#i am feeling so sentimental this morning | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariamlovesyou · 5 months

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tuned into Plestia's live with Rahma Zein's second account (she got shadowbanned). key moments:

plestia talked about her adjustment to living in australia. "it's 1:30am now and it's normal for me and many palestinians who live abroad to be awake hours into the morning. i am scared of sleeping. because of the time difference, i'm scared if i sleep i will wake up to bad news. in gaza i was scared of the sound of the bombs, here i am scared of the quiet."

contacting family and friends in gaza is near impossible. "sometimes i feel like a crazy person, calling 20 times in a row hoping that on the 21st time the call might go through."

on the destruction of entire communities and neighbourhoods: "i'm scared when i go back to gaza i won't recognise it anymore. someone sent me a picture of my neighbourhood, and i couldn't tell it was mine at first. all my favourite places, cafes where the aunties used to give me extra food and ask about my day, have been destroyed. i dread looking at my gallery or seeing snapchat memories because most of these people in the pictures are no longer alive."

rahma asked plestia to talk about one story that stuck with her. plestia said "i remember walking one time on the 'safe corridor', that's what they called it anyway, and i saw an older woman clutching onto a donkey cart where her son's body was, refusing to let go of it. i asked my colleague what the smell was, he said it's dead bodies under the rubble. it was the first time i familiarised myself with the smell. the son's body was decaying and the woman told me about cats and animals eating away at it. i've had children talk to me about birds eating away at their parents' decomposing bodies and not being able to chase them away."

"it seems so silly to go to hospitals for minor sicknesses now. i can't even think about how many palestinian children are going to be terrified of hospitals now. there was a girl who was taken to the hospital to get treatment for injuries by one of the bombs, and while she was in the bathroom another bomb landed nearby. the impact from that sent the ceiling crashing down on her.. she got another injury while getting treated for her first one."

"i hate how people talk about our resilience - as if it's okay that this is happening to us. we are only surviving because we have to, because we have no other choice."

rahma brought up the way family homes are set up in palestine and asked plestia to elaborate. "basically, there are floors. someone will live on the ground floor, and then their married son lives with his children on the floor above them, and then their successors above them and so on. so when family homes are targeted, they wipe out entire families. many families officially no longer exist."

"i used to wear my journalist helmet and vest all the time, felt naked without it, even slept with the vest on sometimes until i realised it only made me more of a target. they didn't give me any protection, only headaches and back pain."

"i am an optimistic person, i loved covering sweet sentimental things, like at my graduation asking parents of top graduates how they feel about their children graduating. that's what i love reporting on. i wanted to cover things like that when i came back to gaza, show the beautiful side of gaza that the media didn't really show, but i didn't have the chance." "do you think they'll give you right of return?" "i can only hope."

plestia mentioned how hard it was being a journalist with limited access to the internet, charging facilities, no mics, lack of equipment and how difficult it was uploading things. rahma asked her what's one story that wasn't really recorded or posted due to these constraints; plestia said "the evacuations. sometimes they informed us about them, sometimes they didn't. you have no idea how hard it was, everyone looking for their family members, making sure every one was there, taking to the streets in 5 minutes and not knowing which way to go. i remember i went to my friend's house for shelter for 30 minutes before the first evacuation was announced and we ran to another family's house, stayed there for 2 days before another evacuation was announced. me, my friend, and that family all evacuated together to another family's house. there were already so many people there seeking shelter, it wasn't just one family staying there. none of us knew how long we had in any place."

before october 7th, palestinians were used to limitations on electricity. plestia used to plan her day's tasks around when the electricity was working. "for example when the electricity was on from 12 to 4, i would say i will do my laundry and charge the phones during this time. life wasn't exactly 'normal', but all of us pray to have those days back in comparison to what we are experiencing now." plestia also said that cars are running on cooking oil now because there is no fuel.

on hygiene: "many pregnant women have to give birth without any pain medication or medical attention. once we ran out of medicine, that was it. women who had to get C-sections couldn't stay to recover or get followup treatments because someone else needed the bed. we have no water, no tissues, no pads, barely any bathrooms. in the shelter schools you have to wait an hour before even getting to use the bathroom because of how many people are there."

"something you don't hear about is how many people die because of sadness. there's so many ways to die in gaza, because of the bombardment, because of starvation, the lack of resources, but i also know many elderly people who died because their hearts couldn't take it anymore. i have been in gaza before and lived through 4 aggressions, but nothing compared to this one."

a recurring sentiment that was echoed in the video: "sometimes i thought to myself: who am i recording this for? because we've already shown everything, we've already talked about everything. everything has already been said, the proof is everywhere, nothing i talked about today is new." rahma said the first video posted about what's happening in palestine should've been enough.

she is 22 today. plestia's closing words: don't stop talking about us, don't stop boycotting, don't stop protesting, please don't get bored of fighting for palestine.

#this is all off the top of my head if i remember other key points i will add them

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zitasaurusrex · 1 year

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Hey.

I'm serious when I say I think the sentiment that kindness requires "zero effort" is harmful.

The idea that kind is a thing you can be innately, without having to think or feel anything about it, leaves a gap in the fence where the other idea "if I have unkind thoughts or feelings, I am by nature a bad, unkind person" can slip through.

Listen. That's bullshit.

Being kind to other people means paying attention to the effect your words and actions have on others, caring about it, and trying to make those effects better. That's work.

If you have a nasty thought about another person that annoys you and you contain the impulse, hold your tongue, and let it go? That was effort.

If you took time out to really think about something you wanted to say and make sure it would have its intended result without causing accidental harm that you wouldn't have noticed if you went totally off the cuff? Wow, that took some work!

If you were tired and angry and full of hatred but you still did the dishes so your housemate has something to eat their breakfast off of in the morning, that wasn't easy.

I don't think there are magical "kind" people who never have a mean thought and are always selfless and pure. That would be exhausting and impossible.

I'm not a "nice person," I'm a nasty, bitter, angry, sad person who tries to have good leash manners, control my worst impulses, and not jump on strangers because they don't deserve that shit from me.

I don't always succeed, but I'm trying. I'm trying and it's worth it.

#zita posts #greatest hits

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prettyboykatsuki · 4 months

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— ❈ YOU'RE SO PRETTY, BABY.

▸ prompt ; companions and their responses to being called pretty boy / pretty girl.

▸ a/n ; bit of a generic post im sorry forreal. while i was originally just going to write this for astarion i had ideas for. all the other companions.

most of the characters have a reader w a specific class or background, all varied! also spoilers for gale, shadowheart, karlach, and lae'zel.

reader / tav is always gender neutral!

▸ wc ; about 4.5k, about 700+ words per companion.

ft. astarion, wyll, gale, shadowheart, karlach, lae'zel

no minthara or halsin bc i could not bring myself to write it. but maybe later if enough people ask lol.

❈ ASTARION ;

Astarion tries his very best to find your affection for him trite, even when he knows it doesn't feel that way. It's an instinct for him, one you'll simply have to make peace with you if you're really planning on tailing him to the end of the world.

Truth be told though, he likes your generally affectionate nature. He hasn't reached a point he can admit this so openly, but the comfortable and easy way you reach for him is nice. He likes how your hands seem to stretch for him, the way you cling to his spine when you sleep in his tent and the likes.

And while he is not stranger to hypocrisy, he thinks it'd be amiss to try and bar you from calling him any pet names when he calls you so many. He's got quite a few handy. Darling is a favorite, followed by dear, and sometimes my love when he can muster up the courage to mean it instead of saying it like he's trying to perform.

You like to call Astarion by his name though, most often. He isn't exactly sure why you're so fond of it, and truthfully he's done little to consider his own name. You say it wonderfully though, tasteful and loving and soft.

Sometimes you gasp it in offense or horror or shock, other times in pleasure. Sometimes you whimper it in your sleep, groping around until your hands fist in the material of his shirt and you drag him back to you.

In any case, he's used to hearing his name. So hearing you utter the words pretty boy to him, he can't help but be a little shocked.

You're a little tipsy. A hard, arduous journey of fighting githyanki soldiers has taken a terrible toll on your normal inhibitions. You're quite flushed while you're drunk, and all the same sitting in his lap like you've not a care in the world.

Astarion doesn't mind holding you. In fact, he's thinking of all the terribly teasing things he can say to you come morning. So far, you've done nothing but mumble. It's a sudden movement, your hands clasped around his face.

"Feeling forward are we darling?" He says, like second nature. It's so reactionary it's banal, though he does have some enthusiasm since the flirtation is directed at you. Instead of your usual giggling, you stare at him with your lips parted.

"I suppose I am pretty boy," You reply, a completely foreign confidence in your voice that stops him dead in his tracks. Underneath the thick layer of flirtation is sincerity so unmistakable it almost proves to be too much "Could I ask you to keep me company?"

Astarion is, eternally grateful about the fact you don't get much more than that out of you. He spends the entire night thinking about it. You're certainly not the first to call him pretty, and that particular phrasing has been thrown to him more than once.

Yet it rings a little differently. The way you said it so tenderly, your hands stroking the nape of his neck and cupping his face. Well, it's not nothing. He can't decide if he hates it or not until the next morning comes.

Your eyes flutter open as light pours through the open part of his tent. You reach over to him with a deep sigh, engaging in some quiet morning affection when you repeat yesterdays sentiment.

"Good morning, my very pretty boy," You say - and this time Astarion is sure whatever he is feeling he has not ever felt previously "Sorry for the antics last night."

"So your memory hasn't failed you. Good to know." Astarion says back. You laugh lightly. "Your charming little pet name worried me quite a bit."

"Nothing to worry about my love." You say, warm and nuzzling into his neck likely to cool yourself from over-heating "I really do find you very pretty."

He can't help the feeling that floods his sense. He likes it even though he feels a little clingy, but perhaps there's no need to admit that.

"Oh, really, darling? How sweet you are. Tell me again, then. Just for kicks this time."

❈ WYLL ;

it's a matter of getting used to it for Wyll.

For the first month of your adventuring together, pretty boy, had been a somewhat condescending substitute for his name. Among other ones, like daddy's boy and prince. None of the pet names held any real affection.

You liked getting under his skin, after all.

You didn't get on at first, not for a long while. You're a rogue, a ratty street urchin turned mercenary who'd spent your youth climbing through the soil and mud of the Lower City's underbelly. Your words verbatim, not his. At first, your resentment for him caught him off guard, especially because Wyll prefers to keep the peace and get along with everyone. But, he had a difficult time understanding you, even with his people skills

Eventually it clicked that your resentment was less towards him, and more towards what he represents. You're a Baldurian, but one abandoned by the city and it's people. What else could the Ravengards represent if not the future you never had a chance to look towards.

It was easier after that. And Wyll had promised to himself to observe you closer. In that, he found to like you a great deal.

He's fond of pet names in general, but more fond of you lately. At the beginning of your adventure, it was a little difficult to get accustomed to your... roughness. You lack delicacy, but you're not exactly silver tongued.

Yet, you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be. Contrarily, while you've traveled together, Wyll bore witness to only gentleness. Nothing more. The words you spoke about only doing things for coin had been clearly disproved by your countless acts of charity. Especially gentle and kind to children, and especially unforgiving to the rich and unhelpful.

Once he got used to it, there was something kind of...sweet about it. To see you say one thing and do another had it's own novelty that Wyll grew fond of you.

It was the night of tiefling party that roused his feelings. That night, he'd watched you play with the tiefling children all night, teaching them tricks of the trade.

And you'd started falling for him, too, judging by the way your usual snark was nowhere to be found.

Especially vivid is the change in your tone when you call him the same way you did before.

"We'll take a short rest for you, pretty boy." Your voice murmurs, looking carefully over his wounds while place down your own weapons "Get your spells back. Organize our things in the mean time."

He gives you look, examining your own worry before his smile stretches into one of fondness. It doesn't bother him at all, not anymore. No, lately - it sounds rather fond, and each time Wyll hears it, it does something for ego.

"No need for the concern, though I am appreciative," He says, not bothering to mask the smug quality in his voice at your change. He delights in it a little, admittedly . "I'll be alright soon enough."

You don't seem to notice, too busy wiping your blade of fresh blood, metal shiny as moonlight. "And there's no need for your heroism, Blade of Frontiers. Have some discernment about time and place."

You look up at him with your brows furrowed, and Wyll can barely help himself. "Are you worried I'll lose what's left in my appearances? I'm just telling you there's no need to trouble yourself over it."

It takes you a while to register to his words, but when it finally does - your eyes blow wide. The look of embarrassment on your face is well worth it.

"I thought you hated when I called you that." You say coolly.

"It's not so bad," He says back tenderly, staring at you "At least not anymore."

You pout a little. Wyll fights some unspoken urge to kiss you. A little longer.

"I prefer when you're acting oblivious,"

"Sorry to disappoint."

He lets his head lay on the wall behind him - reaching a hand for yours instead, trying to rest up as promised. He sees you smiling from the corner of his eye and affirms it to himself. You squeeze, soft, but otherwise say nothing about it.

Yes, lately, nothing you say could get under his skin. Even when you so obviously try.

❈ GALE ;

Gale is always the poet, never the muse.

He thought highly of his relationship with Mystra, and in many ways still does. He loved her. This much is true. He can't say for any certainty if she had loved him just as much, or at all. He wasn't the first mortal, and would hardly be the last.

But he loved her, enough to write about her and wax poetic about all that he'd lost.

When Gale examines any of his past relationship, he realizes this is some kind of pattern. Gale is good at being loving, but he does not know for certain if any of them loved him back. Or if he was loved in the way he loves - if it was anything near close. Gale had thought, at one point, it was just matter of destiny. Gale is after all, a man who bleeds with all he has.

He can't blame anyone for loving him less than when he is categorically too much. He thought that way for a long time, destined himself to never find love again or beg for Mystra's forgiveness for some new found purpose.

When you came into his life, he hadn't been sure what would come of your relationship. Certainly a brain parasite would make camp a difficult place for romance, but the two of you managed against all odds. Among all the things that Gale finds astonishing about your relationship - it's your affection for him that catches him the most off-guard.

It's a little sad, he can admit. But it's true. When you speak to Gale, your voice is always soft. It's never demanding. Before, always, there had been some kind of expectation. Gale had to be a certain way, to pour himself into someone else for the sake of it being returned.He loved. Surely he loved.

But now, lately, you love him back. Overwhelmingly. The easiness of your love makes him feel a little... spoiled. Which is embarrassing, at the stage of life he's in. He finds the whole thing tips him over the edge. The heat creeping up his neck every time he remembers. Your hand brushing against the back of his neck, cupping his face so gently.

Gale, perhaps unsurprisingly, is fond of your various pet names. All of them sound good. Make him feel important and desired. You like to call him a bookworm, sometimes you call him baby (which he really likes much more than he is ever willing to admit), and other times you settle on saying my love.

Pretty boy is new. Pretty boy is different, and makes heat crawl up the back of Gale's neck like a smitten school boy.

It has a special effect on Gale.

In between classes, spoken with your hands cupping his face as he leans on his desk. The sunlight is pouring through the large paneled windows, casting a warmth on your expression. Gale is sat on his desk, making you eye-level.

"I'm glad you've come to see me," Gale says to you first, breaking a period of comfortable silence. You're a busy person, given all the heroics. Gale finds it troublesome, despite the fact you've moved with him to Waterdeep. Your reputation precedes you "It's been ages,"

"Of course I'd come to see you, pretty boy," You hum, thumb brushing under his cheek - carefully drawing a line "You're very healing to look at."

The effect is rather immediate. As soon as the words leave your lips, spoken to him so lovingly - he unlocks a part of himself he always seems to forget about. Forgets himself in a fundamental way, the flurry of heat and euphoric sensation of adoration washing over him like water.

He gives you a look, and you laugh - pressing your thumb to his lower lip as you lean in for a kiss. "Stop pouting, will you?"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," He insists, kissing you despite him. You laugh into, warm and bubbly. For a minute, he remembers all he might've lost had he done what Mystra told him.

He's glad he's alive. To feel you.

"You very much are," You reply back, once you've managed to pull away from each other "Don't be so surprised. You've always been very pretty to me."

He blushes again, deeper, and closes his eyes.

❈ SHADOWHEART ;

You don't often communicate your feelings to Shadowheart through words.

You're something of a stoic. Of the few people in Shadowheart's past who remain by her side, many of them communicate about how surprised they are about your partnership. Shadowheart is known to be a little snarky, witty. She used to be very prickly, at the start of your adventure together - so everyone questions how you were able to win her heart.

Truthfully, Shadowheart didn't know what to make of your personality at first. There's a silence to you. Maybe she should expect this of paladin so loyal. A Paladin of Torm, the unswerving enemy of injustice and corruption. You've always been a devout person, putting action and justice over everything. She hated it at first, a natural response for a Sharran, she figures.

Once she'd left it all behind, she could no longer use it as an excuse.

Truth be told, Shadowheart had always liked that aspect of you. Your devotion spoke to something greater than your oath or even your god. You had simply believed in the world, and inadvertently in her. You saved her from herself, her parents from her fate, and then some.

Your devotion to her as a lover isn't something so different. She often thinks you would swear yourself to her if you could. For Shadowheart, your affection is akin to worship. Every morning, the animals are tended and the flower bed is damp. You wake her mother up without a start, remind her of where she is without making her feel ashamed. You're good to her father, talk to him of worldly politics at the dinner table.

She has no complaints to make about you. Your love for her is tangible, something she can reach out and touch with her fingers.

She's unused to hearing your affections, though. Unused to hearing the words.

You lay together in the darkness. You're alone tonight, the entire cabin empty. Her mother and father have gone together on an outing together, after you accompanied them into the city. You've finally returned, put the horses up in the stable, and have to come to her side.

Shadowheart likes to lay in your arms. She lets herself curl into your weight, inhales the scent of your skin - earthy and rich as you let your arm fold around her waist. She lays ontop of you today, her whole body on yours like a blanket.

She looks up at you, her her tied loosely. She can practically feel how glowy her own expression is as she examines you - sees her reflection in your irises.

You let your hand lay over her back, reaching up underneath her nightwear to lay touch her skin. She gives you a look - her smile small, sincere. Your own expression is tired from travel, but fond. You insisted on taking her parents instead of letting them go alone.

She loves you more than she cares to admit.

"You're staring." She comments blithely "See something you like?"

Normally you'd flush a little at this, silent as you kiss her forehead or cheek. This time though, you use your fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face and nod.

"Yes, pretty girl," You hum, nonchalantly. Sagely. "I really do,"

She's so caught off guard, she can't help but gape. She lifts herself slightly to stare at you in shock.

"I've never heard you talk like that. Not once while we've been together. I mean.. you've called me beautiful but," Shadowheart stumbles, a fluttery feeling in her stomach she'd rather ignore "But it's never like that,"

"I think it more often that I say it,"

"And you always think to call me that?"

"Like I said, often," You look over he carefully, before your lips pull into an easy smile "You're pretty to the point I want to tell you all the time,"

Shadowheart is scarcely embarrassed by anything. She's a practiced woman at this point in her life. It's almost juvenile the way the words effect her. It's you saying it that makes all the difference. The way you've said it that makes her squirm. She lets out a little puff of air, silent as you laugh.

"Pretty girl," You repeat, warm and gentle and laced with exhaustion "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

Shadowheart tucks her face into your neck, voice as soft a murmur as the sound of her own heart rings in her ears.

"Don't make a habit of talking like that," She huffs "I already know, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to hear."

You smile brightly. "I'm glad,"

❈ KARLACH ;

Karlach adores you, utterly and completely.

She's a little caught off-guard by it. Just when she'd convinced herself she couldn't love you more, you surprise her all over again. She'd probably harbored some sort of affection for you from the start of your adventure together, when you'd gone to bat for her and make sure Wyll didn't take her head as a trophy.

Since then, though - on your journey together, she'd taken careful notice of you. And gods, she likes you. You're very different she must admit. Where Karlach is strong and fiery, you're cool and calculated. She figured that's just what magic users are like, but Gale is pretty keen on correcting this assumption. You're a sorcerer, specifically, means the whole magic thing is in your composition and not your study.

Which explained why your head isn't the books like their local wizard. She does find you to be rather charming. You're good at talking your way in and out of almost everything, and you can outwit even the cleverest people on camp. You'd think it'd make you... annoying. Or cruel. And sure, you're a little calculating - but mostly, you're sweet.

Karlach's really never met anyone like you before. Her companionship is a little limited because before the Blood Wars, she was a rag-tag kid in the street of the city. But you grew up in a noble house, learned to charm and finesse your way through everything. You know how to read situations before they've even happened.

And you always explain them to her afterwards.

You make Karlach nervous, strangely. Which is wild! When it comes to socializing, she can get along with almost anyone. You though, you always see right through her. You know when she's using her own personality as a shield, and you always know just when to intervene. Or when to say nothing, and just let her sit with you.

The day she blew up at you, after defeating Gortash - you'd handled it better than she could've hoped. You were comforting, and kind, and let her feel it out without making her feel bad. With you, she felt hopeful despite knowing that the end was probably going to come for her eventually.

With you, she thinks she could endure even the end of the world.

You're in the city now, no longer sleeping in the woods. When everyone else has gone to bed, Karlach finds you in the study, a room attached to the main living quarters.

She knocks before entering. Your voice is soft as you tell her to come in. Dressed in your comfy night clothes, your hair damp from washing up. You're bent over the desk with a furrow in your brow that Karlach finds sweet.

"Hey, baby," She asks, her heart thumping soft "Hope I'm not disturbin' your research."

"Of course not," You reply back, encouraging her towards you "I'm actually due a break."

Wordlessly, you sit up from your chair, pointing for Karlach to sit. She follows through, a little confused as to what you're doing before you plop yourself back into her lap. She throws her head back in laughter.

"Don't know what I was expecting there," She giggles, arm curling around your waist "All cozy?"

"Mm," You melt yourself into her embrace, turning to look at her. Your eyes are soft, free hand cupping her face "I'm cozy. What's keeping you up, pretty girl?"

The words catch her off guard completely, her engine flaring from the heat.

"Shit, what's with that?" She glances down at you, smiling like the cheeky fucker you are "I can't get any redder, you know? It's making my engine burn."

"You like it, no?" Your voice is smooth, smug in a way that gets her hot "My pretty girl,"

Karlach stares at you as you say it. Traces the curve of your lips, the slight arch of your brow. Asses the weight and warmth of you as you lay your legs over her lap and feels her body start to react. She didn't think it was possible to feel so complete by someone, even among the impending doom at the end of the world.

With you it fades away to nothing. Permission to want freely, she had no idea she had wanted that so bad. She had no idea she could want more when you'd already given her so much.

It's nice to be greedy. A little greed is fine, after everything.

"If you keep talking to me like that, we're going to do a lot more than just sitting, you know?" She tells you seriously.

You smile and laugh but don't deny her "Only if you say please,"

❈ LAE'ZEL ;

The Githyanki do not fall in love.

It's a fact of the culture, a mark of their honor. Love is for the soft, tender fleshed species of the material planes. It does not suit warriors, not the ruthless githyanki who spend their entire lives training the sword and learning magic. Love had always been a flimsy concept to Lae'zel. To the point she'd never thought about it or cared too. For the gith, there is only pleasure and carnal desire. The foolishness of longing can only be harbored in the lesser existence of the outer-world. The world outside of her creche.

For a long time, this was true for Lae'zel. She had never intended her time in the material plane to weaken her in the ways in which it did. Or that the experience of a ghaik parasite trapped behind her eyes would will her into cooperation with lesser beings. In many ways egregious, unfathomable. In trying to rid herself of one parasite, she'd found herself another one - more intolerable and more consuming than the first.

You. What a foreign and remarkable bond. From the beginning she had told you the truth, that the gith do not love and she would not be able to love you. Though she could admit passion, admit admiration for your courage, admit possession - she could not admit love. She knew nothing of it.

Over the course of your journey, you'd managed to prove her wrong. Slowly stripped bare of the identity she'd made her life around, you stripped Lae'zel down to her soul. Her most honored solider, and most formidable ally. When the time came, you'd told her to do what she must, to liberate her people. That you'd be there when she returned.

That you'd wait for her.

Months apart with few visits in between meant that each time Lae'zel sees you must make every minute count. Enjoying your body and indulging in carnal pleasures is only so much of that. What Lae'zel looks forward too most, she must admit, is the gentleness of your touch whenever she comes back to Fae'run.

Soft warm whispers among the indulgent plush of bed sheets and candles. A room that smells like lavender and oak, prayer books and scripture littered on the desk. A cleric of Bahamut, and a soul strong as steel.

But this, her head resting in your lap as you stroke her hair so carefully, is what she's missed most of all. No doubt she's going soft.

"Chk. You are smitten by the text in front of you as if you have forgotten of my return,"

You look down at Lae-zel with a laugh, carefully placing said book down on the bedside table. The voice you speak with her is different from her own. Tender fleshed even in your speech, you let her curl herself into you.

A vulnerable position, open to whatever may come.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," You hum. The words practically startle her "I don't mean to neglect you. It was an interesting passage."

"Pretty...It is true among the githyanki, I am among the finest of their ranks," She replies, turning herself towards you - getting comfortable "Yet still, something stirs."

"Are you embarrassed?" You reply, delighted as her frown deepens. Before she has a chance to argue with you, you lean down to press your lips against hers briefly "How sweet of you."

"I do not get embarrassed," She insists, scowling as you begin to giggle at her "It was merely unexpected."

"You're beautiful to me, Lae'zel." You hum, stroking her cheek gently as she continues to lay herself across. Your eyes are tender and lidded. That look of obsession she recalled from the months prior returned in full, and no longer hidden. Unlike your other mortal companions, or the pale elf - there is nothing hidden in your words. No agenda "More beautiful than anyone else. At least to me. Getting to look at you so closely is a gift."

She softens, her hand gripping yours resting on her chest

"When it is over," She says seriously, a solemness to her voice "I will return to you. This I swear. Without you, the liberation of my people would be no less then a dream,"

You return her smile in kind.

"My pretty, wonderful girl," You hum. She loves you. She thinks she understands it now "I know you'll return to me, nailo. You always keep your promises."

"Yes," She says, an unfamiliar emotion overwhelming her "I will not forsake all we have promised."

The affection in your voice shakes Lae'zel to her core. Initial abrasion fades only into warmth. It's not so bad to hear, even if it is tender fleshed.

▸ a/n ; the word reader uses for lae'zel is elvish for swift winds!! reader is meant to be sort of a book worm so you do not need to picture them as a elf and more of a linguist.

this is the most substantial thing i've written in the last few weeks so commentary is very appreciated. i'd be willing to do a minthara and halsin addition to this eventually if anyone is interested!!

anyways, baldurs gate companions i love u. reblogs so appreciated !

#bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x reader #astarion x reader #wyll x reader #gale x reader #shadowheart x reader #karlach x reader #lae'zel x reader #writing tag #waah. i love them all

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aperrywilliams · 9 months

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Little Big Secret (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You’re 36 weeks pregnant with Spencer’s baby. What happens when you are about to give birth and need to contact Spencer while he is in a case out of town?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Pregnancy and labor symptoms are described. Some strong words. If I missed something, let me know. It's a fluffy one. Dad!Spencer coming to light. The chaotic trio I love having their moment (Reid-Morgan-Prentiss).

A/N: I wrote this fic based on this request. I loved doing it! Let me know what you think.

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Being 36 weeks pregnant and stuck in your apartment trying to convince your non-born baby girl to stop kicking your guts is not funny. It's worse when the same scenario occurs at 3 am, and you are alone, unable to sleep in the last 24 hours, exhausted and sentimental because your boyfriend Spencer isn't home.

You won't tell him that, though. You convinced him to go with the team to Trenton for a case, telling him you would be okay and that baby girl Reid won't be here for at least two weeks. That's what your doctor said to you in the last appointment.

Reluctantly Spencer agreed, making you swear you would call him or your sister if anything happened.

"Relax, baby. Everything will be okay. We'll be here when you return from your case," you assured him. "You have to go while you can. Once this girl is born, you'll be stuck here and will get tired of us," you giggled. Spencer's eyes widened.

"What? No! Get tired of you? Never!"

"About that. Do they know why you are taking leave in the next weeks?"

"Not really. Hotch knows, but the rest assume I'll go to see my mom," your boyfriend shrugged.

You still find it unbelievable that the best-known profilers in the country haven't noticed one of their own has a girlfriend for three years and a baby on the way.

At first, you had your apprehensions about why Spencer didn't want his team to know your existence. You thought maybe Spencer felt embarrassed because of you or didn't consider your relationship worth enough for them to know. But your boyfriend assured you it was anything but that. He told you what happened to Haley, Hotch's wife, and the multiple times a team's family member has been exposed to danger because of their job. He wanted you safe. He wanted to protect you.

The only one who knew about you was Hotch, Spencer's boss. But he, better than anyone, could understand Spencer's reasons, so he hadn't said anything.

You understood it and accepted it, even if you both knew that at some point, your secret would not be a secret anymore. For now, it was safer like this.

Exhaustion was all you got now, and even you have been trying to bribe your unborn daughter with chocolates if she behaved and let you sleep. It seemed you succeeded as she stopped making a party in your womb.

You fall asleep thinking about how your life has changed in the past years and how happy you were despite how uncomfortable pregnancy was at this point.

The next morning you woke up feeling a little better. Sleep helped, but your body was still tense, so you thought a warm bath after breakfast was a good idea to relax your sore muscles.

You were finishing your pancakes when Spencer called you.

"Hey, baby!" You greeted.

"Good morning, my love. How did you sleep?"

You didn't have the heart to tell him how uncomfortable you were last night.

"Good. Everything is good here. How is the case?" You tried to direct the topic to him. Spencer sighed.

"I think we are close to catching the unsub, but it had been hard," he confessed.

"I know you'll get him soon," you assured him. Spencer chuckled. He loved how you were always rooting for him. You were his biggest fan.

"I hope so. And you? Our baby girl has been good? When I come back-" he didn't even finish the sentence when someone called his name in the distance. 'Reid! We need you now!'

A heavy sigh left Spencer's lips.

"I'm sorry, love. I got to go," he mumbled into the receiver, guilt dripping from his voice.

"Hey, it's okay. Don't apologize and go to catch the bad guy," you encouraged him.

"I will. I love you so so much. And I love our little one. I promise to make it up to you both, okay?"

"I love you more. We'll be waiting for you."

Despite your efforts to relax during your bath, it seemed baby Reid had other plans, like moving and squeezing your insides. You tried singing to her, telling stories, and everything that came to mind.

You gave up and hopped off the tub. You dried your body and decided to watch some TV. After a while, stuck in a random show, the noise lulled you to sleep without noticing.

Everything would have been perfect if it weren't for the fact that an intense pain woke you up suddenly. You didn't know the time, but the TV was still on. You tried to sit on the sofa, but the pain wouldn't leave you, so much so that it was hard for you to breathe. The twisting in your belly was stronger than you'd ever felt and scaring you.

"My sweet girl, I know you're eager to see us, but you have some days left in Mommy's womb, so try to be nice, okay?" You panted, trying to reason with your baby.

You weren't ready to give birth, let alone without Spencer.

But, again, baby Reid had her own plans.

Another sharp pang made you slouch on the sofa; this time, you felt something warm running down your legs. You looked down and saw the liquid drip onto the couch and slide to the floor.

Fuck. Your water just broke.

The morning was a rush for the whole team and the Tremont police. After an anonymous tip, they located the guy who fitted the profile and ended up being the unsub they were looking for. As he had a hostage, the team moved quickly to the warehouse where he kept captive his ex-girlfriend, the source of his rage. Before things went further, Rossi's shot ended with the unsub screaming in pain and the hostage a nervous wreck but unharmed.

Spencer couldn't believe it took them a whole week to locate the bastard, but it was finally done. So they returned to the precinct to wrap the last details and go home.

Spencer was pulling the case photos off the board when his phone started ringing. He saw it was you and hastened to answer. Usually, you didn't call him while he was working.

"Hello?"

But a loud grunt came to his ear instead of your sweet voice. Spencer's eyes widened.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?"

You barely could say a word, the intense pain reducing you to heavy breathing and whimpers.

"Spence-" you managed to say. "The baby. It hurts."

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening."Where are you? What's wrong? Where is Tania?"

Too many questions, and you had answers for all of them. But it was difficult to say a word with the pain cursing your body. After the contraction subsided, you could speak.

"My water broke. I'm home, and Tania doesn't answer. I don't know- ahhhh, fuck!!!"

Shit. You were in labor and alone at home. Spencer wanted to throw up.

"Baby, listen to me. I will call 911, but I need you to breathe, okay?"

"No! Spencer, don't hang up. I need you," you cried.

Spencer paced frantically in the room as Emily, Morgan, and Rossi looked at him, worried.

To call 911? Who the hell was he talking to?

"Reid? What is it?" Morgan tried to get his attention, but Spencer's brain was trying to make a plan to help you without stopping talking to you.

“(Y/N), please. I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me, please?"

JJ and Hotch entered the room at that moment. Both frowned when they saw Spencer pacing and the rest standing and waiting to know what was going on and what to do to help Spencer.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

You couldn't reply to him, crying in pain instead. Spencer thought he could die of panic.

"Yes. But I can't move," you sobbed.

Hotch didn't need much to understand what was going on. Grabbing his phone, he called Penelope.

Spencer was reduced to dumb and didn't know what to do.

"Garcia, I need you to call 911 and dispatch an ambulance to..." he paused and looked at Spencer, who was talking to you. "Reid," Hotch named. When he got no response, he tried louder. "Reid! Where? Where is she?" Spencer's face found Hotch's.

"At my place," he told his boss.

"Garcia, an ambulance to Reid's address. Report a pregnant woman in labor that needs to go to the hospital. I need you to go there too. Make sure she gets to the hospital alright. I'll give you more information later."

Pregnant woman in labor at Spencer's address?

Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi shared the same confused looks.

"Baby, the help is on the way. Penelope knows and will help you to go to the hospital. She has a key, so don't worry. I'm on my way, okay? I'll call Tania too," Spencer informed you, moving to collect his things.

"Please, hurry up," you begged. As the call ended, Spencer turned to see his boss.

"Hotch. I have to-. I need to-," Spencer stuttered. Aaron nodded.

"It'll be okay; we are leaving now," he assured Spencer.

Morgan was the first to bring the elephant in the room.

"Can you tell us what's going on?"

Then, Spencer noticed the team hearing the whole ordeal.

"Uh. My 36-week pregnant girlfriend is giving birth to my daughter right now, and she's alone. I need to be there," Spencer succinctly explained as he dialed (Y/N)'s sister's number again without luck.

To say the team was shocked was an understatement. But there wasn't time to ask questions. They needed to move quickly.

Hotch was who took the lead.

"Morgan, you'll drive to the hospital with Reid and Prentiss now. I'll stay with JJ and Rossi to pack everything and follow you. The drive to DC is about three hours; make it two. I'll take care of the traffic police," he said to Morgan, who nodded, grabbing the car keys. "Prentiss, you'll get an open line with Garcia while she joins (Y/N) and takes her to the hospital. Now go!" Hotch instructed, now patting Spencer's back. "You'll get on time. Go," he told Spencer, who nodded and stomped from the room, followed by Morgan and Prentiss.

"Hey, Reid. We'll make it, kid," Morgan assured while driving on the highway, Emily as the copilot. In the back seat, Spencer couldn't stop bouncing his leg, worried about if the ambulance had already taken you to the hospital. On cue, Emily's phone went off.

"Garcia, you're on speaker," Emily announced.

"My lovelies, good news. I got your girl, boy Wonder, and we're heading to the hospital. Besides the pain, she's fine," Garcia recounted, and Spencer could breathe again.

"Can I talk to her?" Spencer asked.

"No, yet; they have her in the stretcher and with oxygen while monitoring her, but as we reach the hospital and will get her admitted, we can call you again. Nonetheless, she asked me to tell you she hated you for putting a baby in her. I really like this girl already," Garcia quipped, making laugh Emily and Morgan. Spencer's cheeks flushed.

"Garcia?" He sheepishly asked. "Can you tell her I love her and am on my way?"

Morgan and Prentiss looked at each other briefly. They still couldn't believe what was happening, but either way, they had a mission to accomplish: get to the hospital before you gave birth, so the resident genius could see his baby born.

"Sure thing. I will. I'll keep you posted," Garcia assured before hanging up.

Spencer could sense that Emily and Morgan were itching to cover him with questions, but knowing his nervous state, they were respectful enough not to say anything.

"I'm sorry, guys. I didn't tell you anything about (Y/N) before," he mumbled.

"And the baby," Emily added with a non-malice tone.

Spencer's face fell with embarrassment. They were his family, after all. And he kept this little big secret from them.

"But we get it, Reid. We do," Morgan ensured.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. We all know this job, and we want the best for our loved ones, keeping them safe," Prentiss said, turning to see Spencer, who nodded. "What I still can't believe is that you kept us in the dark for three years, and none of us ever suspected a thing. They should fire us," Emily added, making Spencer chuckle.

"What I can't believe is you were able to make someone fall in love with you," Morgan quipped, smirking and gaining a slap on the arm from Prentiss. "And get her pregnant! You have been having a game all this time, and I still thought I needed to be your wingman," Morgan scoffed.

"Worst wingman on earth. He had had to do all the work for himself," Emily added. The three laughed.

They were still with an ETA of one hour when Penelope Facetimed.

"Garcia! How is she?" Spencer rushed to ask.

"Hello to you, genius," Penelope greeted. "(Y/N) is already in a room. She's 7 centimeters of dilatation, so we're waiting," she informed, turning the camera to focus you on the bed, exhausted but relieved of being in the hospital already.

"Honey!" Spencer shouted as Garcia handed the phone.

"Are you coming?" you asked in a broken tone. You didn't have much energy at this point.

"Yes! On my way now. Morgan is driving us with Emily," he informed you.

"We're almost there, pretty girl!" Morgan yelled from the driver's seat.

You let a wary smile. Spencer only wanted to be there with you so he could hold you.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"No. No. Why are you sorry? You have nothing to apologize for, okay?" Spencer hastened to point.

"Our little big secret is no longer a secret," you pouted, feeling guilty about the whole ordeal.

"Baby, it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is you and our little girl being okay. Believe me; it's the only that matters to me. I'm sorry for leaving you," Spencer sniffled.

"I love you," you said, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"And I love you so much," Spencer declared, wiping his tears.

You both kept in Facetime for a while. Spencer tried to keep you focused on anything but the pain, though it was difficult when a deep contraction raked your body from time to time.

Spencer recited your favorite poems and stories and recounted your best memories together. As a natural thing, Emily, Morgan, or Penelope made questions and comments about the things you or Spencer said. That helped. You felt accompanied, not only by your boyfriend but also by the beautiful people who were taking care of you and him. If you ever thought Spencer's coworkers didn't care about him, now all those doubts are cleared.

"We're getting there in five!" Morgan announced.

"Garcia, please tell the staff Spencer is coming so they let him rush upstairs," Emily requested.

"On it!" Garcia chirped. “The doctor is here, so I’ll hang up. Boy Wonder, the third floor, hall to the left,” she informed before the call ended.

Pushing the brakes in front of the hospital’s entrance, Morgan turned to Spencer.

"Go, pretty boy. We'll be there waiting," the man assured.

"Go to see your girls," Emily added. Spencer’s eyes were full of tears.

"Thank you. Really, thank you so much," he voiced before climbing off the SUV and rushing inside the hospital.

The doctor announced you were almost ready to give birth now. Just another centimeter of dilation, and you’ll need to push. After he left, you squeezed Penelope’s hand hard. You weren't sure you could do this.

“It’s okay, pumpkin. You can do it. Spencer is already here,” she comforted you. Garcia had just ended her sentence when Spencer rushed inside the room, panting and looking frantically. When he spotted you, you could see the tears in his eyes.

“Spencer!” you cried. He quickly lugged to your side. Garcia sighed, relieved that he was there. Spencer held your hand now, kissing your temple.

“I’m here, my love. I’m here. I won’t leave again,” he chanted, stroking your damped hair.

It was Penelope’s cue to leave the couple alone. But before Garcia crossed the threshold, Spencer ran to her and wrapped her in the tightest embrace he ever gave her.

“Thank you, thank you. For everything,” he mumbled. Garcia could have started crying, but it would be time for that later.

“Anytime, my love. Now go back to your woman. We’ll be outside waiting.” A grateful Spencer nodded before joining you again.

You didn't reach the last centimeter until an hour later. Spencer stood by your side, chanting praises and pushing away your sweat with a cloth whenever you needed it.

When the time came, you were pushing with all the strength you left, but your little girl wasn’t doing it easy for you.

“Spencer, I can’t,” you sobbed. Spencer kissed your head and stroked your hand.

“I know you’re exhausted, my love. But you’re almost there. We’re going to meet our little girl. Want that, right, my little pumpkin?” he talked now to your belly. The waiting room is full of aunts and uncles, ready to see you. They already love you, even if they didn't know about you until three hours ago,” Spencer pointed, and you let out a little chuckle in the middle of the pain.

The feeling of being cared for and loved gave you the last ounce of energy you needed. In the next contraction, you pushed harder, ending with a loud baby cry. Your daughter was here.

When they put her in your arms, wrapped in a white blanket, you couldn't believe it. She was the most beautiful baby in the world—the best combination between Spencer and you.

“You did so good, my love. She’s wonderful, and she’s here with us,” Spencer said, voice full of emotion and tears freely rolling down his cheeks.

You couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Our little big secret,” you cooed. “You’re a lucky baby already,” you whispered to her. Spencer chuckled.

“Should I go to tell them?” He asked you.

“They will kill you if you don’t,” you quipped.

When Spencer showed up in the waiting room, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ were there too.

All eyes were on him.

“A 7 pounds, 2 ounces, and 19.6 inches healthy baby girl,” Spencer announced, the biggest grin plastered on his face.

The room erupted in cheers and claps, everyone taking turns to hug the new father.

Once everyone calmed down, Spencer cleared his throat.

“I want to apologize for keeping this from you. I don't want you to think I don't trust or care enough to tell you about the important things in my life. It's just- you know,” Spencer trailed off. Rossi patted his shoulder.

“We know, kid. We really do,” the older man assured him.

“Yeah, Spence. We understand. That doesn't mean it’s not a big thing, but we get it,” JJ seconded.

“We are just jealous because Hotch was the only one who knew,” Garcia scoffed.

“Boss privilege, I guess,” Hotch shrugged, making the rest laugh.

“Well, being (Y/N) and baby Reid not a little big secret anymore, we can meet them properly, right?” Morgan pointed.

“Oh, yes! Please! I want to meet my goddaughter!” Garcia chirped, and Spencer looked at her, frowning.

“Don’t look at me like that, doctor. I won the privilege when I held that poor woman in pain,” she added.

“Maybe you’ll be the godmother, but I’ll be the cool aunt,” Emily chirped.

“And I’ll be Papa Rossi,” David seconded.

Spencer shook his head, laughing as everyone on the team fought for a place in his daughter's life.

He was so happy to have you and baby Reid. But now his happiness was complete knowing he could share it, and his whole found family could be part of it.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #little big secret #aperrywilliams #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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astrxealis · 1 year

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i love elidibus so much it is unreal

#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#⋯ ꒰ა ffxiv ໒꒱ *·˚#i think i've mentioned before but out of all character i like. even raha. he is the one who genuinely rots my brain #even if i like raha more! elidibus is the one who. really really really just. destroys my thinking capacity. rots my brain #he gives me so much brainrots and i cease to think properly. you see i've even already said the same thing three times now lmfao #i love him so much! he makes me so sad. it is. a nostalgic sentimental bittersweet feeling. and all so hollow #raha got me back into writing but it is elidibus who brought me back to poetry! he. makes my heart ache so much #i think 6.2 was just filled with... so much tbh. like zero. idk man. 6.2 storytelling reminds me of a... idk ??#but it was so mystical and zero's theme feels so. yeah. i just love that patch so much and PANDAEMONIUM.#i love eden with all my heart and ryne/gaia mean the world to me but pandaemonium raids i love so much but in a different way #it makes me want to cry but it doesn't make me emotional per say? it makes me. lament the future of. yeah. the future #and idk that whole 6.2 patch was so mystically gorgeous to me... brings out the poet in me and gives me brainrots #anyways yeah back to elidibus #dear gods. i already said this b4 but he is the ascian i assigned as my fave ever since arr! he was so boring back then but yeah #the way they did his character is so good tbh ... they way they built on the 'simplicity' of his character. and made him into so much more #i love emet but i really do prefer... say. fandaniel/zenos/elidibus a lot more to him ?? i could explain but idk how to rn #mostly personal preference tbh! but there is just something different about them to me that really speaks out to me #elidibus shgbdhghjb ... he makes me so sad but i can't explain nor comprehend it. it's almost like it is just there #like a ghost of a feeling? like. i can carry on my life forever like this but it will always feel like something is There #agh. it is almost half to 3 am so i should go to sleep soon bcs i need to wake in the morning and not the afternoon!#hm... m a bit stressed over stuff but i'll do what i need to do asap <3 #brainrots for elidibus come and go nowadays compared to a few months ago (wow. it has already been months)#but i will always love him so much. and i am deathly afraid for the story of the third tier of pandaemonium </3 #will definitely need to get back into raiding then hehehe ... i need to do p12s part 2 <3

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inkskinned · 8 months

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we heard that you were very disappointed in us both as a generation and specifically as a generation of women (emphasis yours), how we had let ourselves go and now we were slutty and ill-tempered and holding onto notions of feminism like "having a savings account" and "equality."

we were very sorry about it, we didn't realize. it is very hard for you, in your life, because your entire definition was centered around the word providing, and that's a really vague and undulating word. it is hard to be a provider. for your purposes, the word provider here can be defined as "having a job", although it sometimes also extends to "doing yard work", "grilling on occasion," and "knowing basic car anatomy."

we had to do some reading but we divided it out. do not worry. high-value women will fill in the rest of the gaps of your life - all those silly feminine things like doing the dishes. we didn't realize we had asked too much when we asked you to pick up after yourself. we did not realize you were rendered small and scared and crying about the possibility of doing the laundry. here is a joke to lighten the sentiment: a man that listens when you talk to him.

we heard about how we had fallen from glory and it sickened us and made us very, very sad. lindsey had to cut all her hair off and tara threw up. we lit one million candles and we are going to have a vigil about it tonight. all of the people in this world that you do not approve of are going to be there and we will all be in mourning colors because we have lost your respect which is of course the only thing that any of us were looking for.

we searched around our bedrooms and our closets and for some of us it took a while but we all found the pricetag that we were originally born with, the one that gave our listing offer, the one that smells like rot and pine needles. we were horrified because many of us had taken deductions and hadn't realized it. i had scraped my knees and decided to be a lesbian so they had to take my voicebox out so i could never call home again. janice had been with too many people overall so we had to put her into the big squisher that will hopefully collapse her walls so that when you're with her, you'll feel so big and powerful. it will be like you're conquering something instead of being close with someone.

we are all going to the funeral of feminism and we will tear at our bodies and fall over ourselves. we will invite you onstage for a live recording of your podcast about the occasional minor inconvenience of self-reflection. you will talk about how we have targeted you and made you feel the sweat slick down your back, and we will teach you basic self-defense out of solidarity.

do not worry, we are seeing to all the outliers. taylor asked to be taken seriously so we have shipped her off to prison. laura asked you to accept her femininity regardless of her presentation. you will be happy to hear all women are now and forever going to have to be small and thin and pretty and white and ablebodied and quiet and unassuming and ladylike, which is different than how society has previously told us to act.

i am going to have to shave off my jawline, which is a little masculine, and they are going to have to reshape my hands, which are very square and thick - all the work i've done with them has made their veins stand out, so we're just going to have to exsanguinate me. i am horrified to have been out in public like this.

we are going to sit around the campfire and we will talk about being weird little girls that made potions in pink teacups. we will talk about the first time we made a difference. we will talk about the private lives of crickets, and then, at the stroke of three in the morning (the witching hour, obviously) - we will all promptly shut up.

and this will be your beautiful world. this silence that spans every corner of every street and every zoom meeting and every alley. i do not think you'll notice at first - it will be the same as every television show and movie and book. we will all just simply sit there in our doll dresses and smile blithely at your advances and none of us will do you the dishonor of answering and none of us will appear to be in distress and none of us will nag you or make a fuss or get hysterical about it. it will just be quiet, and you will say finally, some peace for once! and we will smell of smoke and our teeth will be white and the next day will come.

tonight we are going to bury the last little bits of our humanity. you are not invited. it is going to be ugly.

#spilled ink #warm up #sorry for going missing lol #my week in review:#got in trouble at work #for not being at work during non-working hours #then crashed my car within 2 hours of this #and then less than 24 hours after that #in the hospital with the flu #im okay now but ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm #who put a fuckken curse on me #btw this rant is trans inclusive love u

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vampcubus · 1 year

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : kyojuro sure likes to stare, doesn't he? :ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, pre-established friendship, background obamitsu meddling. :ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 : 1.4k+

Kyojuro, bless his heart, is so hopelessly attracted to you in ways he’s never experienced.

Everything about you draws him in, from your striking beauty to your quick wit, how despite your snark you always treated others with compassion. You were fast friends, not that Kyojuro was particularly difficult to get along with. You’d even argue that such a person as him was impossible to dislike, at least without feeling guilty about it.

He was blunt, genuine, and brimming with so much enthusiasm it tended to unsettle some. But never you. You would look upon him with quiet acceptance, hanging onto his every word. You didn’t seem to mind his complete disregard for eye contact or his erratic conversational skills.

You just get him, he muses. And he’s never felt a kinship like that with anyone.

Kyojuro has always felt like he was moving faster than everyone else, both in mind and body. The man couldn’t sit still or shut up to save his life, or so the other Hashira would say – endearingly of course. No matter the sentiments his comrades held for him, none of them seemed to keep up quite as well as you did. Which is why he presumed you worked so well together.

He could blabber on about anything and have you following along just fine. Though after a few roundabout conversations ranging from swordplay to street food, he musters the confidence to ask if he talked too much for your taste.

You only quirk a brow and snort, “Pffft, of course not! I like listening to you talk.” and you see something shift in his gaze, the softest shade of pink tinting his round cheeks.

It’s around there when the staring starts.

It’s a subtle change at first, catching his wide-eyed gaze from across the training field. Feeling his eyes upon you as you shared meals together. Stumbling over your words when you realize for the first time that he’s actually looking you in the eye as you talk.

It’s a new and exhilarating feeling to be able to admire those honey-colored eyes fully fixated on you for a change. Too often you found yourself staring back. And the way he brightens when your eyes meet sends your fickle heart into pesky palpitations every time. You swore his pupils bled further into his golden-red irises every time he spotted you.

The idea of his eyes dilating at the mere sight of you endears you even more fiercely to him. As if such a thing was possible. You’re already attached at the hip, not to mention the dozens of joint missions you’ve taken.

His exuberance could be trying when your objective was to blend in, but his swordsmanship more than made up for it. He was incredibly good at taking the edge off when tensions were high, he was an emotional pillar of support, and you were honored to have his focus.

The beloved Flame Hashira was enthusiastic about many things, but you most of all it seemed. You’ve been told by several other Hashira that you were one of his favorite topics of conversation. The image of him gushing about you to other people is as embarrassing as it is flattering.

“Y/n is so easygoing, I cherish their company!”

“Did you know Y/n makes the best rice cakes?”

“Y/n is such a fierce swordsman, I am honored to fight at their side!”

“Y/n this, Y/n that. You’re all he talks about you know,” Iguro points a finger in your face one morning.

“So I’ve heard,” you hum, hand perched lazily on the hilt of your sword, though you’re unsure of precisely why he’s telling you this. Your eyes stray to Kaburamaru, who only flicks his tongue at you, leisurely slithering down Iguro’s shoulder from his coiled position around his neck.

You’ve always known the Serpent Hashira to be abrasive and confrontational, but the sudden interest in your relationship with Rengoku was uncharacteristic. Especially since he usually disregarded your presence unless he had something to criticize. You didn’t dislike him, but you wouldn’t say that you were close.

Did he know something you didn’t?

You try not to make assumptions based on the worries of others, but Kyojuro’s childhood friend approaching you out of the blue to tell you something like that? It makes you wonder just what sort of things Kyojuro has been saying about you to warrant such an interrogation.

Was Iguro trying to discern your intentions as a way of looking out for him? Perhaps your feelings for Kyojuro weren’t as internalized as you’d thought.

“Is this your way of saying you’ll snap me like a twig if I break his heart?” you ask, lips curling up into a sly grin, head cocked to one side.

Heterochromatic eyes blink in surprise, and then narrow.

“You catch on quick.”

“You can relax, Iguro. I won’t hurt him.”

“Few can be entirely sure of that. For your sake, I hope that’s the truth,” he waves you off, turning away in disinterest upon hearing your response.

The encounter leaves you with mixed feelings. Would Iguro have asked if he didn’t already know how Rengoku felt in return? It's an unsettling and gnawing feeling. Not the idea that your feelings could be returned, just the uncertainty of it all. If Iguro noticed it, why didn’t you?

“Iguro approached me earlier,” you say as you sit across from the flame-haired swordsman, currently having lunch at one of your favorite spots to eat.

“Did he now?” Kyojuro acknowledges, eyes still closed as he stuffs another bite of octopus into his mouth. His round cheeks puff out cutely, the image of a chipmunk with its cheeks full of nuts forming in your mind.

“He told me you talk about me a lot.”

“All good things of course!” he assures, seemingly unbothered by the news.

“That’s the thing,” you chuckle nervously, poking at your food with your chopsticks. Kyojuro’s eyes fluttered open, now focused on your fidgeting hands. “He seemed concerned that you had feelings for me beyond friendship.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you stuff food into your mouth to escape it, eyes focused on your plate. You can feel his gaze, but you’re too intimidated to meet it.

“Would that be a bad thing?” for once, Kyojuro sounds nervous.

It's a subtle strain in his tone that others who didn’t know him as well might have missed. But years of close proximity have made you perceptive to the almost invisible chinks in his armor. Kyojuro was heavily guarded for being such a friendly man, always eager to lend a hand or ear when others were in distress, but quick to clam up when it came to his own problems.

Your heartbeat skips, excited and terrified. Was that a confession? Were you reading too far into things? Was the question rhetorical? All these questions well up inside until you feel like you’ll burst.

You can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re so hard to read,” you lamented, nearly jumping out of your skin when his fingers brush yours from across the table.

“Perhaps If you looked at me, you’d have an easier time,” he laughs, and your heart already feels lighter at the joyous sound.

The anxiety in your tummy melts into giddiness, and you demurely tilt your head up to meet his eyes. They’re crinkled fondly, pupils large, and fully fixated on yours. His golden-red eyes consume yours, inspiring your fingers to twitch against his. You can only compare such an expression to a smitten puppy.

You suddenly feel silly for entertaining any doubts that the Flame Hashira was any less enamored than you were.

“To be completely honest, I have been interested in you romantically for quite some time now, and at a loss of how to contain such strong feelings,” he confessed, and suddenly a lot of things started making sense.

He stared at you so much because he liked you. He talked about you so much because he liked you. He let you tag along to missions he could have easily handled on his own because he liked you. Iguro approached you because he noticed.

“Then no, I don’t think that would be a bad thing at all.” You turn your hand with your palm facing upward to accept his own into your grasp.

Kyojuro’s smile widens, and he nearly shakes the entire restaurant with the volume of his declaration of, “WONDERFUL!”

“See, Obanai? I told you they just needed a little push!” Mitsuri gushes from across the restaurant, just her green eyes and the top of her head peeking over the menu.

#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader

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on-leatheredwings · 1 month

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House Arrest

Yandere! Batfam / Bruce Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

For a request, Munchausen's syndrome by proxy with Bruce? Like, he keeps reader sick so she can't leave him or interact with someone outside the family. And maybe the rest of the batfam is in on it?

[a/n: Didn’t know if you wanted this platonic or not so I didn’t specify! In my head its romantic with bruce though lmao]

> word count: 1581

> Tw: gaslighting, munchausen’s syndrome by proxy, yandere-typical behaviors!

You sit in anticipation, foot tapping against the stone floor. There’s an entire miniature hospital set up for you down here in the Batcave. Respirators, diagnostics machines, and other expensive medical equipment that would be better served in Gotham General.

Helping people recover.

So patients could some day leave.

You used to love being in the Batcave. It was the family’s little secret. When you officially joined the family, the Batcave was now your secret as well. But ever since falling ill months ago, bedridden with a sickness whose cause continues to elude everyone… being here is depressing. You now notice it’s damp down here. Dark. Lifeless.

Bruce sits at the Batcomputer, the screen’s light painting over his face in a green wash. You watch his eyes scan line after line of your results. Reminds you of a typewriter. Methodical. Orderly. Nearly inhuman. When he sighs, your heart stops.

Fuck.

He turns to you, face grave. “You’re still ill.”

Your eyes start stinging with an onset of tears that you furiously try to blink back.

“... H-How ill? How bad? Am I any better?” you ask, as if bartering with him will make the situation any different. As if bartering with God ever made any difference for mere mortals such as yourself.

Bruce’s face is still.

“You haven’t improved.”

Your hopes crash down around you like glass. You aren’t better at all? Even though you haven’t had a fever in weeks? Even though you’ve been working out with enough energy to keep up with Damian? He was exerting perhaps only 10% of his effort, but still. Your lymph nodes aren’t even swollen anymore. Tim had told you as much, accidentally contradicting Bruce’s insistence that they had been earlier that morning.

“But I feel better,” you croak. You hear footsteps behind you approach and you swallow drily, nearly hissing at the offender. It’s Dick, and damn him. You don’t want to be placated right now.

“Are you experiencing any headaches? Shortness of breath?” Bruce asks, eyes still trained on you. You try to recall.

“... I may have had a migraine this morning…” At Bruce’s weary shake of the head, you blurt, “But it’s passed. I’m perfectly fine. And no shortness of breath.”

“... I’m sorry. But if you’ve been having symptoms like that, along with your being immunocompromised…” Bruce doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. You won’t be leaving the Wayne Manor grounds for a long time.

Fuck.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see Dick, whose face is somber but offers an encouraging smile.

“Well, I’m back in town for the time being. We can hang out all the time.” His expression brightens as an idea pops into his head. “And I can call Tim, Jason, Duke–! Maybe even Cass and Steph… We can have a board game night tonight!” He sounds as chipper as you are miserable.

Damian approaches from behind, leaving the shadows. His arms are folded. “If that’s the case, I’ll humor Grayson and let him capture some of my fleet for once.” A popular choice was Risk, perfect for the family who’s entire lives revolved around combat and strategy. But you didn’t want to play Risk again. You didn’t want to have a board game night, no matter how many of the family came. You wanted to see people.

Other people. Everyone here is your family.

You want fucking friends again. You wanted a job again – a sentiment you would’ve laughed at even just five months ago. You wanted any semblance of a life again.

Bruce’s eyes haven’t left your trembling form once, two chips of slate-gray peering over steepled hands.

“Thank you, Dick. Damian. But I think she could use some time alone.”

Dick’s hand releases your shoulder, retracting as if burned. None of them are the boss here. It’s Bruce who is my warden, your mind whispers darkly.

“Right! Don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” Dick sees himself out, taking Damian with him. “See you tonight.” And that feels like a sentencing to your fate.

Now the two of you alone, Bruce stands, offering his arm wordlessly. You know what this means. You take it, linking yours with his without thought or protest. Bruce liked to ensure you were always within his reach, as if you were prone to fainting spells. This was less humiliating for you than him carrying you through the estate, you suppose.

“Why, yes, let’s take a turn around the grounds!” you used to exclaim, making your voice posh and British, mimicking the regency romance movies you had been watching all the time.

Now, months later, you just sullenly allow him to lead you. Your surroundings pass by and you vaguely recognize that you are exiting the Batcave, walking through the manor, and out into the never-ending expanse of a well-kept lawn.

It’s a sunny, idyllic spring day after months of overcast winter.

And thank god you could still traipse outside when you wanted, even if fenced in. Bruce told you when you had first fallen ill that he had installed some high-tech, anti-air pollution gadget. Wayne Manor was effectively your own personal bubble. Fresh air was the only thing keeping you sane, lately.

You two pass by the garden, a labor of love Alfred started. You and Damian tend to it now… and mainly the latter, these days. You haven’t had any energy for gardening as of late. Fatigue is a symptom, you hear Bruce’s voice whisper in the back of your mind. But you don’t feel fatigue… rather, just depressed. But of course, isn’t fatigue a symptom of being depressed…? A familiar brain fog crawls into your mind. Your head was starting to hurt.

You look across the lawn, onto the horizon. Gotham’s dark skyline sits there, enticing. When night falls, it’ll glimmer and twinkle with light. There is a whole world out there. And, God, you love the Waynes, but they aren’t the world. You need to distract yourself. Bruce, ever the lover of pleasant silences, is going to have to distract you from thoughts that make you want to leap off the second story balcony of your bedroom.

Should you ask, “How’s work?” No. You find you don’t care.

“How’s Jason?” you say instead, feeling Bruce stiffen at the mention of his most tenuous relation.

He wasn’t around as much, but when he was, he was always relaxing with you in your room. You have a whole shelf for the knick knacks he brings. “Don’t worry. They’re clean,” he’d snort at his former mentor, because Bruce required everything to be thrice sanitized before coming into your possession.

“... Better.”

You’re glad. That’s one good thing, you guess.

“Bruce,” you croak.

He looks at you, face alight in expectation.

“Maybe I should just go,” you say, small and weak. Your eyes don’t leave the sight of Gotham skyscrapers, stretching to the sky. Bruce stills, stopping you both in your tracks.

“What do you mean, ‘go’?” he says carefully.

You remove yourself from his arm and gesture to the city. “Just go. Leave. I mean, I can’t stay here forever.” Bruce looks genuinely confused, as much as he can.

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t!” you screech. Frustrated, you tear at your hair. “I can just be an outpatient somewhere– I can go for hospital treatments every week– or everyday– whatever!

Bruce places his hands on your shoulders.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rage flares in you and you gnash your teeth at him. By now, that all-too-familiar brain fog has flooded your brain. But you try to fight it. You have to fight it. Like trying to crawl out of rapidly-sinking quicksand, you fight it.

“I-I know what I’m saying. I’m saying–”

“You’re saying to just let you die,” Bruce sharply returns. “To give up, let you die, and leave us to grieve.”

“No–”

“Stephanie.”

You meet his eyes again at the name, which are resolute and as blue as ever.

“Cassandra. Duke.” Your stomach churns, imagining their smiling faces, turned into ash as your hypothetical passing. “Barbara.”

“Bruce,” you croak, pleading inwardly for him to stop.

“Damian.”

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

“Dick. Alfred.” You duck your head and your eyes meet the ground. The listing of all your loved ones pinches your heart, and you feel nauseous. You weren’t trying to leave them. You didn’t want to leave them at all.

“... Me.”

Your eyes sting with tears again. Why did he have to make it sound like that? Like you were seeking some selfish want, rather than trying to improve your quality of life. You feel your ambition and desire wane under the weight of guilt. You feel all sense of struggle start to disintegrate, lost to the fog in your head. Lost. You’ve lost.

Bruce’s eyes scrutinize you.

“As I suspected. You’re acting delirious. Manic. Delusional.”

Any semblance of protest dies in your throat.

“What?” you say. But Bruce is already leading you away towards the looming doors of Wayne Manor, away from the green of the grounds. Away from the light of the sun, and away from the skyline. He comforts you with familiar lines on the way to your bedroom.

You need rest. Alfred will brew his tea for you. I’ll call the kids to come tonight. We can play Risk. He pats your shoulder, stroking soft, deceptively warm circles with his thumb.

“You just need some rest.”

And not for the first time, you believe he may be right.

#yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #tw gaslighting #bruce wayne #mine

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twinkling-moonlillie · 21 days

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Lucifer Morningstar Relationship Headcanons!

A/N: I haven't written for Lucifer before, but this man has my heart and soul so I am going to start! Also, feel free to DM or chat! I love talking and meeting new people, and I need more people to simp with over Lucifer.

Warnings: Minors do not interact, these headcanons include both SFW and NSFW

✶ Lucifer is deeply sentimental, never one to shy away from his feelings. When he is in love, it is all consuming and a driving force for him. He would do anything for those he loves.

✶ He is a gentle lover, a tender lover; a foil to Adam, if you will. When he is in love, he takes it slow, gently drowning you in his affections.

✶ A gift giver? Absolutely! Whether it be handcrafted pieces of art that he made himself or buying you stuff that reminded him of you, he revels in the idea of lavishing you with gifts.

✶ If we are to assume that you are with him after Lilith, expect some slow burn. Not only does Lucifer have to live with the consequences of his decision to bestow free will upon humanity, but the woman he (presumably) loved left him. The guilt he fee is massive, so please just be patient with him. Let him open up to you. Don't make him feel like a burden.

✶ Once he does start to fall in love with you, the first thing he will do is take off his wedding ring. He is a little hesitant, but the way you make him feel...it's refreshing and invigorating.

✶ After years of being too afraid to dream, you rekindled his passion. How could he not fall in love with that?

✶ He loves kissing you - forehead kisses, hand kisses, cheek kisses - he will kiss you until his lips turn violet and melt off.

✶ Although he doesn't acknowledge it often, he has a tendency to be a bit possessive. Not that he is controlling, but more so that he wants to show you off. He wants everyone in hell to know that he pulled the most beautiful and kind person to ever grace the universe.

✶ Some days when he has to go to meetings early in the morning (he is the King after all), he will always make sure to wake you up softly so you know when he is leaving...only to kiss you back to sleep.

✶ Going along with his love of craftsmanship, you become his muse. There will be several different versions of you as a duck, an apple, whatever comes to his mind really.

✶ Lucifer as a whole is a bit eccentric and peculiar, but charming nonetheless. There is a reason why he was able to seduce Lilith and Eve.

✶ If you two pursue a relationship further, you must be able to get along with Charlie. Charlie is Lucifer's pride and joy, and if you can't get along...well Lucifer would choose his baby over you.

✶ But that's alright because Charlie is very easy to get along with!

✶ He frequently uses pet names such as sweetie and sweetheart, as well as angel and apple pie.

✶ He always calls you the apple of his eye.

✶ NOW TO GET ON TO THE SPICY STUFF >:)

✶ Take one look at that man and tell me he ISN'T a service top. You can't! It's impossible (/j).

✶ Lucifer is desperate to prove himself, to prove his worth, even if he knows you love him. That's why he loves servicing you; he will spend hours pulling you further and further into pleasure.

✶ We all have seen episode eight, we know that he will spend hours between your thighs until you are an overstimulated mess. He gets off on the idea of you relying on the pleasure he gives you and no one else.

✶ It's a pride thing.

✶ His favorite position to have you in is missionary. He just loves to hold you close as he slowly enters you, being able to see how you writhe and become a moaning mess for him.

✶ He also loves to hold you close from behind and pound you (spoon fucking). That's mostly reserved for morning sex though.

✶ Again, he is a deeply sentimental and loving man so he prefers to make love to you than fuck you. But he definitely could fuck you if he wanted to.

✶ His wings have a tendency to poof out right as he is on the verge of coming. Sometimes he wraps them around you, sheltering you in a heavenly cloud.

✶ He has a daddy kink and a breeding kink. No, I will not take any arguments against this.

✶ He just desperately wants to claim you fully, and what better way to do that if not through breeding your pretty pussy.

✶ But really, this man is desperately in love with you. Please let him love you <3

#Lucifer #Lucifer x reader #Lucifer morningstar #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel Lucifer #Romance #Fluff #Lucifer Morningstar x reader #Service top Lucifer #smut

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mediumgayitalian · 28 days

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The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.

Nico’s a fan.

Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.

What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.

“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.

Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”

It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.

“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”

Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.

“Just — tell me where Will is.”

“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”

Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.

“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”

Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.

As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:

ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.

(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)

In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:

Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.

The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.

Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.

“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”

“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”

“Ah. And the music…”

“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”

“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.

“Yeah!”

…Very, very weakly.

“…Okay.”

Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.

“You’re such a dweeb!”

“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”

Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.

…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.

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incognit0slut · 11 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (5)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye

Part summary: Spencer’s lack of experience on the female anatomy is educated by her. wc: 4,7k

Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murder

a/n: sorry it took me longer to update, kind of went through a writer’s block but finally got back the vibe

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER WAS A MAN ON A MISSION. His steps echoed on the marble floor the next morning as he entered the mundane space of the bureau, hand gripping the strap of his bag. The glass door separating the familiarity of his disorganized desk greeted him, but before he could enter the room, his heels turned towards a certain part of the office he was accustomed to.

He pushed the door at the end of the hallway to find Garcia typing away on her keyboard, her eyes fixated on the screen in front of her. The sudden sound of his arrival startled her before she swiveled in her chair, because the man standing by the door hardly visited her this early, especially when he still had his bag thrown over his shoulder.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the good doctor." She leaned back in her chair and gave him a grin. "What do I owe the pleasure of your presence in the safety of my lair?"

Spencer took a cautious step into the room as he closed the door behind him. "I need you to find me an address."

"That is my specialty." She turned back to her monitors. "Hit me."

"Y/n L/n."

There was a heavy pause as her fingers hovered above the keyboard. The familiarity of the name had her eying him as he stepped into her line of vision. "Isn't she one of the witnesses you talked to last night?"

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Yes, she is."

"And you need her address because...?"

"I..." A sense of dread and anxiety hit him as he felt the intensity of her scrutinizing gaze. "I—I have further questions to ask."

Garcia wasn't an expert in profiling, unlike most of her teammates, but she wasn't blind when it came to picking out other people's sudden change of composure. Spencer's usually calm demeanor was suddenly replaced with discomfort, something that rarely occurred unless the topic of conversation extremely flustered him.

"You know," she started, slightly twisting her body. "Morgan told me something interesting happened last night, and I'm usually not one to gossip—" She rolled her eyes at the look he gave her. "Alright, fine, maybe I am. But it's not gossip if it's true."

His face twisted into a frown. "What did he tell you?"

"That the pretty witness lady may or may not know you personally." When he didn't respond, she urged on, "So? Is it true?"

Spencer quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. He considered himself to be a very private person, one that didn't share much about their personal life. The introverted trait in him preferred the comfort of spending his time engrossed with his own thoughts than engaging in unnecessary, awkward conversations with others. So whenever he received attention regarding his private matters, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable under the spotlight.

"I cannot confirm nor deny that."

She scoffed. "You do realize you're not making it any less suspicious, right?"

She then proceeded in typing the name of the woman he had met the previous night but immediately stopped, her eyes piercing back at him. "What?"

"I will give you the address if you tell me whether you need it for work or personal reasons."

This was why he disliked human interaction. Couldn't one go on with their own lifestyle without questioning another person's way of life?

He let out an irritated sigh. "Garcia."

"Reid."

He pondered whether he could get away without explaining the intention of his request. But this was Penelope Garcia, known to be relentless with an interest in exchanging information about the personal lives of the team members. There was no other choice than to cave in if he wanted to avoid her persistent persuasion, so he answered—although reluctantly—in a very low voice, "Personal reasons.”

"I knew it!" She gleefully laughed. She focused her attention back onto her monitor, her fingers working their wonders before a passport picture of a woman stared back at them through the screen. "Ooh, she's pretty."

She really was. The person staring back at him was smiling, something he hadn't seen the last time he saw her. Her smile was an incredibly beautiful thing to behold. It was also incredibly contagious as he found his lips curling into a smile of his own, his eyes scanning across every feature on her radiant face. He was completely enthralled, it was as if her beauty had a grip on him, putting him in some sort of trance.

She was absolutely beautiful.

"Do you want me to save her picture? Send it to your phone?"

He felt the warmth spreading along his cheeks. "No." He turned his gaze towards the address printed on the left side of the screen, memorizing the exact street and the number of her residential.

"When I said you were a Casanova, I didn't think it would come to this extent." He threw her a frown as she explained, "A few days ago you had a lady friend at your place, and now this."

Spencer pursed his lips together. His palms immediately began to sweat as she sent him a wicked grin. His silence was all that it took for her to bounce in her chair, hands clapping at the irony of the situation. "No way. Are you telling me this is the same woman you met at the bar? The same stranger you spent the night with is the exact witness you talked to last night?"

He turned on his heels. "Goodbye, Garcia."

"Wait—no!" She grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to face her again. "Oh my god, I am so invested. This is way more entertaining than the show I'm currently watching!"

He heaved out a sigh. "I'm glad you can find amusement in my misery."

"Misery? This isn't misery, sweetheart, this is amazing. When was the last time you were involved with someone?" Far too long, he thought to himself, but his answer must've shown across his face. "Exactly. Now, aren't you glad I didn't show up that night?"

He shook his head, deciding not to answer her question, and crossed his arms instead. "This stays between us, okay?"

She nodded eagerly. "Of course."

"And you can't even mention this to Morgan."

"What?" She groaned as he proceeded to scowl at her. "Alright, alright. He will not hear any of this."

He assessed her one last time, cautiously weighing any possibility of her bluff. But when she returned his gaze with a suddenly concerned stare, he had to double-check whether he was seeing right. The mischievous glint in her eyes was replaced by a deep sense of worry, her face melting into the familiar solemn look she flashed whenever she had something important to say.

"Hey, Reid." She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head to the side. "You'll be careful, right?"

The sudden grimness of her tone caught him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

She paused for a moment, trying to sort out her words without wanting to offend him. "I just want to remind you that we're currently in the middle of investigating a case that involves her."

"She's only a witness," he pointed out.

"Doesn't make her any less important. Reid, when you're emotionally involved with anyone who is linked to a case we're working on, there's a high chance it can get messy. You know that."

Oh, how he knew that all too well. He knew how very unhealthy it could be, and how getting emotionally attached to someone involved in a case could lead to irrational or compromised decision-making. It could be a potential source of bias and it could make anyone put their personal feelings above what was best for the investigation. It could cloud people’s judgment. This was something that he would never recommend, something that he would urge anyone on the team to avoid doing.

So was he being rational now? Was running a background check on someone for personal reasons deemed appropriate?

Probably not. It was a very risky thing to consider, but Spencer was smart enough to understand how important it was to keep his emotions intact. The possibility of things getting out of hand would only happen if he couldn't keep it under control, which he was certain that he could, and he would never let anything stop him from doing his job.

"I'll be careful," he finally responded. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You are most definitely welcome, lover boy." She gave him a genuine smile before turning back toward her devices. "Now go and get your girl so I can go back to my work."

His body tensed. "She's not my girl."

She threw him a look that told him she didn't believe a word he said, something he was starting to question himself. He quickly shook his head and strode out of the room, completely denying Garcia's admission, because in his mind, Y/n was merely the stranger he met on one random night. She was simply the woman who ended up in his bed. She was the mysterious enigma who slipped into the night with nothing but a nod. She was the one who looked at him in disbelief at their unexpected encounter.

She was all of the things above, but she was definitely not his girl.

"You need to install a security camera."

Tapping her fingers lightly against the mug in her hands, eyes fixed on the black liquid of the freshly brewed coffee, Y/n blew out a rough breath. "Please worry about yourself."

"Or better yet, get a dog," the man across from her suggested. "Those big hound dogs that would scare people off. They can easily sense danger when they see one."

"Why would I need a dog when I have you?"

He frowned at her. "I'm being serious."

"And you think I'm not?"

He went completely still, his eyes trailing across her face. "Is that a trick question?"

She took a sip of the warm coffee, letting it calm her frustration as she pondered whether kicking him out of her own house was a better option than dragging him out through the door.

"Oliver," she muttered, her voice laced with annoyance while she carefully put down her mug on the countertop. "You have practically stationed yourself in my house, barking at anyone you think might be a potential danger."

"Y/n," he followed her gesture, leaning closer into the small space of her kitchen. "It's for your safety."

"You shouted at my mailman!"

"He took an awful lot of time talking to you."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to cause a scene in the sanctuary of her own home. She had woken up this morning, limbs tangled in her sheet and body aching from all the emotions she went through the previous night, and decided she would spend the day relaxing the tension in her nerves. Do some grocery shopping, head to the beauty salon to get a manicure and a nice haircut that was long overdue, and ravish herself with a delicious meal at the new restaurant she had been wanting to visit.

But all her plans went down the drain when she heard a loud knock the moment she opened her eyes. She found Oliver standing on her front porch, holding his trademark smile and amiable posture, before lunging at her with concern while asking a bunch of questions related to what had happened.

At first, she accepted his worry, what was she to do when a friend came to her house to make sure she was doing alright? But the longer he stayed the more she wondered whether letting him inside her home was the smartest thing to do. She knew Oliver was a very persistent person, but she wasn't aware of him being this insufferable.

"You know what would make me feel safe?" She walked out of the kitchen, expecting him to follow her, something he had been doing throughout the day. "For you to stop breathing down my neck and let me enjoy my weekend in peace."

Her plan worked, he was already hot on her heels as he watched her stalk toward the front area of her house. "I came by to check in on you."

"Since the morning, it's almost 5 PM." She tugged the door open before stepping to the side. "I'm sure I can manage on my own now—"

"Who’s that?"

Shd followed his line of sight and frowned when a black vehicle stopped right at her curb, its engine cutting off a moment later. She watched as the door wrenched open and felt her heart drop as a familiar face stared directly back. The shock of seeing someone unexpected took her by surprise, it was an incredibly powerful feeling that left her pretty shaken up and even a little bit stunned, because right on her driveway was none other than Spencer-fucking-Reid.

Seeing him in action for his job last night was enough to captivate her. But watching him in a tight FBI vest over a button-down with his sleeves rolled up, showing off firm arms and veins running along the back of his hands, mesmerized her in a way that had her weak in the knees.

Suits had become the sexiest thing she'd ever seen on a man after she saw him last night—firmly replacing uniforms, she had always been a sucker for military men... until now. The authority he held wearing that vest easily became her favorite clothing on a man. On him precisely, including the gun strapped to the side of his hip. How the sight of a dangerous weapon on him could be so attractive was beyond her.

She felt Oliver inching closer, his voice extremely low, "Do you want me to bark?"

She heard his words perfectly, but her attention was too focused on the other man as he stepped onto her porch. She wasn't questioning how he got her address—because authorities could easily search any citizen's information, right?—but she was curious why he bothered coming to her house. "What are you doing here?"

Sensing the recognition in her voice, Oliver addressed the unknown man with a hard stare. "Who are you again?"

"Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid," he introduced himself, flashing his badge. "I have further questions for Ms. L/n regarding a certain case."

"You mean Jamison's murder?"

Spencer nodded, leveling his gaze with the man who stood too close to her for his liking. "I need to talk to her personally."

It was another way for him to urge Oliver out of her house, Y/n noted, which was something she didn't oppose. Oliver tensed beside her, throwing her a doubtful look. "Will you be fine?"

Would she be fine being left alone with someone she wanted nothing to do after everything that happened? Maybe not. But it was better than to have Oliver gluing himself in her home. "I’ll be fine. You can go, Oliver."

The two men addressed one another, and the mood suddenly turned intense. Spencer was very cautious and deliberate with each of his movements, trying to be intuitive and on alert for any possible threat or danger. But then Oliver nodded his head and smiled at him, shrugging away any tension that lingered in the air.

He turned towards her. "Call me if you need anything."

She stepped aside and let him pass, breathing out a grateful sigh as she finally watched him walk down the street.

"Boyfriend?"

"No," she quickly replied, frowning at the idea of Oliver being her partner. Then she shot Spencer a look. "Not that it's any of your business."

He probably deserved that. He nodded behind her as his eyes scanned the entrance of her house. "Can I come in?"

There was something about letting the man into her home. It was a very special and sacred place that brought peace and joy after a long day of work. Letting him into the comfort of her house meant letting him into a personal part of herself.

She opened the door further before he stepped inside, his eyes scanning every nook and corner. She cleared her throat and closed the door behind her. "So, you wanted to ask me more questions?"

There was a moment of silence as he turned around. "I actually came here to apologize." When she didn't respond, he added, "About last night."

She narrowed her eyes. "What exactly are you apologizing for?"

"It seemed we got off the wrong foot yesterday and I want to apologize if I offended you in any way."

The memory of last night's encounter flashed before her eyes; their unexpected encounter, the way he acted as if he had never held her naked, and how he wanted no one else to know their tryst, keeping it as a mere rendezvous between two strangers. There was some truth in that, but there was also another truth in her disappointment, and suddenly she was extremely tired of all these emotions.

"Last night was... it was awkward for both of us,” she decided to say. "Why don't we forget it ever happened?"

"Forget what?"

"Everything?" She crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "About last night, about—" She mentally winced. "About what happened the first night we met.”

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed. His eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly as he studied her quietly in return. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?”

"Why do you want to forget that night?"

There was something unnerving about the way he looked at her. One of her hands nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she eyed him. She felt her heart rate pick up slightly—there could only be one reason he was asking this, right?

"Do you not want to forget it?"

She could see the way his cheeks were twitching, the muscles working as if he was weighing his next words. He took a step forward, cautiously scanning his eyes across her face. Staring wasn't quite the word for what he was doing. His eyes rested on her, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft and inviting instead of harsh or demanding. Perhaps it was his lips that give away his intention, like a ghost of a smile peeking through his features in the stillness of the room.

"What if I want a repeat of it?"

She is nhaled a sharp breath, her heart rate drastically climbing in her chest she could feel her pulse vibrating through her entire body. His unvoiced suggestion hung heavily in the air. She felt that first warm flood of arousal struck her, the blood in her body abruptly shifting south.

A shiver ran down her spine, goosebumps abruptly rising along her forearms. "What are you trying to say?"

His mouth pulled back into a slow smile before she watched him inch forward, carefully closing the distance between them. A moment later he was leaning towards her, reaching his hands out deliberately slow. Her eyes followed their movements, her breathing increasing as his hands found her own. Carefully, he started to pull her, moving extremely slow, as if giving her plenty of time to register what was happening and a chance for her to pull away.

But she didn't, instead, her body followed his direction, letting him tug her across the small gap separating them.

"I grew up in Las Vegas," he suddenly said, hands moving up her arms. "I was a child prodigy in a public school, and believe it or not, I've suffered worse things growing up than in my line of work now."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Last night you didn't know the city I grew up in." A smile stretched across his lip. "And now you do."

The hands on her arms gripped a bit tighter, carefully urging her to move closer. The warmth radiating from his body was already driving her wild. How was it possible for one person to make her feel like she was completely losing her mind?

He was playing with fire, and she was practically a moth to a flame.

Her hands cautiously slid along his shoulders and up the length of his neck. She felt a faint rumble in his throat as her fingertips slid over the skin of it. Her eyes focused on the way he was watching her, eyes fluttering in a haze, mouth slightly parted. Biting her lip, she slipped her hand into his disheveled hair, carefully raking her fingers through the softness of it. He instantly leaned into the touch as she felt the growing need in her rising.

"Is this even allowed?" She breathed out, shuddering at the way the firmness of his vest pressed against her chest. "Fornicating with the witness?"

"It's probably not the wisest thing to do," was his honest reply.

She pulled him closer as she felt his arms settling around her waist. "Yet you still want to break the rules?"

Eyes dropping down to her mouth, his gaze lingered on her luscious lips. Gradually he leaned down towards her, his own lips parting as their breaths mingled in the small space between them. He shifted his forehead against hers, his nose lightly bumping into her own.

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't want to."

And then he closed the gap, caressing his lips just barely against hers, before thrusting himself into her open mouth, an obvious level of hungry desperation in the way he devoured her whole. He'd wanted this—wanted to taste her again ever since she stood unexpectedly in front of him. Sucking the entirety of her bottom lip into his mouth, she let out a moan. That glorious, soft, perfect, bit of flesh fit entirely into his mouth. His tongue danced along the length of it, a deep grunt coming from his throat as she melted further in his arms.

Spencer’s hands grabbed her hard by the hips as he tugged her into his body so tight she could feel his arousal pressing into her. She gasped in surprise, and he took the moment to lunge deeper into her mouth, feverishly in a flurry of tongue and teeth, his mouth only riling her further. The feeling of his tongue colliding against hers sent her into a nose dive of indescribable sensation. The longer the kiss lasted, the hotter she felt, and the warmer her skin got.

She breathed out another moan, fingers carding through the lengthier parts of his hair. The more his mouth moved against hers, the harder it was becoming to hold back. She was pouncing on him, kissing him back with as much fervor, and slightly let out a whimper when he pulled back. His mouth broke from hers, slipping down to place kisses along her jawline. She bit her lip, head tilting back just as he muttered, "Tell me how you want to be touched."

The request had her pulling back, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"

"What you said last night..." He explained, a sudden insecurity weighing in his eyes. "It got to my head."

Mouth opening and closing, she stared at him in stunned silence. Then the realization hit her on what he was implying. "I said that out of the heat of the moment," she assured him. "I was simply mad at you."

Although the way she was trying to avoid his gaze told him otherwise. "I'm a profiler. I can tell if you're lying."

She couldn't stop the amused laugh slipping through her lips. "Look," she started, slightly tugging his hair. "It wasn't that you were bad. But you could've been, I don't know—better, perhaps?"

"You do know how to bruise a man's ego," he muttered, more to himself than to her. He let out a sigh as she stared at him in amusement. "Let me be honest with you, I don't have that much experience with women, but..." he trailed off, pressing a soft kiss at the corner of her lips. "I do want to know how you want to be touched."

She could feel her amusement slipping away as she struggled to wrap her mind around what was happening, breath coming in short, her body filled with a warmth that wasn't just from her growing arousal. "You're being serious, aren't you?"

"Very." His nose intentionally bumped against hers this time, the hand on her lower back somehow holding her tighter to him. “I have three bachelor's degrees and completed three doctorate programs, learning and excelling in new subjects is engraved deep in my blood."

She playfully shoved him. "Show off."

He simply smiled, slightly pulling away. His head turned just a fraction towards her, hands sliding along her hips. “Tell me how I can be better for you.”

She stared at him, completely enthralled with the way his eyes lingered across her face—her eyes, her nose, her mouth. This was dangerous, letting herself fall deeper into this lust, but somehow it felt right. It felt incredibly right to feel his arms around her. It felt perfectly right as she snaked her arms behind her, grabbed onto his hand, and pulled him deeper into her home.

Her mind was too clouded with a desire to think clearly, and even when a little voice at the back of her head reminded her how wrong getting tangled with an authority in this situation was, she simply decided not to listen. Instead, she guided him toward her living room and walked him over to the single-seated sofa before placing her hands on his chest.

Spencer’s brows drew together, a small crease forming between them. She gently pushed him back, the back of his legs hitting the furniture as he settled himself between the soft cushions. He sat there, staring expectantly at her standing before him. Ignoring any self-conscious thoughts, she gripped the bottom of her blouse and swiftly pulled it over her head.

His eyes went wide. “What are you doing?"

A coy smile stretched across her mouth as she undid her pants, noticing the way he is eyes were focused on every little move she made. His question was left unanswered as she slipped off her jeans, kicking them off as they finally slid down her legs. Then she unclasped her bra and his mouth opened, eyes narrowing as his head tilted back, his tongue slowly sweeping along his bottom lip. He instinctively reached out, his calloused pads brushed her bare skin and a shudder ran down her spine before she slipped away from his touch.

He groaned a moment later. “Where are you going?”

She shook her head, still not answering him. She then turned around with her back facing him, and because she found pleasure in the way his eyes glazed every time she teased him, her fingers grabbed the band of her underwear, slowly sliding it down her legs. He let out a strained whimper as the evidence of her slick arousal clung onto the fabric, and it took a lot of self-control for him to stay still.

And when she finally turned around, he took in the sight of her naked form standing before him. She was as beautiful as he remembered, so perfectly made—full breasts, hips, thighs—the body of a woman as a woman was meant to be. But before he could devour her naked flesh with his eyes, she took a step back before sinking herself onto the longer couch, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

There was something compelling being the one in charge, even when she seemed to be the only one naked, wearing nothing but a taunting smile while he sat there still in the confinement of his vest. Good lord—that vest. It was doing things to her. The vest. The hair. That look. The way he was watching her wrecked her and now she was wondering how much longer she could put on a show until he came undone.

"I'm not going to tell you how I want to be touched.” Her sultry voice rang in his ears as she leaned back, her knees falling apart. And when he thought she couldn’t drive him more insane than he already was, her fingers slipped between her legs painfully slow. Goosebumps rose along his skin, a shudder of anticipation running down his body.

“I think I might have to show you."

He let out a strangled sigh.

She was going to be the death of him.

>> NEXT PART

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