#im so sorry to those being targeted

[remma-demma]

I’m actually scared of alienating some of my followers and moots with all the trans discourse I’ve been steeping quietly in and contemplating, but… I’m trying to not let being scared shut me up about this. That, in and of itself, is erasure and silencing.

Fuck staying quiet. Trans men and mascs deserve a voice, and we, as a group, are not oppressing or invalidating anyone else by using that voice. (Obviously there are shithead exceptions!! Anyone can be an asshole.)

I really hope that if I ever speak about any of this in the future, that people recognize that it’s not ever, ever trans femininity as a concept I have an issue with. It’s people who

- try to divide the community

- are reinventing gender essentialism from the ground up but make it trans

-police other people’s identities and decide for them what oppression they must face because of a tiny set of superficial traits

- simply. Don’t understand what intersectionality means.

- disregard and invalidate anyone who doesn’t fit a very specific (binary, rich, white, abled, flawlessly passing) idea of what it means to be trans.

None of those things are specific or exclusive to one identity. There just happens to be a community of transfems who are currently espousing many of these ideas as gospel. They are understandably defensive because of real actual transmisogyny they face. But other trans people are not your enemy. Accusing anyone and everyone who tries to point these flaws out as radical transmisogynists is simply not true. Pointing out bigotry is not bigotry in itself.

I don’t want the trans community to constantly be at each other’s throats. We each have to sit down and think if we ever catch ourselves blaming an entire other marginalized group for our issues. That’s just fascism babes.

[xariarte]

it honestly sucks that even today in the era of LeBron/Steph being old as hell and ready to retire in a couple of years, we still gotta have talks about modern day NBA players not getting their flowers

[chirpsythismorning]

Vecna’s plan requiring Mike to leave for California means nothing. The number 1 following Mike cryptically at the airport means nothing. Them barely giving us Mike’s perspective the last two seasons (despite him being the original protagonist) means nothing and it isn’t setting up his POV to be revealed in s5 bc the entire audience is completely comfortable with where Mike stands as a character in regards to his deeper feelings/motives. No confusion there so no need to address that. Mike saying How will I survive a whole week without you guys at the start of s4 wasn't foreshadowing his fate at the end of said week. Mike standing in front of exit signs 3+ times in s4 is probably just a coincidence. Mike being associated with gaping mouths in multiple moments spanning the entire series, even going back to his very first line on the show, means nothing at all. Nancy’s vision about her family (Mike) dying was mentioned at the end of s4, but it didn’t happen so probably won’t ever happen, even though there’s still another season left set directly after the events of s4. Will calling Mike the heart and how without heart they’d all fall apart, was not in any shape form foreshadowing something happening to Mike and them all falling apart, bc Mike is definitely just a prop and everything in relation to his story only holds meaning on the surface or for other characters arcs and couldn’t possibly be hinting at something deeper that’s being saved as one of the many surprises for the last season.

[babieken]

This might be controversial, but i dont think kihyun HAD to do that. but He CHOSE to do it (apologize) and i think he was wrong.

[broke-on-books]

😍😍😍

[clairesbeauchamp]

the way i made the set these tags were left on bc i saw a comment saying neal never apologized only to get this response 🤔🤔🤔

[butterfly-ribbon]

still in disbelief about how mizu5 genuinely captures the subtleties of transmisogyny so accurately like nothing else i've seen before especially with the nuances with which mizuki's story is told … all it takes is a single sentence, a few words … i love that the classmates saying that shit don't even … realize how cruel they are, bc that's how it /is/ and bc "oh no, we said something weird to a Normal Girl, that makes us look bad" - transmisogyny is just a punchline to a joke for them, that's how detached they are from their own cruelty and it's really not any different from the 'average' misogyny and how that tends to be a joke amongst boys. what ena ended up being exposed to is really just the classmates' 'boy's locker room talk' leaking out, so to speak? ena's probably heard jokes from people about how unfeminine her behavior is in the past and she quickly spits out "that's not funny" bc ena and mizuki are both "pretty girls" who like fashion and dolling themselves up, and hearing them talk about how mizuki's cute in this way … i'm sure it reminds her of her own experiences with being an 'influencer' - people like her when she shuts up and makes herself cute and appealing and ena must've absolutely received her fair share of comments and messages from weirdos for posting selfies of herself online, but i think what drives this home to me as such a fantastic narrative is the way that they call mizuki "attractive as long as she's not making any trouble and being a pain" bc it really speaks to how trans girls are objectified and only deemed 'acceptable' as long as they make themselves into limpless dolls who are acceptable targets for any form of abuse and misogyny instead of trying to claim their own subjectivity as women, so there's so much crossover in how mizuki's experiences work alongside ena's? but also mizuki faces so much more constant and direct criticism, all her actions and choices so closely under scrutiny.

mizuki loves and appreciates the attention of girls and when she first met ena she saw herself in the art that ena made - ena draws a girl in pain and mizuki goes "she's me". in the scene where mizuki gets outed, ena is speechless not bc she thinks mizuki is "gross" or bc she's mad mizuki "tricked" her? she's just horrified that she just got degendered /by association/ and then had to listen to these boys speak about the girl she's in love with in this /aggressively/ violent way, especially since mizuki has a meltdown, knowing, apologizing for hurting, even as ena would absolutely say "no, i'm sorry, im sorry, please don't hate vourself" bc mizuki feels like she's the one at fault for feeling like ena would assume the worst of her, but mizuki also feels like she doesn't have the right to be angry at people … this is the first time we get to see mizuki's rage and it's so palpable … i love so much that she hates the idea of niigo's kindness being born out of her 'abnormality' as a trans girl … she hates everything about this. she hates the idea of coming out, she hates the idea of having a question attached to her girlhood..

mizuki logically knows that niigo are going to accept her bc they've also gone through so much turmoil themselves and understand what it's like to be on the fringes of society, but she still can't shake off all those intrusive thoughts about how they might only accept her out of pity or consideration bc they feel too bad for her rather than a genuine understanding and the idea that things might change between them bc of that is too terrifying to embrace… such patronizing 'kindness' burns too much for mizuki to accept, so she'd rather run away and shut herself out completely… for mizuki it's like being stuck on a bridge where the only two ways out are ones where nothing changes and this hurts in its own way bc she can't tell how much of it would be genuine and how much would be an act and the other way is them /trying too hard/ to be considerate and this can easily become alienating bc mizuki truly just wants to be "one of the girls" in the most natural sense? she doesn't want to be made to feel like she's being accommodated, but there's also all the guilt that she's been internalizing for being "deceptive" and not saying the truth sooner that further complicates things and makes her feel like she's undeserving of any kindness that she may be offered… even though she genuinely was going to tell ena the truth herself, it doesn't matter anymore bc someone else told her before she even got the chance to do so herself and that's something she actually wished would happen in the past, so is there anyone to blame but herself? mizuki's entire thing is that until now she's been "writing" a fictionalized cis girl version of herself when she's with niigo and obscuring her own transness bc she doesn't want to be treated as an Other or have an asterisk attached to her girlhood bc she just wants to be treated as one of them instead of having to explain herself or prove anything but she has her facade violently stripped away from her in the most traumatic way imaginable and now she's entrapped within dysphoria induced suicidal ideation...

[jellyfemmedyke]

sorry to ramble in your inbox but its kinda fucking me up how "trans man with a cishet boyfriend who misgenders him behind his back" is like seen to be a person to make fun of in the general queer tumblr space instead of a person who is in a vulnerable situation. i know that there is trans men who are also women and there are trans men who are genuinely okay with dating a cis man who considers himself straight but people talking about these hypothetical couples arent talking about these situations but rather about "haha stupid trans man doesnt realize hes dating a bigot"

theres this attitude that the hypothetical cishet boyfriend is actually a conservative so it should be obvious to trans man that he doesnt respect his identity but i feel like its less "oh its obvious that this specific man is a bigot" and more "obviously cishet white men are bigots" and its weird how people laugh at this person instead of acknowledging that even if you are dating a bigot its usually not a big win for you personally. like the bigot cishet boyfriend isnt going to be okay with his trans man boyfriend starting testosterone. like we can sympathize with emotional abuse happening towards other groups but when its gay and mspec trans men its like "oh he should have known that would happen" or "its his fault for dating a bigot"?

of course people have the same making fun of the victim narrative with afab nonbinary people who date cishet men who misgender them [and im sure this bleeds over to affecting all nonbinary people if people arbitrarily decide theyre afab if the nonbinary person refuses to tell them personal information about themselves but the larger narrative always specifies that this is an afab person] and its almost like a "this is what you get for being attracted to men" sort of thing.

and also i theres something to be said about warning people for signs their partner or potential partner doesnt respect their identity but considering i imagine its a common anxiety among trans and nonbinary people who are into that sorta thing to wonder "am i ever going to find someone who loves me and is also accepting of me for being [insert gender here]?" its sort of fucked up for it to be common to basically claim "yea if youre dating a cis man who said he was straight before he started dating you but says he respects your identity hes probably just straight up lying to your face" and then laugh at the person getting misgendered for not knowing they were being misgendered.

anyway sorry for this big ramble i cant even remember specific instances of this to reference so i might seem like im making up a guy to be mad at but i swear this is like a general attitude and almost running joke i see around. anyway. have a good day.

I absolutely see that too, and I think it's a mixture of straight up victim blaming, because oh noo how dare you WANT to date *gasp* cis men

but it come with an intense transandrophobia and exorsexism because there's a lot more sympathy when it comes to cis women dating cishet men "poor things uwu" but when it's trans men or in this case non binary people assumed to be women, it's always "see I told you so" smug superiority. (cis women get this too, because of misogyny obviously, but it's different and worse for trans men) People are just waiting for a chance to be misogynistic and trans men are an acceptable target. This is honestly extra fucked up when we remember that trans men experience some of the highest rates of domestic violence and rape in the community though.

being trans is such a vulnerable place to be in, and a lot of people, trans or not are insecure or just want to be loved, that's normal. A lot of people are willing to accept certain behaviors from their partners that are bad, because of those reasons as well, victim blaming, and ESPECIALLy telling trans men to toughen up or "what did you expect" is apart of the toxic expectations that get placed of trans men as well. I could honestly go on for hours about this. good ask,anon

[unriding]

sweetest cy … it is 12 when this posts !! so of course, i get to post this heh!! thank you for such a sweet gift … i have left a little ( <- little? hm ) message for you below !! i am so so very sorry for the length ><

rb 1 / 2 :

cy … i have just finished reading it and my heart is beating a thousand times a minute !! are you serious — ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos because how will i type coherent tags when such a kind gift has already brought me to tears ( countless times !! the amount of breaks i needed to wipe my tears so i could read the rest of it sisnjdjxj ) THOUGH … at the same time ,, i was so red reading this !!! >//////< exactly like this !!! AGHH i really don’t even know where to start !! 🥺 perhaps i will type out a message to *you* first cy !!

thank you ???!! <- what a severe understatement, but i don’t know what other phrase i could even use to express my gratitude T T i know you have been so very busy lately ): i know you’ve been swamped to the point of not resting enough … so i just want to give you a huge hug and pause time to let you rest !!! but the fact that you did such a thing for :’) me :’) when you’re already so busy just makes my heart so ?! IM SO TOUCHED ??? you did not need to !! ): and you did !! I LOVE YOU !!! though aside from this, i’ve seen you making your way to inboxes and giving sweet to tags to fics and everything — you are so kind cy ): !!

i love you. you have so much love in your heart and i know everyone’s face just lights up when they see you on the dash — and i am the same way ^^ also .. we must talk about your writing since i have a small inkling i will use the 30 tags to scream /pos sjsndjkdkdk i have mentioned this before, but i adore your writing style !! it flows so nicely and reads sooooo smoothly i just ?! can see myself reading any amount of words from you in one sitting because of how nicely you write !! also .. you said moze might be ooc but i thought he was so in character 🥺 oh i adore your writing …..

𝕄𝕠𝕫𝕖 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

heaven is a place on earth with you

Synopsis: Moze goes shopping to purchase something for a certain someone. What on earth could that be? And who is he giving it to? Read to find out!

Word Count: 2.6k | Reading Time: 15 minutes

Note: Reader is referred with she/her pronouns and mentioned to be wearing a dress. I do not claim to know this character a 100%. I am writing him based off the voice lines and a some of the lore that I know about him.

A bead of sweat begins to form on the elderly shopkeeper's temple. His gaze weary towards the grey-haired man before him. After all, Moze has yet to say anything in the past half-hour while intensely gazing down on the merchandise the shopkeeper has presented him. A hand on his hip while the other brushes lightly against his lips. His brows furrowed and lips pursed tightly.

What kind of merchandise could possibly cause such distress towards both Moze and the elderly? Well, the answer is actually quite simple: jewelry.

Oh, but not just any jewelry.

On the far right, there is a pair of earrings. Elegantly furled out petals that have a striking resemblance to wings with pearls of varying sizes at the very base, silver chains dangle with matching pearls. Next to that is a gold chain bracelet with a moon at the very center as the pendant accompanied by a pair of stars on either side. A constellation of tiny jewels from around the moon; it resembles that of the Capricorn. And lastly— a necklace. Silver chains with pearls in the softest shade of pink and white alternating to make a lovely pattern. Adjacent chains in between to showcase a gem shaped like a teardrop to complement the beads. And at the very center of it rests a dangling chain adorned with similar pearls and a small ribbon.

A part of him considered just buying all three of them. However, that may not get a positive feedback from the receiver. In all the while of knowing that person, he'd come to have a feeling that they'd feel flustered and guilty over such a purchase— even though it barely put a dent on his wallet. He'd rather not have them worry instead of enjoying the gift over his indecision. Though doubt did begin to eat away at his nerves the more that he stared at the jewelries before him. Questions begin plaguing his mind one after the other making his brows meet in frustration.

Would they even like any of these? Maybe they were too straightforward based on what he knew about them? Would they already have a plethora of similar items and prefer something new? What if they had recently changed their preferences with him unaware?

Moze lets out a disgruntled groan. The shopkeeper winces, worrying if he's somehow done something to displease the intimidating man before him (even though he's only stood there and kept to himself since presenting the items). Both of them were now comically distressed over the situation.

A moment later, Moze's phone vibrates.

Finally— his gaze averts from the assortment to fish out his phone. A message from Jiaoqiu. Target is on her way to the shopping district. He almost rolls his eyes at the term used. Although jokingly meant, still seemed quite crude considering his usual profession. Moze simply sends a single worded response before tucking the gadget back into his pocket.

With a final glance at the items, he takes a deep breath and finally chooses one. He hands it to the shopkeeper along with the strales to pay for it. The elderly man takes a relieved sigh, his shoulders sagging from the release of tension before turning to his side to neatly place it inside a box and tying a bow to keep it secure.

The moment that Moze receives it, he blends back into the shadows.

Hours later, the sun begins to set. Golden hues cast over the city to create a picturesque scene. Most of the people begin their march home to bid the day farewell. The streets are kept lit by the lamps and establishments either still open or only starting to. Moze lingers in the corner of the street as he watched the people pass him by. His mind wanders far off as he rehearses a few lines in his head over and over again. Making small changes and adding a few words every now and then. All this as he patiently awaits for a certain message—

Ding! Ding! Ding!

There it is.

He doesn't even bother checking his phone, he already knows what the content of it would be. It doesn't take long for him to make his way down the street towards a nearby restaurant. From the outside, it would seem closed. Doors shut tight while the lights of the halls are turned off, leaving it to a mystery what lies inside.

While approaching, he hears your voice.

Moze stops for a moment to spot you with Guinaifen and Sushang. There's a blindfold over your eyes while the two lead you towards the restaurant. A hand reached out to nothing as if grasping for air while Sushang held the other. Guinafen warns you about a rock you need to step over, which you oblige in making a dramatic step— despite there actually being nothing. Sushang lets out a laugh before playful chastising the street performer for her mischief. Though both of them apologize at the pout forming on your expression.

The sight has the edges of Moze's lips curling upwards. He turns his head away to enter the back of the restaurant. By the time he enters the main hall, he can hear the soft murmurs and gossip amongst the people inside. A few feet scuffle around as everyone gets in place to be ready. Hushes amongst each other echo when muffled voices can be overheard outside the restaurant. The entire hall turns silent as the doors creak open.

Light from the street lamps illuminates three frames. Sushang lets go of your arm to shut the doors closed while Guinafen makes quick work of the blindfold over your eyes. The two of them step away from you to join in with the others in the dark, leaving you to let your eyes adjust to the lack of lighting.

Both of your hands reach out before you as you call out to the two girls. You take a step— and the lights turn on, the tip of your foot getting caught in the carpet, causing you to stumble forward. A small squeal slips past your lips as you feel your body falling. Moze catches on, his body moving before he could think. It only takes a fraction of a second before he catches you.

"Happy Birthday!"

Voices synchronized in greeting. Party poppers echo throughout the room. Colorful paper confetti sway in the air. Pastel colored ornaments decorate the walls of the restaurant matched with balloons and ribbons. Dearest friends stand around with party hats over their heads.

Though details of that can come later, no? What draws your attention the most is the man right in front of you. His familiar scent fills your senses. Your face buried against his chest. Gloved hands on your shoulders to help balance you, he makes sure to avoid scratching you with the sharp steel in one hand. The steady beat of his heart is pressed against your ear.

Oh, how lovely you looked in Moze's eyes.

You tilt your head enough to meet his gaze, and it's enough for that steady heartbeat of his to falter. He swallows, fingers twitching as if to refrain himself from tucking that stray lock of hair behind your ear. In that moment, it vaguely occurs to him to give you a greeting, but all he manages to do is part his lips—

"Okay, lovebirds!" Jiaoqiu announces with a clap of his hand, "You can have your moment with her later, Moze. Settle with sharing her with us for now."

Moze furrows his brows and casts his glance at the fox for those words while you pull away with cheeks stained a pinkish hue. The others chime in to steal you away for the festivities even if for a moment. Loved ones taking turns to greet you for the special occasion as the night goes on for the celebration.

Throughout the trickling hours of the party, Moze keeps an eye on you. Catching glimpses of you speaking with the others. Opening the variety of gifts they've prepared for you. Cheering on Guinafen along with the others who perform on a makeshift stage. All of them enjoying the food and drinks laid out on the table.

In the midst of the raucous event, he catches your silhouette slipping through the crowds to make way for the stairs. Nobody seems to have noticed it just yet. The weight of the box tucked safely in his pocket urges him to follow after you. He keeps in mind to do it discreetly in hopes to have a moment with you. The fluttering of your dress just before you make turns along the building is all that he sees as he catches up without you noticing. Eventually, your path leads you to the balcony of the building.

The sight before him has him stopping in his tracks.

How kind of the moon to grace you with such elegant hues of her light. Your frame basks in the soft glow of it. Silken strands of hair shine akin to the finest silk as the evening breeze plays with wisps of your hair. There's a warm smile on your lips that's a sharp contrast to the coldness of the night. Perhaps all that was left would be a halo hanging over your head and wings to sprout behind your back for him to believe you'd secretly been a halovian this entire time. You kept your gaze on the celestial bodies painting the sky; all he could see was you.

A cold breeze rushes past, a shiver runs through your body from it. Your arms fold across your chest while the palm of your hands rub warmth into your own frame. A chuckle slips past your lips, accompanied by the fall of your expression as you mutter how you should have brought a jacket with you.

"Here," Moze snaps out of his daze to shrug off his hoodie and placing it over your shoulders. "It'll help with the cold."

You tense up at the brush of his fingers against your shoulders, your eyes wide at his sudden appearance. It takes a moment before you relax and hold the hoodie closer to you. The smile you wear seems to be wider than it was earlier as warmth begins to spread through your cheeks as well.

"Thank you." Your voice a gentle dulcet he'd never tire of. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"It's not expected for the celebrant to be away from the party either." Moze responds, taking his position beside you.

Your eyes flicker to the evening sky, and how beautiful it looked with all the dazzling stars and the moon full. What a lovely scene, no? And yet Moze kept his gaze steady on you. Taking in the sight of how the sky seemed to reflect in your eyes. Though he didn't want to make you uncomfortable with his staring, he looks to the sky as well. Only ever sneaking glimpses of you in your direction whenever he thinks you won't notice.

Small talk is exchanged between the two of you. Trivial events that have occurred throughout the day until now. Musing over the party that still rages on below despite the late hour. All the foods and gifts you've received are placed safely far from the crowd. Soft chuckles and easy glances are exchanged every so often. The noise of the festivities downstairs lulls into a soft hum in the background. With only the two of you in the balcony, it almost seemed like that moment was truly yours and his alone.

Moze takes in a deep breath— it falters by a fraction when you let out a hum to face him. Your eyes meet his, and somehow that's all he can think of. All the words he'd practiced the entire afternoon slipped past him like a shadow shying away from the sun. The seconds that pass by almost seem like a lifetime before he clears his throat to pull out something from his pocket.

"A gift." His tone would almost sound dull if it weren't for the hesitation in his voice.

In the palm of his hand rests a white box with a pink ribbon at the very top. He nudges it closer to you as if reassuring that it's yours to take. And you do. Your fingers brush against his as you hold the box in your hands, keeping it secure as though you're afraid the wind would steal it away from you. Moze drinks in every expression and detail that dances on your expression.

You glance back and forth between him and the gift as you tug on the end of the ribbon. Its silken material loosens and is undone swiftly, leaving only the box. Finally, you take off the lid of the box to reveal its content.

Inside rests a necklace. It was the choice Moze had made among the three earlier. The moonlight shines down on the item, casting an iridescent glow to it. Your eyes shine the same way the gems reflect the moon's glow. You lift your gaze to Moze, as if silently asking for reassurance it truly was yours and not some mistake he'd made. He nods.

It's yours.

"May I?" Moze gestures a hand over the item, gently picking it up before stepping behind you. He unclasps the hook of it and waits for you to sweep your hair aside. Once done, he places the accessory around your neck, the tips of his fingers brush against your skin. An accidental caress yet feels far too delicate and gentle to be a phantom's touch. He secures the necklace in place, tugging on it once before retracting his fingers.

He takes a step back and you tidy yourself a bit, letting your fingers feel the weight that rests on your neck. It wasn't heavy at all. Simply that the fact that the man beside you had been the one to give you such a thing was enough to remind you of its value. The pinkish hue on your cheeks resembles the dainty pearls around your neck.

How the way your face lights up makes him forget that it was still evening— Moze is unsure. All he knows is the gratitude he felt towards himself for choosing that gift for you. That you've come to appreciate such a small thing that the smile on your face was bright enough to sear itself into the back of his eyelids. So that even as he closes his eyes, he'll see this moment vividly with his eyes wide open.

Moze's feet move him closer to you before he could think better of it. His hand rests on top of yours, just right above where your racing heart resides. The back of his fingers brush against your cheek with such tenderness it could be reverent. His forehead rests against yours until your noses touch, and the warmth of his breath tickles your skin.

Close. Possibly far too close. Part of him warns to pull away lest he makes you uncomfortable. Just one more second. He almost voices out loud. Give him this one instance to be selfish. To let the growing greed in his heart that yearns for your proximity be sated just this once. Reprimand him afterwards— just don't despise him for it. His throat constricts, the words stuck in his throat. The way you look at him both serves as damnation and salvation to the man. How ironic is that? Enough to make a smile tug on his lips when he meets your gaze that is.

"Happy Birthday.”

VIP Taglist: @unriding

To the sweetest and kindest person on this hellsite! Happy Birthday, Evie! I hope you enjoyed this fic. Moze might be a little OOC but I tried my best. May you have an absolutely wonderful day ahead of you <3

I was actually stuck between putting this in your inbox or making a pdf file and sending it on disc. This was so fun to write that it shocked me seeing that it was over 2k words! I didn't think it'd be appropriate to send you that via inbox. But I don't really know how to edit on pdf to design it? Hence, I made a post abt it instead. Hope you don't mind? I'll still send you the file but it'll just be plain. Sorry!

[007reid]

request for reader having dated spencer (early seasons) and then she finds out what happened w lila </3

hi hi hi!! sorry this took a while hun :( you were vague with your req so i just wrote whatever i wanted to write and because of that i meant for this to be a drabble but it didn't work out that way... enjoy!

secrets. spencer reid

part 1 | part 2

pairing: spencer reid x jealous fem!reader, 1.8k

summary: spencer will never be able to escape the effortless wrath of derek morgan, not even when it's the weekends and breaking bad is playing and you're pulling on his hair.

warnings: no smut you filthy animals, though i did intend there to be smut im just in a fluffy mood rn :// tiny angst if you squint, spencer's blushin a LOT, morgan's evil, bickering and just cutesy couple stuff. me when.

spencer’s secret was the last thing that you were, and you know this.

you and spencer have been dating for three months now, not including the two months talking stage because spencer is deadly afraid of commitment, and between all that time, you’d say you’ve gotten to know spencer pretty well. you know him well enough to trust that he knows what’s best, anyway. it’s been three months, and spencer hasn’t uttered a word about you to his team, his family, and you understand why.

really. you do.

“they’ll never let me live in down,” spencer had whined, one person imminent on his mind. derek fucking morgan. spencer dreads just thinking about it, the teasing, the inappropriate jokes, the winks and the whistles. it’s dehumanizing. “when someone ask me or mention something about it, i will tell them. until then…”

the unspoken reason was there. spencer’s a talker, definitely a talker, but he doesn’t spend much time talking about himself. he never reveals a bit of himself unless he’s directly asked it, and he feels uncomfortable sharing otherwise. the team’s too used to spencer being physically and emotionally repellent to the female race to really ask about stuff like you anymore, and spender’s not too eager to share neither. not out of the blue. it’s unlike him. this you understand. 100%. locked safely in the noggin.

you never think much about it anyway. it doesn’t bother you. what bothers you, though, is secrets.

you know spencer has loads of those, tucked behind that carefree and open-hearted smile and attitude of his. you examine him carefully, searching his face for ticks—okay, maybe you were just looking really creepily because he’s pretty and you try to commit every feature into memory but you are, searching for ticks that is.

you know he hides things. somethings not worth bringing up again because it’ll only bring up bad memories. some other things, however, definitely worth mentioning again. you just have to find the right target questions. sometimes it feels like you’re dating a stranger, with how little you know about spencer’s life. sometimes it feels like you’re dating the love of your life. it’s all very relative.

you and spencer are cuddled up on the couch, breaking bad playing on the tv. it’s one of the shows spencer doesn’t like pointing out the scientific inaccuracies of because he’s too fond of the main character to really say that he’s wrong, and sometimes you miss his voice chiming in between all the movie’s dialogues, but you think the reason why he’s quiet today is because he’s not in the mood to talk. the last case’s gotten him pretty shaken up, and he’s still healing, head in your neck every night and when he pulls away your skin is damp with tears.

“you okay spence?” you say, moving your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. he hums softly, and then you both suddenly hear the vibration from under your asses. spencer shifts around, digging his phone out from where it’s lodged in a random cushion of the sofa.

he groans inwardly, showing you the screen, not having to explain. in big letters, the caller says: bau--derek morgan.

“he usually never calls me on weekends,” spencer frowns, watching the phone vibrate. “you think i should answer?”

“he’s a friend,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair under his ear. “answer him.”

“okay,” spencer says hesitantly, then swipes the green button on his screen. he clears his throat as the call connects. “you’re on speaker,” he warns, looking at you anxiously and then back to his phone again. morgan’s a wildcard, and spencer would have to hide his face everyday for the next three weeks in front of you if morgan happens to drop something embarrassing about him just out of pocket. spencer isn’t ready.

“not like there’s anyone with you to hear,” morgan scoffs, and didn’t let spencer answer before continuing. “the team’s planning on a bar night tomorrow—“

“the team?” spencer questions, suspicious. morgan sighs loudly.

“garcia and i,” he corrects reluctantly, “are planning for a team bonding night tomorrow. what do you say?”

“no.” spencer says immediately, looking at you and hope you get his unspoken answer. spencer never goes out on weekends, not unless it’s with you. with his highly demanding schedule at the bau, it’s rare that he has any time off at all, and it’s hard to maintain a healthy relationship that way. any time he gets to spend time with you he’d take.

“come on,” morgan says, enthusiastically. “when was the last time you properly went out, huh?”

“last month, when you and garcia planned another of these team bonding bar nights,” spencer says monotonously. he rolls his eyes. “morgan—“

“don’t be rolling your eyes at me now, genius,” morgan warns. you stifle a laugh, and spencer sends you a wounded look. you forget that they’re basically family, like siblings to knows each other to a tee. “listen, have some fun in your life. who knows, maybe we can find you another lila at the bar.” morgan’s tone is suggestive. and now, that got your full, undivided attention.

and spencer, predictably, looks like a deer caught in the headlights, looking at you in horror was you narrow your eyes at his screen. you prod at his leg, prompting him to answer so morgan can elaborate.

lila?

“i don’t think—“ spencer starts, but got immediately cut off.

“don’t lie and say you didn’t like it, lover boy,” morgan whistles and spencer cringes. “now that we’re talking about lila, actually—“ spencer’s mind is screaming, shut up shut up shut up! as morgan proceeds to feed you more information, completely oblivious to his sins. “do you guys still keep in touch? she looked pretty into you. never knew you had it in you til then, man--”

by now spencer’s beet red head to ears to toe and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, but also off of yourself. you’d say you’re a jealous woman. not too jealous but definitely not not jealous.

“morgan,” spencer starts again, voice a little wobbly and embarrassed and morgan laughs.

“seriously though, do you guys still talk? them eyes never lie,” and morgan sounds so casual, so nonchalant while destroying spencer’s life.

it’s not that spencer doesn’t want you to know about lila. he couldn’t careless if lila waltz into his life right now because he knows they would be nothing more than friends—you’re all he’s ever wanted and he would trade you for nothing. it’s just embarrassing, is all, him being exposed like this, and he feels smaller, feels like he’s actually 5’3 with the glare you’re sending him.

“anyway, that don’t matter,” morgan remains completely ignorant and in his own world and still on speaker. oh morgan. “i want to see you at our bar tomorrow. it’s a yes, right? good. i’ll tell garcia you said yes.”

“morgan!” spencer says quickly. “i have a gir—“

morgan hangs up.

spencer dreads looking at you, so he takes his time getting out the app and then clears all of the background apps on his phone. he doesn’t like seeing you mad and he can basically sense it, the fumes blowing out your ears.

“who’s lila?” you say casually and he looks up. he doesn’t mistake your tone for friendliness, your eyes are narrow and suspicious.

“someone on a case a while ago,” spencer responds honestly. because that’s all there was to lila. it’s not like he’s never had his first kiss before her, so she doesn’t even count as his first kiss (she’s his second) and other than that minute-long moment they shared there was nothing else remarkable. she just happens to the only girl the team knows about who’s spencer been involved with and they are encouraging to help him find another ‘lila.’

it’s all very complicated. and humiliating. he should’ve definitely told you the entire backstory beforehand, because it’s not scandalous or weird or anything. it’s innocent and harmless. but now the problem seems to be blown out of proportion.

“just someone?” you press. spencer hesitates. he hates lying, especially when he’s lying to you. his hesitation gives you all the answer you needed.

“we kissed once,” he says, and gawks at you for approval, for forgiveness. “but that was it. i swear.”

something awful bubbles in your stomach. you know spencer’s not lying, and it’s not worth getting upset with him about because it’s all in the past—it’s not like you go talking about your precious conquests to spencer anyway. but you can’t help the envy and jealousy boiling so hotly it makes you dizzy.

spencer feels obliged to fill you in, to patch up the little bump and to get back the sweet atmosphere that was before morgan called. he knew morgan would somehow manage to ruin his life in some kind of way. he knew it before he even accepted his call.

“she was an actress in this case we were working on and she just, i think, really liked me or something and she was in a pool when i came to see her just to ask some questions and she just pulled me—“

his rant got interrupted by you seizing him to a rough kiss, hands coming up to rest behind the nape of his neck and nails unconsciously digging into his skin. spencer remains mostly unresponsive and soft, surprised and don't know how to respond. you keep prying, teeth digging into the soft of his bottom lip and spencer starts nipping at you back, gentle like he always is.

it frustrates you, how hard it is to be frustrated at spencer. you pull away from him and spencer tilts his head curiously, lip shiny and eyes looking at you like he's never seen you before and he just looks so sweet, so innocent and eager, like a precious pup. you roll your eyes, swatting at his chest, annoyance and jealousy and anger evaporating from you like a cloud.

spencer licks his lips and you collapse back into him again, returning to the position you were before morgan so unmindfully interrupted your weekend. breaking bad continues to play on the tv. long limbs wraps around you and spencer presses a kiss in your hair.

"i'm not going tomorrow," he declares.

"you should," you say nonchalantly. you cuddle up closer to him, turning around until the both of your are facing each other, wiggling your way on top. you begin to trace stars on the exposed skin of his shoulder. "and maybe you should bring someone with you. just to act as a guard for future lila's. maybe you can introduce that person too," you flick your hair behind your back and shrugs at spencer's amused smile. "it's just a thought."

"okay," he says quietly, eyes so soft. "okay. who do you suggest i bring?"

"that's for you to figure out, doctor reid," you say flippantly, turning back to the tv. "now shush."

[cheralith]

runaway prince!gojo satoru thoughts...

a/n: gojo is pretty ooc in this im ngl sorry, heavily unedited, no reader in this (just yet?), is this a prologue? who knows.

runaway prince!satoru who is the crown prince of a kingdom that rules over an abundance of smaller territories. the sovereign gojo kingdom has many lands under its power, under its safety, and they've been known to be the voice of the little guys, guarding them against the more brutish, stronger countries that target them.

runaway prince!satoru whose beauty was so remarkable since birth, his face was enough to cause controversy amongst other kingdoms for their childrens' line in marriage to him. who didn't imagine themselves being not only a part of the gojo kingdom, but a part of the gojo family, especially to be wedded to prince satoru gojo.

runaway prince!satoru whose beauty was so apparent, that those who witnessed him as a young child thought of him to be a child of venus herself. white locks made of freshly fallen snow with piercing azure eyes that shimmered with mischief of some kind, it was impossible to not think he wasn't blessed of some divination of beauty.

runaway prince!satoru whose beauty was enough to almost start two wars against two countries who yearned to be a part of the mighty gojo kingdom. the two rival monarchs nearly called declared war on each other after arguing whose child got to marry the young prince—for not only was it the power of the gojo kingdom they desired, but to have a ruler whose face could calm the seas and skies themselves was a feat that only came once every four hundred years within their kingdom.

runaway prince!satoru whose face began to be hidden behind an opaque veil due to the hysterics that erupted from even one glance a the prince's face. deciding ignorance was bliss, his parents began shielding his face at the tender age of twelve from the public and the castle staff to avoid conniption. his parents also decided it'd be best to shield him away from the outside world until they thought it was ready for him to be crowned king.

runaway prince!satoru whose rumors about him were not unnoticed by the prince as the years flew by. rumors about him being secluded from the public were for a good reason—and though they varied from person to person, all of the rumors revolved around one singular aspect.

runaway prince!satoru whose face was thought to be absolutely horrid, that the queen and kingdom thought best to shield its monstrosity from the outside world. whose face was rumored to be ghastly enough that it'd make ladies faint and babies cry. some say he had a large green boil on his nose that never popped, even though it looked like it was on the verge of doing so. some say all his teeth rotted from all the sugar he ate as a child, corroded and blackened. regardless of what the rumors said, rarely anyone thought the opposite of them. the king and queen took a likening to the rumors, thinking that they would gear away anyone who would pounce on their son for the sake of power.

runaway prince!satoru who saw the world through white lace more than half his life, who rarely ever saw the world outside of the palace gates, leapt at every opportunity to see the world for what it was outside his kingdom. so when a trip to a coastal town that threatened to be under siege from a rival kingdom emerged, his bags were already at the ready.

runaway prince!satoru who was used to being greeted by the waves and confused looks of the many people below his ship as it boarded the docks of the coastal village. careless of what they heard about them, his only concern was that he was able to breathe air that wasn't of his kingdom from the mainland. the fresh salted air rebirthed life again into him, and though he could admire the sea through the fence-like pattern of his veil, it was still a sight he took in with a full heart.

runaway prince!satoru who quietly admired the nightlife of the coastal village's people from the tower of the palazzo of the town's chancellor as his parents talked with him downstairs about obtaining the land under their rule for his peoples' safety. below, he watched as a mother tugged along her son from the display of toys in a window, laughing softly as he escaped from her grasp and pressed his face against the pane. a young waitress looked behind her to see if anyone was watching and sneaked outback to an alley and gave a homeless man a plate full of food. a suited man gingerly held an elderly woman by her shoulders and carefully helped her across a bustling street.

runaway prince!satoru who watched the lights of the lanterns flickering about and the soft music echoing in the nightfall with people dancing to the beat of them. a desire to be amongst them pulled at his heartstrings, and he imagined himself, not as the crown prince of the gojo kingdom, but as their fellow citizen, as their fellow neighbor, as their friend.

runaway prince!satoru who glowered at his reflection in the mirror of the guest room. the veil temporarily off and brushed to the side, he stared at his ivory locks and porcelain skin, the sky that held itself within his eyes. with an allure that most would kill to have, he gritted his teeth, cursing it to be the cause of his sheltering, his isolation.

runaway prince!satoru who caught the gaze of the fireplace in the reflection of the mirror, but noticed not the wispy embers of gold and yellow, but rather the pile of black ashes from the wood and kindling. walking slowly towards it and dipping his fingers, he stared at the onyx fingerprint on his fingertip and rubbed it between his other fingers, now stained as well black.

runaway prince!satoru who carefully reached up to a spare lock of his hair and rubbed the onyx powder on the ends of it, amazed how easily it coated the pallid white a darkened ebony. a flurry of apprehension and excitement stirred within him as he whipped his head to the window that faced the village's people and to the door leading to the inside of the chancellor's palazzo. satoru leapt to his feet and pressed his ear to his door, making sure no one was nearby before locking it and pushing a bookshelf up against it.

runaway prince!satoru who picked up a pile of ash between his hands and shuffled it between his hair, tainting it as dark as the night. embedding the ash fittingly between each strand of hair so that not a strike of white was seen, satoru gazed at his new appearance inside the mirror. the locks of pearl were long gone and replaced with familiar charcoal black that many citizens of his own kingdom adorned.

runaway prince!satoru who cleaned the spare sprinkles of ashes from his face with water from the bathroom and tore off his handmade clothes with symbols of regality, scurrying about the dressers of clothes and plucking out seemingly "ordinary" clothes to wear.

runaway prince!satoru who crawled over the ledge of his window, but not before looking back to the barricaded door and whispering "just this once..." before climbing down and taking off into the night.

a/n: i'm gonna be so fr, i really don't know what's to become of this in the future. obviously yes, reader will be a character in the story, but for now, i have yet to decide if i'll just follow this format or if i'll actually write a fully fledged story about this.

i've mentioned this prompt before, but this idea has been brewing in my mind for quite some time, possibly over a year and a half. it's heavily inspired by roman holiday (1953) with a dash of princess and the frog (2009) and i do think it has so much potential that i might just write about it properly! i feel as though it's too good of a prompt to not. stay tuned question mark? (i say that as though i'm not staying tune for myself as well augh!)

if you do manage to stay and watch me bullshit whatever i have in mind, there will be much more involvement of reader, trust! but thank you for reading regardless!

[k0yaz]

CAN I PLEASE REQUEST A MIZU X FEM READERRR

The reader gets captured by Fowler and Mizu rescues her, the reader is basically another medic, very kind and sweet, polar opposite of Mizu, but she knows Mizu is a woman and the two of them fall in love. Meanwhile when she sees the condition that the reader is in (beat up, used, etc) she literally is like for a second "lowkey I don't need his info lemme kill him." But ofc doesn't do it, comforts the reader, taking off her blue kimono and giving it to her, wrapping her in it and picking her up and carrying her out of the castle <3 while whispering words of encouragement to her. This time it's Mizu taking care of the readers wounds, and she like becomes ringos little assistant to help work on her.

If you want to have them have a pre established official relationship you can! And if it's not too much trouble, please work on this as fast as possible. Thank you so much for your time!

animosity of an onryō.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, wuh luh wuh, mention of injury, violence, blood, gore, tw fowler he will always be a tw in my eyes, reader got fucking crucified my gods, basically like how taigen was being tortured but worse, guys I’m still recovering from the fact that I found out people ship mizu and fowler unironically sendnhelp, mizu goes genuinely insane like she did in ep 6, mikio is mentioned I hate him more than fowler, I should’ve censored that old bitch’s name sorry guys, not proofread.

A/N: I LOVE HOW THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH OH MY GOD I FEEL LIKE IM CRAFTING A SPECIALLY MADE MEAL FOR A QUEEN IN A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME PLACED AS A SPECIFIC TIME BASED ORDER YK also this is how well I write when I’m not rushed and don’t have school and enjoy what I’m writing I’m so glad I have the free time and motivation brain blast to write this rn anyway mizu come home the kids miss u 🕯️

Blurry figures writhed in the line of your fogged periphery, the burning ache of your wrists seared into the wooden board being accompanied by screams of pure anguish and rage in the background. You couldn’t utter a single word as you caught sight of the two people pushing against each other with a heightened murderous intent clouding the area, harboring an awful atmosphere of bloodlust in the vicinity. It wasn’t difficult to immediately identify the figure on your left as Fowler, his broad shoulders and bulky stature quickly making him recognizable.

Coughing out, you uncomfortably writhed against the board, back dragging along the splintering wood as each crimson trickle of blood dampened your clothing. The noise in your ears only vibrated in an agonizing ringing sound, reverberating through every fiber of your body, etching itself into the confines of your skull as your head began to spin from the sheer ache tightening your muscles.

“Where the fuck is she?”

You recognized that voice.

It was one which you found yourself bounding through several stages of affection with. One that you feared, yet also adored. You used every bit of strength you had to tilt your head up, focusing your bleary vision onto the leaner fighter looking up at Fowler with nothing but pure hatred. You were far away from the two, yet you could recognize those piercing blue eyes anywhere, taking note of the bloodthirsty glint that always shone in them at the mere sight or mention of her targets.

You could only watch in your crucified state as Mizu’s elbows dug into Fowler’s push back on her, teeth grinding together as she let out a breaking yell before driving her katana into his shoulder, earning a hiss of pain from his throat. You only found yourself, drowning in the infernal fury of the ongoing fight between them, masking the air with a deathly thirst that could not be quenched.

“You really..really want that damned girl back don’t you? Pitiful little lady wouldn’t even open her mouth no matter what we did, might as well cut her tongue out.” Fowler rasped out, voice morphing into a chuckle gurgling from the blood rising in his throat as he grasped his wounded shoulder. Mizu’s anger only heightened at his degrading words, each movement of her sword against his torso becoming more and more intense as her temper thinned. “Abijah Fowler. You will tell me where (Name) is before I make you regret the very moment you decided to be born.”

Suddenly, a wicked smile quickly replaced the flash of fear in his eyes as soon as it appeared, his head nodding off to the side in your direction as he seemed to raise his eyebrows toward you like some sort of signal. Mizu followed his eyes as she kept her menacing demeanor up, glancing over in the same direction he was locked on. Her eyes widened with nothing but absolute terror.

Her grasp on her sword briefly faltered, almost clattering the metal against the ground as she took in your battered form, loosely hung from the two nails confining your palms into the bloodied wood like a butchered animal. Nearly every single inch of your skin was doused in crimson, various wounds tainting each limb. Whether it was a slash from a knife or a flattened bridge of skin from a hammer, any horrific type of torture that could possibly be conjured up was present across your body.

You parted your lips weakly as you caught sight of Mizu’s racing sights fixed onto you, attempting to call out her name despite the sting that bit at the back of your mangled throat.

“Mi..zu..”

She only felt her heart sink at your brutalized stature, your life barely hanging by a thread as you were practically mauled—rendered to the point of being unable to even scream. A sudden flare of contempt erupted in Mizu’s eyes, feeling a bubbling sensation of fury finally snap within her as she saw you hanging like a ragdoll. Slowly, her head turned back to Fowler, fueled even further by the smug expression plastered across his face.

You couldn’t even register what was happening anymore past the screams, only being able to hear the sodden rips of flesh and blood alongside Mizu’s remorseless onslaught of cries, bashing Fowler in with a blinding wrath which left even her unrecognizable in your view. The well-trained and cold samurai who seemed calculated with every move she performed, no matter how brutal, was now tearing at a man with no coherent thoughts present in her mind—only hate.

The rancorous barrage unfolding before your eyes nearly made your chest ache. Sure, despite your sweet nature completely opposing Mizu’s unfeeling one, you had always acknowledged the importance of her revenge. You knew that she had to kill the remaining three men who had potentially soiled her very existence by bringing a monster into this world, and you were supportive of it.

But this? This wasn’t what she was aiming for. This was just her lusting for blood, seeking to make them suffer more than her own satisfaction required. And it made your pulsing veins nearly run cold and stop.

“Aha. You need me to get to the other two..you can’t get to them without-“

“I don’t care.” She snapped, tightening her hand around the tsuka of her blade to dig through the first layer of his forearm and saw at the bone; earning a scream from Fowler which seemed as if it was elicited from genuine terror and pain this time. You finally hunched your shoulders back to use every drop of energy you had left coursing through you, yelling out for her to stop.

“It’s no..t worth it..stop it, please..”

Your choked out noise almost instantly made the scorching fire within her subside down to a tiny flickering flame, her blade embedded in Fowler’s side pausing at its cut midway. Looking down, it had finally seemed that she had come to her senses, breathing ragged and shallow as she yanked out her katana with a grunt as Fowler toppled to his knees.

Using his immobile state as an opening, she quickly rushed toward you, hands swiftly twisting at the nails hammered into your palms as you whined out hoarsely in pain. Her heart only clenched at your strangled noises, taking your holed hand in hers tenderly as the nails cluttered onto the floor. Mizu wanted to circle her arms around you tightly, squeeze your body against hers and dig her face into the crook of your neck while whispering sweet promises to never let you go again. Yet there was no time to act on what she wanted now. All that mattered was getting you out of that god awful castle where you had been abused past a breaking point.

Your head spun as you focused on Mizu’s face splattered with blood, her worried expression contrasting the violence that she had put on display not too long ago. “It’ll be okay, (Name). Hang on.”

Shrugging off the dark blue kimono fastened by her obi, she scooped your limp body up in the fabric, allowing you to bask in the warmth of her tattered clothing as she held you to her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

She paused, muttering against you once more.

“I should’ve never left you like this. Thank you for being there for me.”

Her uncharacteristically soft whisper brushed over your cheek, hand ghosting the blood seeping through the blue fabric shrouding your wounds, yet she couldn’t care any less about how messy her clothes got. As long as she could get you back.

…

“Now let me be there for you too.”

In one swift motion, Mizu clamped her teeth around the blade of her katana while you were swayed up in her grasp, using her own body to ram into the window and shatter it as the two of you descended down from the ninth level down into the freezing waters below.

Shards of glass flipped through the air, spinning as they scattered in all directions and occasionally grazed your already broken skin. You felt yourself swallowing your own breath in the icy pits of water engulfing both you and Mizu, her arms fastened around you like a lifeline as she held you close. She wouldn’t get caught up in her revenge to let someone precious die. Not this time. Perhaps she had changed from who she once was, transitioning from a cold blooded killer who clear out anything blocking her path, into someone who poured her heart out for a woman who was her polar opposite.

You couldn’t stay awake much longer, the border between life and death currently wavering in and out of sight and disappearing into an uncertain gamble between the two. Eyes shutting as the numbness spread to every inch of your body, you laid back, allowing yourself to be submerged in the blue embrace you had tainted a sickening red.

—

“Is she alive?”

“Master, be patient..she has a pulse but I don’t know if she’s even conscious right now.”

“How can I be? She practically got ripped open by Fowler! Even then these wounds look far too gone to even come close to healing..”

“They’ll heal, trust me.”

Muffled voices exchanged between two people echoed in your ears, a sharp sting interrupting any train of thought you had going on as you became well aware of your consciousness. A sore ache throbbed across every inch of your muscles, contracting tightly as you could quite literally feel the slits ingrained into your body. From what it felt like, they seemed to be stitched up, with a damp cloth pressed against the formerly open wounds.

You slowly blinked open your eyes being met with the dim light of a candle bouncing off the wooden floor. Your back was pressed against a tatami mat as you lay still like a corpse, the biting throb still twitching across your taut muscles. In an instant, you caught the sight of Ringo’s face hovered above yours, his eyes looking off in the distance as his blunt hands were situated on his lap. He was humming to himself while staring elsewhere, possibly waiting for you to wake up.

As soon as he looked back down at you, his expression contorted into one of surprise, delight following up almost instantly. “Master! She’s awake!”

You heard a rush of footsteps thudding across the floorboards, before the silhouette of a lithe woman’s shadow loomed over you, hands planted by her sides. Her slender fingers traced over your battered knuckles, thumb brushing along the torn off ridges of skin still healing before breathing out a long awaited sigh of relief.

“Mizu..?”

She nodded, squeezing your hand a bit and urging you to not strain your voice too much. Her downturned expression harbored a light of vulnerability striking off her cerulean eyes, as if she was mortified at the possibility that she would never see you open your eyes again. Ringo nodded in her direction with a smile, standing up and heading out the front door into the front of the unfamiliar cabin-like structure you were enclosed in.

Wasting no time, Mizu bit at the thread in her hands, pinching the needle between two fingers in the other. “Hold still.” Snaking her hand below your sagged arm, she lifted up with ease, pushing the needle and thread in tandem as you sucked in a breath to endure the searing push of the needle through your skin each time. She carefully stitched up the exposed wound, looking up at your face twisted in pain with her own expression of pity.

Your breathing came out in shallow gasps for air, the wounds still having a profound impact on your body as it was quite difficult to move your limbs without it feeling like being torn apart, much less retain your ability to walk around normally. You found that you were still curled up in her kimono, serving as a sort of padding against your back, layered atop the tatami mat. Honestly, it was a great substitute considering there wasn’t a futon anywhere in sight around here.

Ringo came back in, holding a bowl between his stubby hands as he carefully set it down beside your head to cool, harshly blowing at the steam wafting from the bowl. Once he deemed it was cool enough, he signaled Mizu to lift your head up—to which she did, as he held the bowl carefully, making sure it didn’t slip from his grasp. You swallowed each pour of the soup-like meal down your throat, being able to drink a bit easier after each swig.

—

Ah. What you would do to go back to those times.

You had always trailed behind Mizu with a smile, never leaving her side no matter how many times she had grumbled out for you to leave. Every moment spent with the stoic samurai had held nothing short of your heart racing beside her, as if you were in a realm of bliss no matter how harsh she was with you at times. No matter how many gruesome battles you found yourself walking into at her side, no matter how many times you stood at the brink of death and nearly toppled off the edge, you didn’t regret even an ounce of what you experienced.

For some odd reason, you found yourself captivated by Mizu, drawn in by the cold blue eyed samurai. At times, you even suspected that there was more beneath that ‘unbreakable’ exterior than she was letting on. The two of you had found yourselves closer than you could ever imagine, heart to heart with every wretched and dark secret burrowed in the crevices of your souls, yet still choosing to adore even the most monstrous sides of one another.

Even when you found out that it was a woman who lingered beneath the facade of a man, your view of her didn’t change at all. In fact, your trust only grew, knowing full well you saw a vulnerable side of her that very few had experienced.

You had taken the parts of her she deemed as impure, the parts she kept hidden from others along with the raw hatred engraved into her very existence, and huddled it into the warmth of your affection. Allowing the supposed animosity of an onryō to be hemmed between your arms as you poured our every drop of love you fostered within you to the demon.

You recalled a bunraku puppet show you had once seen, depicting the vexations of a woman who had fallen to once again arise as an onryō. Yet it was clear, that the tempestuous being had only risen from anguish. From the fact that it had been betrayed once, torn apart and trust crumbled right before its very eyes.

Perhaps that’s what you saw in Mizu. A broken woman who seeks nothing but satisfaction, completely shooting down the prospect of happiness at all. Despite how truly shattered she was from the inside, you didn’t mind it at all. You wanted to pick up each shard yourself, piece it back together slowly & carefully. Even if it slit your palms and stained them red.

The supposedly hardened walls she had gradually came down around you, her vulnerability shining through her guarded front. You were right. She had been betrayed by everyone she knew to ever exist, one of them being her late husband.

Mikio. You never knew him, yet his name alone left a bitter taste in your mouth. You promised—no, swore on your own life that you would never betray her in the way that man did. She was your top priority, the only one in this world you would ever feel so strongly towards. So strongly to the point where your bones lit up with a roaring flame of passionate adoration whenever you were in her arms. Mizu was everything to you, and you would rather die than let that change.

Till death do us part was a silly phrase, as you knew that you would grasp onto her, even after your pulse ran cold.

—

“Are you feeling any better?” Mizu inquired, her hand still supporting the back of your head. You mustered up the strength to nod briefly, returning her a smile which made her chest flutter just from the sight. Leaning into her chest, you breathed out a huff of air, clearing up your chest as you were slowly recovering and regaining the ability to breathe. Finally, you were able to speak up, albeit in a strained and raspy voice.

“You know..I never thought that the one whose injuries I always treat ended up treating mine.”

“I suppose that’s life’s cruel way of throwing irony in our face.”

Mizu’s face beholded a somber expression, one that made you tilt your head in confusion as you opened your mouth to ask.

“Hey-“

“I put you in danger. And even then, you endured all that just to stay alive.” She cut you off as if she predicted that you were about to ask her what was wrong, her voice seemingly held up as if it was threatening to break any moment. “I shouldn’t have. I thought that was the last time I could ever tell you that I love you.”

Your still discolored hand reached up to brush against her cheek, to which she was met with a look of surprise.

“(Name)-“

“You know that I would rather die than ever stop loving you.”

Mizu only hummed in response, carefully taking your recovering frame into her arms as she pressed a chaste kiss to your temple. To which you held back onto her with shaky hands, fingers weakly digging into her back.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thank you for my ember.”

A/N: I am deep fried rn this took so long but I love how it turned out I was far too passionate in writing this I’m screaming yippee

I listens to every bes ost while writing this (and ended up crying at some of them) forgive me but this deadass took like a whole ass 5 hours to write but tbf I did take like a 30-40 minute break at some point sooo

Anyway I love this request so much thank you for making a special request too cause that just fuels me to write good ily

[cupidkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

[megalomaniacz]

IM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT PART OF CRYBABY

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT7

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: make it go away…

warnings: cunnilingus + fingering (r!recieving)

a/n: oh wow. oh wow. this was actually quite fun to write and i wanted to cry half way through because ironically enough my ex is being mean to me lmao 😭 i’m trying to cut contact and she’s just teasing me like “oh is she really leaving this time? really??” i’ve had ENOUGH

And I'm already actin' like a dick, know what I mean? So you might as well stick it in

masterlist.

the party is nothing like their usual after parties, but to be fair, you hadn’t been to one of these in months. crowds of people in their best clothes grinding against each other. dina onstage djing while jesse dances behind her. whispering sweet things in her ear. you spot a clear target in the crowd and walk down the stairs towards her.

flashing hues of red, blue, green, and purple cloud your vision as you struggle to approach abby. she decided to show her fucking face again, remembering she was your ride back home. once you push through everyone, you tap her broad shoulder and pull her to the side.

“where you been?” you lean against her, clearly gone. not in an intoxicated way, but a mental way. she could see it in your face. in your eyes. in the sunken areas underneath. in the way you were leaning like you were in pain. you fix your posture, putting more walls up. you could tell she was seeing through you.

“are you okay?” she furrows her brows, holding her hand out to touch your cheek. you dodge it. “why the fuck wouldn’t i be?” you spat. she places the tips of her index and thumb finger on the bridge of her nose, scrunching her face, and sighs. “i should’ve never said that to you. i was still mad at ellie and i took it out on you. i’m sorry—“

“oh fuck it. who cares? everybody keeps treating me like a punching bag and you know what? punching bags don’t have feelings. i don’t want to feel anymore i just—“

she’s looking at you horrified now. watching ellie take full effect over you. all her cruelty submerging itself into your brain. slowly acting as a parasite on the you she used to know. pieces of that girl were being lost. she was watching it happen in real time.

“i—fuck i need to get you out of here.”

“but i just got here abs. and we haven’t seen ellie—“

as if it was on cue, ellie appears from a gap in the crowd. her eyes meet yours, and she rushes over to you as she watches abby wrap her arms around you and try to lead you out.

“wait. let me talk to her.” ellie grabs your arm.

“you better fucking let go or you’re gonna loose all your fucking fingers.” abby chimes up, pulling you towards her. ellie laughs. “i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you only get one of those. and that was it.”

“oh really?”

“guys seriously.” you pull out of both of their grasps. “enough. i’m not a fucking baby. everybody always treats me like i’m some fucking fragile fucking baby. fuck off.” you look between the two of them. “we’re at a goddamn party, so let’s party.”

the music is louder than it was before. you let it take over your body, taking one of each girls hands into your own and leading them into the crowd. body grinding against them to the beat of the song.

“listen, i really need to talk to you!” ellie yells over it. abby is behind you snaking a hand around your waist to pull you closer to her. maneuvering her body to move the way yours was. “no way in hell is that happening.” she yells back for you.

ellie’s thinking about how hard she wants to punch her. while she’s looking at the way she’s holding you. while you’re smiling. while she balls her fist up and her knuckles turn white. while her breathing starts to calm when she focuses on your hand still in hers, prompting you to dance.

“we’ll talk after this then, okay? at the hotel?” her tone is hopeful.

she’s being such a party pooper. prying you for an answer, making it hard for you to enjoy the moment. you feel a rush of emotions creeping in. another memory, another after party.

a very unhappy ellie that’s made a simple mistake onstage. an unnoticeable strum of the wrong string. it was fucking her up. she was drunkenly stumbling around until someone had started to help her sober up. then she stumbled across you. sweet, angelic, kind, perfect and happy you. enjoying the fucking party. ofcourse, you’d left crying that night.

you feel the tears welling up but you swallow them down. “fine let’s go talk ellie, since you’re begging so fucking much. i’ll be right back abs.” you reply.

she leads you to a secluded bathroom in the far back. holding your hand and dragging you along like purse. she closes and locks the door, leaning against it.

there are fucking tears threatening to spill, you can hear it in her voice when she speaks up. “i don’t—fuck i don’t know what i’ve done to you.”

you scoff.

“no i mean i do. i fucked you up. fuck. how do i fix it? what do you want me to do?”

you’re transported back again. another bathroom, holding ellie as she cries into you. switches to screaming at you, then crying into you again. blaming you for the guitar string mistake. blaming you for her forgetting the lyrics onstage. telling you that you’re truly useless, and she has no idea why dina and jesse drag you around with them.

why won’t it go away?

“make it go away.” you look into her glossy eyes. interlocking your fingers with hers and looking up at her with desperate eyes. a little bit of the old you slipping in before your face molds into a devious expression.

“make it fuzzy. make me forget. make it go away.”

she’s confused at first, and then she laughs cockily. she’s laughing as you pull her closer. she’s laughing as she pushes you up against the counter with a fervor, finding your low grunt of pleasure pure ecstasy.

her lips crash into yours, hands grappling into your waist. “i’m sorry.” she pulls away then dives back in. “i’m sorry.” she kisses your cheek. “i’m so fucking stupid.” she kisses your jawline. “let me fuck all of this away, okay?” she whispers into your ear.

your mind is growing fuzzy with her hands all over you. tugging up your shirt to kiss and lick and smile against your skin, down your chest to your stomach. tugging on your pants and your underwear. spreading your legs, pushing them apart before attaching her lips to your dripping cunt. tongue slipping in between your folds spreading your wetness to your clit.

you slip your hands into her messy hair, tugging when she sucks harder. slapping her tongue against your bud. the vibration of her humming hard against your heat. she’s eating you out and she’s being so fucking sloppy with it. she’s making a mess of you. making your legs tremble underneath you. you hadn’t realized you’d been crying out for her. actually crying. tears of pleasure were spilling down your face as you moaned her name.

she pulls away when she realizes, hands cupping your face to wipe them away. “i’m making you cry again.” she states.

you open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by a moan getting pushed out of your throat when her fingers slip into your sloppy sopping hole. curved to hit a spot that was pure euphoria. better than drugs. better than revenge. you were intoxicated. feeling a knot in your stomach start to build as ellie stares into your teary eyes.

she looks like she’s about to say something but she chooses to kiss you instead. on your forehead. on your neck. on your tear stained cheeks. on your pouted lips.

in, out. in, out. at an unsympathetic pace, she’s pounding into you so hard you can’t think. she’s doing exactly what she promised. she’s making it all fuzzy for you. she’s helping you forget. she’s helping you feel something other than pain.

you feel yourself coming undone, throwing your head back as you reach your peak. her lips are at your ear as she whispers softly.

“there you go baby. i got you. it’s okay. i’m sorry. just let it go.”

and you do. you let it all melt away as the pleasure pins and needles run up and down your body. as your eyes roll back. as you forget. forget the hurt. forget the past. forget how to feel.

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one too many times luffy has allowed himself to hit the sea, sinking beneath her waves, completely at ease with the trusted fact that you would save him. this time, though, you've had enough.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: luffy x mermaid!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.9k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: continuation of this fic, a liiiiitle bit of angst, fluff, feminine terms used, requested

Your chest heaved as you glared through slitted eyes, targeting your limp and drenched captain who lay beside you. Your tail scraped uncomfortably against the wood of the deck, water dripping off your nose, cheeks, and shoulders.

"Why," you seethed, "On this wide blue sea did you even conceive that jumping after the bitch was a good plan?"

He sputtered up some water, laughing dopily as his eyes met yours. "I thought I could catch 'im. 'Sides, you saved me, didn't ya?"

Fists coiling on the ground, you gritted your teeth and thought to lash out your nails at him. "I am not your lifeguard, Luffy. Did you even consider that it hurts me when you put yourself in danger like that?" You thought back to the battle, growing blind to the awkward presence of the crew. "I was stuck fighting two of those pirates! What if I hadn't made it in time?"

"But... you did," he shrugged, not understanding one bit. He trusted you, and why shouldn't he? You're his mermaid, his favorite mermaid in the whole world ("You only know one mermaid, Luffy." "And I don't wanna know another!")

Ticking your teeth, you couldn’t stand to just lay there any longer. "Zoro, take me away."

After huffing to himself, Zoro lowered himself at your side, hooking your arms round his neck and scooping you up into his broad arms. Luffy's eyes narrowed, but he remained unable to lift his head more than a few inches, forced to watch his first mate carry you to your room.

He cast a look around, befuddled. "What did I do wrong?"

Nami sighed with a shake of her head. "Idiot."

All afternoon he replayed what had happened, muttering to himself all that could have gone wrong, anything to pinpoint why you were so worried. Did you not trust yourself? Or perhaps... no... it couldn't be that.

Luffy searched you out, brows met in a stiff crease. You sat perched atop the barrel dragged up against the window of the girl's cabin, soft melodies slipping from your lips, your legs wrapped up in your arms. Luffy could listen to you all day long and never tire of the beautiful tones of your voice.

You caught him leaning on the doorframe, snapping your mouth shut mid-song. Pressing your cheek to your knees, you turned away from him. "Go away."

Instead, Luffy came closer, taking a seat on your bed with crossed legs. "Why're you still mad at me?"

"Because," you hissed, trailing off less convicted, "you scared me today."

He blinked, shifting around. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me anymore. I wanted to talk to you all afternoon but you'd locked the door."

Finally lifting your head, eyes softening, you relented, "I'm not mad anymore. Just please don't do that again, not on purpose."

Soft smile splitting his face, he nodded firmly. "Promise." He scooted over to allow you room next to him, leaning back on his palms as you lay on your side and propped your head on his knee. "Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away."

"Will you ever go back?" His question had you rolling over to stare up at him. "To your home. The reef."

"Oh." Throat dry, you couldn't draw your gaze away from his, forced to face his curiously tilted head. "I suppose so. Someday. I am a princess after all. It'd be... wrong to abandon my kingdom."

"Right." Luffy nodded, eyes unfocused. "And... what if you didn't?"

It was a question you'd been wondering about a lot lately, particularly when you spent time with Luffy. "My parents would choose a new heir. One of the young warriors probably... But I couldn't ask that of them. Besides, being the queen of my reef is my destiny. What would I do instead?"

Luffy fought internally, words prying their way up, up, up, and out, until he snapped his head away and stared at the wall. "You could go back and be queen there... or you could stay, and be queen here, with me."

Internally, you were screaming. Eyes wide, you slowly rose to sit beside him, a hungry look on your face. Your lips parted in surprise, revealing the two shiny fangs Luffy often found himself mesmerized by, wondering what they would feel like if he...

"Your queen?" You asked breathlessly. "You'd want me to be Queen of the Pirates?"

He nodded, halfway into a soft reply when you flung yourself at him, nosing at his neck and clutching at his sides till he was giggling beneath you. "That--That tickles!"

Laughing along with him, you grazed a fang over his chin, looming over him with eyes alit by unfurling joy. "The reef can find a new queen."

Luffy beamed up at you, his hands finding your waist, laughter rolling off his tongue even as you swiftly narrowed your expression. "So long as you don't scare me like that again! I'll only save you if you need it!"

He hissed out one last giggle through his teeth before tugging you down into a tight embrace. "Okay, okay. I promised, all right?"

Curling around him, you nearly jittered from the mere happiness swirling inside you. "All right."

Your parents would fight this, for certain. Their princess, their heir running off with a pirate was one thing, but claiming to never return for her birthright was entirely different. Something entirely more scandalous.

And you really couldn't care less. Let them try to take you away, you thought, feeling Luffy's heartbeat beneath your palm. You were a daughter of the sea, and he felt strangely like sunlight incarnate.

A king and his queen, to be known 'round the seas.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@100520s

[pbnbucks]

Nika x fem whose on the team but she’s a lil shorter maybe 5’7 or smth and Nika makes fun of her durning practice and teases her all the time and then in a game one day a opponent like pushes reader down and makes fun of her for being short and Nika gets all protective and fouls the reader a few times for you and comforts you

word count : 487

warnings : cussing, angst

summary : you get injured and nika is right by your side through it

your laying on the floor in the paint holding onto your knee struggling in pain as your teammates surround you as you scream for a trainer, Audi Crooks has just obliterated you as she got fouled for a moving screen against you.

to say she had been targeting you was an understatement, you were easy to foul as you were the smallest on the team. every snarky comment, every personal foul nika was right there to back you up against her. nika commonly found herself standing up for you in about every situation.

thats what friends do right?

nika was completely distraught seeing you wailing on the floor in pain, she was the first one to rush to your side grabbing ahold of your wrist holding the back of your hand to lips planting soft worried kisses on your skin.

nika had to carry you into the locker room as you could barely put pressure on your right leg, geno had you ruled out of the game because anybody who say the play could tell there was no way you weren’t going to be out for injury.

“im going to fucking kill her when i get back out there” the trainers late to the locker room still stuck outside in the rally that was happening on the court after you got carried out when Aaliyah ended getting into it with another iowa state player.

“It’s fine, I’m okay-” your cut off when nikas hand connects with the seat of the chair next to you. her random burst of anger scaring you into silence as she study’s your now discolored knee with a look of worry slipping through her cover of anger.

“No you’re not, you’re injured and it’s all their fault!” yelling as a result of you not taking this as seriously as her. nika began to think the worst. what if you never played again? what if you are out for the season, you guys are so close to the final four.

“why are you overacting nika its not that serious” she scoffs as the words fall from your lips, and you couldn’t believe you said it either. basketball is your life, you love seeing all the little girls come out to watch you and your team play, as you used to be one of those little girls.

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” her words stung the tips of your skin as her breathe began to fasten as she paced the floor of the locker room unable to stay still.

“you what?…” the trainers walked in before nika could explain herself rushing her back onto the court. you shut out all the noise when nika left you returning to the game as the trainers attended to your knee.

theres no way you could love nika, that would be jeopardizing the team right?