#until i have to sit in one place for an hour

[rafecameroninterlude]

rafe + gun play 🫠

warnings: dealer!rafe, bratty!reader, gunplay, a little self discovery lol

“will you put that down already? jesus, you’re going to kill somebody.” rafe took the loaded gun out of your hand, his tall figure towering over your own. you two had been stuck here at barry’s dingy trailer for about an hour already, rafe’s business partner leaving your boyfriend in charge of looking after his shit while he ran a few errands. “i’m bored! what are we supposed to do here, ray?” you followed rafe back inside, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.

“just sit and look pretty. barry should be here soon.” he emptied the chamber of the gun, placing it on the kitchen counter. “but i’ve been doing that!” rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, “y/n..” his tone was firm, a warning for you to stop giving him a hard time. ultimately surrendering, you fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of your denim skirt. you two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes until rafe joined you on the couch.

“what’s your sudden interest in my gun about? i thought you hated that thing.” he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. you smiled, knowing he was warming up to you because he felt bad for getting stern with you earlier. “i did.. but i saw you use it the other day and i wanted to see how it would feel in my hands.” your hand was under his shirt, fingertips tracing shapes into the soft skin of his abdomen. “and what did you think?” he hummed.

“well, i don’t know. somebody took it away from me before i could figure out how i felt about it.” rafe shook his head, retrieving the gun before cautiously handing it over to you. running the pads of your fingers across the cold metal, you shivered slightly when your mind went back to the cracking noise it made when you first saw rafe fire it. “so?” he leaned in, the stark contrast between your pink manicured nails, and the black color of steel, making a humored smile form on his lips.

“it’s heavy..” you held it up, with rafe’s assistance of course. “it’s heavier when there’s ammunition in it.” he placed his hand over yours, making you grip the handle. “ammunition?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “bullets, babe.” you giggled, “oh, right.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple before bringing you up to your feet. “you see that beer can on the table? aim at it.” you tried to ignore the way the buckle of his belt pressed against your ass, a shaky breath leaving your lips once you had the gun pointed at your target.

“pull the trigger.” your heart was beating in your ears as you slowly pulled, flinching once you heard the hollow click of the barrel. “see? it’s easy.” you sighed in relief, jumping excitedly as rafe laughed along with you. “can we load it now?” rafe stopped abruptly, clearing his throat. “no.” he reached for the gun, making you move away before he had the chance to take it again. “give it, it’s not a toy-” he froze when you pointed it at him. even though there was nothing inside the damned thing, the sight of you smiling with a weapon in your hand was unsettling… and kind of sexy?

“aw, are you scared ray?” you pushed the metal into his chest, “sit down.” rafe did as he was told, holding his hands up defensively as he settled into the couch cushions beneath him. you couldn’t help the satisfied feeling that pooled in your belly from having your usually dominant boyfriend now bending at your will. “take your shirt off.” the corner of rafe’s lips lifted in a smirk. surprisingly for him, he was enjoying every second of you thinking you had the one up on him.

he slipped the garment off, your eyes traveling down his torso. god, your boyfriend was glorious. rafe leaned back, manspreading as you stood between his thighs. “what do you think you’re gonna do with that?” you shrugged at his words, trailing the gun up his thigh “i don’t know.. maybe make you take your pants off next.” your next move was a bold one, but it riled up rafe in the best way possible. with the firearm now pressed against his erection, he was practically buzzing with the need to flip the script on you.

as if on cue, you heard the motor of a dirt bike riding up the dirt path to the trailer. rafe took your moment of distraction as a chance to grab the gun out of your grasp, which was deemed successful when he pulled you down onto his lap, the steel now digging into the skin of your thigh. “thought you were tough shit, huh?” you whimpered at the slightly painful sensation, his arm draped over your chest, holding you in place.

“no!” you squeaked, a shiver running down your spine as he trailed the gun between your legs, briefly touching your clothed cunt before bringing it up to your chest. “still think we should load it now?” rafe teased. you shook your head, confused as to why you felt horny with a gun pointed to your cheek. just as you grinded yourself against his hardened cock, barry walked in with a duffle bag. “what are y’all freaks getting into now?”

[catch1ngmoths]

Hi ok so I was wondering if you can do a comfort fic with joost? Like joost sees readers past SH scars and reader really hates them and finds them disgusting but joost just kisses readers wrist and reader just starts bawling 😔🫶 if this makes u uncomfortable you don’t have to write it I won’t be upset! 🫶🫶🫶

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ STRAWBERRY GASHES⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝄞⨾“Watch me falter, Your living like a disaster. She said kill me faster with strawberry gashes all over” - jack off Jill𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

Summary: you have self harm scars but you’ve never told your boyfriend, Joost. One day you forget about the scars and wear somthing that reveals them. Much to your surprise Joost isn’t as disgusted in them as you are.

Note: thank you for all the love on my last fic, I am currently running on….0 hours of sleep and it’s like 1pm where I live so I’m pretty exhausted so this will probably be my last fic for today unless I get bored! Also!! I see all y’all’s requests and even though I don’t respond right away doesn’t mean I’m ignoring them or don’t see them! I like to respond to the request with the fic so you won’t know I saw it until the actual fic comes out! ^_^

Warnings: SELF HARM TW!! other then that just comfort and fluff >~<

༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ ༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ ༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚

You and Joost had been together for a few months and everything was going great! He loved you more than anyone else ever could, even if they tried. He held you when you felt anxious or upset. Felt excited with you when you were happy and made sure you were always take care of. Always.

But there was one thing you hid from him, something that ate you alive every single day. Joost always questioned with a chuckle why you wore long sleeves in 90 degree weather but you just shrugged it off, saying you were always cold. That was a lie, you were sweating but you were also hiding something that’d hurt you a little more than a little sweat.

Your old sh scars. You struggled with it on a daily basis, sure they were old but they still managed to haunt you. You felt disgusted by yourself everytime you caught glimpses of them and you were sure Joost would too. I mean…who would want a partner that has scars like that.?

Today was the day you find out because being to caught up in excitement to hang out with Joost you forgot about the scars that littered your arms (or anywhere else, so so sorry to be so an inclusive ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀)) you put on a pair of your favorite shorts and shirt and head out the door to joosts place, not even looking twice.

Once you arrive, an equally excited Joost greats you and drags you to his room. You weren’t even thinking about it, so in love with your boyfriend to even care. He didn’t even notice either, finding every part of you perfect…until.

Until you lifted your arm in a certain way, that put your scars on full display. You noticed that Joost stoped mid speaking and looked over to him to see his face that was full of emotion that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was a mix of sadness, confusion, fear, and shock.

You look at him confused until your eyes follow his that were deadpan staring right at your scars. You gasp softly and cover your scars, sitting up immediately. You felt ringing in your ears and your heart rate quickening. You lower your head and feel the tears of shame and embarrassment start to burn in your eyes.

You feel the touch of your beloveds soft fingertips grab your hand, interlocking y’all’s fingers and pulling your arm towards him. You keep your head down and squeeze your eyes shut trying to block everything out.

When you suddenly felt soft kisses on the places your scars were spread. Your eyes snap open and your head raises to look at Joost. He presses soft and gentle kisses on every.singe.scar. He makes sure to press 3 to each one for good measure.

Your heart feels heavy and you just burst into tears, Joost is close to tears as well. Once hes done you immediately jump into his arms, he strokes your back and whispers soft words of praise to you waiting for you to calm down.

Once you’re calmer, only small tears flowing down your wet cheeks he props you in his lap and holds you close. “I knew something was up when you kept wearing all those long sleeves..” he whispers almost kicking himself for not noticing sooner.

“I-I’m sorry… they’re old I promise!! A-and I just didn’t want you to see because they’re ugly and i just didn’t-” your cut off by a soft kiss being pressed to your lips. “Shh…you don’t have to give any explanation or reason unless you want to, okay?” He speaks with that signature smile that you loved so dearly

“You’re…you’re not disgusted.?” You ask looking up at him, he almost looks exasperated at your words. His eyes widening and mouth parting. “Disgusted.?! Why the hell would I be disgusted mijn geliefde, you’re so beautiful to me. Everything about you, even your scars.” He says with a soft smile and a kiss to your head.

“They’re gross, I ruined my skin and now they’re gonna be there forever…” you argue as you lower your head back down and play with his fingers, “so? Who cares, first of all they’re not gross, they’re not disgusting, you’re not ugly and will never be ugly. You’re not ruined and they just show how much of a fighter you are baby. Nothing to be ashamed about, promise.” He says interlocking your pinkies together

You smile and giggle softly, tears still staining your cheeks which Joost quickly kissed away making you laugh and push his head away, “Joost that tickles!!” You squeal as he smiles and peppers ticklish kisses over your face.

You knew no matter what you looked like or what happened or hell even what you went through he would always be there for you. He would forever and always be your biggest supporter. He loved you for you and nothing less.

[finelinefae]

Bestie I literally just read flower and I’m OBSESSED and I can imagine y/n trying to turn tattooh into a swiftie whilst he tries to explain the rap beef to y/n 😭

no bc this was such a good and unique idea i had to write a little something for it !!

wordcount: 1.3k

. . .

“Okay, so what was it again?” Y/N asked, a dip between her brows as she fastened the bow on a bouquet of flowers she was completing for a baby shower they had been invited to next weekend. 

“So Kendrick-”

“The guy who featured on Bad Blood?” Y/N double-checked. 

Harry chuckles, “I mean he’s also a Pulitzer Prize winner but that too.” She nods, waiting for him to continue, “So he featured on a song with a bunch of other artists basically taking aim at J Cole and Drake-”

“Oh I know him, he posted a picture of him and Taylor on his Instagram that one time two years ago,” Y/N says. 

Harry nods, desperate to finish explaining to her the current online events he had been obsessively keeping track of over the past twenty-four hours, “Right, right. So anyway,” Harry continued to explain the ongoing tension in the world of rap circling the internet with Y/N nodding a long, nothing but confusion on her face. 

Amongst many things, Y/N and Harry’s music tastes were polar opposites. Whilst Y/N loved pop - Taylor Swift, Chappell Roan, Olivia Rodrigo - Harry tended to lean more towards alternate music, genres like rap and grunge or anything before the 2000’s. He loved rock bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam. On their first New Year’s Eve together, they’d spent the entire night at a karaoke bar in the city, four Shania Twain sons deep by the time the clock hit midnight. 

Although they were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to their music tastes, they loved talking to each other about what they were listening to. They would share their weekly Spotify stats over dinner at the end of each week and make playlists for each other to listen to whenever they were taking the train somewhere. 

As Harry finished explaining, Y/N picked up the bouquet and carried it over to where he was sitting, placing it on the table in front of him. 

Even as he was speaking, Harry automatically reached out to slide an arm around her waist beneath her fuzzy, pink cardigan rubbing circles with his thumb over the exposed bit of skin on her hip. 

“That sounds… really complicated, H.” Y/N sighed, “I’d hate to get into an argument like that.”

Harry smiled at how adorable she looked with pouty lips and concern on her face, “Lucky for you flower, y’ much too difficult to get into any kind of argument with.” 

Harry and Y/N rarely had major arguments. Typically, their disagreements were over minor or unimportant matters, often ending with Harry showering her with kisses as an apology or Y/N clinging to him until he forgave her.

“And he wants Drake to die?” Y/N gasps, “That’s awful.”

Harry nods, watching her hands carefully move around the flowers in the bouquet to get them in the perfect place. “Hmm, ‘s not the nicest thing to say to a person,”

Y/N sighed, sitting on his thigh when her legs got too tired from standing. His lips puckered against the base of her exposed neck from where she had tied her curls up with a scrunchie. He inhaled the floral perfume he had bought her for Valentine’s Day. She was obsessed with it, dousing herself in it every morning and before she went to bed.

“Have you listened to Taylor’s new album by the way?” Y/N wondered, turning to hook her leg over his other thigh so she was straddling him. She was pressed between him and the worktop, her arms moving around his neck and fingers fiddling with the curly baby hairs by his neck. 

Harry winced, “Ummm…”

“Harry,” Y/N huffed, “You said you would listen to it so I could talk you through it track by track.” 

“I know! I’m getting to it, y’know I’ve jus’ been busy this week.” Harry stated, which was true. It had been the school holidays and a lot more customers had visited both their shops than usual. 

“The album came out weeks ago,” Y/N said, pushing herself off of him to start putting everything away for tomorrow. 

Before she could take one step, Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, “I will, baby - promise, I’ll get to it and then y’ can talk for as long as y’ want all about it. Y’ can even put your pj’s on and show me y’ little dance y’ used to do when I heard y’ havin’ y’ little solo parties before we met,” He smirked against her neck. 

Y/N blushed, clearing her throat and moving away. Her eyes narrowed, “You better.” She walked back to the front desk, “And they weren’t solo parties! Marsh was there too,” She said, referring to her little cat. 

. . .

During her lunch break, Y/N reached for her bag to eat the pasta salad Harry had prepared for her that morning before they left for work. When she unzipped the bag, she found his Star Wars lunchbox inside instead of her own.

She slid off her seat and walked straight to his tattoo shop next door, knowing he had probably mixed up their lunches and ended up with her Cinnamoroll one.

She pushed the door open, expecting to hear the strums of an electric guitar or the low grovel of an indie rock band playing over the Bluetooth speakers. But instead, she was shocked to hear the voice of her favourite singer. 

Her heart soared even before she saw him as she walked past the front desk. "Hey Mike, what's with the music?" She asked as if she didn’t know already.

“Harry insisted he put it on this morning. You have to go in there and tell him it’s killing the vibe.” Mike grumbled, taking a puff of the vape in his hand. 

Y/N smiled, “I quite like it.”

“Of course you do,” He rolled his eyes. 

Y/N walked through to the back rooms where she heard the steady sounds of a tattoo gun. Her eyes found Harry, deeply focused on the design he was tattooing on someone’s wrist. 

Y/N stood to one side and waited patiently, “Okay that’s all done,” Harry clicked his tongue, pushing his chair away and wrapping up the tattoo for the customer. 

After the customer had left, she stepped into the room, “Hi Harry,” She beamed, floating over to him. He looked so cute and cuddly today, wearing a grey sweatshirt and black trousers with his usual Doc Martens and a navy-coloured beanie to cover his curls. 

A smile carved onto Harry’s face, “Hi flower,” He removed his gloves and met her halfway, pulling her into a hug and kissing her softly. 

“Missed you,” She murmured against his lips. 

“Miss you always, flower.” He brushed a loose curl behind her ear, “Thought I wasn’t meeting y’ ‘til later?”

“Oh,” She pulled out the lunchbox and handed it to him, “I think we got our lunches mixed up,” 

Harry furrowed his brows, grabbing the plastic bag with his lunch inside only to find her pink lunchbox instead. He chuckles, “Ah, must have been the early morning getting to me.”

“S okay,” Y/N grins, “I like your music choice by the way.”

Harry smirked, “Promised a girl something,”

“Oh really?” Y/N’s grin deepened, “Well I’m sure she’ll be very happy you kept your promise.”

“I’ve been thinking about her all morning, getting to hear her talk non-stop later about her favourite songs.” He says, her arms sliding up his torso to meet at the back of his back. 

She stood on her toes, his head dropping and their noses brushing together, “All morning?” 

“All the time,” He breathes, “Can’t seem to stop thinking about her since I met her.”

“Hmm, well she’s a very lucky girl.” Y/N murmurs.

His lips met hers, the low light above shining down on them as the Tortured Poets Department came to an end and ‘Lover’ played on shuffle over the speakers of his tattoo parlour. 

[tooruswhre]

「 𝘀𝗶𝘅 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 」 -

cold morning warmths with kenma kozume !

it was sunday. and that means, you’re at your boyfriend’s place for the weekend until monday morning.

waking up to the soft clicks of the keyboard and taps of his mouse, he murmured inaudible words to the screen.

“awh babe,” in a raspy groan, narrowing your eyes towards the unadjusted intensity the computer screen emitted, “it’s late…” you say as kenma spun to you wrapped in his covers as if you were a soon-to-be butterfly in its cocoon.

it’s no surprise that he is up late again, though. pulling all nighters are essentially nothing to him and then play video games for hours until the break of dawn was a mere everyday activity. he lifted up the earmuff of his headphones on one side to hear you better, “it’s six-thirty, sleepyhead. it's early.”

he corrected you like that was better. you took a glimpse at the digital anime girl clock on his nightstand to verify it was in fact, six thirty in the morning. squinting your sleepy eyes with a knowing frown, he leaned back in his gaming chair, gazing at the dimly lit arena of his game, that you can't quite figure out.

“did i wake you?”

you sat up against the bed, rubbing away the sleepiness from your eyes, “not really... are you coming back to bed soon?”

he shook his head autonomously, “probably not, i just got on not too long ago, why?”

“miss you,” even though he’s just a few feet away, you were craving his warmth. for whatever reason, his place was always alarming cold; the blanket was not a good warming aide, and kenma runs warm most nights.

“cold?”

“a little.”

he tugs off his headset, resting it beside the keyboard on the desk, “wanna sit in my lap while i play a few more rounds?”

he didn’t have to ask you twice once you unraveled yourself out the blanket, throwing it over your shoulders to fulfill this promise. sticking your legs through the arms of the chair, your arms hung over his shoulders while his arms around your torso.

“better?” he whispers to you enigmatically, reaching over for his controller, his hand resting on your lower back for a moment or two,

“so much better.”

☆ 𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗪𝗛𝗥𝗘 — © 2024 ! thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed. :) please don’t edit alter or translate any of my works outside of the tumblr app.

likes, reposts && recs are not required but appreciated.

[rendy-a]

Sorry, househusband Headcanons with Silver 👉👈✨💕(sorry the first questiom accidentally sent incomplete ) 👍

Ha ha ha. That first request would have been enough. Househusband Silver? Say no more. I'm with you there!

You have to keep an eye on him when he does chores to watch out for advice he picked up from your father-in-law.  Lilia passed on some of the strangest housekeeping habits to Silver and you never know when they’ll pop up.  You remember the winter that both of you were sick at the same time and Silver made an actual bathtub full of soup because that was the correct amount advised by Father. 

You do all the cooking prep together.  It’s not that you don’t like Silver’s cooking (even he knows to avoid using Lilia’s recipes), it’s just that you worry too much about his safety in the kitchen.  There have been some close calls where Silver has fallen asleep with a hot stove on or holding a knife.  Now, you have little dinner-prep dates to cook up meals for the week.  Each finished dish is one your spouse can finish off in the microwave or by setting a timer on a kitchen appliance.  It’s not foolproof but you certainly worry less.  Seeing Silver in an apron is just an added bonus!

You never thought you’d say this, but small forest animals are your back-up plan.  It’s like nature itself has decided to help your husband escape danger and accomplish his goals.  You’ve literally seen mice help him sew up a rip in your clothes and a deer pull your sleeping spouse out of the street.  You are grateful that Silver is so beloved by the animals, or you don’t know how you’d bare to leave him home without you!

You were sitting at your desk hard at work when suddenly a chill runs down your spine.  You look at the clock, there are three more hours of work left in the day.  You frown and decide to quickly check your phone messages, just in case.  When you pull the device out and look, your heart drops when you see the message, [Father is here for a visit.]  Oh dear, your famous Father-in-law is alone with your spouse, and you can’t do anything about it. 

You quietly take your phone and sneak away to the parking lot for a quick call.  It rings several times with no answer.  You hang up and try again.  This time, you get a sleepy, “Hello,” at the fourth ring.  You smile at the sound, picturing your spouse just awoken from a short sleeping spell.  “Hi dearest, I got your message.  How are things going?”  There is the smallest hint of a smile in the tone that replies, though you know he is stoic as ever on the other side.  “Father is helping me clean out the attic.  It’s going along well.  We’ve got everything moved out and into our living room now.”  You look out into the distance.  All the dusty things hidden away in the attic are now all over your clean living room.  Well, it could be worse.

You force an extra amount of cheer into your voice, “That’s great honey, and you are keeping an eye on him?  Making sure he…doesn’t work too hard?”  Silver assures you that he only fell asleep for a moment, but that Lilia was back where he expected him to be.  You feel a sense of dread, “Silver, it is nearly lunch time.  He hasn’t been cooking, has he?  Did you check?”  There is a long pause before Silver mutters, “I better go.”  You wish him the best of luck and disconnect.  Then, you gaze at your phone for a moment before dialing the nearest pizza delivery place.  Better safe than sorry.

A few hours later, you sneak away to the restroom to text your spouse.  [How are things?]  You wait quietly in the stall until you get a reply.  [Do you think we need to put a bedroom in the attic?]  You look at your phone in surprise, this conversation is already veering wildly from what you anticipated.  [Why would we do that?]  You see the dots appear and wait for your hubby’s text.  [In case we need to use the spare room for a nursery.]  You sigh and roll your eyes, Lilia again.  [We can talk about it when I get home.  Agree to nothing!!!]

After work, your thoughts turn immediately to your spouse, and you head straight home.  You see your house come into view and your sleepy husband is waiting for you at the door with his eyes shut.  You climb the stairs and give him a sweet kiss.  His eyes flutter open and he smiles at you, “I had a wonderful dream and now here you are.”  You brush a strand of his silver hair from his forehead, “Which was better?”  He looks at you with seriousness and replies, “You.  You are always better.”  You turn your head to the side, feeling the heat in your cheeks.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, “So where is our precious Father?”  Silver drops back until he is only holding your hand, “He left.  He said we needed time alone to work on his grandchildren.”  You laugh and think that sounds very much like your spirited Father-in-Law.  You rub your thumb along the fingers holding your hand, “Well, since he is gone, I suppose its safe to ask about your day.  How did the attic cleaning project go?”  Silver calmly assures you that things went just fine.  Nearby, a squirrel looks up and meets your eye before giving you the most traumatized shake of its little head.  “I’m glad everything worked out,” you say as you make eyes that say ‘I’m sorry’ to the neighborhood wildlife.  You didn’t know what trouble he’d been involved in, but you knew some evil had been conquered today.  You squeeze Silver’s hand and that prompts him to lift you into his arms and carry you over the threshold.  It wasn’t happily ever after, but for today, it was enough of a happy ending for you and your prince charming.

[incognit0slut]

dude hi love tje work it’s great you’re great so if it’s not too much to ask and you can totally ignore this but can we please have thigh riding with post prison read like the seasons where he gained a little weight i mean goddamn he fills his cardigans, pants, kevlar vest so well. i actually need to feel his dad bod (that term kinda irks me but yes) angwags love u love the work keep it up -!

Spencer asks you to ride his thigh while he finishes work.

Warnings: (18+) Soft Dom Spence, Sub Fem Reader, thigh riding A/n: Apparently being sick does not stop me from being horny for this man (although it stopped me from thinking of a plot, this is just 900 words worth of smut)

You weren’t sure how you ended up in this predicament. You had simply gone to check on your boyfriend who had promised to follow you to bed an hour ago, only to find him exactly how you had left him—still in his work clothes with papers scattered across his desk. 

Spencer rarely brought work home, but when he did, he often became so engrossed that he lost track of time. So you were forced to peel yourself out of bed with the plan of persuading him to join you, although you did not expect to find yourself being the one persuaded.

Because now you were sitting along his thigh, naked and embarrassingly wet, while he continued to work.

Maybe it was because you were so desperate to be close to him that you accepted whatever he could offer. He saw it as a compromise: you could use his thigh while he finished his work, and afterward, he'd give you his full attention.

At first, you hesitated, not just because you were unsure, but because you were surprised he could come up with such an idea.

“Why don’t you ride my thigh for now?” he had suggested simply, in that soft, cool tone of his, as if he were offering something mundane like a kiss on the cheek or a hug—something soft, cute, and sweet, not riding his thigh. You didn't even know he was aware of such a concept.

But your clit pulsed with need, a lump formed in your throat, and your mouth went dry. You had swallowed and licked your lips, not quite used to this sudden authoritative attitude he had adopted. However, you were not complaining, especially with how it made you ache with desire.

So, you stripped off your clothes and climbed on top of him. 

The rough fabric of his trousers created delicious friction against your sensitive flesh, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan as he placed a steadying hand on your hip. You had been sitting there, not knowing what to do, until you couldn’t hold on any longer.

You began to move, slowly at first, trying to find a rhythm that would bring you relief. Every drag of your clit against his thigh sent waves of pleasure through you, and soon you were panting softly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. Spencer’s attention remained on his work, but the slight tightening of his grip on your hip and the occasional flicker of his gaze told you he was very aware of what you were doing.

Your breaths grew heavier, mingling with the rustle of papers and the soft hum of the night. The need within you built steadily, each stroke of his thigh against your sensitive flesh bringing you closer to the edge. You leaned forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder, as his voice cut through the haze of your arousal. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone still maddeningly calm. “Just like that.”

Your nails dug into his arms as your desperation to be close to him, to feel him, drove you on, even as he remained focused on his work.

“Spence,” you whined, almost pathetically, your hips continuing to find that delicious friction. “Please…”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as you struggled. “I’m almost done.”

A strangled cry left your lips as the intensity of your movements increased. Your legs instinctively spread wider as you sought more, and your clit pressed harder against the rough fabric of his pants. The sensation was electrifying, and you could feel your slickness spreading, but Spencer didn't seem to mind. Instead, he tightened his grip on your hips, guiding you with a steady rhythm.

Your fingers gripped his shirt as you buried yourself in his neck, inhaling his scent—intoxicating and arousing. You pressed your naked flesh against his clothed body, pushing against him as if you wanted to be closer, to sink yourself into him completely.

Spencer’s calm demeanor only made your desperation grow. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Just let go.”

The friction, the heat, and his words all combined into an irresistible force. You felt yourself spiraling, your body trembling as you rode his thigh with abandon. The sensation of his muscles tensing beneath you, his hand guiding your movements, was too much. Your moans grew louder, mixing with the rustle of papers and the steady hum of his voice.

You whimpered, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable. “Please,” you begged, your voice a breathless plea.

He responded by pressing his thigh against you more firmly, his fingers digging into your skin possessively. The combination of his commanding presence and the friction against your sensitive cunt was overwhelming.

The intensity grew, every touch, every stroke pushing you closer to the edge. You gripped him tighter, losing yourself in the sensation, your mind consumed by the intoxicating blend of his scent, his touch, and the raw need pulsing through your veins.

Your body tensed, and with a gasp, you finally let go. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you shuddering and breathless. Spencer held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as you came down from your high, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

When you finally came down, panting and spent, he looked at you with a mixture of pride and affection. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I think you earned my full attention now.”

You melted into him, barely able to support your own weight. He lifted you gently, guiding you to the bed, and as he laid you down and began to undress, you realized that the night was far from over.

[cameronspecial]

can you write something with drew x singer reader?

My Muse

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

A/N: The song Y/N sings is an altered version of "Pointless" by Lewis Capaldi

Masterlist

The studio is quiet as she taps the pencil on her lips. Y/N has been trying to figure out the lyrics for her next song for the past three hours, yet nothing comes to mind. Her back is pressed on the seat cushion and her legs are thrown on the armrest. “Ughh,” she groans, throwing her head back to look at the ceiling. The silence makes her second guess asking everyone in the room to leave. Maybe the noise would’ve gotten the flow going. 

The door to the studio opens and her head whips to see who it is. “Hey, Miranda told me you were experiencing some musician’s block. So I came with some pastries and smoothies. Get some brain fuel into that creative noggin of yours,” the intruder informs. She laughs at his words, “You are so weird, Baby.” He walks closer to her and she sits up. He places the food on the table, leaning down to kiss her. His face hovers over hers, “And yet, you still love me. Face it, Darling. You are head over heels for Mr. Drew Starkey.” She shakes her head and pulls him to sit on the couch with her. Her head falls on his chest as she snuggles into his side. He leans forward to grab some food and he hands it over to her. She takes a bite from the pain au chocolat, chasing it down with the strawberry and banana smoothie. They eat in comfortable silence until everything is gone. He dusts the crumbs off his hands and stands to stretch his legs. This leads him to wander around the room. He spots the piano and approaches it.

“What are you doing?” Y/N questions, joining him on the piano bench. Drew lifts the lid and places his hand on the ivory keys. Her head rests on his shoulder and she watches as he begins dancing his digits across them. Suddenly, the melody he plays randomly sparks something within her. She scrambles off the bench and runs to the notebook in her hand. Drew pauses to look at her, “What’s wrong?” She returns to sit beside him. “Keep going.” He follows her order and out of the corner of his eye, he can see she is writing down the notes he is playing.

Then, she moves on to writing down words. He keeps playing while she frantically notes down everything going through her mind until she tells him to stop. “Okay, close your eyes. I’m going to play you what I have so far,” she orders. She places her notebook on the ledge and Drew’s eyes flutter shut. 

Her fingers touch the keys, hitting one note after the other. Her eyes close as she begins to sing. “I bring him coffee in the morning. He brings me inner peace. I take him out to fancy restaurants. He takes the sadness out of me. I make him cards on his birthday. He makes me a better man. I take him water when he’s thirsty. He takes me as I am…” They both get lost in the music. As she plays off the final melody, her eyes open and she turns to him. “It’s a little rough, but what do you think?” He looks at her with a grin, cupping her face. Their lips meet. “That was amazing, Darling. It looks like you got over your musician’s block.” Her expression matches his and she presses her forehead against his. “Well, I got my muse to thank for that.” 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 2 | protection

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff. language, alcohol consumption, brief stalking/catcalling, mentions of blood. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: the gang (me) craving domesticity? it's more likely than you think!

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“Wake uppppp!” a giddy scream echoes across your bedroom as you suddenly jolt awake to a tiny body careening towards you. Megumi’s dark hair tickles your face as he leaps onto you, cushioned by thick blankets, their warmth suddenly ripped from you as he tears them down in an attempt to alert you.

“I’m up, I’m up!” you scream through a laugh as you hold him away from you, cautiously avoiding his injured shoulder still held in place with the dark-blue sling from the prior week’s hospital visit.

Megumi giggles above you, his dimpled cheeks gleaming down at you as he tugs at your hand, pulling you from bed. “I wanna go to the park, pleeeeeease?” he begs.

Ruffling his hair, eyes glancing over the scar digging across his forehead, you jokingly groan. “Okay, but just for a few hours, alright buddy? I’ve got plans tonight, remember?”

His toothy grin widens, an adorable high-pitched squeal of excitement leaving his throat as he hurriedly runs from your room to get ready, a chant of “Yay, yay, yay!” echoing down the hallway.

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you are perpetually stunned by your brother’s energy, his unending optimism. In spite of his injuries, both visible and invisible, he opens his heart every single day.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

In the heat of the summer sun, you watch Megumi run and play with other kids, a childlike innocence as he leaps across the sand, giggles spilling from the playground. Cicadas chirp in the trees surrounding the bench you currently sit on, hidden under the shade of the overlaying foliage.

Running up to you, breathless, your younger brother manages a choked, “Can I stay a little longer?”

Rummaging through your bag, you toss him the water bottle you packed, his small hands grabbing it and ravenously chugging in insatiable gulps. Shaking your head, you apologetically stand to leave. “You know we can’t, big guy, I’m sorry.”

Despite the water already dribbling down his chin, he smiles, accepting your judgement. “Okay,” he grins. Grabbing your hand, his sweaty fingers intertwining with your own, he walks home next to you, the bounce in his step never wavering.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

As night settles, the hum of chatter fills your ears as you sway in place along the outskirts of the bar, surrounded by your friends. Condensation from your drink dampens the palm of your hand. Despite the high-energy buzz of their conversation, all you can focus on is Megumi.

Is he okay? Should you have left him at home?

“Hey!” one of your friends calls out. “It’s so good to see you!”

A weak smile graces your lips as you nod, a chorus of cheers joining in. “I can’t believe you came out tonight!” “It’s been forever!” “We missed you!”

Has it really been that long? Thinking back as you sip your drink, how long had it been? months? a year? since you allowed yourself to let go like this, to be with your friends, to just sink into the moment; until tonight, you had been too preoccupied taking care of Megumi.

And you still couldn’t even do that right. The thought nags in the back of your mind, guilt settling in your stomach, before a full shot glass is shoved into your hand by one of your friends. Excited yells erupt as you knock it back instinctively, hands suddenly tugging you onto the dance floor.

The music pulses through your body, hips swinging as you chant the lyrics to whatever songs the DJ decided to play. Foggy lights surround you, bright and alluring, pulling you further into the moment. Your body feels light as you hug your friends, pure and innocent bliss shared through your laughs.

When it finally comes time to leave, you part ways with your group, cheers roaring through them as you walk alone down the street towards your apartment, knowing it was too far to walk to your father’s home and too late to call a taxi.

It’s only a few blocks, you try to reassure yourself as the streetlight above you flickers. 

Suddenly, footsteps are heard behind you.

It’s no big deal, people walk this way all the time. They’re probably just heading home, same as me.

When the footsteps pick up speed, your heart begins to race in your chest.

Shit.

“Hey sweetheart, wait up,” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind you, sneering in false sincerity at the nickname.

Shit, shit, shit.

Picking up your pace, you desperately try to maintain any distance with the stranger, your mind scrambling in panic. You can’t outrun him, you couldn’t physically beat him in a fight if it came down to it, what are you supposed to do? Just as tears threaten to spill over your lashes in fear, you see someone ahead of you on the street.

A man stands waiting at the bus stop, eyes downturned towards his phone that softly illuminates his face, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. Something about him sends an immediate wave of comfort over you, just enough to think of a semi-logical plan.

“There you are, babe!” you proclaim loudly, hopefully audible to the threatening stranger behind you. Walking confidently up to the somehow more intrinsically trustworthy man ahead of you, you toss your arms around his neck and grab him in a hug, something about his body familiar to you in a deep, indescribable way. “Please, just go with it,” you whisper into his ear.

Initially his body tenses, but as he feels your desperation through the tight grasp you have on him, he relaxes. “Do you need help?” he whispers into your neck.

“Hey, bitch, I’m talking to you!” calls the stranger behind you threateningly.

Nodding desperately, the scent of his cologne finally enters your senses, a spicy warmth tingling your mind as you search for where you recognize it from.

“Then we better make this believable,” he murmurs into you, his voice shockingly deep.

As he pulls you slightly away from him, your eyes finally scan his face as realization sets in - the black eyes, distinctive tattoo, dark hair pulled up - he was unmistakable, the man who had so caringly treated your brother when you were in the emergency room.

Before you can respond he’s leaning forward, his lips pressing against yours. Your eyes flutter closed instinctively as you push yourself into him, his hands finding their place on your lower back as he pulls you closer. Despite the cold of the night air his lips are warm, a soft tenderness to them as they part, allowing your tongue to enter his mouth as the kiss deepens.

Unbeknownst to you, Choso’s gaze remains fixed on the predator behind you, shooting daggers through him as the man scoffs. “Fuck you, whore,” he yells before turning around and disappearing into the night.

A wave of relief crashes over you as his footsteps retreat; yet, Choso doesn’t pull away, his lips lingering for a moment before you finally separate.

“Thanks,” you breathe out, heart still pounding despite the fear that no longer remains in you.

A smirk graces Choso’s features as he looks down at you, his eyes low. “Any time,” he purrs, the richness of his voice making you shiver.

As a moment of silence passes, you realize you’re just staring at him, suddenly processing the encounter. “S-sorry for kissing you,” you stammer, stepping away from him to create space.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he responds.

“I…I know you,” you think aloud. “You took care of my brother, Megumi, at the hospital?”

Pausing, Choso nods. Not that he needs to hesitate - he hadn’t been able to forget about you from the moment he saw you, finding himself standing outside the room you had been in, his feet holding him in the spot where you wrapped your arms around him that night. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything since then, thoughts constantly returning to you no matter what he tried. “I remember you,” he blurts out, hoping the confession isn’t too forthcoming.

Fortunately, a warm smile covers your face as you look up at him. “Dr. Kamo, right?”

He nods again. “But please, just call me Choso.”

“Okay, Choso,” you smile.

God, he thinks he could die right here just from hearing you say his name. The sweetness of your cadence makes his heart flutter as he pushes down a giddy grin.

“Well, thanks again, but I guess I should get home now,” you start to turn away from him, continuing your walk down the dim sidewalk.

Before you can get far, a hand reaches out and firmly grabs your wrist. You pause in your tracks, shocked by the raw strength of his grasp. “Wait,” he murmurs, releasing his grip as you turn to face him. “You can’t go by yourself - I mean, what if that guy shows up again? At least let me walk you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I was just waiting for the bus, I’m really not doing anything more important than this.”

Warmth spreads over your body at his kindness, your head gently shaking as you agree.

A sigh of relief, so quiet you barely catch it, leaves his throat at your response. He can’t let you go, not when it’s so dangerous - who would be there to protect you?

Walking in place next to you, the few remaining blocks to your apartment are silent, but something about Choso’s presence puts you at ease, comfortable in the tranquility night brings. Finally reaching your apartment, Choso clears his throat as you turn the key to your door. “Well, I hope you have a good rest of your night, and I hope Megumi’s doing okay,” he speaks before moving to leave.

“Wait,” the word leaves your throat before you can catch it, now your turn to make the man pause in his steps. “I wouldn’t want you walking back to the bus stop all by yourself - after all, it could be dangerous,” you smirk. “Why don’t you just stay here for tonight?”

Joy bubbles in Choso’s chest, exuberant at your offer, but some part of his psyche, in the very back of his mind, screams don’t do this. He shouldn’t - he’s been forced to go to the blood bank an extra two times already since the night he met you, unable to clear his mind until his body was filled with the blood of others. Would he be able to restrain himself now, with you this close?

Swinging the door open, you prod in his silence. “C’mon, it’s late, and it’s dark, just come in Choso.”

Any remaining resolution crumbles as you say his name, a soft “Okay,” falling from his lips as he steps inside, “but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Deal,” you grin, flicking the lights on.

His eyes roam over the space, the gentle scent of vanilla hovering through your home. Something about it feels so warm, so unmistakably you.

Suddenly embarrassed at the state you left things in, only able to notice the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink and dirty clothes strewn across your couch, you instinctively push him further inside. “I’ll, uh, go grab some blankets,” you mutter, stepping around him and making your way to the bedroom, pushing piles of your own mess away as you move.

Kicking off his shoes, Choso’s mind races as he settles into your couch, clouded with you, you, you. His fingers gently trace his lips, remembering the way yours had been on them not long ago. He remembers their softness, the slight cherry taste in your mouth, how warm and perfect you felt in his grasp.

“Here,” you toss him a pillow and some blankets from your room, “let me know if it’s too cold or anything for you tonight, or if-”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he hums, voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Choso,” you smile before turning back into your room.

“Goodnight.”

Adjusting to form a makeshift bed in your living room, he tries to push down his recurrent thoughts of you, a futile effort. You felt so small in his hold, having to lean up to reach your lips to his, the way your fingertips grazed the back of his neck. The plush comforter above him wafts more of your sweet smell into the air, further intoxicating.

While he doesn’t need to sleep, he spends the hours of the night caught up in ideas of you, his palm resting over his face to cover the place where you kissed him, a feeling he vows to never forget.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

In the morning, his dream-like state is suddenly interrupted by the sound of clattering from the kitchen. Soft curses leave your lips as pans tumble through the cupboard, metallic clanking echoing through your apartment as they hit the ground.

Choso stirs from his place on the couch, rubbing his eyes to focus on you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you explain, a sheepish grin on your face.

The sweet smell of syrup suddenly hits him, eyes glancing over to the stove where a mass of pancakes has accumulated.

Walking across the room to stand next to him, you hand him a white mug, the dark fluid in it a stark contrast to the bright ceramic adorned with small, hand-painted flowers. “I didn’t know if you liked coffee, but I just figured I’d make it for you-” you babble.

“Thank you,” he cuts you off, a soft grin forming across his tired features. Lifting the mug to his lips he takes a sip, the warm liquid pouring down his throat.

You know it’s too hot to drink, yet Choso doesn’t seem to react - maybe he just likes hot coffee? Shrugging off the insecurity, simply grateful he accepted your show of affection, you return to your place in front of the stove.

The man rises, his muscles straining against his clothes as he stretches. Your eyes cover his body before you force yourself to pull your gaze away from his taught chest, biceps rippling under his skin-tight shirt. There was something nearly poetic about him, something ancient sculptors strove to capture mirrored in his form.

Still slightly drowsy from the respite of his dreams, he finds himself walking across the kitchen until he hits the counter, seating himself at one of the barstools.

“I hope you’re hungry,” you laugh softly as you fill a plate with pancakes, setting it in front of him. After a moment you flip a few onto your own, pulling the plate across the table to sit next to him.

Again, a comfortable silence falls upon you as you eat your breakfast. Something about having him here, in your home, his hair undone and body relaxed, feels natural, a routine you could see yourself slipping into.

Yet, next to you, Choso struggles to hold himself together. Why today, of all days, did you have to wear those shorts to bed? Moreover, why that t-shirt, one that so perfectly drapes the contours of your body? The domesticity, the familiarity, makes his heart ache for a comfort he can’t have, one he knows he doesn’t deserve.

But the way you kissed him, the way you formed to his body, felt like it was something you had shared for years. You had seen him, felt him, and still chose to be near him; would you still be with him if you knew it all, knew everything?

“Choso,” your voice pulls him from his mental cloud, “if you don’t like my cooking, you can just say so.”

Eyes widening, he finally focuses his gaze downward, observing the mass of flour and syrup beneath him. His fork had been absentmindedly cutting at the meal you served - one he, of course, didn’t have to eat - turning it to mush before your eyes. Guilt overtakes him, the fear of your hatred consuming him before a giggle echoes through the room.

“I’m just kidding, Cho,” you laugh, playfully punching his shoulder.

The nickname, a pleasantry he had never been afforded, fills his body with an impossible warmth. How had you managed to do this so easily, so effortlessly?

Turning his head, he finally focuses on you. “I’m sorry, i-it’s good,” he stutters.

Another laugh leaves your lips, the sound bright against the darkness of the early morning. “Y’know, if there’s a place with food you like better, you could just ask me on a date there.”

You weren’t sure what had come over you, a novel confidence brewing in you as you continued glancing at the man next to you. Some part of your heart was drawn to him, unable to let him leave, needing his approval of you, his desire.

You open your mouth to counter the offer as his silence settles, fearing you had overstepped an unspoken boundary between you, before his voice hits your ears. “Next week?” he asks, his voice low.

“Deal,” you smile at him.

A childlike grin tugs at his cheeks as he looks at you, disbelief fighting with adoration as his eyes cover your form. “Deal,” he repeats.

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[wittlesissyb4by]

Why do we keep letting these pigs get off scott-free? They think they can come in, play with our hearts and our heads, then cut and run and do the same to some other poor girl! Hell, sometimes they’re doing it to multiple women at the same time!

Well, I say “no more”! No longer will we let these immature men run around and take advantage of women! It’s time we take a stand! Starting with little Benjamin here.

Benny tried to slip a little something in my drink at the club last week and thought I wouldn’t notice. Little did he know, I’d already been watching him, planning a little bit of payback after what he did to my friend Lauren. She cried for weeks over this guy.

So when Benny wasn’t looking, I did the ‘ole switcheroo, he was out like a light 2 hours later.

Ohh you should have seen Benny’s face when he woke up for the first time! His hands and feet were chained to his new crib, and he kicked his little legs when he saw (or felt) what he had on. Every flail of his body only made his fresh new diaper crinkle louder and louder. He whined and cried and screamed as much as his gag would allow. But Benny had no idea that was just the beginning.

He thought, he really thought he wasn’t going to have to use his diaper, that it was just there for funsies. The way he moaned and groaned as he clenched and tucked his legs, trying anything he could to quell the painful throbbing coming from his very full bladder. I told him to save himself the torment, that all he was doing was delaying the inevitable, but still he resisted. To his credit, he made it a whole ‘nother thirty minutes before he sighed in relief and flooded his diaper for the very first time. His whimpers and whines after were pathetically adorable.

He drank the bottle out of desperation. He was obviously starving, and I made it clear he would not get out of his (now *very* wet) diaper until he finished the whole thing. I wonder if he could taste the laxatives and hormones mixed within? No matter, he certainly seemed to notice the effects about an hour later when he started fussing and complaining about the cramps.

“Just get over it,” I spat back at him, something I’ve heard way too many men say when they learn a woman is on her period, “just don’t be such a bitch!”

When I tell you: the man cried. Like, full-on bawled like a baybee when he couldn’t hold it anymore and started shitting all over himself in that diaper. He continued to cry for the next 3 hours when I refused to change him. I made him sit and wallow in his own filth while he thought about his life choices.

Reluctantly, his diaper was eventually changed, but so was his outfit. His eyes were wide as saucers when i held up the pink onesie and frilly skirt, but they closed soon after once the drugs kicked in. He woke up halfway through me doing his make-up, and seemed less than thrilled when the wig was put on.

Now, one week later, he’s mostly silent in his crib. I’m not sure if it’s the cocktail of hormones in his system messing with his brain, or he has finally accepted that this isn’t all a dream, that this isn’t going to stop, and this is his new life now. Any attempts to run will just lead to the thousands of pictures I have of him ending up all across the internet. The livestreams of him pooping his pampers notwithstanding. He’s quite docile now. He knows to keep that pacifier in his mouth otherwise it will delay his diaper change by several hours. It only took him a few rashes to learn to comply.

Lauren is now on her way over to get a look at the so-called “Man” that broke her heart. I highly doubt she’ll feel any sort of anguish now. Knowing her, she’ll have even more fun with him than I have.

So this is a call to all women, it is high time we put these deadbeat little fuck bois in their place. Take back what is ours. Let’s fight the patriarchy and turn it into a true Matriarchy, one pathetic little pervert at a time!

[saturnville]

a night off, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x black!wife (she) content: she encourages her husband to take a night off. warning: angst. minor disagreements. an: thank you for reading <3 let me know what you think! tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neeville

“Can you just relax, please?” 

He was a self-proclaimed workaholic. Breaks did not exist in his world. Rest was just as foreign as a language different from his native one. If he wasn’t frequently working, he was unsatisfied with himself and his efforts. He refused to be seen as lazy or anything aside from a hard worker. He was a self-proclaimed workaholic who needed a night off. Just one. 

“No, baby. I gotta get this done,” he mumbled, mindlessly pecking her cheek as she rose from her position on his lap in frustration. His laptop had more of his attention than his sanity did and it drove her mad. She glanced at the screen. Whatever he was working on had a deadline more than three months away. She’d be damned.

Despite his protests, she clicked “save” on the document, closed the computer, and tucked it under her arm along with his phone. There was no way she’d allow him to overwork himself, especially not during a trip that had been planned for the sole purpose of escaping the normal day-to-day responsibilities he had. 

His grumbling was muffled and incoherent as she retreated further and further from the dining room where he was. She trekked up the stairs and into their shared bedroom. On the nightstand closest to her side of the bed, she placed his laptop and phone. Then, she made her way back downstairs. 

Her husband wasn’t where she left him, rather sitting on the couch, arms crossed with a television show playing on the large platform television ahead of him. She rolled her eyes in amusement. He was unbelievable. 

“You can’t have your way so you resort to this?” Her voice made his head whip around. His expression was blank. 

“I mean yeah. You took my phone and computer. What else am I supposed to do?” 

Her jaw ticked and anger began to bubble deep within her. He was unbelievable and she was ready to blow a gasket. “You’re supposed to relax, Lewis! That’s why we’re here. If you wanted to do the same regular-degular stuff, we could’ve done it at home. You complain about how we hardly have time together, but look! You’re in this overly-priced villa with a beautiful wife and you won’t even take the moment to relax with her. I could have stayed home if I knew you loved work more than you do me.”

Lewis stood from the couch at her comment. “That is not true and you know it.” 

“Do I?” She said everything before turning on her heels to walk up the stairs. The slam of the bedroom door was the last thing he heard before he was met with utter silence. Sheesh. 

-

The bath water scorched her skin just the way she liked. The suds surrounded her like a cape and she basked in the cover it provided. The speaker she brought from home played her favorite songs from Snoh Aalegra. 

It had been over an hour since their last interaction and she needed time to herself before facing him again. She tried to understand her husband’s mindset and for the most part, she did, but she firmly believed in rest. And the fact that he refused to do so, especially after she planned an elaborate vacation for them, hurt her feelings. It made her wonder what about spending time with her was so repulsing that work took more of his attention than she did. 

Sighing, she moved her arms in the water, preparing to dunk her head beneath the water until she heard the door peel open slowly. “Baby?” His voice was gentle, much different from the fierceness it held just an hour ago. She did not object, so the door opened wider and his body appeared. 

He closed the door behind him to keep the humidity from escaping the room and leaned against the counter. His muscles flexed as he put his weight on his arms. She turned to meet his eyes, which were filled with regret. Her eyebrow quipped. “What’s up?” Her volume was slow and her tone was even. 

“Room for another?” 

She nodded. Lewis’s hands went to his outfit, a matching sweatsuit, which he plucked off piece by piece. She leaned forward to make room for his strong body, which was more comfortable than the porcelain tub. Her husband’s tattooed hands found themselves palming her body--his left hand around her growing belly and his right squeezing her breasts. As much as she tried to fight it, her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell against his shoulder. Lewis’ lips pressed against her temple firmly. 

Silence surrounded them for many moments before he spoke up. “I didn’t mean to disregard you. I never want to be the reason why you feel ignored and unwanted. I’m not good at breaks and you know this, but it was no excuse. You put so much time into this and I blatantly ignored it--I’m sorry, beloved.” 

She didn’t speak verbally, but the squeeze of his hand let him know she heard him. But, because she said nothing, he continued, “I’m all yours.” 

“You promise?” She spoke quietly. 

Lewis's lip pulled in the corner. They were okay. 

“Am I too heavy?” She sounded unsure as she hovered over her husband’s muscular body. Her body had changed tremendously as she was carrying their child. Normally, she didn’t worry about it too much, but she had moments where her thoughts got the best of her. He found her beautiful in every state she was in, but even more so in the current one. She was carrying his child--how could he see any flaw within her?

Lewis shook his head against the pillow, “No, baby, never.” She squeaked out a quiet okay before finally putting her full weight on him, which made no difference to him. 

In her hands, she poured a considerable amount of oil into her palms, rubbed her hands together, and caressed his soft skin. The sounds he released were music to her ears and had a soft smile spreading across her lips. “Feel okay?” 

He groaned softly, “Feels amazing.” Silence, save for his sounds of approval, surrounded them. This was was he needed. The closeness, the intimacy, the love between a man and his caring wife during the hardest parts of his life. It was moments like these that he cherished deeply and would do so forever. 

Almost thirty minutes passed before she complained of her body becoming sore. Lewis adjusted their position so her head was against the pillow and her legs were spread just enough to welcome his body. She smiled at him as she welcomed the kisses he planted on her neck and collarbone. “Thank you, baby. Let me return the favor…”

With that, his hands palmed her thighs and pushed them upward. Her eyes fluttered as she prepared for the best. His lips caressed her sensitive skin and she sighed softly, her fingers finding themselves in her hair. He melted into the embrace of her legs and soon the room filled with whispers that turned into loud cries that played on repeat even when it was all said and done. 

They drifted off to sleep during the early hours of the morning, wrapped in the love of each other. With her bare body against his, she said, “See what happens when you take a night off?” 

Lewis chuckled and poked her side. “Yeah, yeah. I love you…”

“I love you more.” 

[strawberrystepmom]

prev chap | YOU ARE A FEVER | gojo x f!reader | series masterlist | next chap

cw: reader has defined characteristics (complexion that visibly reddens), dealing more with the magical system. this is sort of a between/bridging chapter before we go to amavel and spend some time exploring gojo's machinations. word count 1.6k.

Across the cave on a small stone table, the godforsaken candle you’ve spent hours trying to light rests mockingly. You’ve tried closing your eyes so tightly they hurt to pry open, kneeling, crouching, kneeling again, turning your back and nothing has come. Even the slightest flicker has been out of your grasp.

“I can’t do it.” The defeat in your voice is thick and your body sags as you lean forward, Gojo watching you from the other side of the candle with his lips pursed. “You keep telling me what to do and I can not do it.”

Walking around the table and in your direction, he folds his arms over his chest and looks down at you. Mirroring his posture, you fold your own arms and look back up at him and he wrestles with the urge to smile down at you, biting it back to give the impression of someone who can actually teach others and isn’t just flying by the grace of his own cleverness.

“Because you are distracted and it’s keeping you from doing what I told you to do and that’s to simply feel. That’s all you have to do.”

Groaning, you let your arms drop to your sides and stamp your foot like a child. You’re far from one and behaving like would certainly be unbecoming in front of anyone but Gojo whose own childlike tendencies outdo yours on your worst day.

“I’m telling you that there is nothing in me and you saved me for nothing.”

“Ohhh,” he whines back at you. “Don’t say that because it isn’t true.” Making his way to your side he leans over your shoulder and bends his knees so that his chin hovers just above your ear. “You just have to listen to me, okay?”

A petulant eye roll is how you choose to respond and he chuckles, the sound vibrating against the shell of your ear.

“Close your eyes.”

Listening to him, you shut them gently rather than tightly as you’ve previously tried and your eyelashes tickle your cheek. Every sensation around you becomes intensified with your eyes closed including his breaths against your back and the tickle of his hair on your neck. It’s distracting but you attempt to focus, taking a deep breath in through your mouth and out through your nose.

“I’m going to tell you exactly what to do and you have to do it, okay?”

You nod, surrendering yourself in full trust to him despite the annoyance of the childish way he asks questions. He smiles and you feel the curve of it against your ear.

“There’s a warm feeling in your stomach right now, right beneath your ribs. Imagine you are wrapping your arms around it,” he orates and you try to picture what he’s saying in your mind, imagining something that looks like the fireflies that dotted the summer nights of your childhood. “Do you feel it?”

Another nod, the urge to worry your bottom lip between your teeth is overwhelming but ignored as you focus on this sensation. There’s a warmth, a heat even, and you find yourself letting it wash through your torso and limbs despite the way your hands tremble when you extend them.

“Are you alright? Talk to me.”

Your fingers shake and he reaches around you to place one of his hands on top of yours, stilling it.

“I’m fine. The heat reminds me of the fire, that’s all.”

The fire and accusation that almost took your life sits heavy on your mind constantly but the comforting coolness of his fingers on the outside of your hand gives you the confidence to face your fear. Your eyes remain shut and that same warmth filters through your fingers, a sensation you can almost keep hold of until it disappears completely. Your eyes fly open and you groan in frustration, staring at the wall with your jaw clenched.

“Look at me.” Defying logic and the tension in your neck keeping your face pointed toward the stone wall of the cave, you do as commanded and turn your head to meet the glance of your impatient teacher. “Stop fighting what your spirit is trying to tell you to do naturally.”

It would take a far stronger woman than you are not to get lost in the depths of the eyes he claims to be famous all throughout the bustling city of Amavel for though his words pique your interest before you swan dive down. Flinching in place, you open your mouth and he steals a peek at your mouth while you speak. 

“I can never tell if you are talking about my abilities or whatever or something else, Satoru.”

The corners of his mouth upturn into a smirk and he shrugs, flippantly playing off the indisputable fact that he has been caught in the act. Clasping his hands in front of him, he bounces on the balls of his feet and leans forward so that your noses nearly touch.  “What else could I possibly be talking about? What else do you keep denying?”

That I love you, you think, keeping your mouth shut tightly and swallowing your spit in an attempt to slow your racing heart.

“Nothing,” you respond quickly and he clicks his tongue and shakes his head in time with the tutting.

Looking back across the months you’ve spent in each other’s space, sleeping in the same makeshift bed and giggling until the sun comes up over jokes and stories or picking berries and feeding each other by tossing them across the small expanse of the cave and trying to catch them between your teeth, it was truly an inevitability that you’d fall for him. It’s just as he planned all along and he knows the truth even if you refuse to acknowledge it. 

“Are you sure it’s nothing? You seem a little flustered right now.”

A voice in the back of your head drowns out the smooth bass of the one belonging to the man in front of you and reminds you that you may have fallen for him long before any of the events of the last several months occurred, those visits to your village over the years filling you with pining you couldn’t quite name at the time. You quiet it long enough to take a deep breath and raise your eyebrows. The two of you are still nearly nose to nose, nothing but the sound of the rise and fall of your chests filling the room. The inescapable proximity of hiding out has made the two of you so close you even breathe together now which would be mortifying to a pair with more shame.

You aren’t ashamed of anything when he’s around and is that not what the very basis of love is? Being appreciated wholly for who you are, just as you are? Held when your shoulders shake from crying in your sleep? Assured that something so magical you can hardly picture it without his coaxing lives within you?

The tension is more than you can handle. You are the first to look away and to break the precious eye contact, looking toward the ground. Always the weakest, always giving in. You can’t admit you’re in love with him.

“Why do you want me to say it so badly?” Your voice cracks and the playful tilt of Satoru’s head disappears, posture stiffening when he hears the telltale sign you’re about to cry. “Is being here and listening to you and spending all of my time with you not making how I feel obvious enough?” 

For once, he listens instead of barking back at you about what he believes you should be doing. 

“I’ve been here with you all day every day for months and you want to make me say that I love you when it’s obvious that I do?”

Your bottom lip quivers and the witch who saved your life has never looked more taken aback than he does now, unclasping his hands and placing a reassuring palm on your shoulder. He smiles down at you and your blouse wrinkles beneath his touch.

“So that’s what has been on your mind then.”

Scoffing incredulously, your eyes widen and you try and fail to shimmy his hand off of you.

“That’s all you have to say?”

Satoru leans in further and presses the tip of his nose against yours, hand sliding from your shoulder to the dip of your waist before you can breathe. His other hand joins where the first one rests and he pulls you against him, inescapable and pressed nose to nose and forehead to forehead.

“I love you.” He admits, quelling the pool of nausea in your gut while awaiting to know if he feels the same. “So much that I materialized into a sea of flames to save you.”

Sighing, you lean in and press your lips against his with everything you can muster this time. This is not the adrenaline fueled kiss as a thank you for saving you from imminent demise you graced him with on your first night together but months of desire (years, if you’re honest) all culminating into the press of one pair of soft lips into another chastely. It may have lasted moments but felt like an eternity and you back away from him, your chests syncopating with matching breaths as always.

“Is that all you got?” He teases, still pressed mostly against your mouth. 

Giggling, you shake your head and he leans further into you, capturing your lips again. You pull away and place your palms on his chest, thumbs rubbing circles into the shirt that covers it. 

“I love you, Satoru.”

The words make you feel warm even saying them the second time. You believe they may make you feel warm every time you say them, just like that magic he claims lives inside of you.

“Say it again?” 

He asks but never gives you the chance to do more than mumble it against his mouth, leaning in to kiss you again. And again. And again until you’re being crowded onto that makeshift bed the two of you have been sharing. 

[ragzonacamrencruise]

For the first sentence of a fic ask

Katara’s choking sound filled the room which gained the attention of her friends until Katara stopped and turned to face Azula with a shocked face.

hello bestie!

this is too funny . . .

okay so hear meowt-

***

THE PROPOSAL

Katara’s choking sound filles the room, which gaines the attention of her friends until Katara stops and turns to face Azula with a shocked face.

Azula, sitting closest to Katara in the enormous dining hall, is half way down slurping her noodles when she notices the racket. Her own eyes grow wide as she witnesses Katara holding her throat and gasping for air, but not getting any.

Now, for the people who've been following Azula around in the palace since she was a little kid, they know it's common knowledge that Azula, would quite normally, enjoy watching the person choke themselves into oblivion instead of rushing to help them.

And in this case, Katara being the one who's the traditional healer of the group, no one else knew what to do in this situation. They could only sit and watch their friend choke helplessly. The waterbender's eyes begin to water as she looks all around frantically.

So, it's safe to say that it comes as a surprise when Azula calmly places her chopsticks near her almost empty bowl, stands up, walks behind the now standing Katara and envelops the choking waterbender in a hug from behind.

Everyone's too shocked to speak as Azula places a fist right under Katara's now matured chest and pushes it into the waterbender forcefully. Katara jumps up high in her arms at the impact. But Azula simply does it again.

And again.

And again.

Until Katara coughs something out of her mouth and it comes flying out to hit Sokka on the head, who's sitting exactly opposite to Katara. The waterbender gasps in a lung full of air and then lets out a string of coughs, her hands desperately holding on to Azula's strong arms wrapped around her stomach, keeping her from collapsing.

Azula flattens one of her palms over Katara's back and rubs soothing circles. "There, there, peasant. We don't want you dying on us now, do we?"

Katara wipes around her mouth with the back of her palm, trying to calm down from the sudden adrenaline rush of almost dying. Sokka, being the naturally curious person that he is, bends down under the table to pick up whatever the hell hit him on his head. When he brings it out to the light, he gasps out loud.

"It's a Water Tribe betrothal pendant!!"

Katara looks at the round, blue, glimmering, piece of jewellery in Sokka's fingers. She immediately extends her hand to take it from him.

"It's not stone!" Katara exclaims, running her eyes all over the pendant. "It's some kind of . . ."

"Copper." Azula states as she removes herself away from Katara's person and takes back her seat, picking up her chopsticks non-chalantly to gobble down the rest of her noodles.

Katara turns to her immediately. "What?"

"It's Copper." Azula says with a roll of her eyes. "Clearly you peasants have no knowledge about this metal's existence. It's crystalized Copper. And very difficult to carve, by the way. I spent literally hours trying to get that thing carved."

The waterbender blinks, not believing what she's hearing. "Y- You made this?!"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"For you, of course." Azula shrugs, filling her mouth with noodles.

Katara could only let her jaw hang.

"You're giving my sister a betrothal necklace?!" Sokka's voice is a high-pitched shriek.

Azula looks confused. "What are y'all yapping so much about? Isn't it traditional to betroth a girl when she's 16 in the Water Tribe? I know I'm an year late, but it still counts, right?"

"You're asking me to marry you?!" Now Katara's voice is an octave higher.

"Wow, you filths really are dense in the head." Azula wipes around her mouth with a napkin kept at the table like the proper royalty that she is.

"No!" Katara exclaims.

Azula looks at her with her brows furrowed together. "No, what?"

"No, I will not be marrying you! Are you crazy?!"

The princess stands up, having done with her meal. "I was three years ago. But not anymore." She says with a smirk, before bowing curtly and leaving a hall full of dumbstruck people.

....

Katara flips the pendant in her hand, deep in thought. She looks down at it, tracing the intricate carvings that adorn it with a finger. She's lying on her stomach, on the bed inside her room in the Fire Nation Palace, having had an eventful supper. She frowns when she notices something strange.

The carvings look exactly like her mother's betrothal necklace. Not even a single line out of place. She touches her mother's necklace and gasps softly.

Azula must have one hell of a brain if she can carve something out just from memory.

Then she thinks back to everything that conspired during their meal.

She must've slipped the pendant in my noodle soup when I wasn't looking, or something, to surprise me.

The pendant's beautiful. Too beautiful. She would've mistaken it for glass if it didn't radiate such a glossy blue glow, refracting candle light through it in a translucent haze. It's mesmerizing.

But the thing that nags her the most is, why would Azula of all people give her a betrothal necklace?! Does she like her, or something?!

Sure, Katara couldn't help but get lost in the princess's elegance from time to time, and blush like crazy whenever the firebender got even remotely close to her, thankful for her complexion hiding her flustered state, but that is beside the point.

Katara sits up. There's no way in hell she's going to sleep without talking something through with the very firebender that proposed to her. Determined, she gets up, wears her night robes and walks out of her room to the princess's chambers.

....

"Your highness?" Katara calls out softly, peeking inside a dimly lit, enormous room. Her eyes look all around before falling on the princess's frame by the table, sitting on a chair and reading a huge book by the candlelight hanging above her head.

The firebender takes a second longer to acknowledge Katara, her eyes hurriedly running over the last few lines on the page she's reading, before looking up. "I figured sooner or later you'll be here."

"Ha ha." Katara laughs humorlessly as she walks into the room and shuts the door behind her.

Azula places a peacock feather over the page she was reading and closes the heavy book. "State the purpose of your visit this late at night, peasant."

Katara scowls. But she's unable to hold it much longer when she spots the princess pulling out another chair by the table, gesturing her to take a seat.

The waterbender's bare feet make no noise when she walks up to the table, adjusting the chair a little bit, before sitting down, close to the firebender. It's the beginning of winter and nights, even in the Fire Nation, are getting pretty chilly.

When she finally settles down, with her knees almost touching the side of Azula's thigh, she looks up in contentment. The princess is still waiting for her answer, when Katara's eyes fall on her.

Katara takes in a deep breath. "I still haven't thanked you."

Azula frowns. "Whatever for?"

"For saving my life."

Azula clicks her tongue, in irritation. She turns back to the book before her. "Leave. I still need to complete this chapter and I need peace and quiet."

"No, I mean it. Thank you, your highness . . ."

Azula doesn't answer as she flips open the heavy book again.

"The remedy for choking is still not known by many." Katara says softly. "Where did you learn it?"

Azula's eyes find Katara, without ever turning away from the book. "I read about it somewhere." She explains before letting her eyes fall to the book before her again.

Katara hums. She unintentionally falls silent as her gaze finds itself helplessly drawn to the princess's perfectly crafted face. She traces curves and crevices sculpted in astonishing precision, even when the firebender is devoid of any make up. Her golden brown eyes shimmer in the candle light's flicker, and the sight puts Katara in a trance.

"You can stare all you want after you marry me." Azula says without turning away from her book, and that jolts Katara awake.

"Who says I'm marrying you?" The waterbender is quick to deny, her face getting heated rapidly. "I never said yes to your proposal, remember? If you can even consider that a proposal. You didn't even ask me properly!"

"Your father." Azula states.

"My father? What about him?"

"Yeah . . ." The princess looks up from the book. "He met with Zuzu to negotiate a stable course of action, considering the amount of overwhelming peasants from the Water Tribe opposing the idea of working together with the Fire Nation."

Katara's eyes are wide and attentive as she can almost predict where this is going.

"So," Azula continues. "They put their heads together and came up with this; a marriage alliance. And as Zuzu is already planning on marrying Mai . . . You're stuck with me. Personally, I think it's okay, considering how nothing really is satisfying you barbarians."

"Hey!" Katara exclaims. "If anyone's a barbarian, it's you people! You started the hundred year war and butchered an entire nation!"

Azula stares at her. "Out of all the things I said, that is what you choose to respond to?"

Katara pushes her chair back and jumps up, her knees bumping Azula's thigh. "Whatever! I'm gonna talk to my dad first thing in the morning to cancel this supposed 'marriage alliance'."

"Suit yourself." Azula says, turning back to her book as Katara storms out of her chamber in anger.

....

The next morning, Katara finds herself grumpily sitting in the dining hall for breakfast all alone, as all others have already had theirs. The meeting with her dad dragged on longer than she would've liked.

It's stupid, considering the fact that Katara never really entered her father's chambers to discuss the crisis at hand. She just paced outside his room, for a long time, contemplating what to say and how to say it. To be honest, she wasn't really that opposed to this marriage alliance anyway. She came here just out of spite. She was turning on her heels, already loosing her nerve and giving up, when her father came out, ready to head for breakfast. And it certainly did not help when she randomly blurted out 'I don't want to marry Azula' out of no where when he greeted her with a good morning.

Her father had just laughed it off stating it's just jitters and he's "seen the way you look at Azula".

Katara had then spent her whole morning contemplating living under a rock from embarrassment, but then her stomach growled and she dragged her feet to the dining hall reluctantly.

Her brooding comes to an end when she finds the object of her crisis walk into the hall, her hair up in a small topknot and the rest of it long and falling freely over her shoulders, her signature bangs still in place. Katara's eyes follow the princess as she takes a seat opposite to her, clad in a simple, light red, yukata with short sleeves.

The waterbender notices Azula's skin coated with a slim layer of sweat, making her glisten in the morning sunshine wafting in through the hall. She averts her gaze hastily.

She's not supposed to be feeling this way towards her! Even when she's supposed to marry her!

"Slept in?" The princess's mocking voice makes Katara look back up at her.

"Not really." The waterbender replies politely. Then she catches the drift of what Azula's implying. Didn't she tell her yesterday night that she was gonna call off the marriage alliance? It really is a slap in the face for Katara when she realizes that she never broke off the betrothal. And she's not ready to make peace with the fact that she doesn't really want to break it off.

Their breakfast arrives and Azula's upon it even before the servant places it on the table. Katara looks at her with amusement. "One would think you were starved for weeks." The waterbender teases at the way Azula gobbles up the food.

"Never go easy on breakfast." Azula swallows a mouthful as her manners of not talking while eating kicks in. "Especially after a good workout and training."

"Training?" Katara raises an eyebrow. That explains the sweat.

"Yeah. Every morning. You don't?"

"Not really." Katara chooses to say again, trying not to pay attention to the way the princess's arms flex when she's using them, fresh out of a workout.

They both fall silent, only opening their mouths to eat. When they're done, Katara wipes her hands and face in the hot napkin placed on the table and stands up to leave. So does Azula. The waterbender walks out of the hall, slowing down near the doorway to wait for Azula when she comes out.

But she never comes.

Instead, Katara hears someone speaking beyond the dining hall inside what she thinks is the kitchen. And because it's so quiet in the morning with only the chirping of birds to keep her company, she frowns softly as she follows through the kitchen to where the voices are coming from.

She hears Azula speak, so she braces herself against the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen, out of sight from anyone who might want to look outside.

". . . but the flavours were thick. Make sure you simmer down on the basil and lift up curry leaves. It would provide useful and time saving and, dare I say, delicious. And, Zata? We need to incorporate more from other nations if we're supposed to excel at anything we do. This goes to cuisine as well . . . And prepare stewed sea prunes for lunch, will you? I'm told it's the Water Tribe princess's favourite." The princess is saying.

"Yes, princess." Katara guesses it's Zata who agrees with the firebender.

"Keep up the work." Azula says finally.

Katara hurriedly makes herself scarce from the vicinity as she hears the princess's footsteps staring to echo out.

Katara's sure her blush is visible for miles when she makes her way to the royal gardens to cool off.

....

The lunch, as expected, fills the whole dining hall with the aroma of stewed sea prunes and Katara doesn't even have to look at the bowl before her to know it.

Azula's sat directly opposite to her and the waterbender can no way in hell meet the golden brown gaze annoyingly fixed on her. She struggles to make it through one spoonful of stew without blushing like a maniac.

This is so absurd! Get it together, Katara! It's not like she gave you the whole world! She just made you your favourite dish. It's not a big deal!

But . . . it's Azula we're talking about! When has she ever done something this nice to someone else?!

"Is it not to your liking?" She hears a voice in front of her and she has no other choice than to look into those scrutinising eyes.

Azula's eyebrows are merged together, deep in thought, watching Katara struggle to eat her lunch, unaware of the problem. The waterbender, however, is hyper-aware of it, the smell of the stew reminding her every second that it was because of Azula.

Katara offers her a small, nervous smile. "It's good, your highness."

Their friends are present in the dining hall, so Azula doesn't press the issue further. But her face remains thoughtful the entire duration of their lunch.

Katara is the first to leave the hall, having gulped down the hot stew directly from the bowl, in an attempt to get out of there soon. She can heal her burned tongue later. She just needs to . . . get out.

She hurries off to her chambers, plopping down heavily on the bed, shutting her eyes close.

....

The royal gardens, that evening, sees Katara watering the plants, temporarily trying to get a certain firebender out of her insistent thoughts. The setting sun casts a warm glow over the flowers and trees, beautiful and sophisticated. A cool breeze flows in the garden and the waterbender is grateful for it, given the way her body heat seems to rise up eveytime she thinks about the fire princess.

Katara bends the water from a nearby pond and lifts it up, gently letting it fall, spraying over the fire lilies. She smiles, feeling rejuvenated with such a simple act. When she's about to turn around to water the other part of the garden, something, or rather someone catches her eye as she looks up.

She almost has a heart attack when she realizes it's Azula, leaning against a courtyard pillar, watching the waterbender do her thing. Katara freezes, eyes locked on the fire princess helplessly.

Azula, realising her presence is no longer unnoticed, pushes herself away from the pillar and steps into the garden, her gaze never leaving the waterbender. She walks towards Katara, gaining distance by the second and the waterbender's no longer in control of her own breathing.

The setting sun hits the firebender's eyes, and Katara's put in yet another trace with the way it gleams, looking at her in a way that makes her stomach flutter.

When she finally does get close, close enough for Katara to feel her warmth, Azula lifts her hand up, gently moving a strand of hair away from the waterbender's shoulder to expose her neck. She eyes her mother's necklace already placed on Katara's delicate neck and shifts her gaze to the waterbender's sparkling blue ones again.

"Marry me, Katara." Azula says, ever so softly. It's a command, but it sounds so desperate and so loving, that the waterbender's heart starts raging against her ribs. Katara can only let her lips fall open in a silent gasp, dumbstruck with the way Azula's making her feel.

The firebender searches her eyes, waiting a second longer for her to answer, before letting out a soft, glum sigh of defeat, turning around and walking out of the garden as quick as her own lightning.

Katara finds it difficult to catch her breath, even after a few minutes of just standing there.

....

That night, Katara finds herself standing before the giant doors of Azula's chambers again. She thinks of knocking, but then decides to just screw it and opens the door.

She enters the room and shuts and locks the door behind her. When she turns around, she notices that Azula's sat in the same table over the same book. Her wide golden brown eyes fall on Katara as she watches her with a rare glimmer, completely uncharacteristic of her.

When Katara walks inside, Azula stands up to meet her halfway. The flicker of the candlelight hanging above right beside them, bounces off of something shimmering, catching the firebender's sharp eyes right away.

Azula lifts her hand to Katara's neck, an ecstatic expression filling her face. She touches the cool, smooth, carved, crystal Copper hanging from the necklace on the waterbender's neck, and lifts her gaze to the matching blue eyes looking at her with longing.

Their eyes stay locked for a moment longer, before Katara opens her mouth to gasp, "Yes."

Azula's hand immediately reaches out to grab the waterbender's waist, as she pulls her flush against her. Katara swears she can practically taste Azula's smile when she leans forward and kisses her, deep and long.

By the time they break apart for air, Katara's brain is stuck in one giant daze, blinking up at Azula, hanging onto her shoulders desperately, unable to form coherent words except, "Your highness..."

"Bed. Now." Azula's voice is deep, bathed in dark hunger, and the waterbender can do nothing but nod frantically.

Katara didn't know that almost dying would end her up with a fiancé, but she isn't complaining much now at all.

....

"You really didn't like the stew, huh?"

"No. I loved it."

***

butterflies. straight up butterflies when i wrote this.

this could've been longer. but i tried to make it simple 😭🖐🏻 its funny because i was already thinking of their dynamic in marriage proposals and BAM the perfect opportunity presents itself in the form of an ask inbox.

thank you for the ask bestie! @waterfire1848

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Maybe pt. 10

Pairing: Norm MacLean X Female Reader or OC if you squint

Former friends to a relationship?

Life is pretty easy in Vault 33 until you're trying to rekindle a former friendship and Raiders attack. Now, our main characters are trying to navigate newfound feelings, all while undercovering the mysteries of Vault 33. Stay tuned. Follows the main storyline of season 1; some events may be reordered for plot.

You and Norm discover that everything is not quite as it seems in Vault 33. Field trip to Vault 32, anyone?

Part 1 Here Part 6 Here Part 12 Here

Part 2 Here Part 7 Here

Part 3 Here Part 8 Here

Part 4 Here Part 9 Here

Part 5 Here Part 11 Here

You stirred first, the unfamiliar warmth of another body beside you a comforting reminder of the night before. Turning slightly, you saw Norm still asleep, his face relaxed, free from the tension and guilt that haunted his waking hours yesterday. You carefully shifted, mindful of your healing stitches, and propped yourself up on one elbow to watch him. A tender smile tugged at your lips as you reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

Norm's eyes fluttered open as if sensing your gaze. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, but then his gaze focused on you, and a soft smile spread across his face. 

"Morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you replied, your heart swelling at the simple intimacy of the moment.

He shifted slightly, wrapping his arm around you to trace circles into the bare skin across your back. You blushed at the action, surprised by how comfortable he seemed in his touches."How are you feeling?" 

You considered the question, “I feel like I should be the one asking you.” You knew he was concerned about your injuries, but you were more concerned with how he felt after his behavior last night. You wanted to be empathic but also let him know he wasn’t entirely off the hook. 

Norm sighed, his eyes searching yours. "I'm still... processing everything. But waking up next to you? It makes it a little easier."

You nodded. “One step at a time, remember?"

He smiled, the expression reaching his eyes. "Yeah." With that, you rolled back toward him, resting your head where his chest and shoulder met. Your attention drifted back and forth between the sounds of his breathing and heartbeat, and you fell back asleep for a few more moments. 

"Do you want to get some breakfast?" you ask sleepily after a while, the thought of normalcy appealing.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Norm agreed, slowly sitting up and stretching. He glanced at your arm, concern flickering when he saw the dabs of dried blood staining your current bandages. "Let me help you with that."

“Bandages and antiseptic are on the dresser.” You allowed him to assist you, his hands careful and gentle as he helped you sit up fully. Norm carefully unwound the old bandages from your arm, his touch gentle and precise as if making up for yesterday. You winced slightly as he reached a particularly tender spot, and he immediately paused, looking up at you with worry. “It’s okay,” you reassured him, managing a small smile. “You’re doing fine.”

____________________________

Norm headed to work, reluctant to leave, especially given his new reassignment. The last place he wanted to be was administering rations to the murderers locked in Vault 33’s makeshift prison. The memory of the night you spent together occupied the rest of his thoughts as he wheeled the dessert tray down the corridor. He would much rather be back in bed with you, wrapped up under the blankets, kissing every inch of your skin, hearing you moan his name against his ear. The Vault-Tec security officer buzzed him in as he approached, returning him to reality. Now, maybe wasn’t the time to have his mind on such things, he thought, trying to dismiss the feeling of blood rushing to his face and his pants. 

“Hey, Norm,” Veronika called out, looking up from her game of solitaire.

“Veronika,” he said with a polite smile before focusing on his task. He slid open the horizontal window and began offering the raiders a leftover ration of dessert.

Veronika took notice. “Wait, they’re getting jello-cake?”

“Those are my orders,” Norm replied, sliding the cake through the service window.

“I wonder what your dad would say about this.”

“He’d be handing them the cake himself,” Norm said, though doubt nagged at him. Would his dad have extended this kindness to these people? Yes, absolutely, he thought, shaking his doubts from his head. 

“Yeah, he was a saint,” Veronika agreed, still staring at the jello-cake.

Norm noticed her lingering gaze. “Do you want it?” He’d much rather offer this treat to a friend, and leaving the raiders with none was just a bonus. 

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded in excited agreement.

“Nobody’s gonna know,” he reassured her.

“Yeah, I’m gonna put this in my fridge,” she happily exclaimed, wheeling the cake out of the containment area.

The raider next in line for cake pounded on the vault door, a sign of his discontentment, causing Norm to react. He approached the sliding window, leaning down to make eye contact with the raider. His eyes expressed sheer disgust and discontent.

“What are you looking at?” the raider retorted.

“A murderer in a cage paying the price for what you did to us. For what you did to the innocent people in Vault 32,” Norm said, moving to slam the window shut.

The raider stopped the window with his hand, having something to say. “I don’t know what the people in Vault 32 were up to. But it was anything but innocent.”

Now, this piqued his interest. Norm paused, his curiosity battling his revulsion. Ultimately, his revulsion won, and Norm slammed the window shut, his heart pounding. 

As he finished his rounds and wrapped up his day, Norm couldn’t shake the raider’s words from his mind. The desire to return to you was now mingled with a need for answers. He didn’t leave as he clocked out of his shift. Instead, he lingered, waiting to review the Vault 33 databank from the office terminal, away from prying eyes. 

He made his way to the office terminal, glancing around to ensure no one else was around. Settling into the chair, he began accessing the Vault 33 communication logs, clicking through various logs but finding nothing of interest.

His fingers hesitated over the keyboard before he switched to the Vault 32 communication logs. As he clicked on the file, an access denied notification flashed in green text across the screen, accompanied by a dull beep. Norm frowned, puzzled. Why would these logs be restricted?

Undeterred, he tried again, double-checking the clearance codes. The same message appeared. Access denied.

He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his temples. He needed to determine whether this was more than an administrative hurdle. Luckily, he knew just the person who could help him find out.  

________________________________

He made his way to the Pip-Boy lab, hoping your higher-level administrative clearances might provide the answers he sought. He approached the door and knocked, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

You were surprised to see him, a hopeful smile forming on your lips as he entered through the opened door. "Norm? What are you doing here?"

His worried expression quickly extinguished your initial excitement. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. “I was hopeful this was a social visit from my boyfriend, but something’s up, isn’t it? 

 "I’ll make a mental note of that for the boyfriend checklist, but I need your help with something.” He wasn’t surprised you picked up on the subtle behavioral cues he was giving off. You were always better at reading a room full of people. 

Concern etched your features as you led him to a chair. "Tell me what happened."

He recounted the raider’s cryptic words and failed attempt to access the Vault 32 logs. "I thought maybe your lab access might get us further, especially considering what we saw in 32," he finished, looking at you hopefully.

"Let’s check," you said, turning to your terminal. Norm watched as you navigated the system, entering your credentials and attempting to access the Vault 32 logs. The same access denied notification flashed on your screen, and you both frowned in unison.

"That’s strange," you murmured, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "I’ve never needed to access Vault 32’s logs, but to have them blocked seems odd.” 

“That’s what I thought too.” 

“Wait.” You pause, having a realization. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m sure I’ve seen some old Pip-Boy records printed out from before I was hired in the records room. Maybe they have something useful." 

You head back into the room behind your office and begin sifting through the dusty office records, the papers yellowed with age but still legible on the Vault-Tec ledger. Norm waited patiently, his anxiety mounting with each passing second. Finally, you returned with a stack of records, laying them out on the desk.

"Here," you said, pointing to a section of the documents. "These are old software records related to Vault 32’s Pip-Boy data. Apparently, we used to get a ton of information about the Pip-Boy data exchanges between the vaults."

Norm leaned in, examining the documents closely. Why would the data exchange suddenly stop?  We need to find out more. “Do you want to go on a little field trip?" Norm said, determination hardening his resolve. 

_______________________

The next thing you knew, you were on a mission to collect Chet and head to Vault 32. You and Norm appeared outside his living quarters, and Norm stepped forward and knocked on the door. When the pressurized door moved upwards, you were shocked at the sight it revealed inside. 

Chet stood before you, completely decked out in Vault-Tec gear, a homemade cardigan, and a scarf, all in blue and gold. You could have sworn you had seen these croqueted crafts on another before. Behind him, his living room was a flurry of activity: Stephanie was lying on the couch, clearly in labor, surrounded by a team of doctors.

You hear Steph scream, and Chet moves in the doorway to block your view of her, acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary. "Norm, (Y/N), Hi,” he greets you both with a cheerful smile. I’d offered for you to come on in, but…”

"Hi," Norm said, glancing at you with raised eyebrows before turning back to Chet. "Do you feel like getting out of the house for a bit?"

Chet looked puzzled momentarily, then glanced at Stephanie, who was in the middle of a contraction. "I think I can manage a little break.”

With that you left the bustling room behind, stepping into the quiet corridor. As you walked, Norm briefed Chet on the situation, explaining the raider's claims and the restricted access to the Vault 32 logs. 

"So you two think there’s some conspiracy going on inside the Vaults?" Chet asked, eyebrows raised.

"I’m not exactly sure what we think," Norm replied, a hint of frustration in his voice. "Hence the visit to 32."

"Hmm," Chet mused. "You know, I almost forgot how much easier things were for me when you weren’t talking. Less adventure, more normalcy."

You chuckled, nudging Norm playfully. "Chet’s right. Remember when we were kids and we got caught sneaking into your dad’s office? We were supposed to be helping our parents with inventory."

Chet laughed sarcastically, the sound echoing in the corridor. "How could I forget? You two were determined to find out what was behind those locked doors. Turns out, it was just a bunch of old records."

"And a very angry overseer," Norm added with a grin. "We were grounded for a month."

You, Norm, and Chet approached the corridor connecting Vaults 32 and 33, only to find the entrance blocked by the aftermath of the explosion the raiders had detonated as they fled. Without hesitation, the three of you begin to clear enough debris to wriggle through and explore 32. However, Norm stops you before you can assist, pointing to your arms, “Probably don’t want to rip out those stitches.” You sigh and take a seat out of the way. He’s right. 

"Maybe he was just messing with me," Norm continued, "but one of the raiders told me something was up in 32."

Chet grunted as he hefted a large piece of debris aside. "Uh, well, this isn't exactly fun for me, Norm."

"Then why did you come?" Norm retorted, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow.

"To be honest, I don't know," Chet admitted, his voice tinged with frustration.

"You don't think it's because you're still in love with my sister, and being around me reminds you of her?" Norm poking at Chet’s soft spot.

"Norm, leave Chet alone," you scolded.

"Thank you," Chet started, glad someone was sticking up for him. However, you interrupted.

"Because, seriously, we don't have time to unpack all of that,” you finish with a flourish of your arms. Norm couldn’t help but giggle, glad to have you on his side. Chet scoffed and resigned himself to the task at hand, his irritation clear but unspoken- a lot like the interactions the three of you had as kids.

 You all continued to move rubble in silence, the only sounds being the scraping of metal and the occasional grunt of effort. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to clear a small opening. Norm shimmied through first, carefully testing the narrow passage's stability before returning to offer you a hand.

"Here, take my hand," Norm said, his voice softer now, the earlier tension forgotten. 

You took his hand and wriggled through the opening, your heart pounding as you emerged on the other side for a second time. 

"Come on, you have to see this," Norm directed to Chet, his voice tinged with urgency. Chet followed, his larger frame making the passage more challenging, but he managed to squeeze through with a final grunt of effort. Chet's eyes widened as he took in the scene. "This is so wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong."

On the other side, you were met with a dimly lit corridor, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. The three of you turned on the flashlight feature on the Pip-Boys on your wrists, illuminating the path ahead. The air was cooler here, and the silence was almost oppressive. The corridors were barely lit, and the usual hum of activity was absent. 

As you moved deeper into the vault, the sense of unease grew. You came to the main atrium, and the sight before you was just as haunting as the first time you entered the Vault. Like before the wheat crop was completely dry, brittle, and dying, starkly contrasting to the bustling life a vault should hold. The metal walls were damaged and rusted, evident signs of neglect. Chet stepped forward, his face a mix of shock and confusion.

 "You see? Whatever happened here happened a long time ago."

You all looked at each other, seeking confirmation to continue moving forward. Norm took the lead, and you passed through the atrium space, once again moving deeper into the living area of the vault. As he did before, Norm helped you navigate the numerous obstacles strew around the floor—chairs, sleeping bags, and debris from fires, all clear signs of the presence of raiders. 

Instead of proceeding to the downstairs living area you explored during your previous visit, you all took the stairs and entered the admin corridor. You were for answers, and the Overseer’s office was probably your best bet. The hallway was quiet, your footsteps echoing off the walls. You all continued slowly down the hallway, single-file. The light from your Pip-Boys illuminated various spots of blood splattered down the walls, and the smell of death and decay assaulted your nostrils. This was worse than before. The admin area seemed to hold more evidence of death and violence than the living space you explored a few days earlier. Rounding the corner, you came across a deceased vault dweller, speared clear through with the rod of a foosball table. You grimaced at the thought, turning your head away slightly. Norm’s curiosity got the better of him, and he moved closer to investigate, his face turning pale as he checked the Pip-Boy on the dead man's wrist. "The last bio signal detected was two years ago."

"Two years ago?" you parroted, unsure if you heard him correctly, then stepped closer to double-check what Norm saw on the Pip-Boy screen. Chet continued looking around, horrified at the sight before him. The corridor was a macabre gallery of death and violence, the remains of the vault dwellers strewn about in grotesque displays. 

As you continue walking forward, you all hear the faint sound of a TV set in the room just beyond you. Moving cautiously, you investigate to find another scene of death stationed right in front of the still-playing TV set. The screen still echoing a voice-over of a scientific experiment studying rat populations.

Chet finally broke the silence with a question. "So, if they were already dead when the raiders got here, who killed them? I mean, it looks like they strangled each other with their hands. It just doesn't make any sense." 

As the words left his mouth, you came across the unsettling words written in dried blood across the walls: "We know the truth."

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Haunted: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Summary: This is Hotch's first case back since being stabbed by Foyet. As much as he says he's fine, he's not and he's letting his emotions affect the case in a negative way.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not to be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place." - Emily Dickinson

Spencer isn't used to not being able to do things on his own so helping him get ready for work is a challenge.

"Will you stay still?" you say and grab his pants. 

"I can do it. Give it to me."

"Spencer Walter Reid. Stop moving and let me help you."

He freezes at the mention of his middle name. No one knows it but you, apparently.

"How did you...?"

"I've seen your driver's license. Now sit down and give me your leg."

Spencer sits on the edge of the bed and stretches his bad leg out to you so you can pull his pants on. It's been a month of recovering from both Hotch and Spencer. This is going to be his first day back since getting out of the hospital, and you're not sure how this is gonna go. It could either go horribly wrong and he'll need to take more time off or he'll be back on his feet. Emily wanted to pick Hotch up and drive him to the airport even though he'd been cleared to drive on his own.

With no unit chief in the office, you have a few minutes to yourself so you and Spencer head to Penelope's office to hang with her until Hotch comes in. Spencer hobbles into her office and she pulls up a chair for him.

"Thank you."

"Does it hurt?"

"It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time."

You place your hands on his shoulders from behind and massage his muscles gently.

"Don't worry, I've been very good at distracting him." Penelope laughs as Spencer looks at you with a smile on his face. You lean down and kiss him Spiderman-style. It's becoming one of your favorite positions to kiss him. When you pull away, you rake your fingers through his hair. "When are you gonna let me braid your hair?"

"Never," he says playfully and pushes you off him. Penelope has a box of cookies on the table, and he reaches to grab one but she slaps his hand away and slaps the lid on it. "Hey!"

"These are for Hotch," she says and puts a bucket of lollipops on top of them.

"I get shot in the leg and I don't get any cookies? You know he's gonna hate the attention," Spencer says and grabs a lollipop.

"It's cookies, not cake."

"He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened," you state.

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to."

"I think maybe we should."

"I don't roll that way."

"I've been thinking about the entire time I've known Hotch, I don't think I've ever seen him blink," Spencer says.

"I know. It's weird."

"It's classic alpha male behavior."

"Do you think he stared down Foyet?" Penelope asks fearfully.

"Yes. I saw it. He didn't go down without a fight, that's for sure."

"Do you think he stared the whole time, like with each stab?"

"Yes."

"Is he okay?"

"I wouldn't be, but I'm a blinker," Spencer says, and you kiss the top of his head.

The door opens and JJ walks in with files in her hands.

"Spence, Y/N, there you two are. Grab your go bag."

"What's going on?"

"Turn on the news."

Penelope turns on one of the news channels that's talking about the most recent crime your team is going to investigate.

"Just after eight this morning, forty-year-old Darrin Call, a lifelong resident of Louisville, assaulted customers at the pharmacy on the corner of Main and Truxton Avenue. Eyewitnesses saw him walking east on Main Street minutes after the attack. He has not been seen since then. He was wearing a blue shirt, jeans, and a light-gray jacket. Within the hour, the Governor has called in all sources for a manhunt. Despite these statewide efforts, the suspect has eluded law enforcement. The body count is rising. Three are confirmed dead including an armed bank guard whose gun was used in the attack. Another two remain in critical condition. The assailant is still out there. We are going back to Eric Jennings who's been talking to residents of Louisville residents."

"We're going to Louisville."

"Alright. Bye, Pen."

You get up and escort Spencer out of her office over to his desk. You grab both yours and his bag since he can't carry his own and use his crutches, and you two head out with the team to the airplane. Spencer takes the couch to rest his leg while you take one of the chairs surrounding the small table.

"Our point person in Louisville is Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell," JJ says.

Just then, Hotch and Emily walk onto the plane, and you immediately feel anger coming off Hotch in waves. He has a stoic look on his face like always but the anger is stewing deep down inside him. It's a calm anger and it's all for Foyet.

"Good morning," Hotch greets.

"You look well, sir," Penelope says over video chat.

"Thank you. How long do you have that?" Hotch asks Spencer about his crutches.

"I'm not really sure. Welcome back."

"Thanks. Any other attacks?"

"No, not yet. Call's proven hard to track. He's never had a driver's license, so he's most likely still on foot or public transportation."

"No, he's not gonna take the bus. His face is everywhere," you shake your head.

"Has anyone found a stressor?"

"He just lost his job," Penelope explains. "He's worked at a factory since 1990 making appliances and not a single promotion."

"That's a long time to be bitter."

"Yeah, he's of the hermit variety. As far as I can tell, he's got no one. No wife, no kids, and no parents."

"Nothing to live for. Why hasn't he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?"

"He's not finished yet," Spencer answers Hotch. "We know he has displaced anger. He took it out on the first victim."

"The stock boy represents someone. We need to know who. Is he military?"

"No."

"He's lashing out for a reason. This guy's got anger, endless targets, and a gun. He's just getting started."

When the plane lands, you go off with Derek and Hotch to the crime scene at the pharmacy while Spencer and JJ head to the police station to get set up. Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell is waiting for them as soon as they walk in, and he's eager to get started. Before your team landed in Louisville, he created checkpoints on the state's lines at both the I-64 and I-65 and within a twenty-mile radius downtown. They think he's still on foot.

Take into consideration the average walking speed of two and a half miles per hour, and it's been just under three hours, then that adds up to an approximate eight-mile radius. First responders started a hard-target search of businesses and residences within that eight miles, and you're going to join them.

The lieutenant dug up all he could on Darrin Call but didn't find much. Me and Rossi are at his apartment so they might be able to find something the police couldn't. The strategy in all of this is to determine where he's headed next in order to stop him. Most spree killers are outwardly aggressive, and Darrin isn't that. He's defensive even if the video doesn't immediately show it.

You watch the video of Darrin over and over again until you see it. Darrin isn't aggressive until someone touches him. That's what set him off. It happens before he stabs someone. He hates being touched which is a trigger for him. 

He never meant to hurt these people, and he never went in there with a weapon. JJ is working with the media to inform them as soon as she possibly can. Darrin's apartment is a five-minute walking distance from the pharmacy but there is no sign at his apartment that he came back to wash off the blood, which means he's still bloody and walking around town like that.

Penelope says he doesn't have any family, so where is he going to go looking like that? He might be messy in the head and in his everyday life, but his apartment is really neat or maybe he's military or hospitalized which means he has the same routine every day.

However, today is different. He killed three people. Why did it change?

The energy left at the pharmacy is astounding. The energy is breaking off into different streams as if it's panicking. Darrin isn't right in the head and he is definitely going to hurt himself sooner rather than later. He's going to piss off the wrong person and get hurt.

"Hotch, he's losing his mind. His mind is tearing itself into pieces. This energy is being pulled apart." Hotch stares straight ahead without giving you any indication that he heard you. "Hotch, did you hear me?"

"Yeah," he nods and walks off.

Hotch isn't okay. Who would be after what he went through?

"Mr. Call was always so quiet. He's been coming here for years," a woman talking to Derek says.

She is the pharmacist responsible for giving out medications to people.

"Has he ever had a run-in with the stock boy?"

"I can't see why he would. John was new here. I waved him over. I didn't know what else to do. No one else was helping."

"He didn't turn violent until you gave him his prescription?" you ask.

"It wasn't his. It was somebody else's. I just wanted him to calm down."

"JJ's press conference is in five minutes," Hotch says when he joins the group.

"Hotch, we might have something else here. Why didn't you give him his own medication?" Derek asks the woman.

"He didn't have any refills left."

"For what?"

"Alprazolam, but he used to be on Thiothixene."

"He was on an antipsychotic?" Hotch asks.

"That's why I wanted him to calm down. He's been off his medications for about a month now."

"When were you gonna tell us this? He's armed and delusional. Who's his doctor?" Hotch asks angrily.

"I don't remember. My computer..."

You turn to see her computer had been damaged in the fight.

"Great," Hotch scoffs and walks off.

"I'm sorry."

You and Derek look at each other because Hotch is completely out of line for this.

"He's not listening to us. I've seen this kind of behavior before. He's not going to want to listen. Not until he catches Foyet." You two walk over to Hotch. "Hotch."

"Call JJ and tell her about the meds."

"This is not her fault and you know it."

"Morgan, he's in a psychotic break. It changes everything."

"Do you want to talk about this?"

"No! I want to find him!" Hotch sighs in frustration and pulls out his phone to call Penelope. "Garcia, he's been off his antipsychotic for a month. What else did you miss?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't get his medical records yet, so--"

"Find them. Find everything."

"Yes, sir."

x

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[ghouljams]

This is a very, very short OC fic featuring @mariamakeslemons oc Lilac because I got such a clear vision of this scene. I'm prepping Witch and Price for parenthood.

"This one's clary sage," you hum, turning the worn page of your grimoire, you take Lilac's hand and drag her fingers along the inked stem and leaves, "see how her flowers curve like the moon?" The child hums a sleepy assent. "She's a guide through our dreams, aids with bringing the darkness to light." You cuddle your student a little closer, jostle her just enough to make her slowly nodding head rest against your shoulder. Maybe you're having her help too much during shop hours. Poor thing is exhausted.

You remember doing this with your mom, listening to the soft rise and fall of her voice, feeling the memories etched into each page, the remnants of a flower's smell, of lambs ear's softness. You'd always fallen asleep before she could get to 'D' and it seemed like your student was no different. You turn to press your lips against her forehead, a small affection you only allow yourself when you know it wont embarrass her. Sometimes you feel more like her mother than her teacher, but you don't particularly mind. Lilac is a good kid, and she deserves a better teacher than- actually you're probably the best teacher she could find not to toot your own horn. She deserves better family than you, you suppose.

You turn to the next page with her tucked against your side, you keep your voice soft and even reading through the next herb. You repeat the process of taking her hand, tracing it over the drawn in leaves, and explaining associations. You know that she's asleep, but you're still waiting on Price to finish up with his book.

You glance at him from your place reclined on the bed against a few pillows, a throw blanket over your and Lilac's laps, perfectly cozy for a bedtime story. Eleven isn't too old for that, right? Price is sitting in the corner chair, the one you usually end up tossing clothing on when you're too lazy to fold them. He turns the page of a war novel, his eyes scanning over each word until he notices you aren't reading anymore.

"She asleep?" He asks, his fingers dog-ear the page as he closes the book. You nod, careful not to move Lilac too much as you close your tome and set it aside. Price takes the opportunity to scoop Lilac up into his arms, lifting her carefully off the bed so as not to wake her. You smile, remembering your father doing much the same thing. "I'll get her tucked in." He mumbles, and you nod slipping off the bed to follow him.

Lilac's room is really starting to come together. It makes you happy to see some new small thing join her little collection. The empty shelves on the walls are ever so slowly being filled as Lilac grows more comfortable, and it makes your heart clench hoping that the little girl who showed up with virtually nothing could leave here with a full suitcase.

You pad along behind Price, enjoying the way the clean hardwood sticks ever so slightly to your bare feet. You know Lilac doesn't like being away from you too long, so you wait in her doorway as Price settles her on the bed and tugs your family quilts up over her shoulders to tuck her in. He reaches up and pulls his pinched fingers down an invisible string hanging above the bed. Fae magic that smolders at the end, dripping soft purplish smoke into the room. It settles on the ground, heavy, with little pinpricks of starlight glistening through. It smells like clary sage, and you smile to yourself thinking Price was listening to you read.

"Should sound proof this place a little better," Price tells you. Ah. Not quite as sweet as you thought then. Better than nothing you suppose as he settles a hand on the small of your back and pushes you back towards your room. You don't hear Lilac's door close, and glance back to see Price has left it open a crack, enough light from the hall filtering through the crack to keep the bad dreams at bay.

"How'd you feel about havin' our own little one?" Price hums, his hand already sliding around your waist.

"You can ask for sex like a normal person," You grin.

"Suppose I could," He smiles back, "but it's more fun like this."

[reticent-writer]

Choso x gn reader ( @berryghostbunny )

college au

warning: mention of throw up

summary: You and Choso go to a college party

Your first college party. You had been warned about college parties, pacing yourself, keeping an eye on your drink, don't sleep with strangers, etc. But you didn't worry too much because you had your boyfriend to protect you.

One problem tho... You were terrible at pacing yourself. an hour into the party you were the drunkest you have ever been and it was starting to get a bit overwhelming.

You sat on the couch of what you guessed was the living room when the whole room started to get hot. The music started to become muffled, and the people blurred into moving lights.

You tried to calm yourself by getting some water but as soon as you stood up you felt nauseous.

You flashed a look to Choso which he got immediately the hit and was at your side in an instant.

"Maybe we should get some fresh air, love." Choso wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you outside where there was a porch swing. He gently sat you down,

"I'll be back with some water." He pecked your head before running inside.

As you sat there and waited for him when the nauseous feeling came back, you quickly leaned over the porch railing and let everything out.

"Oh baby," You didn't even notice Choso come up behind you until he had his hand on your back. running his hand up and down soothingly, "Maybe it's time for us to go home."

You were about to object but you had to throw up again.

When you were finished wiped your mouth and leaned back to look at him. He smiled at you as he handed you a bottle of water.

"Let's go home."

*bonus*

At home Choso ran you a bath.

"Feeling better, love?" He said while sitting on the side of the bathtub resting his hand on your arm.

"So much better... Why don't you join me."

"I want to make sure you feel better."

"I already told you I do and I'll feel 10 times better if you join me." You raise your hand to place over his that touches your arm. He took that hand and brought it to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss.

"Your wish is my command, love."

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿