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pathologicalreid · 8 days ago

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omg consider this a request to bury reader again lol. imagine having to go through that again…imagine SPENCER knowing you’re experiencing it again…….margot pLS IM BEGGING🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🙏🙏

black hole | s.r.

in which the BAU has to race against the clock to find you after you've been buried alive, again

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: spoilery content warning at the end of the post. lol. claustrophobia, being buried alive, death. reader does NOT die, spencer reid crashout, kids/pregnancy, blood, hospitals, spencer's addiction, being drugged, the replicator, i probably missed something!!!! word count: 5.35k a/n: guys can u believe my first fic on here was buried alive. and here we are. doing it again?

Spencer was surrounded by people who cared about him, and yet, the only person he genuinely wanted to see was nowhere to be found. He’d sent you home from the office, passing the car keys along and swiping the incomplete files from your desk.

You’d kissed his cheek the same way you’d done it thousands of times before, and he’d taken it for granted. He should’ve turned his head to kiss your lips. He should’ve left the files to finish tomorrow and gone home with you. He shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder right now, searching for something that wasn’t coming. You weren’t coming.

He’d sent you home, only to find himself standing in your kitchen hours later, surrounded by evidence of a struggle. There had been blood smeared across the floor, a nauseating pattern that, in his professional opinion, looked like someone had been dragged. Without enough time to DNA test the blood, he couldn’t be sure, but once the crime scene unit had typed the blood and it came back as your type, he felt comfortable in his assumption. You had been taken.

Abducted right from the home that the two of you had created for each other, a safe haven to retreat to when the world felt too cramped, too dark.

Remnants of fear lingered in every corner of the house, skylights built into the ceiling for optimum light and nightlights in every room. Spencer had designed the house for you, and Derek arranged the construction. To the average bystander, the open floor plan looked like a modernization of the original structure. To you, each wall was placed purposefully so that you’d never feel like they were closing in on you.

The first person he called was Alex. Part of him wondered if he’d chosen her because she was the only member of the team who hadn’t been around to witness this the first time. The first time Spencer had been standing in a room and had been told you were missing; it felt as though time had completely stopped. This time, it felt like a jackknife to the chest, stabbing him continuously until his legs went out from under him, leaving him gasping on the phone to his friend. The rational side of his brain tried to tell him it was because Blake lived closest, but the irrational portion of Spencer Reid was the only part of him that ever had second thoughts.

That irrational side of him was the side that was in love with you, and he couldn’t justify the probability of this happening again. The math couldn’t be completed, and Spencer was once again left in fragments, nothing more than a shattered mirror that bore the reflection of someone who had it all.

Now, back at the BAU, he stared at the confidential FBI folder that had been abandoned on the kitchen counter by your abductor. It had been dusted, only to find no sign of fingerprints. The evidence was laid out on the roundtable; each page, each horrifying photo served as a memory of what had happened to you two years ago. Left on top of the folder was a piece of paper torn from the journal your therapist had instructed you to keep. Scrawled in unfamiliar penmanship, the note read: He who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.

He wasn’t concerned with the origin of the quote; he’d recognize Michel de Montaigne as surely as he would his own work. No, Spencer’s concern laid solely with the implications of the quote, and there was only one outcome he could come to. After all, suffering and your name were synonymous in his mind, even after all of this time.

You kept your eyes closed, grounding yourself just as your therapist had taught you in your hundreds of sessions. Soon enough, Spencer would wake up to your soft whimpers, and he’d coax you out of your paralysis. His hands would find their way to your shoulders, skimming his palms over the cotton of your sleep shirt, and he’d pull you up.

Any minute, Spencer would use the fader to illuminate your bedroom, providing you with the light that you needed as proof that everything was going to be fine. You’d anticipated this; the second anniversary of you being buried alive was just around the corner, and with it, the trauma bubbled to the surface. Even still, you found yourself frowning at the things your senses picked up—the smell of the dirt, the hard surface you were lying on, and the eerie silence of your surroundings. It took you a moment to realize that Spencer wasn’t cooing your name, trying to get you out of your nightmare without scaring you too much.

Clenching your fists, you found yourself missing the familiar pressure of your wedding ring on your left hand, and you told yourself that this had to be a dream. Since you’d gotten it, you only ever took it off if it was absolutely necessary. You’d missed the band so much that you’d gotten a cheaper one to replace it while you had the two pieces soldered together.

You took a deep breath, immediately overwhelmed by the rich earth that flooded your senses, the scent so pungent that you could almost taste it. Against your better judgment, you opened your eyes, letting the lids flutter open while you tried to adjust to the all too familiar darkness. A wave of nausea ran through you, churning your stomach while you tried to swallow it down—not wanting to lay in a puddle of your own sick. “No,” you breathed, having half a mind to sit up and look around, but as your eyes adjusted, you estimated there were only a few inches from the tip of your nose to the roof of your enclosure.

Tentatively, you felt around, grazing your fingertips across the interior surface of your newfound prison. Opposed to the smooth silk of the casket, you were met with a rough wooden surface that grated against your skin, tugging and pulling at the ridges of your fingerprints while you tried to bury your panic.

Denial only got a person so far, and there was nowhere else for you to go except to accept it. This was happening to you again.

This time, it seemed as though you were trapped within the confines of a wooden box, a collection of old two-by-fours haphazardly connected with various nails and screws. You could smell the age of the wood, damp and mildew only served to nauseate you further when mixed with the smell of the dirt.

He’d been put in time-out. Not that Hotch would ever use such layman’s terminology to describe the action taken but being told to sit in the roundtable room and stay there until they knew something felt like a child’s punishment. A flash out of the corner of his eyes signaled that JJ and Rossi had returned from checking the house, meaning Spencer had some explaining to do.

“What did you see?” Hotch asked as soon as they walked into the room. Spencer turned his head to gaze out the windows, watching the cacophony of the joint task force as it entered the next hour. He avoided JJ’s curious eyes, knowing that she knew.

Rossi’s leather boot tapped at the worn carpet in the doorway. “There was a cup of what looked like water on the kitchen counter,” he responded, nodding at the rest of the team as they all filed into the room. “The crime scene techs took a sample of it for testing. The field test came back positive for narcotics, but we won’t have an exact makeup until it comes back from the lab.”

A test that you didn’t have time for, but Spencer felt it was unnecessary. Hearing what they knew from the scene was enough to turn his stomach inside out, the kind of information that gets delivered and then all of a sudden, your ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton. He’d subconsciously tuned out any other news to protect himself while he looked at the data on the form that Rossi had given him. For a long time, Spencer had accepted that his brain was one that worked with figures and reason, but looking at the numbers in front of him—nothing processed. Every number seemed foreign to him, and nothing made any sense to him.

He stood up suddenly, sending his office chair flying behind him, the aged wheels clattering within themselves as he looked around. Horrified looks were sent to him from everyone in the room. It only took one glance at your picture on the screen for him to grab the paper from the polished wood table. “I have to… I need to…” He rambled aimlessly, staring at the paper while he blindly tried to find his way out of the roundtable room and down the ramp.

Practically bolting out of the bullpen, Spencer sought the fresh air that the campus would bring, but Hotch had told him to stay put, so he settled for the more or less abandoned interview room that neighbored Morgan’s office. The room sat unused most of the time, a fine layer of dust coating everything in plain sight.

Gracelessly pulling at the strap of his watch, he flung it across the room, each faint tick of the seconds a haunting reminder that you were rapidly running out of air. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting down before his legs had a chance to give out beneath him. If he had shut down the first time, he was nothing more than a shell of himself right now, merely a pile of skin and bones that concealed organs—like a heart that was breaking. Pulsatile tinnitus made it seem like his heart was pounding in every area of his body, causing him to pull his legs to his chest, condensing himself so he didn’t take up so much space.

A soft knocking saved him from his own pit of despair, a familiar curtain of brown hair on narrow shoulders greeted his eyes, and the soft smile that Blake gave him dripped with pity. “Do you mind?” She asked rhetorically, gesturing to a chair in front of him before taking a seat. “What is it?”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, too stressed to deduce the meaning of her question. “What is what?” Dropping his hands, he thumbed the hem of his slacks, fiddling with a loose thread to occupy his busy mind. He tried to act as if there weren’t tornado sirens going off in his head, cluing him to an impending storm—one where he was bound to be swept up.

“There’s more to this thank you’re letting on,” Blake nudged the toe of her boot against Spencer’s sneaker. “Hotch wouldn’t have taken you out of the field if there weren’t exigent circumstances.”

Sometimes, he had to remind himself that even though she hadn’t been a profiler for very long, Alex had plenty of experience in the bureau. She had a knack for reading people and reaching conclusions, and, at this moment, Spencer despised her for it. He turned his head, resting his cheek on his knee, the displacement of his face causing one of his eyes to close. “She’s pregnant,” he confessed, the weight of the secret crumbling from the air around him.

He shut his other eye to avoid the look of shock that had inevitably taken place on Alex’s face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen; you were supposed to be able to wait three more weeks until the second trimester and be able to tell everyone. It was supposed to be a joyous moment, not a secret choked out when there were no other options. “Hotch knows?”

Blinded by his eyelids, Spencer nodded. Hotch was the first person he’d told once that little plus sign popped up. Before you’d told any friends and family, Spencer knew he had to tell Hotch about the baby; he had to keep you safe. What a waste that had been.

Just last week, you’d gone to see the baby for the first time, the sonogram had been gleefully posted on your refrigerator that same day. He knew the chances that JJ and Rossi hadn’t seen it were next to none, so really, there was no more secret to keep.

You were just barely nine weeks along, the last few days had been spent debating whether or not you wanted to do a blood test to find out the sex, and now you might never know. He’d thought you’d be better off at home. He’d thought getting away from the office at a normal time would be healthy for you, but instead his well-meaning gesture had placed you under the radar of someone who wanted to hurt you. What was worse was this person undoubtedly knew who you were and what you were afraid of, they’d probably been watching you for a while.

Guilt burrowed deep inside of his gut when he lifted his eyelids, looking at the paper he’d taken from the roundtable room. Mixed in with whatever they’d given you to knock you out had been an unlisted narcotic. The field test hadn’t been precise enough to name the drug, but in the end, Spencer found he didn’t really care about the specifics. He only cared about what he knew. Narcotics were known to cause miscarriages, and when you combined that with whatever had knocked you out—GHB, Rohypnol, whatever—it only killed more hope. It brought Spencer to a place of desolation.

He was miserable as he handed the paper off to Blake, vaguely aware of the people passing by in the hallway, rubbernecking near the door to try and get a glimpse of him. “Did the UnSub just take whatever was left over in your medicine cabinet and give it to her?”

The question was innocent enough. Maybe in another lifetime, you’d have a few pills left over from various hospital trips, but that wasn’t the case in this timeline. ��We don’t keep narcotics in the house,” he answered a tad too quickly.

Interrupting his thought process, JJ poked her head into the interrogation room, “Uh, Hotch wants everyone in the roundtable room.” Her sorrowful blue eyes pierced through Spencer, with him sitting on the floor, everyone felt so much bigger than him. “The Replicator sent us a message.”

You gasped a sob, trying to rein in your emotions so you wouldn’t use as much of your limited air supply, but with every passing moment, you found it that much more difficult to hold yourself together. Reaching up a hand, you pressed your palm at the ceiling above you, pushing up at the roof of your enclosure to no avail. Paranoia was beginning to creep in, telling you that the things you were hearing were the worms in the soil preparing to return you to the earth.

Swiping your hand on the wood, you repeated the motion until you were clawing at the rotting material, attempting to burrow yourself out of confinement. The split grains tugged and pulled at your fingertips, leaving splinters to interrupt the fine lines of your prints. You were on the verge of throwing a tantrum, kicking and scratching at your confines, until one of the boards broke, bringing you to a screeching halt.

You’d kicked one of the boards loose, breaking it and leaving the void to fill with dirt. Lowering your shaky hands, you took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regulate your breathing through techniques you’d learned over the years. You’d spent countless hours in therapy trying to help your claustrophobia, but you’d used that time to navigate things like elevator rides and tiny bathroom stalls. You never thought you would need to prepare for this to happen to you a second time.

You couldn’t halt the tears when they finally came. Part of you knew that crying would use up what little oxygen you had at a fast rate, but the other part of you, the despondent part, didn’t have the energy to care. You tried for a moment, covering your mouth with your bleeding palm to contain the volume of air you were taking in, to no avail. You had finally lost control, and the fuzzy feeling in your brain was only exacerbated by the scent of the dirt that coated your hands.

It just wasn’t fair. Subconsciously, you knew the concept of fairness should’ve been something you’d given up on years ago, but as the air surrounding you grew stale, it was all you could think about. The idea that you’d spent your morning with Spencer trying to prove to you that your bump was showing, giggling while using the false name you’d assigned to your unborn child as you insisted you were just bloated.

Slowly, you dragged your bleeding fingertips down your torso, leaving them resting hesitantly on your lower belly, the exact spot that Spencer had insisted was protruding just that morning. Bile rose in your throat as you feared what your day of turmoil meant for your baby. You had no idea how long you’d been in the ground, and you had no idea how much time you had left. Spencer would’ve figured it out—he had last time. One sleepless night, you’d made him explain tidal volume to you, and he’d let you comb your fingers through your hair while he told you the story of the last time he came to your rescue.

As you lay there, paranoid, wondering if you were imagining the pain in your head and stomach, it occurred to you that you never should have come back to the BAU the first time. The sleepless nights you’d spent combing through the trauma of your teammates, convincing yourself that what you’d been through was nothing in comparison to their scars, had been entirely unnecessary. You kept a tally of the flights of stairs you’d taken when one elevator ride would’ve sufficed, wearing the count as a badge of honor. You could count on one hand the number of elevator rides you’ve taken in the last two years—they were usually spent with your head in your hands and Spencer’s hand on your back.

You’d always compared yourself to Emily, who’d lost her life, and Hotch, who’d lost his love, and you decided that if they could return to the field after those events, then there was no reason for you to lag behind. You forced yourself to play a part you didn’t belong in, and you could never forgive yourself for it. It’s part of the reason you let your eyes fall shut when the air grows thin, wondering if there was any point in coming back to a life you weren’t mean to be living.

He'd run out of things to throw, eyeing the books that he’d left scattered on the ground, his watch still discarded somewhere in the interview room. His tie was loosened to the point that it was almost slipping off of his neck while he desperately tried to catch his breath. Each time he settled down, he remembered you were suffocating, and the cycle continued.

The Replicator had all but taken responsibility for your abduction, and the world around him had begun to spin. Quickly, everything began to make sense, repeating a crime that had been committed against you and using narcotics to knock you out.

His addiction had never been officially documented in any FBI files, but that didn’t stop Spencer from placing fault on himself. There were easier ways to incapacitate someone, and somehow, the Replicator had chosen the method that was likely to do the most harm. Spencer put his trembling hands over his head, knowing that if he’d never taken that vial off of Tobias Hankel’s corpse, you wouldn’t be in this situation now. His mind that had been previously praised for genius drew convoluted lines between the dots, making connections that he never should’ve considered.

In the doorway, Alex came to his rescue once more, holding a Kevlar vest in her hand while smiling at him kindly, “We found her.”

The distance between Quantico and the cemetery was no more than a blur to him. He had no idea when it had started to rain, but he found each pelt of a raindrop to be soothing, welcoming the constant drumming that occupied his minds, keeping him away from catastrophizing.

Rossi, Hotch, and Emily had arrived only moments before the second SUV, but they’d wasted no time in getting the cemetery staff to dig at the coordinates Penelope had found in the message sent by the Replicator. The rain made the soil move like sludge off of the makeshift casket that contained the love of his life, and he took his first step toward you when he saw the broken pieces of wood.

A familiar arm went out in front of him, blocking his path to you with a sense of fraternal protection, but Spencer tried to push Morgan away. He was the weaker of the two, exhausted by his own emotions as he shoved his way through to you. Distantly, he heard himself asking to be let through, but it wasn’t until the lid of the casket was popped that Blake spoke up for him, “Derek.”

Immediately, Derek’s arm dropped, releasing the hold he had on Spencer and allowing him to run to you. The sopping ground sept into his shoes as he ran, falling into the mud while Emily and Hotch precariously pulled you out of your enclosure. Morgan’s intention had been to shield Spencer from the harsh reality of your death, but even if you were gone, he still felt an otherworldly pull to you. After all, what was the point of promising ‘til death do us part if he wasn’t with you when you went?

Mud coated every spare inch of his clothes, but he couldn’t care less as he scrambled to take your hand in his, gently pressing his fingers to your wrist and waiting for something—anything. “Baby, please.” He couldn’t tell, the radial pulse could be undependable, so he moved his hand to your neck and crouched his head over your face, immediately comforted when he heard the faint whistle of air flowing through your nostrils.

Relief flooded his senses, inclining his head to rest his forehead against yours and nodding profusely when Emily asked him if you were alive. His chest shook with a sob as he pulled back, tugging his FBI jacket off and laying it over you to try and warm you up, the rest of the team following suit while JJ and Hotch tried to flag down the ambulance. He tuned out the frantic discussion of the team and the loud blare of the emergency vehicles.

Shifting so he was sitting on the ground, he gingerly placed your head in his lap, using his fingertips to deftly wipe away the dirt and blood that covered your marred skin. He noted a scratch on your head, and a quick scan of your body didn’t show him any visible injuries, though your hands displayed a nauseating portrait of your time in the ground, torn apart with dozens of splinters. “I’ve got you,” he cooed to your unconscious body. He looked up to see a team of EMTs running towards you, decked out in rain gear and medical supplies, “She’s pregnant.”

His words elicited a stare from one of the rain-soaked paramedics, telling him he had reached the same conclusion that Spencer had already resolved himself to. “We’ve gotta get her out of this rain,” he said, loading you onto a spine board and lifting you to the gurney so they could easily roll you to the ambulance, leaving Spencer scrambling to catch up with you. He practically threw himself into the ambulance, refusing to separate himself from you.

Spencer squeezed your hand, hoping you’d squeeze back, staying as far back as he could from the paramedics while keeping his fingers intertwined with yours.

Nothing hurt when you came to, but you could feel the familiar pressure of a bandage around your leg. Sensation traveled up to your hands, each of your fingertips precariously wrapped with cause, initiating the healing of your cuts from when you’d tried to scratch your way to freedom. Slowly, you took a deep breath, letting the antiseptic air of the hospital flood your senses.

Through your eyelids, you could see that the room around you was bright, and a soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself—Spencer was here. You felt him now, the soft touch of his hand on your arm, the imprint of a hand you knew as well as your own. The warmth of his palm served as a brief distraction before your brain registered a dull ache in your stomach, and somehow, you just knew. A low keening sound slipped from your throat, more from the compressed escape of air than a complaint of any pain you felt.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered gently, his voice hoarse with emotion, “So, so much.” He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your battered knuckles. “Oh, honey,” he sighed, gently squeezing your hand, minding your wounds.

He was so gentle with you—he always had been. His fingertips drifted over your arm with an attention to detail that rivaled a medical doctor, minding the IV in your arm when he moved past it. You tried to mumble an I love you in return, but the words came out unintelligibly.

Spencer’s ministrations came to a halting stop at this first sign of life, “Hey,” he cooed, “What was that?” You felt the side of your mattress dip as he took a seat on your bedside, he hushed you gently, dragging a knuckle up and down your cheek while silently pleading for you to speak.

He was testing you, that much you knew. He wanted to know if being deprived of air had cost you your ability to speak. You shook your head at him, denying the implication as you cleared your throat determinedly, “I love you, too.” Your voice was gravelly, likely from all of the screaming you had done in the tomb, but it was there, and it was coherent.

The hospital sheets scratched at your skin while you tried to coax yourself into opening your eyes, the promise of seeing Spencer providing an incentive. Taking a deep breath, your eyelids fluttered open, looking up at his sorrowful eyes. Even so, he smiled at you softly, just happy to see you awake, “There’s my girl.”

The tear tracks on his face were like daggers to your heart, bringing with them a terrible reminder of whatever fear he felt when you had gone missing. You blinked additional sleep out of your eyes, focusing on him and his exhaustion, “How long?” You asked, watching him reach over for a glass of water, guiding the straw to your mouth.

He waited until you’d taken a few sips before answering your questions, “You’ve been asleep for two days.” He said, setting the cup to the side—close enough that you could grab it on your own if need be.

You made a face—two days was a long time—and sighed, relaxing back into the pillows while you tried to find the right words to say. “How’s…. Am I…?” You stumbled through the question, tears welling in your waterline before you even had the chance to ask. Swallowing thickly, you could only hope Spencer understood when you were getting at before you had to force the words out.

Your husband shook his head softly, “There’s no heartbeat.” His voice was tight, but he maintained his position as a pillar for you to lean on, keeping your hand in his just in case you needed additional support.

It didn’t hurt, not right now. You were sure the grief would hit you at some point in the near future when the sun hit your face just right or a blue car passed you by. Some inexplicable harbinger of grief would enter and exit your life just as quickly as your child had. “Okay,” you breathed, gazing at Spencer, hoping your eyes would have the ability to convey how you felt.

“They haven’t pinpointed a cause; it could’ve been any number of things, but it’s not… Are you in any pain?” He cut himself off to check in on you; he studied your expression with a stoicism that rivaled your boss.

You shook your head, “No.” The achiness you felt wasn’t strong enough to fully qualify as pain, and anything that was there, your body had already gotten used to. You were sure there was something in your IV that was assisting the numbness in your limbs.

Spencer raised his eyebrows doubtfully, “Would you tell me if you were?” He asked you, giving you a look that reminded you he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Will you just… not tell anyone I woke up yet?” You shifted uncomfortably on the bed, “I’m not ready.” You needed time to prepare for the prying eyes and barrage of questions that were bound to come with the BAU.

His head bobbed, “Anything. Anything you want,” he promised, dragging his knuckle up and down your cheek. Subconsciously, you leaned into his touch, prompting him to cup the cold skin in his warm palm. “You could go back to sleep if you wanted to.”

You hummed woefully, “Not yet. I missed the light.” Besides that, you wanted to enjoy your sedated mind before it became overwhelmed with a flurry of emotions. Right now, you felt peace, and you deserved to have that kind of silence. Surely the dam would break, but as long as you could hold it off, you just wanted to lay in bed with Spencer. “’m cold,” you mumbled thoughtlessly, thinking of it as a throwaway comment before you remembered who you married.

Spencer had a pile of blankets to his left, and he deftly pulled the top one from the pile and got to work placing it over you. “Is this better?” He asked, timidly tucking the blanket under your side and making sure you were well-covered.

Wincing, you slid your hand beneath the blanket and lifted the side, creating an opening for him to slip into. Your silent invitation was accepted when Spencer kicked his shoes off and joined you in the crowded hospital bed, “Much better.” You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, “Spence?”

“What is it, honey?” He asked, skimming the pad of his thumb over your side, his large hand splayed against your back.

Clenching your left hand into a fist, you sighed, trying to ignore the tears that were pricking your eyes. “Did you find my ring?” You remembered missing it in the ground, but you’d forgotten until just now, your finger once again intolerably bare.

A gentle kiss was pressed to the crown of your head, “Yes.” He twisted back, plucking the familiar ring off of your bedside table and returning it to its rightful home on your ring finger. “It was on the back of your sink in the bathroom,” he explained, twisting the band so the gem was facing out.

Small, sad tears trickled from your ducts. You sniffled, and Spencer’s grip on you changed—not tighter, but firmer as if he had anticipated this moment. The moment when what you had been avoiding finally caught up with you.

“I’ve got you,” he reassured you. You didn’t even have to ask for him to rub small circles on your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. As it had been for years now, Spencer was the only reason you felt safe enough to let your eyes fall shut, and even the darkness of sleep didn’t seem so intimidating when you knew you had him near.

spoiler content warning: miscarriage

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

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burstinn · 10 months ago

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THE EVERY GAY MANS DREAM READER

TALL, BUFF, BIG BOOBS AND ASS everything

Can't find no good pic for this so..

This post includes:Ghost, Graves, Price, Soap, Nikto, Riptide, Krueger, Konig, Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz, Horangi, Makarov, Velikan, Keegan, Roach. In that order

Yes I wrote all those, yes because I haven't written in a while

Notes:

- NSFW and SFW (Bottom male and top male reader mentioned)

-since y'all like the big buff n' tall male reader, made him bigger and taller basically mixed everything I wrote about male reader, tall, big buff, big cake, big boobs it's like a package in one this will probably be the last of this type of reader since running out ideas. It was hard making original headcanons 💔💔.

-Omg I haven't written in a while so like this might get idk boring?

- Yes again headcanons,you're favs

- strictly MALE READER not Gn rn

- readers age is ambiguous but if you can't think and want an age for reader my thinking is somewhere near late 30s or early 40s

- Some of the HCS have where y'all ain't in a relationship some HCS have y'all r in a relationship

- these headcanons definitely are mischaracterized but let me pretend for a bit 💔💔

- Tiktok got to me now I have brainrot language, so Trigger warning wooohh braiinroot

- can't believe this post was long enough to make my phone lag just a lil bit

- When he first saw you of course he was 😦😧😮

GHOST

- Like okay overkill, like you're taller, buffer and probably have a huger cock??? (Something he can investigate.. For purposes..)

Like you also got smoobs?? A plumpy ass??

Like save some for the rest Jesus 😒😒

- Nonstop staring secretly ofc, You be like in a room then you feel someone staring just to see Ghost somewhere in the corner of the room. You can't tell if he's staring or not but being that you are in an empty room.. Yknow it's kind of obv--

- BUT if you are not in an empty room you will not shake off the staring I mean holy shit look at you like 😨😨🍑✋

- You can literally hear him breathing heavily under his mask like how can he control himself when HE a person who is supposed to be looked up to literally and figuratively now has to look up at YOU?? do you know what does to a person??

-That's right it makes them freaky..

-Probably jerks off to you too

- I mean who doesn't want to get railed by a 7 ft tall man? Especially ESPECIALLY when you've been the supposed dominant person your whole life??

- OMG immediately Cumming to the thought

- I mean he won't mind topping you it also drives his own ego seeing a dominant man get absolutely wrecked, imagine the begging and whining

- plus he won't mind being the person who feels protected not always doing the protecting like 💔💔 he wants to feel protected too 😞

GRAVES

- Immediate gay awakening

- thinks making his western accent more prominent would make you think he sounds more hot

- Will dress up as a cowboy and will will ask (beg) you to do it as well

- because you know.. Hat thing.. Riding.. Graves grabs your hat puts it on his head or Graves grabs his hat puts it on your head, either way one of you is riding something and it ain't a horse

- because of the amazing quote on who ever came up w/ that is "save a horse ride a cowboy"

- Graves is obviously the type of guy to look at your ass and whistle maybe slap it, nah definitely slap it

PRICE

- He thinks of you like a bear

- like You're soo- big and cuddly? Definitely intimidating

- I mean you're near the same age bracket so it's not bad to have some.. Thoughts right?

- You're definitely hairy underneath or not but pls be he wants pubes to tickle his nose

- if you don't have a beard for reader then he would KILL to see have a beard like aughh perfect bear look, if you have a beard immediately cumming(/j) or (not /j)

- Like imagine you and price who are basically like bears like parent bears and and you the other 141 boys are like your children 🥺🥺

SOAP

- DEFINITELY became more gayer

- errrmmm.. Like his eyes are BASICALLY near like chest height

- bumping into you and his face touches your chest like omgg.. Such an accident 💔💔

- Obviously flirting about going to pound town

- like imagine You and Him? In a relationship? Having the most feral sex??? Like it's obv jokes (it's not)

- He would also do anything to see a big man whimper like a little bicth slut, who wouldn't want to see a demon of a man roll his eyes back and whine like a wheoeororoe❤, I mean if he tops I'd imagine him saying "cmon you're a big boy ain't cha'? You can handle a few more inches". While you are also getting the malevolent backshots.

- He would also want a big strong arm to man handle him as he takes the most vigorous backshots known to man

- Have you ever thought or seen a very tall wall like 10 or 11 ft high and you being you, Soap asks (demands) for you to carry him on your shoulder because he wants to see what's over the wall

NIKTO

- intimidating guy and intimidating guy typa relationship but your not in a relationship.. Yet.

- watch him watch you

- shows off his knife collection to you, yes I think he has a knife collection and he will show it to people that he wants to impress (he wants to get freaky with you)

- I like to think if he strips off the gear he gives the most desperate kind of touchy hug, to those he feels close with of course which is you

- lucky you

RIPTIDE

- Offers to teach you how to swim yknow just in case

- there is none, he wants to see you wet

- tells you to wear a white shirt and shorts because its Essential for training, it's a lie he wants to see the water wet your clothes making it stick to your body.. Yknow the white shirt showing whats underneath and the shorts outlining what package you've been hiding even though you weren't really hiding it

- He gets too distracted, the others are too, he forgets how to teach you

KRUEGER

- indefinite eye contact while your doing it

- likes staring into them, if you get shy and look away he will grab your jaw and make you have eye contact with him

- angry fierce ahh eyes

- he's an emotional grumpy guy, rip off his mask and aggressively kiss his face

- He wants the after sex laying on the chest while the other is rubbing their head, goes both ways.

- trace his tattoos and compliment them the bedroom will be locked the whole day, trust 🙏

KÖNIG

- The same as Ghosts

- Imagine being the one to get carried instead of the one carrying

- König would definitely come up to you and ask to be carried while you kiss his face multiple times❤❤

- Imagine how hard he gets because you have to look down at him to talk like HNGRHRRGGGRGRRR

- Definitely likes giving you homemade arts and crafts gear because you know.. The headcanon where König makes his own gear and what if he does it for other people too as gifts💔

- likes seeing you wear his mask it makes him imagine what people see when they see König definitely a change of perspective. He can see how intimidating you are and he gets hard.

ALEJANDRO

- will definitely compliment you in Spanish when talking about you with other people even when you're in front or behind him.

- I mean you don't understand Spanish right?

- if you don't, you're oblivious and only just watch curiously on what he's talking about. Buuut but but if you do understand you don't tell him you undeestrand this thing literally feeds your ego like Alejandro thinks of you this way? 🥺🥺

- Thigh riding type of guy idc who thigh riding

RUDY

- everytime I look at him he looks like a soft vanilla type

- I know he's a strong guy but look at him

- He wants soft sex 😞😞

- He also likes being complimented if you whisper a praise to him when he's doing ANYTHING. Imagine the babies you'd both have together.

- He likes toddlers and babies and if you do too a plus for him,makes him fall even more 💯💯

GAZ

- One time he Got injured and was sitting on the floor and then He saw you running towards him he simultaneously screamed in fear and how hard he got

- Likes to style your clothes, If he was off the military right now he really really likes fashion and if he sees you.. You can't fashion and he sees you wearing.. That, He's appalled, horrified, mortified I'm over exaggerating. But he is now in charge of your fashion now, But if you do know how to style you both will share tips with eachother. You can share different tips too ❤❤

- drags you in his barracks and strips you of your clothes except shorts.. And he's telling you this because he wants to "style" you.

- We both know damn well that's an excuse to get the boombayah freaky on.. He's just to shy to tell you upfront or he thinks it's fun to tease you like that before you get freaky

HORANGI

- gets freaky..

- Like he understands the women who get all giggly and nervous when they see a big man who can destroy them (ignore König 💔)

- is definitely not above thigh crushing, boob crushing, face sitting he'd do all at as long as it's you

- Like one time he pretended he broke his leg and won't let anyone else carry him until you came, acting all princessy and shit as you carry him bridal style to the medics

- He felt like a prince omg

- will definitely get on you and treat your real life size anime men boobs as a squishy toy

- How long is it and will he be able to take it??? Who knows he will find out!! Basically searched how long can someone's cock be if they are built like a god and is 7ft tall in Google

- someone gotta tell me Horangi's height and basic Google searching ain't doing it for me I'm too lazy to search for one line of a spicy headcanon line mb

MAKAROV

- You're basically ascary dog he owns

- You're tall and intimidating

- You can get information out of people quickly

- And he's not above telling you to torture anyone with a strength and body like yours

- most of the time you get the info done and folded

- Makarov uses you for intimidation and strength buuttt if you ever THINK of betraying him he already has a plan to get rid of someone like you

- Can and will turn you into one of those supersoldiers

- Will make you murder people right in front of him for entertainment and will rewward you!

- you know what reward it will be, Because when he asked what reward you wanted you got a bit to freaky you thought you be dead rn but nah he agreed actually he seems to enjoy it more than you do..

VELIKAN

- He's the dog in this one have you heard his voice?? Rough as hell imagine hearing him grunt

- Sounds cocky as hieeeellll too

- Would definitely like showing off to you since he wants to look cool in front of you

- Like you seen velikans skins?? Definitely wears the best ones to show you he can not only be a trained assassin But can also dress cool as hell

- If you compliment him it like makes his day, will not stop thinking about it

- Like a cool person complimenting a cool person like him? Ego boost (It's him feeling gay)

- This guys definitely a smoker (headcanon!!) Because voice sounds like he smoked 100 packs in 1 day and doesn't drink an ounce of water /jk I love him he's so hot.

- So if you want a smoke he purposely hides the lighter saying.. 'Oh no I asked someone elses lighter.. I don't have mine right now' or like 'my lighter ran out of fuel ohh

- So you have to put the cigarette in your mouth as you touch it with his cigarette to light ur own that type of trope 💫💫

- If you're not a smoker he will try his best to not smoke in front of you will use fresh mints to hide his breath of smoke

- after sex he will want a smoke, outside he goes or you both share the one cigarette

KEEGAN

- is it wrong to want to be choked by a big buff meaty arm?

- yknow the tiktok thing where girls put a ribbon on their boyfriends arm and the girls just put their face in the middle as their faces get squished??

- Yeah he wants that but gay

- will try to compare dick sizes even though yours is OBVIOUSLY the superior one!!

- Heads or tails on who's bottoming tonight

- Would like to be wrapped around your arms if you are hugging or sleeping keeps him warm

- Especially when it's snowing will force you to hug with him. ESPECIALLY when your in a mission and your in the tents he will definitely force you to hug it out with him

ROACH

- remember the other tall HC where the reader wasn't taller than König

- yes roach does the same thing here.. He's crawling on you like a tree

- If he wants a kiss instead of asking he crawls up to you and kisses you

- definitely likes to sit on your shoulders as you walk around, he feels tall like that

- this is like a distance relationship 💔💔

- Likes it when you bend over to talk to him also when you bend over when youre doing sum since it's slappable opportunity

- because bent over = double D cake will be slapped

- How will it fit? By the power of friendship of course!!

- probably more of say gex desperation but you get it

- Obviously switch switch

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