#I already have enough trouble sleeping away from home did we have to make it worse

[skyward-floored]

The air conditioning isn’t working in the entire upstairs of this house, it’s like 80 degrees in the room where I’m sleeping 😭

[hivemuthur]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to make a request. Could u write something super fluffy w vik, just pure, cozy domestic vibes with no work since it’s the weekend—maybe soft morning sex, making and sharing breakfast, taking care of Viktor’s potted plants, grocery shopping, or anything along those lines. And vik realises that taking a break from his work isn’t so bad at all. Thank you so much!

Hi Anon! I guess I shouldn't bother anymore, but sorry for the long wait :v here's some morning sex with Viktor hehe (and they do other things too)

Long Weekend

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut + fluff

word count: 2,3K

artist on X

—

Viktor wakes with one arm less than he should have only to realise your head resting in the crease of his elbow acts as a dam holding his blood back from circulating toward his fingers. He wonders, for a moment, what happens there, in his fingertips with all the trapped cells, whether they wither away as his tissues desperately suck out all of the available oxygen or do they squeeze past the press of your cheek, just at a very slow rate.

He connects the tips of his thumb and index finger only to make sure he feels absolutely nothing from the elbow down and wonders again if he should wake you or just shake you off gently. His mind lands on the former, sleep still crusting his eyes as he begins to squeeze his feeling palm between the skin on your cheek and the valley of his joint, accidentally coaxing a protest from your mouth.

“Viki, no,” you groan softly, eyes still closed, brows scrunching. Hand bats his fingers away and he chuckles, voice still hoarse, “Baby, we will have to amputate soon if you don’t free me.”

“Noo,” you whine, wrapping yourself around him like a vice, leg pressing on his belly, arm squeezing between his waist and a mattress, free hand coming to rake through his hair. He sighs, flexing his fingers and elbow, blood crushing back forcefully, almost unpleasantly, as the feeling of thousands of prickling pins surges under his skin, soaking into the muscles.

“That will work,” he says, wrapping his thawing fingers into your hair and scratching your scalp.

“Wait.” You open one eye and throw him a suspicious look. “Are you not trying to flee?”

He shakes his head with a soft smile and presses a kiss to your temple, then sighs. “I promised, did I not? I’m an honourable man.”

You only eye him suspiciously, fully prepared for the I’ll only pop to work for an hour trick. Or the other one, the I forgot something one. You hate them both equally, but you did make him promise, with a hand on his chest and eyes drilled into yours as he repeated the vow word for word after you. Such dramatic means to cage your man at home for two days, if somebody asks you, but desperate times called for desperate methods.

So desperate, that when he folded with an exasperated, “Fine,” it was nearly not enough, so you followed him around the apartment asking constantly, “Do you really promise?” to the point of driving him insane. So he seized your nagging mouth with his, wrapped his hands around you and breathed, “I promise, to everything that’s sacred.” Kissed you some more, kicked your legs so you were the force dragging you both to the bedroom, and then he said, “Shut up already,” with all the love poured into it and then fucked you stupid so you had no more questions left in you.

And now you lay here, promise so far being kept, seeping through Viktor’s arms wrapped around you, his foot tickling yours gently and his stomach rising and falling, your thigh with it.

“Alright then,” you give him the benefit, lowering your head back onto his chest and he chuckles and yawns, loud and wide. You play with the hair curling around his ears, press your nose to the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of sleep on him.

Heartbeat still slow, pumping lazily, Viktor runs his hand over your thigh, fingers spread wide when he gets to your ass and grabs a handful of flesh, kneading and squeezing. He hums, pats one of the cheeks so you snake up a bit to meet his mouth and you share the morning drool with him, heavy and sticky, before your jaw unlocks and your tongue wakes up properly.

“Hmm, what’s this for?” you ask, rolling your weight onto him, your chests now flush together as you tangle all of your fingers into his hair.

“Just exploring the benefits of sleeping in,” says Viktor, lips curving into a smile, and indeed he is exploring, adjusting your ass to rest on his core and he rocks you gently into another kiss. All so slow, sloppy almost, if the two of you weren’t still carrying the sand of sleep within you, hands dry and warm on each other.

“Please explore further, maybe I will convince you to finally take a vacation.” With that you press yourself down onto him and Viktor grunts out something like a warning, keeping you in place when you try to retreat.

“Let’s start with a long weekend, hmm? Baby steps,” he purrs into your mouth and rolls his hips underneath you, holding you still as he licks the quiet moan off your lips. How sweet it tastes on his tongue when you are all warm and pliant and all he has to do is to just shift a little bit to rub himself on you.

He looks so pretty in the morning glow—sun sinking into the room through the cracks in the curtains paints him in golden stains, plays around his eyes and hair as you run your thumbs through the hollows of his cheeks. You sink back into a kiss. His tongue feels soft, and you melt between breaths, first drops of heat slipping out of you onto his cock.

Ass still in his grasp, you do little to no movement and just let his mouth travel from the corner of your mouth to your chin and jaw, where he sucks, then leaves a shy nip, teeth barely there. You flex your neck under his lips, your back arches more and more until he slides freely between his lower abdomen and your pussy, and you have to bury your face back in his neck.

He cocks his head so that his lips brush your forehead when he utters, “I want you.”

Wordlessly, you lick your palm and reach it between you, fingers wrapping around his cock in a lazy stroke. You press gently on the base, drag your touch to the top and rub his head on your clit, everything in the rhythm of your hips rocking together.

“Tease,” he smirks, and you hum a chuckle into his throat.

What is feels like to have your man unhurried, to not have to grasp his belt in haste and press your face into his crotch in an attempt to keep him home for ten more minutes, indescribable. You could whine to this feeling only, the realisation that you could be at it for hours and nothing will interrupt you, nothing will take him away from you today.

It swells in your chest as you slide him inside you, slowly, inch filling you by inch and Viktor squeezes your ass tighter, guiding you down on him with a slow, breathy exhale, as if this brings him relief. You leech your mouth onto the spot where his jaw is sharpest, then lick his ear to finally kiss it as reverently as you would kiss his mouth.

He exhales deeply and you can feel the stretch travelling up your core. Once he is hilted, you just breathe, adjust to him, teasing him with gentle flex of your muscles and smile each time a pretty sound falls from his lips. For a while it’s just a twitch for twitch, gasp for gasp, a non-verbal conversation happening between your mouths while your bodies negotiate who will make the first move.

Viktor does, bending his knees and spreading your thighs further apart. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and respond with a small roll of your hips, rocking his cock inside you. “Yes,” a quiet praise falls from him as the bond between his hands and your ass is finally severed and the white imprints of where he touched fade into pink. The same touch travels up, stops around your hip to hook in its crease while his other hand strokes the curve of your spine and rests wrapped around the back of your neck.

His touch is warm, still sleepy, every deep breath and slow beat of a heart translates into a squeeze here and there as his fingers sink back into your skin.

“It seems I’ve been missing a lot, hmm?” he hums, extending his fingers to the base of your skull, drawing dozy purrs from you.

“You have no idea,” you say, your mind half-there, half of it concentrated on milking Viktor’s cock and sliding up and down his torso. The usually raw country of his body is so welcoming now, his navel peppered with dark hair grinding underneath you, stomach bellowing slowly into yours until you are all mixed breaths and hands holding each other through each slow thrust.

The buildup is creeping into your muscles gently, swelling, pulsing in your lower belly each time Viktor grunts or moans against your mouth. “So good,” he whispers, eyes closed, his eyelashes dusting over your cheek. With the lapping subtlety of incoming tide the shape of you becomes the shape of him and you both wax into one through this calm completion reached between breaths, praises shared like a secret between your mouths.

You come wrapped around him tightly, and Viktor follows soon after, spilling himself inside you with a few slow thrusts, his face buried in your neck. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, arms still holding you close, his body drenched in bliss.

“I will admit,” he murmurs, cradling your head, “this is better than crawling into the lab at seven in the morning.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you smirk, already busy kissing his neck as he softens inside you. “I’ll have you know this activity comes with coffee, too.”

“Does it now? I don’t see any. I think I’ll have to speak with your manager,” Viktor teases, rolling you both over so that he’s now lying on top of you. “I’ll make the coffee. You stay here,” he mutters, pressing a soft peck to your lips.

“Why?”

“I want to explore this activity further once I’m properly awake,” he says, scrambling out of bed, fastening his brace, and throwing the nearest jumper over his shoulders. It’s yours.

You stretch out lazily, and indeed, when Viktor returns with the coffee pot, you explore the activity further—this time, faster. Until your stomach betrays your other basic human need, making it clear that you both need to eat.

Squeezing oranges for juice is your job, yet you barely press on the fruits, too busy ogling Viktor’s hands as he cracks eggs into the frying pan.

“See something you like?” he teases, and you wonder how he knows without even looking at you.

“Shut up,” you snort, putting more effort into dismembering the oranges.

You eat together, and the stupid grin on your face refuses to fade. You don’t even try to hide it. Viktor only smiles knowingly between bites, though he does his best not to look too triumphant about it. His foot nudges yours under the table, and when you glance up at him, he tilts his head, feigning innocence.

"What’s so amusing?" he asks, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

"Nothing," you hum, still grinning. "I’m just enjoying this."

He chuckles, shaking his head, but doesn't argue.

The two of you part only for the essentials—morning routines and quick trips to grab fresh clothes—but for the rest of the day, you remain practically attached at the hip. You go out for groceries, Viktor's hand settling on the small of your back as you navigate the market together. He huffs in amusement as you haggle for the best produce, muttering something about your ‘ruthless negotiation tactics,’ but in the end, he lets you have your way.

Back home, you cook side by side, shoulders brushing as you move around the kitchen. Viktor insists he’s a very precise sous-chef, but you catch him sneaking a taste of whatever he’s chopping. “Quality control,” he claims, entirely unapologetic.

By the afternoon, you curl up with a book, your head resting on Viktor’s lap as he absentmindedly strokes your hair. You feel him shift beneath you every so often, his fingers twitching like he’s reaching for a pen, but he never gets up. He never moves toward his work. You’re fairly sure you’ve achieved the impossible—his mind is not consumed by research or equations. Just you. Just this moment.

Evening settles in, golden light spilling through the windows, and Viktor all but drags you back toward the bedroom. You laugh, half-protesting, but his grip is firm, his intent undeniable.

“Has the domestic life won you over already?” you tease.

Viktor hums, tilting his head as if considering. “Almost. Perhaps a little more convincing would work in your favour, though.”

You arch a brow, playing along. “And what’s in it for me?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Viktor’s lips before he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I think I’ve warmed up to the idea of a long weekend,” he murmurs, his voice rich with suggestion. His fingers trail feather-light up your spine, teasing, slow. “I just need… one last push.”

You gasp as his hands find their mark, but before you can retaliate, Viktor sweeps you up into another kiss, effectively ending the conversation in favour of much more persuasive arguments.

When sleep finally claims you both, tangled in each other’s warmth, Viktor realises something. The world did not collapse. The lab did not burn down. His work is still there, waiting, but today... today belonged to something else. To something just as important.

And maybe, just maybe, taking a break isn’t so bad after all.

[pathologicalreid]

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

[chaeuvy]

⸝⸝ ＃┆ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ⎯ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐀 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀

summary: Aizawa’s day was already awful—until it ended with a kiss that changed everything. You’ve always been there for Eri… and quietly, for him. When a slip of the tongue exposes the truth, he finally lets himself want something more. But even in the most heated moment, there’s still a little girl with big ears and even bigger dreams of calling you family.

warnings: sfw, slightly nsfw, Fem!reader, Age gap (reader is 23, Aizawa is 32), make out, Mutual pining, Soft Dom!Aizawa, dad!aizawa, Confession during domestic moment, Emotional intimacy, Interrupted intimacy, Found family themes.

wc: 2.3k words.

request: here

Aizawa Shouta never thought babysitting drop-offs could make his day worse—and better—all at once.

He stood in the doorway of his apartment, tie half-done, sleep-deprived as always, Eri clutching his pant leg and a stuffed unicorn. You were inside, crouched on the rug, smile wide, holding out your arms.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you cooed, voice warm and syrupy. Not at him, of course. At Eri. Always at Eri.

But gods, he wished it were for him.

He watched his little girl let go of his leg and scamper over, giggling in a way she rarely did with anyone else. Eri trusted you. Loved you. And so did he—though he’d die before saying that out loud.

“Thanks again,” he said gruffly, scratching at his jaw. “I’ll be back around six.”

You gave him a quick nod, rising to your feet and brushing cat hair off your leggings. You always managed to look cozy and kind. Comfortable. Safe. You made even his shitty apartment feel like a home.

“Take your time, really. Eri and I are painting rainbows today. And maybe having cookies for lunch.” You winked, and Shouta’s mouth went dry.

He wanted to say something clever. Wanted to ask if you’d save him a cookie. Or maybe if you’d stay for dinner. But all that came out was a grunt.

You tilted your head, watching him with that soft, almost amused look. “You okay?”

No. Not even close.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You gave him a smile. “You always are.”

And that was it. Another morning of biting his tongue and walking away from something that almost felt like home. Something he told himself he couldn’t have. You were 23—young, bright, still hopeful. You wore socks with stars on them and called his daughter “sunshine.” And he was a thirty-two-year-old man with a trauma history, a teaching career, and under-eye bags.

He couldn’t—shouldn’t—even think about how much he wanted you. How much he looked forward to coming home just to hear your laugh in his kitchen.

Today was worse than usual.

The sun hadn’t risen yet when he left the house, and the meeting at U.A. had dragged on long enough to make him want to vanish into the floor. He’d downed two energy drinks and still felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

All day, he’d been off his game—thinking about you.

You, sitting on the floor in his hoodie, laughing as Eri danced in sparkly socks.

You, humming while making grilled cheese.

You, yawning with your cheek pressed against your fist, eyes still soft when they looked at him.

It was starting to ruin him.

He wasn’t just looking forward to coming home anymore—he was desperate for it.

So when he finally stepped into the apartment that evening, and the smell of sugar cookies hit him first, followed by your voice—soft, reading something aloud—he nearly dropped his keys.

You were in the kitchen, Eri perched on the counter beside you, giggling as you iced cookies. You looked over your shoulder and smiled like you knew he was there before he even said a word.

That smile did something to him. It cracked something open.

“Hey,” you said, brushing hair from your forehead. “Rough day?”

Shouta swallowed, loosened his tie, nodded. “Yeah.”

Eri ran to him with icing on her nose. “Look! We made stars!”

“Mm. Smells like trouble.”

“She said we could have cookies for dinner,” Eri whispered dramatically. “But don’t tell.”

You gave an innocent shrug. “I regret nothing.”

He should’ve walked away. Should’ve gone to change or shower, anything to stop what was coming next. But you looked so at home in his kitchen. In his life.

So he said it. Stupid, without thinking.

“…Wish you were mine.”

Silence.

His heart stopped. His mouth snapped shut. But it was too late.

Your head tilted just slightly. You blinked at him once, slowly, like you weren’t sure if you heard right. “What did you say?”

He stared at the floor. “Forget it. I’m tired, I didn’t—”

“No,” you said. Gentle. Quiet. Almost breathless. “Say it again.”

He looked up.

You stepped closer. Close enough that he could see the flour dusted on your cheek and smell the vanilla on your sweater. Eri had wandered off toward the couch, humming to herself, leaving just the two of you in the low kitchen light.

“Shouta,” you whispered. “Say it again.”

He closed his eyes. His voice was hoarse.

“I wish you were mine.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft, but sure. Like you’d been holding it back just as long. Like you’d been waiting for this very crack in his armor.

He kissed you back like he didn’t care anymore. Like rules and age gaps and guilt could all burn if it meant having this—you. His hands slid to your waist, grounding himself, anchoring to the moment.

When your lips parted and your breath hitched, he swore quietly and kissed you again—hungrier this time. Deeper. The dam broke.

You whispered his name like it meant something sacred.

And that was it.

“Bedroom,” he muttered. “Now.”

You almost nodded—almost let yourself melt into the warmth of it— until it hit you.

Eri was still awake.

She was in the living room, humming softly as she arranged her toys, blissfully unaware. Or so you thought.

Shouta’s hands were still at your waist, his forehead brushing yours as he caught his breath—until the patter of little feet broke the quiet.

Eri rounded the corner, wide-eyed and grinning.

“You kissed! I saw you!”

You froze. So did Aizawa.

Then she gasped dramatically, throwing her arms in the air.

“Now you just have to marry her! And then we don’t have to share her with anyone else, Dad!”

Aizawa blinked, stunned. And you? You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

← MHA ┆ NAVI →

a/n : thanks for reading.. it’s kinda short but I hope I did well !

© 2025 chaeuvy ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !

[cozage]

2k followers lets goooo!!! (Proud follower hereee!!!) And ive been wanting to request smth from you for a while now and i think this is the perfect opportunity !! Can u create some hesdcanons for sabo, law, luffy, zoro, and sanji (maybe shanks too?) where the reader wants to leave the crew/organization their in coz of smth from their past, making them have to? They could've already left, about to leave quietly, betrayed them unwillingly etc!!! Do your thing !

^ - ^

Angst to comfort plsss my heart cannot take anymore heartbreaks huhuhu

A/N: just did the captains for now :)

Characters: gn reader x Sabo, Law, Luffy, Shanks Total word count: 1.2k

Blackmail

Sabo

You were gone when Sabo woke up. No note, nothing. But you had knocked out some security guards in your escape off the island. So Sabo set off, trying to figure out where you had gone. He would go to the ends of the earth to find you again if he had to. 

Some people called it denial. Some called it insanity. Some called it pitiful. He didn’t care. He had been called all those things before.

But he knew you. He knew that you wouldn’t betray him. Not like that. He refused to believe everything you two shared wasn’t just an act. 

He chased you for weeks, following your tracks and just barely missing you at several encounters.

He was so close, and he couldn’t help but feel like you were leaving him a trail. You knew how to disappear. The fact that he could find you meant you wanted to be found. 

When he finally found you, curled up in a bed with shackles around your arms as you slept, he knew you were doing everything against your will. The two men who were guarding you were easy enough to take care of, and he woke you up gently. 

“We’re going home,” he whispered, unlocking your cuffs. 

When you realized it was him, you began sobbing, apologizing for all the trouble you had caused. But he refused to accept your apologize-you owed him nothing of the sort. You were safe now, that’s what mattered. 

After you return home and he’s certain you’re safe, he sets off to find the mastermind behind the whole blackmailing situation. He’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again, and those people need to be taught a lesson. 

Law

Your plan was to slip out quietly, in the dead of night. You had snuck sleeping pills into everyone’s drinks, and you were certain they would be out until morning. 

So your heart dropped when the light flicked on as you were stealthing through Law’s office to take your leave. 

“Y/N,” Law’s voice was steady and alert. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” You refused to look at him. He’d be able to see through you in an instant.

“Is that why you attempted to drug me?” he asked, and you silently cursed yourself. Of course he would notice. “This isn’t like you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said through gritted teeth. “Stay out of it.”

“I know you enough to realize your hands are clenched and your entire body is tight, which means you’re doing something you don’t want to do. I also know you won’t look at me when you’re lying, so you’re obviously hiding something.”

“Just stay out of it, Law.” You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if he got hurt.

He suddenly shambled in front of you, and you couldn’t hide your tear-filled eyes anymore. He stared down at you, slightly disappointed in your lack of trust in him.

“We can figure this out together,” he reminded you. “You’re not alone. And we’re stronger together than we are apart.”

You let out a sob and collapsed into his chest, thankful for his endless love and acceptance, even when you tried to push him away. 

Luffy

Luffy didn’t understand what you meant by “leaving the crew”. Especially since you wrote it on a note.

“We’re all in agreement, right?” he asked his crew. “Y/N needs our help. So we’re going to help.”

Everyone was in instant agreement. A goodbye note wasn’t like you. Even if you did want to leave, they all deserved more than a note. 

Luffy made it his top priority to find you. They scoured the island, searching for hours. But nobody found you.

The next day, Luffy was the first one awake, and he was on the island before Sanji could even make breakfast. He was searching, determined to find you. 

When he finally rounded a corner and made eye contact with you, your eyes widened. “Leave me alone!” you hissed, and then you took off running.

He easily chased after you and tackled you to the ground. “You’re not leaving!” he yelled, pinning your arms to the ground. “Not like that!”

“Luffy!” you hissed. You both needed to be quiet, or he would be seen. “Please go! Just leave.”

“Haven’t you learned?” he asked, his voice breaking. “We’re a family. We solve problems together. You don’t leave notes saying goodbye. Don’t we mean anything to you? Don’t I?”

His big, sad eyes finally made you break down, explaining everything to him and how you couldn’t sail with him due to a problem you had on the island. 

Needless to say, Luffy fixed that problem immediately and had already forgotten about it all by the time the two of you got back to the ship. 

Shanks

“That’s a lot of supplies for a quick run to port.” Shanks’s joking tone was present, but you could hear that his voice held something else.

“Things to sell,” you replied smoothly. If you could get off the boat and away from the crew, then at least they wouldn’t be hurt in the process.

Shanks hummed, clearly not believing you. “Strange of you to sell your most prized possessions, yet leave the emeralds and diamonds we picked up from that other ship.”

“Shanks-”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on.”

You thought about running, but a glimmer from the crow’s nest told you that Yasopp was watching closely. Time to switch to Plan B. “I’m leaving.”

You could feel Shank’s gaze on you, his heart breaking at your words. 

“I don’t like it here anymore,” you said, trying to keep your wits about you. “It’s suffocating. I can’t stand it.” You turned to look at him, mustering all the hatred you could. “I can’t stand any of you.”

You could see Shanks wrestling with your words, trying to decipher truth from lie. You had an excellent poker face, but unfortunately, he knew that as well. 

“Kiss me, then.” Shanks walked toward you, and you stiffened at the thought. “You may be able to lie with your words, but your lips don’t lie when they’re pressed against mine. So let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

“I never want to kiss you aga-” His lips crashed into yours, cutting your words off. 

You tried to pull away, but you couldn’t. Your body simply wouldn’t let you. After a few moments, he pulled away, and you let out a soft whine in protest. 

Shanks grinned, the answer to his question plain as day. He was relieved to know you didn’t actually hate him, but now there was an actual problem to be solved. 

But he didn’t blame you, he blamed whoever put you in this situation. And surely they would pay.

[runninriot]

Damn You, Capitalism!

inspired by and written for @sidekick-hero , hope that helps getting through the day 🖤 because work sucks (i know!) - but eddie sucks harder 😏

1.231 words | cw: contains smut, nsfw, mdni

also on ao3

Steve has been drowning in work lately, it's a nightmare.

Eddie tries his best to support him, to make things as little stressful for him at home as it can possibly be.

He keeps the guitar unplugged when he's working on new music, to keep the noise at a minimum.

Always makes sure there's some meal ready for Steve to grab and microwave when and if he remembers to eat.

He reminds himself to do the dishes as soon as he's done with them because he knows how much Steve hates when the sink is full of dirty plates and forks and mugs.

Eddie even finally figured out how to use their new washing machine - he's not stupid, just lazy, and- why does that damn thing need so many buttons?

So, yeah. He's trying, really, because it breaks his heart every night when Steve comes home from work, looking one moment away from collapsing. Always tired, always moody, just- miserable.

Eddie wishes he could do more. Wishes he could take some of Steve's stress away, help him relax. Ease his mind just for a while.

And- look, he knows what would probably, most definitely help, that's not the thing. The problem is, Steve can barely even stay up long enough to kiss Eddie goodnight as soon as they're in bed. So any attempts of trying to have some one-on-one quality time with his husband aren't really up for debate right now.

Right?

Right.

He'll just have to wait for this massive project to be over and done with.

---

As Eddie crawls into bed shortly after Steve, he finds him quietly snoring, already fast asleep with his face mushed uncomfortably against his pillow.

Even in his sleep, he looks exhausted and it makes Eddie mad how much that job is demanding of Steve.

He pictures himself in front of the corporate building that holds his husband's soul captive, angrily stomping up and down the pavement while waving a sign that reads Damn You, Capitalism! and the thought makes him laugh.

He realises too late that he's been making an awful lot of noise, instantly shuts himself up with a hand over his mouth when Steve stirs awake and looks at him through bleary eyes.

   "Is everything okay?"

Steve sounds knackered (he learned that word from his British co-worker) and Eddie hates himself for ripping him out of his well-deserved sleep.

   "I'm sorry, baby. Everything's good. I didn't mean to wake you up. Just go back to sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead before he turns off the light and lays down next to him, trying to be as still as he can to let Steve drift off peacefully again.

But the damage is already done. Even without looking he can sense that Steve has trouble falling back asleep and it’s confirmed by the heavy sigh Steve lets out.

   "Can you-" His voice flitters quietly through the room, "Can you suck my dick?”

    Oookay, what?

Eddie can’t help but snort at those words.

Steve must be dreaming. Maybe he did fall back asleep after all.

   “I’m being serious, Eds!” Steve sounds almost offended.

He then rolls to the side and even in the dark, Eddie can see his big eyes staring straight at him.

So, not sleeping, then.

   “Babe, are you sure? I’m just asking because- well, we haven’t done anything for weeks and I miss it. God, do I miss it. But you’ve been completely out of it not even 5 minutes ago and-“

What the hell is he even going on about?

His perfect, beautiful husband wants him to suck him off. Why the fuck is he still babbling instead of using his mouth to do exactly that?

   “I just think it’d help me sleep?”

Steve uses that honeysweet voice of his, the one he knows Eddie can never say no to, the one he always uses to get what he wants. And- like, what is Eddie if not a very devoted, very helpful, very loving husband that would quite literally do anything for his man?

---

Steve’s boxers are gone as quickly as the blanket before Eddie makes himself comfortable between his husband’s spread legs.

It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s already drooling just thinking about the perfect weight of Steve’s glorious cock on his tongue but- excuse him for not keeping his excitement in check when he’s literally been suffering from Steve-withdrawal for weeks now!

Still, he tries to take his time, not wanting it to be over too quickly. He can hear in Steve’s pleading moans that he won’t last long, can taste Steve’s desperation in each drop of precum that hits his tongue as he licks the tip.

It’s heaven.

It’s so good Eddie wants to cry.

    Fuck, he missed this. Missed the familiar stretch of his lips when he takes Steve in, the familiar sound of Steve’s husky voice, the scent of freshly showered skin, the feeling of sinking deeper and deeper on his lover’s cock as he swallows him down like he’s starving for it.

His hips can’t seem to keep still, wiggling and rubbing against the sheets where his own cock is searching for friction. But his focus is on Steve, he can take care of himself later. This is just for the beautiful man that is the light of his life – he deserves it. Deserves to be worshipped like the divine creature he is.

   “Ed- Eddie, oh God! Oh fuck!”

Steve’s words spur him on. He finds the perfect rhythm, uses one hand to pump Steve’s cock while his tongue curls around the tip. His other hand strokes the sensitive skin on his inner thigh, dragging his nails up and down, knowing too well that it drives Steve just a little insane.

   “Babe, I’m- I- fuck! Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I’m so close!”

Eddie wouldn’t dream of it.

Not when it makes him so happy to hear and taste and feel his husband slowly falling to pieces. When, with every staggering breath, Steve crawls a little closer to the edge.

Until finally, Eddie is rewarded with a mouthful of Steve’s love; a sweet gift, despite the bitter taste, he swallows with pride, not wasting a single drop of it, taking it all in.

Beneath him, Steve’s trembling through his orgasm, legs shaking and breath uneven. He stops Eddie with a hand in his hair, tugging just lightly to make him look up.

   “Com’ere, baby. Wanna kiss you.”

A little reluctantly, Eddie leaves the perfect place between Steve’s thighs and crawls on top of him to comply.

They kiss slow and soft, no hurry, just their lips finding each other in the dark with gentle pressure.

   “Love you so much, baby,” Eddie whispers against Steve’s lips as he feels his movements slow down.

And as he kisses his way from Steve’s mouth to his cheek, to the tip of his nose, his closed lids and his forehead, Steve’s breathing eases into a steady, calm rhythm.

He’s asleep again, hopefully dreaming of beautiful things as he sinks deeper into Eddie’s embrace, lets his husband's warmth envelope him where they’re lying side by side.

Steve deserves it.

Because tomorrow, he has to fight his way through the constricting clutches of capitalism again.

Man, capitalism really sucks.

But, Eddie laughs to himself, he can suck harder.

[81pastrys]

Their Mechanic

Part 10 / 10

Summary— Lando ends up with her back at his place, caring for her after getting plastered

Warnings— multiple POVS

A/N— end of a series

Series List

Lando’s POV

As the night went on, trouble was hammered. She almost called Pierre’s bluff in truth or dare to dance on a table again, but I had grabbed her waist before she did. “No, not tonight.” I chuckle at her antics. I pull her back into my lap, resting my hand on her waist.

“I just want to have fun, Lan.” She said seductively, staring into my eyes. I pat her waist and sigh. The guys continue playing. Her dress was riding up her thighs, and I sat her next to me with a hand on her thigh. “I’m getting another drink.” She slurred.

“I’m right behind you, love.” I smile up at her as she pulls her dress down. I follow suit, and she picks up a seltzer. “What if we try water?” I ask, swapping her alcoholic beverage for a bottle of water.

“No fun.” She whined. What I didn’t know was that Oscar had snuck her a beer. I couldn’t take it away from her. I knew she would be upset if I did. She finished it, and I took the empty bottle to the trash, catching Max in conversation.

“Trouble, truth or dare?” Carlos said smoothly through his accent. I hear her giggle, and I turn around.

“Umm, dare.” She said. Carlos goes on to dare her, and I watch in amusement at her doing the dare of seducing me. “Hey, Lan.”

“Hello, my love,” I say back with a smile. She ran her hands up my body, and one ultimately landed on my dick, which was already hard. “No, no.” I chuckle at her. I look to Carlos, who is thoroughly enjoying this. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, yeah?”

“I am getting quite tired.” She winked at me after whispering and giggling in my ear. “Maybe we can take this back to your place?” The seductive tone almost earned her a groan, but I held my composure, knowing she was in no state to be making sane decisions. I clear my throat before responding.

“Let’s take this to my place, huh?” I repeat her words with my seductive touch and hold her waist as I say my goodbyes to my mates.

“You aren’t going to actually, you know?” Oscar whispered in my ear. The concern there, but he knows I would never.

“Absolutely not; I’ll freshen her up and sleep on my couch tonight,” I whisper back so she can’t hear me. It’s only right I give her the entire bed. We aren’t officially together, and I’d freak out if I woke up next to someone I forgot I had even gotten in bed with.

I bring her back to my flat, and she falls asleep. I carry her into my home and lie her on the bed. I grab her a change of clothes, a hoodie, and briefs I’ve never worn. I walk back to her, and she’s awake. “Lan?” She questioned.

“Yes, love?” I respond. She sits up and assesses the situation. The sheer panic in her eyes says it all. “We didn’t do anything; I brought you here to freshen up,” I say calmly. She starts to hyperventilate, and I drop the clothes. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I don’t, I just-“ She stuttered and couldn’t find words. I sit next to her and rub her back soothingly. “You didn’t, we didn’t do anything?” She finally gathered words into a sentence. My face contorts to confusion.

“No, we didn’t; I was going to wake you up so you could change.” The calm of my voice sends a relief through her. Her eyes shoot to the clothes I picked out on the floor. “It’s all I had unless you want something else to put on.”

“I’ll wear it, it’s fine, I’m fine.” She said, calmer now. I get up, hand her the clothes, and guide her to the bathroom. She goes in and locks the door. I walk to my kitchen and make a cup of tea. My mind wondered why she was freaked out. I hadn’t done anything.

“Um, can you lay with me?” she asked from across the living room. I perked up and set my tea down. I walked to her, and she wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you, " she whispered into my chest.

I change into pajama pants and a T-shirt and lie down with her. I plug our phones into chargers, and we drift off to sleep.

Trouble POV

I wake up in someone’s arms and save my emotions for when I find out who’s. It’s Lando. A breath of relief fills my chest. I’m wearing his hoodie and boxers. I cuddle close to his chest, reveling in the man's warmth. He lazily kissed my head.

“Morning.” He mumbled. “Sleep well?” He followed with. I move my head to look up at him and smile. I could get used to this.

“Morning,” I say, tired. “How did I end up in your bed?” I ask, completely serious and confused. He chuckles and runs a hand through my hair soothingly.

“You got drunk on the boat, so I brought you here to freshen up. I was going to sleep on the couch, but you had asked me to lay with you, " He explained. We lay in silence for a little while.

“No sex right?” I ask nervous now. My hands get clammy asking the question and my breathing picks up. I tense up and grasp his shirt tight.

“No, no we didn’t do that.” He reassured me. My breathing calmed and I’m not so tense after hearing that. “You were too far gone to be making decisions like that my love.” Respectful gentleman. My ex would’ve jumped at that opportunity. “Breakfast?”

“You can cook?” I ask, half joking. He’s mentioned before how much of a disaster cooking can be for him. “What do you have?” Maybe I can cook.

“Well, I have a meal plan, but if you can find ingredients be my guest.” He chuckled. I roll my eyes and pat his chest. I throw some water on my face, before heading to the kitchen.

“Pancakes?” I ask. He looks at me surprised and nods. “I’m sure you have the ingredients, I mean flour, sugar, baking powder.” I go on to list ingredients for homemade pancakes. I find what I need, along with a bit extra.

“You cook at home, love?” He asked. I mix the measured ingredients in a bowl. I measure the wet ingredients and slowly incorporate them as well.

“I’ve dabbled, it’s not hard.” I shrug. The stove was on and I put a pan, pouring the mix in circles. “Do you have honey or syrup?” I ask.

“I’m sure I have honey, syrup may be expired.” He laughed.

I didn’t know how to end it, but they lived happily ever after?

[moonstruckme]

so i read somewhere that sometimes a better response to someone struggling with depression is warmth, rather than positivity and i was thinking if you’d be interested in writing a bau!reader x spencer pre-relationship or established relationship whichever u prefer!! where he comforts a depressed reader having a rougher couple of days & is very gentle and understanding and warm towards her 💘

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: depression

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 638 words

You’ve been completely useless through this whole case. You’d sat with the team during various briefings, gone along to view crime scenes and question witnesses, but your brain just wasn’t working hard enough to put anything together. Lately, the effort of cranking the gears is too much. 

You’re considering leaving the rest of your paperwork for another day. You want to not be here so badly. You want your bed. You want to stop being a burden to the team that’s been carrying your dead weight for the past couple of days (and giving you increasingly inquisitive looks throughout that time), and to go home and sleep the weekend away. 

It’s a testament to your fatigue that you smell the coffee before you hear Spencer approaching. Morgan would hand you your ass if he knew. 

“Thanks,” you say, making an effort to smile at Spencer as he sets the plain ceramic mug on your desk. The coffee inside is barely brown, letting you know that he’s already loaded it down with cream and sugar the way you like. 

“Seems like you might have a long night.” He leans back against your desk and braces his hands on either side of his hips, nodding towards your paperwork. 

You shrug. “I don’t know, I’m thinking of leaving it for Monday. Strauss doesn’t need my report that badly.” 

Spencer nods again. “Are you doing okay?” 

“Yeah.” You blow gently on your coffee, wishing the aroma brought you the same sense of contentment it usually does. “Why?” 

“You never let your paperwork sit overnight,” he says. “And you’re not eating as much, having trouble concentrating, looking tired all the time…” Spencer pauses, meeting your eyes. It’s an effort not to drop your gaze. He sounds like he’s been adding things up for a while. “Do you need anything?” 

You smile again. It feels better this time, more genuine. “I’m just having a tough couple of days,” you tell him. “It happens to me sometimes, it’ll pass. But thank you.” 

Spencer’s face smooths out and pinches all at once. For a profiler, he’s shockingly horrible at controlling his expressions. Or maybe he just doesn’t feel the need to around your team. You read him plain as text: relief at having an identified problem, distress at the lack of an easy solution. 

You know he means well, but you can’t stick around to bear the weight of any more disappointment.

“I think I’m going to head out,” you do your best to sound calm, reassuring, as you gather your bag from beneath your desk. “See you Monday, Spence.” 

“Wait.” You pause, but then Spencer’s falling into step beside you, grabbing his bag to follow you to the exit. “Do you want to come over?” 

You look at him, surprised. “To your place?” 

He nods. “Yeah, there’s a marathon of the Jurassic Park movies on tonight. We could watch them and order pizza, or whatever you want.” 

A little laugh startles out of you. The sensation feels odd and atavistic, like a bubble popping in your chest. “You like Jurassic Park?” 

“I like talking about how unfeasible it is,” Spencer says, pressing the button on the elevator. “Did you know velociraptors were about the size of a large bird?” 

“...I did not.” 

“Probably because you watched Jurassic Park.” He smiles, and you can’t help but copy him. “Really, I’m not attached to the idea of watching them. We can do whatever you want.” 

The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth, but Spencer glances down and you release it. “I’m not sure I can pass up the opportunity to witness that much berating,” you say. “How many are there?” 

“Six, not including two short films or the animated series.” 

“Will you hold it against me if I fall asleep?” 

“Not at all.”

[bestruction]

i was the previous anon who asked about requests :D for sasuke i actually have a few ideas... so we know sasuke is like pretty stoic and traumatized so i was thinking of surprising him with a kitten to soften him up because i feel like he would fold and find it so cute even if he doesnt want to admit it and they r just playing with the kitten and its climbing on sasuke and just fluff, i really love the idea of gentle sasuke bc it gives me sm comfort :) i was also thinking of an au idea, i saw someone say they imagine the uchihas as asylum patients in a modern au bc of how insane and traumatizing their lives were and i was thinking of a oneshot or something of being sasukes nurse and slowly falling in love, it doesnt have to be a modern au though because i feel like a mental institution in the naruto universe isnt too unrealistic of an idea right? thank u for reading :) im going through a bad time rn and ur work has been so comforting

Hello there ❤️ I hope life is treating you better, and it made me genuinely happy to read that you find comfort in my stories. Thank you for sharing that with me.

I love both of your ideas! But for tonight, I'm picking Sasuke with a kitten one. I have a soft spot for kitties and him. It's a deadly combination to my mind and also, I loooove to explore how gentle he is although he is emotionally constipated.

Sasuke and kitty

You brought a kitty home, and he was very against it at first. You two barely had time for yourselves between missions and fixing the things in the Uchiha district. A pet isn't just cute. It's more responsibility but when he saw you crying? Big eyes saying you couldn't just leave the cat alone after bringing him home and giving them hope? He couldn't bring himself to say no.

So he agreed to keep the little animal under one condition: he was entirely your responsibility. Food, vet visits, training, playing, cleaning after...All you (he was actually trying to make you give up but it didn't work).

Weeks passed. True to his word, Sasuke did not lift a finger. He even named it "Trouble" ;-; He barely looked in Trouble’s direction, acting as if the tiny creature didn’t exist in the household. But you saw the way he paused in the mornings when the kitten curled up in the window. How he left his office door cracked open just enough for a curious nose to sneak in.

One evening, you came home early from a mission. The house was quiet, the kind of peace that hinted someone had already settled in for the night.

You stepped silently down the hallway and paused just at the corner of the sitting room.

Sasuke was on the floor.

Trouble sat on his chest, tiny paws kneading gently into his shirt, purring like a tiny engine. Sasuke’s hands, so often weapons of precision and destruction, were now playfully nudging a little ball of yarn the cat was batting back at him.

He didn’t even look annoyed.

No, he was… smiling.

The soft kind. The kind no one ever saw.

Trouble crawled up and bopped Sasuke’s cheek with a paw. Sasuke let out a barely audible chuckle—a chuckle—and murmured, “You're a menace, just like her"

Your heart melted on the spot.

Of course, the moment he noticed you, his entire body stiffened. He carefully lifted the kitten off him and sat up as if you hadn’t just caught him.

“You’re home early.”

“Mmhmm.” You leaned on the doorway, trying to hide your grin. “You and Trouble seem to be getting along.”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “He got stuck in the shoji door. I had to get him out. He was… distressed.”

You blinked. “So you played with him for an hour? It looks like someone is falling in love”

“He is still your responsibility only”

You walked over and sat beside him. Trouble, sensing the perfect opportunity, promptly climbed onto your lap and curled into a ball of fur and sleep.

Sasuke gave the kitten a quick glance, then looked away.

“You’re allowed to like him, you know.”

“I don’t.”

You bumped his shoulder gently. “Right.”

He gave you a sideways look, then softened. “…Maybe he’s not entirely useless.”

You smiled, your hand brushing over his. Coming from him, that was huge praise.

“You're a softie, Sasuke.”

He scowled, but the corner of his lips betrayed him. “Don't push it.”

And somewhere between your laughter and the quiet purr of a cat finally safe and loved, Sasuke found that maybe… just maybe… some trouble was worth keeping around.

"We can't keep calling him Trouble, by the way," You say glaring at him because he was the one who stared it.

[nburkhardt]

I got a scene in my head and now it’s gotta be something.

Claudia Henderson took one look at Steve Harrington and decided he is hers. She looked at her Dusty and saw a matching determination and that was all it took.

In no time their guest bedroom is cleared out to only the essentials; a bed, nightstand, dresser and a desk. The closet gutted of the extra linen and other random things she stuffed in it. It’s a clean slate and perfect for her boy.

It does take her and Dusty a bit to get Steve comfortable enough to just have dinner and “Oh it’s too late for you to drive home, you can sleep here tonight, sweetie. It’s no trouble!” A few times and for her to convince him to bring over a few sets of clothes because “it’ll be easier to leave in the mornings you stay over, honey!” After another month of weekly dinners.

After only a few months of knowing this sweet boy, she sits him down one night while Dustin is in his bedroom for the night. She smiles at him, “Stevie, sweetie, I have something to want to ask you”

She knows it makes him freeze, sees it clear as day on his face. It makes her question yet again how his parents treated him, but instead of thinking of them she reaches over and squeezes his knee before grabbing his hand that’s been gripping his leg, “Nothing bad, I promise. There’s just something I’ve wanted to ask since the first day I met you. The minute I saw you, you’ve been my baby.” Her smile is watery, as his eyes widen.

“I didn’t want to scare you, but I really do see you as my son and since it’s been some time and you already have your room, I was thinking you move in, permanently.”

Steve’s eyes are glassy as his mouth drops, “Mrs. Henderson,” he grips her hand and blinks at her, it makes her shake her head amused at the name. Knowing he’s been unknowingly calling her Ma for a week now.

“It’s Ma, and you know it baby.” She gripped his hand back, “I love you Steve, and you belong here with me and Dusty.”

The only words to describe Steve right now is amazed and just well loved. He’s speechless and all he can do is nod as the tears finally break through and roll down his cheeks as he laughs breathlessly while falling into a hug.

— — line break — —

Two years, Starcourt burning down and a massive earthquake later and Steve has been a Henderson in everything but blood.

He packed up the last of his things and stared at his empty room in the quiet and lonely Harrington House before officially leaving that behind him. Since he never head from his parents, he didn’t bother contacting them. He’s technically an adult, he doesn’t need to speak to them.

There was no note left behind either.

Just shut all the lights off, left the keys on the kitchen table and walked away with the last of his things before getting in his car and driving to his home.

And he hasn’t heard from them since. Not that he cares much, he’s accepted that they left him and decided to never contact him.

He raised himself before Ma came along.

“Get outta here, Ma!” He laughs as he lightly pushes her out of the kitchen, “I promise I won’t burn down the kitchen! It was once and I’ve gotten better! You relax, I got dinner tonight!”

She laughs, rolls her eyes as well with a smile, “Honey, it’s okay, I-”

A knock interrupts her, they both look at the door. Twin confused looks on their faces, they look back at each other before Steve drops his arms and moves towards the door.

“You expecting anyone Ma?” He says as he unlocks the door, “I know I’m not” As he pulls open the door, his voices drops as he registers who he’s looking at.

Standing on their porch, in fancy clothes with looks of disappointment and anger on their faces is two people Steve hasn’t seen in years.

“Steven Harrington, why did I have to find out from our neighbors that you moved? How come when we get home not only is it true but you let the house go! The yard is a mess, the pool empty and your room is completely empty!” Cathleen Harrington crosses her arms with disbelief, “this is no way to act, mister”

Steve blinks at her, glances at his fath- at Richard Harrington and sees disinterest and anger on his face. Then he looks back at Cathleen, at his birth mother, and no longer feels anything towards them.

“I’m not trying to act, I moved to be with my family, be with people who wanted me. So I really don’t care how that house looks, and you found out from neighbors because why should I contact you? You never contacted me” he spits out bitterly, refusing to match their crossed arms.

Cathleen gasps and her eyes widen, before anger comes back in seconds, her eyes glaring. “That is no way to speak to your mother, Steven!”

“You’re NOT my mother,” he glared fiercely back, “You left me, you abandoned me! I was your child and you never came home.” He spat at them, “You have no right to call yourself my mother.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for them to say anything back before closing the door and taking a deep breath. Flinching when he feels Ma’s hand take his and pulls him towards her and into a hug, his arms automatically curling around her. Hiding his head in her shoulder as the realization of relief rushes in him.

“Oh baby, I’m so proud of you” she whispers to him, squeezing him.

“I love you Ma, thank you for wanting me”

She shakes her head, her eyes watering as she pulls away to press her lips gently against his forehead, “no no, Stevie, thank you for being my baby. I love you so much, baby”

What do you mean I decided to write this based off a passing thought of the Harringtons to find out their house is not being used, that I was in the middle of working and went “that’s gotta be written!!” And proceeded to write how Claudia basically kidnapped Steve??? That definitely didn’t just happen. Anyway, I know like two people will read this (my loves I see you) and I think I’m rambling. I’m a tiny bit high.

Hope this was entertaining and not rambling. I’m not doubling checking any typos so if you spot them, no you didn’t 😡

Permanent taglist!

@strangersteddierthings @spectrum-spectre @sunnythespookyghost @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon

[notmorbid]

thrust.

dialogue prompts from thrust: a novel by lidia yuknavitch.

sometimes the story of who you might become comes before you understand it.

it's much easier to study the emotions of another than try to feel them for yourself.

stasis can kill a person.

no one ever becomes anything stuck inside staring at shadows, languishing in plato's cave. you can forget you have a body at all, living that way.

being alive means walking toward death.

i better get back home, before there's trouble.

the holes in a girl have to fill with something.

are you fucking with me?

the whole concept of evil: what the hell is that all about?

my love of _____ is bigger than a lot of things.

i love you. my love will always be in your body.

your grief is killing you.

remember: you can't save anyone.

i have never felt homesick.

i feel hope-sick.

hold as still as a statue.

i've never met a _____ like you before.

perhaps 'monstrous' is just another word for 'magnificent'.

fiction and fact are not at war.

the body has its own calculus, doesn't it?

everyone shifts masks, every hour of the day.

maybe sometimes, death isn't death anymore.

do you suffer when you sleep? does it stay with you when you wake?

i don't know how to talk about what it means to be haunted.

i don't know if that was love, or something else.

there is no word for what we are to each other.

where are your parents? where do you live?

how do we assemble our hearts, to keep us from breaking apart?

when did you stop ____?

there's a world of shit in your eyes.

i'm not allowed to have _____.

i can't remember ever being [age].

i wish i were anyone else's daughter.

no one should ever have to live like this.

isn't 'enforcing freedom' an oxymoron?

i have nowhere to go but down.

i can hear your accent. you think it's gone, but it's not.

i want to kill you, but you're already dead.

no one wants kids like us.

you will never be apart from me. i will always be with you.

tell me how long to kneel and i'll do it. you know i will.

the death of languages is what precedes the death of the world.

it's not understanding i want, it's attention.

remember to stay human.

tell me what you feel in your body.

grief does not exist in linear time.

when do you feel most human?

you're like a secular angel.

it's okay. i know where the story's going.

memory is just making stories.

studying a thing isn't the same as being a part of it.

don't take things that are not yours.

memory is proof that imagination is a real place.

a story can be anything, at any moment, if we need it badly enough.

you don't look crazy.

how is anyone supposed to know who they are, anymore?

even if you are crazy, you're okay.

grief is an object you have to carry over time, like a body.

isn't everything everywhere resting on bones?

the past gets buried, but it comes back when people least expect. like ice melting away, or water rising.

that story took a very sad turn.

not all stories happen with a beginning, a middle, and an end. maybe they never do. end, that is.

nothing is more important than giving children stories they can grab onto and live by.

there is no place that recognizes 'mother' as a form of employment.

we could have been anything. we could, still.

between 'inert' and 'pervert', i choose pervert.

why does no one listen to children?

it's not wrong to want to be loved.

i'm not needy. you're just antarctic.

have you ever had opium tea? i have some at my place. i live very near here.

you're the most sentimental brute i've ever known.

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - The Night Sky Is Filled With Gay Thoughts

This one is shorter than the other chapters but I really felt like Nightmare's gay panic deserved its own chapter lmao

First

Prev

Next

@ancha-aus your seat is reserved

We entering Nightmare's bitch arc ya'll

Tw: some slightly suggestive talk but nothing serious happens, self hatred of course as I am physically unable to write about Nightmare without adding angst

The moon was so high in the sky, everyone was sleeping. Everyone one except Nightmare, he had been unwell all day, since Horror came back from his hunt, he had found himself spacing out, not responding to either Killer nor Dust when they tried talking to him, having trouble concentrating enough to translate, and totally unable to look at Horror in the eyesockets. Now he was laying on his back, on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

What happened ? He had felt weird all afternoon, starting when Horror came back. He should have been horrified, the Viking came back covered in blood, holding a dead body on his shoulder, his stained weapon still in his hand. It has truly been an unsettling sight to see. He had put his axe, his blood stained axe, right next to Nightmare, and he had looked at him, planting his gaze in his, and Nightmare couldn't look anywhere else. Had he been scared ? Of course he had been scared, what kind of brute brought back his pray like that ? Still dripping with blood and without washing at least his hands ? But, he felt something new when his gaze met Horror's gaze...

He saw this brute, this man, holding a full corpse on his shoulder like it was a feather, covered in sweat and blood that wasn't his, his large hands holding an axe that looked no less heavy but that he manipulated with ease. And he felt his soul burn. He didn't know if his cheeks blushed, but he felt his whole body become hotter. When Horror left to cook he didn't know what to do, and Killer's staring at him with his grin didn't help him sort out his thoughts.

He couldn't think at all for the whole day, not participating in conversations during meals, he did his best not to look at the Viking, not to think about his hands, damaged by a hard life, about his muscular arms that could brobaly break him in half if he wanted to, hold him down and he wouldn't be able to move.

Nightmare shifted on the couch, turning his back to the living room, thinking about Horror above him and holding him down surprisingly didn't help calm his already racing soul.

Why did he feel so hot when thinking about the giant ? He shouldn't feel that way, Horror was a Viking, a brute who's only passtime was pillaging villages, killing men and kidnapping women for their own pleasure, there was nothing admirable in that. Really, thinking about Horror entering his home, breaking his belongings and take him away to keep him as a prize, a trophy, was truly terrifying. And yet he felt his face burn at the thought of being taken by him, preciously kept away as a fancy war prize for only Horror to touch and see.

That wasn't right. Horror could kill him, or worse, he could do unspeakable horrors to him, make him uffer, torture him mentally and physically, then tend to his wounds to ensure he wouldn't die, keep him safe from other pillagers, dress him with riches to show off to the other Vikings, tell him he is his and his alone, that no one else would ever put their filthy hands on him...

Nightmare got up. He needed water. He went to the bathroom, feeling like he would faint at any moment with the heat in his body. He watched the water flow for a few seconds before taking some in his hands to splash on his face until he felt cooler. He stayed bent over the sink for a while before standing straight and looking at himself in the mirror. His brother would probably laugh if he was there. Seriously, how pathetic could he be ? Losing his composure like that like he was some young lady fresh out of the coven discovering what temptation was ? He shouldn't feel that way ! He was a noble man ! He went back to lay on the couch.

He had a future planned for him, he couldn't allow himself to be distracted like that, he had to marry a noble woman, a lady with the same rank as him, and give her kids to ensure the continuity of his prestigious bloodline. That was what every noble did, that was what his mother did, what she had told him to do before passing away. He had to marry someone rich and full of virtue, love wasn't even on the table, you didn't marry out of love. His mother didn't marry out of love, there had never been any love in anything she had done, from marrying to having children, she had done everything because it was her purpose as a noble woman, not once had she felt any love for them, for her husband for whom she didn't cry at his funeral and for her two children whom she always let her servants take care of. That was just how things were supposed to work. That was what Nightmare, and Dream, were supposed to do, their glorious future.

And yet he found himself dreaming for more, dreaming of love, passion, of someone to hold tight and to be held tight by, someone to tell him he would be okay, that he didn't have to marry anyone he didn't want to, that he could let his heart chose. He tried so hard to make the wedding happen as late as possible, finding excuses to refuse the many proposals he received. He was so scarred of marriage. He didn't know why it scarred him so much, he knew he would still be free, that it was only for business purposes, that he wouldn't have to pretend to love his wife and she wouldn't have to pretend to love him either, but he would still have obligations that came with marriage. Children were a big part of this. He didn't dislike children, but he knew he would have to be intimate, he wasn't stupid, he knew how that worked, but he couldn't imagine himself doing.... that, with a woman... It was right but it felt wrong, it was the natural order of things but it didn't feel natural to him. Sure he could lie and say either him or his wife was infertile and that was why they couldn't have children, but lying about that wouldn't bring any good to their reputation, and reputation was important. No, he couldn't lie, but he couldn't do that either. It just didn't feel right...

And when he saw Horror bent over him, when he imagined him holding him, taking him away from everything he knew and making him his... everything had felt so right, so natural. He wanted him, he wanted him so bad. He didn't want to marry a woman, but he wanted to be Horror's prize, he wanted to be his precious thing, he wanted him to rock his world and softly kiss him, to tell him he could have hundreds just like him but he was the only one for him. He wanted this wicked romance. He wanted the harsh and he wanted the soft. Horror was soft. Soft and patient. He was careful around them, respected boundaries, brought back food, didn't have any vile intentions, he was only looking to care for them, for Dust particularly, as he was their unfortunate host with not enough means to provide for everyone. He was a gentle giant. A gentle giant with great strenght. Nightmare wanted that.

He hated himself for wanting that. His mother would have hated him too if she was still alive. She had always hated him anyways. He shouldn't feel that. It wasn't proper for a noble. He was such a disgrace, a pathetic excuse of a noble, no wonder he always felt out of place among his pairs, he couldn't do things right, he couldn't even feel right.

He grabbed a pillow to press it against his chest, laying down facing the back of the couch. He wanted to dissapear, to go back home and never see any of them ever again, to talk to his brother, Dream always knew what to do, he was always right, never out of place, he was everything Nightmare wasn't. But he wasn't there, and Nightmare was alone to face these atrocious feelings.

He hated it. He hated Horror for making him feel so good and so bad at the same time and he hated himself for allowing these feelings to take roots in his soul and for feeding them with his overthinking.

He just hated himself so much right now. He hated how he felt and he hated that he was crying again. It was the only thing he was good at sometimes. Crying.

He was pathetic.

[xxmrs-waynexx]

Young Again

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x wife!reader (batmom)

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Bruce is slightly OOC but it's for the plot.

Ever since Bruce came back from his latest mission, you tried your best to help him relax. He was always on edge and very clearly tense. This man was not doing okay this time around and it was stressing you out too. No matter how hard you tried, all the noises, movement, and whatever else happening in the manor was just too much for him. You assumed that whatever had happened with Scarecrow must’ve had something to do with fear toxin. 

So, you confided in Alfred. Who else would know your husband better than yourself? The two of you sat outside drinking tea and chatting.

“I just don’t know what else to do. He can’t stay in the cave all day planning and checking every news source for trouble, but he also isn’t able to help with the chaos of all the kids,” you explained.

Alfred thought for a moment before sighing, “Why don’t you two stay home tomorrow? I will go out with the young ones and be back by dinner time.” The older man gave you a kind and reassuring smile. “He will be back to himself before we know it. I have learned that sometimes the best way to make any progress is to take a break. Especially for master Bruce.”

And so you did. The next morning, you were sure to let Bruce sleep in. You didn’t mind being held for a bit longer than usual. By lunchtime, you two had finally pulled yourselves out of bed. It had been months since you’d last cooked. Usually, you helped Alfred but being on the PTA for your kids’ school was getting very busy as it neared winter break.

Cooking was something you used to do with Bruce in college. It used to be a fun bonding activity for you two in the communal kitchen in your dorm building. You’d avoided asking him if he wanted to since you knew he had a lifetime ban, courtesy of Alfred.

As you looked in the pantry, Bruce came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I just had the greatest idea on earth,” he mumbled in his deep, sleepy voice.

“Listen, if this is about your plan for Penguin, I already told you that it was good and that-”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I think we should cook dinner for the family. They’ve probably had a long day and it’s the least we can do.”

His smile is what made you agree. You knew the reasoning was far beyond what he said. He wanted to relive the ‘good old days.’ And if Alfred wasn’t home to tell him no?

____

The kitchen was an absolute disaster. Dishes and ingredients were scattered all over the countertops. You did your best to help keep things in order, but you did have a little enjoyment for the chaos. Your combined laughter filled the kitchen and it was like you two were young and new to each other again.

“Okay, Bruce, now the flour. Not too much. Just use what’s left of the bag in there,” you said, back turned to his figure looking into the pantry.

“There’s just the unopened sack,” he said gruffly, pulling it out of the pantry and slamming it on the counter.

“...Alfred would buy the biggest bag known to man,” you let out a soft chuckle. However, upon turning around, you saw that perhaps slamming a bag of flour onto the counter was not quite the best idea. “Bruce!” Your eyes were wide with both amusement and shock.

Bruce stood in front of you, eyes squeezed shut, covered in flour. “I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t,” you laughed. You grabbed a wet cloth and began wiping off his face.

He wrapped his arms around you and you screamed, “NO! Bruce!” 

He chased you around the kitchen with flour in his hands, ready to throw when close enough. “Why do you get to stay clean and I don’t?” He asked, grinning like a madman. This was done with the same amount of energy as your yearly snowball fights- though usually you were on his side.

Once you realized the kitchen was too small to stay away from him, you bolted to the family room. “Bruce! Stop!” your laughs clouded your shouts. “You’re crazy!”

“Yeah?” he stalked you through the living room, the flour in his hands getting everywhere.

“Alfred is going to kill us- No, you,” you laughed.

“Who cares? It was fun. I feel young again,” he told you finally reaching you. He had you cornered between a bust of who-knows-who-that-guy-was and the wall.

Dinner was going to be fun.

[blackjackkent]

While testing something in BG3 earlier, I ended up wandering into the initial encounter at Elerrathin's Home WITHOUT Jaheira and discovered some new dialogue I hadn't seen before! Posting it here as part of my ongoing duty to provide any and all Jaheira-related content possible.

This is probably not an exhaustive collection of all dialogue available in this scenario, but I've dug up as much as I can (and done my best to clean up the often interconnected dialogue leaves into something readable :P ).

-----

Starting with Fig!

FIG: Oi, stop a moment! FIG: Right. You look harmless enough. The commander keeps an open house, so you may pass. PLAYER: Who's the commander? FIG: That's secret. And anyway, she's away, so Rion's in charge. So be nice to Rion, or I'll kick you out. (OR) PLAYER: Thank you, noble sentinel. FIG: I'm not a centipede, I'm a guard. (OR, if Minsc present) PLAYER: Wait, little girl - how do you know Minsc? FIG: I'm not a little girl, I'm a warrior. MINSC: Even I could have told you - this was a silly thing to say. FIG: Now pass!

On subsequent conversations:

FIG: Move on. Commander might be away, but I keep a tidy house for her.

-----

Rion and Jord have different ambient banter when you get inside!

RION: Where's the boy got to, Jord? JORD: The boy is upstairs. The girls were a little rough in their play earlier. (Devnote: Wry - emphasis on 'the boy' is in response to Rion calling the youngest child that instead of his name. 'The girls' is an echo of that stress") RION: Chauntea's cheeks, I told them to give him space. That's two volunteers for dishes later, then. (Devnote: Dark foreboding - the girls are in trouble)

JORD: Telk says they shut the Church of Last Hope down. RION: And how did Telk see that, through the bottom of her drinking mug? (Devnote: Snorting, derisive of this friend of the family) JORD: She was stone cold sober. Heard it from Mother Aramina herself - the Steel Watch said they were only 'encouraging the refugees into an unlawful gathering'. (Devnote: Grim humour, passing on stories from the city to his sister) RION: Aye. A warm meal and a scrap of rags to sleep on must be very encouraging. Well, the mother knows-- (Sarcastic - what little the refugees were being offered was hardly reason to shut the shelter down) JORD: That we have space to spare if she needs it. Aye, I passed it on. (Devnote: Smoothly reassuring, cutting his sister off - she doesn't need to worry, he already passed on what she was going to ask.)

RION: Throw some cabbage on your list for the market, Jord. JORD: You know I could just grow it myself. Even a lowly apprentice can manage that much. (Devnote: A little affronted - he's in training as a druid, not fully in his power yet) RION: I know you can, brother. Just being careful - don't want the young ones going all weird from eating mystical greens. (Devnote: Tone is 'hey, I mean no offense') JORD: What do you mean, 'weird'? (Devnote: Now very affronted - his sister has implied his magically cultivated food would poison the kids) RION: Well. Fig. (Devnote: Shrugging - using the youngest of their siblings as an example of how the kids are weird. Just her name alone is argument enough.) JORD: Ah. Fig. Yeah, fair enough. (Devnote: Anger dissipating into immediate agreement - Fig IS weird )

-----

Speaking to Rion first:

RION: Make a habit of just letting yourself into people's homes, do you? My mother's not here, if that's who you've come to see. (If Minsc present) MINSC: Eh, Rion...? We know your mother is not here. She is travelling with us. (Devnote: Speaking up as Rion hasn't seen him yet - a little sheepish to correct her) RION: Minsc? I don't understand - she was chasing down the cult for a lead to save you. If she's already done it... MINSC: Ah, well. If Boo were to be technical, he would say that it is not Jaheira alone who saved Minsc. It was this one here. (Devnote: Still a little sheepish, no direct gesture to player) PLAYER: Who's your mother? RION: ...So you're not here to see her? Who are you, then? It's a bold thief who would just stroll into the druid Jaheira's home. Still time to turn around and go. PLAYER: Wait - I know Jaheira. I've just returned to the city with her. RION: She's... she's alive? Who are you to her - a Harper? PLAYER: A friend. Though maybe not so close as I'd hoped - she never mentioned you. (OR) I'm [NAME]. Your mother hasn't mentioned me in any letters? RION: Don't be too wounded. Up until this moment, she was missing - presumed dead out in the shadowlands. (OR) PLAYER: Allies. We fought General Ketheric Thorm together. RION: General...? We'd heard of the cult army heading this way - I assumed she'd died trying to stop it. RION: But... she's alive. EVERYONE, SHE'S ALIVE! RION: Bring her here. So we can kill her.

On subsequent conversations:

RION: Bring Jaheira home. We are in dire need of a mother-daughter chat.

Rion also has two unique dialogues if you speak to her directly as Minsc. The first, if Jaheira IS present and had the intro conversation:

RION: I hear you've been causing mother some trouble. Remember what I told you about causing mother trouble? MINSC: There was talk of your hammer. And... Minsc's head as the anvil. RION: Good boy. Just remember, Fig has always wanted a hamster. MINSC: Boo would be proud, to join such a warrior in battle! MINSC: But Minsc would be dead. You are heard and understood, Rion.

The second, if Jaheira is NOT present AND Rion doesn't know she's alive yet:

RION: Minsc. I... wasn't expecting to see you. If you're looking for mother, I... well. There's no easy way to say it: she's dead. The great Jaheira finally her match, taking down General Ketheric Thorm out in the shadowlands. MINSC: Ah... Rion? Minsc does not like to correct you, but... I think you are mistaken. Jaheira is not dead! Just a short time ago, she pretended to be angry at Boo for rolling around in her herb-pouch. (This then leads to the above "EVERYONE, SHE'S ALIVE!" line.)

-----

Speaking to Jord first:

JORD: If you're here about the vines, I've cleared them off the neighbouring houses already. Can't promise it'll be the last time. The druid's away for a while - I'm just her son. And apprentice too, for my sins. (If Minsc present) MINSC: Aha! Jaheira has left you some tasks while she was away, Jord? JORD: Minsc? She's not... away. She's gone. I am sorry. MINSC: And I am confused. She is not with us at this very moment, no - but she's around the city somewhere. (Devnote: Quizzical) JORD: What? You know where mum is? Tell Rion - quickly! (Otherwise) PLAYER (DRUID): An urban grove is nothing strange. Life takes many forms, and nature is hardier than any stone walls. JORD: YES! Thank you. Meet my mother when she returns - put it that way, and you might just convince her. (OR) PLAYER: Why would this place need a druid? It's a house, in the middle of the city. JORD: You think like my mother - that's why she keeps a small grove here. To 'return nature to the unnatural'. JORD: Me, I don't think nature ever left. People lay down cobbles, aye, but seeds still sprout between the cracks. (OR) PLAYER: Who's your mother? JORD: Oh. I... took you for a friend of hers. The druid, Jaheira? (OR) PLAYER: I know Jaheira. We're travelling together, in fact. JORD: What? You know where mum is? Tell Rion - quickly!

On subsequent conversations:

JORD: Bring mum back. It won't come to blows, whatever Rion says. Probably, it won't.

Jord also has a unique conversation if initially spoken to as Minsc directly:

JORD: Minsc? MINSC: Jord! I think this druidry suits you - you have grown taller than Minsc! (Devnote: Happy to see Jaheira's son) JORD: You've come back at a... sad time, ranger. Jaheira's gone. MINSC: I am not sure why this is such sad news...? Your mother is with us! Not this very moment, no - Boo thinks she is probably shouting at a tree stump somewhere. (Devnote: Quizzical - doesn't understand that Jord thinks Jaheira is dead) JORD: Wait - what? You know where mum is? Tell Rion - quickly!

-----

And finally Jhessem and Tate, who each only have a couple interaction lines each to direct the player back towards Rion and Jord:

JHESSEM: Greetings, saer. You have not been announced to this court, and we deign not to speak with thee.

JHESSEM: You may enjoy the freedom of our manor house, so long as you behave in a way befitting nobility.

TATE: Y-you're not meant to b-be here.

TATE: Our m-mother wouldn't like strangers in the house. She could k-kick your behind.

-----

I love them all, your honor! (Particularly how excited they all clearly are to learn Jaheira is alive, even though Rion tries to cover it with a tough front. <3 <3 <3 )

[crescenthistory]

Carina the woman-lover, would you please indulge us by arguing for prompt A17 "a steamed-up bathroom mirror" with Miss Lily Evans?

hello?? this is the only way i will be addressed from now on, thank you for that darling! i made this a shower door instead of a mirror, hope you don't mind:,)

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 17 "a steamed-up bathroom mirror" with lily evans

carina's 2k celebration

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cw: gn!reader, use of y/n, non-sexual nudity, marriage, happily ever after domestic vibes, lily is shorter than you because my lily hc is that she is shorter than everyone

wc: 761

There was once a time where you were genuinely concerned that you might fall out of love with Lily Evans after graduation.

The voices around you had gotten in your head, explaining that Hogwarts romances were limited to the walls of the castle, that it was the intrigue of proximity, of different houses, of Hogsmeade getaways that kept you tied together. Lily was your best friend before you ever got the courage to ask her out, and the thought of losing that made you lose sleep more than once. The amount of nights you had spent in the Astronomy Tower was, pardon the pun, astronomical – but at least it got you a new friend in the elusive Regulus Black who also frequented the tower at night. 

Despite nothing in your relationship suggesting trouble on the horizon, you were biting the skin off your nail beds in your final weeks at Hogwarts. What you had was so beautiful, so it must surely be fragile too, right?

Now you were brushing your teeth in your shared bathroom with Lily in the shower, laughing at the thought of it.

Your love was no less fragile than the walls of the flat you rented together after Hogwarts, the same one you were still happily living in years after. Lily had a full time position as a potionologist through the Ministry, developing methods of introducing lifesaving healing magic to muggle children without breaking the Statute of Secrecy. She was every bit the powerhouse of a woman you knew her to be when you fell in love. You thrived in your own dream occupation with Lily cheering you on as equal parts best friend and partner. 

Just outside your bathroom you had the Floo Network set up in your fireplace that connected to the flat Mary, Marlene and Dorcas shared, Remus and Sirius’ home and Potter Manor where James now lived with Regulus.

Oddly enough, your little family never was torn apart. After all the tragedies and pains, it became such a beautiful life.

You spit out the toothpaste in the sink one final time before rinsing your toothbrush and looking up in the mirror. Only then did you realise you were smiling, which in turn made you smile harder.

You heard a squeaking sound over your shoulder and turned around to see Lily wiping away some of the fog on the shower glass door to catch a glimpse of you. Her hands were in her hair, white shampoo coursing through red hair. 

“What are we smiling about? Have you had your coffee already?” She called loudly over the water, teasing laughter following her words.

You stuck your tongue out at her as you leaned back against the counter to work on your own hair. “Can’t I just be content, Evans?”

She hummed as if she was considering it. “Not for as long as you call me by the wrong name.”

Your grin hurt your cheeks. “My apologies, Lily Evans-L/N, it will never happen again.”

The glass was already almost entirely fogged up again, Lily becoming a distorted figure through the haze, but you caught her smile and heard her laugh over the thundering water. You could just barely see the splatter of freckles across her milky back, your fingers aching to stay home and count them all day.

You took a moment to look at her, to breathe in the smell of your hair products mixing with her body wash in the humid air, the makings of a home.

The squeaking sound came once more as Lily’s pointer finger came up to draw a rather large heart near the top of the shower door. Within it, she drew her and your initials on each side of a plus sign. Beneath it, she wrote your wedding date. You could find the remnants of that heart after each shower she took, a well-ingrained ritual.

It was a beautiful, domestic sight – just like the woman enjoying her morning while rubbing her love in your face.

“That’s it,” you murmured under your breath before walking over and cracking the shower door open.

Lily shrieked a laugh as you opened it, pretending to hide away behind the stream of water from the shower head. Luckily, you had yet to get properly dressed and didn’t care if your bathrobe got wet as you reached out for her cheek. You had finished fixing your face for the day, but you didn’t mind messing it up one bit as you brought her in across the water stream for a sweet and searing kiss.

Her lips moulded perfectly against yours, not any less than they did at Hogwarts – perhaps even more so.

Lily hummed against your lips, smile widening beneath your affection. “I love you,” she whispered, careful to place her hands on the shower door for leverage and not on you. 

You looked down at her with nothing short of a lovestruck expression. “And I love you, you little minx.” 

Another kiss, as loving as it was wet. 

You couldn’t really ask for a better way to start your day.

[iamfarfromvibingrightnow]

Starkid love song lyrics are honestly insane

like

"He is at once familiar and unknowable to the frightened girl he meets along the way, and to the girl's surprise, something in his eyes beckons her to know him and inspires her to say "I want to know your story."

"Take me back in time to love you. Take me back when we were lost. Lost in love and lost in feeling, without the cost."

"She is at once a comfort and a mystery, to the callow man she meets that fateful day."

"I want to know how you see me, and if it's the same as I see you. With the colours of love on your paintbrush, paint how you see me."

"A thousand and one nights with you is not enough to spend, so let's make ours a story with no end."

"I wish that she could hear her voice, the way that I do when I go to sleep at night, and dream my life away, but she's gone when I awake."

"Take me back when things were light. Light my heart and light my shadow, one more night. Cause I already lost it once, what I already won. I've lost too much now to care, but I know that something’s still there. I'll never let you go."

"Even though I was blind before, I've realized there is so much more. And it was always deep down in the core of me. I know it now. And even though it seems too much to take, there's a feeling I can't seem to shake. I feel like I am reading the signs, 'cause I know that I'm coming around."

"They say you can't feel, with a heart made of steel, but you can't say that steel ain't strong. Well if that's who you are, just a meaningless star in the sky, tell me what is the meaning of what I am feeling if you are the reason why? Now I may be dumb, but where I come from, folks say they're fine when I know that they're blue. But you don't know you the way I do."

"Are we crazy, or did we just taste something sweet? Not sure what to think, but you helped me to see. It's not the outside of things that make them good, that make them bad, that make them anything. All you need is just a taste to start something good."

"This body's not gonna last, the air is cold and thick. I'm losing my last remaining hope for us. My hands are tied in knots and I can't come home. I wanna die in your arms in the evening glow."

"You and I were meant to be something more than a faded memory."

"Now, i still have troubles. I trip and stumble trying to make sense of things sometimes.. And i look for reasons, but i don't need 'em. All i need is to look in your eyes."

"What if I tried something new, and opened up my arms to you? I know we don't always agree, but they need you as much as me. What if I could promise more, than what I gave to you before?"

"I never cared for stories until you entered mine, and now my only wish is that our plots may intertwine."

"You look just like an angel and all I do is pray, that someday you'll hear my song and understand that all along, there's something more that I'm trying to say."

"The universe is infinite, and it’s definite, there’s an alternate reality, where it’s only you and me. Take me back in time to love you. Hold me closer than before. Heal my heart and mend what's broken, to feel you once more."