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httpiastri · 3 months

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snowy mountains & hot baths – op81

you, oscar, and an empty spa can only lead to one thing.

genre: very short smut 😶

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: uhhh public sex.... unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it yall!!

author's note: happy valentines day :) wish i had oscar here to celebrate with me... anyway. idk about this one guys 🫠🫠 started out alright but then i hated half of it so i deleted it and rewrote it but it just got worse. and i know that if i don't just post it rn, i will likely procrastinate and never end up posting it at all. yay. hope u enjoy anyway! i also have another oscar fic done that's at least a bit better than this lol.

f1 masterlist

18+ content below, minors do not interact!

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a low groan leaves oscar's lips when he dips his feet in the warm water. he instantly turns around, eyes finding you standing by the door you've just walked through to get to this outdoor area of the spa. he holds his hand out towards you, beckoning for you to step closer.

"it feels so good," he promises, gaze following your every move as you let your robe slide down your arms. his eyes widen when you reveal your newly bought bikini – papaya orange, of course – and a shudder passes through his body at the sight of the tiny material trying it's best to cover you up.

he thanks all the gods he can think of that there's no one else around.

goosebumps grow across your skin now that you're exposed to the sub-zero temperatures, toes curling in the short layer of snow on the deck. you stroll over to him, making sure to let your hips sway a little extra with every step because you know he's watching and you know what he's thinking. the sight of him gulping as his eyes wander up and down your body can only mean one thing.

taking his hand in yours, you let him pull you into the water with him, letting out a content sound when the water envelops your legs and brings the temperature of your body up again. oscar gives your hand a squeeze and leans back, his back hitting the water as he submerged into it. you dive in right after him, making a few strokes beneath the surface before coming up for air again. your hands come up to wipe away the water from your face, before brushing over your hair and tying it up in a messy bun on top of your head.

"this is just what i needed," your boyfriend says, drawing out an agreeing hum from you. it's been a long day – a long week, really – filled to the brim with skiing, hot chocolate drinking, skiing, cable car-rides, and then more skiing. oscar doesn't usually get a lot of time off work, and when he does, he wants to make the most of it. and as his partner, he thinks you should be doing the same, and that's why he's woken you up in the early hours every morning this last week, practically bouncing from how much he aches to go out in the swiss alps yet again.

the hot tub is big enough to swim around in, but oscar makes his way to the side and sits down on the built-in seat, arms stretching out and resting on the edge of the pool. you swim over to him, easily slipping onto his lap and letting your hands rest on his shoulders. oscar tenses up when you sit on him, and you're not surprised by the length already poking up at you – he's just a man, after all – but you decide not to do anything to acknowledge it just yet.

"it's really beautiful here, don't you think?" you ask, looking to your side. the sun has only just set, so the little village isn't completely dark yet. the moon above your heads casts a soft hue over the mountains you've spent all week conquering, stars twinkling among the tops.

"not as beautiful as you, though." there's barely any lightning out here other than the little candles scattered across the floor, but you see the fire in oscar's gaze clearly when you look back at him. he's staring at you like you're the most perfect work of art, the most beautiful thing to ever exist – and your expression matches his, because he truly is your favorite thing to look at in the world. your heart flutters at the contrast between how cute he looks with a few locks of his long fringe curling along his forehead, and how incredibly sexy his body looks with the little droplets of water decorating his muscular chest. he's just stunning.

"you really did a great job with planning and booking all of this, you know," you start. "i may have complained quite a bit when you dragged me out of bed at six am, but... it's all been perfect."

your hands find the space just below his jaw, and it takes all of your strength not to blatantly stare at his thick neck when you feel the muscles under your touch.

"well, perfect except for the fact that my legs are so sore right now."

oscar chuckles at this confession, hands leaving the edge of the pool and dipping into the water instead. "let me help you out with that, then..."

a jolt of electricity shoots down your spine when his palms meet your bare thighs, fingers pressing into the skin and stroking you softly. your eyes flutter closed, loving every second of his massage and growing hotter when his hands make their way further and further up. it doesn't take long before oscar can't hold back anymore, reaching up to press his lips against yours.

you sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself further towards him, your crotch brushing against his as a result. the moan he lets out is so hot that you instinctively begin grinding down against him, wanting to hear more.

oscar gets the hint, but finds himself reaching for your shoulders, holding you back as he leans out of the kiss. your lips chase after him, a frown taking over your face when he doesn't give in. you open your eyes to look at him.

"are you sure... that you want to..." oscar's voice is low but genuine; he knows you aren't a fan of exhibitionism, and that these situations usually only make you uncomfortable.

but the look in your eyes is impossible to misinterpret. "there's no one around..."

he looks around the area once more just to make sure. choosing to go to the spa at 8pm, the exact time when the restaurant at the hotel was the most crowded, was oscar's best idea yet.

he doesn't say anything else. he just grabs the back of your neck, pushing you down to his lips yet again. it's more rushed now, messy kisses pressed against your lips and his tongue swiping across your bottom lip hastily. his other hand caresses all the way down your back, gives your butt a quick squeeze, and then moves to your front instead. his fingers trace the edge of your bikini before dipping inside of it, finding your clit with ease.

your upper body is completely leaning onto him by now, little sounds slipping past your lips as he starts drawing circles onto your already sensitive bud. in no time, he's slipped past your clit, one finger sliding into your core and pumping you a couple of times before being joined by another finger. you can't help but clench around him, exhaling into the kiss.

"please, oscar..." you whine against his lips, and oscar nods, pulling out of you and breaking the kiss. he holds your hips away a little to make space for his hand undoing the knot that holds up his swim trunks, before pulling his dick out of them. he lifts you up, fingers pushing your bikini bottoms to the side but pausing when his tip meets your core. he waits for your nod of consent before finally entering you.

the water helps him glide into you, a throaty moan rumbling from his throat when he bottoms you out. he doesn't give you even a second to adjust, hands on your hips pulling you up before sinking you onto him again.

"fuck," he lets out, throwing his head back when you start to roll your hips against his. "you feel so good..."

you lean forward, forehead resting on the bend of his neck as you bounce up and down on him. your hands move to the back of his head, fingers getting lost in his locks, and it doesn't take long before your movements get sloppier. you gasp when oscar begins thrusting up into you, meeting your downward movements in a steady rhythm.

his grip on your hips grows firmer, rough fingers pressing into your skin and surely leaving marks for tomorrow. he's getting closer, too – you can tell by the string of moans he's letting out in between a bunch of swearwords – and you use your last bit of energy to pick up your pace and help him out. your walls contract around him when you come, and you feel him reach his own high not long after, twitching and shooting into you as you ride out your orgasms.

his hands are more gentle now, brushing up and down your back and following the bumps of your spine. when you finally gain the energy to speak, your words vibrate against his skin. "well, we're never coming back to this spa again." you lean back slightly, looking up at him for the first time in a while. "or the town, for that matter."

his blissed-out eyes meet yours, soft and glossy as he raises his eyebrows. "why's that?"

his flushed cheeks make him look so innocent, but his heaving chest tells another story. "did you not see the cameras?" you question.

"oh, you think we're the first ones to do this here?" you gasp at his wording, splashing some water his way. he laughs. "what, do you really? i reckon this happens here at least once every day. maybe even more."

"oscar!"

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rollingsins · 9 months

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all hers, part xxvi

summary: In the aftermath of everything, back to Woodsboro YN and Tara go.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this is a bit of a nothing chapter, apologies in advance. This is also the penultimate chapter, part of why I've been procrastinating so long. but alas, all good things must come to an end ;'))

The trip back to Woodsboro hospital is smoother than anticipated.

The morphine does wonders for your pain, but not so much for your coherence. By the time you’re rolled out into the ambulance, you’ve told Tara how pretty she is at least six times and declared Sam ‘best sister-in-law in the world’ at least three.

Thankfully, Nurse Rosario is nowhere to be found.

Although Tara had mellowed slightly after your last talk, you’re not keen for a repeat. After she’d plied you with enough morphine to take down a horse, she’d disappeared. Perhaps heeding the warning of Tara’s stormy glare.

Tara rides in the ambulance with you, her hand pressed in yours. Sam sits beside you (Dewey had re-romandeered the car they’d stolen with a sigh and a forgiving smile).

By the time you’re rolled into Woodsboro hospital, it’s near noon. Your Dad’s insurance has paid for a private room for him, your Mom and you and so you tilt your neck eagerly as you’re rolled onto the floor, searching each face for the familiarity of your parents.

“Your parents are here,” Says one of the EMTs, noticing the way your head tilts around madly, “Your Mom is getting a scan done, your Dad is with her. They’re both okay. They’ll be here soon.”

“Thanks,” You say, though it doesn’t sate your anxiety. That won’t be gone until they’re both here with you.

The floor is awash with busy doctors and nurses.

Most don’t give you a second look.

Except for one.

Nurse Dawson is standing near one of the nurses stations when you’re rolled into your room.

You see her first, though Tara doesn’t notice her.

And when Nurse Dawson turns and sees your girlfriend, her face falls.

Only for a moment. Her face conflicts, but the professionalism wins out.

She straightens her shoulders.

And you can tell by the look on her face she’s the one assigned to you.

Tara smiles at you as the EMTs settle you into your new bed. Oblivious to the carnage she causes.

It’s like some sort of reverse superpower.

The ability to somehow irritate every medical professional assigned to her.

You sigh and lean back into your pillows as the nurse approaches.

“YN. Ms Carpenter,” She says politely enough, “Nice to see you again.”

Tara looks over impatient. You can tell by the lack of recognition in her face she doesn’t recognise the nurse. Instead, she looks over to Sam.

“Sure,” Says Tara, nonplussed, “I’m going to need another bed in here for my sister. She spent last night on a couple of plastic chairs.”

You look around the room.

There’s two empty beds - presumably for your mother and father. It’s cramped in here, more so than usual with your family reunion. You can tell before the Nurse speaks Tara isn’t going to like her answer.

“We don’t have beds to spare for visitors, Tara,” Nurse Dawson says pointedly, “Perhaps you and your sister could come back in the morning.”

Tara stares a moment.

Then her eyes narrow.

You tug gently at her hand trying to draw her attention.

“Babe,” You touch her arm gently, “Maybe it’s not a terrible idea. You and Sam could both go home and get some rest.”

“Absolutely not,” Tara says, voice indignant, “I’m not leaving you alone, baby.”

“Mom and Dad will be here with me,” You assure, but Tara’s turned her glare towards you, “Seriously babe. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Says Tara, voice final. She shoots a look over to Nurse Dawson, “I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”

Your Mom is wheeled back in first.

You sit up in your bed so abruptly you almost knock Tara to the floor.

Your Mom is misty-eyed, gaze a little unfocused, undoubtedly strung out on pain medication. Her eyes well when she sees you, hand twitching as she sits a little taller in her seat.

“Mom,” You croak, “Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, darling,” She says. The nurse wheels her into the slot beside you and she reaches for your hand, “Are you okay?”

Sam wanders off to leave you to your reunion, but Tara stays nestled into your side. Your Mom’s leg is gone, and you can’t help the flood of tears that burst through each time your gaze wanders down.

“It’s alright, YN,” Your Mom assures, “I’m alive. Dad’s alive. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Your Dad follows in, shortly after.

He’s in a wheelchair, looking so frail with dark circles under his eyes and milky, pale skin. He squeezes your hand and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

And then he surveys Tara.

She’s sitting up now, your hand still pressed firmly in hers. He watches quietly for a moment. You almost think he’s about to ask her to leave when he reaches out, and outstretches his hand.

Tara blinks in surprise.

Your eyebrows furrow.

Your Dad looks serious. The kind of seriousness usually accompanied by a raise in tone or the promise of his shotgun. But there’s none of that now.

Hesitantly, Tara takes his hand.

“Thank you,” He says, as she clasps her hand in his. He shakes it firmly, “Thank you for saving my daughter.”

Tara doesn’t say anything.

You look at your Dad. His voice is earnest, his brows pinched.

He looks open.

Like he’s about to cry.

“Dad,” You say, voice soft.

He squeezes Tara’s hand once, then lets her go. Slowly, he wheels towards you, eyes misty.

“You,” He says as he pulls you into a hug, “Are never leaving my side again.”

He pulls back slightly and thinks.

“Or hers.”

When the dust settles and your Dad has got the last of his dewey, sappy words out, the room moves back into normality.

Normality now, it seems, is absurdity.

Tara and your Dad are watching a ball game together. You survey them, eyebrow raised, sharing a look of bewilderment with Sam as she walks back into the room.

“Hey,” Says Sam, tray of donuts in hand. Tara and your Dad don’t look up from the TV, “What are we watching?”

“Giants,” Says Tara. She lounges back into your hospital bed, nestling her head on your shoulder, “Flores is killing it.”

“About damn time,” Grumbles your Dad, “He spent the last game striking out.”

“Speaking of striking out,” You say, eyebrow raised at Sam, “Did you speak to Nurse Dawson about a spare bed?”

Sam shakes her head.

“It’s fine,” She says, “I’d rather sleep in my own bed anyway. Besides,”

She eyes your Mom and Dad.

“It seems like a family affair in here anyway. You’re sure you don’t want to come with me, Tara? The nurse seemed pretty insistent that no more beds would fit.”

“I’m sure.” Tara says, voice flat. She curls a protective arm around your waist.

You flash Sam a small smile, “It’s fine, Sam. She can sleep with me. She’s little, she fits.”

Sam purses her lips.

Tara glares up at you.

“I am not little.” She says, frowning.

You press a kiss to her lips.

“Okay, then big guy, better go home with Sam.” You tease.

She pouts. Nudges her face into your neck.

“I fit,” She tells Sam, and then turns her attention back to the ball game.

Sam makes her departure, shortly thereafter. Your Dad falls asleep midway through the game, your Mom is wheeled off for an MRI at just the moment Tara’s friends make an appearance.

Liv’s bought flowers, Chad and Mindy follow in with wide eyes. They hug you, settle down into the seats by your bed, careful not to wake your snoring Father.

“Hey,” Mindy says, “How are you feeling?”

“She’s okay,” Says Tara, smoothing your hair back, “Now the morphines kicked in, right baby?”

“Right,” You echo, sitting up slightly.

Liv smiles.

“These are for you,” She says, “Tara said they were your favorite.”

“Thanks Liv,” You say with a smile.

Mindy settles on the chair to your left, Chad and Liv hover near the end of your bed.

Mindy leans over to you, a little wide eyed.

“The Sheriff,” She says, chewing her lip, “Damn it. I should have guessed.”

“I just don’t understand,” Says Liv, eyebrows pinched, “Why would she kill her own son?”

Tara shifts, uncomfortably. Mindy rolls her eyes.

“She didn’t kill her own son, dumbass,” Says Mindy, “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallow.

“There’s no body” Mindy says, leaning forward in her seat, a little excited, “When Ghostface kills, there’s always a body.”

Liv blinks back at her.

“What if…” Mindy says, eyes squinted like she’s thinking hard, “What if Wes isn’t dead at all. What if that’s just what he wanted us all to think? What if there’s a third Ghostface, and it’s him?”

Your heart hammers.

A wave of nausea rises at the theory, but before you can voice your displeasure, Chad beats you too it.

“Give it up, Nancy Drew,” He says, shaking his head, “You haven’t been right a single time. All those powerpoints for nothing. I think it’s time to pack it in.”

Mindy pouts, slumping back in her seat.

“I could have been right,” She says, but Chad raises a hand.

“But you weren’t. Jesus. Leave it alone.”

He pats your hand, not unkindly, “The important thing is Ghostface is gone and YN and Tara are okay.”

“Thanks Chad,” You say.

He leans back in his seat, eyebrows pinched.

“I just don’t get why she did it at all,” Says Chad, tilting his head in a frown, “Same with Richie. Why? It all seems so pointless.”

Tara stirs, pressing a comforting kiss to the side of your neck.

“That’s for the police to figure out,” She says, squeezing your hand, “For now? Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

The days pass by in a blur of morphine, and nausea and the blare of Tara and your Dad’s newfound hobby of watching sports games together.

Tara sleeps at your side, dotes on you like a baby bird who has fallen from the nest.

Sam stops by in the afternoons, Nurse Dawson avoids the two of you as best she can, coming into your room wordlessly and appraising Tara with a resentful glare everytime she changes your bandages.

Dewey returns to take your statement, takes Tara and Sam away for hours to question them, but ultimately, the case is clear cut.

The Sheriff is Ghostface, Richie her accomplice, and by the seventh day of your hospital stay, Dewey informs you the police are closing the case as solved.

It would be worrying - the police’s utter lack of comprehension - had it not been in your favor.

So you nod your head and squeeze Tara’s hand as you accept his apology for the Woodsboro police failing you both.

“We’ll be suing the police department,” Says your Father curtly, before Dewey can make his exit, “For gross negligence and endangering the life of my daughter.”

You sigh.

Tara cocks her head, as if she’s about to list off a variety of law firms she’s learned of through her extensive research before you squeeze her shoulder, and pull her back down to you.

Your Mother huffs before you can say anything.

“We’re not suing anybody,” Says your Mom firmly. She offers Dewey the smallest of smiles, “Thank you, Deputy Riley.”

“We should be suing the police,” Tara grumbles later, when she’s helping you into the back of Sam’s car.

You’d be discharged by a happy Nurse Dawson. Your Mom and Dad would stay a little longer in the hospital while you slept over at Tara’s for a few nights.

Hospitals give you the creeps, and you didn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary.

Tara slips your seatbelt around your waist and you pull her in for a brief kiss.

“What’s all that about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?” You say quietly as Sam slips into the drivers seat and Tara falls quiet.

Your stomach is still a little sore - you feel it now as Tara and Sam help you up the staircase to her bedroom.

“Watch it Sam, you neanderthal,” Tara snaps as Sam almost steps on your foot as they're half-carrying you to bed.

You scold her if you had the strength. Instead, you focus all your energy into trying not to focus on the searing pain in your side as Tara slips you into her sheets.

“Sorry, YN,” Sam says quietly before Tara shoos her out.

You’re sweating a little, gone is the morphine. Nurse Dawson had put you on something else - something a little less addictive, and a little more prone to letting the pain in.

You groan as Tara slides into the spot next to you, soothing your pain with the press of her lips.

“Does it hurt, baby?” She asks, brown eyes mournful, “Do you want me to get you your pills?”

You shake your head.

The pain stings, like a dull ache, but it doesn’t hurt so much you need more. You touch her arm, nestle yourself into her side.

“Just stay with me and I’ll be fine,” You say, as she curls her arm around your waist. She leans down and places a protective kiss to the top of your head.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” She admits, softly. You lean up and she presses the softest kiss to your lips, “Do you want me to see if Chad can get you something stronger?”

“No babe,” You chide, gently, “I’m fine.”

Tara thinks.

“Do you want me to go down on you?” She asks, hopeful, “That might make you feel better.”

You laugh.

“Might make me feel better, or you feel better?” You ask.

“Both,” She says with a pout.

You lean up to her, press another warm kiss to her lips.

“Just stay with me,” You say, “As long as you’re here I’ll be fine.”

Tara rubs her hand along the stretch of your back.

“Okay,” She says, voice soft, “I’ll just stay here with you.”

#all hers #ghostface!tara #jenna ortega #scream #scream vi #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x yn #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x yn #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #fanfic #mine

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lyney-s-bitch · 1 month

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two great minds came together and came up with this request: neuvilette as a priest (see the genshin halloween art) x female goth!reader that seduces him 🤭 MAKE IT UNHOLYYYYYY

yeahhh I’ve been procrastinating this for quite a while LMAO, but I didn’t wanna leave you guys hanging - so just take it and run with it😀🏃🏻‍♀️‍➡️

also I’m rusty af and had no ✨imagination✨ here don’t @ me

—————

Priest!Neuvillette x (fem) Goth!Reader || vaguely 18+

• Neuvillette certainly was the type to be drawn to innocence and purity, absolutely nothing dark or sinful, God forbid

• frankly, when you first came to his church, he had to overthink his entire existence

• part of him had hoped for you to come back soon, and the other part had hoped to never see you again so he wouldn’t be forced to go down that rabbit hole

• but you didn’t do him that favor, I mean how could you? there’s no way you’d be able to resist this gorgeous man regularly preaching his faith to the "sinners"

• everything about him made you want to ruin the respectably imposing yet incredibly gentle man, made you want to see him lose all of his composure just for you

• you knew he was certainly no stranger to tears, albeit silent ones, but whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help craving to hear him cry out for you, for your touch and care

• he instilled the strong desire in you to make him forget all about his God - you were determined to be the only thing plaguing his mind from now on

• Neuvillette wasn’t actively practicing celibacy, he merely had other things on his mind rather than such impure things… well, up until now

• and when you showed up one night in order to confess your unholy attraction to him?? it was as if a long-corroded dam inside of him had broken, and every fiber of his being felt like it had suddenly been enlightened in the most obscure way possible, thoughts of him doing… things to you flooding his mind like an unstoppable cascade

• he couldn’t help but wonder… what would your soft skin feel like under the touch of his hands? what would you taste like, sound like? what would you look like, all disheveled beneath him?

• yet the sane and rational parts of his mind hindered him from actually acting upon these thoughts himself - he wouldn’t allow himself to act against his strong sense of responsibility

• but what would happen if you were to push his buttons just right…?

~~~

…he might just indulge you in a moment of weakness, allowing himself to be greedy and for you to corrupt him just this once

…he might allow you to slide your sinfully sharp nails beneath his robe, run them along his skin in a gentle, yet undoubtedly demanding manner

…he might let you hear his soft noises of enjoyment whenever you‘d get near a particularly sensitive area, whenever you’d bury your hands in his silky hair and tug on it ever so slightly to make sure you still had his full, undivided attention

…he might touch you in all the places you’ve been craving him, carefully and meticulously following your instructions and letting you guide him through the entire process in order to please you to the best of his abilities

…he might tentatively run his tongue along your most sensitive spots, in a hesitant yet exhilarated manner, his every movement getting more daring with every sweet noise of pleasure he’d be able to draw from your lips

…he might not let up until he would be satisfied, which would only be the case when he’d be certain you were absolutely spent and could not bear another touch

~~~

• …or he might not.

#I highkey hate this but eh #just… take it #blame my meticulous sense of realism #I physically cannot write what I deem ooc #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #iudex neuvillette #neuvillette #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x reader #genshin hcs #my writing stuff

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sakasakiii · 1 year

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ohhHHHh brother,,, is this another sketch dump after an undisclosed number of weeks of absence and online inactivity? yessir it sure is but i sure hope it won't stay that way 🤞 apologies again for disappearing, but im on break for the next couple of months for the summer so i have a lot planned and im hoping to catch up with... everything!

i put a little status update under the cut but feel free to skip that cuz its just me explaining some things ive had on my mind hoho 😙😙 happy 1st of june everyone!!!

a lot of things have been happening irl that im still getting used to, but thank you for always being very patient 🙇‍♀️ i apologise for disappearing again after i promised id start being more active again in... januARY??? man oh man the year is passing by tooooo fast holy smokes

i havent had much time to be on social media since then, but ive gotten some email notifs from ppl sending in such kind messages via inbox, and its really made me go AUGHHHHH in the midst of whatever im doing cuz it means the world to me 🥺❤️ if youre someone who's sent in something over the past year since i started hiatus in march 2023, IM REALLY SORRY AGAIN 😭😭 i always try to keep up with my policy of one-art-piece-per-ask, but because of that sometimes i just procrastinate a lot or get stuck on finding relevant things to draw as thanks. ive been brainstorming some ideas, though, and its my goal to get through a hefty sum of em before things get real busy again in a few months 😤

im really sorry again for being so inconsistent this past year, but im gonna do my best! i hope everyone on here's been doing good and im raring to see everything new with silm tumblr ❤️❤️ also if anyone has any recs for any new content pls feed me for i am starvedddd

#silmarillion #maedhros #the silmarillion fanart #fingon #sketch dump #new year new me more like new year new mae(dhros)#there is an unusual amount of blondes in this month's sketch dump tho hmmmmm #does coming to appreciate glorfindel and finrod more mean one has grown up? maybe.... just maybe... 👉👈#i wanna make more content w/ galadriel and her family cause i rewatched the lotr trilogy with family and it got me all emotional again augh #anyways i also hv a new fixation on sauron and the maiar AND fullbody character design so.... thats something i have planned?#well feel free to request anything as always 😙 cuz if i have no prompts i will just draw copious amounts of kidnap fam like an insane perso #finrod #silm #silm art #the silmarillion #house of finwe #galadriel #elrond #maglor #tar mairon #sauron #glorfindel #ecthelion #turgon #elenwe #feanorians #amras #sons of feanor #ambarussa #sakasakart

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the-au-thor · 3 months

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Must've been the Wind | Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

based on Alec Benjamin's original song 《Must've been the Wind》

Synopsis: You. Spencer. A strange noise and Spencer's inquisitive nature will lead both to the obligation to cross the boundaries that fear and shyness have forced you to draw.

Word Count: 1k.

TW: Read this please! We're gonna explore some sensitive topics.

〔Part 1〕〔Part 2〕

The days passed quickly after that, especially since the case had been tough. When he returned after those days of work, it was another stormy, windy, and icy day in Virginia.

He had decided to occupy his time by doing what he had been procrastinating for a while: organizing his library and, well, the entire apartment.

It was in the midst of the bustling cleaning work when he heard shouts from your apartment. At first, he tried to ignore it. It could be anything, right? Plus, you didn't seem to have been very comfortable with him the last time you talked, for some strange reason. It wasn't until he heard a too loud thud coming from the same place that he decided to set aside the bleach bottle and rubber gloves to leave the apartment and go upstairs with a knot of worry in his stomach.

He knew he shouldn't be interested in other people's affairs, but the problem is that there were certain things he couldn't ignore, and those were the signs. The crying, the arguing, and your clear and evasive response were signs that something was wrong.

When he climbed the stairs and went to knock on the door, almost as if by a vision, you opened it. Just enough for there to be space to see you. Your eyes were teary again, and your lips swollen. Your slightly reddened nose accusingly shone; you had been crying.

"Hey, I know I might sound pushy, but I heard loud noises again, and I just wanted to know if you're okay," he said.

You nervously bit your lips, and Spencer saw your eyes filling with tears that you refused to shed.

"Yeah, I know, but listen," you pointed to the ceiling, "it's raining heavily again, maybe...” You paused, nervously swaying and clutching your vest tightly around your body, as if protecting yourself from something. “…maybe there's a leak in the attic of the building and the wind is blowing through there. I'll talk to Larry, and he'll send a technician to check it out."

The sleeve of your vest slid down, revealing your reddened wrist.

Spencer frowned with concern. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked alarmed.

You quickly lowered your eyes to your wrist and covered it up. You disguised your distress with a smile and denied, pretending to be unconcerned. "Yeah, it's just a bruise I got while working out at this gym I'm going to. Someone is clumsy lifting weights," you laughed, "it's nothing," you reassured him, "it'll heal."

Spencer didn't believe a word you said.

"Okay," he finally nodded, "I'm sorry to be a broken record, but when I said you could call me for anything you need, I meant it."

You smiled without showing your teeth and then looked over your shoulder. "I know, thank you," you looked back at him, "Now I have to go back inside, but thanks again for caring. I guess it's part of the job."

It wasn't just that, but it was part of who he was. But he chose to nod and bid you farewell. He returned to his apartment equally or more worried and uneasy.

He decided to find a way to show you that you could trust him. A creative way that only you would understand.

"I think my neighbor is suffering PTSD and is being abused," he announced one day at work while sharing coffee with his friends from the BAU.

J.J stopped just before taking a sip from her cup and looked at him for a few seconds, trying to understand Spencer's concern.

"Have you tried offering her help?" Spencer nodded. "And what did she say?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line and then clicked his tongue. "She doesn't trust me. I've heard her cry, and I've seen bruises on her arms when I go to make sure she's okay..."

"Wait, son, have you gone to her apartment to see if she's okay?" Spencer nodded slowly before seeing Derek curl his lips into a wolfish smile. "Charmy."

Spencer frowned and turned to Emily and J.J.

"What do you think?"

Emily, taking Spencer's dilemma seriously, took a sip of her coffee and adopted a seriousness befitting an agent with her reputation.

"It's okay; you've tried the direct method, and clearly it's not working. She's scared and probably very ashamed if someone is really abusing her. Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Ex-boyfriend," Spencer clarified. "My neighbor, Mrs. Phillips, says he sometimes comes to visit."

J.J pursed her lips as if she genuinely regretted what she heard.

"The cycle of violence."

"If he's her ex, it's a step; a woman leaving her abuser is a very vulnerable person, and if you say he comes back occasionally, we're talking about a charismatic and very manipulative person," Derek raised his eyebrow and chuckled half-heartedly.

"Maybe you could try something more subtle; smile at her and ask her how she's doing," Emily added. "Actions speak louder than words; if you've already gone to check on her, you're already proving that she can trust you."

"I'd tell you to send her a letter; but you might confuse her if she's vulnerable," Rossi intervened for the first time. "And I guess you don't want to hit on her yet..."

"I-I n-never. Uh-I don't want that, I-I'm just worried,"

"Sure," Emily murmured just as she drank coffee.

"Of course," J.J spoke. "Use what you know to gain her trust; remember that sometimes even the details help us feel safe with someone."

Sensory Stimulation, he had thought; something she would hear and relate to calmness and safety.

So he decided to go to the record store and went straight to the counter.

Randall, the guy behind the counter, looked at him through his thick red-framed glasses with a tired expression and sighed.

"For the tenth time this month; no, your order hasn't arrived yet," he said impatiently. "Stop being a cliché for your own nerd class and put your compulsive obsession and your weird fetish for Beethoven somewhere deep in your mind where I can't see it anymore," he requested.

"That song that goes 'When you're in trouble or somethinglikethat, I'll be your friend.... etcetera, etcetera, I'll help you carry on.'"

He frowned. "You mean Bill Withers?"

Spencer frowned.

"I don't know who that is, does he sing that song?"

The man in front of him looked almost offended.

"You say it as if we were talking about the composers of Sesame Street."

Spencer pursed his thoughtful lips.

"Is that an indie band?"

The man grunted, staring at him as if he couldn't believe what was in front of him.

"Look Spencer, I've learned to put up with you because you're a customer, and because no matter how much I could kick you out of here, you being an agent is still intimidating, but I have much better things to do than stand here listening to you terribly offend all of pop culture history..."

"Randall."

"...And good musicians and bad musicians, and damn it, even me. We're not friends, but I've been serving you for years, I thought there was a buyer-provider relationship here"

Spencer pointed at him.

"You call me a nerd at every opportunity. That's not respect, Randall, it's condescension. Now, what about the song?"

"Well, but you have to tell me why you suddenly have an interest in musicians who have been dead for less than a century."

"With all due respect, but it's not your business," Spencer replied softly to avoid sounding rude.

"You came to my store for advice; it's completely my business."

Spencer grunted.

"I came to your store for a record, not for advice."

"Do you know what record you're looking for?"

"No," he gritted his teeth.

The man smiled, clasping his hands on his counter.

"Then you're looking for advice. Now tell me why you're looking for the record of a musician you don't really know."

Spencer looked at him for a few seconds. He could easily leave and go to another store. But first, he already knew Randall well enough, and he didn't have the personality to go to another store and hum a song he barely knew without feeling embarrassed. Plus, one of the reasons he chose that store was that Randall could be sometimes rude and unpleasant, but he didn't play those horrible top 40 songs or allow dirt in the store, nor was he a scammer like in other places.

"There's a girl..." he began to explain and heard Randall's amused laughter.

"You're not going to impress her with that Bill song."

"See, this is more important than impressing her..."

He shrugged.

"You definitely want to impress her, you're not gay," he wrinkled his nose, "trust me," he laughed, "I would know."

Spencer rolled his eyes, losing his temper.

"Can you give me the damn name of the record?" he muttered under his breath, "Normally our conversations don't go beyond two or three sentences, and I'm already getting angry."

Randall gave him a huge smile.

"It's just that you've just started to seem interesting to me."

Spencer grunted again, and he sighed. "Bill Withers, the album Still Bill," he finally said before Spencer went in search of the record.

When he returned home, he turned on the record player and made sure the music was loud enough for her to hear it.

He played the same record daily whenever he was in the apartment.

He didn't hear from you until two weeks later. When he crossed paths with you at the entrance of the building. You were digging around the rose bushes so that the water could reach the roots more easily, and he was coming from another tiring case involving teenagers and a rather elusive serial killer. You surely noticed the exhaustion on his face when you greeted him, and he could barely return the greeting.

When he entered the apartment, he sank into his sofa and contemplated the idea of sleeping pills, but instead, he opened the first book that was at hand and started reading it. He was in the middle of his reading when timid knocks sounded on his door. Somewhat surprised, he walked to the door and opened it to find your face on the other side. You were wearing a long earth-colored wool dress and military boots with a thick heel. In both hands, you held a tray with steaming cookies, the same ones you had given him on your first day in the building.

He looked up from the cookies to you with a curious look. You looked at him, and then into the apartment, seeming to be attentive to the music coming from the record player.

"You..." you cleared your throat nervously, "...I saw you were feeling a bit down, and I..." you handed him the tray with cookies, and when Spencer held it in his hands, you nervously scratched your neck, "I made cookies and thought maybe they could cheer you up," you shrugged.

"This is very nice, thank you. I like your cookies," he admitted, and you smiled at him shyly.

"I'm glad, I really don't know if you're really a person who likes sweet things, I hope you enjoy them," you paused for a few seconds and nodded, "I hope you feel better, I won't interrupt you anymore."

"Hey, can I make some coffee? Do you want to come in?" he offered.

You nervously toyed with your hands and shook your head. "I shouldn't."

Spencer then smiled kindly. "No problem, really, I wasn't doing anything productive. I was too distracted to pay attention to anything."

You finally relented somewhat insecurely. "Okay, but just for a moment, actually," you paused after putting one foot inside the apartment, "I also came to thank you for your concern, I know... you're good and honest, and those are things we take for granted but are unusual."

Spencer decided to take the compliment with humility and nodded with a small smile. "It's just the least I can do, come on in," he invited you to the kitchen, where he left the tray on one of the countertops and began to set up the Italian coffee maker on the stove.

You looked around somewhat uncomfortably; it must have been strange for you to enter his apartment, after all, you had spoken little to nothing; you really didn't know each other. And for that same reason, it had also been very strange for him to invite you.

"That's... very good music," you nodded approvingly as you listened to the song, "You play it quite often, I always hear it from my apartment."

He half-smiled, satisfied that his plan had worked. At least, you had noticed.

"I'm more of a classical music fan, but I think Bill Withers is a good singer-songwriter, plus the song Lean On Me..." he shrugged, acting naturally as he listened to the water boiling inside the pot.

You nodded in understanding. "It's really good. Music is a good stimulus; I work in the oncology wing of the hospital, usually with children," you commented, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, "When they're undergoing treatment, I usually play music for them, and they respond better to treatments in a positive environment."

"Music creates peaks of emotions that increase dopamine," he explained, "So if you play happy music, the brain processes that emotion even when they're only at a subconscious level," he added.

You nodded with a half-smile, letting Spencer give that explanation even when you already knew it.

"And dopamine helps control pleasure in the brain," you commented, then furrowed your brow, "What do you really do in the FBI?"

He watched you for a moment before starting to fill two cups with the steaming and fragrant coffee.

"If I talk about my job, will I make you uncomfortable? I noticed something happened when Mrs. Phillips mentioned it."

You seemed troubled, and you put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"No, it's just that people with guns unsettle me more than give me a sense of security," you tried to explain, "No matter if you're one of the good guys or the bad guys, a man with a gun is a man with a gun."

He furrowed his brow. "Well, it's true, that's why to do my job, there are strict psychological tests," he explained, "Besides, I've only used my gun when strictly necessary."

You looked somewhat distressed at the idea.

"I've seen men in uniform carrying guns who don't deserve them, that's all," you replied simply.

"I have a friend; she works at the FBI as our tech. She would understand what you're feeling," Spencer nodded. "I've never been fond of guns, but there were a couple of times I had to use them, and that meant a lot of pain for her."

You furrowed your brow, accepting the coffee cup Spencer offered.

"Why did she have to use them? She was a tech."

Spencer smiled, pleased that you were paying attention.

"Well, you see, we work for a department of the FBI called the BAU, Behavioral Analysis Unit, we profile difficult-to-find or dangerous criminals and their victims to find them."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, wait, you're basically detectives, that's... super dangerous but intriguing."

Spencer invited you to sit on the couch, and to his surprise, you settled in to listen. You placed the cookie tray on the coffee table and took one out.

"Something like that, and Penelope, that friend I mentioned, is really sensitive, if you saw her, you wouldn't understand how she worked in the midst of so many crimes. One day I was shot when we were out of town, and the local police were very corrupt, and we had found out. That's when a nurse tried to administer me carbenicillin, and I'm allergic," he explained.

You put your hand on your chest with empathy.

"Oh no. Poor thing, I really wouldn't know what to do with a gun in my hand."

"With the mitigating circumstances, I'm sure you would know what to do," he said.

You nodded, seeming to reflect on it. You drank the rest of your coffee in silence and looked at him attentively. You were so pretty, Spencer thought. And it gave him immense sadness and anger to know that someone was making you suffer.

He saw a lock of your hair fall onto your forehead, and he reached out to tuck it behind your ear without really thinking about it. Before his fingers touched your hair, you jumped in surprise, looking at him in fear, covering yourself with your forearms.

Spencer stood still, and you immediately looked remorseful for overreacting in that way. You left the coffee cup on the table and stood up, rubbing your hands on your skirt nervously. Spencer got up in the same way, calling your name softly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done anything."

"It's not your fault, it's mine, I... I think I should go home now, thanks for the coffee, and you can return the tray whenever you want, no rush," you babbled, avoiding eye contact and starting to walk towards the door.

Spencer approached you with his hands raised so you wouldn't feel threatened. With sadness in your eyes, you stopped with your hand on the doorknob without making eye contact.

"Wait, wait," he asked softly, "I'm sorry if I crossed a line, I usually don't," he explained, "I'll put my hands on your shoulders," he warned, and then slowly placed his hands in that spot, feeling you tremble under his palms, "I know something is wrong," he said, eliciting a whimper of sadness from you, "but I know you won't talk about it with me, you don't know me," he shrugged, "So for now, it will be the wind that makes the noise," he nodded, "until you decide to trust me enough for it to stop being like that, okay?"

With teary eyes, you silently nodded. For a moment, it seemed like you wanted to hug him, but instead, you hugged yourself with a sad smile.

"Thank you, Spencer."

"I know we're not friends, but you can lean on me if you need to, okay? If you want to talk or just exist, you can do it here with me."

You nodded silently and slowly walked away from him, but you didn't seem scared anymore, and that was enough for Spencer to see you leave calmly.

That afternoon he played Bill's record again.

After that brief but hopeful encounter, Spencer didn't hear any noises again, no crying or slamming doors. Not until two weeks later. It was on a gray afternoon, while Spencer was enjoying a hot chocolate and a good read, that he felt that procession of infernal noise again. He heard a murmured argument, like being underwater, a slam of doors, and the crying. Spencer wanted to run there, he wanted to go where you were and cradle you, save you. Whatever you needed. He was truly willing to give it. But he couldn't push you: if something was happening, you had to be the one to open up and seek help. Spencer had seen too many similar cases to know that you were the one who needed to want to get out of this situation; otherwise, if he forced you, it would only be a matter of time before you fell back into that cyclical pattern again.

After a couple of minutes trying to calm his concern, Spencer felt soft knuckles tapping on his door. He got up somewhat puzzled; he rarely expected visitors, and when he opened the door, there you were.

You had a red nose, a giant sweater wrapped around you, and those leggings you seemed to always wear when you were at home. As soon as your slightly swollen eyes met his, you nervously rubbed your nose.

"Hey,"

Spencer frowned. This time you weren't trying to hide that you'd been crying, yet he didn't know what to say.

"Hey...a-are you...? Are you okay?"

You put your hands on your hips, trying to compose yourself, and then nodded. You let out a nervous laugh.

"It's the wind again; I don't think I can stand another second in the apartment. Y-you...was your invitation serious?" you asked shyly.

That broke Spencer's heart: you still didn't want to talk about it, but at least this was progress. Spencer opened the door fully and invited you in.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" he asked when he saw you standing in the middle of the living room looking like a lost puppy.

That seemed to cheer you up, and you nodded with a smile.

"Yeah, please."

"Do you want to watch a movie?" he asked from the kitchen while you timidly approached Spencer's bookshelf to browse.

"That's fine; I brought my iPad because I'm studying a new case of Gestational Trophoblastic Neoplasia that has come to the hospital and we'll start treating it this Monday."

"Ouch; that sounds complex," Spencer walked over to you with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. You thanked him with a smile.

"It is, but it's in the early stages, which gives a lot of hope," you murmured, looking around until you noticed the small sofa by the window. "Do you mind if I sit there? I promise not to be a bother."

Spencer wrinkled his nose.

"You're not a bother; sit wherever you want."

In silence and somewhat nervously, you approached the couch and nestled among the cushions, unlocking your iPad while sipping your chocolate and putting on some reading glasses that somehow made you look innocent and fragile.

Spencer watched your nose hold the curve of your glasses as you paid absolute attention to your reading. He observed your body language: your shoulders were slightly slumped, your legs folded relaxedly; you trusted him. You knew you weren't in danger. And you were so pretty; you were always pretty; in your dresses, in your sportswear, in your uniform, and in your leggings. You were pretty even with the red nose and dry tears on your skin, although he hated seeing you like this.

His name on your lips snapped him out of his fascination.

"Uh, yeah?" he asked.

"Can you play the song?"

He didn't have to ask which one; Spencer already knew.

As suddenly as he knew, like a slap in the face, he liked you, a lot.

***

"Hey."

"Hey," you smiled at Spencer as both of you retrieved mail from your mailboxes in a comfortable silence. Both of you smiled, and there was a slight tension as if you had something to say but neither of you dared to speak yet.

"Hey," you finally turned to him, leaning against the wall to look at him. "I don't have to work today, but it's Ollie's last day at the hospital; the rest of the nurses and I wanted to throw him a farewell party with the other kids. Do you want to come help me with the decorations?"

Spencer smiled back at you; you had rosy cheeks, and it seemed like it had cost you a lot to ask for his help even though after months of starting to spend a little more time together. That day when you came crying to his apartment wasn't the only time; after that, it happened a couple more times, but you had never really talked about it. It was happening less and less, and Spencer had mixed feelings about it. He knew you were getting better, and apparently, your ex-boyfriend no longer visited you, and you didn't give him the opportunity to hurt you. But he also missed your presence in the apartment; your crocs hanging off the tip of your foot unconsciously while keeping your eyes on your iPad screen. Spencer had noticed that when you entered his apartment, it was filled with a soft scent of green apples that lingered for a long time even after you left. You brought cookies, and sometimes you talked about your jobs. Spencer had seen a more relaxed disposition in you when you talked about violence at the FBI and the cases that sometimes affected Spencer. He had built a friendship with the tormented girl from the upstairs apartment.

"Ollie is leaving the hospital already? Wow," Spencer smiled enthusiastically; he didn't know the little boy, but you had told him about him.

You had talked a lot about him.

He decided to accompany you that afternoon and get to know you a little more; you weren't just the neighbor in dresses who seemed to work with kids, love plants, and puppies. Spencer noticed other peculiarities; you were shy around adults and totally extroverted with kids. You really liked cake; you had eaten three servings and seemed to share the same love for sweets as Spencer. Suddenly, intrusive thoughts started attacking Spencer. What would happen when you found out the truth about him? That he was a former addict and had been briefly in jail for a crime he didn't commit but where he was forced to do things he never would have imagined to survive? He couldn't imagine you running away from the scene after telling you; it was too painful.

You had also discovered things about Spencer. And much of what you were discovering terrified you. Because that meant he wasn't like anyone you had ever met before; you couldn't anticipate any of his moves. You are always surprised by his warm conversation and social awkwardness. With his sense of morality and justice. You trusted him, which would be great, but the problem is that you didn't even trust yourself.

The last time you had trusted your judgment to judge someone, you had suffered too much.

But you couldn't walk away, especially when Spencer showed strength for you and on evenings like this: vulnerability.

Something had happened to him on the way from the hospital to the apartments. He was quiet, and although he tried to make conversation, he couldn't help but have moments of silence where he looked too introspective with a slightly worried frown. When you said goodbye to him before going up to the next floor where you lived, you asked him once more if something had happened. He only replied that he was tired. You weren't going to pressure him; he didn't do it to you.

So when you entered your lonely apartment, you turned on the kettle and opened the window of your living room wide, which was right above Spencer's, and felt the warm breeze of an impending rain. You leaned just a little to see him opening his window. You leaned out just a bit to see him looking out onto the street just like you, and you began tapping rhythmically on the wood of the window.

"Lean on me," you started singing. "When you're not strong. And I'll be your friend I'll help you carry on. For it won't be long, till I’m gonna need …"

"Somebody to lean on," Spencer's whisper was barely audible, making you smile sadly.

"I know it's not the fancy vinyl you always play but...I don't have one, and my phone died," you heard his chuckle, and then a realization hit you like a punch in the face.

You realized that you couldn't expect Spencer to trust you without taking a leap of faith yourself.

Spencer heard a small murmur and saw the tip of your shoes hanging just above his window. Worried, he leaned out to see you sitting on the frame of your window, just getting comfortable with a cup of tea in your hands, looking at the sky. He remained expectant, not knowing what to do: it was a somewhat strange situation, but you didn't seem to want to jump anytime soon.

They stayed like that for a while.

And then you decided to break the silence.

"I had-have," you clarified. "An ex-boyfriend. He was my first boyfriend; the guy I moved out of my parents' house with, you know? He was a big deal," you added, pausing for a moment. "He's a cop. And you know? It's funny, cops swear they'll protect the nation, and my ex did. And I was so proud of him," you remembered, feeling the first tear fall down your cheek. "He isolated me; he told me how suffocating my family was, how narcissistic my best friend was. He even went as far as to make me change my gynecologist to one of his choosing."

Spencer was speechless; he knew how that story went. He had heard it so many times with different protagonists, yet he felt an immense urge to know how yours continued.

"I stopped talking to my parents and pushed away my friends. Then that wasn't enough anymore; he accused me of cheating, said I spent too much time at work and was neglecting him. His ex-girlfriend wasn't like that; neither was his mother. He said, 'if you were better, maybe I'd stop looking at asses on the internet,'" you laughed without humor, wiping your tears. "Can you believe it? Now I can't, but at that time...damn...at that time, I thought I could change him. That deep down he was a good person, and who the hell would I have if I left him? No one; he had made sure of that," you murmured, trying to hold back your tears for a few more seconds. "One day, that wasn't enough anymore; that's when the shoves started. If we went out, he used to squeeze my wrist with his fingers until it left marks. And over time he got bolder; he would hit me with doors or try to choke me every time we argued. My breaking point was one night when I came home later from a shift, and he was...oh God, he was so angry. He put his gun right to my temple and asked me to give him three reasons not to do it because he had thousands to do it. When I begged and cried on my knees, he pulled the trigger just to show me the gun was never loaded. He called me a useless bitch and said if I told anyone about it, no one would believe me; he got promoted to detective after that," you finished the story out loud for the first time: told to someone else. And you had never felt so free and yet so empty.

"Sometimes he comes; he used to come all the time until a few months ago. It usually started sweet and then turned violent. I let him in because I didn't want him to escalate further or endanger any neighbor. I-I just wanted peace," you closed your eyes trying to explain yourself, but even then, everything you had allowed was unjustifiable to you. "It's been over a year since we broke up, and I'm still trying to repair my relationship with my parents. I don't have the face to apologize to my friends because I'd have to explain and Th-that. Oh, Spencer," you touched your chest needing air. "That's impossible."

You felt Spencer move in his apartment and a couple of doors closing. Panic shot through your back; he had left. He had left you alone. Or so it was until you felt the doorbell ring and hurried to get to it, looking through the peephole. When you opened it, there was Spencer, ready for you to throw yourself at him, giving him a hug and letting go of the tears you had accumulated with shame for over a year.

"I'm sorry, Spencer."

"Tss," his nose was pressed against your neck, and his hands massaged your back affectionately. "It's okay, cry."

"I-it wasn't the wind," you sobbed. "I-it never was."

He felt you nod.

"I know. Don't worry; you're safe," he promised.

And you believed him, truly did.

***

@the-tpd-bau

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

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intuitivesef · 1 year

Text

What you need to hear ☆

Pick a card reading

Don’t second guess yourself when choosing a card. Trust your intuition.

Take what resonates, leave what doesn’t.

Author note: I felt the need to do another one so I did. Perhaps my first post didn't resonate with you or the images didn't draw you in, so I would hope this one does. Just a heads up, ☆ will be used as numbers. ☆ means 2. I'm sure you're aware of what it means but an example never hurt.

Masterlist

Pile 1:

You need to do shadow work. Find out why you’re sabotaging whether that's your goals or relationships with others. Do you think you don’t deserve to have a good relationship with someone? Do you think you aren’t worthy of your goals? You are absolutely worthy of everything good in this world. Stop sabotaging yourself. Stop it. You have worked so hard for what you wanted and decided to fall behind again. You found good people and decided to push them away because you’re afraid of getting hurt, or you don’t think you deserve them. Stop with these thoughts. The people you made a relationship with want to talk to you. People leave all the time, this is something you should remember, but there are people who WILL STAY.

want to give me tips, thank me, pay me, etc for my channeled readings? -> $intuitivesef - thanks :)

Pile 2:

The person you have in mind isn’t the one for you. You have someone who is gentle, kind, emotionally mature, and passionate out there for you. They’re waiting for their special one. I see someone at the beach staring at the ocean feeling hopeless. Do you feel hopeless right now? I know how hard it can be when we like or love someone who isn’t good for us. We think they’re the right ones even though the universe keeps giving us a sign that they aren’t. I cannot tell you not to feel hopeless, however, I can tell you someone out there who is good is waiting for you.

want to give me tips, thank me, pay me, etc for my channeled readings? -> $intuitivesef - thanks :)

Pile 3:

You need to go back to the hobbies you were once passionate about. There is something that will give you clarity or calm your nerves. Did you stop because you didn’t have enough money, have family issues, were procrastinating, school, did not have enough time, etc.? Either way, even if you do it for 5-10 minutes, it will make a difference. I’m not sure what hobby you left, but I hear, “my dear child, why did you leave your passionate hobby behind? Hmm? Do not tell me you don’t have time, there is so much time in the world. Do not push your thoughts away, go back to the thing you once loved so very much for it shall give you a sense of comfort.”

want to give me tips, thank me, pay me, etc for my channeled readings? -> $intuitivesef - thanks :)

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danfrik · 5 months

Text

IT IS I, ONCE AGAIN.

Did'ya miss me? Probably not, anyway.

I'm here with another drawing that I kind of procrastinated to finish until today-

It took me like five hours to finish what I already had started...

But whatever, welcome again to my impulsive (and kind of stupid) little brain, I'm going to talk about this and you will read everything.

⚠️Minor/Major Spoilers Ahead⚠️

First things first.

I want to make clear that, yes, Miles and Phoenix switched bodies just like Aziraphale and Crowley did.

Those marks on Phoenix's face? Let's just say that that one headcanon about holy water tears is a thing here (because I'm a sucker for angst).

I also want to point out some details about the switch thing because... well, I just want to talk about every little detail, let me cook.

• On Good Omens (the TV show, of course), Crowley (as Aziraphale) has an ice cream while Aziraphale (as Crowley) has a popsicle, but here I decided to be special and reverse that because, honestly, I see Phoenix being more of a popsicle guy, and Miles more of an ice cream type of man, don't ask me why.

(Also, I gave Miles a strawberry ice cream with sprinkles and Phoenix a grape popsicle, I'm sure you know why.)

(Because Miles likes pink and Phoenix likes "grape juice", that's why.)

• One of the things that I did to make the switch slightly more obvious is the frown, more specifically Miles' frown, the old "Edgeworth glare™️".

So, no matter how hard Miles is pretending to be Phoenix, we cannot take away his glare. On the other hand, Phoenix is really expressive (even behind those shades, yes), so he'll try to keep it either slightly neutral or keep that rest bitch expression (did I say that right?).

I mean... he is pretending to be Miles, y'know?

• Other thing that I did was change Phoenix's clothes while Miles is pretending to be him.

Gave him a waistcoat and his tie back because, of course, Miles thinks they suit Phoenix just fine (and he is absolutely right) and because he could never dress like a basic bitch, he is a classy bitch after all.

Oh, and I gave Phoenix a little handkerchief, like I said, Miles is a classy bitch... with questionable fashion sense *stares at his jabot*.

And, not gonna lie, Phoenix has no fashion sense, at all, the only reason he slays like he does in his usual outfit, is because he takes Miles' advice every now and then, but if it were for him he would wear crocs with socks (I mean, based, I do that too).

• Oh, I almost forgot about a tiny detail.

Miles also managed to brush Phoenix's little flick of hair, you know that one.

He likes to be presentable, no hair out of place.

• Phoenix didn't change anything of Miles, he is perfect as it is (jabot and all, I guess).

Now that I covered those little details, I can proceed to talk about other things >:)

Actually, is more of the same topic anyway.

The whole switching bodies trick, that is.

Aside from the details about costume and mannerisms, I want to talk about both sides.

How Phoenix will act in heaven and Miles in hell?

I picture it kind of like this:

For Miles side, pretending to be Phoenix is not as difficult as he would've thought, at least for the bantering and body language part.

Quite surprisingly, he does pretty great, the only difficult part might be the facial expressions, but he managed to not catch anyone's attention anyway.

Like in the TV show (Good Omens, I mean), Miles exaggerates little things about Phoenix, like being a bit more dork, maybe even a bit nonchalant or flamboyant, slightly dramatic but not too much.

Now for Phoenix, it is kind of difficult for him to not react at the petty coments and keep a neutral face but he manages, though his eyes speak for him, of course.

He keeps this solemn atitude, even spoke with the same flourishness that Miles tends to speak with, and bows before the Archangels.

Not that he wants to, but he knows that Miles does that out of respect for any higher being.

His body is mostly stiff, not daring to make any sound unless necessary, he only dared to glare when the hellfire came and when they insulted Miles.

Miles, much like Aziraphale, played with the holy water, splashing just enough so it won't reach anyone but also enough so no one would dare to get close to him.

Also joked around and asked for a rubber duck and a towel (and almost dared to ask for some scented candles).

"Y'know? It is quite relaxing being like this, it feels refreshing, a demon could get used to this."

With Phoenix is quite similar as to how Crowley messed a little with the Archangels, but he didn't stay silent.

He took a deep breathe once he was on the fire, did the "breathing fire" trick as well, and made a little joke, as if taunting them for not being able to destroy Miles nor him.

"I've been to hell recently, it was really lovely if you ask me, warm and cozy... you'd like it."

And so, both sides let them go and switch back again.

Leading to a small talk about both sides leaving them alone for a while, the not-apocalypse, the "antichrist" and all that.

Of course, finishing with that date- I mean, dinner at the Ritz, cheering for the world while a nightingale sings not so far away.

Oh, and I want to add a little thing too!

When they stand up from the bench, after switching again, I kind of want Phoenix to make a little joke about his own name, kind of like:

"I'm gonna be honest with you, angel, I really felt like I raised from the ashes back there."

"Must you be so foolish all the time?"

"Aw, c'mon, you think it's funny, I can see you holding back!"

"Nonsense, I would never consider funny that ridiculous and foolish joke of yours..."

[Spoilers: He did]

Anyway, I think that's all, at least for now.

Thanks again if you have read all the way down, if you didn't... well, that's understandable, but thank you anyways!

Hope you have a nice day, stranger!

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #wrightworth #crowley #aziraphale #good omens #alternate universe #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #art #digital art #sorry for the long text #i just really need to let out my ideas once in a while #i didn't mean to be this obsessed #actually #i kinda did

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ironspdr6700 · 2 months

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Nausicaä, an idea for a fic that probably I'm not gonna do in a nearby future

I'm not capable to concentrate myself in one theme during a long period of time, ok? One day I'm reading the Thebaid, another is Herodotus, today drawing and now it's me thinking about a retelling.

Without mention about the procrastination, literally I was thinking about this idea to publish it after FOUR HOURS on the phone. I forget what I eat for breakfast yesterday and what I'm going to do tomorrow, so the only moment that exist for my brain is the present.

But this idea was floating around me and I need, at least, publish it and save it into my desk for... I don't know... publish it in AO3? a book? a comic?... I don't know...

So... after the long preamble... I was thinking about Nausicaä of the Odyssey. People don't pay much attention about her but when you put to think about her, she had a lot of potential to be the protagonist of a good story. What happens if after having heard all of Odysseus's adventures she gets the urge to go out and explore the world? Just saying, the Phaeacian ships are self-driving and can travel any sea route in a matter of hours.

And the story of the Phaeacians is abruptly cut off in book XIII when Poseidon turns the ship to stone and threatens to cover the city with a mountain. What happened after?!

What if Nausicaä was about to flee when the mountain hides her entire city and her family? What if it's too big a problem to solve and you think only the cleverest man can solve it? The survivor… The one who dared to defy the gods and has managed to come out alive despite everything.

What if Nausicaä heads to Ithaca to ask Odysseus for help but discovers that Odysseus recently left to fulfill Tiresias' prophecy?! What if she only have Telemachus for help?! And now she had to work with a younger and unexperimented Odysseus (She can't even believe that he is Odysseus's son!) that, as his father, DOESN'T WANT TO LEAVE HIS HOME AND HER MOTHER! AGAIN!

Meanwhile, Telemachus can't think about all that because he starts to think about everything he is leaving behind and it seems that his destiny, like that of his entire family, is to leave home… so he can't hold back his tears.

Telemachus: (Sobbing) Nausicaä: Gods... you really are Odysseus's son. Telemachus: (ashamed) What?! Nausicaä: All your family cries for everything? Everytime?! Telemachus: (ashamed x2) N... No! Shut up! My motther is half-naiad. This is how we remove the excess of water from our body Nausicaä: Uh... huh... Telemachus: (ashamed x1000) It's hereditary!!!

Thanks to @rubynrut and his draw of Nausicaä to make me think about her.

#greek mythology #the odyssey #epic the musical #nausicaä #telemachus #tagamemnon

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dreamlessimp · 1 year

Text

— procrastinate

summary: you sleep over at isagi’s after long procrastinating an assignment, there he makes a decision

warnings: isagi yoichi x gn reader, reader goes to isagi’s high school, blue lock not mentioned, 2.4k wc, reader sleeps over at isagi’s house, they do not share a bed, please don’t read this i’m begging

“did you read yesterday’s chapter?” isagi whispered to you, on the topic of a new manga you both enjoyed.

you looked around the classroom before whispering back. “not yet. i think i’m falling behind.”

“that’s fine. i won’t spoil it.”

you smiled, you knew the two of you would likely fall into an hours long conversation after you read it.

the two of you were sitting next to each other in class, clearly a mistake by the teacher. she didn’t seem to notice though, as she announced the pairings for a project she’d given many warnings about.

“isagi and…” she began, before looking around the room. “y/n.”

that caught your attention. she likely hadn’t seen you in conversation, so you gave an awkward nod as if your neck hadn’t just snapped up at your name.

“cool. what’s the project again?” isagi looked just as confused as you were, neither of you having been listening.

“i dunno. i think she’ll explain again later though. hopefully.” you said.

after that, you turned your attention back to the teacher, and explain she did.

“your assignment is to create a poster about our school. you are to draw your favorite part of our school and attach an essay referring to the drawing. if you have any questions, approach me during class tomorrow.”

with that, the bell rang and you moved on to your next class without your friend.

you and isagi shared many classes, the last class of your day—a free period—being one of them. when it ended, the two of you began for the library, already falling behind on homework.

the two of you walked next to each other, brushing shoulders every other step. neither of you had much to say so you walked in a comfortable silence occasionally pointing out a pretty flower in a yard, or a squirrel running along a fence.

once there, he led you to a small table in the back of the building. you dropped your backpack onto the floor as he turned his own upside-down and emptied it out onto the table.

“what did we have in math again?” he asked, sorting through his messy notebook.

you wracked your brain for a moment before responding, “worksheet. i didn’t finish it but i did the first bit.”

“uh huh. can i copy off you? please.” he gave a bright, guilty smile that you couldn’t say no to, even if you’d hadn’t already been about to hand it to him.

“yeah. i’ll work on those science questions. it’s only like 5 right?”

he had just pulled out his own, blank assignment before raising his head to meet your gaze. “oh, i did that. do you want mine?”

you did in fact want his, but you shook your head anyway. “no, he’ll probably recognize your answers. plus, this lesson isn’t that bad,”

he gave a serious nod. “okay.”

studying with isagi was a normal thing for the two of you. both of you would swear you worked better together, and no one could disagree because you each worked almost exclusively with each other.

he made studying worth it, especially considering that he’d usually walk you home afterwards even if his home was in another direction.

after nearly an hour of homework, isagi remembered that he had promised his dad he’d be home to make dinner early that day.

“sorry, my mom is out of town and my dad’ll probably burn the house down.” his explanation was clearly true, considering that you had seen his dad try to cook before. “i guess he’s too fancy for take-out so the responsibility has fallen onto me.”

you nodded in understanding. “okay, you should get home.”

he began packing up his backpack. “come on. i’ll walk you home, i’m not supposed to be back for half an hour anyways.”

you smiled, amused at the sight of him cramming his many books into an already-overstuffed bag, the sight never getting old.

the two of you walked out of the library for your house. it wasn’t late, so the sun hadn’t yet begun to set, and the weather had improved from earlier that day.

as you walked, you and isagi both had a thought at the same time.

he stopped walking. “wait.” he said, trying to think.

you paused next to him. “weren’t we going to do something?”

it came to him. “yeah. the poster thing.”

“oh right.” you said, remembering. “we can do it tomorrow?”

he nodded. “okay. it shouldn’t be that bad. when’s it due again?”

you shrugged. “i’m not sure. we can ask her tomorrow during class.”

“no point in panicking, then.” he said with a smile, before continuing walking. “are you going to read the chapter when you get home?”

“oh yeah. i’ll text you when i’m done? we can talk after you make dinner.”

“great, it’s a really good chapter. i don’t want to spoil it but a certain character comes back at the end!”

“i have no idea who you’re talking about.” you said with a small laugh, evident in your voice.

your home was close to the library, so your talk was cut short when you rounded the corner and saw your house. you didn’t want to hold isagi for too long, so after you saw it you waved him an exaggeration goodbye and walked off, telling him to get home early.

after your talk with isagi about working on your project the following day, you both were fully ready to begin.

but, you didn’t.

the next day you had a large test in a class. the day after he had a test in one of his.

eventually, it had been days since you’d last spoken about the poster you had agreed to work together on.

your teacher gave reminders nearly every class period, but she gave no time to work on it during school.

soon, even with the constant reminders, all thoughts of the impending assignment had left the minds of both you and isagi.

that was, until late at night on the thursday before it was due the next day.

it took isagi calling you, obviously in a panic, for your memory to be jogged.

“y/n!!” he yelled through the phone, clearly in a state of mid-panic.

“what happened?” you spoke back, concerned for both the safety of your friend and yourself.

“the project. it’s due in two days!” he said, still panicking. “the one we didn’t do!”

“oh.” you said, freezing. “oops.”

“uh…” he began muttering under his breath about something you couldn’t hear.

“you should come over to my house tomorrow. it’s too late to do anything today.” he paused. “you should sleepover.”

you felt your heart leap, although it was already racing from isagi’s panicked voice.

of course you had been to his house before, but you’d never slept over at his house. even if it was because of a forgotten assignment, it was better then nothing.

plenty of people would have accepted the late, but isagi wasn’t like that. he obviously wasn’t the best with schoolwork, but he was smart.

and, of course, their was his determination that he showed on the soccer field that tended to shine through in everything he did.

you didn’t realize you had forgotten to speak until you hear his calmer voice from the other end of your phone. “hello? are you there?”

“oh, sorry isagi.” you clear your throat and rock back and forth on your heels. “i’ll be there, can i come at 19:00?”

you hear the smile in his voice. “yeah, of course.” he pauses for a moment. “by the way, my mom will be back by then.”

“okay, thanks. good night!” you say, finally realizing how late it was.

“night, y/n. see you in school tomorrow.” there was a second of silence before he ended the call.

a smile appeared on your face. even if you had left it for so long, there was no way the poster would take all night. if you worked quickly, you could probably finish in time to actually hang out with him.

you rapped your knuckles on the door three times. with no answer, you repeated the process.

this time, isagi arrived at the door as you finished and pulled it open for you.

you quickly took off your shoes and followed isagi into the kitchen, where you met his mom.

“hello mrs. isagi.” you said quietly, only having spoken to your friend’s mom on a few occasions.

“hello y/n, i hear you are here for a sleepover?” isagi’s mom asked, enjoying the sight of her son awkwardly shifting from side-to-side behind you.

“yeah.” you said. “we’re working on a- “

“ -movie. that i’ve been wanting to watch. isagi quickly cut you off.

you quickly figured that he hadn’t told his parents about your procrastination, which you silently thanked him for. it would have been awkward to explain that you were only there to panic and finish a project.

he turned to you. “we should go now. we have a lot of plans for this.”

“yeah.” you said. “thank you.” you addressed his mom with a bow of your head, before moving to follow isagi up the stairs to his room.

once behind his closed door, he collapsed against it.

“thanks for not saying anything. i promised my mom i’d stay on top of everything, and clearly i have not.”

“oh, that makes sense. i’m glad too, it would have been awkward to explain to her why we procrastinated for so long.”

“well, we should probably start now.” isagi said, ending a short silence.

“yeah. i’ll do the essay if you do the drawings?”

“okay.” he gave a nod without meeting your eyes, and pulled out blank poster paper from his backpack.

although you did it to yourselves, neither you nor isagi particularly enjoyed rushing your assignment.

still, within a couple hours, you had each nearly finished and decided to switch places so you could touch up isagi’s drawing and he could proof-read your work.

while working, isagi decided to end the comfortable silence that had long reached its peak.

“what do you want to do? like after this?”

you looked up from the poster. “what?”

“we’re almost done, and you’re spending the night.” he smiled with a raise of an eyebrow. “what do you want to do afterwards?”

“oh, i…” you paused. “ -didn’t think that far ahead. i guess whatever you want?”

his face contorted into something obviously belonging to someone deep in thought. “we could play video games?”

“hah. okay.” you looked down at your lap and remembered what you were meant to be doing. “after we finish though.”

he shot finger guns in your general direction. “right, yeah.”

in a flurry of typing keys and light erase marks, you each finished half an hour later within 10 minutes of each other.

you stood back to appreciate your efforts.

isagi looked over at the clock next to him. it wasn’t that late, but you had been working for hours. “i think my parents are asleep.”

“should we be too, though?. you asked jokingly, knowing the answer would be something along a the lines of ‘probably not’.

he shook his head and led you down the stairs of his house into what was likely his living-room.

“here.” he smiled. “we can play whatever game you want.”

you quickly noted with a snicker that the boy who claimed to not often play video games, appeared to have a solid dozen soccer games.

“how about something not soccer related?” you proposed, already sorting through his games for something you could both enjoy.

you settled on a basic fighting game where you’d be pit against enemies, on the same team. as long as neither of you were charged with friendly-fire, it would be calm.

after an hour of play, isagi abruptly stood up and shut down his gaming system. unfortunately, this left the room in an eerie dark that you were more then keen to get out of.

from the darkness, isagi began to speak. “we have school tomorrow, so we should probably get to bed.”

you let out a muffled laugh, and followed the sound of his voice to return to his room from the unfamiliar area. “yeah, it won’t help to pull any all-nighters on week days i guess.”

you, again, followed him up his stairs into his room. he gestured at a futon on the ground and spoke. “i’ll sleep on the futon, you sleep on the bed.”

you smiled. he could be ridiculously sweet sometimes, not even leaving you room for refusal.

“fine. if you wake up with back-pain in your own room, it’s on you,”

he, again, smiled. “deal.”

he turned his lights off and moved his door to be mostly closed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

the two of you quickly settled in, and a light silence took over the room as you both drifted off to sleep, in different beds.

except, isagi couldn’t sleep. for a long while, he tossed and turned on the futon, plagued with the feeling of something being wrong.

it wasn’t you, the fact that you were in his room. it was, that he was so far from you.

he vowed to himself, that in the morning, he would change that.

you woke up easily, and early. for this, you blamed isagi’s alarm clock.

getting ready for school was a bit disjointed due to your and isagi’s conflicting morning routines, but you both tried your best. in the end, you both were ready for school, on time.

walking to school together with isagi certainly wasn’t rare for you, but you could have sworn he was going the wrong direction.

still, you chose to say nothing considering how little he was ever late. that, and the determination in his eyes was evident from a mile away. you didn’t doubt him.

in isagi’s mind though, he was starting to regret his split-second decision. he trusted himself though, and continued on.

finally, he stopped. you were confused at this and stopped as well. “are you ok- “

“i like you.” red erupted on his cheeks at his statement, as your eyes widened and cheeks burned as well.

in your state of shock, you responded breathlessly. “i like you too.”

he moved closer to you and tentatively took your hand in his. without words, a soft grin took over his gestures and he led you to school, where you arrived just on time, as a new couple.

#isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi fluff #isagi yoichi #blue lock isagi #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #bllk isagi #bllk fluff #ssimpfics

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ikoarts · 4 months

Text

September 2023 Art

train derangement in full swing x

vvv dates + info under the cut vvv

1 - 03/09/2023 : really wanted to draw Ru n Toni in some eveningwear, was a fun opportunity to draw Toni a bit more masc... shes so hot wtf!!! i love these ladies

2, 3 - 04/09/2023 : a Trixie pen doodle, which I ended up turning into a full digital piece..... which i procrastinated on for months, but hey at least i Did finish it! also a little human TTTE au doodle... its Diesel and hes silly... i doodled him in the oingo boingo only a lad pose bc, damn, he really is only a lad

4 - 05/09/2023 : another human Diesel, i did end up tweaking a lot of these initial human designs, so don't get too comfy with em, but oh my.. could it be... Goopy makes another boingo reference? how peculiar that never ever happens..... anyway Perfect System is my fave Diesel song.. in my head is an AMV that will never be made

5, 6, 7 - 06/09/2023 : first, some ideas for my human Edward, thought i might as well include these, for the craic i guess x ... then a rare one of Toby (i havent drawn him since.. i should change that) and Diesel, then that one barbie meme with Edward n James, dont get comfy with either of these designs coz they're not sticking x

8 - 07/09/2023 : a pencil drawing emerges.. Eddie again, with his initial design i was gonna go with, i think the side profile is especially cute..

9 - 09/09/2023 : aaand heres the design i've currently settled on! im much happier with this, and its one of my fave drawings of last year, even if its nothing too special, hes just so cute, and thats really it

10 - 10/09/2023 : silly phone doodle of my human percy.. he drank 2 meny monsters.. cuz i think he would ig.. splort on the floor

11, 12 - 15/09/2023 : another silly (very quick) phone doodle.. i like the idea of Edward taking Diesel under his wing and nobody else can quite understand why, ALSO Edward n Emily friendship? lets go... gays stick together and listen to belinda carlisle its true

13 - 17/09/2023 : YET ANOTHER silly one... oo shes so silly so quirky... i just think if Edward ended up in TATMR he would destroy D10 like thats probs why he wasnt included... hes too powerful

14, 15, 16 - 21/09/2023 : human Diesel shenanigans, first isnt my fave thing ive done and again his design is now outdated BUT the little one of him flipping you off is so funny to me like you get em lil guy!! also Edward again big surprise. holding his little gremling

17 - 29/09/2023 : watched tobias and the last pariah and all i could think about was this meme of the brown eyes vs blue eyes thing so i doodled them on my phone

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lixnininotnay · 4 months

Text

I found a sketch in my folder yesterday that I had done some months ago, and I had to draw it digitally. Basically, it's Donatello hugging someone while showing the middle finger at another person behind them(maybe at Leo? Lmao).

The pose reference I had gotten in Pinterest at the time but I can't find it anymore.

There are two different sketches because I thought I had lost the first one(the laptop crashed), so I did it again but the Medibang had, somehow, saved the original one and I just discovered after finishing the second.

[The original on paper sketch, in case anyone wants to see it.]

I don't know what I'm going to post next, but maybe it's going to be some oc x cannon stuff that I had ideas since back, like, June 💀 I really want to show off my girlfailure...

Procrastination had gone brrrr

However, as always, I don't promise anything (or at least I hope that I have never promised anything-). I just work with 'maybe's and 'probably's. Never expect anything from me for

sure 👍🏽

Bye.

Drink water 🔫

#rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x you #tmnt x reader #self insert art #donnie x reader #rise donatello x reader #donatello x reader #rottmnt self insert #rise of tmnt x reader #tmnt x y/n #🎭 — ( my creations. )

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dearlymrme · 1 year

Note

Hi! With the prompts list, could we get 138 with Terzo after one of his many many falls? Maybe he was a bit more injured than everyone thought and his partner wants to make him feel better without him hurting himself more?

Be Me: You know you should really post one of these drafts in your inbox and let people know your still alive instead of procrastinating and playing video games.

Be Me Also:...But video games...

Better Than Vicodin...(Terzo x Reader)

Terzo x Reader || Oral Sex || 69

Terzo has split feelings when it comes to that firm look in your eyes. The look that tells him there is no room for argument with what you have to say next. On the one hand it sends fire to his loins that one command could have him on his knees and kissing your feet. On the other hand it has him pouting his lip and insisting that, it was just one little slip, he’s fine.

But you don’t believe him. You put your hand firmly to his chest and maneuver him towards the bed. As the back of his knees hits the mattress his cock gives a firm twitch of interest and he swallows a suddenly dry mouth.

"Lay back."

He groans as he sinks down on the heating pad you had prepared and tries not to prove you right, that the small twinge in his back is nothing to be worried about. But as the heat presses against his sore spot, he can't help but sigh in relief.

"Cara, I am fine." He tries to argue. Not wanting to admit that it feels so much better. "A little fall on stage and-" As he goes to shuffle and fails to hide the wince as his lower back loudly complains. You give him a very unimpressed stare, keep your hand firmly to his chest, holding him back against the pad.

“It was not a little trip, Terzo.” You growl, and he snaps his mouth shut at your domineering tone of voice. You see his throat flush, one of the only ways to tell he’s flustered with his paint on. And his pupils are blown nearly eclipsing the white of his trademark eye. You catch him glancing down at your lips, then back at your eyes, and your lips again, focus divided between the two. You huff, honestly, this man, easy to read. He could very well have a neck brace and still wanna screw.

“Really?” You ask him and glance down at his cock, a firm outline in his pants. He gives you a bright and boyish grin with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re hot when you're bossy.” You scoff and can’t help the smile. The upturn quirk of your lip tells him he may have a chance, and he tries to bargain. “Can we?”

“No moving.” You command the only condition. The speed at which he nods, he could very well take his own head off.

“Promise, I promise-”

“I mean it, Papa. You let me handle all the work." His breath draws sharply as your hand creeps down to his hard-on and squeezes him through his jeans. He gives a satisfied groan from contact, and his shoulders go lax.

"Nothing better to distract from some pain than an orgasm, hmm?" You snicker, getting a slow and dumb nod of his head.

He grunts obligingly as your hands go to expertly unbuckle his pants. You look up at him under your lashes as you bend down and unfasten his zipper with your teeth, his eyes widen at the sight.

"Fuck." He gasped, slack jawed from your performance, and relieved of the tight pressure confined to his pants. He lifts his hips to help you pull down his jeans and ignores the tiniest twinge to his spine. You click your tongue at him, catching that wince and give his dig another hard squeeze.

"Be a good boy and keep still." This causes his exhale to shudder and his hands to fist the comforter. You take him out of his pants. He jerks at the first touch of your lips, wasting no time and pumping him once. Precum drips from the head onto your hand with your one solitary stroke before you swirl your tongue over the salty head of his cock, gathering the clear bead at the tip before sucking him into your mouth.

"Che cazzo." He slurs, unable to take his eyes off you. His hand comes to rest on the crown of your head, fingers playing with your soft hair. You're a sight when you're like this. He'd be insane if his did like seeing your on your knees with his cock in yoyr mouth.

He starts to wiggle in anticipation as you tongue at his head, and you grumble, pulling off.

"I said…" And he grunts when you pin his thighs to the bed, your arms pressed against them. "No moving."

He whines, cock throbbing in your hand as he's forced still, forced only to sit back, enjoy, and do little else.

"Okay." He blows out between his teeth. Face scrunched in consternation. "I'm sorry. Please-?" Having such a powerful man, the most powerful figurehead of the church reduced to a begging and lust dumb man, did things to you. It makes your body sing with strength and your toes curl. It had you vibrating from every pore to see him with wide pleading eyes, and his mouth fell open in quick breaths as he begs.

You hum at the sight, also searching his face for pain or discomfort and when you fail to see any you grant him mercy and push his cock back into your mouth.

What you could not fit in your mouth yet you gripped at the base and squeezed him just the way he liked.

He watched, his breathing erratic. You would not take your eyes off him. His mouth opened in barely withheld moans and eyes half-closed.

You lowered your head, gradually sinking inch by inch down his cock. An explanative curse from your Papa's mouth followed by steady encouragement as you lather your tongue over the underside of his cock as you slip further down to the point of gagging.

You hadn't fully been able to swallow him, but it was a near thing, and you weren't going to stop there. Determination had you tightening your fist over his cock as you slid up and off him to catch your breath, then you went straight back to work.

Each backdraw and forward you go a little bit deeper and a little bit faster. The muscles of your throat burning as you successfully manage to take him whole, the wiry curls of hair at his base pressed against your nose. You paused for a moment before hollowing your cheeks.

"Fuck!" Terzo cursed, practically whimpering. He gave a petulant whine and you feel his thighs fight against your pinning arms but he fails to break your hold. Your eyes start to gum with tears as your throat burns against the need to gag.

"Fuuuuck." He hisses hoarsely, the entire time he watches you, hypnotized as he watches your mouth suck him down and shudders when he sees the lightest bulge in your throat. You moan, earning an appreciative and wrecked sound from your Papa from the vibration.

Your own core clenches over nothing. He sounds like such a little whore and it sparks fire in your veins, igniting your entire body in heat and then centering between your legs. Your hand reaches and presses down on the seam resting perfectly against your clit and you grind down against it, grinding it against your cunt. Another moan around his cock causes Terzo's breath to catch in his throat and his thighs to jump against your hold.

You can feel your own slick in your underwear, knowing you're soaked. Turning him into a quivering mess always serves to rile you up.

"Wait. Wait." He grumbles and gives a very gentle pull of your hair, sliding you off his cock. "Come on. Hop on my face." He pleads and your brows raise to your crown. He gives you look his own desperate whine

"It won't hurt. Please? Let me eat you out, bella." He begs, his mouth suddenly parched for your juices. You do suppose that if he's resting back, it won't put too much strain on him. You give the head of his cock a sweet goodbye kiss before giving in and unbuttoning your jeans.

Terzo makes a show of licking his lips as you shimmy out of your pants and underwear, and he smirks at the very obvious wet spot of your panties. He pats his chest, encouraging you to hurry and eager to get his mouth on you. You swing your leg over his torso, settling with your forearms on his thighs, and angle yourself backward. You give a playful wave of your hips in his face and shriek when his hands roughly hook around your thighs, snatched your hips, and he all but crushed your cunt into his mouth.

Starting with a single solid strike of his tongue against your folds, a slutty moan spills from his lips. His shoulders heave and he buries himself deeper into your mounds. There's the loud sound of his sucking your clit into his mouth and a spike of pleasure runs through your spine.

"Bella donna." He praises into your pussy and laps through your folds, quickly matching the speed you had been performing on his cock. It takes you a moment to get your bearings before you grab his dick, shining wet from your spit and his precum, before you take it back into your moan and quickly resume where you left off, sliding back down to the base.

He groans into your cunt and moves his assault to your clit, taking the tender button of nerves into his mouth and sucking. Your shriek of sudden overstimulation is hardly heard over your mouthful and your hips bounce to try and get away as it's too much at once, a flare of sharp pleasure making you desperately wish for his cock stuffed in your cunt. He makes up for it though, stuffing two fingers into your sopping wet pussy and then hooks. He immediately finds your g-spot and flutters his fingers against it. Your thighs quiver and more tears spill from your eyes and drool and spit runs down your chin.

"Coming close." He groans slurred words of love. Your jaw is getting tired, so you decide to finish him off with flourish.

You back off him, slathering the head of his member with your tongue before pinning it to the roof of your mouth, his glands feels heavy, precome slick against your soft palate. You grip the rest of his cock with your hand. Running your thumb firmly over the underside base of his cock. Then you suck, hard.

"Jesus Christ!" Is ripped from his mouth, echos in the room, and the nails of his other hand dig into your thighs. Your forearms flex as you fight his hips from jerking and give him another firm suck. The pressure it creates against the roof of your mouth is as tight as your cunt when you come.

"Y-you beaut-Ah! Aah!!" He manages a thrust, nearly all his strength put into the one bounce of his hips that has his dick slipping from your palate down your throat. The sudden intrusion almost hurts, but you battered through and pushed down, rearing your hand back and spanking his quivering thighs hard as punishment for moving.

You tongue against the underside of his dick you feel his vein twitching with each jet of his release as he throbs in your throat. You pop off to cough and clear your throat, stroking his hard once from base to head, earning one more jet of cum that you expertly catch on your tongue.

"Bellissimo." He sighs and melts into the bed, blissful. His eyes half-closed and unfocused. For all of a few seconds, then they sharpen with purpose and he buries his face into your pussy and eats like a man starved.

Pulsing bliss starts to bloom in your abdomen as now that he's found his release, he chases after yours like a hound to a fox. The point of his tongue pressing and rolling hard, working your clit as a man who experts in providing the female orgasm, alternating between fingerings you and tongue fucking you with scathing hunger. The obscene noises of your dick sucking turned into degenerate smacking of his lips as he slathering your cunt like it's candy, filling his otherwise quiet room.

Your thighs start to quiver, start to burn from exertion as you keep yourself up. His fingers work inside you, fluttering and curling still proding against that sinful bundle of nerves, and a wave of intense bliss shatters through your body. You writhed and sobbed, rocking your hips back against his seeking fingers and mouth and begging him for more.

You reach your end like the snap of a wire. Shrieking, back arching, pressing your face to his lower stomach and clutching at his thighs. Riding back against his mouth and fingers as you chase the euphoria, pleasure coursing through your veins glowing and burning through your cells like a sun until you are a limp shaking mess.

Terzo laps at your cum, purring low in his throat like a cat enjoying the finest of creams. He swipes, scooping with both his fingers and tongue to get every last drop, sends aftershocks of shivers through your body, goosebumps rising on your clammy skin. After eating you hollow, he gives your pussy a kiss and slides his hands up your thighs, stroking them gently.

"You're right, cara. I do feel better."

*Alternatively.

"Lay back." You press, and he whines as he does as he told, giving a soft and relieved grunt as his lower back hits the awaiting heat pad.

You then hop into bed with him grasping the remote and turning on the TV. Through the normally quiet room, the theme of F.R.I.E.N.D.S begging to play.

Despite his soreness, there is no hesitation when you both clap your hands.

#terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo #papa emeritus iii #ghost the band #the band ghost #ghost band #dee writes #reader insert #dee answers

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