#so know the difference between when to go and when to stay and where to do the most good

[mahmoudahmed60]

I Booked a $1500 Trip for Just $320 — No Joke

Have you ever dreamed of jetting off to an exotic destination but felt discouraged by the skyrocketing costs of flights, accommodations, and travel expenses? What if I told you that scoring incredible travel deals isn’t just for lucky lottery winners or secret agents with insider knowledge? Spoiler alert: it’s possible — and I’m living proof.

Recently, I booked what should have been a $1500 vacation for only $320 . Yes, you read that right — no hidden fees, no strings attached, and absolutely no joke. Here’s how I did it, and how YOU can too — with help from my favorite travel experts at Click here.

The Secret Sauce: Smart Travel Hacks

Let’s break it down step by step so you can replicate my success and start saving big on your next adventure.

1. Timing is Everything

When it comes to booking travel, timing truly makes all the difference. Airlines and hotels often release discounted rates during off-peak seasons or last-minute cancellations. For my trip, I waited until the “sweet spot” (about 6–8 weeks before departure) when prices were at their lowest due to lower demand.

Pro Tip: Use tools like Google Flights or Skyscanner to set price alerts for your desired destination. But if you want access to exclusive deals without the hassle of searching, check out the curated offers available through Click here. Their team knows exactly when and where to find unbeatable bargains!

2. Leverage Budget Airlines & Alternate Airports

Instead of flying directly into major hubs, I opted for budget carriers and nearby airports. Sure, it added an extra hour or two to my journey, but the savings were well worth it. For instance, flying into a smaller regional airport instead of a city center saved me nearly $200 alone.

But here’s the catch — not everyone has time to research every low-cost carrier or alternate route. That’s why I rely on Click hereto handle the logistics for me. They specialize in crafting affordable itineraries that maximize value without sacrificing convenience.

3. Book Smart Accommodations

Forget overpriced hotels! I used platforms like Airbnb, Hostelworld, and even lesser-known sites like Booking.com to find affordable yet comfortable stays. In some cases, boutique guesthouses or local hostels offer far more charm (and better locations) than chain hotels — at half the cost.

Bonus Hack: With Click here, you don’t even need to spend hours comparing options. Their packages include handpicked accommodations that balance comfort, style, and affordability — all included in one seamless booking process.

4. Stack Discounts & Promo Codes

This is where things get exciting. Many people don’t realize they can combine discounts to maximize savings. Before finalizing my booking, I scoured the internet for promo codes, cashback offers, and loyalty program points. Websites like Honey and RetailMeNot are goldmines for finding instant discounts on almost anything.

For example, I applied a 10% discount code from my airline’s newsletter, stacked it with a seasonal sale, and redeemed reward miles to shave hundreds off the total price.

Good news — you don’t need to be a coupon wizard to save big anymore. When you book through Click here, you’ll automatically unlock exclusive promotions and bundled deals that take the guesswork out of saving money.

5. Travel Light, Save Big

Here’s a game-changer most travelers overlook: baggage fees. By packing light and sticking to carry-on luggage, I avoided unnecessary charges that can easily add $50-$100 per person. Plus, traveling light means less stress and faster transitions between destinations.

At Click here, they also provide helpful packing tips and recommendations tailored to each destination. Whether you’re heading to Bali or Barcelona, their guides ensure you’re prepared for any adventure — without overpacking.

Where Did I Go?

Now for the fun part — the destination itself. After crunching numbers and researching affordable yet breathtaking spots, I settled on Bali, Indonesia , a tropical paradise known for its lush landscapes, vibrant culture, and mouthwatering cuisine. A round-trip flight, four nights in a cozy villa, daily meals, and activities like snorkeling and temple tours came to a grand total of… wait for it… $320 .

Yes, Bali may seem exotic and expensive, but with careful planning and strategic booking, it’s one of the most wallet-friendly destinations out there. And guess what? You can explore Bali — or countless other dreamy locations — through Click here. Their Bali packages start at jaw-dropping prices, making luxury travel accessible to everyone.

Why You Should Take the Leap

If someone like me — a regular traveler with no VIP status or endless bank account — can book a luxury-worthy trip for pocket change, so can you. The key lies in adopting a mindset of resourcefulness and being willing to think outside the box.

Imagine swapping crowded tourist traps for serene beaches, savoring authentic street food instead of overpriced restaurant meals, and experiencing life-changing adventures without breaking the bank. That’s not just travel — that’s smart living.

Ready to Score Your Dream Trip?

Don’t let sticker shock keep you grounded any longer. Start small by applying these tips to your next getaway, whether it’s a weekend road trip or an international escape. With patience, persistence, and a dash of creativity, you’ll be amazed at what you can achieve.

And now, thanks to Click here , planning your next adventure has never been easier. From discounted flights to all-inclusive packages, their platform puts the world within reach — all while keeping your budget intact.

🔗 Start Exploring Today: Visit Click here to browse exclusive deals and turn your wanderlust into reality.

🌍 Your Next Adventure Awaits! So go ahead — book that dream vacation, share your stories, and inspire others to follow in your footsteps. Because let’s face it: Life’s too short not to explore every corner of this beautiful planet.

Happy travels ✈️

[raineydays411]

My Fathers daughter pt 14

Summary: A bit of Tonys POV

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony Stark loved his daughter.

There was no doubt about it. He would do anything to make sure she was okay. Which included sending her away.

That was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. To see the look on her face when he agreed with Christine that it was safer in Gotham (an oxymoron if he ever heard one). Then the feeling of dread the days leading up to her departure, not even being able to drop her off.

Immediately he felt the emptiness without her there. He secluded himself in his workshop for days, just wasting away searching for the people who intended to harm his little girl. That's all he did, day in and out.It had gotten so bad, that Pepper had to physically force him to eat and shower, and most of all sleep. But when he slept, he had nightmares.

Dreams where you were taken the night those men broke in, he saw the fear in your eyes as he and Pepper helplessly watch these faceless men take their baby from them. He also has dreams where you come to resent him. You hate him for sending you to Wayne manor, and he has to watch you choose to live with Bruce Wayne the same way your mother did.

That one was more of his insecurity when it comes to Bruce Wayne but can you blame him? He already lost one woman he loved to him, and now he felt like he was losing his child to him as well. And deep down he knew it truly wasn't Bruce's fault, but none of this would have happened if he and Christine just stayed out of your and his lives. But again, that was just his insecurity talking.

It hurt Tony that he couldn't reach out to you more frequently. He was in the lab while Bruce Banner spoke to you over FaceTime. His heart hurt at the emotional torment you were facing in that house. He would have given anything to assure to you that you are wanted and loved. That he and your true mother were anxiously awaiting your return. That he was doing whatever he could to make sure you were as safe as you could be.

It bothered him and Pepper so badly that they could not see you. One day it became too much that he reached out to Christine and bruce. They had come to an agreement. Bruce would allow you to use the computer in the batcave to send emails between you and Tony. As the Batcomputer was basically unhackable (besides you), and it would allow you to have contacts with your parents. Well, imagine the disappointment they felt when multiple emails sent to you were left unopened (to their knowledge) and no response.

But that didn't stop them from sending you everything you were missing and updates about your situation. Pepper figured that you would reach out when you were ready to talk. She insisted that you were fine and there was no need to go down to Gotham and retrieve you.

And there wasn't.

Until Peter called.

"Mr. Stark they got her"

That one sentence made Tony want to throw up. His worst fear, his nightmare.

Before Peter even had the chance to give details Tony had already hung up and started gathering everything he needed. He was out of his mind, rushing in and out of rooms yelling at FRIDAY different incomprehensible commands.

He rushed into his bedroom, ruffling through drawers and closets. Pulling out every single weapon he had stashed away, he was frantic. There was a buzzing his his ears, a static that was so terrifyingly familiar. The same static he felt when he went into that worm hole with the nuke. The same static when he was in that cave. Tony felt himself hyperventilating, his throat dry. He stopped packing suddenly and went towards his bar, searching for the few remaining bottles of liquor that you hadn’t thrown out. He searches frantically until a gentle hand stops him.

It was Pepper. A look of concern on her face but a look of knowing in her eyes. “Drinking isn’t going to bring her back.”

Tony takes a deep breath. The static is gone but his eyes burn. He looks at his wife. “I can’t lose my baby”

That’s when Peppers face hardens, “Our baby, and we’re not. Get up.”

And with that she rises, Tony didn’t even realize he had slide down to the floor, and she strides to their shared room.

“I’ve already sent the message out to the rest of the team. Peter called me after you hung up. The jet is waiting.”

Tony stands, his heart beat steadying and smoothes out his clothes. He takes a deep breath regaining his sanity. “Well, there’s no time for drama. Come on Pep, let’s go to Gotham.”

He puts on his nano watch, and follows his wife.

No more time to waste.

[wcters]

NIGHT OUT

pairing: arthurtv x fem!reader

word count: 1.4K

summary: you come home from a night out and get caught by arthur’s stream

request: heya i was wondering could you do something with arthur tv where y/n comes back from a night out drunk and arthur is live streaming 💕

warnings/contents: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, swearing, sexual jokes and innuendos, nudity

author’s note: i had fun with this one !!!! hope you enjoy it and that it is what you had in mind 😚

The front door of the apartment opened and closed, the sound echoing through the apartment. You could barely hear Arthur talking due to the amount of alcohol you could drink and your muttering as you tried to take off your shoes. “Bugger, come on. Get off you shit.” You mumbled as you tore the first heel off, tearing the second one off in record time as you just wanted to head to bed. In that moment, you hated yourself for wearing heeled boots even if went perfectly with the outfit.

The first thing you did was throw your purse somewhere on the floor of your living room and falling face first onto the couch. Your dress had started to ride up but your in The privacy of your own home so you truly didn’t care. You wanted to stay there, and you probably could’ve fallen asleep in that position but you then got the feeling that you were about to piss your pants. You kept your eyes closed as you made your way to the closest bathroom, leaving the door open.

Unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend was streaming in the other room. His door was closed thankfully, though the bathroom was down the hall so they couldn’t see anyway.

“Alright guys, I should probably go take care of her and before Y/n kills me for letting you guys see her like this. I had a fun time, always nice streaming, and you the next time.” Right when he turned off his PC and got out of the chair, he heard a thump and the sound of you swearing loudly. “Y/n?��� No answer. Now it was Arthur’s turn to swear as he made his way to where he heard your voice. He called out again, but as he turned to look into the bathroom, there you were, passed out on the toilet. Not one of your finer moments. At that point you were too drunk to care, and your relationship was to the point where this was normal. He chuckled to himself before leaning down to your height. He placed a hand on your chin, “Y/n?” You woke up, shaking your head. “You fell asleep, baby.”

“Mm.”

“Let’s get you up and ready for bed. I know you don’t feel like it right now, but you’ll brutally kill me the next morning if I didn’t do it for you.”

Luckily for him, it wasn’t too hard to get you up and off the toilet, save for some grumbling. It was easier due to the fact that you were wearing a dress. If you were wearing pants that would be a completely different story. After you washed your hands, he got you up on the counter with him standing between your legs. “Where do we start,” he mumbled to himself as he opened your designated drawer. He had watched you enough times to recognize what bottles go first and the motions you had to do. Would it be perfect? No. But you wouldn’t know that, you’d only know that it was done.

He grabbed your makeup wipes first, taking one out and starting to wipe your face. Usually you used (and preferred) Micellar Water, but Arthur couldn’t be bothered and he didn’t think you’d stay still enough for him to get everything off. “How much makeup do you wear . . .” he mumbled as he grabbed a second wipe, makeup still coming off. When he was satisfied with the amount that had came off and how clean your face looked, he then moved to cleanser.

Arthur felt overwhelmed just looking at the amount of bottles, let alone cleansers, but he just grabbed the one he saw you use this morning and worked it into his hands. He massaged your face as he rubbed it on, reminding (telling) you to not touch your face. He couldn’t help but laugh as he saw the bubbles on your cheeks, giving you a kiss before wetting his hands and wiping his own.

He wet a little wash cloth before wiping your face down, taking extra care around your eyes and mouth. “You alright?” He asked as you slowly stared to lean against the wall to your left. “Mhm, just . . . tired.” He laughed, “I know, but I’m almost done. Then you can get all cuddled into bed, sound good?” You made a noise of agreement, a smile forming on your face.

He grabbed the next bottle labeled toner and grabbed a cotton pad like he saw you do, putting it on the pad and applying it to your face, wiping in circular motions. Good thing he watched you do your routine a lot, and that he grew up with sisters, or else he’d be lost. The more and more you stayed up and the more Arthur massaged your face, the more you fell asleep. You tried to stay up (you really did) but it had been a long night full of dancing and shots . . . Too many shots.

After that it was your serums and creams, making sure to get all of your face and hairline, even getting behind your ears too. After all the skincare and such you had was done, he grabbed your hairbrush and softly moved it through your hair, carefully getting all the knots and making sure not to pull too hard. You smiled when it first touched your scalp, happy with the feeling it brung. “You’re going to make me fall asleep,” you mumbled sleepily. “I think you already are, my love.” He joked, stroking your cheek. “There, all done. Now you just have to brush your teeth and then we can head to the bedroom and get you all comfortable.”

You nodded in response, moving to move off the counter as he signalled you to. He kissed your head when you got down, then wet your toothbrush and put the toothpaste on it before handing it to you. You took it, slowly putting it in your mouth and brushing. It took awhile and you probably didn’t get all teeth, but it was better than not to.

After you were done, he helped guide you to your bedroom, making sure you wouldn’t trip and fall on your face. Once in the bedroom, he tried to let you undress and dress yourself, but when you couldn’t even figure out how the straps worked, he stepped in. “Alright, let me help you.” He undid the straps of your dress to make it easier to take off before guiding up and over your head, managing to not get it stuck. He was pretty pleased with himself.

He helped undo your bra and take your underwear off before finding one of his T-shirt’s and a pair of boxers you got from Asda for cheap. Arthur thought you were cute, the pair he grabbed for you having wee little cats on them. He attempted to get the shirt on, but you originally put your head through the wrong hole and he had to guide you to where everything properly went. The boxers were much easier, Arthur grabbing your legs and guiding them in, pulling them up and slapping your bum to which you squealed in response and gave him a look of really? He only laughed and guided you again to the bed.

He grabbed the covers and pulled them away in order for you to lie down, putting them over you and tucking you in. You mumbled a small thank you, not noticing as he made his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. When he came back in, he went over to your side and leaned down. “Here baby, drink this.” You grabbed the glass, missing it a couple times before bringing it up to your mouth and chugging the thing, wiping your mouth and handing it back to him. He put it on your bedside table before he got up and turned off the bedroom light. He undressed down to his boxers and moved into the bed, scooting closer to you.

He wrapped his arm around you, fighting the with the duvet you had wrapped around you like if it loved you were going to freeze to death. You sighed when you felt him behind you, snuggling into his chest.

“You good?”

“Mhm.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need to pee again?”

“. . . Yeah.”

[dismalflo]

can i request a remus x insecure reader who feels like she isn’t enough to deserve their relationship?

hi darling, thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3

remus lupin x reader who thinks they should break up ✩ 1k words

cw: angst, tiny bit of fluff at the end, insecure/depressed reader

Something’s wrong. It’s in the way your shoulders sit high and tense, the restless shifting of your hands, the faint crease of worry etched between your brows. Remus notices how your eyes flit to him every so often, and each time, he pretends to read a book he hasn't turned a page of in minutes.

A quiet mix of concern and confusion stirs in his chest, just beginning to surface, when your voice slices through the silence—soft, fragile.

“I think we should break up.”

The world shifts. Everything around him narrows, shrinks, chills. You sink further into the cushions beside him, retreating inward, and Remus watches with wide, disbelieving eyes. His heart stumbles as he sets the unread book gently on the coffee table, his fingers trembling.

He swallows, throat thick. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Why… why would you say that?” The words scrape against his throat, shaky with disbelief. “What happened?”

You draw your knees closer, shoulders curling forward. You don’t meet his gaze, and the small movement of turning away feels like a knife to his chest. Remus leans in slightly, as though closing the space between you could keep whatever this is from slipping further out of reach. The pressure behind his eyes builds.

“I just…” Your voice falters, lip caught between your teeth. “I just think it’d be for the best.”

Remus reels, emotions crashing hard—hurt, confusion, but above all, fear. Fear that he’s already lost you without knowing it. A wall has risen between you, quiet and invisible, but now impossible to ignore. You’ve always had moments where you retreat, but this? This feels different. You look… hollow. Like something’s drained the light from you, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

In another moment, in another fight, maybe he’d reach out. Maybe you'd lean in, and this would all melt away. But now, his hands stay frozen in his lap. Instead, he fumbles for words.

“I don’t understand, dove,” he says finally, the nickname catching faintly in his throat. His voice is low, tender, uncertain. “Where’s this coming from?”

You don’t answer right away. Your fingers twist together in your lap. Then, so quiet he nearly misses it:

“Do you not get sick of me?”

His breath catches, sharp. For a moment, he’s not sure he heard you right. Your voice—so quiet, so broken—hits him harder than anything else could have.

"Sick of you?" He repeats, as if testing the words in his mouth, his mind struggling to comprehend. The confusion on his face deepens as he shifts closer. 

“No. I could never…” He trails off, struggling, voice fraying at the edges. “I don’t know what’s going on inside your head right now, but sick of you?” He shakes his head slowly. “That’s not something I could ever feel.”

You shake your head in return. The look in your eyes nearly undoes him.

“I just… I don’t think I���m a good partner,” you say, each word like a stone in your chest. “Not for someone like you. I feel like I’m holding you back—from someone who could give you everything you deserve.”

The breath leaves Remus’s lungs like a punch. Your words crack something deep in him, something tender and unguarded. He wants to reach for you, to insist you’re wrong, but he knows shouting down your pain won’t fix this.

So he chooses quiet.

“Do you expect me to be perfect?” he asks, voice low.

You look up fast, startled. “Wha– No!” you exclaim, eyes wide, cheeks damp.

Remus gives a soft, broken laugh — not unkind, just weary. “Then why would I expect that from you?” he murmurs.

He waits, watches the way that the question settles. Your lips part like you want to argue, to resist, but nothing comes. Your hands still in your lap. You look smaller somehow—like the weight you’ve been carrying has been pressing down for too long.

Remus leans in, just slightly, his voice still quiet, careful. “You think you're holding me back, but dove, that’s not– I love you. A lot. And I don't know what I’d do without you sometimes– most of the time.”

Your mouth opens, trembling, and for a second it looks like no words will come. But then they do, choked out through the beginning of proper tears that well and spill over before you can stop them.

“I don’t actually want to break up,” you confess, voice thick and warbling. “Not really.”

Remus's breath catches again, this time with something softer—relief, maybe, but wrapped tight in the ache of watching you crumble like this. Your apology slips out next, rushed and raw and muffled by your hands when you lift them to cover your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t know how else to say it. I didn’t know how to tell you how I’ve been feeling.”

But he’s already moving.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. His arms are around you in a heartbeat, gathering you in and pulling you close, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, the pieces of you will start to fit back together. You press your face into his chest, and the quiet, shuddering breaths you take against his shirt break his heart in a hundred new ways.

He presses his lips to the crown of your head, voice gentle and steady against the shake in yours. “You never have to apologize for feeling like this,” he murmurs. “Not with me.”

You cling to him, fingers curling into the fabric at his side, and he just holds you tighter.

“Anytime you need reminding,” he says softly, his words a promise, solid and warm, “I’ll tell you. I’ll remind you how much I love you. How much I want you. All of you.”

Your shoulders start to ease then, just a little. The worst of the storm passes in his arms, and he doesn’t let go.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Hey its me, The Swayze Dean request anon. In the wise words of SpongeBob..."Mr.Kraaaabssss, I have an ideeaaaa"

Sam who's with someone who doesn't moan/make noise easily. Like he'd get desperate and wear himself out just to hear a whine- ya dig?

Helloooo again Swayze Anon (can I call you Swayze Anon?), thank you for coming back with another delicious ask after your lovely request that turned into The Swayze Method ! ❤️ I appreciate you thinking of both brothers, though. Bless. 🙏

Little spontaneous Sam fic below the cut!

The Highest Note - a mini Sam Winchester fic

CWs: 986 words. Sam's bruised ego. Just a touch of smut. Communication.

Sam Winchester likes to think he doesn't have much of an ego.

He's wrong, of course, but that's beside the point. He keeps it in check, somewhat. Doesn't flinch at low-brow insults. He's long gotten past wanting to be liked and is fine with being tolerated. He's not afraid to ask for help, at least not with some things, such as: "sorry, where do you keep the frozen burritos?" or, "you're right, officer, we were speeding, yes, he'll be careful from now on, have a great day."

But getting you to make certain noises when it's just the two of you? Well, it seems he met his match.

It gnaws at him, and that's what surprises him most. He knows sex is a duet, it's about forging a connection. And if you just happen to be quiet, that should be totally fine. But he's... well, Sam has a few tricks. Probably not the amount his brother has, but stuff that's tried and true. And he knows everyone's different, he knows that, he really does. But what does he have to do to get you to make that sound?

That high, voice-cracking moan. An involuntary whimper. Sam loves these noises in his partners. The knowledge that he's made them check out of their body, has given someone that floating feeling, that factory reset. It's sometimes better than the actual coming, though he's not about to verbalize that to anyone.

And he loves sex with you. The chemistry between you two is unreal. Your kisses are the sweetest he's ever felt. Your touches, God, they undo him. There's just something between you that's right. It's only this thing. He wishes he could just not care. But he does. He just does.

Like now. He's been between your legs for a good long while. He loves it there. The softness of your thighs, the way your adorable toes rub along his side, because you're eager to stay in touch. Your smell, your taste. And he knows what he's doing is working, because the way you twitch and tense he's pretty sure is real.

He looks up at you, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pressed between teeth. Chest rising and falling as you suck in breath. But not a sound to be heard.

"Just let it out, baby," he says, softly stroking you through the aftershocks. But then your body goes slack, your lip released from its toothy prison, your head rolling to the side. You look beautiful like this, exhausted, elated, and Sam did that. Still, he finds himself suppressing a sigh. Then he crawls up your body, plops down next to you.

You roll towards him, arm going around him as you press your cheek against his chest, hum a little. Sam swallows, then wraps his arm around you too. Gently strokes your hair with his fingers.

"Did you," he asks, feeling insanely self-conscious immediately, embarrassed that he'd ask like this. "Did you like that?"

You turn your head a little, kiss his skin where you can reach it.

"I loved it," you say, voice low. "That was amazing, Sam." Sam chews on the corner of his lip. He shouldn't bring it up, right? The last thing in the world he wants is that you think you're doing something wrong. Just cause he needs his damn ego stroked.

"It's just," he says, taking a strand of your hair, running it between his fingers. "You don't really make, you know, a lot of, I mean, noises, I guess, so I'm just wondering."

Oh, that sounds so much worse than it did in his head. Why couldn't he just say it outright, simply ask, instead has to make it this little game where he pretends he's just casually inquiring.

He's sure he's fucked up, but then you raise your head, look at him and Sam needs to swallow, forces a smile on his face, which probably makes it all worse. You study him, in that unreadable way you have.

"Do you think," you say, voice neutral, but your hand is slowly running along his back, so maybe you're not mad? "Do you think that I don't like what you're doing because I don't scream and moan and, I don't know, holler?"

Sam can't help but huff at that last word.

"No, not at all, just..." he says, then stops. "It, it might have crossed my mind."

You blink up at him, then untangle your arm from him, making Sam's heart drop for a second, but it's only to bring up your hand and brush some of his hair away from his face.

"Sam," you say in that super reasonable tone Sam has come to love so much. "Have you ever considered that you make me feel so good that I just completely lose the function to make any noise?"

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it. Looks at you, trying to read your expression.

"Is that," he says, feeling a tickle of pride inside himself, "is that what it is?" You shrug.

"That," you reply, "and also I just don't make a lot of noises. Always been that way. It has nothing to do with you."

You don't say it unkindly, but Sam still feels dumb. He made this entirely about himself. But of course it's not. He clears his throat.

"I'm sorry," he says, feeling awkward. "I didn't want to make it a thing." To his surprise, you smile softly.

"You didn't," you say. "I mean, I can try being louder. I just can't guarantee, you know." Sam nods quickly.

"Of course," he says. He looks down at you. "Thank you."

You chuckle, and then you're pressing closer to him, your hand wandering from his face down his chest and lower.

"Now," you say as your fingers find him, begin drawing soft circles on him and Sam needs to close his eyes. "Let's see what noises you can make."

Thank you again for the lovely ask, this was so fun! ❤️

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Residual Effects

Spencer Reid x fem!reader x platonic!James Wilson

wc: 5.8k

note: I came up with this as a second part to Differential Diagnosis, but you can read it as a standalone if you prefer. I hope you like it; I tried to humanize both men as much as possible. In other words, they make mistakes and are foolish, but they're still good guys.

Solving cases almost always left the team with an emotional burden that was difficult to recover from. That's why most took the opportunity to return home, rest, or relax as much as possible before being called upon again. However, this situation had turned out quite well: just a few victims and an unsub who wasn't truly dangerous—just a confused, somewhat unstable man, but not exactly deadly. Plus, it was local, which meant no wasted hours on the jet or the annoying process of packing and unpacking.

That meant good humor. And good humor always manifested itself in the desire to go for a few drinks.

“I’ve got them”

“You spoil us too much, Rossi,” Penelope commented with a cheerful laugh. No one, not even her, balked at the suggestion. Although, in reality, you hadn't decided where to go either.

You and Reid had been left behind, walking out of the building more slowly. He had that slightly hunched posture, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. You too, hands in the pockets of your leather jacket, trying to ignore the slight tingling of tiredness in your back.

“Will you go?”

“Maybe. I'm kind of tired. I'd just go get a soda or something. Are you going?”

“Yeah... I mean, if you go,” he said, and finally looked at you, half smiling, “Then I’ll go.”

Ever since that case in New Jersey, almost a month ago, Spencer had been behaving differently toward you. Not weird or hostile, but definitely not the same. Sometimes he was quieter, shyer, as if he didn't know where to put his hands when talking to you. Other times, he looked for any excuse to be close, to comment on something, to stay a little longer. Just like now. As if being by your side was his priority, even if it meant fighting his social awkwardness.

You were about to say something, maybe a joke about how everyone needed to relax a little, when your phone started ringing. You had to fumble your hands out of your pockets and search for your phone, which seemed to be caught between the fabric and the lining.

Even though you moved quickly, it wasn't fast enough. Spencer managed to read the name that appeared on the screen. His expression changed almost imperceptibly: his jaw slightly tense, his eyebrows a little lower.

"Hello?"

“Is this a bad time to call?” a warm, familiar voice asked.

Hearing it, a smile spread across your face, almost reflexively.

“No! I'm just getting off work. We finished a case, and I was about to go out with my colleagues for a drink. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just... I’m around.”

That simple phrase brought you to a complete stop. So did Spencer. You turned slightly to stand back from the group and hear him better.

“What? What do you mean you’re around? In Quantico?”

“DC, actually. There was an oncology conference today at the convention center. As the head of department, I had to attend. It wasn't anything spectacular, but I'll stay until tomorrow. And… I don't know, I was thinking about you.”

His voice sounded honest, a little unsure.

“I thought if you had time, we could have dinner. I know a really nice Italian restaurant a few blocks from where I'm staying. But if you already have plans, I don't want to interrupt anything.”

Your heart beat a little faster, though you weren't sure why. Maybe because of the surprise, or because of the way he said it. It wasn't just an invitation. He'd been thinking about you.

“You’re not interrupting. Seriously. We were just going somewhere. Nothing planned. If you’re here... I’d love to have dinner with you.”

In the background, you heard Emily playfully call your name. It was clear there were several curious ears.

"I'm at the Hilton, right across from the convention center. Do you want to meet me at the restaurant? Call a taxi, I'll pay for it."

“Oh, no need, I brought my car today. Is 40 minutes okay for you?”

“Perfect. I’ll take a shower and wait for you there.”

"That sounds great to me"

“I’m glad you said yes,” he added, more quietly. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

There was no way to hide your smile anymore, and you didn't try either.

“See you in a bit”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Drive carefully.”

You murmured a goodbye and then hung up. Emily and Morgan, like vultures circling emotional drama, immediately approached.

“And that happy face?”

“A friend invited me to dinner,” you replied without thinking much.

“A friend?” Morgan repeated, raising his eyebrows. “One who makes you smile like that on the phone?”

“He’s just a friend,” you insisted, even though you knew it wouldn’t convince them.

“It’s a he!”

By this point, the rest of the team was speaking more quietly to catch some of the conversation.

“What do you call this ‘just a friend’?” Emily asked with a mischievous smile.

“James Wilson”

Morgan burst out laughing.

“Is he handsome? Smart? Tall?”

“He’s a doctor. We met a few years ago.”

“He better be a cardiologist… because someone here is going to need help,” Emily joked.

While they laughed, Spencer remained silent. He didn't look at anyone, just at the floor.

“Aren’t you coming then?” he asked suddenly, without looking at you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I said yes.”

His posture made you feel like you owed him an explanation. He nodded once, briefly, almost as if he had trouble keeping his teeth from clenching.

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Is something wrong?” you asked softly.

“No. I just... thought we'd all go together. But it's okay.”

Emily and Morgan exchanged a look. Morgan, as always, was the first to break the awkward silence.

"Boy, if you want, we can invite the doctor too. Maybe you'll even become friends, you know, nerd to nerd."

“Very funny,” Reid muttered, walking toward the street without waiting for the others to follow.

This kind of behavior was unusual for him, and it made you wonder what was causing it. Your friends thought of a probable cause, but they didn't want to mention it. It was better for romantic matters to be resolved between those directly involved and not through mediation like theirs.

The other curious people had already realized that you wouldn't be accompanying them, because as soon as you got a little closer, they all crowded around you.

“I would love to go with you, but…”

“Say no more. We understand.”

“Should we expect a ring soon?”

“Come on, Garcia,” you laughed at how reckless the comment seemed compared to JJ’s. “He’s just a friend I haven’t seen in years. There’s no mystery to solve.”

You said goodbye to everyone with a hug, except for Spencer, who offered you only a wave. Distant and simple. But that's how he was when it came to contact, so you respected him and tried to take it in the best possible way.

“Have fun, drink responsibly, and don’t do anything you might regret tomorrow.”

“Or in nine months”

Emily winked at you, and the rest of them burst out laughing. Sometimes—most of the time—they were a total nightmare.

At the chorus of jeers, you just shook your head and started walking in the opposite direction. A smile still floated on your lips, but also that stabbing feeling in your chest that you couldn't understand where it was coming from. You're supposed to be excited about the invitation, right?

The drive was surprisingly short, and by the time you parked, you were a nervous wreck. You tried to fix your makeup as much as possible and were thankful there were no chases or anything that would make you sweat until you were smelly. Your hair didn't look too bad either, and you'd picked a nice outfit, thank God.

Then you looked at the bright sign on the building: RPM Italian. Wilson had texted you the address, and honestly, the place hadn’t disappointed at all.

It wasn't hard to find him once you were inside, after all he was the only man sitting, alone, at a table for two.

And it was impossible not to notice.

He wore a light blue shirt, impeccably buttoned to the neck, and a dark-striped tie that gave him a classic, almost collegiate look. The black jacket accentuated his straight shoulders, and the contrast with the restaurant's warm lighting brought out the softness of his skin and the subtle shine of his brown hair, combed to one side but with a few unruly strands falling over his forehead.

He had that kind of presence that made everything around him seem more contained, more intimate. Effortlessly elegant.

And just as you saw him, he saw you too. He looked up as if he'd been waiting for you all along. His smile—quiet, gentle, all his own—littered his face as soon as he recognized you. And that smile—the one you tried to hide—inevitably appeared on yours too.

"Hello"

“Hi,” you replied, moving closer as his gaze scanned your face with an expression as serene as it was genuine.

His cologne filled your nostrils: sophisticated, with notes of wood and something citrusy you couldn't quite identify, but it made you close your eyes for a second. It was a clean, masculine scent, as if his mere presence gave you a feeling of calm. As if it were his natural scent and not that of a fragrance perfectly chosen for him.

He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said naturally, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.

Then, with a subtle gesture, he pulled your chair out for you.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Even without traffic, the streets are a mess."

“Okay, my invitation was too hasty. I didn't even know if you were busy.”

“Today was a good day, cases don’t always turn out so well,” you began, watching him sit down in front of you.

He asked you to go deeper into the day's events, and you happily shared them with him. A bottle of wine was perfect for accompanying the conversation and, in the process, lifting both of your spirits.

Wilson told you about the conference, how everything had gone, the activities, the hustle and bustle of the day, and a little bit about what had been happening in his life over the past month. The past few years, actually, since the conversation you'd had while in New Jersey lasted only a minute. Although it was logical, after all, you couldn't gossip with him in the middle of such a delicate situation.

Now the night was yours.

“It’s so weird seeing you after so many years, you know?”

You frowned at his confession, not quite sure how to interpret it, and at the same time you smiled at him.

“Is it something bad or…?”

“No! Of course not. I mean, I didn’t think I’d see you again. I figured you’d be like most of the interns we have at the hospital, but when I saw you in House’s office that day, it was like… I don’t know, like I’d gone back in time or something.”

“It was a good time, wasn’t it? My twenties crisis seems like a breeze next to what it's like around thirty,” you murmured, making him laugh. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

"Really?"

“Yes. And I mean that as a compliment, for the record. I mean, you always seemed so… so human. Kind-hearted, gentle, funny. I always wondered what made you House’s friend.”

“He’s not that bad,” he defended him. “He just needs a little help sometimes. And patience most of the time. Deep down, he’s a good man, he tries hard to save patients.”

“I see you and I feel that every time you find a mess you think 'I can fix it,' and I honestly don't know if it's an act of selfless love for the world or some kind of self-imposed moral burden.”

“Are you saying I should stop being friends with House?”

“I’m saying you’re a complex personality. Very bright, polite, and kind, but at the same time, it’s as if something compels you to collect outcasts from around the world to try to rehabilitate them or something,” you smiled. “Forgive me if I took the liberty of assuming things about you. It’s part of… well, you know, my job.”

Wilson didn't seem offended. It was more like he was impressed by what you were telling him, perhaps too close to the truth.

“I can't imagine how complicated it is. The human mind is so… unpredictable. I rely on medical evidence, on tests, on the effectiveness of medications. But trying to understand the twists and turns of humanity—that's a challenge.”

“Sometimes it's enough to look a little deeper. You think you know something, but in reality you're looking at it from the wrong perspective or you're not seeing it objectively. It all depends on the person you are, who they are, their life story, their modus operandi. You have to look at things from the outside. It's like... when you eat something that seemed like the greatest delicacy in your childhood, but, as an adult, you realize it wasn't as good as your memories had led you to believe. Maybe I'm digressing, but…”

“No, I understand perfectly,” he finished. He looked at you with a certain admiration, though with those bright, tender brown eyes, it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just a natural reflex.

You were about to say something more about it when a hand placed on your shoulder made you jump. You doubted it was a waiter touching you so familiarly, and when you turned around, you found yourself staring into the face of your elegant Italian colleague.

“Rossi?”

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I want you to know we're not spying on you or anything.”

“What?” you squealed. He was speaking plural, what was it…? “No way.”

Your answer appeared a couple of tables over. They were all sitting at one of the tables, the whole team, laughing amongst themselves. Almost as if he felt your gaze, Spencer turned in your direction until he met your eyes; a second later, he focused on Wilson.

“It turns out we suddenly had a collective craving for Italian food, and since this is the best restaurant I know…” he shrugged, smiling, “What can I say? It’s just the coincidences of life.”

James watched with some interest and a touch of entertainment, as if he was enjoying the scene he was witnessing.

“Wilson, this is my… he’s my coworker, his name is David Rossi. Dave, this is Dr. James Wilson, one of the best oncologists in the country.”

“Just James,” he murmured, standing up to shake his hand. You could feel the BAU’s eyes on you. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine. How lovely to see our darling so happy.”

You were going to make sure you killed him one of these days. Or if not, at least make him suffer. Your mind immediately went to how much fun the others must be having seeing you blush, and suddenly, you thought you wanted to kill them too. Spencer was the only one who watched everything impassively, as if he didn't want to be there. But he never went places he didn't want to be, so what was happening to everyone?

“Well, I appreciate you coming, but I think it's best if you advise our friends on the dishes. After all, you come here often, don't you?”

“You’re right,” he smiled. “We’ll be there if you need anything.”

You practically shoved Rossi out of your way and tried desperately to ignore how tense the atmosphere had become, at least from your perspective. Wilson wasn't uncomfortable at all; he was even smiling slightly.

“So those are your colleagues?”

"I swear I didn't tell them where I was. They must have heard it on the call or…"

“Does it bother you?” he interrupted. When you looked at him, confused, he continued, “That they’re here, I mean. That they see you with me.”

“No! My God, of course not. What I'm trying to say is, I hope you're not uncomfortable with them being here or anything. They're a bunch of gossip and… I'm sorry.”

“Do they know you like me?”

While that was true, it didn't stop you from freezing completely. You never expected him to express it so shamelessly, so directly and casually. A nervous laugh soon emerged, almost touching disbelief.

"Sorry?"

“Oh, it’s just… I don’t know, I thought you told them about the little conversation when you went to the hospital. Or your friend, anyway.”

“For starters, Reid isn't a big mouth. Second, that's none of their business. And third, you just said I like you, and in any case, the correct tense would be past tense: I liked you. A mild crush that all college girls eventually have, nothing more.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and you dared to look at him.

“Does this amuse you?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… I don’t know, I thought it was really cute when I found out. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of House, but I kept wondering how accurate his conclusions were.”

“House is reckless and an idiot”

“But most of the time he’s right,” he smiled, watching you closely. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I don't. That's in the past, Wilson. Besides, you are older than me.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you're married”

Suddenly, it was his turn to pale. He hadn't even mentioned his current wife, and the way his hand unconsciously went to his ring finger, searching for the non-existent jewel, gave you the confirmation you needed.

And yet, you felt like you'd just hit back. He didn't know for sure if you had ever been—or were ever—attracted to him, and you weren't sure a wife even existed. You were playing the same game, even though he didn't think you knew the rules.

Poor, naive Wilson.

“How… how did you know?”

"I made some guesses. You're not wearing your ring today, but you have a habit of going to that area with your thumb, as if you're used to playing with it. Just like you, a moment ago, I was just throwing a guess into the air."

He remained silent, observing you, as if your comment had activated a mirror he didn't know he needed. His expression didn't show annoyance, but rather a strange mix of vulnerability and respect. As if he felt exposed, yes... but not entirely uncomfortable about it.

Receiving no response, you continued:

“What I find curious is that you decided to forget it today. Maybe trying your luck? Are there a lot of pretty female oncologists at the conferences you attend?”

James didn't answer immediately. His hand slowly moved back from his ring finger, as if you'd caught him in the act. He cleared his throat, his smile barely visible.

“Things with my wife haven’t been going well for a while now…” he said, lowering his voice slightly, as if he knew any misspoken words could backfire on him “It wasn’t a planned gesture. Sometimes, when I’m feeling confused, I just… don’t wear it.”

“That sounds dangerously symbolic. Not wearing the ring, I mean. As if you're subconsciously permitting yourself to be a little less of a husband.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly “I promise.”

He understood the nature of your comment. And, honestly, he couldn't blame you. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't contacted you as an attempt to escape the routine, to see if maybe you were what his life was missing.

But he wouldn't tell you, of course not.

“Can I say something without sounding nosy?”

Wilson nodded, looking at you with genuine interest.

“Maybe... and I say maybe because I don't have all the answers, okay? But... maybe you should think about whether you're there because you still love her or because you're afraid of being alone.”

He gave a short laugh, with no trace of mockery.

“Would you say that from your own experience?”

“I say this because loneliness often disguises itself very well as commitment. And because there's nothing more exhausting than trying to keep a dead relationship alive just to avoid the silence.”

Wilson seemed to process this more seriously than you'd anticipated. He looked at you as if you were much more complex than he'd initially believed. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly.

“You are quite perceptive.”

“I already told you, it’s my job.”

As you watched him speak, with that polished charm that had once seemed unattainable, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

For years you had idealized him, as if James Wilson were the perfect representation of the thoughtful, brilliant, and emotionally available man who was so scarce in the world. But now, standing before you, you no longer saw the idol you had once fantasized about from a distance, but a real man: one who made mistakes, who made selfish decisions, who could be emotionally irresponsible without even realizing it.

You were still attracted to him (because it wasn't easy to shake off the feeling), but now it was tinged with reality and maturity. You might like him, you might desire him, but you also knew that trying something with him would be like walking on glass: complicated, unstable, and probably painful.

The parallel with your previous analogy –the objective view of your favorite food– felt like a bitter omen.

A comfortable pause settled between you. The restaurant music, the murmurs, the drinks, everything seemed to continue, ignoring the conversation you'd just had. Until he spoke again.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

It wasn't a loaded question. There was no ulterior motive. But you still looked at him with some suspicion.

“Was that a flirtation attempt?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly, his hands raised. “I just… wanted to know. That’s not why I came to you, I just wanted to see you. I thought it would be a good idea to invite you to dinner”

A relaxed smile suddenly appeared. You felt more comfortable now that you knew he wasn't trying to get into your pants, although, to be honest, a month ago you would have accepted the offer without a second thought.

“It’s okay. I'm glad to know I'm not a whim of your midlife crisis,” you admitted. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

You said it sarcastically, and he smiled. You reminded him a little—too much—of House, and he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. He was surprised to think that the passing of time had taken away that insecure little girl, whom he now saw in Cameron, and made way for a worthy apprentice of the doctor. Perhaps that was why you had argued so much during that visit; two such strong personalities didn't get along so easily.

Oblivious to the other person's thoughts, your gaze involuntarily returned to the other table. Something in your chest suddenly tightened.

Spencer.

He wasn't laughing. Not like the others. He was watching you.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment you couldn't read him. He looked confused, annoyed... or just plain hurt. But it was him, after all, so nothing was as simple as it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Wilson asked, following your gaze.

“Yeah,” you answered, looking away from Spencer as if that would make him less important.

He knew who you'd been eyeing. He also wondered if your answer about a relationship was only half-truthful. If you'd been hiding something or had subconsciously been searching for the object of your desire after answering the question.

“House was quite impressed with your friend. He said he was brilliant.” James poured himself a little more wine, not hiding his curious tone “Rare for him to praise anyone other than himself.”

“Reid is… peculiar”

“I read some of his publications. The guy is a genius,” he took a sip. “And he seems very serious. I wonder if he’s always like this or if he’s just trying to kill the man in front of you with his eyes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You knew Spencer was good at keeping his emotions under wraps, but you also knew he had a way of letting them show when he wanted. That was one of them.

Wilson looked at him once more.

“I think I just made an enemy without knowing why.”

“You’re not his enemy,” you said, your voice calm. “He’s just not used to seeing me outside of certain scenarios.”

“Like on a date?”

“It’s not a date”

“But it might seem so”

“Now you’re implying that he likes me?”

“No,” he murmured, without a trace of lying “I’m just saying what I see. Just like you.”

The sudden setback he gave you, with your own arguments, made you laugh while you shook your head.

“You know, of all the things that could have happened, I didn’t expect our evening to go this way.”

“Nor me. But I'm glad it did.”

"Why?"

"Because sometimes it's good to talk things through. To avoid misunderstandings."

“To think that I'm still in love with you, for example?”

“Or assume I’m trying to cheat on my wife with you.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere felt like there was a certain complicity, you could even say a certain unresolved tension. As if you were saying those things, but deep down, you were thinking that if you had kissed at any moment, it would have felt natural.

In a sort of tacit agreement, the topic of conversation changed, and you continued eating dinner as normal. The wine glass in your hand was almost empty, but you did not attempt to refill it. He didn’t either.

You both paused in that strange, comfortable moment that occurs after a long conversation, one that seems to have lasted minutes and yet a lifetime. The murmur of the Italian restaurant was soft, discreet, just enough to envelop you in a bubble where no one else seemed to exist.

At some point, dessert arrived, and with that, the time to say goodbye. You hadn't realized your friends were no longer at the next table, which made you wonder how long ago they'd left.

“It was… nice to see you,” he finally said, that nostalgic smile forming in his eyes more than on his lips “I didn’t know how much I needed it until it happened.”

“Yes,” you replied barely, in a soft voice. “I didn’t know either.”

He looked at you more closely, and then he said it. No drama, no cheap insinuations. He just blurted it out, as if he were confessing it more to himself than to you:

“If one day circumstances were different… I don’t know, I’d like to see you again.”

And there it was. The phrase that left the air suspended between you. You could have done many things with it: laugh, say yes, shake your head, respond with something equally ambiguous. But you did nothing. You just looked at him. And he understood.

He paid the bill without much insistence, and you didn't argue, because you knew it was a way to close the moment; to make everything intact, without cracks. When you left the restaurant, the night air greeted you with a light breeze and the scent of distant rain.

You wanted to say something else, but whatever thought had crossed your mind was cut short by what you saw. Spencer, standing on the corner, hands in his pockets and the collar of his coat pulled up to his cheeks. He didn't seem rushed, but he did seem expectant. When he saw you, his frown softened slightly... until he noticed who was walking beside you.

“Dr. Reid! It’s so nice to see you again.”

The aforementioned greeted him with a nod, trying to be as rude as possible, and saying a soft hello.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“A taxi,” he muttered dryly.

The idea of giving him a ride immediately occurred to you, and as you looked at Wilson, it was as if he'd already read your mind. A soft smile told you he agreed.

“I can take you home.”

“Thanks, but I already called the taxi. It would be very rude to just leave.”

“That’s no problem,” the doctor chimed in. “I could have yours. I was thinking of taking one to get back to my hotel.”

Reid looked at you then, as if seeking confirmation that the option was really valid. Then he looked at Wilson, assessing without hiding it. The moment became intense, although no one said anything.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Either way, James was about to leave.”

“I was thinking of walking you to your car, don’t think I’m a savage,” he joked, and you laughed softly.

That brief, carefree laugh made both men look at you. For a moment, you were the exact center of two opposing universes.

You turned towards the elder.

“If you come back to town, please call me.”

“Same here. Even if you're not in Jersey and want to call me, I'm available.”

You leaned forward to say goodbye, with a hug, and he leaned his head down to kiss you. A simple, polite touch, with no ulterior motives… but not entirely innocent. Because Spencer saw it. Because Spencer felt it. And because you noticed it too.

“Sleep well. Good luck on your return flight.”

“Take care,” Wilson said, before saying goodbye with a last smile.

You gave Spencer a small nod and started walking toward the car. He followed you, but not before saying goodbye to Wilson with a formal handshake. You didn't want to pressure him. You decided to wait. You knew that if something needed to be said, it would come from him.

He walked in silence for several minutes, with his hands in his pockets and his steps slow.

“Did it go well?” he asked, without turning around completely. His tone was calm, but there was a barely perceptible tension in his words.

“Yeah. It was quite nice. I liked the food, the wine… the conversation was good.”

There was another pause.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

You raised an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

“I don’t know if you had plans to go somewhere else afterward.”

You paused before looking at him again. You were almost back at the car.

“We just wanted to have dinner. Sleeping with married men isn't my style.”

Spencer turned his head, now yes, to look at you fully.

“Is he married?”

“As I feared,” you said, with a dry smile.

Your friend didn't know how to interpret that and looked down for a moment. The cold ran through you, chilling you to the bone, and you wondered if you could ask him for his coat to warm you up a little. But that would have been cruel.

“And if he wasn’t?” he then asked, without embellishment, “Would you have something with him?”

The question took you a little by surprise. Not because you weren't expecting it... but because the way he said it was too direct, even for him.

You sighed, letting the warm air escape through your lips.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered. “He’s kind, very handsome, and I like him, but… today I realized there are things about him, emotional things, that I don’t know if I could deal with. He’s full of voids that I don’t know if I want to fill.”

Spencer didn't say anything for a second. He just looked at you, as if trying to read what was behind your words. As if it hurt him that you weren't sure, but also as if he was relieved to hear that you weren't entirely convinced.

When you got to the car, you leaned against the door for a moment, searching for your keys. Spencer stood by your side, his hands still in his pockets, as if the weight of his coat could keep him firmly on the ground. The night was still warm, but you couldn't tell if the trembling in your hands was due to the weather or everything you'd said to each other. And everything you hadn't.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, Reid, it’s okay. I know you hate doing it.”

Your thoughtfulness made him smile, and he climbed into the passenger seat. You were grateful that it was warmer inside, something that would improve once the air-conditioning was on.

The man snuggled into the seat, staring out the window at the streets, and then you sat for a while enjoying the comfortable silence in the car. The only thing that remained was the murmur of the radio, which had just changed songs. A guitar filtered through the speakers, followed by a slightly nasal voice.

I met her in a club down in old Soho…

Spencer blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if recognizing an old acquaintance. And when the song reached the chorus, he smiled.

“Did you know this song was banned on some radio stations for mentioning a soda brand?” he said suddenly, without you asking.

You barely turned your face towards him, without taking your eyes off the road.

"Huh?"

“Coca-Cola,” he explained, with that half-smile that appears when he’s about to share a piece of trivia that probably no one asked for but that he finds fascinating. “In the original version it says: 'Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola' But the BBC didn’t allow explicit commercial references, so The Kinks had to go back to the studio to re-record it saying 'cherry cola' just so it could be played on the radio.”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. And it wasn't even because of the song's content. Which, if you think about it, is a lot more scandalous.”

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world…

He raised an eyebrow, as if the song had just proven its point for him.

“It was written in 1970. A song about a relationship with a trans person or drag queen, amid the Conservative era. Ray Davies wrote it after his manager realized, too late, that Lola wasn't the woman she seemed. The fascinating thing is that the song never pokes fun at the subject. It's more… tender. Confusing, yes, but honest.”

You chuckled, impressed.

“I've never heard it before. It's a beautiful song.”

You were silent for a moment, listening.

“Also,” he added, in a softer tone, “it’s a good metaphor for embracing the unexpected. Things that don’t fit with what you believed. Or what you were prepared to feel.”

You didn't say anything, because you didn't need to. You just kept driving, while Lola continued singing her cheerful chorus, and you wondered if, in some way, that song sounded a little like what Spencer wasn't saying.

[chuellas]

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you grow up as next door neighbors. He and your twin brother become far closer than you and Chuuya do, but he’s still fond of you and looks out for you.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you all go to the same school and somehow he always ends up in the same class as you. Once in first year of high school some girls tried to bully you not knowing about your guard dog. You tried to keep it from him but it didn’t take long for him to catch on and beat the girls’ boyfriends up in retaliation.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you and Chuuya are constantly being asked if you’re a couple and your brother and Chuuya always obnoxiously gag at the mention. You agree until one particularly long summer between first and second year of high school while your family is away on a month long vacation Chuuya decides to go through puberty and when you get back he’s lost his baby face and his body is far more toned and athletically built than it had been before, come to find out he had taken up mixed martial arts. So, you play along with the gagging and joking that you would rather die than ever date Chuuya but really you’ve started to see him differently.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you and him decide to stay close to home and attend college at YNU while your brother ended up at Tokyo Tech. Your small crush on Chuuya by the end of your Sophomore year in college has turned into a full blown infatuation. The only problem? You’re pretty sure Chuuya does not feel the same way, if the way he ends up with a different person in his bed almost every weekend has anything to say about it. You grit your teeth every time your friends bring it up. You try to get over him by getting under someone but you only manage that a handful of times before Chuuya finds out and starts scaring them all away by claiming how none of them are good enough for you.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where he is hopelessly in love with you but doesn’t dare ruin the friendship/bond between the two of you by telling you his feelings because he simply cannot lose you. He thinks he’ll be fine with sitting in the sidelines while you live out your life until your Junior year of college.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you finally think you’ve moved on from your infatuation with the ginger and start dating this really popular guy in your program. Unbeknownst to you, Chuuya is losing sleep and maybe his mind over it. Your friendship takes a hit and you can’t figure out why Chuuya has be acting differently and borderline avoiding you.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you have to intervene when he starts beating your ex-boyfriend to an almost bloody pulp after a less than amicable break up. You take Chuuya to your off campus apartment and patch him up. Reprimanding him until he leans in, adrenaline still coursing through him and kisses you. You freeze but just as he’s about to pull away and apologize you lean in and deepen the kiss. Chuuya pulls you in and one thing leads to another and you both end up waking up the next morning naked in bed clinging to each other after finally confessing your feelings for one another.

Bonus: Childhood friends with Chuuya where your twin brother has had enough of the tension and literally runs away from the two of you to get some peace. Your brother rejoices when he hears the news that the tow of you have finally gotten together.

[moondustbaby]

Too Much, Never You

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader Angst to fluff

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: When you overhear Rafe calling you clingy at a party, the words stick like splinters, unraveling something fragile between them. But when the truth finally comes out, you learn maybe you were never too much—just exactly where you belonged.

⸻

You weren’t eavesdropping.

You really weren’t.

It was just bad timing—walking back into the kitchen at the exact moment Rafe said, “She’s just so clingy sometimes, man.”

You froze, fingers tightening around the red solo cup in your hand, breath catching in your throat before you could even think to hide it. The words hit like a slap, sinking into your chest and pulling the air from your lungs.

Topper laughed, but it sounded far away now. “Yeah, but that’s just her, right?”

And Rafe—your best friend since diapers, since scraped knees and late-night sleepovers—just shrugged. Didn’t defend you. Didn’t correct him.

You backed out of the room like a ghost, slipping through the hall and out onto the porch, blinking hard as the warm summer night pressed in around you.

Clingy. That’s what he thought. That’s what he said.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much. But it did.

You barely remember the ride home—just that you didn’t say goodbye, didn’t answer his texts. And by the next morning, he was on your porch.

He knocked once before pushing the door open like he always did. “Okay, seriously—what’s going on with you?”

You didn’t answer, just stayed curled on the couch in his hoodie, arms wrapped tight around your knees. He sighed, walking over until he was standing in front of you, hands on his hips like he was gearing up for a lecture.

But when you finally looked up at him—eyes glassy and tired—his whole face changed.

“What happened?” he asked, voice soft now. “Did someone say something to you?”

“You did,” you whispered.

Rafe’s brows furrowed, crouching down in front of you. “What are you talking about?”

You swallowed thickly. “I heard you last night. In the kitchen. With Topper. You said I was clingy.”

His eyes widened like the puzzle pieces just snapped into place. “Fuck. That’s not—God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to believe it.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated but desperate. “Topper was talking about that girl he hooked up with—how she kept showing up everywhere after one night. I said you’re different. I said—she’s clingy in a weird way, but you—I don’t even know how to explain it. You’re not clingy. You’re mine. It’s like… you being around isn’t something I get tired of. It’s something I need.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you say that?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said instantly. “And I didn’t know I hurt you.”

You sniffled, biting your lip. “You didn’t even correct him.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he said softly. “You’re my best friend. I thought… I thought you knew how much you mean to me.”

You stared at him, heart still aching—but something softer started to push through the cracks.

“Don’t ever say that about yourself again,” he added, brushing your knee. “Clingy? You could call me at 3AM needing to be held like a damn teddy bear and I’d thank you for it.”

A small laugh escaped your lips despite yourself. “You’re such a sap.”

He smiled, eyes warm. “Only for you.”

And when you finally leaned into his arms, burying your face in his chest, you realized it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought.

You weren’t too much for him.

You never had been.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: ahhh this broke my heart a bit, but also fun to write! especially since i posted my clingy bsf!rafe headcanons it was fun to see it from this perspective!

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

[xmpsrrr]

Bad at love

inspired on the song “bad at love” by hasley

(bakugo x reader)

You always knew loving bakugo wouldnt always be easy to love.

He was intense in everything he did—training, fighting, living. But love? That was something he could never quite learned to hold without setting it on fire.

For awhile, you thought you could handle it. You thought if you loved him hard enough, he’d let you past the walls he built so high for himself. That eventually, he’d realize you weren’t there to change him. You were there to stand beside him.

But with Bakugo, everything was a battle—even when things shouldn’t be.

It started with the little things.

Missed calls. Short and clipped responses. The way his eyes drifted past you like he was somewhere else—somewhere different even when you were right next to him.

He never talked about it. He never talked about anything that hurt.

And you, too afraid to push him too hard, just kept swallowing your own hurt until it built up into something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

The breaking point came on a rainy night. One where the sky felt heavy, and you felt heavier.

You had shown up to his house unannounced. It was late, and you knew he was home—he always stayed cooped up in his little house especially on nights like this. pretending the silence didn’t suffocate him.

When he opened the door, his face shifted into something unreadable. Tired, Maybe. Guarded.

“What are you doing here?” his tone was rough, the warmth you once knew disappearing.

You paused, standing on his doorstep, water dripping from your jacket onto the floor “We need to talk.”

His jaw clenched “Now?”

“Yes, now”

He stepped back, letting you inside, but he didn’t meet your eyes. His house looked the same,but somewhat felt different. Like you were intruding in a space you once belonged in.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned towards him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

His expression darken, frustration flickering behind his crimson eyes. “I haven’t.”

“Don’t do that,” You said, voice wavering. “Don’t act like i’m imagining things. You’ve been distant for weeks. You barely talk to me. You skip plans without telling me why, And when i ask, you shut me out.”

His silence was louder than any explosion he could’ve made.

“Just tell me what going on,” You pleaded, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “If you don’t want this anymore—if you don’t want me—just say it.”

His eyes flashed at that, lips curling into something bitter. “You think i don’t want you?”

“Then what is this, Katsuki?” you snapped, the dam finally breaking. “I don’t feel like fighting for something you’ve already given up on!”

He stared at you, his fists clenching at his sides as if he was trying to hold something back—something dangerous.

“I didn’t ask for this,” He muttered, his voice low, harsh.

The words hit harder then you expected. “For what? For someone who actually gives a damn about you?”

“You don’t get it,” He growled, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t need you to fix me.”

“I never tried to fix you!” you fired back, tears stinging your eyes. “I just wanted to be with you. To matter. But you won’t let me. You’re always running, Katsuki—running from things that scare you, even when it’s just me.”

A tense silence stretched between you too. You could see the conflict in his eyes—like he wanted to reach you but didn’t know how.

Then, he said the words that broke you.

“Then maybe i’m not who you thought I was.”

Your breath hitched, and something inside you shattered.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t explosive like everything else about him.

It was quiet, sharp, and devastating.

“Maybe you’re not,” you whispered, blinking away tears. “And maybe im done pretending that’s enough for me.”

He didn’t stop you from when you turned toward the door.

He didn’t say your name.

He didn’t beg you to stay.

He didn’t come after you.

And that hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

A year passed

A year of learning how to exist without him.

Without his rough hands, his quiet confessions when he let his walls slip, his warmth pressed against you on nights you stayed too late.

Without the person you’d given your heart to, only to have him crush it with his silence.

You tried to move on.

You filled your days with work, with friends, with anything that could keep your mind busy enough to ignore the hollow ache inside you.

You stopped checking your phone for messages that never came.

Stopped passing by places you used to visit together.

But no matter how far you ran, he haunted you.

In headlines. In glimpses of him on patrol.

In the way rain still reminded you of the night you walked away.

And then, on a stormy night that felt all too familiar, came the knock you thought you’d never hear again.

When you opened the door, you weren’t sure what you expected—but it wasn’t him.

Katsuki stood in the rain, soaked from head to toe. His usually wild hair was flattened against his forehead, droplets of water sliding down his sharp features. He looked… smaller. Exhausted.

But his eyes—those fiery crimson eyes—still burned with something you’d almost forgotten.

In his hands was a half-destroyed bouquet of your favorite flowers. The petals were wilted, drooping under the weight of the rain. A box of chocolates was tucked beneath his arm, soggy and warped from the storm.

He looked down at the ruined mess in his hands, then back at you—his expression torn between guilt and something rawer.

“I know I fucked up,” he started, voice rough and quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I know it’s been… too long. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding painfully in your chest.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” you whispered, the ache of those words still heavy after all this time.

His eyes tightened, regret etched into every line of his face.

“I did want you,” he said firmly, then lowered his gaze as his shoulders slumped. “I still do. I just—” He exhaled sharply, rainwater dripping from his lashes. “I’m bad at love. I push people away ‘cause I don’t know how to… hold onto them without screwing it up.”

Your chest tightened at his admission—words you never thought you’d hear from him.

“I hurt you,” he continued, voice breaking ever so slightly. “And I hate myself for it. But I couldn’t let it end like that. Not without trying.”

He held out the ruined flowers, his fingers trembling.

“I want you back. I know I don’t deserve it, but… you can’t blame me for trying.”

Tears blurred your vision, memories of that night and every moment after rushing back all at once.

“Why now?” you whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in your throat. “Why after a year?”

His gaze met yours—raw, unguarded in a way you’d never seen before.

“Because no matter how much time passed, nothing felt right without you.” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t forget you. I didn’t want to.”

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe his words.

Slowly, you took the flowers from his hands—drooping petals and all. His breath hitched at the contact, eyes flickering with something fragile and hopeful.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Katsuki,” you said softly. “I just need you to show up. To try.”

He stepped closer, rain still clinging to his skin, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“I’m here,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep showing up—if you’ll let me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you stepped aside, holding the door open for him.

“Come inside,” you said, your heart pounding with something equal parts familiar and new. “Before you catch a cold.”

He hesitated only for a second before stepping through the doorway—into the warmth, into the space where you once loved him, and where, maybe, you could learn to love him again.

Because no matter how bad he was at love…

For you?

He was willing to try.

hope you guys enjoyed, their might be a few mistakes i was trying to quickly write this 😭.

[linxnnalyn]

HAIII COULD YOU PLS DO HEIAN ERA SUKUNA LIKE MARRIAGE HCS? I LOVE MY HUSBAND ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Fem! Heian Era! Sukuna marriage HCs

࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> That's my WIFE right there :3

࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> mentions murder.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff, size difference, she’s a big softy for you, cuddling, kissing, dates, jealousy, possessiveness, spoiling, happily kills for you <33

۫ ꣑ৎ To everyone else around you, Sukuna is a dangerous and brutal woman, but to you she is just a big softie (only for you though). She is surprisingly incredibly gentle with you considering how big and strong she is compared to you. Sukuna never lets her guard and walls down, unless she’s with you.

۫ ꣑ৎ The size between the two of you is striking and flustering. Sukuna is tall, broad-shouldered, and you look so small wrapped in her arms. She absolutely adores it. When you're curled against her, resting your head on her chest, arms looped around her waist, she always pulls you in tighter, like you’re the most precious treasure she has claimed.

۫ ꣑ৎ Sukuna is extremely physically affectionate, but she would never admit how much she craves and loves touching you. Sukuna loves touching you, not caring if it’s just one of her hands wrapped around you, having you sit in her lap, or pull you to bed with barely any resistance. She can’t help but have one of her arms touching you all the time.

۫ ꣑ৎ She loves kissing you. Sukuna would often press a kiss to your forehead every moment she can, even when you’re in the middle of something. Her favorite places to kiss you are your forehead, your neck and hands. You never know when she would simply take your hand and kiss your knuckles.

۫ ꣑ৎ Sukuna isn’t a huge fan of dates but is willing to go on with if you ask her to. You would often go on quiet and peaceful dates simply because Sukuna would bring too much attention and she would much rather not risk something happening to you. Though the two of you always enjoy your dates.

۫ ꣑ৎ She loves spoiling you. There is nothing too much, nothing too expensive when it comes to you. You’re hers, and that means you deserve the world—or at the very least, everything in her grasp. Silks, rare trinkets, the finest food, bath oils from distant lands—Sukuna wants you to have only the best.

۫ ꣑ৎ Sukuna is unsurprisingly jealous and possessive. It doesn’t matter if it’s a passing glance or someone standing too close—she notices. She won’t always say anything, but you’ll feel it in how she holds you tighter after, kisses you deeper, grips your waist with a little more heat.

۫ ꣑ৎ She would kill for you without hesitation. Anyone who dares insult or threaten you doesn’t live long enough to try again. Bloodshed in your name isn’t a burden to her, it’s a gift. She doesn’t blink twice before ending a life if it means you’re safe or smiling.

۫ ꣑ৎ Sukuna only trusts Uraume to be left alone with you when she’s gone. Everyone else is too weak, too unworthy, too unpredictable. Uraume is the only one who understands the weight of protecting you, the only one she hasn’t threatened for even looking at you the wrong way. Uraume is the only one Sukuna would trust with your life.

۫ ꣑ৎ She likes to cuddle with you during the night. For someone as terrifying and revered as Sukuna, nighttime is where her softness shows most. Her embrace is heavy, warm, protective. Sukuna doesn’t sleep deeply unless you're wrapped around her. Even asleep, her hand stays on you, fingers splayed against your back or your thigh.

[russetfoxfur]

okay so i went a bit insane about the examination of agency in the nightmare's routes, and then this evolved into a deeper examination of the rest of nightmare's whole deal. i am not an analyst so please take everything i say with a grain of salt, but. you know. i find her whole character to be very interesting. rambles under the cut.

okay, so every route the princess begins by being chained to a wall. this is the first thing she knows. she appears to be the ideal of a damsel in distress - she can't move, can't fight on her own at first, can be easily stabbed if your perception of her stays as a damsel in distress. she has no agency in this. she is forced to wait in the cabin until you, an unknown monster-looking thing comes along explicitly to kill her. and if you're quick and doubtless, she ends her life just as it began - born in a chain in a cabin, died in a chain in a cabin. and that's how you get the spectre.

now, the nightmare you can get on either harsh or soft princess. she's unique in this - as far as i remember, the only other princess like this is the stranger, where you don't meet her at all. (please correct me if i'm wrong though, i'm new to this fandom). and - as pointed out in another analysis, though i can't find it now - she's like this because she speaks to the foundational fear that all princesses have, which is going unperceived. she adapts based on what you are, and while she'll treat you differently if you try to kill her or save her at first, she will always revert to the nightmare when you meet her and then refuse to engage with her at all.

by refusing to perceive her you take away her agency. when you fight her she at least has the chance to fight back. if you manage to stab her in the heart she can at least provoke you into wondering if she's actually dead. but she has so little agency here, fighting for scraps to keep herself alive in the face of a construct that desperately wants her dead, and you leaving her alone says that you don't even see her as someone who's a threat. while slaying her means seeing her as an apocalypse in the making, and freeing her means seeing her as a pitiful thing locked up in a harsh cabin, leaving her alone means seeing her as absolutely nothing at all.

so she fights back. she slips her chains to try and escape from the cabin on her own terms. i genuinely don't think the shutting-down-the-organs thing is a lie on her part - she doesn't really lie, not unless you think she can, and she doesn't want to kill you at all, as evidenced in her chapter II. she knew you were the key to her escape, and then (in her eyes) you have the spite and sheer audacity to kill yourself just when her freedom is in view, just before she can leave for good. you kill yourself just to make sure she can't have the option of leaving at all.

so, to recap: she's locked up, you abandon her, she tries to escape, you die, she dies.

when we come back to her, the cabin bends to her will. her chains are nowhere in sight - whether they existed in the first place is a mystery. what i find interesting is the sort of prelude to her appearance - when you descend into the basement, you're given a choice between staying, running for the stairs, turning left, or turning right.

no matter which way you go, she always finds you.

she gives you the false choice this time. while before you'd spoken to her, tempted her with freedom and autonomy and agency, you'd snatched it away and left her with the worst fate she can imagine. now she's giving it to you - she tempts you with freedom and agency, and then she snatches it away by showing up no matter where you turn. no one ever talks about it but it's just. she'd said so many things to try and coerce/persuade you into helping her leave, and no matter what she'd said you'd left her anyway. you try and go any way to avoid meeting her and facing the princess again, but no matter which way you go she'll always find you.

anyway.

you pass out a few times as paranoid begins his chant, she reacts with mild curiosity and annoyance, and then you're free to question her. someone else pointed out that her mask never changes - it's frozen in this teasing smile, almost like she's smiling over the pain. (which she definitely is, considering what happens in the leadup to MoC.) she repeatedly reinstates her desire to leave and now gleefully talks about the world ending. what has it ever done for her, anyway? she also teases lq with death, just like he teased her with freedom. an eye for an eye.

a few highlights of her dialogue: when told that she's a lunatic, she responds, "I am what I am. And right now, what I am is in control." she also then teases him with death again. how the tables have turned. if you've got the knife, you can tell her you might just kill her instead, to which she warns the player and then says, "This place is mine. And I'm not giving you the stairs unless I'm leaving with you." she then demonstrates you by trapping you in the cabin if you decide to slay her right then and there. everything else is pretty standard - talking about her plans when she's free, talking about what happened after she died. these are interesting in their own right, but not for this analysis.

then, once you've exhausted all dialogue options, you have a few more options, three of which lead to chapter IIIs which have interesting takes on agency as well. you can remain with her, run, leave with her, or (if you have the knife) stab her.

both running and remaining - seemingly opposing actions - lead to the same outcome: the moment of clarity. this happens when you've finally exhausted all other possible outcomes, and all that's left for you to do is to let. her. out. you have no other choice - they're all grayed out. whether it's a broken hero or your own amnesia-blocked trauma doing this is anyone's guess, but the fact remains.

in the leadup to the moment of clarity, she takes off her mask, the thing that's kept her seeming morbidly cheerful and playful throughout the rest of the route despite her multiple open threats and gleeful hatred of the world. the narrator describes, in detail, a horrific existence which she is baring to you in an attempt to get you to help her to leave. she takes off her mask, stops playing nice with you, and tries to get you to see her side of the story, tries to get you to at least pity her and leave.

it's so bad the narrator stops narrating and refuses to go on.

think about this. this is the guy who narrates the entirety of the fury sequence, cool and calm. he describes the nightmarish cabin matter-of-factly a few minutes before, which hero points out. he isn't bothered by you getting killed except that it means his plans are ruined and the world is doomed, and he tells you about various gruesome deaths such as being crushed by vines or watching the prisoner chop her own head off. the only other times i can think of that he despairs like this is when you fail your mission (by freeing or dying to the princess) or when he himself is in danger (getting burned up by apotheosis, getting controlled by the tower). but in nightmare, the vision is so horrible that he cannot stand going on. (paranoid also stops chanting at this time, but he does that before when his concentration is broken. narry is notably VERY DEAD SET on his goal of slaying the princess. he's not like this!)

what this vision is exactly, i cannot tell, but for the sake of this analysis i'm going to interpret it as what she is, behind the mask, behind the facade of a vessel. shifty offloads the nature of her existence, the purest distillation of change - a lifetime, the circle of life, bloom and decay and burgeoning rot over and over and over again, success and fame turning into scandals and dishonor and poverty, humans living and changing into monsters or saints, every choice you make irreversibly altering the tapestry of time you are a part of. she represents the future and its unpredictable nature, and people trying to adapt to changing societal pressures and failing to evolve fast enough, and each unlucky twist of fate that leads to ruin and despair. she is survival of the fittest, and she is testing you.

this is what the nightmare is, under the mask. a monster, a murderer, the essence of death and destruction. this is what you are denying agency.

in this light, refusing shifty's offer of godhood seems almost reasonable. maybe she's trapped here for a reason. death is... pretty bad, isn't it? if our cool-headed narrator doesn't want her out, maybe there's a reason for that. maybe he's loved and lost - maybe he's seeing reflections of himself, in the princess' experiences, and the reason why he's so set on you slaying her is to prevent this nightmare from happening to anyone else.

you die, of course. you have the audacity to die. and when you wake again - we don't know whether she's hopeful you've learned the error of your ways, or whether she's still as forceful as in chapter II, but one thing's for certain - she doesn't win. you still act as the prison guard. you still keep her away from her only goal, and you become determined to keep it that way.

so you guard the door. you slay her. you romance her and question her and murder her and you end up with different voices, each time, different fragments of change that help you evolve to fight her but you always end up with the same princess with the same goal and nothing's getting better and you keep on denying her freedom because she's clearly awful and you're clearly the guard to an irredeemable prisoner.

from her perspective, mind you, she's been locked in a room for no reason, teased with escape, accidentally killed you while trying to leave, entertained your faints and questions, bared her soul to you in order to get you to understand why leaving her alone is such a bad idea, and then you died and promptly doubled down on your decision.

it's hell for her! she doesn't know why you're doing this! she's forced to react to your actions, because you're the one who can take the knife and you're the one who can leave! she lashes out! how dare you! how dare you keep her trapped here! why can't she leave! why can't she be the one in control of her fate! why do you hate her so much, that you are willing to die over and over just to keep her trapped?

so she lashes out at you. she takes vengeance on her captor, and she hunts you again and again, eroding away your defiance loop by painstaking loop. we don't know exactly what she did. we probably don't want to. but it's bad enough to break the voices, shatter many of them beyond recognition, and outright deny us our autonomy in a way that's only otherwise seen in tower.

and i'm not saying she's a saint! i know this whole analysis i've been on her side but that's because most people aren't! she's undeniably cruel to lq, but the thing most people forget is he was cruel first! she is a creature of perception and he denies her even that basic privilege! and she reacts violently! she lashes out and tries to threaten him into staying! has no qualms with sacrificing the world if she can get out! the nightmare cranks the abandonment anxiety of all the princesses up and adds a vicious vengeance to her as well!

but also. this route shows how hero isn't quite so perfect as he appears to be. you get this route by taking hero's third option, which satisfies no one. (it's also worth noting that HEA is also hero's call.) you abandon her, she who literally never has met anyone beside yourself, and that breaks her. so she tries to cling onto you. she possesses you and shatters you and threatens you and wants you there because she knows nothing else and she's already fractured from shifty's splintering, she can't fracture further, so she'll squeeze and claw for any bit of companionship she can get. she'll hunt you down for sport if it means she can spend a few minutes with you perceiving her. she's lonely is what she is. and she's reacting in the worst way possible.

where were we? oh, right. moment of clarity.

eventually, though, after untold numbers of loops where you keep doggedly trying to keep her locked away, she breaks through. she exhausts your options, traumatizes you, forces you to let her out. she will not be defeated. she will have her way. she makes sure of it.

what i also find interesting is that you're not scared of her anymore. paranoia isn't chanting away in the background. there's no more fear - just resignation. no one's happy with your third option, just as the narrator said back when you made it in the first cabin - everyone just wants it to end, and the only voice of dissent is the narrator, who doesn't even remember what's happened and doesn't know how awful it is to keep on trudging through the same, unchanging story over and over and over again. it's not new, or exciting, or changing anymore. it's just painful. you should really just let her out.

ah, but you might be wise enough not to try and pick that third option, and instead choose the more traditional two options - leaving or slaying.

leaving with the nightmare, like most chapter II endings, is pretty straightforward - you comply with her wishes and let. her. out. if you have the knife, there's a fun moment where paranoid says 'fuck you' to the narrator, but otherwise you give her her agency again. you allow her out. you've learned the error of your ways - now you'll let her free.

and, granted, she does wish death onto the world, but - as detailed above - she does kinda deserve it. i'd let her. she should kill people. i want to watch it happen :3

but if you choose to slay her, she reacts not with indignance but with gleeful wickedness. she can't believe you - a paranoid, helpless thing that she'd decided was barely a person at all, just a key that kept getting stuck in the lock, just a helpless little birdie who couldn't even stay alive in the face of her beauty and power - actually killed her! she's too surprised to be angry, i think. and then that surprise turns into realization - she's already figured out that you were always going to keep coming back until you let. her. out, and she can feel herself changing as a result of your changing perception.

and thus we meet the wraith.

while she has the same dialogue no matter where you kill her, you get different voices depending on where you do it - oppy on the stairs/in the cabin, cold if you do it in the basement. you're also forced to kill yourself either way - she tosses you into the void if you betray her, and you're stuck in the basement if you kill her in the basement since, as mentioned before, she won't give you the stairs. you die either from biology or suicide, and then you go into the wraith.

the wraith is a vengeful creature, and for good reason. she tried being nice to you! she tried talking to you, then tried threatening you, then tried forcing you. but you keep refusing! you keep dying, stubbornly, before you can reach her... you keep killing her before she can reach the outside... you keep teasing her with freedom! you keep her away from freedom, so tantalizingly close yet far.

and she's done being nice. she's seen where that's gotten her - a paranoid corpse and a knife through her heart. it's not her fault you keep dying! you just can't help being so afraid of a shackled princess that you're willing to kill yourself to be rid of her! so she's going to take it by force. she'll be evil. that's the only way things get done around here.

so she transforms into the wraith, a half-dead thing with a skeletal grin and grasping claws. you're introduced to her when she twists your ankle and drags you down to her level. she also explains that she was so, so close to freedom last time, but then you locked her away, killed her, and took her body away from her. so she's going to take your body away and march out that door, and you're going to be completely helpless during all of this, just like she was.

interestingly, she also limits your freedom, just like she did last time - if you ask her questions twice, she'll cut you off and take over your body then and there. she's done entertaining your frivolous questions. she wants to leave. let. her. out. she also goes ahead and possesses you without a second thought if you try to struggle or give up

a few interesting highlights from these explore options: you can claim that you were a victim in all of this, and she says, "Just because someone hurt you doesn't mean you get a free pass to hurt anyone else." some delicious hypocrisy there, wraith, as the voices point out. but perhaps she doesn't even see you as someone who can hurt, thus justifying her possession and torture of you. someone who can hurt would have sympathy for the poor locked up princess in the dark basement, and they certainly wouldn't lock her away and stab her to death. only heartless people do that, and heartless people can't be hurt. if you tell her that possessing you is evil, she says, "After all you've done, why would I ever care what you think of me?" she's past the point of evil and not-evil. to her, you're evil - you hurt her first, after all. whether a villain sees a hero as evil is irrelevant; to her, you're means to an end, an end that is always dancing just out of reach. possessing you is a necessary step to her goal.

she then possesses you.

now that she's in your head, she realizes that you also have voices in your head. oppy is immediately on wraith's side, because of course he is, and cold's a bit ambivalent about the whole ordeal (as he often is), though he's leaning toward your side. narry and hero are mortified, as they are wont.

if you struggle as she possesses you, paranoid's able to save up a bit of will and uses it to help you defy her one last time. first you lock her away in the basement, then you stab her, then you are literally willing to kill yourself and fall forever to be rid of her. she's sadistic as she tries to force you to move, but if you want to - because you're the one with agency here, still, even as she forces you to shamble toward the door on a broken ankle, even as she usurps your body and forces you to watch - you can throw yourself out the window.

as you fall, she asks you why you hate her. why you've always hated her. why you didn't trust her when you locked her away, why you decided to stab a knife through someone who didn't even want to kill you, why you defied her even with a shattered ankle and her voice in your head. why you decided your autonomy was more worthy than hers, way back at the start, back when she didn't even want to kill you. why you hated her into the nightmare, and then the wraith. why you decided she was better off alone and abandoned.

and honestly? you might have a valid reason at this point. she did break your ankle, after all. she did shut down your organs and act gleeful about the end of the world. she's a monster. she's sadistic and cruel and horrible and she possessed you, for goodness' sake! you've been trying to defend yourself against a threat! you're literally dying all the time near nightmare, and wraith greets you by breaking your ankle! like, i understand why people hate her! i'm not saying she's a good person! no one is, in this series! that's part of the appeal!!!

but she never even tried to kill you. (to those who are going to say well what about the organs-shutting-down-thing, think about it rationally: she needs you to get out. you fainting and dying isn't helping her. it's an active detriment. if she could control it, she probably wouldn't do it, because you being dead just shunts you back into the same hellvoid again.) she never locked you away forever. that was you. you keep taunting her with freedom and then shutting her away. you killed her and trapped her and, to her, you forced her into this. you forced her to hurt you and possess you and make you fear her. this isn't her fault. this is yours. for locking her away, for killing her, for denying her her one wish. she tried, in that first chapter. and you decided she wasn't worth the time of day.

personally, i would've made this choice also branch off into MoC. this game doesn't do fourth chapters - and i understand why - but i feel like it would've been fulfilling. she finally gets her freedom after you kill her and kill yourself and lock her away and keep her from getting out. you wouldn't even have to change much - you've already proven you're not going to let her out again. who's to say that the wraith wasn't one of MoC's iterations, and that the voices leading the charge then were also able to store some will and kill themselves before she could escape?

and maybe they were right. we don't know what happened between the nightmare and MoC, and we never will. maybe she was horrifically cruel, an unfeeling maniac. maybe she was pleading to be let out, and you weren't having that. maybe she was doing both. what we know is she never left the cabin.

finally, i want to draw attention to what, exactly, shifty says about each vessel. she gives us our best glimpse into each vessel's psyche, as someone who is part of them. her little speech often endears me to the princess i delivered, even if i wasn't very fond of her.

for the nightmare, she states, "This one is filled with sadness. A doll abandoned to the company of her darkest impulses. She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt. She will make for a tender heart."

this reinforces what i've been saying throughout the whole analysis - most of the nightmare's nightmarish qualities come from her desperate need to be perceived by someone else. to be known. you doom her to a life of eternal loneliness, so she gives into her darkest urges and hurts you, over and over again, to try and win you over. she doesn't know how to do otherwise.

for the moment of clarity she states, "This one is a waiting maw. An inevitable destination where all roads end. She will make for a wise heart."

she chased you over and over until you broke, waiting for you to shatter and let her out. no matter what you tried to do, no matter which choices you made or roads you took, she awaited you, and you awaited her. she was made wise through your attempts to defy her, and eventually she won the long game. it was inevitable, really. you did your best. there's just a pecking order, and you'll always be at the bottom.

and about the wraith she states: "This one is loneliness turned to seething. She could not find her strength in others, so she found it in herself. She will make for a driven heart."

when you refused to save her, when you defied her over and over, she realized she couldn't rely on you to save her. you took everything she had away from her. so she took everything you had - a pristine blade, a free body - away from you instead. she used to be lonely, scared - but now she is powerful, hateful, laughing even as you throw her out a window in a spiteful act of defiance. you monster.

but eventually, inevitably, finally, she rejoins the shifting mound as one of her many perspectives. she finds peace, finally, in the eternal choir of the vessels.

do not mourn her. she is not alone anymore.

...

this analysis is not in defense of her actions - she does do some pretty fucked up things in this! pro tip: do not break people's ankles and then possess them, and also do not torture someone and break their will. just a suggestion.

but the reason i'm making this analysis is that so many people will say that nightmare/MoC (and tower, though this analysis isn't about her (but i love her very much and she was so valid for mind controlling the narrator)) is a horrible irredeemable bitch, and then they'll turn around and praise smitten/oppy/cold.

and that feels... more than a little hypocritical to me. oppy is literally a backstabbing bastard who allies with the person who has the most power - he literally tries to stab you in patd! he is born out of the decision to betray the princess when she's finally thought she could trust you, similarly to the nightmare, except this time you're killing her instead of locking her away. in HEA, he decides that free food is worth more than the princess' happiness, and in thorn he wants to stab the princess because of her newfound vulnerability.

and yet i've seen so many analyses of his behavior! so many people excusing him as a sopping wet cat who just doesn't want to die. and it's like, well, okay, i'm not going to stop you from liking oppy. i'm not a cop. i can get why you might like a morally gray kinda sneaky character. but it just feels a little misogynistic when you hate the nightmare, who also resorts to desperate measures in order to not die, don'tcha think?

or cold! i'm gonna be honest i'm a bit more favorable of cold, but he still advocates for killing the princess when he thinks it'll be interesting. he is literally born when you don't even try to hear the princess out in the first place, coldly stabbing her without a second thought. he values novelty over pain. and yet people will praise him and then turn around and criticize the tower for not caring about you at all!

ugh. i just... hate the shifty neg, you know? so many ppl hate her for being 'manipulative' and 'self-centered' while completely ignoring your own hand in shaping her! she is a creature of perception, after all - the damsel and the tower are wildly different, and they both change based on how you act. each princess is a reflection of your own thoughts toward her. and people hate on the nightmare for *checks script* trying to leave the basement she was locked into, and then reacting violently when the only person she's ever known decides to keep her trapped, possibly for forever. like, you all see why she'd do that, right.

...also, like. god forbid women do anything. even if she did do all that organ-shutting-down stuff of her own volition, good for her. she should do it more. she should kill everyone who disagrees with her. she was locked in a basement and abandoned by the first person she met i think she deserves to kill and slaughter.

andddd end of post! again i am NOT, like, a practiced analyst. there are almost certainly things i got wrong during this, and feel free to bring those up in the comments! i will admit this got a bit out of hand and turned halfway into a gushing-about-nightmare post.

also i just want to reiterate that this analysis explores her motives and explains why she's Like That, and again i am not trying to say she's a precious cinnamon roll. just that she's got some reasons for doing what she does.

ALSO ALSO PLEASE DO NOT MAKE THIS POST ABOUT THE VOICES THIS POST IS ABOUT THE NIGHTMARE AND HER ITERATIONS!!! MAKE YOUR OWN POST!!!

alright! that's it! russet out!

[deangirlsstuff67]

Loving A Nomad

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: It slipped out by mistake but you don't regret it.

Warnings: fluff, p in v, language

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. The is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

—————————————————————————

One day with his brother and you dumbass of a boyfriend is already behind bars.

Colter called Rene to bail them out and Russell had called you to meet up with her so he could see you. It had been three weeks since you last saw him. He has been busy searching for his old army buddy.

Can’t fault him for that.

Two pairs of heels can be heard marching down the police station hallway as we near the holding cells. There sits the brothers with matching fake innocent grins plastered on their face.

Rene starts talking to them about how she managed to get the charges dropped. Adding that Russell owes her for paying his charges with fish and wildlife. She looks at me when she brings up the donkey incident.

Shaking my head, I don’t even try to explain that fucking day. Russell has his normal charming, flirty response which earns him a death glare from me.

“Oh calm down sweetie, you know you’re my girl.”

"You're lucky there are bars between us right now Shaw."

Russell lets out a throaty chuckle as he grabs your hand through the bars. Rene has an officer coming with keys to let them out. His brother smirks at Russ, "not for long there won't be."

The confidence slips from Russell's face as he realizes he's being released at that moment. You never could stay mad at this giant man child you are dating but that doesn't mean you don't make him work for your forgiveness every single time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Russell is good at a lot of things.

His job.

Being a nomad.

Loving and caring for you.

Making you laugh when all you want to do is cry.

But what he's best at is making it up to you when he royal screws up. Over and over again he will have you underneath him screaming his name until you tell him he's forgiven. Then and only then will he chase his own release.

Tonight is no different.

After having a late lunch with Colter and Rene, you and Russ head back to his hotel room where he instantly begins to make it up to you. Saying I forgive you is right on the tip of your tongue, however those aren't the words that pour out of your kiss bruised lips.

Instead you yell out I Love You as he rips another orgasm from your body.

Russell and you freeze. He's still buried deep inside your well used hole, staring down at your fucked out body.

It's been two years since you started dating. It's not like you've never thought about it or even felt it towards this green eyed devil. You knew you loved him 3 months into your relationship.

Russell comes with a lot of baggaged and a fucked up past. He doesn't allow many into his heart and you weren't willing to risk losing him. Figured waiting for him to say it first was probably the best idea.

You didn't want to scare him away. Given what he has lived through you knew that was a high possible.

You also didn't want to come off as clingy or desperate. Sounds silly but he's a man who is use to his independence and being alone.

Even though it's been 2 years for the both of you, he still enjoys working alone and still keeps so much close to the vest. Including what his job includes.

You couldn't stop the verbal outburst as he was bringing you pleasure tonight. It was the truth. You felt it deep within your soul. He was and will always be the one and only for you.

His cock twitches inside your velvet walls as you both stare at each other waiting to see how he's going to respond. It felt like hours before he makes a move. Thrusting his dick hard into your pussy earning him a moan from you.

"You know pretty girl, I never thought I would say this but," another hard thrust is delivered before he says, "I fucking love you too." He leans down as he captures your lips in a loving kiss as he releases deep inside you. Warmth filling you as he pours all his love into that kiss.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months later Russell has found himself in another sticky situation with Colter by his side. These brothers are going to be the death of you.

Yet again you and Rene come to the rescue and find them in a holding cell fighting over whos fault it was this time.

You walk up to the bars, looking into the goofy smile of your fiance with a disapproving look plastured all over your face.

"You're adorable when your angry baby."

"Oh God, seriously Russell?"

Laughing he says, "aren't you glad you love me pretty girl?"

Shaking your head the officer opens the holding cell as you walk away. Russell jogging to catch up with you, arm lazily laid on your shoulders as he guides you towards the exist.

"So what's for supper tonight?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@spnaquakindgdom @bitchykittenconnoisseur @lessons-of-red @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @deansimpalababy @nancymcl @tspmoff @idontwannabehere78 @foxyjwls007 @senjoritanana @leigh70 @neii3n @maggiegirl17 @jamerlynn @mostlymarvelgirl @kimxwinchester @multiversefanfics

[tobethemselves]

We live in a world where things aren't just black and white.

There is a difference between having more control and acceptance of a situation you never chose to be in in the first place and happily going into a stunt or even becoming one of the people who actively put you in the closet.

And I simply stated that I do believe he has more control of the situation now, than he had in 1D. Both of them have more control. That doesn't mean he likes having to do this or that he's suddenly some sort of villain that would do the same thing to others. It simply means he found some sort of acceptance with his situation and decided to do the things he thinks he is able to do (and again, doesn't mean he LIKES doing it) to get something out of it. Because, as much as we all hate it, that's how the fucking industry works. And as for now, either you play along or you vanish.

So let me spell it out for you: Just because Louis has accepted that he has to do certain things to stay in the industry, doesn't mean he LIKES to do them and it certainly doesn't mean they are OK. But until the industry changes, that's simply how it is.

You ask me what has changed and I honestly have to ask back; do you remember 1D days? And if you weren't there during that time, have you informed yourself? Because I don't think you have, otherwise you wouldn't ask me that question.

But do tell me, for what exactly is Louis getting punished with this stunt? What did he do recently that he shouldn't have done that explains the punishment? I can't find anything. When Louis was punished in the past it always had a pattern. He or Harry or both, did something they weren't supposed to do and a day later or even on the same day L was forced to go out with Eleanor. It was a pattern. As of yet, and I'm open to changing that perspective if things should change, I don't see that pattern.

I see a simple pr stunt that Louis isn't particularly happy with but does it either way because he knows it's part of the game. And again, because all of you guys seem to really want to see everything black and white today, that DOESN'T mean he likes it or would choose to do it if the industry would be any different.

And the same goes for the closet. Me saying they look at the news and everything that goes on in this world right now and deciding they stay in the closet DOESNT mean they would choose to do the same if our world and the industry was different. But coming out isn't simple and especially not for them and on top of that we have enough examples of people who came out and weren't given the same opportunities afterwards.

So to be clear, just because they both decide to stay in the closet now, doesn't mean they don't wish it could be different or would choose differently if they could. And to be even clearer:

Just because someone decides to stay in a closet DOESN'T MEAN IT'S THEIR FAULT THAT THEY ARE CLOSETED. And YES a queer person can decide on their own to stay in the closet because they don't feel save enough to come out. Again, doesn't mean it's their fault.

And last but not least, both H and Louis have said several times now that they are happy with where and who they are right now. BOTH of them have stopped signaling like they did in 1D. And given the fact that, apart from the pictures where they are actively stunting, they aren't looking like "broken" people to me, I do believe them. I believe they found an acceptance with their situation and are making the best out of it. Even more so I think that them being very private people plays a big part in their decision to not come out yet.

I’d love to know why Louis is ONCE AGAUN forced to stunt! WTF! Why?!!!

I understand your frustration but this is sadly the reality for a lot of closeted people in the industry. And if you look at what happens in the US and so many other countries at the moment, I think it's really clear why Louis and Harry decide to stay in the closet for now, and stunting to appear straight is part of that.

And as much as a lot of us hate it, it's a big part of the industry in general too. Not only for queer people, a lot of stars use this for several different reasons, mostly to promote a project of theirs, stay relevant and create stories that will keep their names in the press.

Apart from that I don't really see Louis or Harry being forced to do it anymore. If they are stunting now, it's definitely something they agreed on. And that doesn't mean that it's their fault, it means I think they have more ability to have a say in things since they started their solo careers.

If you want to read more about why so many stars including HL do stunts you can look through my hashtags PR STUNTS, LOUIS' CAREER and MUSIC INDUSTRY. And I also recommend reading these posts here and here.

@daisiesonafield-blog has a lot of information on her blog too, it's very organized if you go there on web.

[sheriffaxolotl]

Soft Spot ☁︎ Abby Anderson

Paring: Abby Anderson x f!Reader Prompt: A kiss to the back of the neck

The morning is quiet.

The kind of quiet that hangs in the air like a blanket—soft, still, and a little too fragile to last. Somewhere in the halls of the WLF base, boots echo against concrete, but it’s distant. Far enough away that it feels like another world.

Inside your room, it’s just you, the cold floor under your feet, and the steady rhythm of Abby’s breathing behind you.

You’re sitting at the edge of the bed in one of her shirts—oversized, worn soft, and smelling faintly of cedar soap and something unmistakably her. You're halfway through tying your hair up, your fingers still groggy and slow, when you hear the familiar rustle of her shifting under the sheets.

A small, tired groan escapes her throat as she turns over. You glance at her over your shoulder—eyes half-lidded, blonde hair tousled and wild, one arm draped lazily across the empty side of the bed.

She blinks slowly, looking you over with a sleepy kind of fondness. “You’re up already?”

You smile softly. “Someone’s gotta be.”

Abby exhales, stretching. You hear her joints crack as she reaches both arms over her head, then relaxes with a sigh.

“I don’t like when you leave before me,” she mutters. Her voice is scratchy and warm, like gravel soaked in honey. “Messes up my whole morning.”

“You could always get up with me,” you tease, reaching for your jacket.

She scoffs lightly. “And miss the only hour I get to hold you without someone barking orders at us?”

Before you can reply, the bed shifts again. Then warmth—Abby’s presence presses in close behind you. She slides forward slowly, her movements still heavy with sleep. Her arms wrap around your waist from behind, bare skin against the cotton of your shirt, her forehead gently resting between your shoulder blades.

You feel the heat of her breath just before her lips find that spot at the back of your neck.

A kiss. Gentle. Devoted.

Then another, slower this time, right where your neck meets your shoulder. Her breath fans out warm across your skin, and your whole body stills.

“Abby…” you say, quiet, unsure if it’s a protest or a plea.

Her lips linger. “Just five more minutes,” she murmurs.

It’s not rushed or teasing—it’s careful, like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she touches you too fast. One of her thumbs starts brushing slow, aimless circles over your hip. Her voice lowers further. “I love this spot. Always so warm.”

You blink hard, your throat going tight with something you can’t quite name. Abby isn’t always like this—she loves with her body, with her actions, with fierce loyalty and protective instincts. But in quiet moments like this? She speaks with her mouth. Her heart. Her hands.

You reach up and rest one of your hands on hers. “You’re going to make me emotional before 7 a.m.,” you murmur.

“I’m okay with that.”

She kisses you again, softer this time, then shifts to nuzzle beneath your ear, her chin finally settling on your shoulder. You can feel her heartbeat against your back.

“You could stay,” she says, voice barely audible. “Skip the day. Tell Mel you’re having a mental health morning.”

You chuckle. “That excuse doesn’t work when Mel is the one who keeps track of everyone’s mental health.”

“Then tell her I’m the reason,” Abby says, arms tightening slightly. “Tell her I woke up clingy and kissed your neck until you were too weak to resist.”

You finally turn in her arms, now face-to-face. Her hair is mussed and golden in the pale morning light, the sheets draped haphazardly around her shoulders. Her eyes are softer than usual. More open. Like you’re the only thing in the world worth focusing on.

“You’re impossible.”

“Uh-uh,” Abby says, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “I’m irresistible. Big difference.”

You snort, helplessly. “Can’t argue with that.”

Her expression shifts—something quieter beneath the smile. She lifts a hand to your cheek and cups it gently, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “I know it’s stupid,” she says, “but I don’t sleep as well when you’re not here.”

“It’s not stupid.” You press a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You just sit there, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air, wrapped in the same warmth. And suddenly, the thought of leaving—of facing drills and orders and the weight of the day ahead—feels heavier than usual.

You sigh, dramatic. “Alright. I’ll call in emotionally compromised.”

Abby grins, smug and sleepy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve been fatally wounded by a girlfriend too good at cuddling.”

That earns you a huff of a laugh before she gently pulls you back down into the bed. The sheets are still warm, the pillow smells like her shampoo, and she wraps around you like she never wants to let go.

The world outside the door can wait.

For now, there’s only Abby. Her breath in your hair. Her kisses on your neck. The quiet thud of her heart against your spine.

And the soft, steady reminder that here—wrapped up in her arms—you are safe.

You are home.

[arcane-vagabond]

Stranger Like Me: Prologue

Stranger Like Me: Prologue

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: From a young age, the animal kingdom had fascinated you, and maybe that's why you chose to pursue that passion. You quickly became a force within the field, becoming the leading expert on ape social structures, which is how you found yourself on an expedition into the African jungles searching for a troop of gorillas. What you weren't expecting, however, was to run into the local wild man on one of your excursions... (Tarzan!AU)

Content Warnings: Talk of loneliness, Inaccurate scientific descriptions and terminology, Flirty Frank, Allusions to loss of parents, Talk of reintegrating someone into society. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 1,389

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

You had a running theory that there were two types of people in this world: plant people and animal people. You? You were most definitely an animal person. Growing up, you visited the zoo frequently, the employees practically knowing you by name. You did your best to memorize as many facts as you could about the different animals in each exhibit, knowing from an early age that you wanted to work with animals for the rest of your life.

You’d spend hours at the primate exhibits, watching the way the different apes and monkeys interact with each other, and you wished you could fast forward to the moment where you got to study it day in and day out.

So, you worked hard, graduating high school with honors before moving on to study zoology in undergrad, and then skipping straight to your doctorate program after that. It had been a long, grueling road that left little time for much else, but it was your passion, and once you had been greeted with the title of “doctor,” you knew it had all been worth it.

That didn’t stop your bouts of loneliness though. While your friends all went out to party, you were usually found with your nose buried in a book. And it wasn’t like you wanted to go out partying, but it still hurt when your friends stopped asking.

And then there was Frank Langdon, your handsome best friend of several years who knew he looked good and never failed to own it. The two of you had met in the early days of undergrad, having been partnered up in a biology lab, and you had hit it off immediately. Jake wasn’t interested in primates, his focus turned towards botany of all things, but he loved to tease you about your love of great apes.

“A cute girl like you studying monkeys?” He had chuckled with a shake of his head, bright, blue eyes glimmering with mischief. “You must have had a wild fascination with Boots the monkey, huh?”

“First of all, peabrain,” you scowled at him, fighting back the smile that threatened to take over your face as his jaw dropped, “I study apes, not monkeys. Second of all, my fascination with Boots is none of your business.”

“Whatever you say, Boots.”

And the nickname had stuck. It followed you through undergrad and all the way through to your now budding career as one of the leading researchers in gorilla social structures. Which is also how you found yourself invited to the North Island Research Camp in the Republic of the Congo.

The camp wasn’t some grand research center, but it was well respected amongst the scientific community for gathering the most up-to-date research and hands-on experiences between researchers and local fauna. The camp was run by Dr. Michael Robinavitch and Dana Evans, both legends within the field and rarely opening up their camp to other researchers. You had been thrilled to receive the invitation, and even more thrilled when you found out that Frank had also received an invitation to the camp to continue his research on tropical plants.

The two of you had made plans to fly out of New York at the same time, even choosing to stay at his place the night before your flight.

“The early bird gets the worm, Boots!” He chirped, loading up the trunk of the Uber with your luggage. How he was so cheerful at three in the morning was beyond you.

“I don’t even think the worms are awake,” you had muttered, earning a snicker.

The flight to your destination was uneventful, choosing to catch up on some of your reading as well as sleep for the majority of the flight. The two of you were greeted by a timid, young man once you departed the plane, his demeanor relaxed but his face shy as he helped you with your bags.

“I’m Dennis,” he said, loading the back of his jeep with your belongings. “You can just call me Whitaker, though. Everyone else does. I’m helping out Robby and Dana with their research. The other researchers are already at the camp. They got here about a month ago.”

“Robby?” You asked him, hopping into the front seat of the car as Frank clambered into the back.

“Yeah,” Whitaker nodded, already making his way through the city and towards the jungle. “Dr. Robinavitch prefers it if you call him that, actually. Says it saves time, though I don’t know if you can really waste time out here.”

“Who’re the other researchers?” Frank asked, eyes scanning the crowds of people as the jeep zoomed towards the edge of the city.

“Yeah, uh,” Whitaker stuttered, narrowly veering out of the way of a cart. “There’s, uh, Victoria Javadi. Her research focuses on ants and their effect on nutrient cycling and seed dispersal. Then you have Trinity Santos who’s doing research on the impact of big game hunters on the ecosystem. Then we have Melissa King and her research into termite colonies.”

“Mel’s gonna be there?” Frank asked, leaning forward with a grin. You rolled your eyes at him. Mel and Frank almost went as far back as you two did, having first met in a chemistry course his junior year and her freshman of college. While you and Frank had gone to the same university for your doctorate programs, Mel had ventured elsewhere, making a name for herself within the world of entomology. The two together were almost insufferable.

“You two better behave,” you groused, settling into your seat with a glare in his direction.

“Boots,” he gasped, placing a hand over his heart in faux hurt, “I am absolutely shocked that you think we would be anything other than complete professionals.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” you snapped, turning to face Bob who glanced at you two wearily. “Those two are going to be a nightmare, I’m just warning you now.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he chuckled.

The three of you settled into a comfortable conversation as Whitaker continued to drive towards the camp, the jungle becoming denser the longer he went. Soon, the sun was hidden behind the canopy, and you got the sense that you were truly in the wild.

“Are you sure about this, Dana,” Robby hummed, hands clasped firmly in front of him as he eyed his fellow researcher. Dana spared him a smile, running a hand through her hair as she sat on the bench opposite her companion.

“He’s been on his own for decades, Robby,” Dana grimaced, glancing into the trees. “He deserves to know companionship beyond just us.”

“He has Whitaker.”

“He deserves more than just three other people in his life,” she amended, rolling her eyes. “We’re lucky we found him when we did, otherwise I’m not sure he would have survived much longer on his own. Besides, he’s growing more and more curious, and I think it’ll be good for him to meet new people. Let him learn about the world.”

Robby hummed at that. Of course, Dana had a point. They couldn’t keep the man isolated for forever. He was already butting heads more and more with the troop leader and spending more nights in the observation tower as a result. It also wasn’t like Robby wanted to keep him isolated for selfish reasons. No, quite the opposite in fact. The man had spent most of his life right there in the jungle, never having contact with another human being until the two researchers had opened up the research camp once more twenty five years before.

And that’s what had Robby so apprehensive. The man had little to no experience with humans, and what he did have was from the time spent with the two researchers who weren’t exactly the greatest of company at the best of times. How would he react to a camp full of people younger than him? Would it be too much?

“Jack is smart, Robby,” Dana continued, knocking her knuckles against the table. “He’s already been asking questions about the people in the movies and photos he sees. He wants to know about the outside world. Let’s let him have that chance.”

Robby didn’t answer. Instead, he sighed, leaning back in his chair. This would be good for Jack. It had to be.

A/N: posted this today as a treat for @baezen my beloved lol Let’s see if it’s as popular this time as it was with the TGM fandom…

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

[galspolicev]

Hey can you write something with cubarsi where the reader is midsize and she's in a moment where she doesn't feel confident enough so he stays with her

★ INSECURITY

BONITA . . . y es que tú eres tan, pero tan bonita

chapter: pau cubarsi x fem reader

warnings: insecurities, only that.

note: i really speak spanish, so any mistake is translation.

vale: tysm for the request <3

☆ — reqs opennn

The sound of your sobs was the only thing keeping you company. You tried to make them soft, to hold them in your throat, as if they could go unnoticed between the four walls. But you couldn’t. You were tired. Tired of looking in the mirror and not liking what you saw, of seeing other girls on social media with ‘perfect’ bodies and not being able to stop yourself from comparing. A part of you knew you shouldn’t. That every body is different. That beauty isn’t measured like that.

But another part, the one that sometimes wins the battle, screamed that you weren’t enough. That you didn’t measure up. That it didn’t matter how many times you smiled or how often people told you that you looked good… you didn’t feel it.

You were sitting on the bed, your face red from crying and your phone in your hand, still open on the profile of an influencer who seemed to have it all. And you… nothing.

The door opened suddenly. Pau, your boyfriend, walked in with his hair damp with sweat and his shirt clinging to his body after training. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you, his eyebrows immediately furrowing.

“Are you crying, amor?”

You quickly tried to wipe your face with your wrist so you could turn to look at Pau.

“It’s nothing… I’m fine,” you lied, your trembling voice giving you away.

But he didn’t believe you. He never did when you used that tone. He closed the door behind him without saying another word and walked toward you.

“Tell me. What happened?” he asked, gently stroking your shoulder.

You hesitated for a second. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, you spoke in a quiet voice:

“I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough. I compared myself to other girls. Again. I don’t know why it happens, but… I look at myself and I feel like I’m not good enough. Not like them and…” your voice broke just before a sob escaped your throat—one of those that hurts before it even comes out. “You’re going to leave me because I’m not good enough for you.”

You shut your eyes tightly as if that would stop the tears, but it didn’t. You felt them fall, sliding down your cheek to your neck.

“You’re going to realize,” you continued, “that you could be with someone like them. Prettier girls, with better bodies, more�� confident. The ones who get dressed without thinking twice, the ones who don’t change three times before going out because they hate how everything looks. The ones who don’t cry over stupid things like this.”

“And I wouldn’t blame you,” you whispered at the end. Pau didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you with a sad expression.

Obviously, it hurt him to see his girlfriend feeling so insecure.

He cupped your face in his hands, carefully, like you were made of glass.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said before placing a kiss on your head. “You’re the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen, baby. Never doubt that. I love you, and not just because you’re beautiful on the outside—you’re beautiful on the inside too.”

Your lips trembled. You felt the tears again.

“You compare yourself to girls who don’t even have half of what you are,” he went on, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Do you really think I’d be here like this if you weren’t everything I’m looking for and more?”

He leaned in a bit more, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You don’t get it…” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “You’re everything. Everything, do you hear me? And me… standing next to you, I’m nothing compared to what you are.”

You let out another little sob at his words.

“I don’t know how to explain it to you, but when I look at you, I can’t believe someone like you let me into their life. You’re so beautiful… so fucking beautiful,” he said, placing another kiss on your cheek.

He paused for a moment, swallowing hard with a knot in his throat. Even though he tried to hide it, deep down, everything you thought about yourself hurt him—because he loved you deeply.

“If you saw yourself through my eyes… you’d fall in love with yourself as fast as I did.”

And with his voice almost trembling, he added:

“You’re the only perfect person in this world.”

Then he kissed you.

all copyrights reserved. © galspolicev