#i'll post them all in the same post when i'm done

[trombonechurchill]

To Show I'm Thinking of You

BuckTommy, 1251 words, Rated G Prompt Fill for @bucktommyfluffebruary Day 7: Love Notes Read Here or on AO3

Evan was lingering, Tommy could feel it even with his eyes closed.

"I'll be fine, babe. I'm not going to drop dead just because you're gone for 24 hours," he mumbled, sleep rough, into the pillow case.

"That's not funny, Tommy." The bed shifted as Evan sat back down and Tommy hummed at the feeling of Evan's fingers, feather-light across the crown of his head.

"Seriously, I'll be fine, the dizzy spells cleared up, you can relax." Tommy could tell Evan's still torn even before he cracked an eye open and sees the furrow of his brow in the dim light of their bedroom. "You can check in at lunch if it'll make you feel better," he added, snagging Evan's wrist to press a kiss to the meat of his palm.

Evan had already done more than enough after Tommy took a beam to the head out on a call, even before the Post-Concussion Syndrome had set in. Tommy's never had that before, someone fussing over his bedside, holding his hand through the spins and shakes. It's been exhilarating and terrifying all the same time, the free-fall of it. Letting Evan in, showing him all the messy, hurting pieces of himself. To have Evan cup them in his hands and hold them together when Tommy can't.

Tommy felt the gust of Evan's sigh across his face but it seemed he was placated enough to finish getting ready for his shift, brushing one last caress over the faint pink line still lingering at Tommy's temple before replacing his hand with his lips.

"Take it easy today, please," Evan said softly. Tommy grunted in acquiescence. It wasn't like he had much of choice.

"Be safe," he mumbled into the pillow case, managing the barest press of his lips into the empty air. Evan's chuckle overhead was enough to let Tommy know he had gotten the intent across even as he slipped back into a queasy unconsciousness.

—

Tommy awoke several hours later, the sunlight slanting through the crack of their blinds that they could never fully close telling him it was probably closer to midday now than morning. He groaned, stretching and grimacing at the baseline ache that seemed to plague him most days right now.

Rolling to his side, Tommy pawed at the bedside table, reluctantly squinting his eyes back open to successfully unplug his phone from its charger without knocking over the glass of water that had mysteriously materialized sometime between last night and this morning, a bright orange Post-It note stuck it.

"You'll feel better after you shower" it informed him happily in Evan's scrawling handwriting. Tommy slung an arm over his eyes, dropping onto his back to smile begrudgingly at the ceiling.

—

Tommy took a moment to steady himself on the vanity, shoulders bowing as his head hung forward. It grated that he still felt this shaky on his feet, knuckling at his eye until he saw stars and forced himself to straighten up.

"Don't push yourself"

The note was a bright, cheery orange, stuck straight to the mirror square at Tommy's eye level. A smudge of what he suspected was toothpaste lingered at the top corner where Buck must have pressed it down while still brushing his teeth.

"You're not home, you're not the boss of me," Tommy muttered, though he made a point of relaxing his shoulders before pushing off the counter to stare down his next hurdle: The shower.

"The shower chair is your friend :)" The note stuck to the glass door informed him.

—

The shower had helped wash the layer of slime Tommy always feels accumulated when he spent too long at home. 'Languishing' he'd told Evan last night, stretched out in a pathetic heap on top of him on the couch. Evan's laugh in his ear had helped cut down some of the misery.

Achieving more than that today was starting to seem dubious, Tommy already starting to loose steam as he made his way into the kitchen. Standing dumbly by the island for a moment, head filled with static. The brain fog was almost enough to make Tommy miss the dizzy spells, like his mind was hitting a wall and simply stopping any time he tried to complete a thought, train of thought taking a short, sharp drop like it'd had its engine cut.

A flash of orange caught his attention, on the cabinet next to the fridge:

"Take your meds. With food this time."

Right, of course, he knew that, Tommy thought flatly, blinking away the haze and pulling out his pill organizer, a matching blue to Evan's white and black one. Monday's compartment was already popped open on Evan's and Tommy thumbed the flap of it for a moment, smiling softly at the image of Evan popping it open in one smooth motion like clockwork every morning.

There's more Post-Its in the fridge. Because of course there is.

Tommy managed to cobble together enough of a brunch, Evan's running Post-It commentary keeping his company as he pulled the pre-prepped 'brain foods' he'd started putting together the day Tommy was discharged.

"Omega-3's are good for your brain health!" The note on the Tupperware of salmon and broccoli informed him happily before Tommy pulled it off to load it into the microwave.

—

Food and meds taken care of, Tommy was already feeling worlds better as he set himself up on their couch, though not before nearly sitting on a dark chocolate bar someone had stashed on top of a folded blanket on one of the cushions. Tommy was sure the orange note proclaiming it as a "Sweet treat for my sweet treat" left no clue who might have done so.

Another note stuck to the remote informed him of a list of TCM movies Evan had set to record for him (with a reminder not to overdo it with the screentime). Leaning back, Tommy shook his head at the ceiling again, rolling his eyes even as a surge of heat rose up inside his chest, like he'd slipped into a warm bath. Safe and loved.

Tommy reached for his phone; maybe it was time to have that afternoon check in a little early.

—

Buck braced the door with his thumb on the jab as he pressed it closed, gratified by the near silent click of the lock. With any luck, Tommy would still be sleeping and Buck could join him without disturbing him.

It'd been a long shift, made longer with the background worry of Tommy being home alone. Tommy was tough, as hard-headed as they came as he'd assured Buck, but Buck still ached to leave him for so long when he was hurting, muscles immediately unclenching just by sheer virtue of being back in proximity.

Tommy was easy to spot, still and breathing softly on his back on his side of the bed (like a mummy, Buck liked to tease him), blankets clutched tight to his chest. Buck smiled at the sight of orange paper gathered at Tommy's bedside, notes carefully arranged together in a neat stack.

Changing quickly, Buck finally slid into bed next to him, snuggling in. His arm was already raised to throw across Tommy's chest when he felt something crinkle under his cheek. Buck blinked, shifting back up to pull the Post-It from where it'd stuck to the side of his face, smiling at Tommy's cramped writing in the dim light. Tommy was always better with words than Buck was. Straight and to the point.

"I love you"

[wanderingblindly]

LIQUID MY LIEGE EPIC CONGRATS!!!!! so so proud of u, u absolutely deserve ALL of the love ever!!! ❤️❤️

may i request an existing fic with a twist? you bring me closer to god, but from lando's pov? 🥺👉👈

thank you so much tea darling!!!!!!!!!! i appreciate you and your support endlessly <33 and thank you for such a fun request!!! I decided to show what Lando was doing/thinking riiiiiight before one of my favorite scenes -- their bartop kiss :) celebratory prompt post here!

You Bring Me Closer to God: Lando's Version

Lando lets his hands rest on his hips, probably radiating irritation. It works when he's dressed up like this, some pouty wanna-be rockstar rather than a kitten who needs to be scratched behind the ear.

Alex and George are prattling on about something behind him, only audible over the music once they bump into his back – confused by his sudden stillness.

But his eyes are locked on the bar, locked on Oscar – not looking at his disgruntled bandmates.

He's doing in on purpose, Lando says as much.

"He's doing it on purpose." Maybe he whines it, that's none of his business.

George and Alex seem to catch on at the same time, not making too far a leap based on Lando's incessant – if not unsubtle – infatuation. Alex puts a hand on his right shoulder. "Making a drink, that's –"

George puts a hand on his left. "So rude of him, mate."

"Totally on purpose,"

"Just making a fool of you, isn't he?"

Lando's face grows hot at their sarcastic prodding, staring as Oscar flits down the bar – leaning in towards a crowd of girls, adorned in birthday sashes and tiaras, with a beautiful smile on his face. It's the one that makes Lando feel a bit queasy, adorably oversized front teeth on display, the corners a little crooked, his eyes warm.

And then he has the… the gall to show off, picking up a row of shot glasses in the space between his stupidly small, delicate, elegant, mesmerizing, deft fingers.

The music seems to get louder, ringing in his ears like a furious pulse, as Alex and George get back to whatever the fuck it is they talk about – hands still squeezing Lando's narrow shoulders placatingly

And then Oscar laughs.

"I'm gonna fix it myself," Lando declares, shrugging them off without a second thought.

He can do this, he can prowl towards the bar the same way he's done every other show-night since Oscar started working. He can flash Seb a quick pleading look that says 'I'll pretend I'm sorry, but I'm gonna do it anyways', he can bring on knee up onto the barstool and haul himself onto the bartop, he can –

Oscar holds his hand up, overly-full shot glass perilously held between his fingers.

Lando grabs his wrist before he can think otherwise, winking to the girls and downing the shot instinctively before freezing – brain desperately trying to catch up.

Oscar's eyes widen as he locks on to Lando's face, lips parted in surprise. And his wrist, so easily dwarfed by Lando's hand, jerks – liquor spilling across his fingers.

He has him.

Maybe it's the only time he'll manage it.

Lando can do this.

He tugs Oscar's hand closer, staring at him through his lashes as he runs the flat of his tongue along his knuckles – narrowly repressing a shudder at the feeling of it, at the way Oscar's pupils dilate in the dark.

He can't remember how to swallow, voice raspy as he tosses a look over his shoulder: "Mind if I borrow him, girls?"

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

This isn't gonna be in line with my regular posts, but I wanted to rant/have a discussion about dating/romance as someone who falls under the asexual umbrella (demi).

To my fellow aspecs, is dating really supposed to be this hard? Is it suppose to feel this hopeless? I haven't been involved with anyone in over 2 years now, and we weren't even dating, it was a FWB situation. Looking back at it, I shouldn't have let get that far. I am still friends with this person because I do care about him and I understand that he never meant to hurt me. We're not as close as we used to be, but we still talk occasionally. But it took me a while to realize what happened between me and him just kind of broke me in a way.

I thought that if I gave him just enough, he would care for me like I did for him. When I reached my limit of what I was willing to give him, nothing changed. The pain I felt was torturous. I'm doing better now but sometimes when I think about how it all went down, I want to cry and yell at myself for letting it go as far as it did. Now I just can't find the strength to put myself back out there again.

On the very few dates I've been on (all prior to the situation between me and my friend), all they wanted was a sexual relationship. I don't want that, I've never wanted that. And I don't know what I have to do to find someone who feels the same way as me. I want to get to know someone, become close friends, fall in love...I want that fairytale ending but it seems impossible for someone like me to have. All I've ever wanted was to be loved for who I am and for my boundaries to be respected.

I don't want to give out my whole life story, but I have not gone all the way with anyone yet. (I'm not going to go into what I have done, that's TMI.) And for me personally, waiting till marriage is extremely important to me. I know for a lot of people, that's super out of date and old fashioned. I am in no way passing judgement on what anyone else does, that's your life to live and as long as your happy, that's all that matters and I'm happy for you! I just want my real first time to be with the person I love most, the person who has shown that they love me just as much as I love them, making a commitment to me and to us. I hope this all makes sense.

But going back to my original point, dating right now just seems...impossible if you're aspec. How am I supposed to find the right one when I can't find someone who holds that same values as me. I've honestly felt like I'm just a piece of meat to these people, just someone to use for their own gratification. Especially since I'm a bigger girl (more so in the past, but my point remains.) But it feels like they think I will accept any kind of attention because they think I'm desperate enough to forego my values. I almost let that happen with my friend, and I don't want it to come to that point again. I shouldn't have to give up who I am for the chance of experiencing love.

I know romantic love is not the end all, be all to relationships. I have a lot of platonic friends, new and old, that I love and care about deeply. I really hope this rant does not come off as me being bitter or envious, that was not my intention. I just wanted to know if there are others who feel this same way...I know myself, I know I am a very fragile person. I am a people pleaser, I feel as though I have to hide my true self around most people because I want them to like me. I overcompensate, I become meek because I am not confident in the way I look. In my mind, I think "if I make them laugh, if I'm compliant, if I'm soft spoken, maybe they'll overlook the parts of me I hate the most." It's not healthy to think this way, I know. But it's been a habit for 29 years and I'm not sure how to break it.

So, as another Valentine's day approaches where I am single once again, I'm left with this reoccurring thought that true love will never find me...and my biggest fear is that I'll have to learn to be okay with that.

[rookamell]

Would love to hear opinions on this because it's been how many months now and I still can't make sense of that pantry scene with Lucanis. It just doesn't check out in my mind. Because... ok. Yes, he is obviously acting a little bit, he has to be. But it's... so natural at the same time? I don't know how to explain it and I might be wrong but. People say he's acting like he's done it before or at least watched Illario, and I don't think he has. I also don't think his first instinct in a moment like that is to think about Illario and what he would have done because the moment before that ('You deserve better than to deal with my mess' 'you're more than what you're going through) is so soft and intimate and them that I just cannot rationalize that he's completely acting in this moment. Coupled with how he acts toward Neve and the flirty banter with Rook while on the coffee date... I don't know if he's being completely disingenuous here. I think he is flirting authentically, he just gets scared when he realises what he is doing. Personally I think he has a moment of 'i wonder if caterina would approve' and then snaps out of it but that is complete headcanon so I won't harp on it too much. But then I see posts where people say their Rooks were probably freaked out a little because that's not their Lucanis and I always tend to agree because it's so at odds with what we see from him in the act 2 and 3 parts of the romance. It boggles my mind because just when I think I've settled on an explanation I see a post where I'm like 'wait hold on that could be true as well'. I think my favourite explanation so far is from a post I'll like it here if I find it again because I know I have it saved somewhere that says he realises he's making a choice for himself for the first time? On a contract? And that's why he pulls away, not because he isn't being genuine, but maybe that's part of it? Idk I just personally think he's a lot more of a flirty guy than people tend to make him out to be at least... in a certain sense. He says poetic things and reads romance novels and I don't necessarily think the baking lock in is at odds with the pantry scene all that much. Idk. I just have to ramble about it I guess because. I can't fathom. What was going through his mind.

Edit: The post I was talking about is this one by @maythedreadwolftakeyou

[disc0bandit]

I'm doing this thing and I'm doing it out of order (sorry)

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

“because he never accepts that it's never been about righteousness--it's about repentance.” except javert killing himself IS repentance.

well, it’s like 12 different things, because bro had gone days without sleeping and very little food and water and he already had low self-worth and kept asking the amis to kill him and just assumed he was going to die AND THEN valjean upended his understanding of the world and morality. he was really going through it & there are a lot of overlapping reasons for why he jumps into the seine.

but javert is like Number One Most Responsible guy in the whole story. taking responsibility is his Thing (forever bitter the musical doesn’t include the punish me monsieur le maire scene). how else, in his derailment, could he atone for his conceived misdeeds other than by handing in his resignation to god? in the brick he had already left a note urging his superiors to treat convicts at toulon better, which is another step in his repentance (and another crime the musical commits by not including it). jumping into the seine was another step.

honestly a lot of ppl who like the book think the musical was dead wrong to exclude him from the big heaven group sing, because it COMPLETELY undermines the themes of forgiveness and compassion threaded throughout les mis. like the musical was simply wrong lol.

This is helpful context! I am still finishing the brick, although I have fully read the abridged version, and that detail about the letter wasn't included, so I didn't know that occurred! (And thank you for the message--this is a long response but I'd love to hear more of your thoughts!)

I agree that Javert is certainly deeply distraught and remorseful; like you mentioned, his worldview is literally falling apart, and his actions reflect his mental state. But his death isn't really repentance--in the sense that it's not what God would have wanted. To me it reads like a Judas situation: a desperate realization of a huge mistake, and doing the only thing you think can make it right, namely, ending it all. That's the just punishment for someone so wrong, isn't it?

But true repentance, meaning the repentance that the Lord desires, is about changing your ways, not "paying a price." Had Javert really understood the beauty of Valjean's mercy (an image of Christ's, just as the bishop's undeserved mercy was to Valjean himself), rather than killing himself, he would have lived to also become "an honest man"--in heart. One who could forgive and understand forgiveness, for himself as well as others. One who could recognize that he is not The Law, that he can fall, but that he can also be "brought to the light." One who could accept that men like Valjean, and men like himself, CAN change, and be changed.

It's tragic to me because so much of "Stars," and his character in the book as well as the musical, is about wanting to be righteous, to rise above his birth and the sinfulness he associates it with. It's about wanting to please the Lord by his actions. But in his end, he shows he never understood what God really wanted from him, and that's where my original phrase comes in: not righteousness, but repentance. To live, and face the man you were, knowing it's no longer the man you are. That it's never been about what you've done or can do, but about what's been done for you. That's the Gospel that he could never fully accept.

To use another example you mentioned, that misunderstanding drives why he asks the Mayor (Valjean) to punish him--in his worldview, mercy is unjust, or at the very least, unfair. Evil must be punished; "those who fall like Lucifer fell" receive "the sword." But "as it is written," God "desires mercy, not sacrifice" (Matthew 9:13). God would have wanted Javert to live, and Javert couldn't see that, and that's why it's devastating to me. In his misunderstanding of the heart of God, he misses what would have set him free from the chains of sin he's always been trying to escape.

That's why he's contrasted with Valjean, who (though he carries guilt about his past till the end of his life) is eventually able to face it and confess what he had done to those he loves. He knew there was mercy to be found, if only it was asked for. Javert was too blinded by pride and shame to realize it, and so, while broken, he never was able to truly repent.

For that, you must go on.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s1 episode 23 thoughts

back at it again with another post surgery painkiller and x-files combo, let's goooo!

i'm almost done with season 1, only 1 more episode! i'll have to see how long it took me to get to this point and then update accordingly- but i might finish today- which will be bittersweet

(update! i started watching 20 days ago, so a i'm at a little over an episode a day! wow, time flies. and yet it seems they have always been at my side)

anyway this episode was again Problematic but i did chronicle my journey like always. i am a citizen journalist.

episode opened with some math words, math words which i definitely knew the meaning of (/s)

then the scientist we see working on a sort of jet thing gets sucked into his jet- he was locked in there by the custodian- with a sound the closed captioning described as a "squishing thud" which was. unfortunate.

enter our duo! "how was the wedding?" "you mean the part where the groom passed out or the dog bit the drummer?" (mulder, teasingly) "did you catch the bouquet?" (scully, teasing back) "maaaaybe :)"

(your honor i would die for them. no hesitation. mulder, what do you care if she caught the bouquet? dreaming of her as a radiant bride or something? scully, you stringing him along with that imagery? lol. lmao, even. i need to put them in a bottle and study them)

another scientist is killed when the custodian puts him into liquid nitrogen which is not something i can endorse but he WAS rude asf so i get it. and then his ear falls off and crunches which was nasty!

scully says she has seen this happen on a fish before! mulder responds that this is not something they'll see on "beakman's world" (had to google that one but it seems to be a contemporary children's science programming of some sort. and there was a man in a rat suit playing a rat. which is absurdly funny to me. hold on NEED to get an image of him for you)

i'm. gonna fucking cry why does he look like that. need to end this line of commentary here before i start begging for explanations on what the hell was going on in the 90's

so mulder seems to think that the custodian killed his boss and all the other members of this team working on the fancy jet stuff, which we know to be true but we don't know Why. turns out our custodian, roland, is the twin brother of the head scientist, arthur, who died a few months back, and has since had his brain placed in a cryogenic freezing chamber. JUST the head!

i love when scully and mulder need a visual on what a person would look like so they go to the woman in the fbi that presses some buttons on a computer and generates a dude. it brings me pleasure to no end. then they look at the guy like :0 yup that is exactly who we are looking for. i eat it up every time.

! SCULLY LORE REVEAL ! she has two brothers, one older and one younger! (she's a middle child omg.........)

mulder thinks siblings have a psychic connection (which is actually deeply tragic if you consider his circumstances) and that the ULTIMATE psychic connection is between twins. so the twin that is currently in an icy soup is somehow connecting to the other twin to get him to kill all the other scientists and finish his research. sure. why not.

there's then a scene where mulder tries to walk in the wrong direction and scully has to correct him, which recalled him getting lost in the woods in an earlier episode i had No Positive Feelings Towards, but it does make him always driving funnier. like, can he follow a map but has no internal sense of direction? was the gps still in its early days? did he have one at all? how is he getting places? a lot of people want to know

the last remaining scientist who was not killed lowered the temperature on brain soup twin, which was stored in another part of the university campus where they worked. man my university campus has no jet propulsion wing OR brain soup section. did i get ripped off? what is my tuition even for?

anyway, the episode ends with the seeming psychic curse of soup twin being lifted from custodian twin, which we can hope to mean positive things moving forward

overall, like i said, any episode of a show from the 90's with the words "mentally challenged" in the description is bound to have aged poorly, which i am not surprised by- up there with the earlier Indigenous appropriation episode and the aforementioned episode i Shan't Name- but, we did learn things! for instance, that scully has 2 brothers (!!!), just went to a wedding where mulder teased her about maybe catching the bouquet (and also a dog bit a drummer, drop the full story time scully don't be shy), mulder believes in the psychic connection between siblings, and that there was a rat on a kid's show that was a mere man in a suit. that i'm still gonna cry laughing at.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I’m always paranoid of my tumblr being deleted or malfunctioning or something like that someday, so here’s other places to find me/follow me, just in case lol

~ instagram - https://www.instagram.com/lucalicatte/

~ main youtube - https://www.youtube.com/c/LucaLiCatte

~ games/sims youtube - https://www.youtube.com/@cloudycatte

~ facebook page (I rarely use this because I hate facebook but.. it at least allows text posts better than instagram does, so idk maybe I’d use it more if tumblr went away? lol) - https://www.facebook.com/cloudycatteart/

~ Other Links (stuff I don’t use often/isn’t Main enough to list here, like twitter, neopets, other tumblr sideblogs, youtube channels, etc.) are here - http://icewindandboringhorror.tumblr.com/otherlinks )

[bossladytae]

~

[bibiana112]

Girl are you okay? Cause you've been looking through the "My lesbian experience with loneliness" tag again

Well the short answer is no :D

[asimplearchivist]

hrrhhhrrmrm...velmgarb...*indistinguishable gnawing noises*

[drop-dead-dropout]

and even then, that won't help if you're institutionalized as a minor.

You wanna actually help institutionalized mentally ill people? Get them legal help. Post their rights on the walls. Give them access to phones and lawyers. “My small business sells cutsie scrubs for inpatients!!!” literally nobody cares what they are wearing in the fucking hospital but you Becca. shut the fuck up

[teaboot]

do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick

As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping

Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.

Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.

Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy

None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.

The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one

No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.

Some things I've done myself that seem to help:

Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.

When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.

Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:

Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.

At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?

There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.

Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍

[xoxosolia]

✮I MANAGED TO BECOME A MASTER SHIFTER!✮

Hiii! My name is Solia but you can call me Lia 💞

Disclaimer : English is not my first language, I don't yet speak it fluently, so i use a translators.

I have been in the shifting community since 2021. I shift for the first time when I decided to stop using shifttok and went to shiftblr instead.

I can't really give the magic recipe for shifting because it simply doesn't exist, you have to find what's stopping you from shifting/manifesting. Personally my problem was that I couldn't separate myself from this reality. When I tried to shift, I focused too much on the symptoms and when I wanted to manifest I spent my time checking to see if I had the results in my CR.

I managed to understand what my blockages were thanks to @salemlunaa. Her post really helped me improve and without it I would probably still be stuck in this reality, so if you see this tysm you literally save my life lol 😭. And it was when I understood my blockages that I finally shifted. It was the happiest day of my life, the moment when all my efforts were rewarded and I was confirmed that I hadn't done all that for nothing.

So after that I happened to miss a few other shifting attempts, but I continued to shift until I finally didn't miss any. And now i shift like EVERY NIGHT 😭. I strongly invite you to do the same and NEVER give up. when you gonna succeed you will realize how simple it is.

I'm so sorry I don't explain very well so if you have any questions I'll be happy to answer them

Xoxo, Solia ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

[spencerreidenjoyer]

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve. 

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it. 

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar. 

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you. 

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp. 

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. 

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end. 

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do. 

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch. 

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock. 

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy. 

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit. 

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point. 

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend. 

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off. 

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him. 

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big. 

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion. 

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him. 

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them. 

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his. 

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you. 

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer. 

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is. 

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot. 

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought. 

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you. 

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart. 

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?” 

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one. 

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum. 

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his. 

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame. 

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out. 

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say. 

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.” 

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender. 

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling. 

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take. 

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home. 

[globalrebrand]

Thinking about this post by @jymwahuwu....what about Capitano with a darling who wouldn't even tell him she's pregnant in the first place?

Warnings: Pregnancy, not sfw, angst, mentions of abortion

Capitano inquires about your recent doctors visit and you just shrug off his concern. Insisting it was just “a mild flu" and “I'll be better soon.” Never one to pry he doesn't push you for more details, even if your marriage is unconventional, he trusts that you would be honest with him considering he's never done anything to make you mistrustful of him. As far as he knows.

Your husband considers going over your head to confirm your condition with the doctor, but he knows that would only upset you. And regardless you’d bribed the doctor with your allowance to keep your pregnancy a secret.

You tell only your trusted ladies maid. Who diligently helps you keep up the ruse, she lets your bodices out and makes sure you don't show in the early months and makes sure you're never offered wine with dinner.

Capitano isn't around enough to notice the small but tell-tale signs that you're expecting, however, for the others who live in the manor it could not be more abundantly clear that you're pregnant.

So imagine his outrage when he hears of your pregnancy, not from your lips as he would have expected, but from one of the maids. It happens late one night when he's in the library reading, trying to find a moment of peace is an endlessly hectic month, while a maid dusts quietly on the upper level. You've made your self scarce recently and begrudgingly Capitano gives you space. Early in your relationship you told him that he was smothering and he accepted the criticism, and they two of you had found a balance, but now you are cold and aloof. You were never one to be vulnerable, and it was precisely a sort of quiet ferocity that you possessed that captivated him, but he was at his wits end. He thought that the two of you were making progress, but he supposes not, the last five months have been a regression. He would need to talk to you soon, the matter has become so distracting that he tunes in to the whispering happening on the upper levels. Another maid has joined the first as they chat languidly about house gossip when the subject turns to you.

"Her ladyship is so fatigued as of late. I'm not used to her being so torpid. It's disheartening." The first maid whispers almost imperceptibly, her words laced with worry.

Capitano stops focusing on his book entirely. They speak quickly and almost inaudibly quiet in their native Snezhnayan tongue, but his keen ears are able to focus perfectly on the conversation.

"Don't worry, I was the same way with my first, energy always came in bursts, though it left almost as quickly as it came." The other maid, older and a mother herself tries to assuage her colleague. "Poor dear, it only gets worse from this point." She sighs.

Confusion twists Capitano's features. He has in inkling of what the maids could be referring to, but if its as he expects he will be utterly irate that you did not tell him. He needs to hear them say it. Say the word and confirm his suspicions.

"Pregnancy sounds so scary. Ah, I still can't believe she hasn't told his Lordship."

"Oh, that I don’t understand at all, my husband would be furious ."

"Indeed." Capitano says aloud, shutting his book with a violent snap and storming out of the library.

He hears the maids gasp before leaving. Both clearly forgot about his presence. Another unexpected symptom of your influence, the staff have become entirely too comfortable.

Capitano ascends the stairs to your shared chambers. You should be getting ready for bed at about this hour and indeed he finds you in your shared bedroom. When he pushes the door open you startle, stopping in your tracks as you cross the room, but you quickly recompose yourself. This lie you've protracted has likely left you completely on edge.

A fire rumbles behind you in the hearth and your nightgown while not normally so visibly transparent became sheer in the light, it was subtle, but your silhouette against the firelight revealed the slightest protrusion of your midsection. You follow his gaze and turn away from him, without so much as a word.

For five months you’ve hardly let him see you naked not to mention you rejected all his attempts to initiate sex for the past three.

If you apprehend the hostility radiating off your husband, you do not acknowledge it. You were surprisingly stubborn and endlessly poised, keeping your cards quite close to your chest until it was time to play your hand. It would likely upset you but he would force you to show your hand, he'd been far too accommodating of your deceit.

You open your mouth to speak but Capitano wants none of your deflections.

"Pregnant? He questions. His tone, assured and firm. No room for argument, but Capitano can tell from your expression that your're willing to try it anyways.

The audacity that you would give him an incredulous look only incenses him further. He has to wonder why you are working so hard to hide your pregnancy from him.

Unless....it wasn't his.

No. You were many infuriating things, but you weren't disloyal...at least he thought.

"What? No--" His anger surges along with another dagger into his heart. Now he knows you’re lying. Or at least attempting to, but Capitano is having none of it. He has never lied to you. How could you so easily try to deceive him? It was dishonorable at best and a betrayal at worst.

"Don't you dare try to lie to me. The maids have already confirmed as much." He bats away your rebuttal with a terse reply.

As you come to realize the gravity of the situation, of your husbands rage, all color drains from your expression. The look of terror that paralyzes your features is out of place. As long as he you have been his wife, you have never even pretended to fear him. It is one of the qualities he admired about you. Now your wide frightful eyes and rigid frame are making him lose his nerve in the confrontation. An incredibly rare occurrence, the last thing Capitano ever wanted was for you to be afraid of him. However you had crossed a line, you had lied and actively misled him about a matter most important to you both.

"You didn't think to tell me?” He questions, the words curt and cruel.

"Well there's nothing you can do about it now." You reply, your tone defensive and your hackles raised. “It’s too late to….to do anything. The baby is coming.”

"Is it mine?" He questions, unfeeling and entirely unprepared for a negative answer.

"… how fucking dare you." You turn around to curse at him and Capitano is taken aback. He thought your eyes couldn't get any wider.

"Of course it is!" You cry, your expression equal parts outrage and hurt.

"Then why did you hide from me!" He matches your anger, raising his voice and stepping closer as you try to sidestep and evade him. The tightly controlled anger he bottled now sparking and bursting.

"I needed time to prepare." You implore exasperated as if Capitano should have understood your machinations perfectly.

"For what?!" He shouts.

"What if you didn't want it?!" You yell back. No tears have spilled but your eyes are wet and your face feels hot.

Capitano narrows his eyes at you, looking down on your defiant posture equal parts terrified and indignant. Then it all comes into focus.

You want this baby and you...thought he would make you get rid of it. With a gasping sob, you speak up again, your emotions now starting to get the better of you.

"What if you didn't want it....then what would I do?"

As intimate as you two have become in the past half year, Capitano remembers that you are both essentially strangers in many ways.

"Never assume my thoughts." He scolds, his tone terse but with much less bark. He closes the space between you, reaching out a tentative hand to you. Capitano is heartened when you take his hand, slender fingers curling around his broad palm. He begins to relax, but his rage has not subsided fully.

"You think I wouldn't want this child?" He questions, his voice much softer, but a slight resentment still colors his words.

"I didn't know what to think and I-I needed time." You replied, rubbing your tears away with your opposite hand. This is the first time he's seen you like this, so vulnerable. Capitano can't confidently say if he'd ever seen your cry before.

“Time for what?” Capitano urges you for more details. Your reasoning still alludes him. He would have gladly helped with any and all preparations for the baby. Seeing how things unfolded he regrets not being more forthcoming with his thoughts about having a child with you.

“To get a plan in place. If you told me to get rid of it.” Capitano can't even concieve of what you could mean. Would you attempt to leave him? Surely you weren't thinking something so idiotic, but he attempts to reserve judgement when he asks, "what would you have done?"

"Run away." You confess quietly, but Capitano only scoffs and rolls his eyes. The idea is preposterous. You will never leave him, Marriage is a bond that should be upheld and besides he is far too attached for you to leave now.

"I would never allow such a thing. You must honor the vows you made to me." Your husband asserts.

"I would still try. For my baby I-" You insist.

"Our baby." Capitano corrects. You pause, your tears dry and breathing calmed.

"I will not allow the child to inconvenience you." You plead, bringing a hand to his chest and searching his eyes, desperate for validation that he wants what you want. That he wants this child growing inside of you.

"No child of ours could ever be a burden to me." Your shoulders drop with relief and Capitano encircles you with his broad arms.

"You honor me most highly, by having my child." Capitano pauses before continuing, "and our child is already blessed to have a mother who would protect them so fiercely."

"You're not angry?" You question, shocked by his benevolence.

"Oh, I'm livid, but not about the child. At that news, I am delighted."

"I'm sorry," you whisper his name and nuzzle into his chest. "I just couldn't face your rejection. Not with this." You clarify and Capitano begins to see your perspective.

A child changes many dynamics in a romantic partnership and though the two of you seemed relatively stable in your young marriage. He can understand how your fear of his rejection would prevent you from being forthcoming. Especially with a matter so sensitive. Not that even remotely agrees with your actions.

"Is this why you have shied away from me these past month. Why you wouldn't let me touch you?"

You nodded.

Capitano picked you up and laid you on the bed, pushing your night gown up and spreading you legs. He licked his thumb and immediately began to caress your clit.

"You will not hide yourself from me in the future. I must know your thoughts."

You shuddered at the contact.

"Then you must do the same.” You demanded. Capitano could only smile at your gall, to be beneath him legs spread, pussy exposed and still you make demands of him.

"Behave this evening, sufficiently demonstrate your contrition, renew your devotion to me and I will give you anything you ask for." You consider his words before agreeing.

You nod again.

“Say yes husband.” Capitano requests with a raised brow.

"Yes, husband." A rare act of obedience. It suits you well.

Good. Capitano thinks. "I'm glad the terms are agreeable to you." He says lowering himself briefly to press a kiss to your lips, one much deeper and needier than any shared in recent months. Archons, how he's missed being with you like this.

Reluctantly Capitano parts from you and begins to undress himself, one hand working the buttons of his shirt while the other remains steadfast teasing your sex.

"You can start your penance by tending to me as I lick your cunt." Capitano’s smile grows wider as you shiver at his words, clearly aroused an eager. Despite the small pout that lingers on your lips. He heard that the libido of pregnant women was often more intense. You stubborn thing, denying yourself what you so clearly want. It is good that Capitano is in a forgiving mood. Your husband helps you out of your nightdress before laying beside you. He helps guide your hips to his face and keeps a guiding hand on your neck as he leads you to where he aches most. Capitano presses his nose to your dripping sex and inhales deeply. "It's been far too long since we last did this." He all but groans, and despite everything that’s transpired this evening, you're inclined to agree.