Spencer murmur something to you, probably your name, but it doesn’t process through the molasses in your brain. He comes around the corner, and looks your way.

First comes a blip of surprise, then that lazy smirk that’s imprinted inside your eyelids when you close them for too long. Leaning against the half-wall that divides dining from living room, he looks you over. Suddenly you’re twelve, begging him to help you with algebra, and you’re nine, being called ungrateful when you ask why the heat’s off again, and you’re five, and asking when dinner is, because you just wanted to know. On instinct, you step away, and Spencer’s hand finds the curve of your back once more, grounding and sure.

“Thought I heard you. Hey kid.”

“Hi Dad.”

It’s amazing how one person can make the whole room seem so much darker, the late afternoon winter light duller now as it bleeds in through dusty curtains. When you manage to find your voice again, and tell him why the FBI is here, in this tiny Michigan town, he laughs, shaking his head, sighing.

“Damn Feds think everything is serial. I know it’s just some lowlife on ice. They won’t probably even catch him.”

Spencer makes a face, and opens his mouth, probably to make some point about the intelligence of these crimes, and someone high wouldn’t be able to do this, but you speak first.

“We should go. Help down at the station. Lots of victims’ families to interview.”

Turning to go, you flash your mom a weary smile, and then a tighter one at your dad and turn to leave, but not before cold fingers hold your arm, where your jacket’s pushed up, like a vice.

Remember remember remember remember—

“You go ahead and tell your little buddies to head home, you hear me? Both of you.”

You don’t look up, staring down at the dismally gray rug under your feet.

I slipped on that. Cut my forehead open. Let me go.

“I’ll try. See ya.”

Spencer is tugging you out the door, away from the smell of mold mixed with something distinctly bleach - mom must have been trying to clean it. He watches you, carefully, as you buckle, on autopilot, and he turns the key in the ignition. Dad’s car sits in the mud - tan sedan but they don’t mean that one do they? The SUV remains in park. Decidedly warmer hands smooth over the damp fabric of your windbreaker.

“Can you look at me, angel?”

You stare at the dirt covered siding, the pathetic grass, thumb nail headed for your wind ruined lips. It never makes it there - Spencer intertwines your fingers, hazel eyes full of quiet concern.

“That-that doesn’t define you, you know that, right?”

Shrugging, you squeeze his hand tighter. Need to feel real.

“Their lack of care, their neglect—“

“I wasn’t neglected.”

You snap weakly, even though it’s true; it just feels like such an ugly word.

“We just struggled. And they had to work a lot. And they didn’t want me to be weak. And so what if Mom would buy cigarettes by the carton, instead of milk and eggs? I didn’t want cookies, and all the fancy channels, it was fine, honest, Spence. I didn’t want those things.”

“Sweet girl, that’s- God, but they didn’t give you what you needed. You were a child. You should’ve wanted those things, but were too busy wanting hot food at dinner, and for the water not to get shut off.”

He already knew the horrors you’d crawled out of, and now, having seen your house, and the wood paneled walls, smoke smudged windows and that spot where you can see the drywall, there was no judgement in Spencer’s eyes. Dry anger, at your parents, perhaps, soft empathy for you, for sure, but no judgment.

You’re numb for the rest of the day, brain foggy, and it’s rather early when Hotch has everyone head back to the hotel, a 20 near silent minute drive up to Three Rivers. Protocol be damned, Spencer lets you hold his hand the entire way back, and instead of heading off to separate rooms - ‘HR policy’ - you follow him straight up to his, dumping your bag on the floor and turning to face him, eyes dark and empty as you work at his tie. His hands fly up to yours, stilling them.

“Easy. Hey. You’re practically dissociating, and I uh, I don’t know if I want to do this when you’re so out of it. Not because you aren’t beautiful or because I don’t want to, because—“

He stops, letting out a tiny noise that could almost be constituted as a whimper as your lips find his exposed collarbone.

“I do, I always want you, lovely, but maybe you need to process all these memories and think about this and how it’s effecting you—“

“Stop profiling me, Spence. I don’t want to think. Not about my parents, or this case, or anything. I need you to make me forget about the way those officers looked at me today-“

His shirt falls to the thin carpeted floor of the hotel. Calloused hands tug off your rain splattered coat, discarding that too.

“And the way Kate and Morgan looked at me in the SUV on the way to the morgue-“

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel the flimsy quilt of the hotel bed against your back as you stare up at him, sat to your right on the edge of the bed.

“-and the way that you’re looking at me now.”

Several thoughts flash through Spencer’s eyes, and he looks you over carefully - his angel, all wide, pleading eyes and cold flushed cheeks and wind whipped hair. His hand comes to hold your face on one side, thumb easing over the high plane of your cheekbone.

“Please be sure. That’s all I ask, pretty girl.”

Because God, you do look pretty. Pretty feels like a laughable adjective, quite honestly, as you nod, and whisper please and yes again, and his mouth finds yours, and then finds your jawline, and the column of your throat.

Ethereal might be better, he thinks, as he tugs away your sweater and swallows hard, hands smoothing over heated skin to unclasp your bra. Or incandescent, he muses, as your fingers curl in his hair and his fingers trace over your stomach and hips, making you arch into his touch, desperate to forget forget forget.

There’s something so entrancing about the way you meet his eyes, hazy for a different reason than resurfacing trauma, your nails carving half moons into his back, face buried in his shoulder.

Holding you after is not just his procedure, it’s law, how you meld yourself in his lap, his knuckles skimming over your spine, his lips in your hair. When your shoulders shake, once, twice, however, he sighs.

“I know you have a tendency to display post coital dysphoria, angel, but this feels different.”

He hedges, his mouth now pressed against your forehead. The technical term catches you off guard - it’s just so Spencer. Gulping back an outright sob, you nod.

“Yeah, I-this whole case is just- it sucks.”

Eloquent, you may typically strive to be, but in this moment of bliss mixed with wounds reopening, the elegant seems unachievable. Soft lips don’t move from your skin, breaths even and deep to contrast your shallow ones.

“You’re brave. You know that? My brave girl. Hotch told you that this case was one you could’ve sat out, and you came. Why?”

You shrug, even though you know why, deep down.

“Because you care. You know the world gives heaps of hurting and upset, and you just-you just want to stop it all.”

Sleep doesn’t evade you, or Spencer, and when you wake up, it’s another misty sunrise, snow falling and sludge squelching under tires as all the team arrives at the precinct.

“We don’t currently have any missing girls, but with our unsub’s level of rage, we should see one very soon. Today, we should be focused on narrowing down our list of potential unsubs based on what we know in our profile.”

While you nod along to Hotch’s morning briefing, your mind is a million miles away.

Suppressed rage. Tan sedan. 40-50 year old male. What if what if what if—

Someone says your name. Blinking, you look up at Hotch, whose frown lines are more pronounced than normal.

“Do you know something?”

Five more pairs of eyes rush to you, and you swallow, hard.

“Does anyone right now?”

Answering a question with a question.

“I have a feeling. I think that profile describes half the town, at least. Are we going to interview every man in that age range?”

Deflection. Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“If you know something, you need to tell us.”

Spencer watches you, face tight with concern.

A beat. Shaking your head again, you look away.

“No. I don’t. Nothing certain.”

Body language.

Even as the team disperses, some to the high school, some to a couple empty tables in the tiny precinct, you feel Hotch’s eyes watch you, as you pour over names and histories and potential matches for the profile. Still, your mind remains a million miles away - or maybe about two.

After what feels like hours, but is probably minutes, slender fingers land on your shoulder.

“Hey angel. C’mere. Let’s take a walk.”

Dutiful girlfriend that you are, you stand and follow Spencer outside, into the hazy morning. He shuts the door behind you and hesitantly smooths his hands down your arms, his voice quiet.

“I love you, I-I need you to know that. To remember that. But—“

Spencer stops. You don’t look up, eyes fixed on the concrete below.

“I need you to be honest, okay? Do you know, or-or think you know, who this unsub is, or might be?”

Loosely shrugging your shoulders makes him sigh, and he runs his hands carefully up, then down, your arms, tethering you to reality.

“I never want to guilt you, you know that, but if you know something—“

“Then it could prevent more deaths. I know. I know, Spence, I do, I just, if I’m wrong, there’s consequences.”

Frowning, his hands stop their motion on your arms.

“Look at me?”

It’s not a demand, but more like a hopeful ask. You acquiesce, and he grins, a little tightly. Probably because your eyes look dull.

“There’s my girl. Why would there be consequences for you, lovely? You never have to come back here again, if you don’t want to. I’d never make you.”

Heavy sigh. Glancing away, and then back, the lump in your throat grows.

“I feel like I might know this unsub. As more than just a face and a name. As a person. But I don’t know if my past experiences are just tinting my perception of this case, or if it’s a legitimate connection.”

To his credit, Spencer keeps his face blank, but his eyes go darker.

“If you know, you need to tell Hotch. Even if it’s just an inkling. It could even lead to another person we haven’t looked at yet.”

Looking back, the late morning and afternoon fell into a blur. Hotch immediately has Kate, Morgan and Rossi check out the house of the potential unsub you’d named, while you and Spencer examined other potentials, and JJ and Hotch headed to the high school for a bit. All day, you’re quiet, hoping with everything you have that you’re wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t really there. Every interaction merges together into a convoluted mess.

When the team regroups at the station, it’s dark out, and raining icy sleet - curse of the midwest winter - when a call comes to the precinct: a frantic mom of a missing girl, or at least a girl who didn’t return home.

“We need to get out there, Hotch. If she’s been missing since the end of the school day, he could be about done with her.”

Morgan’s voice is tight, and Hotch nods. Blood rushes through your ears, your pulse the only thing you hear, as everyone piles into SUVs, and drives just past the town limits, parking with lights out along in the muddy riverbank.

You see him. And you’ve heard, that your brain, when presented with a truth it cannot accept, will literally deny what it sees. Faintly, you wonder, if this is happening now, as you scramble from the SUV, amidst Morgan’s shouts and Spencer’s hand reaching blindly for your jacket, your gun held tightly. When the headlights flash, and the unsub turns, knife in hand, some nameless, faceless girl in the mud below him, the sleet seems to be inside your head.

“Hey kid.”

The sneer you see is the man you know. Not the barely contained smirk from yesterday, in front of Spencer, or the laugh as he sips coffee with his buddies at that diner in town.

Shaking your head, hair slicked with ice and water, you step into the sludge, back ramrod tight and weapon aimed clear.

“Drop the knife. Drop it. You can’t do any good with it.”

Damn him to hell, he laughs. You try to keep your face devoid of anything, but it’s becoming a challenge. Somewhere far away, you hear Morgan repeat your command, and then Hotch too, behind you. He ignores them. Ice in your veins, on your cheeks, in your heart—

“Go ahead, kiddo. Shoot. You won’t. Dear old Dad, and all that. Bet you knew the whole time, didn’t you?”

Eyes bore into the back of your head.

“Your dad? That was your parents’ house we went to earlier?”

Silver glints in the dim light, and you step forward, hands trembling so bad you probably can’t make a straight shot.

“You left us. High and mighty, thought you were too good to live the life you were born into. Broke my heart, broke your mom’s. Pathetic excuse for a daughter, who can’t even stay and care for her parents.”

Oh God. You feel ill. Knife in the heart, allegory for how he felt (or thought he felt) when you left here and yet- the guilt won’t eat you alive. You’ll starve it out of house and home.

“I deserved so much better than you ever gave.”

You hiss, not sure if the water on your face is fresh or salt laced.

“I was your baby. And you hated me from the moment I breathed your air.”

It happens so fast. He lunges forward, knife up, and you fire on training, on instinct, bullet landing solidly in his leg.

It takes you a full five minutes to feel the rain and mud that’s coating your jeans, and hair, and face, but only seconds to feel Spencer’s arms, one around your middle, clutching the front of your coat, one over your chest, as you gasp.

“I didn’t- he was- he moved, Spence, oh my God, he had that, and I didn’t—“

“Angel, I know. You just did what you needed to.”

It takes you another five minutes to come to the realization that the wretched sobbing you hear is yours. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’d would’ve shot, even if he hadn’t moved toward you.

Two nights later, you’re wrapped in the warmth of bed, the place you decided is the safest place on earth after you began to live with Spencer Reid. Head tucked under his chin, ear over his heart, hand smoothing over the fabric of his shirt.

“Hotch said you could have a week, you know.”

He says softly, fingers dancing up your arm and over your spine, lips against your hair.

“A day is fine.”

“You don’t sound sure. You sound very unsure, actually. I’d rather you be certain before you head back.”

Sighing, you stare down at your legs, curled nearly to your chest.

“It’s our job, Spence. It’s not the first time I’ve shot my weapon at someone.”

“No.”

He allows, and you tilt your head to the side as he presses feather-light kisses to your throat.

“Do you want to, or feel like you have to meet some criteria? That this doesn’t affect you, and that you’re stronger than your past?”

“I am.”

You protest immediately, and he sighs.

“Strong enough not to let it control you, yes, sweet girl, you are. I’m not denying your strength, please, know that.”

Soft hands move your hair off your neck so he can kiss lower, and you shiver.

“But your mind is incredibly talented at allowing repressed memories to show themselves, even when you’ve pushed them down. Actually, studies show that traumatic memories are stored differently than other memories in the brain.”

“Spencer, look, if you wanna tell me about this later, I’m all ears, but-“

“I know. I know. You want to forget. Let me help, please?”

Skin to skin, after, lets you feel his heat and his lips against your forehead, kissing you even in sleep.

A house, white, siding less browned, fills your dreams. The swingset is there, rusty, even now, and the driveway has tire ruts. It must be late winter. Someone calls you, from inside, someone you don’t even know. Maybe you never knew them.

And maybe, you lived there, but it was never home. Home is burying your face in someone’s shoulder as they hug you, whether it be a tight squeeze from Penelope, or a gentle hold from JJ. Home, you think, as you turn, to walk up the road, as the voice gets drowned by wind, is sipping tea with Spencer as he reads to you, when he gathers you in his lap, when he beats you at chess, when you beat him at chess, when he undoes you with touch and tone. When he calls you his angel. The chain of that voice in your ears shatters like powder. It must have been rusted too. Isn’t everything that’s forced to endure through terrible circumstances?

Home is something you’ve crafted, where the lawn is never dead. Where your pulse never climbs in fear before you enter the front door, only in hope, in excitement, or in adoration.

May you never return to that house. In dreams, or otherwise. Home it never was. The yard will die, and wither, and fade, and the house will crumble to the nothing is always was.

Morning sunlight melts any remaining nightmare, and when Spencer smooths his knuckles along your cheek, as you blink awake, you hear the sound of a front door squeaking shut somewhere in your brain.

It never opens all the way again.

#Spotify #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader

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takes1 · 23 hours ago

Note

ur blog is so pretty...

if you are okay with it, do you have any headcanons bout what type or p0rn the Karasuno boys would watch? 🌹

what type of p*rn would the karasuno team watch?

warnings. heavy nsfw under the cut. minors DNI

characters. suga. daichi. asahi. tsukki. kageyama. hinata. nishinoya. tanaka. yamaguchi. details. lots of kink discussion - just about anything you can think of

links. my masterlist. my ao3. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

suga९᠀ - likes a good storyline video. loves a bad one. shitty acting gets him laughing, and he needs every chance he can get to feel as though he isn't sinning. won't say no to an amateur flick, but he likes the structure of 4k videos, and is a suuuucker for the 'oiled up' aesthetic.

asahi९᠀ - buddy has a rampant size kink that doesn't get much of an outlet. downside: most videos that cater to this are not what he wants, because of the unavoidable infantilization in most of them. so he opts for amateur vids with bigger guys turning out their smaller girlfriends, wives; extra props if there's some real, organic dirty talk, or if it happens to be super low-quality.

daichi९᠀ - has no shame about his oral fixation. face fucking. deepthroat. he's got any video with some lucky dude getting good head memorized by the title and the preview. his favorites are either: when the guy stays hands-off and silent, or when she takes a load down her throat. not much in between.

tsukishima ९᠀ - is a filthy animal with a porn addiction. will watch/has watched just about everything under the sun. he had a bukkake faze, a gangbang faze, but is now proudly serving his bdsm faze with specific interest in femdoms. shiny, black heels get him hard in an instant. has done the tried-and-true bdsm questionnaire in his spare time and does heaps of research on the community, usually as a pregame to jerking off.

kageyama ९᠀ - no particular preferences. but if he's got a crush on somebody, he will strictly watch lookalikes. it wasn't a conscious habit at first, but after the third time it happened, he couldn't articulate any other reason to look up seven descriptors in the search bar and get 0 results. how well/quickly he gets off is based on how well the actor or subject looks his crush. it's a long endeavor, too. he edges for as long as he can, and almost always does it twice.

hinata ९᠀ - can't watch porn long enough to build any strong preferences. has sensitivity/premature ejaculation issues, so he tends to just listen to whatever video he landed on. this has opened more of a pipeline to nsfw audios, instead. loves the sound of two bodies coming together, especially all the little pants and huffs in a video that aren't faked. has gotten insanely good at being able to tell if it's fake, too.

nishinoya ९᠀ - doesn't watch videos; similar problem to hinata. instead, yuu buys physical hentai novels. big fan of monster-fucking. tentacle stuff is a staple in his readable porn. he guards his collection with his life and would sooner lose a limb than have anybody go near the shelf that he keeps them hidden behind. once, asahi stood too close during a sleepover and -naturally- yuu bit him as a distraction, just to get him away from the area.

tanaka ९᠀ - wlw videos. solo-girl vids. he can't stand to watch something with a guy in it. it's huge turn-off, especially when the dude is too loud, or in the way, too soft, or straight-up ugly. learned to love the slow, women-catered stuff that's 40 minutes long and has plot to follow. also picked up a lot of tongue tricks from these vids, too. (congrats, kiyoko!)

yamaguchi ९᠀ - mmf threesomes. i think ya'll know what i'm getting at, here. either he 1: is poly and doesn't know it, 2: is gay and doesn't know it, 3: is genuinely very enticed by the idea of overstimulating a gorgeous girl, OR 4: can't see himself as enough for a potential partner, and this might be a subconscious way of evading that insecurity.

notes. i'm very sorry to any who were looking for ennoshita, kinoshita, or narita. i tried, but genuinely couldn't get anything going for any of them. they all seem like nice guys, but there's no material that i can properly make nasty.

taglist. @integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

links. my masterlist. requests open.

223 notes · View notes

xfgpng · 2 days ago

Text

— [ nsfw ] :: threesome, DP!, cunnilingus, fingering

— wc :: 1.3k

💌 (here for comms)

the sand on the beach is warm this time of day. it’s mostly dark thanks to the ocean and anyone else would be scared to be out here alone and maybe apart of her is but she’s always been drawn to the ocean and the cold breeze.

in a similar way, she’s always been drawn to the darkness and the beach lights are dim enough to create a little safe space for her to sit and think.

most nights, she wouldn’t walk so near to the water, it’s just too dark and while she could swim, this was taking a different kind of risk.

“scared sweetheart?”

the voice comes from somewhere behind her but when she turns, there’s nothing there. in the distance she can make out her villa but that’s about it. it’s too late for anyone else to be awake.

she looks towards the water and her heart stops. there’s a man, floating around the water like it’s the most natural thing to do at this time of night but he looks … different.

for one, it’s not halloween but his outfit would make it seem that way. the blue looks good against his skin and the tattoos look pretty.. she’s almost too lost in thought to notice how much closer she is to the water, her toes touch the edge and she gasps at how cold it is.

“we watch you come out here most nights”

it’s another voice and the sight of the taller man on the rocks sends a shiver down her spine but she’s not sure if it’s unpleasant or not.

he too, looks like he’s ready for some costume party. a dragon perhaps? his red eyes are glowing and it’s more prominent because of how dark the ocean makes everything.

she wants to run, she probably should and she’d likely make it home on time but she doesn’t.

“who… are you guys?” she finds herself asking

“sylus” the taller man says and she swears she sees his .. tail? moving

“rafayel” the other man says and he’s grinning at her. she’s not sure what’s so funny right now but she’s not going to ask either.

“why are you out here by yourself?” sylus grins, moving closer to her, his long black tail wrapping around her waist. her eyes widen.

“i like it here” she shrugs, “.. is that—”

“real?” rafayel laughs and as he swims closer, she sees it.

“oh my god” her jaw drops. a beautiful tail, long and shiny. the moonlight catches the scales giving off the illusion that it sparkles, though she suspects it’s not an illusion after all.

 she’s pinched her own thigh twice and it hurts but worst of all, she’s not dreaming.

“why don’t you join me?” rafayel all but purrs, “the water isn’t so deep here”

“why on earth would i do that?” she takes a step back, bumping up against sylus, “it’s cold .. and dark and i don’t even know you!”

“but you can get to know us darling” sylus whispers, cupping her jaw softly. his long nails lightly trail up the side of her neck.

“is this some kind of joke?” she glares but even as she says it, she knows it’s not.

she can’t understand why she’s not making a run for it or why she’s still allowing sylus to hold her and move closer to rafayel again.

“the ocean is safe… as long as i’m with you” rafayel grins, reaching out to hold her ankle.

“so pretty” he coos, grinning.

“she is, isn’t she?” sylus whispers against her ear, kissing her jaw, “is this okay beautiful?”

she finds herself nodding, looking out at the water and then at rafayel.

sylus lays her down on the warm sand, right in the water. he’s sharp nails nip at her skin and she hisses, biting her lip to suppress a moan.

“oh.. she likes that” rafayel chuckles, swimming closer until he’s upper body hovers over hers, “you’re not scared?”

“… i’d say it’s more confused arousal right now” she mumbles.

sylus laughs loud, the sound rich and deep that sends a shiver through her body once more. she could blame it on the cool air hitting her skin as rafayel lifts her dress up but his body is warm and wet against her own.

“between us, there are 4” he grins, his eyes darkening and she’s heard stories of his kind. lemurians and she knows the tales of mermen who become so obsessed with their human that they can become dangerous.

the same would go for dragons, while they are highly intelligent and primal creatures, their love knows no bounds.

still, she didn’t bother to study any of their anatomy and up until now, that’s not something that has ever crossed her mind.

her eyes widen as she feels cold and wet fingers against her core.

“open up” sylus says softly as he sinks down onto the sand beside her. he cups her breasts, gently grazing her nipple. it stings for a moment before it’s replaced by his wet tongue.

“oh” she gasps, her hands gripping rafayel’s shoulder and in that moment of bliss, rafayel slips two long fingers into her as sylus plays with her body.

sylus uses his tail to wrap around her bare thigh and keep her legs open. she was truly a sight to behold and he’d have to kill anyone else that walked by tonight.

no one else could have the pleasure of seeing her laid out before them, the moon illuminating her beautiful skin. no one else should.

“the things i want to do to you” rafayel says, biting her earlobe as his fingers move faster. he wants to take his time but he knows they don’t have much time before the sun comes up.

she’s hoisted up by sylus’ tail so he can sit underneath her, keeping her against his chest.

“good girl” he purrs, still massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples as he kisses and nips at her neck.

“she’s perfect” rafayel groans as he leans down to suck on her clit. he moans into her pussy, his own eyes rolling back as she moans.

“fuck” she moans louder and sylus takes the opportunity to kiss her, his hand sliding down her body to rub her clit as rafayel eats her pussy like a starved man.

she feels sylus underneath her, both of his thick cocks rubbing between her ass and thighs. she feels so overstimulated in the best way.

“too much?” he teases and she nods, though she’s not sure because she doesn’t want them to stop.

rafayel lifts his head and licks his lips.

“you taste so good” rafayel groans, kissing her thigh.

“don’t be greedy” sylus grins, lifting her up, “you ready?”

she’s nervous but she nods.

“yes” she says, “please… just —”

he gently thrusts up into her, not both just yet because he knows it might be too much for her and he doesn’t want to hurt her as much as he wishes he could be inside her completely.

“there you go gorgeous” rafayel praises, his own cock pressing against her entrance too, “how about we practice hm?”

she’s too overwhelmed to speak but even in her haze, she sees him pressing in and she thinks she screams but she’s not sure anymore.

everything feels so good despite how full she feels. she can feel them moving together inside her and she looks down to see the bulge.

“hurts” she moans but she loves it. it’s the kind of pain she happily takes as she’s bounced on their cocks.

her legs are shaking and she’s only a little worried about not being able to walk but she’s too far gone now to care.

rafayel’s moans are louder and deeper while sylus is more breathy as he groans in her ear and when rafayel kisses her, she cums so hard she thinks her has an out of body experience.

though she was always one for the dramatics after all.

153 notes · View notes

kaiyunsim · 2 days ago

Text

guilty—

pairing : best friend!ni-ki x male!reader

summary : you invite ni-ki over and things get kinda hot inside…

warnings : fluff, maybe slightly suggestive, idk ni-ki is shirtless, based on guilty performance

a/n : i WOULDVE used the guilty pics but i just saw these pics and really like them. also probably not taking requests like this anymore cuz i don’t really like writing them… (sorry)

queueing : guilty - taemin

[requested]

— wc : 2.2k — not proof read —

it's not like inviting ni-ki over is weird. you guys are friends. close ones, even. you talk all the time, send each other dumb memes, argue about the best gaming strategies, and hang out like it’s the most natural thing in the world. so this shouldn’t be a big deal.

except it is.

because having a massive, painfully obvious crush on your best friend tends to make things complicated.

when you text him to come over, it takes him all of two seconds to respond with a casual yeah, be there soon, like it’s nothing. because to him, it is nothing. but to you? it’s an hour of trying to calm your racing heart, of overthinking everything, of pacing around your room and wondering if your place is clean enough, if you should change your shirt, if you should act any different than usual (no, that would be weird, right?).

by the time the doorbell rings, you’re already a mess.

you take a deep breath, shake out your hands, and open the door like you weren’t just standing there having a crisis.

ni-ki stands on your doorstep, grinning as he swings a convenience store bag in one hand. “yo.”

“hey,” you say, proud of how normal your voice sounds.

he steps inside like he’s done a hundred times before, kicking off his shoes and heading straight to your couch. he moves so comfortably in your space, like he belongs here. which, in a way, he does. you’ve known each other long enough for this to be second nature, so you really need to pull it together.

“i brought snacks,” ni-ki says, plopping down onto the couch and digging into the bag. “oh, and these.” he tosses a pack of your favorite candy at you.

you barely catch it in time, blinking at him. “you got this for me?”

“yeah?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you always steal mine, so i figured i’d get you your own.”

you want to scream into a pillow. instead, you swallow and mumble, “thanks.”

“no problem.” he leans back, stretching out his long legs. “so? what’s the plan? are you finally ready to accept that i’m the better gamer?”

you scoff, grabbing the controllers. “you wish.”

the game starts, and for a while, everything is normal. you fall into your usual rhythm. trash-talking, shoving each other when one of you pulls off a cheap move, laughing whenever ni-ki yells at the screen. it’s easy, familiar, and for a second, you forget about the whole i have a ridiculous crush on my best friend thing.

but then ni-ki shifts next to you, knee knocking against yours, and just like that, you’re reminded.

you try to focus on the game, but it’s impossible when he’s sitting so close, when his fingers move effortlessly over the buttons, when his face lights up in triumph every time he wins. and god, he’s so pretty. it’s not fair.

“dude, you’re losing so bad,” ni-ki teases, nudging your shoulder. “what’s up with you today?”

“nothing,” you lie, gripping the controller tighter.

he squints at you. “you’re acting weird.”

“no, i’m not.”

“you totally are.”

“just play the game.”

he shrugs, turning his attention back to the screen, but the damage is done. you’re spiraling again, overthinking every little thing, and before you know it, you’ve lost another round.

ni-ki stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. “man, it’s getting hot in here.”

you barely register his words before he reaches for the hem of his hoodie and pulls it over his head in one swift motion. underneath, he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, but then… then he tugs that off too, leaving him in nothing but his sweatpants.

your brain short-circuits.

he doesn’t even hesitate. just tosses his shirt onto the couch like it’s no big deal. “that’s better,” he sighs, shaking out his hair.

you, on the other hand, are not better.

you are not fine.

you are actively malfunctioning.

your mouth opens and closes a few times before you manage to choke out, “what are you doing?”

ni-ki blinks at you. “taking my shirt off?”

“but why?”

he gives you a confused look. “because it’s hot?”

“you can’t just—” you gesture wildly at his very bare, very toned torso, “—do that!”

he frowns. “why not? we’re both guys.”

and logically, sure. there’s no reason for this to be a big deal. but logically, you also shouldn’t be hopelessly in love with your best friend, and yet here you are.

your face is burning. your entire body feels like it’s on fire. ni-ki is still looking at you like you’re the weird one, and you know if you stay here any longer, you’re going to say or do something humiliating.

so you do the only thing you can think of.

you run.

“i need to—uh—get something,” you stammer, practically launching yourself off the couch.

ni-ki watches in confusion as you bolt to your room, slamming the door behind you.

he stares after you for a moment, then shrugs and picks up his phone, completely unaware that you’re currently on the other side of the door, having an actual meltdown.

you press your back against the door, heart pounding like you just ran a marathon. your hands grip at your shirt, trying to ground yourself, but it does nothing to stop the sheer chaos in your brain.

ni-ki is in your living room. ni-ki, your best friend. ni-ki, shirtless.

you squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to calm down. it’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen him like that. you’ve been to the pool together, changed in locker rooms after practice, but something about this is different. maybe because it’s just the two of you, in the privacy of your room, where your stupid, hopeless crush feels ten times heavier.

you shake your head aggressively. get it together. he’s just a guy. a guy who doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to you.

outside, you hear ni-ki shift on the couch, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with you. you know you can’t stay in here forever, but the thought of going back out there, of sitting next to him while trying to act normal… it makes your face heat up all over again.

you take a deep breath, then another, pressing a hand to your chest like that’ll somehow slow down your heart rate. okay. you just need to play it cool. pretend like nothing happened. act like a normal, sane person.

with one last deep inhale, you push the door open and step out.

ni-ki is still on the couch, legs stretched out, casually scrolling through his phone. he looks up when he hears you, tilting his head. “dude, what was that?”

“what was what?” you say way too quickly.

ni-ki raises an eyebrow. “you, running away like i just said something weird.”

you force out a laugh. “i didn’t run away.”

he just stares at you. “you literally ran.”

“i—i needed to, um, check something,” you mumble, walking past him and pretending to be very interested in adjusting the snack bags on the table.

“...right.”

you can feel his eyes on you, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot.

“you good?” he asks after a moment, voice softer.

“yep. totally fine.” you turn back to him with what you hope is a normal expression. “let’s just keep playing.”

he doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs, grabbing his controller again. “alright, if you say so.”

you sit down next to him—not too close, just enough that it doesn’t seem weird. ni-ki doesn’t seem to think twice about it, immediately starting the next round. but you? you can barely focus. your eyes keep betraying you, flickering to the curve of his shoulders, the toned muscles in his arms, the way his collarbones shift whenever he moves.

it’s ridiculous, really. he’s not even doing anything. he’s just existing, and it’s driving you insane.

you suck in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to look at the screen. focus. focus on the game. not on ni-ki’s stupidly perfect body.

“hey,” ni-ki says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “why are you playing so bad today?”

you blink, realizing you just drove your character straight off the track. “uh.”

he laughs, nudging your knee with his. “you’re totally off your game, man. maybe i should take my shirt off more often if it distracts you this much.”

you choke.

ni-ki looks at you, amused. “...wait. is that what this is about?”

panic. pure, unfiltered panic floods through you. “w-what? no! obviously not! why would—why would that distract me? that’s so dumb. you’re dumb.”

ni-ki squints at you, his grin growing. “oh my god. you’re flustered.”

“i am not flustered.”

“you totally are.”

“shut up.”

he laughs again, and it’s so unfair how effortlessly good he looks doing it. he leans closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i mean, it’s fine if you are. i am pretty good-looking.”

you want the ground to swallow you whole. “i’m going to throw you out the window.”

“uh-huh.” he smirks, and it’s infuriating. “so you don’t think i’m hot?”

your brain short-circuits for the second time that night. “what?”

“you heard me.”

“i’m not answering that.”

“so you do think i’m hot.”

“ni-ki.”

“it’s okay, i get it.” he leans back, smug. “i’d have a crush on me too.”

your soul leaves your body. he says it like a joke, like it’s nothing, like he has no idea how dangerously close he is to the truth.

you grab a pillow and smack him in the face with it.

he bursts out laughing, dodging your second attack. “okay, okay! chill!”

you groan, slumping back against the couch and covering your face with your hands. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

you peek through your fingers, glaring. he’s still grinning, completely unbothered. and, worst of all, still shirtless.

you exhale slowly, trying to gather whatever scraps of dignity you have left. “put your damn shirt back on.”

ni-ki smirks, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s enjoying this. “nah, i’m good.”

you gape at him. “what—ni-ki.”

he grins, tilting his head. “what? you were the one acting all weird about it. now i feel like keeping it off just to mess with you.”

“that’s literally the worst reason.”

“or the best.” he shrugs, completely unbothered. “besides, you never actually answered my question.”

you hesitate. “...what question?”

his smirk grows. “do you think i’m hot?”

you make a noise that’s half a groan, half a dying animal. “i’m not answering that.”

“so yes.”

“so shut up.”

he laughs, absolutely thriving off your suffering, and flops onto the couch like he has no care in the world. “guess i’ll just stay like this, then.”

you stare at him, horrified. “you’re evil.”

he grins. “and you’re flustered.”

you grab the pillow again, ready to smother him with it.

ni-ki smirks, leaning further back into the couch like he has all the time in the world.

you stare at him, exasperated. “ni-ki. put. your. shirt. back. on.”

he raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your suffering. “hmm. no.”

“why not?” you huff, crossing your arms.

he shrugs, completely unbothered. “kinda nice seeing you all flustered. didn’t know this was all it took.”

you groan, feeling your face heat up again. “you are the worst.”

he grins. “and yet, here you are, still staring.”

you snap your head away so fast you might get whiplash. ni-ki laughs at you, full-on cackles, and you swear you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life.

he stretches lazily, arms above his head, on purpose, you know he’s doing it on purpose now. “so,” he says, looking at you with a glint in his eyes. “you got a crush on me or something?”

your stomach drops. your breath catches in your throat.

and ni-ki? ni-ki just smirks like he already knows the answer.

you could deny it. you should deny it. but the way he’s looking at you, teasing, but also strangely expectant, makes you hesitate.

after a long pause, you exhale sharply, rubbing the back of your neck. “...maybe.”

his smirk grows. “maybe?”

you roll your eyes. “fine. yes, okay? i like you. happy now?”

he hums, tilting his head like he’s considering something. “hmm. yeah. i think i am.”

you blink. “wait—what?”

he grins, leaning forward slightly. “would’ve been nice to know earlier, you know. would’ve saved me all this effort.”

you gape at him. “effort? what effort?”

he shrugs, like it’s obvious. “the effort of making you admit it first.”

you stare at him, speechless. “you knew?”

he laughs. “not really. but i hoped.”

your brain short-circuits. “you hoped?”

he just winks, and finally—finally—grabs his shirt off the couch. “now that you’ve confessed, maybe i’ll put this back on.”

you groan, shoving a pillow in his face as he cackles. this is not how you expected today to go.

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revelboo · 10 hours ago

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revel, i am bowing down before your feet, asking so very nicely for scavengers content...

Sure!

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 19

Scavengers x Reader

• “Spin treat you right?” Misfire asks as Spinister shifts against you, sitting up. And you’re painfully aware that Spin had chucked your clothes over the edge of the berth as you squirm upright, twisting so your back is to Misfire. Watching the Seeker over your shoulder when he goes over to the Medbay sink, back to you and wings up as the water runs. Spin leans to brush his jaw against the top of your head before he’s mass shifting and going after the energon. Watching him drink, you almost shriek when Misfire hook a servo against your thigh and turns you.

• Head lifting on an uncertain growl when Misfire slides a damp cloth between your thighs and you smack his hand, Spin reaches to pin his friend’s hand flat to the Medbay berth, rotor blades flicking. “Don’t.” Letting go of the cloth and holding up his hands in surrender, Spin turns his attention back to you, taking over cleaning up his mess as you just groan and lay your head against his hands.

• “Hey, didn’t mean to overstep, big guy,” Misfire says and he’s grinning when you turn your head to scowl at him. Head tipped to watch Spin drape the cloth over a servo and stroke it against you despite your efforts to shove him away because Misfire is still watching. “I’m just trying to help care for our little human.” You don’t buy that for a minute. “I mean, you heard Swindle. Humans have needs. What if you’re off the ship and Tiny goes into heat, hurting for a spike and you’re not there? I’d hate them to suffer.” Is he serious? ‘Humans don’t go into-’ you begin and Misfire presses a servo against your mouth as Spin hesitates.

• “You know, us Scavengers, we’re brothers really. Right?” Misfire grins as you shove at his servo, his head tipping when Spin removes the cloth. And you immediately try to cover yourself with your hands. “We share everything. Weapons. Engex. It’s only natural we’d share caring for Tiny here.” Hears your little exasperated huff, but Spin is listening. Or at least, doing a lot of serious frowning. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s going on in that damaged processor. “You want Tiny fully under all of our protection, right?”

• Misfire is using the voice. Knows that voice. It’s the one that talks him into things that usually upset Krok. But he does want you safe. You’re the most important thing to him right now. A bit of calm in the confusion of his processor. “Right,” he mutters as Misfire removes his servo and you smack him again. Because it sounds reasonable when Misfire says it. Like it’s foregone that they’d share you. You’re one of them.

• Nose scrunching to tell Misfire off, his optics dip and you tuck your thighs together, twisting so you’re not just on display. And hating that you like the way he looks at you. Fulcrum had been curious and embarrassed, but Misfire is just interested. It’s not like anything can come of anything between you and them except some harmless pleasure. Something you desperately need amid all the chaos you’ve been drowning in since ending up on that dead world. And it’s not like there are any repercussions if you did get to spend time with all of them. So you keep your mouth shut kind of hating your greedy little self.

I figure out the story as I go with these, so they act like my drafts. Not every story will go that way, but I don’t really know which ones will until I get there if that makes sense.

#transformers x reader #scavengers x reader #idw fulcrum #idw misfire #idw krok #idw spinister #idw crankcase

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gingerteafairy · 1 day ago

Text

𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 masterlist

𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐤𝐢: 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

Dave would be the cute, silly boyfriend with you. For sure, his idea of going to the gym came from wanting to get strong to keep you safe and not look like a wimp if he saw any threats. He’d take you to the gym to workout together and ward off the attention of other guys. He’d love you playing with his hair, even if you made it all messy. He would wear his Kick-Ass costume in front of you, pretending he was fighting, just because you said he looked hot in it. He definitely has a thing for you in cosplay.

𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Tangerine's an impulsive man, but beyond that, he’s decisive and does everything with intention. If he found a girl worth it, he wouldn’t waste time with the nonsense of dating for years or stringing you along. He’d jump right into a casual “Want to be mine forever or get lost?” in the middle of the night. He’d grumble when you told him to stop hurting himself in dangerous situations, but secretly loves when you care for his wounds and are gentle with him when he’s in pain, thinking about taking even more risks just to have you take care of him.

𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐢 𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐲: 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

Whether single or not, he can attract attention wherever he goes, including from you, even if you’re already promised to someone from the nobility, whose name he wouldn’t even remember. He’s complex and passionate, and would seek you out at the most inconvenient times to satisfy you, entertained by your innocent yet sinful ways. Fascinated by danger, he’d provoke even in front of authority, only to apologize later, claiming it was a stress-related mishap at the barracks.

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Friedrich is a respectable man, given his title, but when it comes to you, all the etiquette goes out the window. However, he would try to be discreet, not wanting to offend you or tarnish your public image, as he didn’t care about his own. Your opinion would be the only one that matters. He’d give you expensive gifts, not that it was essential, but it was his way of showing that you were worth more than every damn penny he had. He’s a fantastic father, but he would dedicate most of his time to you, sometimes wishing the kids would grow up faster so he could have more intimate moments with you.

𝐭𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲

Tom is a jerk, that’s obvious, but it seems the dirtier he is, the more attractive he becomes. Tom would be your contact, always calling you on lonely nights, and vice versa. It would be strictly casual, but some nights, he’d catch himself wondering if he should change to see if you’d give him a chance. He could pretend to be your boyfriend at a party if some annoying guy was hitting on you (he’d also pretend for a free lunch at Burger King).

𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟: 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

Pietro’s nature is carefree and easygoing; a serious relationship would interfere with this moment in his life, where everything is rushed and he needs space. From the little he knows about physics, he’d casually say, “Two bodies can’t occupy the same space unless it’s on the bed, and I’m up for that.” Deep down, he’s a lover boy, doing anything for you, but always using the classic excuse, “Pffft. I’m a hero, that's literally my job.”

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

James is endearing, sweet, and intimate, like an open book. He’s definitely the perfect husband. He’s funny, fascinated by you, and would always give you books as gifts since you looked so charming when focused, which was his favorite view of you. He’d let you wear his glasses because you looked beautiful, but would quickly ask you to take them off, worried you might develop vision problems. If you liked a specific food, he’d try to venture into the kitchen to make it for you. If it went wrong, he’d just add a little magic and keep it a secret. And if you found out? Well, it’d be hard to complain to James Potter—he was handsome and made your favorite dessert.

#x reader #reader insert #imagine #fanfic #aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fandom #atj x reader #tangerine #james potter #tom ryder #pietro maximoff #friedrich harding #alexei vronsky #thinkingfairy #headcannons #headcannon

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rik0shii · 5 hours ago

Text

lads guys headcanons

(zayne,sylus,xavier,rafayel,caleb)

warnings :fluff

request: yes

thank you for requesting, I'm new to doing those things so pls tell me if it wasn't to your liking or if it wasn't what you imagined so that I can fix it and get better !

Zayne

• Super punctual—if you have a date set for 1 PM, he’s already outside at 12:50, waiting in his car just so he can call you at the exact time.

• Kids adore him. He has that calm, safe aura that makes even the shyest child want to hold his hand.

• ASMR king—his whispery, soft-spoken voice could put anyone to sleep. If he ever recorded voice memos for you, they’d be the most soothing thing ever.

• After a long mission, he welcomes you with quiet reassurances, hugging you from behind and murmuring, “You did great today. I missed you.”

• Loves holding your hand, whether it’s a quick squeeze of reassurance or intertwining fingers while walking.

• Soft, sleepy smiles—the rare moments when he’s tired but still awake enough to look at you and grin lazily.

• Would totally tuck a blanket around you if you fell asleep on the couch.

Xavier

• Definitely the “I know a spot” guy. And when he shows you? It’s breathtaking—some secret rooftop, a hidden garden, a quiet overlook.

• Hand-holding and forehead kisses in those quiet places where it’s just the two of you.

• If you’re on a mission and he’s not with you, he refuses to sleep. He’ll pace, check his phone, stare at the ceiling—anything but rest.

• CLINGS when you return. Arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, and a muffled, “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”

• Skilled with his fingers? Definitely means he can play the piano beautifully. Would learn your favorite song just to surprise you.

• Lowkey romantic in an effortless way. Always the guy to drape his jacket over you if you’re cold or tilt your chin up before a kiss.

Sylus

• Loves stargazing. If you ever go on a late-night drive, he’ll pull over just to sit on the hood of the car with you, pointing out constellations.

• Loves rainy days—the sound, the smell, the way it makes everything feel cozy. If it’s storming outside, he’s making hot drinks and pulling you onto the couch for a movie marathon.

• A big fan of sleepy cuddles. He’ll absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair while half-asleep.

• Writes little notes for you and leaves them in random places—inside books, on your mirror, tucked into your jacket pocket.

• Horrible at remembering dates but amazing at remembering tiny details—like the way you take your coffee or the song you hummed once three months ago.

• Unironically loves stuffed animals. If you ever give him one, he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but you’ll definitely find it on his bed later.

Caleb

• Super protective but in a quiet way—he’ll walk on the side closest to the street, double-check locks before bed, and always notice when you seem off.

• Really good cook—if you’re having a bad day, expect a homemade meal that somehow tastes exactly like comfort.

• Loves fixing things for you. Broken zipper? He’s on it. Squeaky door? Fixed. Car won’t start? He’s already rolling up his sleeves.

• Acts grumpy but is secretly the softest. If you rest your head on his shoulder, he’ll pretend to sigh but won’t move an inch.

• Always warm. If you’re cold, he’ll just pull you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• Reads a lot. Might not admit it, but he totally has a favorite book and will casually reference it in conversation.

• Loves slow dancing in the kitchen. No music, just the sound of your breathing and his steady heartbeat.

Rafayel

• Absolute charmer—he can flirt like it’s second nature, but when it comes to real feelings, he gets a little shy.

• Knows how to dress. If you ever need help picking an outfit, he’ll make sure you look stunning.

• Sends voice memos instead of texts. His voice is too smooth not to be used.

• Great dancer—whether it’s a fancy ballroom-style twirl or a goofy little move in the kitchen, he makes everything feel fun.

• Gives the best compliments—not just about looks, but little things like, “I love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.”

• Cuddling expert. His hugs are always just the right amount of firm, warm, and lingering.

• Loves learning about you. Your favorite color? Noted. The way you like your tea? Memorized. A weird fact about something you love? He’ll bring it up just to see you smile.

#lads zayne #x reader #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads caleb #headcanons #lads headcanons #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #love and deepspace

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loves0phelia · 1 day ago

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Red And Blue

Summery: His canon event.

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: kinda gore at one point nothing too crazy, grammar mistakes.

A/N: I'm so sorry for the amount of mistakes this probably has but i cant be bothered to care more i just want to get this fic out. Listen to my tears ricochet as you read

Rafe had always been good at hiding things. He kept his head down, stayed out of the spotlight, and made sure no one looked too closely. But ever since the bite, since the powers, since the responsibility that came with it, lying had become second nature.

Especially to you.

It killed him, really. Every time he bailed on a movie night, ignored your texts, or showed up bruised and breathless with a half-baked excuse, he saw the confused and hurt look in your eyes. But what was he supposed to do? Tell the truth? That he was ditching every time to swing across rooftops, and fight criminals? No. That wasn’t an option.

Tonight was no different.

“Are you serious, Rafe?” You leaned your head down, phone pressed against your ear, voice sharp with frustration. “You're leaving me again. You promised this time. I know you don't like school events but just once please”

“I'm sorry” he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Something came up.”

“Something always comes up. What is it this time? And don’t tell me it's homework or family stuff, because I know when you’re lying.”

“I just…” He exhaled, as if a weight was pressing on his chest. “I can’t tell you, okay?” He swallowed hard.

Silence. At first he thought you hung up but he could still hear a faint shuffling from the other end of the phone call.

The silence was somehow worse than you cursing him out for bailing.

“Why not? I thought we told each other everything.” your voice was softer this time, more fragile

God, how badly he wanted to. He wanted to tell you about the fights, the injuries he had to patch up alone, the weight of trying to be a hero when all he wanted was to be a normal guy. But if he told you he'd put you into too much risk.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So he did what he always did.

He lied.

“I just need you to trust me,” he said even if his chest ached. “Please.”

You thought for a long moment, then shook your head with a sad smile even if he couldn't see you. “You say that like I don’t already.”

And that hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken.

Because he knew he was running out of chances. The more he lied the more it felt like you were walking away.

“Welp” you said, popping the P, as if trying to lighten up the mood, before taking a small pause. “I'm already half ready and Gwen really wants us to go to the party so if you change your mind just call me?”

"Okay," he whispered into the phone.

"Bye, Rafe." The call ended with a soft beep, leaving him alone with the silence.

“i suck” He let out a heavy sigh, groaning as he flopped onto his bed. The mask, half-folded over his face, slipped down, unfolding on its own. It rested against his nose—a quiet, relentless reminder of the responsibilities he has over the city.

"Heyyyy!" Gwen called out, sprinting toward you from the front steps of the school, where she had been waiting. Her face lit up the moment she spotted you approaching.

You hesitated, glancing at the building behind her, you could hear music thumping from inside.

“Rafe is not with you?” she asked, looking around you thinking she might have missed him.

“No, you know how he is. He bailed again” you sighed.

“What is his problem?” She didn't wait for an answer and continued, “you know what? let's forget about him and just have fun” she looped her arm with yours and instantly began dragging you.

The homecoming party was in full swing, music pounding against the walls, and laughter echoed through the gym where it took place. It reeked of sweat, and the floor was already sticky as if someone had dropped bottles of juice on the floor and honestly if Rafe was here you would have begged him to leave with you already.

You tried to enjoy the moment, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. You clutched a red Solo cup filled with non alcoholic fruit punch, swirling the liquid mindlessly. You knew you’d only take a few sips—just enough to look like you were part of the fun.

Beside you, Gwen nudged your arm with a playful grin. “Come on, loosen up a little! It's homecoming, not a funeral.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? This just isn’t really my scene.”

“You mean you don’t love being crammed in a gym full of sweaty high schoolers who haven't learned what deodorant is yet, with music so loud it could cause permanent hearing damage?” Gwen dramatically gasped.

“Shocking, right?” You smirked.

“Alright, no excuses. One dance. Then I’ll let you go back to brooding in the corner with your untouched fruit punch.” She grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the dance floor

You sighed but let her drag you along anyway , attempting to let go of the tension in your chest just for a few minutes.

But it didn't last long.

A single phone rang loudly, cutting through the music—then another, and another, until the entire gym was filled with the sound of alerts. Conversations stopped, and a wave of confusion swept through the crowd as people scrambled to check their phones. Those who had left theirs at home leaned over shoulders, desperate to see what was happening.

It was an emergency alert.

A link attached to the notification led to a live report from a hovering news helicopter. The shaky footage showed Spider-Man in a brutal fight with something massive—a creature that towered over him. Gasps and murmurs spread through the party as people recognized what they were seeing.

Another lizard.

New York had seen its fair share of Dr. Curt Connors copycats, but this one was different. It was bigger—almost dinosaur-sized; its scaly skin was reflecting the city lights as it tore through the streets. The ground seemed to shake even through the screen.

“This… this one’s huge,” someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the growing panic.

The realization hit all at once. This wasn’t just another mad scientist playing with forbidden experiments and chemicals. This was something worse. And it was heading straight for the school.

The battle outside was relentless. The massive Lizard roared, its tail whipping through the air, sending cars flying like toys that weighed nothing. Rafe gritted his teeth, webbing up debris and yanking himself through the air to keep up with the monster’s destructive path.

Every web he shot was torn apart and all his strength did nothing against the creature. Rafe's body ached, exhaustion creeping in faster than he wanted to admit. The Lizard was too strong, too fast, and it was pushing forward, heading straight toward the school. Toward you.

He forced himself to move, barely dodging a swipe of the creature’s paws. His vision blurred for a moment, his limbs trembling. His suit was torn. He was too weak. He wasn’t going to make it.

Then he saw it. In that small moment of hesitation, that single breath he allowed himself to take, the monster had surged forward. Its massive feet slammed into the school celling, reducing the entrance to ashes. Dust and debris shot into the air as the walls groaned under its weight. His chest tightened—he had wasted precious seconds

A deafening explosion sent shockwaves through the school, knocking people off their feet. walls shattered, dust lifted in the air, screams filled the gym, all the lights were shut off putting the school in full black out and the once-lively party descended into chaos.

Everyone was running frantically, The entire building shook as you all felt the creature getting closer seeking destruction. All you could hear was the scream of people desperately trying to find an exit.

“We have to go!” Gwen took your hand and began running but there was nowhere to run, the school was falling piece by piece.

The next thing you knew, the Lizard’s massive paw tore through the ceiling, debris raining down. Screams got louder and louder. It wasn’t just destroying the building—it was tearing apart anything in its path.

Even students.

You barely had time to process the horror unfolding before your eyes. The sickening sound of ripping metal, the desperate cries for help—it was too much. You wanted to run, to do something, but your body felt frozen in place, paralyzed by terror.

And then you saw it.

A lifeless hand, limp beneath the rubble. A shoe that hadn’t been there seconds ago. Blood smeared across the floor where moments earlier, there had been laughter.

Your breath hitched, your chest was tightening with a grief so sharp it felt like it might crush you. This wasn’t just destruction. It was a massacre..

You barely had time to process it before a chunk of debris came crashing down—right toward you and a figure dressed in red and blue dropped from the ceiling and came at you as fast as light could travel.

In a blur of motion, you were flying through the air, held tightly against a strong chest.

“You need to go!” Spiderman yelled as soon as he dropped you back on your feet. But you couldn't hear him over the roars and the screams.

Before you could respond, a violent force knocked you both apart. You tumbled across the floor, the wind knocked from your lungs and the monster hovered over you.

Spider-Man lunged, webbing the creature’s face and yanking it backward. “Run!” he shouted at you, desperation in his tone. He fought with everything he had, flipping, dodging, striking with all the strength he could collect. But the Lizard was relentless.

Then, in the chaos, you tried to run—but the Lizard’s tail lashed out, striking you hard. The sound of impact was harsh. You hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“No!” Rafe’s voice cracked, Something inside him snapped. Rage flooded his veins, and every ache, every ounce of exhaustion vanished.

With a furious roar, he attacked. His punches came harder, his movements faster. He webbed the Lizard’s limbs, yanking it into the ground with a force that shattered concrete. He didn’t let up. He couldn’t. Not after what had just happened.

Finally, with one last web the monster was tied to the floor unmoving and unconscious, the host of the lizard and succumbed.

But none of it mattered.

Rafe stumbled toward you, collapsing beside you before pulling his mask up to truly see you.

“No, no, no—come on” he pleaded, his hands lifted your head up and he felt the liquid pouring out of the large gash behind your head. His blood stained hands trembled as he brushed the hair from your face, his vision blurred with tears. “Please, Y/n—”

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, breathing shallow. A weak, bittersweet smile ghosted your lips. “I always knew,” you whispered. “I always knew it was you.”

Rafe froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“I just… wished you told me,” You murmured, fingers barely gripping his suit. “I still would’ve… loved you.”

Tears streamed down his face. “No, don’t—don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay. I promise, I—”

But you exhaled one last breath, your hand slipping from his suit. Your body went still.

“Please, no. i love you” he lifted your body further into his as if his warmth could bring you back but it didn't.

And after that moment the canon remained intact.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #spider man au #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe imagine #rafe cameron outer banks

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 days ago

Note

Since you’re still doing thruples and polycules

Can you do more Dick x Reader x Wally please?

And if its not too much trouble can you make the reader a Thanagarian too? i.e:Hawgirl and Hawkman

Thanagarians are so cool and dont get enough attention

-thanks and lots of love as always

Dick Grayson x Wally West x Thanagarian male reader

Headcanons

Hi guys, how’s everyone doing? I haven’t been this tired in a while, and I feel myself spiraling almost daily when I get home from my internship, but I’m trying to cope. How’s everyone else’s week been? This also means I’m so tired I’ve been struggling to do anything but sleep when I get home, but I wanted to try writing again.

Sorry if this is a bit messy, im very tired.

In this story we are going with the hawkpeople we know, coming from space. Since that’s the origin I know, and I don’t know a whole lot about the whole ancient Egypt storyline.

There could be many different ways you came to earth and when, but lets assume its some time after Dick becomes Nightwing and Wally The Flash, since Thanagarians live for longer than humans.

Maybe you work alongside the titans, or with the justice league like Carter and Shayera, maybe you even work by yourself.

Perhaps you’re somewhat of a revel amongst your people, which is why you left. You figured out how to make wings and armor like others, and wanting to be yourself and make your own decisions, you left.

This would lead to you working alongside different heroes, but in this scenario, mostly Dick and Wally.

Dick and Wally would both already be dating when you show up, but they can’t deny you are pretty damn handsome, even if it takes months for them to see you without your helmet. It’s similar enough to Hawkman and Hawkwoman that your origin is obvious, but you stand out in your own ways.

I also see Wally sighing sadly when they learn the wings aren’t natural, and that they’re mechanical, since he wanted to help you preen your feathers for bonding reasons.

It takes a while for you to learn to trust them, and for them to trust you in return. But it happens, and with that comes feelings. I have a feeling Dick would start feeling attracted to you first, or rather hes the first to realize since hes so used to looking into himself and his feelings.

It would take Wally a while, and even longer to accept that what hes feeling for you is the same thing he feels for Dick.

Dick knows that his heart is big enough to love multiple people, hes just never acted on it. Wally on the other hand fears somehow hurting Dick, and that he will become a cheater or monster for these feelings.

As Dick and Wally spend way too long accepting their feelings and talking about them, you just kinda hang out. Maybe you’ve set up your own base in your own city, with your own gaggle of villains and allies.

You would have started feeling drawn to the two heroes as well, but its so clear that they’re dating that you take a step back, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes.

Being a hero of your own city with your own villains and allies, also means you will start having your own romance. Maybe its not an exact romance, but it could develop into one. Think like Bruce and Selina, or Clark and Lois.

Hearing you mention this budding romance during on of your hangouts makes Dick and Wally finally jump into gear, since they know the chance of wooing you and confessing is dwindling.

Cue the two putting their heads together as well as they can to somehow woo their winged wonder without scaring you away.

Insert Dick using the batcomputer and bat-archive to look up everything the bats know about thanagarians, wanting to see if theres anything specific in your culture they can do to woo you. If it gets really bad, Wally might even just end up asking hawkwoman and hawkman about it, getting the info right from the source.

Shayera and Carter think it’s cute, so they help where they can, acting as the perfect wingmen, pun intended.

You tolerate them most of the time, since you guys are the closest to family you have, you do get suspicious when they start helping around your city so you can spend more time with Wally and/or Dick.

In the end they woo you the earth way, since you express regularly how much you love earth and its people, and how creative they are. Being given flowers was strange to you. You hadn’t expected it, since you were a big tough warrior and all, but the flowers left you flustered.

After that success, the two kept going when they had time outside of patrol and their daily civilian lives, even if that involved just texting you every day. Wally had a much easier time visiting you almost daily with his speed, where Dick had to take not being able to see you always.

At some point the two finally muster up the courage to confess, probably after some dramatic situation or patrol, the good ol “we cant lose you because we love you” scenario.

First you think you have misheard them, until they both take the step and kiss you, one at a time. Your eyes just widen almost comically, your helmet askew and wings quivering.

Part of you wanted to fly away to curl up under your blankets to give yourself time to blush and sputter about this, as well as give time to think about your own feelings, but the two are just so bright and intense that you cant help but buckle.

The small romance you had budding with someone else in your city never mattered much, it was just a situation that developed into more, so you don’t feel guilt about starting to date them.

It was strange to date two guys at once. Part of you feared that you would be set aside or forgotten since Dick and Wally had dated for much longer, and had a much longer history before you even showed up.

Your boyfriends of course never allowed you to think that, both of them being very affectionate in their own ways, which was different compared to you, who could be colder and have a harder time expressing your feelings.

In the end, Wally doesn’t get to preen your wings like he had hoped, but he gets to polish them. He catches you doing that yourself one day, and he immediately jumps in, asking if he can do it instead.

Its also a bonus that you are shirtless when he has to do this, allowing your speedster time to gawk at your back for however long he wanted.

Dick does it too sometimes, but mostly leaves it to Wally since you guys know it brings him a lot of joy and satisfaction. Instead, Dick will polish your helmet and weapon if he’s feeling frisky. Its kinda like foreplay sometimes. And sometimes it’s just because he’s being nice.

And of course you take them out flying on the regular. Like yeah, they could fly in so many ways, but being carried in your arms is the best.

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sincerelykimii · 3 days ago

Text

𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠

𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑆𝑦𝑝𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑠: 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒．

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠／𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑠: 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑥 𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙…𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑚𝑘！

𝐴／𝑁 ：𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒，𝑖𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝐼 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ. 𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦！

Valentine’s day was quickly creeping around the corner and it’s safe to say you were more than excited. Tony being Tony decided to throw a little Valentine’s Day get together, knowing Stark and his dramatic effects. He didn’t mention you had to have a Valentine and a gift until three days before. It was kind of like a secret Santa sorta thing which you already adored. Although you didn’t have a valentine just yet, you were already determined to get them the best gift ever.

Bucky on the other hand, didn’t want anything to do with the lovey dovey holiday. He attempted to avoid everyone the week of Cupid, but he couldn’t seem to avoid you. He never could seem to avoid you and your illuminating presence. You always found a way to make him laugh, smile, stick around longer than he usually did. He was practically hopelessly in love with you, not that he would ever admit that…but you always lingered in his mind. Once he heard about the get together, he was all out. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to find a date, he just wanted to sit in his room and sulk. Sulk about not having the courage to just ask you out. But here he was, sitting on the couch talking to Steve about it.

“Buck you have to, it’ll be nice for you to, socialize.”

As Bucky was about to respond you walked in. It was as if a ray of sunshine had broken through his clouds. your presence was magnetic, drawing every eye toward you. The warmth of your smile lit up the space, casting a glow that made everything seem a little brighter and more beautiful. Hopelessly in love. “Whatcha guys talking about?” you say, joining the two super soldiers on the sofa.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably on the couch as you approached, his eyes flickering up to meet yours before quickly darting away. He muttered something indistinguishable under his breath, clearly not thrilled about the impending Valentine's Day celebration. "Nothing important," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Uh huh…anyways! do you guys have a valentine yet?” You ask, subtly directing the question towards Bucky.

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly at the question, his arms tightening around himself as he avoided looking at you directly. He was definitely not planning on having a date, let alone a valentine. But the thought of you with someone else made his stomach twist into knots. "No, I don't."

Your lips curl into a frown, before returning to its natural pout. “You’ll find one Bucky, any girl would be lucky to be your valentine.” Your heart tightened as the words left your mouth. You wanted to be his valentine, his date, you wanted to be, his. You had these thoughts often, more than you’d like to admit. But you always found yourself shaking them off, knowing it’ll never happen. you didn’t wanna ruin the relationship you’ve built, the relationship most don’t get to have with him.

Steve started talking once again, but you were still in your head not listening to a word he said. You didn’t plan on asking anyone else, hell, you didn’t want to ask anyone else. Only the man sitting beside you. A simple, ‘Will you be my Valentine’ wasn’t gonna cut it for you. You needed to have some thought behind your question, something that’ll blow his socks off. Maybe if you did something…elaborate, he’ll say yes. Something he’ll never see coming…like a secret admirer. Lightbulb!

“Oh, silly me, I forgot I had to…bake for tomorrow. I’ll see yall later.”

You knew you weren’t convincing, but you couldn’t have cared less. You stood up from the sofa, immediately rushing towards your room. As you rushed off, Bucky couldn't help but feel a strange emptiness in the room after you left. He uncrossed his arms, sitting there in thought.

Steve nudged him, "You really aren't getting a valentine?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “No.” he muttered, he didn’t want just any valentine. He wanted you. Steve just gave him a knowing look, seeing right through his act. "You realize you're being stupid, right?" he said, a teasing hint in his voice.

"There's someone right under your nose who'd jump at the chance to be your valentine, and you're just -"

Bucky suddenly stood up, giving Steve a glare before heading to his room.

Meanwhile you were sat on your bed, at least 10 sticky notes surrounding you. “This shouldn’t be too hard, right? People in the movies do it easily.” you mumbled to yourself as you began writing the first note.

“𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒. － 𝑆.𝐴. 𝑝𝑠. 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘.”

“𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡.”

You write a few more, waiting till the night fell to put your plan in motion. You tip toe to Bucky’s door, sticking the note right on the center before quickly making your way around the compound placing the notes in specific places only he’ll find. You sneak back to your room, letting out a deep breath feeling content.

Bucky however was sitting in his room, reading a book when he heard a soft tapping on his door. He opened it to find a sticky note stuck right in the center. He looked around confused before picking it up and reading it.

"𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒. － 𝑆.𝐴."

“What the hell.” he muttered, but he couldn’t help the pink creeping onto his neck. He took the note, shutting the door behind. He laid on his bed staring at the ceiling, who the hell would put a note on his door? Steve? he’s not that stupid, Tony? Definitely not. His thoughts raced endlessly in his head, not once directing to you. He eventually drifted off to sleep, leaving his worries till the morning.

The morning came quicker than it should’ve, you rolled out of bed immediately heading towards Bucky’s door. You glance at the center of it seeing the sticky note was gone, you swore your heart skipped a few too many beats. It worked. Now all that was left to do was wait. You took a seat on the sofa, scrolling through your phone.

Bucky woke up early, his mind still foggy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. He got up and started his morning routine, showering and getting dressed. As he was making his breakfast, he noticed the sticky note on the side of the sofa. He swiftly made his way over, picking it up and tucking it away in his pocket. He waited in the kitchen till you left the room before opening it.

"𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙. － 𝑆.𝐴."

He scrunched his nose, a strange flutter in chest becoming evident. He didn’t understand. Who was 'S.A.’? He turned the stick note over reading it,

“𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡.”

The gym. He didn’t necessarily adore the gym, but he always found himself there. Not just to work out but mainly to see you. He always found himself near you, looking at you, even talking to you. It didn’t come off as weird to him, it was more in a sense of admiring you without looking like a complete weirdo.

Nonetheless he made his way over to the gym, looking around for a moment before spotting the pink sticky note on the weight machine he used the most. He grabbed the note, reading it to himself quietly.

“𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑟 － 𝑆.𝐴.”

“𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒…”

The small scavenger hunt continued throughout the day, sending him all over the complex. This would’ve creeped him out big time, but there was something screaming at him to keep going. A gut feeling. and he always trusted his gut. Finally, he found the final note.

“𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼’𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 － 𝑆.𝐴.”

“𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑.”

The last note signed your initials but Bucky was too quick on his feet to notice. He rushed to the living room completely ignoring everything else happening around him, only to find nothing on the couch. His heart stopped, was this all just a sick joke? He sighed, feeling like an idiot for believing something good would come out of this. Just as he was about to leave, he turned to see you standing in the kitchen, a heart made out of sticky notes in hand. Bucky's breath caught in his throat as he saw the heart on the kitchen counter, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. He couldn't believe it, all those notes, the scavenger hunt, it was you. He felt his heart racing, his cheeks heating up as he approached you. In the middle the heart it read,

“𝑆𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡�� 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒?”

Your smile only grew as he approached, you tried to ignore your heart rate picking up exponentially faster but the heat rushing to your cheeks was a dead give away of your reaction. “Well…?” you say, tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Will you be my valentine?”

Bucky stood before you, utterly stunned by the grand gesture. He hadn't expected this, hadn't dared to hope. Your smiling face, those beautiful eyes, the sticky note heart - it was overwhelming in the best way possible. A slow, hesitant smile crept across his lips as he gazed at you. Finally, he took the heart made out of little pink sticky notes in his own hands, admiring the small details before meeting your gaze.

“Yes.”

𝐵𝑂𝑁𝑈𝑆: The day of the little Valentine’s get together soon came, and Bucky couldn’t have been more excited, not that he was going to show it. But the smile he usually never wore, was a dead give away. He entered the living room, his baby blues immediately landing on your face. He couldn’t help but smile softly at you, the excited look on your face, the way your smile met each corner of your eyes, and the neatly wrapped gift in your hand. He almost forgot to check his pocket for the thousandth time, making sure your gift was still there. He took his seat next to you, his thigh touching yours.

“Hi Bucky.” You cooed, placing a matching headband on his head, the hearts shaking slightly.

Bucky's heart skipped a beat as you placed the headband on him, the soft touch of your fingers sending shivers down his spine. He chuckled lowly, running a hand through his hair to adjust the headband, the delicate fabric grazing over his fingertips. "Hey, you." He murmured, his eyes never leaving yours.

The night was serene, filled with the warmth of laughter and conversation flowing effortlessly, filling the space with a sense of peace. The aroma of homemade cookies, and baked goods wafted through the air, adding to the comfortable atmosphere. As the night wore on, stories were shared, harmless arguments, and reminiscing about old times. As the end of the night approached the last thing to be given were the gifts. You and Bucky decided to go last, and it’s safe to say you were glad you did. Everyone got meaningful gifts, some were even given gags as well.

Once it got to your turn, you turned to Bucky, a warm smile playing on your lips. “I picked this gift out a while ago, but I had a few changes made recently.” You say placing the gift on his lap.

Bucky's heart pounded in his chest as he carefully accepted the beautifully wrapped gift. The pink and gold paper, complete with tiny hearts, was almost too pretty to unwrap. Almost. He felt everyone's eyes on him as he slowly peeled back the paper, revealing a dark blue velvet box. Your eyes remained on his watching as they lit up as he pulled out the heart shaped locket necklace. The way his lips curled into a smile when he seen the delicate pink detail engraved on the inside. His smile only growing wider as he saw what the engraving read:

"𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑".

He unconsciously touched the locket, his thumb running over the letters. He looked up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled softly. He hadn't expected something so thoughtful. Your eyes met his once again, your smile mirroring his own. “Do you like it?” you whisper.

Bucky nodded, his voice caught in his throat. He reached out, carefully taking the locket from the box and holding it up to admire it in the soft light of the room. He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers over the intricate details before closing the lid.

“I love it.”

The others chirped a bunch of awe’s as he put the necklace around his neck. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a similar velvet box placing it in your hands. He watched your curious expression as you took the box, his thumb unconsciously brushing against your fingers. "You gave me something perfect, so I figured..." He trailed off, leaving you to open it at your own pace, nervous butterflies dancing in his stomach.

As you opened the delicate box, your eyes widened in shock. You lifted the shimmering bracelet, holding it to the light, the attached charms spinning in place. “It’s beautiful…” you whisper, bringing it a bit closer to your face, reading the words engraved into it.

“𝑀𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒.”

Bucky smiled softly, watching your reaction with bated breath. He reached out gently, taking the bracelet from your hands and fastening it delicately around your wrist. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against your skin as he ensured it was secure. You couldn’t find the words to thank him, instead wrapping your arms securely around his waist pulling him into a hug.

He inhaled sharply as you embraced him, his arms automatically wrapping around you, pulling you closer. He rested his chin on top of your head, a content sigh escaping his lips as he held you. This moment, right here, was perfect. No words were needed.

#fanfic #reading #writers on tumblr #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #valentines day #the avengers #Steve Rogers #sincerelykimii

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keepingitformyself · 1 day ago

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older (and wiser): iii

A/N: well here we are! the final chapter of “older (and wiser).” this will not be the end tho! i plan to write a prequel series going more into depth about wanda and readers past, how they came to be, how they fell apart and what not. i do want to to make one more thing clear before you continue reading; this story is meant to be as realistic as possible. meaning the ending may not be for everyone. i specifically wrote this with intent of giving these characters an emotional arc they deserved. so, without further ado, enjoy this final chapter!

synopsis: wanda comes over for dinner one last time.

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst

warnings: it’s gonna be sad lowk. get the tissues ready.

MASTERLIST series masterlist

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

wanda spends most of the night back at her hotel, staring out the large window that overlooks the city. neon signs flicker in the distance, their glow casting fragmented patterns across her room.

she leans her forehead against the cool glass, letting the city hum around her, lost in thoughts of you. she imagines what you could be doing right now. if paul’s arms were wrapped around you, if he makes you laugh the way she used to. a hollow ache settles in her chest as she lets herself sink into the deep loss of not having you anymore.

the next day, early morning, wanda’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. she reaches for it groggily, only to find a message from you at the top of her screen.

come by at 6:30? here’s the address: 150 west 26th street, new york, ny 10001. see you soon!

for a moment, wanda just stares at the screen, her thumb hovering over the message. she exhales slowly, closing her eyes as a wave of uncertainty washes over her. part of her wants to pack her bags right then and there, to book an early flight and leave you in this city behind.

she doesn’t know which is worse. never facing you again or having to sit across the dinner table from you and your husband-to-be.

she spends the rest of the day mentally preparing herself for how this evening could go, running through endless scenarios in her head.

what would one talk about when having dinner with their ex’s fiance? especially when said ex is someone you’re still seemingly in love with.

oh yeah, your fiance used to look at me the same way.

of course, i know what her favorite song is. ‘do i ever cross your mind?’ by dolly parton. i performed it for her on our eighth month anniversary.

yeah, i paid the tech guy in the theatre department extra to let me use the theatre after hours.

the thoughts make her cringe, but the bitterness is hard to suppress. she tries to bite back the small, unwarranted hatred she’s developed for paul. everything she’s learned about him—despite her best efforts not to—has been nothing but positive.

he’s generous, patient, successful, and clearly loves you. and wanda knows you wouldn’t be marrying someone who didn’t treat you like you deserved the whole world.

it’s all pathetic in its nature. she should have been over you long by now. but she doesn’t know how to explain to you— to explain to herself—that leaving you is still something she’s trying to process. that even when she didn’t appreciate you enough, you felt like everything to her. you still do.

and she doesn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

by the time the sun sets, wanda’s resolve is still fragile. she dressed carefully, standing in front of the mirror for far too long, fussing with her appearance. she wants to look composed, unbothered. as if seeing you happy with someone else doesn’t feel like dagger to the heart. one that you keep twisting without trying.

at 6:15, she steps outside her hotel and hails a cab, clutching a bottle of wine she bought earlier as a polite gesture. as the cab weaves through the bustling streets of new york, wanda wonders what kind of expression you’ll wear when you see her. will it be warm, nostalgic, indifferent? she braces herself for anything.

when the cab drops her off in front of a sleek residential building in tribeca, she lingers for a moment before buzzing in. the door unlocks with a soft click, leading her into a quiet corridor toward an elevator. she steps inside, pressing the button for your floor with a hand that feels unsteady.

the walls feel too close. the air feels too thick.

by the time she reaches your door, her nerves are frayed. she knocks twice, her heart hammering.

four seconds later, the door swings open, and there you are, beaming at her like no time has passed.

"hi! it’s so good to see you."

before wanda can say anything, you pull her into a hug, warm and familiar. she exhales sharply, caught off guard, but she lets herself sink into it, just for a moment.

when you pull away, she notices the man standing just a few feet behind you, a cat in his arms. he watches the interaction with a patient, kind smile before gently setting the cat down.

“sorry about that,” paul says, laughing as the cat immediately tries to sneak toward the door. "he bolts every chance he gets."

then, without hesitation, he steps forward and grasps wanda’s hands in his own. his grip is firm, his smile genuine.

“it’s really nice to meet you, wanda.”

for a second, wanda is stunned by the ease of his kindness. she had spent so much time building him up in her head as an obstacle, an enemy, but standing here now, faced with his warmth, she almost felt guilty for ever resenting him.

“thank you for having me,” she manages, recovering quickly. she glances around, taking in the space. "you have a lovely home."

then, as if suddenly remembering, she reaches into her bag.

“i brought some wine,” she says, handing it to you. “the expensive kind. i know my stuff.” she huffs out a small laugh, forcing some lightness into her voice.

paul chuckles, taking the bottle from your hands to examine it. “i like her already.”

and just like that, wanda knows this is going to hurt more than she thought.

dinner passes in a blur of polite conversation and well-meaning smiles. paul is gracious, effortlessly kind, and wanda hates how easy it is to like him. she hates that there’s nothing about him to hate at all.

she watches the way you lean into him when you laugh, how his hand absentmindedly finds yours on the table. it’s second nature, the kind of comfort that only comes with time, with certainty.

and wanda knows, without question, that she has none of those things with you anymore.

paul has made it a habit to ask about how you and wanda met. even though she’s sure he already knows most of the story, he’s always genuine in wanting to hear more, especially the parts you tend to leave out.

“you got any funny stories about this one?” paul asks, flashing wanda a pointed smile. “something embarrassing, please.”

wanda huffs out a quiet laugh, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. she has plenty. but as she glances between you and paul, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. some memories feel lighter than others. some carry more weight than she knows what to do with.

still, when she sees the way you’re watching her; curious, amused, trusting, she decides to tell it.

“oh, i’ve got one,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “back in college, we tried to break into the theatre department after hours. it wasn’t really breaking in, technically, the door was open, but we definitely weren’t supposed to be there. they had this whole wire rig set up for the upcoming peter pan production, and somebody—” she tilts her chin toward you “—thought it would be a great idea to try it out.”

paul turns to you, amused. “why am i not surprised?”

you groan, already bracing for the rest of the story. wanda smirks but continues, her voice softer now.

“so, there she was, strapped into this ridiculous harness, so sure she was about to soar across the stage like some theatrical prodigy. but the second she tried to lift off, the harness jammed, and instead of flying, she was just—”

“i was dangling there,” you chime in, groaning at the memory. “like some tragic shakespearean ghost.”

“and then, of course, security walks in,” she says, shaking her head. “and instead of, i don’t know, explaining, she panicked and yelled, ‘i have done the deed. didst thou not hear a noise?’”

paul bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “you did not.”

“she did,” wanda confirms, laughing softly. “the security guy just stood there for a second, like he was reconsidering every choice that led him to that moment, then sighed and said, ‘get down.’”

paul grins, shaking his head. “so, what happened next?”

“i had to help her out of the harness before we both got kicked out,” wanda says. “and then we ran. fast.” she pauses, her smile dimming just a little. “ended up at that all-night diner by campus instead. sat there for hours, drinking burnt coffee, still laughing about it.”

her voice drifts for a moment, lost in the memory. you swallow, feeling something heavy settle in your chest, but before the silence can stretch too long, you force out a small chuckle.

“i could’ve flown,” you say, shaking your head. “i just needed a little more time.”

wanda looks at you then, and there’s something in her gaze. something paul doesn’t quite catch, but you do.

“yeah,” she murmurs. “maybe you just needed more time.”

paul laughs again, unaware of the way wanda’s fingers tighten around her glass. “you two were absolute menaces, huh?”

and just like that, the moment passes. the air lightens again, and Wanda takes another sip of her wine. but the memory lingers between you, heavier than it should be.

“did she ever tell you that we watch some of your movies sometimes?” paul cuts in, his eyes bright with genuine curiosity. there’s an eager energy to him, the kind that makes it clear he isn’t just saying it to be polite—he actually wants to talk about her work.

wanda raises an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh?”

you offer a small, sheepish smile, and paul continues before you can respond.

“i mean, seriously,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “i’m already a pretty emotional guy, but your movies? they wreck me.”

wanda lets out a soft, amused laugh, her fingers absently tracing the stem of her wine glass. “that’s very kind of you to say.” she takes a slow sip before adding, almost offhandedly, “i guess i just have a thing for playing characters in distress.”

paul barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “yeah, well, you do it very well. it’s almost unfair.”

wanda smirks, but there’s something thoughtful in the way she tilts her head, as if considering his words. then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she leans in slightly and says, “i take it you’re a crier, then?”

paul places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “absolutely. no shame.”

that earns a more genuine laugh from wanda, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders eases. the air between the three of you feels a little lighter.

when the plates are empty and the conversation slows, paul pushes back his chair with a contented sigh.

“i’ll start on the dishes,” he says, already stacking plates. “you two should catch up.”

you smile at him, appreciative, and wanda feels something twist in her chest. she shouldn’t be here. she doesn’t belong here.

still, she doesn’t move.

you refill your wine glass and lean back in your chair, watching her carefully. wanda swirls what’s left in her own glass, staring at the deep red before speaking.

“maybe i should’ve tried to convince you to run off with me,” she jokes, her voice light, almost teasing.

but when she finally looks up, she sees the way your expression falters, just for a second. you know, both of you do, that it isn’t really a joke.

you let out a small breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “that wouldn’t have changed anything, wanda.”

“wouldn’t it?” she asks, a little too quickly.

your eyes search hers, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the past is sitting between you, untouched, waiting.

wanda wonders if there’s a universe where you had run off together. if there’s a version of you out there, tangled up in her arms instead of in someone else’s.

she swallows hard. “i wish i had tried a little harder.”

your face softens, but it’s not enough to undo the distance between you. “you couldn’t help it,” you say, voice gentle.

"i could have," she insists, her hands gripping the stem of her glass a little too tightly. there’s frustration in her voice, but beneath it, there’s something raw. regret, maybe.

you don’t argue. you won’t. because the truth is, she could have.

"yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper. "maybe."

silence settles between you. wanda watches as your gaze shifts toward the window, toward the street where people pass by, oblivious to the ache sitting between you both.

she doesn’t know what she was expecting. maybe some kind of reassurance that she still lingers in your mind the way you linger in hers. that if things had been different, if she had been different, this could have been her home, her life.

but you don’t give her that.

paul’s voice calls from the kitchen. “babe, where’s the dish soap?”

you blink, turning toward the sound, and the spell is broken.

wanda forces a smile, downing the last of her wine before standing. “i should get going.”

you don't question it.

you grab wanda’s coat from the rack and walk her to the door. she doesn’t ask you to, but neither of you are quite ready for the night to end without one last moment.

“leaving so soon?” paul asks suddenly, his voice light but tinged with something unreadable. both you and wanda turn to face him.

she nods apologetically, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “i have an early flight tomorrow,” she admits, offering a small, regretful smile.

“oh.” paul’s disappointment is subtle but there, it flickers in his eyes before he shapes his expression into something more polite. “well, it was really nice meeting you, wanda.”

you glance at him, catching the way he shifts slightly, rubbing his thumb over the inside of his palm. a small habit of his when he’s holding something back. you wonder, briefly, if tonight was difficult for him too, if he’s been carrying the weight of this evening the same way you have. you decide you’ll ask him about it later.

stepping forward, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his jaw relaxes at the familiar gesture. his hand finds yours easily, his fingers warm and steady against your own.

“i’m just gonna walk her out,” you murmur, giving his hand a small squeeze.

paul nods, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he offers wanda another polite smile. “safe travels,” he says, his voice kind, sincere.

as you lead wanda toward the door, you feel the weight of paul’s gaze lingering on you, as if he knows that this goodbye is heavier than it appears.

the air outside is crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. wanda stands beside you on the curb, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth of her coat. the streetlights cast long shadows, and for a second, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of something you’ll never get back.

her uber is a few minutes away. that’s all the time you have left.

she exhales softly, eyes fixed on the passing cars. then, as if she’s been holding it in all night, she finally asks, “do you think we could have worked things out? if we had been different people? under different circumstances?”

the question hits you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. because the truth is, you don’t know.

maybe in another life. maybe in a world where you didn’t leave the hotel before she could see you, where you both didn’t have to love each other from a distance, where you didn’t have to wonder if loving her meant waiting for something that wasn’t enough.

but this isn’t that world.

you swallow hard, staring down at the pavement. “i don’t know, wanda.”

she nods, as if she expected that answer, but the sadness in her eyes deepens anyway. “me neither.”

the uber pulls up, headlights cutting through the night, and you both turn toward it. this is it. the real goodbye.

wanda hesitates, then reaches for you, pulling you into one last embrace. you don’t know who’s holding onto who tighter. when she pulls away, her hand lingers on your arm for a second too long before she finally steps back.

“take care of yourself,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

you give her a tight-lipped smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you too, wanda.”

she slides into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, you stand frozen on the sidewalk, watching until the taillights disappear around the corner.

and then it hits you.

the weight of it all crashes down at once. the grief, the finality, the understanding that there are some lives you’ll never get to live, some love stories that will never get their second chance.

you press a hand to your mouth as your chest tightens, eyes stinging, but you force yourself to turn back toward the building before you fall apart completely.

when you step into the lobby, you’re not surprised to see paul waiting by the elevator. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t have to.

the moment you reach him, you break.

a choked sob escapes you as you fall into his arms, and he holds you without hesitation, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other wrapped firmly around your back.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple. and you believe him.

because this was never about leaving him.

you love paul. you’ve never questioned that.

but love doesn’t erase the what-ifs. it doesn’t quiet the ache of knowing there’s a version of you out there who loved wanda differently, who had a life that was beautiful in its own way. one that you’ll never get to live.

paul presses a kiss to your hair and just holds you, letting you mourn what could have been.

and when you’re finally ready, he walks you up.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagines

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percywinchester27 · 2 days ago

Text

The new Mrs. Winchester (20)

Word count: 3.1K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Guys, I so hope you like this chapter! It was a pleasure to write :)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

“You are the most frustrating thing in the world,” you said to the burner phone standing silently on the tabletop. Only one person called or messaged on the phone and it had stayed quiet for a whole week. The longer it remained silent, the sadder you became. Sam’s desperation to prove his innocence must have turned into frustration and then anger. After all, he’d done everything right and had still been accused of something heinous by you. Anger would be natural. But you were scared that maybe the anger was turning into apathy now. Sam’s silence was proof.

Abby’s mother had fallen ill, and with a tight hug, she had bid you goodbye for the weekend. You felt lonelier than ever in the house. No Abby, no Jack, and no Han to wait for you at the pier when you lit a lamp. But most of all, no Sam.

The terror that had gripped you since first seeing Nick had dissipated some, but you were still afraid that he might turn up in the mansion and you would have to face him again. So, you spent most of your days in Martha’s kitchen, reading Wordsworth and his sad poetry.

However, after a week of skulking around the house like a phantom, you decided to open the forbidden connecting door to Sam’s room. Maybe seeing his pictures, trophies and books would bring some solace. The room looked as benign as the last time you had seen it, on the day before the gallery opening. The pictures were all there on Sam’s nightstand, now with a thin film of dust over them. Sam had locked the room from outside when he’d left, so no staff could get in, not a soul… except you.

The sheets on his bed were perfectly made and you wondered if this is how he treated all the hotel rooms in the world, too, leaving them just as he had found them as if he’d never been there. But these sheets had held him close in nights, wrapping their silk around his body in a way you could only dream of. Quietly, you lifted a well-made corner and slipped underneath, hoping to envelop yourself in some trace of him. The sheets did not smell of him anymore. Despite all your efforts, the room did not seem like his at all with him gone. You remembered the line from your story of Eros and Psyche. When Psyche lost her trust in her husband, Eros, left in anger and despair… All love and beauty seemed to evaporate from the world in its entirety.

You curled up on your side, twisting in the sheets, feeling Psyche’s frustration in every bone. Everything had been going smoothly, but you had let doubt corrupt your head and now Sam was gone. As you twisted on the bed, your hand touched something rough beneath the sheet. You sat up, discarding the sheets completely and reached out to find an envelope. You turned it around to see your name etched on top in Sam’s elegant handwriting.

You nearly tore the envelope in your hurry to get the contents out. Inside was a letter addressed to you.

Y/N,

I wanted to come clean. I wanted to tell you everything, but I’d be damned if I overstepped my boundaries and crossed the line of your consent. Not again. But if you are reading this, it means you’ve chosen to come to my room, and climbed into my bed of your own volition. It means that your consent was involved.

So, let me tell you how you ended up here in my bed, in this moment. Let me tell you everything from the very beginning.

Jo’s pie was still fresh on the table when we set out to find her, and that’s where we found it three days later when we returned. Dean took one look at it and his knees gave out. We’ve been through some tough times, Dean and I, but never had I seen him so scared in my entire life. When they found Jo’s body, Dean drove his car into a cliffside three days later. You probably don’t know this, but he loves that car and it came back wrecked, but still less wrecked than him. You told me about the days when your dad returned home between tours and he had this haunted look in his eyes, the look of witnessing death, causing it… seeing the people you love suddenly die. I might have looked that way, too. Jo was like a sister to me growing up and she was dead, and Dean wasn’t just my brother, he was my whole world. Slowly, but surely, I was watching him waste away right in front of my eyes.

I didn’t see my mother die– another person who died because of me; died for me– but I was old enough to watch my father slowly kill himself. He’d return from these long trips and I would run to him, but he never spared me a glance. After all, I was the reason his wife wasn’t with him. He’d loved that woman more than anything in the world. I believe Dean reminded him of all the good times he’d shared with his wife, but I was a reminder of the peace he’d lost. If she hadn’t run in to save me from the fire, she’d be alive and breathing with him. No, he wasn’t outright cruel, but slowly as he drowned himself in whiskey, the whiskey truly drowned him. Dean found him like that in his study one night, without a heartbeat, but a drink still in his hand.

Dean became just like that in the months after Jo’s death, always clutching a bottle, eyes red and out of his mind. I can’t count the number of times I’d picked him up from bars with bloody knuckles and a bruised face, and I felt helpless watching my brother go the same way as my father, wishing, just wishing I could go back in time to stop Jo from leaving alone. One day my life had been good, not perfect, but good, and the next day it had been dragged to hell.

The first time I saw a light in Dean’s eyes was when the sheriff, Jody Mills, came back with some definitive proof. Before Jo, two other bodies had been recovered from Lincoln lake. And though they bore signs of more heinous abuse, the MO appeared to be the same, similar disappearances, similar disposal. There had been other disappearances as well, but no trace of the bodies and more than half of those could be traced directly to the estate. It was easy to put together the story… a human trafficking ring was active in the area.

I saw my brother go from the edge of destruction to grasping at the threads of hope for justice. He threw himself into Jody’s investigation with this feverish energy. But no matter how hard he tried, or anybody tried, eventually, we all hit roadblocks. No one could get on top of the ring, and it got worse when Jody found out that even her superiors in the police were involved. She didn’t have any pull with federal law enforcement. Not then anyway. I was just starting to worry that I would lose my brother all over again when Jody came up with the plan… with this plan.

The plan was easy enough and by now I’m sure you know most of it, though, I didn’t think it would work. No one who has seen us growing up would believe I could throw him out, but Dean had a solution to that as well. ‘Just replace all staff’ he’d said. At first, I went along just in desperation to save Dean from the abyss he was in danger of falling into. Finding out who did this to Jo had become his life’s mission. I couldn’t take it away from him without losing him, too, but I didn’t really believe he and Jody would manage to implement it. But then there came a day when I had to make the decision, to be in or out.

I’d have died before letting Dean down, but that night he made me promise that I would go along. He had already transferred all his property and estate rights save for the shares, but that night he begged me to say yes… to do this abhorrent thing of paying money to own a human being. He justified it with fancy words… said I’d be saving a girl from life in hell, but I knew it for the depraved act it truly was. I don’t remember the things I said to my brother that night or the wreckage I left of the door and furniture, but in the end, I had to give in. How could I not?

And so, before the day break Dean left, and the very next day, I assumed power of the board and estate. The first to go was Dean’s portrait from the gallery, and then every last item that could be associated with him was purged from this God-forsaken house. I moved in a week later and then within a month, the staff was replaced. Being cold and detached from them was hardly even work once Dean left. I was heartbroken enough to shut myself within me. But still, selfishly, I couldn’t let go of Jack and Martha, I was scared that I would be lost to even myself without them. After all, do you even exist if no one around you knows you?

So far the plan was working, but then suddenly it worked too well. The whispers that we had planted were taking root now. The word that I was looking to buy finally reached the right ears and one day, a man accosted me outside the office, offering the deal. He handed me a card with a location and asked me to be there at eleven the next morning. There, he had a photo book ready for me to pick from. Up until then, I had never hated myself more. To even look at the pictures, as if I was some kind of God to choose which one to save… which of these women was eligible to be rescued from this prison, and put into a different one. My prison wouldn’t have the torture of this one, but a place where she would be dragged to without her own free will would be a prison nonetheless.

I had to choose. One. I closed my eyes, gulped and vowing to come back for the rest after this one, I opened that photo book. And there you were on the 5th page. I stopped there and did not flip further. The man said you were not up for sale, that you were Boss’s favourite. I doubled the price, he wouldn’t agree still, I tripled the price. He made a call, and when I offered to pay five times the amount, the man on the other end of the line must have agreed because we sealed the deal. I got to keep the photo.

And Y/N, this is what I don’t get… I could have decided to keep flipping through those horrifying pictures and picked another, but once I saw you, there was no one else. Something about the look in your eyes… At least that’s what I told myself as I signed the cheque and asked to keep the picture. But the truth was, I didn’t want another man to ever look at your picture again. I’ve never looked at it again, myself. I came back and nearly burnt it, but then decided against it. You’ll find it in a brown diary on the top of the cupboard. Do what you please with it, only you should have that right.

You accused me of not looking you in the eye because I thought less of you, but how could I? After what I had done, I could barely stand to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I keep telling myself it’s the look in your eyes in the picture that made me stop, but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair. In that moment I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips. How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that? How could I stand next to you on a podium and not want to die from the guilt of it all? How could I even breathe the same air? So, yes, Y/N, I didn’t meet your eyes. At the wedding, I didn’t look at you, didn’t touch your skin, because you deserved better than a depraved person like me even existing in the same room as you.

There’s one other thing I never told you. The night after the wedding, I opened the connecting door. I had to tell you the truth, fall at your feet and apologise profusely for the dastardly act, so my conscience could know some peace. The guilt of what I had done wouldn’t let me be, and when I did push that handle, I found you curled up on the floor, clutching your body. That’s when I knew that as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for it, never hate myself more than I did in that moment. I vowed to never open the door again. Every night following that one, I would pace to the door, stand inches away, grazing the handle but never opening it. The routine reminded me of Pandora’s story. How in the end after unleashing all kinds of pain on the world, her box only held hope. Hope remained. Opening the door felt like that, it felt like giving up the little hope that someday you might forgive me.

Meeting your eyes in the dining hall that first time might be the bravest thing I’ve ever done, Y/N. It took all the courage in the world to hand you that portfolio, when I don’t even deserve to touch the sheets on which you drew. But each time you looked at me, smiled, or said yes to my beseeching efforts to take you around the property knowing you’d had several tours already, I let that hope bloom and when you agreed to be my friend, I vowed to never be untruthful to you. Ever.

So, no, I didn’t know you had already met Dean, that he was your friend. I hope you believe me.

From the very first attempt to speak with you, my only wish has been to gain your trust. Not to elicit information, but to become worthy of your faith, to be the confidant you confided in of your own free will and not out of a trick. I can see how wrong I was. I am sorry.

You’ve barged out on me twice now and locked yourself behind the door. But you shouldn’t have to put yourself in prison again and again. This letter might be a prelude to proving that Dean and I never colluded against you, but we’ve both had our interests in play. You’re the only party here that’s entirely faultless. You shall not be bound to a prison again. I will not allow it. And if the only way of setting you free from the bars of your room is for me to be out of sight, then that’s no price to pay at all.

I won’t be back for a couple of weeks, and even when I am, I’ll make sure to be out of your way.

I made you a promise, Y/N, that you will be safe in this house. That promise stands, even if it’s me you seek safety from. I may not be what you need. But I am still a man of my word.

You WILL be safe.

-Sam

A drop fell on Sam’s name at the end and you hurriedly shirked the paper before any more drops ruined the letter. Rapidly, blinking at the wetness on your lashes, you rushed to Sam’s cupboard, throwing the doors open. Blindly, you patted the topmost drawer and found the leather-bound diary. The picture was wedged right in the middle. You stared at your own nearly naked form, kneeling with your knees splayed wide, torso bent forward and eyes staring into the camera. With a shock you realised, you barely recognised the face.

The girl in the picture did not look anything like you. She had primmed eyebrows and a thin, perfect face full of make-up. Her wide eyes held not an invitation, but almost a challenge: Come find out for yourself.

Is that what Sam saw?

You moved to the mirror in Sam’s room to check your face, with fuller, unkempt eyebrows and hair that had long outgrown the coiffed cut. The skin didn’t have the perfect complexion but held faint splashes from where the sun had touched it. There were also the hints of wrinkles at the corner of your eyes– laugh lines.

Thinking back, everything seemed abundantly clear as to why Sam’s footsteps had always sounded so close to the door. You had assumed a cupboard or a desk there, but all those nights it was just him hovering, torn between guilt and self-hate. Why when you’d had the workers move his things to your room before the renovation, Sam had panicked about who touched his things, because he was scared of someone seeing the picture you now held in your hands.

Now that it was in your hands, you didn’t know what to do with it any more than Sam did. You should be feeling pity for that girl, chaffing her bare knees on the floor, but all you felt was a strange hatred. She was your past, but she would be your future, too. The imperfect but happy girl in the mirror would soon become a memory.

One week had passed and with one more week to go until Sam returned, you vowed to the girl in the mirror, that as long as she was your present, you would do everything in your power to keep her happy.

As far as Sam was concerned, he’d had his chance to get his truth out. It was your turn now.

*****************************

A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam's admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?

Oh, I can't wait to share what's coming with you!

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #sam winchester reader insert #spn reader insert #sam x reader #reader x sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #Ana writes Sam #anawritesspn #anawrites #Ana writes TNMW #tnmw20

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