#but that is not the case. I still get bad days and I still make shitty art and I have pieces that flop and it's okay

[mggslover]

spencer and readers first fight ! can you possiblyyyy do something along the lines of spencer said something sassy/petty/mean which results in reader giving spencer the silent treatment and he crashes out begging for her to speak to him 🤓☝🏼

your first fight with spencer genre: slight angst, fluff word count: 1,7k a/n: i've been so excited to write this one! honestly way too long for a drabble, but i hope you enjoy it

“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this."

Spencer didn’t understand the gravity of his words before you huffed out a sigh, placing your hands on your knees as you lifted yourself up from the spot next to him on the couch. His eyes followed your body as you walked straight toward your shared bedroom, opening the door before shutting it behind you with a bang. The click of the lock echoed through the now silent living room.

Spencer sat frozen in place, his gaze fixed on the door as if you’d magically reappear in front of him.

Everything about your body language hinted at you being angry, but he couldn’t grasp why. He replayed the situation back in his head in an effort to decipher the reason.

You had cheerfully greeted him when he entered the apartment. He’d been away on a case for several days, not having had the time to speak to you over the phone or give you any updates on how he was doing.

As much as he preferred keeping clear boundaries between his personal and professional life, Spencer couldn’t resist telling you the details of some of his cases when coming home. Not when the psychology behind the unsubs fascinated him so much. And especially not when you eagerly pulled him toward the couch, pushing him down onto the soft cushions as you handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee, ready to hear about his day.

You sat cross-legged in front of him, eyes twinkling with admiration as he told you about today’s case. He explained how he discovered a pattern in the way the unsub took his captives, using the numbers 11235 — the first five numerals in the Fibonacci sequence.

He noticed the frown forming between your brows as he got into more detail.

“Can you explain that to me? I don’t get it,” you asked.

“That’s okay. Your mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend a concept like this.”

Spencer wasn’t lying. He remembered how his coworkers had blankly stared at him when he analyzed his theory — how Emily made eye contact with JJ, their silent looks saying there he goes again, and how Hotch had to cut him off to tell him to get to the point. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to explain it to you, he just didn’t see the point in doing so, not when he knew this was a connection only he could understand.

After a couple of minutes, there was still radio-silence. Spencer got up and walked to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door. “Angel? Can you open up for me?”

“Just go away, Spencer.”

Your voice cracked, like you had been crying, and the sound made his heart sink.

“Please open the door so we can talk. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Your scoff vibrated through the door. “I don’t even want to talk to you if you can’t understand what’s wrong.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands turning clammy. He didn’t like confrontations and especially not with you. You’d never fought before. Rationally, he knew fights weren’t necessarily a bad thing — conflicts usually stemmed from deeper fears and feelings that get triggered, and confronting these feelings could lead to creating an even stronger bond. But right now, all he wanted was to turn back time and make sure those words never left his mouth.

His mind blanked in situations like these, so the only logical fix he could come up with was to call Derek.

“Hey,” Spencer spoke through the phone, balancing the device between his ear and shoulder as he nervously paced through the living room.

“Hey man. What’s up?”

“I messed up.”

Morgan’s chuckle sounded through the speaker. “Our genius making a mistake. Who would’ve thought the day would come?”

Spencer sighed, losing his patience. “It’s serious.”

Derek paused before responding. “Alright, slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Spencer repeated the conversation for what felt like the hundredth time that day, his guilt accumulating with each repetition. He gulped when he heard Derek take a sharp inhale at the other side of the line. He could almost see him shaking his head.

“Okay,” Derek began. “Now listen to me. When it comes down to it, all women are the same, they just need some loving and appreciation. Go buy her some flowers before the store closes.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced one last time at the still-locked bedroom door before heading out.

Thankfully, Spencer’s apartment was close to downtown. He hurried into the first flower shop that he spotted, his eyes scanning the bouquets until they landed on a pair of bright colored lilies. The outer corners of the petals shone with a radiant shade of pink, fading into a soft white at the center.

He cleared his throat as he placed the flowers on the counter. “Can I have these, please?”

The woman behind the counter started wrapping them in pink paper, reaching out for lint to tie a bow. “Trouble in paradise?”

Spencer blinked, not often experiencing someone seeing right through him. Besides his coworkers. And you.

“Ya know, I see so many men come in here on the daily. You can just tell they got in trouble with their lady; sweating bullets and rushing to pick a bouquet the second before the store closes.” She twirled the bouquet in her hand as she pulled on the strings of the lint bow. “At least you picked a nice one.”

“Do-,” Spencer hesitated, his voice softening in an uncertain whisper. “Will she forgive me after this?”

“Depends on what ya did,” she answered with a lift of her shoulders. “What I can tell you is that flowers don’t do much fixing.”

Damn it, Derek.

The florist turned around, rummaging through a drawer, before pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the counter.

“Write,” she stated in a single syllable. “We need words. We need to know that you care, and we need you to put more effort into it than paying ten dollars.”

With a new plan in mind, Spencer hurried home. The apartment was still silent when he returned, the door firmly closed and no signs of you having left the bedroom. He sighed and made his way to his desk, shoving aside piles of books and papers until he had enough space to write. He opened the envelope the florist had given him, and carefully pulled out a sheet of blank stationary.

My Lover Dearest,

It is ironic that I have read so much poetry and so many books in my life, and yet I cannot find the words to describe how much you mean to me.

Sometimes, I find it difficult to believe that someone as wonderful as you would want to be with me. That I’m allowed to deserve the love that you give me.

My mind works in strange ways, and as much as you’ve praised me for it, it can work as a curse as well. I am scared to overwhelm you, to talk your ears off (which would be a shame, because you have beautiful ears) to the point that you grow tired of me.

I never had the intention to cause you pain, or to initiate that you’re any less brilliant than you are. You are the brightest part of my life. I feel grateful every time I get to talk to you, and I would love nothing more than to explain any concept you’d want me to. I’m sorry for not having understood that before.

I love you. I love you. I have been wanting to tell you this in a special way, please know that I am not just saying this to ask for your forgiveness. I love you.

Sincerely, Spencer

The clock chimed 03.00 a.m. by the time Spencer finished his letter. His hand ached and he could barely keep his eyes open as he stumbled to the bedroom door. He turned the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. With a resigned sigh he slid the letter under the door and sat down against it. It didn’t take long for exhaustion to overtake him.

The repeated knocking of the door against his back woke him.

“Spencer?”

Your voice sounded like a siren, and he instantly scrambled away from the door, allowing you to open it fully.

You stood there, holding the envelope in your hand as your eyes softened when you glanced over him, mouth forming a small oh. “What are you doing here?” you asked in worry.

“The door was locked,” he answered, voice still hoarse from sleep.

A curse escaped your lips as you pressed your hands against your face. “I am so sorry. I must have fallen asleep with the door still locked.”

Spencer’s lips lifted into a small smile, relieved that you hadn’t locked him out intentionally. “It’s okay. Orthopedists actually recommend sleeping on the floor from time to time. Sleeping on a hard surface encourages a more natural position for your spine, which can reduce back pain. It even strengthens certain muscles, so the pressure on your body evens out. As a matter of fact, anthropological studies have shown that-”

He stopped mid-ramble, blushing when he noticed the faint smile tugging on your lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll stop,”

“Don’t you ever stop,” you replied as you lowered yourself on the ground next to him. You reached for his hands, placing them into your lap.

Spencer’s blush deepened, and he struggled to suppress a grin. Your encouragement reassured him, and he went on about groups in Japan and Tanzania who experience significantly lower rates of back pain due to their minimal use of furniture.

“Spencer,” you gently interrupted after a while.

He blinked at you, seeing the gleam in your eyes as you adoringly stared at him. “Hm?”

“I love you too.”

[mariasont]

Laced With Love - A.H

summary: while hotch is away on a case, you do nothing but shop, and when hotch insists you use his card who are you to disobey him? especially when what you buy benefits the both of you

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader spending hotch's money (it's giving sugar daddy af), so much teasing, fingering, oral fem receiving, hotch worshipping reader, some inappropriate comments made in front of morgan accidentally, they both just completely forget about dinner and don't mention so ya know my bad, dirty talk, soft dom hotchy poo

wc: 3.5k

You had a little problem.

It all started innocently enough: one coffee to-go, a quick window shop in your favorite boutique, and somehow that led to you walking out with a bag containing the most adorable pair of heels that you couldn't leave behind. Then it snowballed—another store, another bag. A perfume counter. A cute sweater that was on sale, and, well, that one really didn't count because it was practical. It was warm. Functional, even.

Okay maybe you had a big problem.

But it wasn't until your phone buzzed in your bag, pulling you out of a deep debate over whether you needed the floral dress you were holding, that you realized just how many bags were hanging off your arms.

Mr. Bossman flashed across the screen.

The name was completely ridiculous (and more than a little outdated now that he was your boyfriend), but it fit in a weird, nostalgic way. He'd been away on one of those long-distance cases, the kind where you weren't needed, and you'd been counting the days (and minutes) until he'd call. 

You grabbed your phone so fast you almost dropped the dress.

"Hi!" you answered, a little too quickly, your voice so giddy and sugar-sweet it could've given you a toothache. He always teased you for it, but right now you didn't care.

"Hi." His voice was warm, a little rough around the edges with exhaustion. "Just wanted to call and let you know I'll be home tonight."

Your heart practically leapt at his words. "Really? Finally! I thought I was going to shrivel up and die from boredom without you here. Okay, maybe not die, but like... what's the point of anything if you're not home to tell me I bought too many candles?"

"I'm not sure how you've lasted this long," he said. "Should I be worried about the state of the house? Or your bank account?"

"First of all, rude. Second of all, if you are so worried, maybe you shouldn't leave me alone for that long. Ever thought of that, Mr?"

His laugh came through the line, short and deep, and it hit you square in the chest. You closed your eyes, leaning into the sound like it could somehow bring him closer. You could see him so clearly--the way his face softened in a way that made him look ten years younger, the way his shoulders would drop, the way his eyes would crinkle. You missed him so much it hurt.

"Poor thing," he teased, still chuckling softly. "What's a girl to do when I'm not there entertain her? Besides spend my money, I mean."

"Don't worry, Aaron, your money is perfectly safe. My super respectable paycheck—you know, the one you sign—is covering me today."

"Hmm," he said, his voice still muffled. "Sounds like your boss is paying you too much."

"I don't know... I think you're getting a pretty good deal considering I keep you very taken care of. Would you like me to prove it later?"

"Hotch, tell me I did not just hear that."

You froze mid-breath, your hand flying to cover your mouth as a wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. That was Morgan’s voice. Morgan. You felt like a cartoon character with steam pouring out of your ears as your face burned red hot.

A nervous little squeak escaped you just as you heard Aaron fumbling with the phone, his voice clipped as he said something you couldn’t quite make out. There was a muffled shuffle, the sound of a door shutting, and finally, the blessed beep that meant he’d taken you off speaker.

"Christ, honey."

You peeked through your fingers, cheeks still burning as you tried to decide if you should laugh, cry, or maybe just dig yourself a hole and live there forever.

"So," you said, hesitating for a beat, "scale of one to ten, how dead am I? Should I preemptively file an HR complaint against myself, or just let Morgan handle my inevitable downfall?”

You heard him exhale sharply, the creak of a chair following as you pictured him leaning back with that half-smile he always gave when he was equal parts amused and exasperated.

“It’s fine. It’s a little embarrassing, sure. But nothing Morgan hasn’t done to himself ten times worse. He’ll give you a hard time for a day or so, Garcia will laugh, and then they’ll let it go.”

There was brief pause, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “That being said, maybe think twice before making explicit promises while I’m at work, honey.”

You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to the shopping bag in your hand as you toyed with the strap absentmindedly.

"I mean, it's only fair I keep my promise now," you said softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. "It's the least I can do."

You heard a faint sound in the background—maybe him clearing his throat—before his voice dropped an octave. "You're already on thin ice today. Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on."

You let out a little huff, batting your lashes instinctively even though you knew he couldn’t see it.

"I don't know why you're doubting me, Mr. Hotchner. You should know I'm very serious about keeping my promises."

"You know, you're not making this easy on me, " Aaron muttered, his voice low and gruff. You could hear a faint groan, followed by what sounded like pacing on the other end. "Alright, I've really got to go now. Behave yourself. And how about you use my card for the rest of the shopping trip?"

"No, Aaron, I can't!" you said quickly, shaking your head as if he could see you. "You'd never trust me again with your card after the damage I'd do. Besides, you're already going to be shaking your head when you see what I got with my own money."

Aaron sighed, his voice going into that low, authoritative tone that always made your stomach flip.

"You will use the card." There was no room for argument in his words. "I want you to. End of discussion."

And just like that, the call ended with a click. You stared at the screen for a moment as if it might magically reopen the call so could argue your case one more time. But, of course, that didn't happen.

He’d told you to use his card—he demanded it, actually—but your fingers still hesitated, clutching the little piece of plastic like it was about to bite you.

You glanced at the white lace lingerie folded neatly on the counter, the delicate fabric practically winking at you. It wasn’t just pretty—it was the kind of perfect that made your heart flutter. Normally, you’d talk yourself out of something so indulgent, but this time? Well, Aaron had practically begged you to buy something… and you couldn’t think of a better way to treat both of you.

You only hesitated for the briefest moment before swiping his card, your heart doing a little flip as the cashier folded the lingerie into tissue paper with careful hands. It felt like a tiny secret between you and Aaron—a very fun secret.

By the time you got home, the sun had started to dip below the horizon, and you knew you had some time before Aaron made it back. He always gave you a pretty reliable ETA. It was the perks of dating someone so anal.

You lugged your shopping bags up to the bedroom, your arms aching a little, but in the best way possible. Once in the bedroom, you started unpacking everything like it was Christmas morning. Dresses went in the closet, shoes were lined up neatly, and you stashed the receipts in the nightstand just in case Aaron did ask how much damage you'd done.

Then you pulled out the piece—the one you'd bought with him in mind. The silk felt decadent under your fingertips, and the delicate lace was almost too beautiful to wear. Almost. It fit like a glove, hugging every inch of you like it had been tailored specifically for this moment. 

Feeling pleased with yourself, you made your way to the kitchen and slipped into your favorite frilly apron, tying the bow neatly at the back. Cooking wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you were determined to make this work. Pasta seemed foolproof enough (right?), and you threw together a salad and garlic bread for good measure. By some miracle, nothing caught on fire, and the kitchen actually smelled amazing.

You found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes. When you finally heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, you glanced over your shoulder, heart skipping a beat.

"Hi honey!" you called sweetly, pretending as if standing in the kitchen wearing practically nothing was the most common thing in the world.

Aaron stepped inside, the door clicking behind him, but the second his eyes landed on you, he froze. His tie was loosened, his sleeves slightly wrinkled, and his hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it at least a dozen times today. But none of that mattered now—he stood there like he’d forgotten how to breathe, his dark eyes drinking you in.

You smiled at him, slow and innocent, brushing your hands lightly against the counter. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Sweetheart..." His voice was deeper than usual, strained and almost ragged, like he was trying to pull himself together and failing miserably.

"Yes?" you replied, acting as if you didn’t notice the way his eyes were glued to you while you turned off the burner and set the pan aside.

"What..." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his gaze dragged down your body, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your ass. "What are you wearing?"

You turned to face him fully, the delicate lace tugging just slightly as you moved, drawing his eyes lower without him even realizing it.

"Oh this?" you said, gesturing vaguely to the piece. "It's just something I picked up today. You told me to use your card, so I thought I'd get something you'd like."

His jaw tightened, eyes scanning you slowly before lingering on the pink bows peeking out over the apron. "You used my card on this?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, your hands gliding down the soft lace as you took a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes. "I figured it was an investment. You know, for both of us."

Aaron groaned, low and frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief second before letting his hand drop.

“Using my card for this…” His voice was rough as he closed the space between you in one long stride, his hands landing on your waist and pulling you flush against him. His lips curved into the faintest smirk as his voice dipped lower. “Was the one thing you’ve done right today. Now take this off—slowly, sweetheart—and let me see exactly what I bought.”

He pinched at the bow on your apron, his fingers tugging lightly, but you stepped back just enough to be out of his immediate reach.

“If you were that eager to see what I bought,” you teased, your fingertips grazing one of the straps of the apron, “maybe you shouldn’t have left me waiting so long.”

You slipped one strap off your shoulder, letting it fall halfway, then paused, tilting your head slightly as if daring him to come closer.

"Trying on pretty things, waiting for me to come home—must've been absolutely draining," Aaron shook his head slowly.

You pouted at him, pushing your bottom lip out just enough to make his eyes soften. He chuckled quietly, stepping closer until his hands braced the counter on either side of you, caging you in.

 "But you know what? I missed you too. And seeing you like this... makes being away feel like torture."

Your pout melted into a glowing smile as your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers brushing lightly over his shirt.

“You mean it? You really missed me?”

"Of course I did." His hands cupped your jaw gently, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His other hand moved slowly to the bow at your waist, pulling the knot loose with an easy tug. "Now, angel, let me see what else I've been missing."

The apron slipped to the ground, forgotten, as Aaron’s eyes locked onto you. He blinked once, then twice, his expression unreadable except for the slight parting of his lips, like he’d been robbed of air.

His gaze traveled over you like a slow caress, taking in the way the lace hugged your curves, teasing him with everything it didn’t quite cover. His eyes lingered on your chest, where the sheer fabric exposed the peaks of your nipples, and you caught the subtle hitch in his breath as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching slightly.

You tilted your head, letting your expression soften into something sweetly innocent as you leaned back against the counter. The lace shifted with the movement, exposing just enough to make his jaw tighten. Then, just for a second, you parted your legs, catching his sharp inhale as you gave him a soft, almost shy smile.

When he realized what wasn't under the lace, his eyes snapped back up to yours. Without a word, he dropped to his knees, hands sliding over your thighs until they rested just above your knees.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, heart skipping several beats as you stared down at him. You hadn't expected this. Not the way his knees hit the floor like it was second nature, not the way his palms spread wide against your skin, thumb brushing over the curve of your inner thighs as he looked up to you.

He must be exhausted, that was your only explanation. But then his hands pressed harder into your thighs, and the thought evaporated. His eyes weren't clouded with exhaustion—they were focused, like he was memorizing every inch of you. 

Your stomach twisted sharply, your legs suddenly feeling like they couldn’t hold you upright anymore. He was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. That singular thought settled in your chest, blooming like a flower, before curling low in your belly, leaving you breathless.

His lips grazed your thigh in the softest of touches, like he was savoring the moment. Slowly, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time, his fingers tightening around your thighs as his grip became more insistent. He kissed you again, higher and slower, his nose grazing your skin, breath fanning over you. A deep, contented hum rumbled from his chest.

"What have I done," he murmured, his voice rasping like the words have been pulled from his chest, "to deserve this? To deserve you?"

His eyes flickered up to meet yours. "Tell me, angel, because I'd do it a hundred times over if it meant to have you like this."

You wanted to tell him everything—the depth of your love, how he made you feel like the luckiest person alive—but the words lodged in your throat.

"Aaron... I... you're just..." you stammered, voice trembling as your fingers curled around the edge of the counter. 

Before you could gather your thoughts, he lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, fingers digging into your skin. His lips brushed higher, dangerously close to your exposed cunt, and a soft, broken sound escaped you.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration shooting straight through you. 

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" His breath was hot against your thigh. "You always have so much to say. Don’t tell me you’re out of words already. I haven’t even started.”

"I was going to tell you how—oh, gosh, Aaron—"

Your words you had been trying to string together scattered completely, replaced by a shaky moan as his mouth pressed firmly against your clit. Your breathing stuttered, your chest rising and falling as waves of pleasure coursed through you, drowning out every thought but him.

His mouth was everywhere—warm, insistent, and impossibly skilled as his tongue traced over your clit with maddening precision. He worked like a man possessed, drawing sounds from you that you didn't even know you were capable of making. He was too good at this—too good at knowing exactly where and how to touch you, too good at making you fall apart with just his mouth.

Then he shifted, his hand gripping your other thigh as he lifted your second leg over his shoulder, leaving you completely at his mercy. The sound you made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, your hands flying to his hair as your head tipped back.

Your back pressed against the edge of the counter awkwardly, a dull ache building in your lower spine, but it was nothing compared to the torrent of pleasure radiating through you. His tongue moved in devastating accuracy, his hands gripping your thighs like he was gluing you to himself. Your chest moved in shaky breaths, his name slipping from your lips in trembling cries that you couldn’t hold back.

"If I'd known this would be my reward," you gasped, tugging hard at his hair, your words faltering as your head tipped back. "I'd have emptied your whole wallet—oh, fuck—“

His lips closed firmly around your clit, pulling firmly in a way that destroyed your sentence completely. His hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you locked exactly where he wanted you.

"You must really mean it if you're cursing now." His tongue flicked over you again, making your back arch sharply. "Didn’t know you had that in you... let’s see what else I can get you to say, angel."

A warm flush spread up your neck and into your cheeks, heat rising faster than you could control. "I didn't mean to--"

You were cut off once again as his finger slid into your pussy. Any trace of embarrassment was gone, swept away by the overwhelming need pooling deep in your core, leaving nothing but raw desire in its place.

The pressure, coiling low in your stomach, was building so fast you could barely keep up with it. Every tell-tale sign was there—the trembling of your thighs, the way your chest shuddered in shallow breaths, and most incriminating of all, the words spilling from your lips before you could even think about them.

"I love you," you gasp, the desperation clear as ever. "I love you so much, I love you—Aaron, oh—"

He groaned against your clit, his tongue pressing hard as though your words were the fuel he needed to pull you apart completely. His finger curled again, hitting that spot that made you vision blur. His eyes flicked up, and you could tell he knew exactly what was happening. He always knew.

"I know, angel," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "Now show me just how much."

Your orgasm hit you with staggering intensity, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing through you that left every inch of your body trembling. Your breath came in uneven, stuttering gasps as his name spilled from your lips, over and over, like a mantra you couldn’t stop repeating.

"That's my girl," Aaron murmured, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin as his finger worked you through the waves.

His lips pressed on last kiss to your thigh before he straightened, his hands immediately wrapping around your waist like he predicted you'd collapse without him. As soon as he lifted you, you clung to him like your life depended on it (and in that moment you were sure it did), your arms winding around his neck.

Everything felt distant, like you were floating somewhere above yourself. Your head rested limply on his shoulder, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. Your fingers curled weakly against the fabric of his shirt, and for a fleeting moment, you weren’t even sure your body had substance anymore—you felt soft, boneless, entirely his.

Aaron tapped the back of your thigh gently. "Come on, sweetheart, up."

You tried—really, you did—but your body wasn't cooperating. Your legs dangled uselessly, and you let out a soft, half-laugh, half-whisper. "Can't."

He huffed a quiet laugh. 

"Hopeless," he teased. He hoisted you up before you could process it, his shoulder pressing into your stomach as he flipped you over it. A surprised squeak escaped you, but his hand was already bracing your thigh as he started up the stairs. "I guess I'll just have to do all the work, as usual."

"You're so strong," you mumbled dreamily, your head lolling against his shoulder. "Like... disgustingly strong. It’s so hot."

Aaron laughed, his hand smacking your ass. "Keep talking like that, sweetheart and I'll start using you for my next workout routine. And I guarantee it'll be something you'll feel tomorrow."

"Mr. Hotchner!" you gasped, your voice half-indignant and half-giggling. "And you act like I’m the inappropriate one in this relationship!"

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head as he carried you into the bedroom. He lowered you down, tossing you onto the bed just hard enough to make you bounce lightly against the mattress. You let out a soft laugh, body sinking into the covers as you looked up at him. 

“The difference is, I have the good sense not to say things like that on speakerphone.”

You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows. “And you should have the good sense not to trust me on speakerphone. Really, Aaron, rookie move.”

He stood tall at the edge of the bed, his fingers slowly loosening the top button of his shirt as he tilted his head. "“That’s fine. We’ll call it even—after you make good on that promise."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @she-wont-miss @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs

join my taglist here!

[megumismyhusband]

HELLOUU!! Hope you’re having a good day pls take rests and drink enough water, stay healthy~! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

I’ve been thinking about the blue lock boys with a extremely girly and feminine reader headcanon, LIEK a scenario where the s/o takes an ungodly amount of time to do make up or shop (bonus point if reader drags them to different stores in each mall and makes them carry the shopping bags) i think majority of the characters are rather boy ish (maybe besides chigiri) so I wonder how they’d deal with a polar opposite , this is kinda based off me irl — my bf used to complain about how long i take when i do make up but now he just shuts up and plays games or scroll on his social media to pass time. Thankyew in advance if you do write for this request!

ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ

AJDKJDHWKJEH THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!! >_<

Rin

- Rin does not understand why it takes you 45 minutes to perfect eyeliner, but he doesn’t argue—just sits there with his arms crossed and his “I hate the world” face.

- When you ask him which shade of pink lipstick looks better, he mumbles something like, “They’re the same.” (Spoiler: They are not the same.)

- Acts like he loathes carrying your shopping bags (he LOVES holding them for you). He’ll just trail behind you with a mountain of bags, brooding like he wants to disappear.

- If someone so much as looks at you the wrong way while you’re trying on clothes, Rin glares at them until they regret their life choices.

- Lowkey finds it cute when you get excited over glittery stuff but will never admit it.

Sae

- Sae’s patience is… questionable. He’s the type to lean against a wall, scrolling on his phone while you shop, throwing in sarcastic comments like, “Haven’t you already bought three dresses that look like this?”

- He’ll carry your bags but insists on negotiating after the third store. “I’ll hold these if we don’t go to another store after this.” Spoiler: You drag him into four more.

- Will openly tease you for taking forever with your makeup. “Do you really need to contour your nose? It looks fine.”

- Secretly appreciates how put-together you always look. If you ever catch him staring, he’ll brush it off with, “I was just thinking about something else.”

- Occasionally buys you cute stuff when he’s traveling but pretends it’s no big deal. “I just saw it and thought it’d shut you up for a while.

Nagi

- Suffering incarnate. Nagi is absolutely overwhelmed by your energy. “Do we really have to go to another store? Can’t we just order this online?”

- He slouches on every available chair while you shop and 100% falls asleep if you take too long in the dressing room.

- Doesn’t mind carrying your bags, though, because it’s easier than arguing. “As long as you owe me for this later… Maybe snacks or a nap.”

- Will absentmindedly compliment you when you’re putting on makeup. “Oh, that sparkly thing looks cool. What’s it called? High…lighter?”

- Somehow still finds your bubbly, girly energy soothing in a weird way. It’s like your enthusiasm balances out his laziness.

Karasu

- Karasu thinks it’s hilarious. He lives to tease you while you’re dragging him around the mall. “Babe, you don’t need another sparkly pink phone case. Oh wait, you do? My bad.”

- Constantly flirts with you while you’re shopping. “That dress is cute, but it’d look better on my bedroom floor.”

- Will 100% help you pick out clothes and accessories. He’s surprisingly good at it, too. “This shade of blue matches your eyes—trust me, I’m a professional.”

- Carries your bags with a smug grin, saying things like, “Anything for my princess.”

- Genuinely loves how different you are from him. Your energy and sweetness keep him on his toes, and he’s obsessed with it.

[nekrosmos]

I think it's really cool that you share your art even when you're not quite feeling it or leave stuff up when you regret posting. It's a nice reminder that not everything has to be perfect and people will still enjoy stuff when the artist has doubts. idk I find it encouraging in a way But also sending vibes that your next piece won't be one of those and you'll get to be happy with it

That is a very sweet thing to say, thank you! Like I don't know, your ask made me think about the reasons why I do post the drawings I'm not super happy about etc. I think it comes down to a few things:

1: I'm stubborn and if I've spent time on a drawing, I want to publish it so that I feel like I didn't waste my time drawing it.

2: I always think about my favorite artists and how sometimes they post things they're unsure of, and how those pieces end up being some of my favorite. Just because I'm not personally happy with it doesn't mean other people won't love it. Like you said, not everything has to be perfect !

3: This part is the part I'm working on the most, but sometimes I just feel like I need to keep posting constantly, even if I'm not super happy with what I'm making. As much as I would like to say that I draw for myself only and for no other reasons, truth be told, sometimes I like getting feedback on my art, I love seeing big numbers next to my art, and I attach my worth to my art a lot (in a "if I keep making art, people will like me, right?" kind of way), which isn't a good thing to do. I'm getting better at not caring about the numbers though, even if it's tough. Balancing creativity and social medias isn't always easy.

Sorry for the ramblings, I just think it's good for us creative minds to be honest with ourselves and everyone else sometimes ! Especially since most of us struggle with this kind of thoughts, and social medias can be extremely alienating in the way that we only see the best version of everyone. It makes it easy to forget that we all face the same struggles.

Either way, I appreciate your good vibes and I'm happy to say that my next piece is going very well! Thank you for being lovely ❤️🫶

[offsidetracked]

I've been thinking about how I'd go about byler in S5.

When I got hooked on byler it was the same way I got hooked on every other ship; it's heavily supported by subtext, regardless of if it's confirmed by the text later on or not. Sasunaru, reylo, bkdk... all are ships that have intricate and beautifully woven subtext that made us fans speculate for years. In some cases discourse is still ongoing. That's a hallmark of some great writing as far as I'm concerned (all of these ships crashed and burned in different ways but until they did the writing was truly stellar).

Stranger Things and byler are in the same league. I just believe that this time the outcome will be a lot more satisfying. So how do we get the GA to root for it when it happens? I'm not the Duffers but I know some things I would do to help it along:

Dial up the homophobia. When byler becomes canon there can be absolutely no question; the bad guys of this show are the bigoted close-minded homophobes. It must be explicitly shown how mindlessly cruel this specific type of hate is and that it's incompatible with viewing yourself as a hero or good guy. I'd continue to spin the thread from last season and have the town blame pretty much all that goes wrong in Hawkins on your resident nerds, outcasts and misfits. Mix that with the aids crisis and the Reagan administration and next season is gonna be brutal. But it needs to be to drive home that in Stranger Things, if you're a homophobic bully, you're the monster.

Make the subtext hornier. One of the things I adore about Rian Johnson and Masashi Kishimoto is how they do subtext, particularly sexual subtext. Funnily enough dudebros in both the Star Wars and Naruto fandom, just like a lot of Milevens, didn't pick up on any of it. The Last Jedi is filled with Freudian sexual imagery. From Rey falling onto a hairy seaweed-filled cave hole to Kylo's light sabre design, yoni-shapped doorways and their joint fight towards the end—all sexually loaded and masterfully tongue-in-cheek. Naruto had a much longer run and was consequently more parsed out with it's subtexual imagery. Still it's not hard to find if you know how to look (there are some really excellent accounts on here if you wanna dive into that rabbit hole). Stranger Things has the beautiful benefit of being a horror; a genre that excels at showing our suppressed desires in grotesque and weirdly relatable ways. Phallic monsters, fluids everywhere, exposed scratched up and damaged skin, tending to wounds in intense and intimate ways, grime and dirt, panting, moaning, grunting through pain... It's up to the Duffers how in the face they wanna be about it. But it would be a missed opportunity if they don't crank up this type of imagery at least a little. Also, I want to see Mike suffer. Let him sweat and have a nervous breakdown over allegory.

Show that repression = impotence + harm. Freud, no matter what you think of the guy, is all over horror. This quote from Men, Women and Chainsaws sums it up pretty neatly; "Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways". Well bitches, now is later and it's time for the subconscious to come out of the closet and ruin everyone's day. Will is gonna be stuck in the victim part of the Final Girl trope until he fully embraces his queerness by having his feelings reciprocated by Mike. Mike, on the other hand, will probably actively find himself and the people closest to him in dangerous and harmful situations as a direct consequence of all the shame, fear and desire he's bottled up. Until he too, embraces his queer self by confessing his feelings to Will. Poetic cinema. However the Duffers go about it, the lesson everyone watching S5 needs to leave with is that forced conformity is harmful to you and everyone around you, and that there is no greater horror than the horror we subject ourselves to when we deny and repress the truth of who we are.

Well there you have it, this is what I would do to promote byler, get the GA on board and tie together this wild, wonderful, nerve-wracking ride we've been on for the last ten years. Godspeed to all of you, however it goes.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Absolutely loved When the Rooster Misses the Dawn. Do you plan to write more? Maybe a morning after scene?

Eh, why not. This one isn't quite as fun, and it is considerably longer because they led me down a slightly more angsty road. I felt like there needed to be some kind of aftermath/consequences of Gale listening at their door. But it is from Peeta and Katniss's pov's so you get to read some absolutely unhinged, down bad for his wife Peeta thoughts, if that's your thing. And it does contain Everlark sexy times and a happy ending for them (duh). Part one is here.

RATED M: for sexual content and discussions of miscarriage.

***

The Hen Tarries in Her Bed

There existed very few temptations great enough to induce Peeta Lucian Mellark, accidental Earl of Baecare, fourth in his father’s line to hold the title, to linger in bed past the rising of the sun. 

Whether they were the intended heir or not, the late Lady Mellark had demanded a certain level of industry in each of her three sons. Peeta, as the youngest, was no exception, and his body retained the training of early rising and hard work, even after the school yard incident that led to his injury. Even after his mother had passed from the world along with his father and brothers, and Peeta had inherited the title, the fortune, the lands, and all of the privileges that came with such trappings, he could never sleep past the dawn.

But his wife… ah she certainly presented the greatest temptation of them all. 

He smiled at the sight of Katniss, still slumbering in her bed. He left her to see to his morning needs, but the soft, pale glow of a lovely spring morning had begun to spread across the sky, making her appear awash with starlight, even as the stars faded from view. He found that he could not resist such a delicious temptation, even though he knew that he should. He had business to see to, and she would undoubtedly be sore after the previous night’s delights.

But in truth, had Peeta ever managed to resist her? He had not.

He discarded the dressing robe and slippers he had donned, and instead of beginning the day’s work, he slipped back beneath the covers, finding the area he had vacated still warm with his own heat. He sighed, content. Carefully, so as to not wake her just yet, he drew his body close to hers and wrapped his arm securely around her. Nestling his face in her riotously messy hair, he smiled and savored her soft sigh, the movements of her body that brought her closer to him, even in her sleep.

He, however, could not sleep, so instead he watched the dawn paint the sky in rosy tones. He caressed Katniss’s still naked form and attempted to reign in his reawakened desire for her. Granted, he did not think he could deem it reawakened. His love for her had never slumbered, and neither had his desire. He’d merely had cause sufficient enough these past few months to firmly control himself where his wife was concerned.

Perhaps his mother’s strict training had at last worked to achieve the desired effect of nobility, beyond Peeta’s inability to tarry in bed. The late Lady Mellark refused to allow any of her sons flights of passion or fancy to the point that Peeta’s brother’s often joked that they resided in a monastery, not an estate, although Peeta knew both of his older brothers had engaged with lovers while away at school. In Peeta’s case, there existed reasons why lovers were more difficult to secure, and he sometimes feared that such austerity in his upbringing caused him to completely lack control once he discovered the abundant bliss to be found in his marriage bed with Katniss.

Likely, his mother would not have approved of his marriage to Katniss at all, had she lived, and certainly not if he still somehow inherited the title, but Peeta had not cared. Not in the end. 

Katniss had claimed his attention nearly from their first meeting, and although he did try to court other potential brides whom his mother and father would have considered to be far more suitable candidates for the next countess, Peeta’s heart was not in the pursuit of their hands. 

He felt himself continually drawn back to Miss Everdeen’s side, attracted to her wit and her willingness to tease him and verbally spar with him as they stood on the fringes of ballrooms. Or when they would meet in the park, both on horseback, and together avoided the need to converse with society at large, preferring the quiet company of one another. They often met on the streets, usually while shopping for a book, and they quickly fell into a friendship through discussing one tome or another, recommending a book the other had yet to read. She expressed an interest in his art when he mentioned his feeble attempts at painting when they met in the galleries one afternoon, although he waited until after they were betrothed to fully share that aspect of himself with her.

He appreciated the way in which she showed concern for his health, often slowing her steps and finding interesting sights to give him time to rest, but somehow she still refused to treat him as an invalid.

She claimed that she hated to be the center of any form of attention and everyone seemed intent on determining if she were a ruthless fortune hunter or an heiress, so she preferred to appease her guardians with appearances at balls and other society functions, but had no intentions of pursuing a husband at all. She had far more interest in the food being served than in the gentlemen seeking her attention, and so Peeta had gladly secured refreshments for her whenever she desired at one event after another.

Yet he knew it to be an entirely futile endeavor, courting Miss Everdeen. Peeta… well he did intend to marry. As an earl, it was expected of him, but he despised the manner in which young ladies saw his injury as a sort of obstacle worth their endurance if it secured for them his title and fortune. Furthermore, he knew many of the young ladies viewed him as a desirable husband, solely due to the fortune and title, but as an entirely unsuitable and unromantic suitor, since his leg limited his desire to engage in many of the very basic courtship requirements -- namely… dancing.

Until that fateful night when he had noticed Katniss attempting to politely refuse the request of a dance from a gentleman of questionable honor. Peeta had stepped in and falsely declared that his own name was on her dance card for the next set and apologized for his tardiness in escorting her to the floor.

He could not ascertain from her expression if she were furious or relieved or indifferent to his interference, yet she had not hesitated in resting her gloved hand on his proffered arm and following him out to the floor. They had stumbled, quite awkwardly, through one dance and a half before Peeta’s leg demanded that he cease such foolishness. His pride smarted fiercely, far worse than the pain in his leg, as he excused himself before the set ended, humiliated at his own weaknesses and furious with himself that he must humiliate her in such a manner, abandoning her partnerless on the floor.

Better that than continuing to humiliate her with his clumsy dancing, he had reasoned as he leaned heavily on his cane and made his escape.

Peeta had escaped the crowded ballroom into the garden and limped as quickly as he could manage to a secluded spot in the hedges and collapsed on a stone bench. He’d barely caught his breath, and then she was there. Angry, yes, but not for the reasons he had suspected.

And the kiss.

Oh the way she had kissed him that night. Peeta supposes he ought to have been shocked by her forward behavior, but even then, he could not bring himself to deny her. He had indulged in the kisses, aching and greedy and hopeful. He had pursued more kisses, drunk and lightheaded with love and desire for her. Convinced that this encounter would be his only hope for a passionate interlude.

She did not wish to marry and he must. How could he expect anything but a cold, impersonal marriage bed from any of the young girls sniffing after him for title and fortune but who cared not to know who he was as a man. Especially after he knew Katniss’s kiss. Knew the heat and warmth of her fire. Knew the heady tonic of her regard for him. Perhaps she did not love him, but he knew that she respected him. They were at the very least friends. And he was already hopelessly in love with her, he knew. It would be impossible for him to refrain from comparing every kiss in his future to this one.

Of course, they had been discovered. Thankfully, it had been before Peeta’s self control slipped so much as to completely ruin her, although it had been a near thing. 

It had been Katniss's sponsor in town who discovered them in such an amorous embrace. The rather intimidating Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, whose suddenly gained fortune remained cloaked in mystery and dark rumors as to the source. It mattered not. Her sponsor saw her into her mother’s arms and then returned to Peeta. He had only to assure Mr. Abernathy that he fully intended to call on Miss Everdeen in the morning and request the honor of her hand in order to avoid a duel, although Mr. Abernathy’s words that it would take some convincing on Peeta’s part to secure the lady’s agreement kept him awake well into the morning.

He hated that he must ask her to go against her own wishes. He hated that he must ask for her hand when she had no desire to marry. But nor could he bear to be the reason for a stain on her reputation, or that of her sister’s by proxy. He hated himself for knowing that if nothing else, the threat to Miss Primrose’s reputation would likely induce Katniss to accept him. 

He tossed and turned for long hours, despising himself for allowing himself to become swept away in the moment and ignoring Katniss’s clearly stated desires.

Still, Peeta had woken before dawn and called at the Abernathy house at the earliest hour that would not be considered rude. Surprisingly, it had required very little persuasion to secure Katniss’s agreement. She asked merely a few inconsequential favors of Peeta that he would have seen to anyway. As her husband, of course he would provide a home, security, funds, and comfort for her mother and sister. She hadn’t even needed to ask, but those were her meager requests in exchange for her hand.

During the weeks leading up to their wedding, Peeta could not determine what Katniss might be feeling. She did not act the ecstatic, besotted bride, but neither did she eschew his company. They continued on much as they had before the kiss.

Except that it continued to happen. Whenever he found himself alone with Katniss and any modicum of privacy, they could not seem to resist one another. He began to doubt the entire thing. He wondered if Katniss kissed him so frequently and fervently so as to secure their marriage. Perhaps he had read her intentions entirely wrong. Perhaps he knew nothing about her at all. And so Peeta braced himself for a rude awakening once they were married. 

An awakening that never materialized.

Every night, during the early days of their marriage, he went to her bed expecting an indifferent and dutiful wife, submitting to his carnal desires only out of a sense of obligation for the security and financial care he gave to her family. Instead, he had found Katniss not only willing but almost forceful in her own carnal demands, and he was helpless to resist such a temptation. Even the flimsiest of beliefs that he might be wanted rather than merely tolerated overwhelmed everything else.

Even when Peeta knew her to be tired or homesick for her family, the moment Katniss kissed him and pulled him into her bed, he lost all sense of decency or consideration. Her lips on his always seemed to create a lapse in his decorum. Not that Katniss ever seemed reluctant in their lovemaking. Quite the opposite. But after every night of vigorous, prolonged intercourse, Peeta always feared that he had become some sort of mad beast. Uncontrolled and unable to stop, even past the point when he knew his love would become exhausted, past the point when he knew she would face soreness, aching muscles, and perhaps other ailments the following day.

Every morning that he woke beside her, his memories of the previous night stoking his desire awake again, he braced himself for a cold rebuff of his advances that never came. Again, quite the opposite. They made love in the morning nearly as frequently as they did at night. 

Eventually, he began to hope that she might love him.

And then the babe. 

He had, of course, been elated when Katniss had informed him merely three months into their marriage that she was with child. For a time, they had shared a blissful happiness. He could scarcely believe that he might have so many of his heart’s desires. But providence did not see fit to allow them to continue in their bliss.

There was his own bitter disappointment at the loss of their child, but Katniss bore it far harder than he. Peeta struggled with his feelings of helplessness. He could do no more than hold her and soothe her, love her as best he could, and withhold himself from her bed for as long as possible.

At first, such restraint had been easy. Her body would not allow it. As she began to heal in body, she asked him to sleep beside her again, for comfort. He had agreed, but within days, Katniss made several frantic, tearful attempts to seduce him. His body proved more than willing, but his mind thankfully managed to win the battle. She was not ready. Not if she were sobbing as she issued the invitation into her bed.

She could not bear it, she sobbed into his chest night after night. She could not bear the loss.

Heartbroken and fearful for both of their sanity, Peeta attempted a new approach. He held her on the settee in her chambers, until she fell into slumber, and then he would carry her to her bed, leaving her there alone and retreating to his own. The first month of that had been torture. The cold way she would greet him in the mornings, both of them fully dressed and pale with lack of sleep, gutted him. He nearly caved when the doctor announced her body ready to bear the strain of intercourse, ready to bear another child.

The pronouncement came the same day as a letter from her childhood friend, Colonel Gale Albert Hawthorne, announcing his intention to visit them. As she relayed the news to her husband, Katniss had smiled. It was the first spark of real happiness Peeta had seen in her since the babe had been lost.

In response, Peeta did what any sensible man would do. He had gotten himself drunk for the first time in his life that night and locked himself in his study, fearful of what he might do if he went anywhere near his wife’s bed.

In the morning, jealousy and despair and alcohol still warred within him. Until he woke to find his wife sleeping on the sofa, her arm stretched over the edge and her hand clasped around his as he slept on the floor. He had expected that at last, with the man she could have married set to visit them, Katniss would see Peeta as he truly was. Worthless.

Instead, Katniss had begun a campaign of seduction, conceived with near military precision to attack Peeta’s weaknesses and defenses. The only reasons Peeta had managed to resist her at all was owing to the moments of obvious, deep grieving Katniss still displayed, and his awareness that once she saw her undoubtedly dashing, frighteningly capable, military friend again, she may very well decide Peeta was no longer worthy of her regard. 

He held out as long as he could, watching her recovery as closely as he could without discomfitting her. Gale had arrived as expected, and as expected, Peeta found him to be every bit the dashing hero he had feared to meet. Tall, handsome, smartly garbed in his uniform and bearing the responsibilities of his rank and success with clear ease. Peeta found himself observing his wife’s interactions with the colonel with far too much interest and fear. 

Yet, although there were moments when Peeta’s heart twisted with the certainty that he had already lost his wife to this man’s love, Katniss never wavered in her efforts to resume marital relations with Peeta, culminating in the note she had sent the night prior, after she had retired to her chambers. It had come to him via a footman, and found him in the drawing room, mired in a conversation with the colonel, about the empire’s prospects for expansion, and when he read the note, it had required all of Peeta’s fortitude and self-control to refrain from running out on the colonel mid-sentence.

Then, somehow, the conversation had turned to Katniss herself as Gale regaled Peeta with several anecdotes about their shared childhood. Peeta had only grown more uncomfortable and less sure of himself as the night wore on. Doubting the sincerity of Katniss’s words in her missive. Until an offhand comment from Gale had caught his attention.

“She was always such a quiet, serious child. I expected her to grow into a quiet, serious woman. Who would have guessed our Katniss could sing with such beauty?”

It took Peeta far too long to piece it together. The words and their meaning. Far too long for him to reply. “Do you mean to say she did not sing when she was younger?”

“Not that I ever heard. She had no use for anything she considered pure amusement. While other young ladies concern themselves with frivolous pursuits such as ribbons and rainbows and embroidering cushions, Katniss concerned herself with far more substantial matters. The running of a household in her father’s place, and the like. What need has a woman of her station for singing except to catch a husband? And you’ll know, of course, that she had not intended to pursue marriage…”

It felt an accusation, this reminder of Katniss’s wish to remain free of matrimony. Yet somehow, Peeta found himself defending Katniss’s capitulation to him rather than defend himself, who was the clear target of the implied accusation.

“She didn’t. Pursue it, that is,” Peeta supplied, and Gale had given him an odd look. Peeta had been too caught up attempting to decipher the rest to pay too much attention to the expression. It made no sense. Katniss had told him that she sang with her father as a child, that her education in song had been informal but beautiful, and comprised many of her fondest memories of her father. She had once told Peeta that when she sang, she felt close to her father again, in a happy way. She sang all the time in the months before they’d lost the babe. And yet here sat Gale, her childhood friend whom Peeta feared as a threat to their marriage, admitting that he had no knowledge of this aspect of Katniss’s childhood, of her heart.

What else then, did Gale not know about Katniss?

Hope sprang to life again in Peeta’s chest. Using the first lull in conversation to make his excuses, Peeta had rushed upstairs and dismissed his valet as soon as he was prepared for bed. Still, he paced and worried and doubted, reading and reading the note again and again. Mulling over her song tonight, Gale’s admissions.

Love me again, she had demanded. Did she not know? Did she not know how fiercely love for her had always beat in his breast? Clearly she had not. Resolved to show her, Peeta had gone to her, intending only to provide for her pleasure and then hold her while they slept. But of course, Katniss had other intentions, and once he was again naked in bed with her, Peeta found that he could not resist. 

And he had been right. He had become a mad man. A demon in her bed, yet she had not allowed him to stop. She had in fact encouraged him and demanded his passion. Despite his better judgment, his body awakened the way it did in those early months of marriage. Ready to plunge into her again. And again. And again. Until they were too tired even to dress for sleep.

Peeta knew it would be the same this morning, even after last night. Perhaps especially after last night. He dared not wake her to satisfy his own desires, however, not after he kept her awake so late into the night, into the morning even, with their repeated lovemaking. 

He chastised himself for demanding so much of her, for asking so much of her. But, God help him, he desperately and constantly desired his wife, and once Katniss initiated their lovemaking, Peeta almost always found it impossible for him to stop until they both collapsed, satisfied, exhausted, and completely spent.

He should not wake her, he thought as he continued to watch the sun’s progress as it rose and still his wife slept in his arms. He should not. And so he fought a familiar battle with his own body.

Eventually, she stirred in his arms and Peeta found his hand wandering closer and closer to places where bliss could be found. Katniss murmured in her sleep and then stilled. Her breathing halted and Peeta ceased his touches, waiting for her to notice her body’s fatigue and unleash her anger on him for his inconsiderate behaviour.

“Peeta? Why did you stop?” she asked instead and Peeta sighed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and rolled his body away from hers.

“Because you must be tired and sore this morning.”

“I am,” she said and turned to him, her brow furrowed. “But that is no excuse for you to tease me and then to cease.”

“I had not--” he stopped talking at the knock on her door that preceded the turning of the key and the entrance of a servant.

“Lady Mellark, shall I see to your needs?” Eliza, her ladies’ maid, halted and gasped as she saw them. “Your pardon, my lord! My lady! I had no idea!”

She bobbed a curtsy and left, locking the door again behind her. Peeta glanced at Katniss and noted her furious blush. While Katniss was recovering, she often locked the door in an attempt to hide her grief from even the servants. Peeta had gotten quite irate with her over that and the servants had standing orders to ignore the locked door to her chamber, to ensure that Lady Mellark had ample food and had not worsened during her periods of rest.

“You did not rescind the locked door order, did you?” Katniss accused him. Of course he had not. It still felt necessary until a few days ago, and then her note last night had him too distracted to rescind the order.

“And with that, my lady, I believe I shall depart,” Peeta declared and reached for his crutch, but before he could grasp it, Katniss gripped his shoulder and pushed him back onto the mattress.

“You will not. You will wait here.” Katniss clambered from the bed then, and Peeta lay there, wondering why he did not simply leave the room. She returned shortly after and slid naked back into the bed. Peeta gripped the sheets beneath him and swallowed, praying for forbearance.

He would not make demands of her body this morning. He would not.

“Do you intend to ignore me, husband? Or shall we sleep a little longer in one another’s arms?”

“My love, we have a guest,” Peeta reminded her and yet he could not resist. He returned his body to his earlier position, wrapped protectively around her.

“He has been here long enough to grow comfortable. He can amuse himself,” Katniss stated as she wriggled in his arms. Peeta hissed and gripped her hip to halt her motions.

“Have a care, my love. I do not wish to hurt you.”

Katniss scoffed at his words but stilled her body, and gradually, Peeta relaxed enough to slip into a light slumber, warm and content to at last be in her bed again, to know that their love had not been diminished by the months of denial.

***

Katniss waited for her husband’s breathing to calm. The steady puffs of air against her neck did little to calm her own awakened needs, but she was satisfied that Peeta at least slumbered for now. She knew that he woke before dawn every morning, if he slept at all. She knew that he had likely spent the morning silently berating himself for what had happened in their bed last night, despite all the evidence she had heaped before him that she had wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. 

She had been relieved at that. Some part of her knew that Peeta’s restraint since they lost the babe was due to his consideration for her well being, both in body and in spirit, yet it had infuriated her. Ever since that first kiss they shared in the garden, Katniss had delighted in her husband’s bashful restraint at first and gloried in his absolutely mad passion once she had broken through his restraint. 

It was always the same with him, this belief in his own insignificance, this insistence that he not burden her with himself or his feelings, that he must distance himself to protect her, from what she knew not. And then once she had found the crack in his armour and split it open, the immense outpouring of love and need and passion that Peeta could no longer contain.

Today, she sensed that he needed rest. And perhaps the haze of his sleepiness would allow her to slip in again and ignite his desire for her enough to overcome his silly inhibitions about hurting her. Of course her body was sore this morning. How could it not be, with the impassioned way Peeta had demanded her satisfaction several times the previous night? Katniss did not intend to let that stop her. She had not let it stop her in the early months of their marriage, and she would not let it stop her now.

She let him sleep until the morning sun blazed through the window. Of course, Peeta was correct about their guest. Gale would be awake and about the house by now, but she did not intend to let that stop her either. Eliza had already proven herself time and again as a resourceful and thoughtful maid. She would likely provide a suitable explanation to Gale as to the whereabouts of the lord and lady of the house.

In the meantime, Katniss let her hand rest on Peeta’s thigh and began to caress him, the way he had been caressing her as she woke earlier. She felt the stirring of his desire against her backside and, unrelenting, continued her caressing assault on him.

His breath hitched and his fingers clenched on her hip. 

“Katniss,” he groaned and she slid her hand between them. “My love.”

“Why do you fight what we both desire, my lord? My love,” she whispered and gasped as his hand slid around her body, delving into her already considerable arousal.

“Because you are in pain. Because I need you to understand that while I grieve the child we lost, I cannot bear to put you at risk for the hope of another.”

She gasped again and whimpered, wriggling in his arms as his deft fingers and his pained words proved to her again how well her husband knew her.

“I want you, Peeta,” she sighed and moved her hips, inviting him to come into her as they lay like that, his body curled around hers, his chest pressing warm and solid to her back. “I yearn for your touch for the sake of your touch. I want you because I want you. Not because I am desperate for another child.”

“But you do desire another child,” he murmured. She turned her head and gazed up at him, allowing all the sorrow and love she felt to show in her expression as she nodded.

“Yes. Yes, my love. I want a child. Ours. Your eyes, your laugh, your ridiculous curls on his head. But I can wait for them. I cannot wait much longer for you. I cannot bear this distance between us any longer. Do not place it there again.”

His eyes closed and he leaned his forehead against hers, and yet he gripped her thigh and opened her a little more. She gasped as he entered her, swift and sure and deep.

“Oh my love, yes,” she whimpered as he began to move. She smiled with the ecstasy and stroked his cheek and his hair as they gasped and whispered to one another. Her body twisted and turned with the need. Her fingernails scraped at his scalp as she moaned and flew higher, closer to her crisis with each sinuous movement of their bodies together.

She reached hers first, as she knew she would, crying out and then clinging to him as his mouth muffled her sounds of ecstasy. His kiss only heightened her pleasure in her release and she quaked like a storm in his arms, certain that only his hold on her prevented her complete destruction.

As she floated back down from her rapture, she smiled for a moment and then frowned. “My love. You did not join me.”

“I did not,” he admitted, kissing her perspiring brow and then her eyelids, then her lips. “I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

“Then you will love me until you finish as well,” she stated simply. “Let me--”

“No,” he said, his fingers tightening on her hip and his blonde hair shimmering in the bright morning light as he shook his head. “I will take care of myself.”

At this, Katniss scowled. She moved her hips and gripped tight to his hair as he grunted and met her movement. “You will not.”

“You said you could wait for a child.”

“I can. And I will if I must, but you will not deny me what we both desire, Peeta,” she murmured and grinned at the sound of his tormented groan. At the feel of his restraint snapping once again.

Words of love poured from his mouth unchecked as he altered their embrace. He came to her as she lay on her back beneath him now. He moved above her, inside her. She clung to him, her limbs tight around his body, her hands scratching desperately at his back as she arched into their love. Into the inevitable pleasure of having him inside her, moving as though they had been formed for one another. It felt as though starlight coursed in her veins and perhaps it was the stars that had determined them for one another. She knew it was the sort of thing Peeta himself might say, and in fact he did say such things in the early days of their marriage.

Even before that, when they were but friends, together avoiding the matchmaking schemes of others, at times he would say things that hinted at an undying love for her.

Those words had frightened her then but she craved them now. She pulled his mouth closer to hers so that she might breathe them into her lungs as they poured from his lips, his love a vital source of life to her body.

She shook her head in disbelief at the power his love still held over her and whimpered as she felt her body approaching another climax. He must feel it too, she sensed as the expression in his eyes shifted from awe to determination. His fists clenched in the bedclothes beside her ribs and he leaned into her, his movements steady and constant, allowing her to tip into the flames of ecstasy first. 

She felt him following her, though, even through the waves of release. He followed her with a tremendously loud shout and wild, almost punishing thrusts of his hips. His body would not seem to countenance restraint in that moment and as soon as he passed through it, she pulled him to her in a tight, unbreakable embrace.

He buried his face in her bosom and seemed to be sobbing. It frightened her a little, his sudden release of feeling. She had once asked him why he so often held back as he did from their passion, until it became uncontainable. He had admitted to her that his father once told him that intercourse was the duty of the nobility to continue the lines. That it should be cold and dispassionate by necessity because passion clouded the judgement and therefore, the late Lord Mellark had taught his son, was the sole luxury of lower echelons of society.

How wretched, Katniss had thought when Peeta first told her that. Her own mother had come from a lower line of the gentry and married a steward. At the time, it must have been scandalous, but they had been happy and loved one another deeply. Katniss herself had married Peeta not because of his title, but because she loved him, although she had not yet admitted it to herself at the time, and Peeta loved her. Despite his father’s lessons on passion, Peeta showered her in affection and passion alike. 

No one could deny his love for her. 

Much later, they arose from bed and dressed. Peeta aided her with her corset and gown, which delighted her. It had been far too long since he had performed these small tasks for her, engaged in these marital intimacies. He assisted her in donning her stockings even, smiling up at her and kissing her thighs above the embroidered garter ribbons he ordered for her as a wedding gift. She clung to the bedclothes as he did so, thinking of the day he gave them to her. The flower of her namesake twisted around words stitched in a watery blue, like the lakes where one could find Katniss blooms.

Here where I wish to always stay, to know your embrace.

He confessed to her that it had felt perfectly scandalous when he ordered them for her, that it had taken him a long time to pluck up the courage to give them to her, uncertain as he was of her reaction. 

When he did give them to her several days after their wedding, along with a pair of luminously silky stockings, Katniss had blushed and wavered for a moment. Was she indeed allowed such a scandalously intimate thing? Of course she was, she finally decided. They were married. She sat up in their bed, clutching the neck of her night shift closed for some silly reason, and beckoned him to her.

“Help me with them?”

He had, even though she would not wear such a thing to sleep and it was already late at night. His touch as he slid the stockings up her calves, the brush of his fingers as he tied the garters in place had aroused her beyond imagining. When he had finished and sat back to admire them on her, Katniss reached for him and dragged him to bed.

Moments later, she had come apart with Peeta embraced between her legs, their bodies undulating in harmony and Katniss moaning his name like a chorus while his fingers toyed with the ribbons still holding the stockings in place.

Remembering that night, Katniss watched as Peeta once again tied the garters in place and turned his head to kiss each of her knees before he stood. She reached out and grasped two handfuls of his still loose shirt. They gazed into one another’s eyes and Katniss wondered if he could anticipate her words before she spoke. 

Instead of speaking, she tugged on the fabric in her hands and Peeta tumbled back into bed with her.

Much later, with some difficulty, Katniss let him go as Peeta rose from the bed and stretched. 

“Do you intend to remain in bed and neglect our guest all day, my love?” he teased and Katniss threw the nearest pillow at him. He deflected it with a wicked grin on his face and shrugged on his dressing robe. “Or shall I ring up for food to prolong your stay in the sheets.”

“It seems a little late for that. Order a large luncheon today, and perhaps I shall have a bath, since my wicked husband seems intent on exhausting me.”

Peeta scoffed at her words, but the grin hadn’t moved from his face. He rang for Eliza and retrieved Katniss’s key from her drawer before unlocking the door and opening it.

“My lord,” Eliza curtsied again.

“My lady requests a hot bath, although it is abominably late in the day.” Peeta’s grin remained unrepentant as he made the declaration, but Eliza shared a knowing look with Katniss.

“Right away, my lord. My lady.”

She disappeared and Peeta shut the door, his eyes pausing on the floor as he bent over to retrieve something.

“What is it?”

“A note. For you,” Peeta said, his tone and the mere presence of the note giving her pause.

“For me? From whom?”

“A lover, perhaps,” Peeta murmured and ran his finger along the edge. Katniss scoffed at his words.

“Well then, hand it over, although I have no idea why you feel the need for subterfuge when you can simply tell me your thoughts,” she said and held her hand out for the note. Her gaiety wavered as Peeta shook his head.

“It is not from me.” He showed her the address and her heart dropped to her stomach and she lowered her hand as she recognized the penmanship. She knew that her face showed Peeta a terrible untruth as he winced. “I see. I had thought…”

“Peeta, no. That is not… Gale is not my lover.” She rose hurriedly from the bed, and Peeta clutched the letter to his breast. Fear rose up in her. “Here. I will toss it in the fire.”

“Are you not even a little curious what he writes?”

“Not if it is going to lead you into doubts. Read it yourself, then,” she huffed and sat again on the bed. 

“Very well.” Peeta shrugged and tore into the note before she could react. “My darling Katniss, When this letter finds you, I will already be away--”

“Away? What can he mean?” Katniss asked, rising once more. 

“I do not know if you interrupt,” he said ut his eyes only scanned and he did not read aloud. This time, when Katniss reached for the paper, Peeta handed it over without a fight.

“I do not trust myself to continue reading without destroying something.”

My darling Katniss,

When this letter finds you, I will already be away. Perhaps I should have waited, as leaving in such haste will no doubt arouse your husband’s suspicions. I could not bear to continue a moment longer in a household where you are forced to enact such an elaborate charade. I must confess, I did lose hope briefly last night. I must explain.

After a fortnight in your home, I was convinced you must be miserable in your marriage. You are not yourself around that man. Sickly and pale, dejected and lacking all your former vibrancy. It is as though you are a watercolor caught in a current, all of your bright colors draining from you, and I, the helpless witness. 

You wrote to me, fearful of losing me. You begged me to write to you, but I know now that those pleas were mere shadows of what I must do for you. Last night, I resolved to liberate you from your prison. I came to your chambers, intending to declare myself and beg you to away with me. Instead I happened upon a most horrifying spectacle. A charade of desire enacted by yourself--

Katniss could not stop the sound of mortification that clawed its way from her throat. She looked up to find her husband with his hands braced on her mantel, staring into the fire, and somehow she knew that he had at least read to this part.

-- I must confess that at first, I believed it. I credited your performance as proof that I had in fact been mistaken. Perhaps you did indeed love your husband and desire your marriage. I resolved to depart today, a strategic retreat, an admission of defeat, but then your maid gave me hope. She claimed you to be indisposed yet again this morning and I knew that your monstrous husband must be the cause.

We were once meant to be wed, Katniss, my beloved, surely you must recall. We had an agreement, you and I. You swore you had no interest in marriage save to a man you described to me that day. I knew that man to be myself and I believed your love constant enough to induce you to wait for me. I do not accuse you of inconstancy now. I still do not know what dire tragedy forced you into marriage, but I am convinced it must be the worst form of torture and coercion for you to submit yourself to such abominable charades.

My love for you has never wavered, and I sense that yours for me remains as constant as ever. If I am right, my darling, I beg of you… come to me. Meet me at The Hanging Tree Inn along Greenbriar Road. I will await you at midnight and we will escape together.

All my love,Gale

“Escape together? How could he possibly suggest it? Has he no concept of the shame and ignominy his family would face if he deserted his post?”

Peeta turned slowly to face her, and she could see in the glittering fury in his eyes that she had spoken amiss.

“Is that… truly your only objection to this letter?” Peeta asked, his voice low and almost menacing. “Not the suggestion that you abandon our marriage for him, or his clear certainty that you would agree? Not the claim that you were engaged to him? Not the insinuation that you married me out of desperation? Not the admission that he listened at our door while we made love last night?”

His voice cracked on the last complaint and he tore his gaze away from her, whispered one more to the floor. “Or his assertion that I am draining you of all your vitality.”

“Peeta,” she gasped and stood from the bed, hurrying towards him. He stepped back and held up his hands as though to ward her off.

A knock interrupted and Peeta snatched her dressing gown up, hastily draped it over her shoulders before granting entrance to the servants. They brought in the tub and bucket after bucket of steaming water. Katniss and Peeta waited in silence. She chewed on her lip as she searched for the right words to reassure him, and came up uselessly hopelessly empty. How to untangle the mess of her feelings for Gale and how Peeta disrupted every fiber of her being? She couldn’t even fathom how or when to start.

“Thank you,” Peeta said to the servants as they finished and left, sounding shockingly calm. Kind as always.

He stood next to the tub then and motioned towards it. Already she could smell the soothing fragrance Eliza had added. She could see the steam curling up from it and longed to plunge her body into its depths. She longed even more to breach this sudden distance between them. 

“My lady,” Peeta croaked. She went to him and he helped her remove her robe, offered his hand in assistance and saw her seated in the tub. Then he bowed to her, turned on his heel, and left her. As soon as she heard the soft click of his door closing between them, Katniss buried her face in her hands and allowed herself to weep. Because she knew what she must do.

After her bath, she ordered her horse saddled and penned one sentence on a piece of paper, entrusting it to Eliza, to see it delivered to Peeta once she had left. She grimaced, still sore from the vigor of Peeta’s lovemaking, as she mounted her horse and rode the handful of miles to The Hanging Tree Inn. It was not even tea time, yet her stomach growled ominously as she rode, from hunger or anxiety, she could not be certain.

When she entered the inn, she was directed to one of the private dining rooms and pain sliced through her as Gale smiled at the sight of her. He was heartbreakingly handsome, she admitted, and she regretted the pain she must inevitably cause. He stood and opened his arms.

“You came. I knew you would.” His gaze darted over her shoulder and his smile widened. “And you came alone. Good.”

“I only came alone because I knew that you would not believe what I must tell you unless I did so in person and alone.” Gale’s smile faltered and Katniss gathered her courage.

***

There were very few temptations in this world that Peeta Lucian Mellark, Earl of Baecare and fourth in his father’s line to hold the title, feared. His mother had prided herself on instilling iron strong self control in all three of her sons. Unfortunately, she never managed to break her own husband of his drinking, and after years of cleaning up his father’s messes together with his brothers, of attempting to hide their father’s inebriation as often as possible to avoid their mother’s wrath, Peeta feared his own vulnerability to excessive drink. He never drank more than one, perhaps two drinks at a social engagement, and rarely ever did he drink at home.

He stood in the drawing room of his estate, the one to which he withdrew to seek solitude after a brawl in the schoolyard saw his leg irreparably broken and himself temporarily ejected from school, until his father had levied his wealth and title to gain Peeta’s return. His mother’s disappointment and creative punishments ensured Peeta never got caught fighting again. He withdrew here again after the fire destroyed the true estate of the title, killing his entire family while Peeta was away seeing a doctor who promised he could at last straighten Peeta’s twisted leg.

He rushed home to see his family buried and never returned to find out if the doctor’s promises held true.

Peeta had thought, when he brought Katniss here, that perhaps he could at last chase away the loneliness and misery that seemed to seep beneath the drapes of every room in the house. He clutched the glass in his right hand. His first drink poured and waiting to be consumed. He glanced again at Katniss’s maddeningly brief and unclear note.

I am not leaving.

Not leaving? Why then did he watch her mount her horse and ride the mare in the direction of town, towards the inn where Colonel Gale Hawthorne asked her to meet him. It was not too late, Peeta supposed. Would they dine and take a room at the inn? Consummate their love before beginning their journey? Perhaps he could follow and challenge Gale to a duel.

Challenge Gale, a trained soldier and colonel in the army, to a duel, what foolish nonsense.

He must indeed be the idiot his mother always declared him to be, if he believed he could earn and hold Katniss’s heart. 

He considered his drink. He should just begin it now. Get himself impossibly drunk for the second time in his life and admit that Katniss would not be returning. It was close to dinner.

A shout interrupted his wallowing and he lifted his eyes, spotted the cloud of dust at the end of the lane that indicated a rider. He dared not hope. He dared not move.

Instead, Peeta waited in the drawing room and clung to his drink and the note as the rider approached. As her form took familiar shape and he recognized the same riding habit she wore when she left. His heart clenched and he dropped the glass, spilling the alcohol on the carpet. He retrieved the glass. He grasped for his cane and turned towards the door as she dismounted.

Perhaps she forgot her luggage, he reasoned. She did leave without any bags.

The door opened then and Katniss strode into the room. She seemed confident until their eyes locked and then she wavered. Her mouth opened, but no sound came forth.

“You left,” he croaked and she scowled at him.

“I did not. Did you not read the note?”

“The note? Of course I read the note, all four unconvincing words of it.”

She blushed and dropped her gaze.

“I owe you an explanation.”

“Indeed.”

“There was never a formal engagement between Gale and I.”

She stopped talking and Peeta stared. Blinked. And grew impatient.

“I feel as though there is still much to be explained.”

“I know there is, but I do not know where to even start.”

“Expand on the lack of engagement. That is a start.”

“You should know that he kissed me.”

“He… kissed you. When?”

“Just now, at the inn. It is inconsequential and I stopped him but--”

Rage rushed up inside him, replacing at last the blank numbness that had taken over when he saw Katniss riding away from him. He threw the empty glass and it shattered against the wall. Katniss flinched and stared at him, wide eyed.

“You rode away from here, met another man -- who has professed his love for you -- at an inn, tell me that he kissed you, and expect me to accept it as inconsequential?”

“I would explain if you would let me!”

“I think I would rather call him out. But the real question remains. Would it serve any purpose?”

She scowled at him. Not her usual scowl. Peeta loved that scowl. He often teased it onto her face simply to tease it back off again, into a smile or a laugh, sometimes even a kiss. This was not that scowl. This scowl was formidable and terrifying.

“Serve any purpose? Of course it would serve no purpose! It would be pointless and stupid to call him out.”

Her words only stoked his rage. “Stupid? Stupid how? Do explain to me how it would be stupid to challenge the man who kissed my wife and asked her to run away with him?”

“Stupid because Gale is a crack shot. He would kill you.”

“And that would bother you?” Peeta asked, reckless and uncaring in the moment.

“Of course it would!”

“I fail to see why. You would be a wealthy widow.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Peeta,” she shouted as she charged towards him. “I do not want you dead! Are you really going to throw away our love because Gale kissed me once? Against my will?”

Her words immobilized him. Our love. She sometimes called Peeta “my love,” but he had accepted it as a term of endearment no different than when she called him “my lord” or “husband," not as a declaration of love.

“Yes, of course it would be stupid to challenge him to a duel when you have no hope of winning, and it would be pointless because I came back! I never intended on leaving because I love you!”

Her words and her clear fury shocked him enough that he simply stood there as she grasped his lapels and pulled on them, nearly ripping the fabric as she smashed her mouth to his. He flinched then, the image of Gale kissing her surging up in his mind. Tormenting him with the thought that she might still be able to taste the other man on her lips, even as she kissed him. He attempted to retreat, but Katniss would not allow it. Her mouth savaged his until his resistance broke. 

There were few temptations in this world that could induce Peeta Lucian Mellark, Earl of Baecare and the fourth of his father’s line to hold title, into obliterating every known rule of propriety. But the woman kissing the breath out of him had always possessed the ability to addle his mind and stir his blood. She claimed his heart and entrenched herself so deeply into his skin that even now, knowing that she had ridden away from him to meet another man, however briefly, he could not summon the will to resist her.

Perhaps it made him stupid, caving to her demands in that moment, her furious declaration of love for him still waged war in his brain with the certainty that her lover was even then still waiting for her at the inn. But even if that was her plan, to seduce Peeta and leave him too exhausted to follow, he found that he could not quite bring himself to care. Because she did come back.

She gasped when his arms came around her, cinching her impossibly tight against his chest as he finally returned her kisses. They stumbled across the room to the desk. She gasped again when he tossed her atop the desk and flipped up her skirts. Scattered papers fluttered about them, noisy distracting birds as he kissed her. He had neither the time nor the patience for niceties, but Katniss didn’t seem to either.

He moaned her name like a prayer as her hands worked to undress him enough. His coat discarded, his waistcoat half undone. He gripped her buttocks and pushed into her, drinking in the way her body arched and how she moaned as he slid home inside her. She was wet and warm all around him, and he barely had time to register her copious arousal before he began to move.

He thought he had made love to her in almost every state of passion he could conceive. Tender, grieving, hopeful, frenzied, and so many others. But as he moved between her thighs and she met his punishing thrusts with equal fervor, he knew this was different. This had the potential to destroy them. Or forge them into something even stronger than they had been before. He had feared himself to be a mad beast before, but now he knew himself to be one. He rutted between her thighs. He bit at her neck and her breasts while he fucked her. He only half heeded her cries and her pleas as the pain of her nails gouging into his skin became unbearable.

But even when she broke and screamed in his arms, he could not stop. His only saving grace came in the feel of her clenching in release all around him, in the fact that Katniss’s scream of release might be loud enough to reach the other man’s ears, even five miles away at the inn.

He joined her, desperately moaning her name and collapsing even as he was still caught in the throes of his release. The dishes from his uneaten luncheon clattered to the floor and shattered. He winced in regret at the mess, but couldn’t do a thing about it now. 

As they recovered their breath, Peeta lifted her in his arms. She curled around him and clung to him as he carried her, staggered the handful of steps to the chair before he sat heavily in it. Her fingers curled in his hair absently, again and again. He waited and waited some more. A servant knocked quietly and he sent them away. The room grew dark and finally, Katniss spoke.

She spoke of a proposal that was not a true proposal, a mere suggestion and a few questions that she had analysed over and over again. She spoke of letters that still came to Hazelle Hawthorne, even after her son had left home for his military duties. She explained that years of hard work had left Mrs. Hawthorne unable to write most days and so Katniss handled Gale’s wayward correspondence, pointing them towards his new direction. Until one day a perfumed letter arrived from a woman whose name Katniss did not recognize. Consumed with curiosity, instead of sending it on, she had read it, and known from it that Gale had taken lovers.

At first, she had been furious, then hurt, and then doubtful of Gale’s intentions. Perhaps he had no intention of marrying her at all, she had decided. She convinced herself that she had been mistaken in Gale's love for her and feeling foolish, resolved to act as though nothing had happened at all. She burned the letter and never spoke of it again, not to anyone.

Then, Haymitch Abernathy had paid a visit, claiming a distant family connection to Mr. Everdeen and offering to help his girls by sponsoring Katniss for a single season in society. She had agreed, not out of interest in finding a husband for herself, but rather to gain the knowledge she would need to guide Primrose through her own launch into polite society.

Then she had met Peeta and everything had changed. 

“We were so happy, and I so in love with you that I reconsidered my anger towards Gale. I tried to forgive him. How could I remain angry with him, when his actions helped lead me to you?”

At last she emerged from his shirt, her face red and tear stained, her lips still swollen from how harshly Peeta had kissed her. He winced in regret and attempted to apologise.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Katniss declared with an adamant shake of her head, her ungloved palms resting on his cheeks. “You do not. I should have explained to you better before I went, but I had to tell him in person, alone, or he would never have believed me.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” she cried and shook her head when Peeta reached to comfort her. “No, let me finish. I told him that he’d been horribly mistaken. That you do not drain life from me, Peeta. You give me hope. We lost a babe and even though I had only carried our child for a handful of months, the loss devastated me. You know this, but Gale did not. I have not even told my own mother!”

Her voice broke and her confession shocked him. Mrs. Everdeen and Miss Primrose were due to arrive here at their home within the week and Katniss had not conveyed the news? Did her mother then believe she would find her daughter close to childbirth when she arrived?

“Katniss…”

“No, please.” Peeta nodded and waited as she regathered herself. “I have always most feared losing the ones I love, and when he wrote asking if I was truly married to another, I feared he might grow angry with me and end our friendship. It did not even occur to me that our friendship was already lost when I read that letter from his lover, even if I had managed to forgive him. I could not trust him to know my heart.”

Peeta slumped in the chair and in the quiet after her admissions, found a strange sort of peace. Katniss began to kiss him. Soft touches of her lips to his forehead, his nose, his ears.

“Is there anything else I need to explain?”

“Only one thing,” he murmured. “Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?”

She went still and he risked looking up at her. A strange smile had begun to spread over her face. “Yes.”

“Well then,” he said and the last of the tension seeped from his frame. “I suppose I should admit to you that I intended to let you go. If you truly loved him and wanted to be with him, I would not have followed you.”

“Why not?” she sounded annoyed and he nearly laughed.

“Because I could not have lived with myself if I thought I was the cause of your unhappiness.”

“How could you think even for a moment that you were?”

“Because the first time you smiled, the first time you were happy after we lost the babe, was when you received that letter from Gale, telling us that he was to visit.”

She scowled at him then, the scowl that he loved. Confusion and doubt at his words, then she shook her head. “Ridiculous. That was not the first time I had felt happy afterwards.”

“Then what was?” he asked and she caressed his face, a soft smile on her lips.

“We were in the study. You had been working and I had been pretending to read, but in reality I had been weeping behind the book. Eventually, I wore myself out and fell asleep. When I woke up, you were lifting me into your arms. You carried me upstairs, undressed me, and helped me into a hot bath. You suggested we might take luncheon outside in the garden, and although all I could manage was to lay there and watch the clouds while you sketched and played with my hair, I was content. I thought that if I could find those small moments of happiness and hope with you again, and hold onto them, then one day, we might find our way back to feeling joy again.”

“Ah, these are the sort of words I have longed to hear.” Peeta had at last believed her, and slid his hand over hers, holding it in place so that he could turn his head and gently kiss her palms. “Now that we have settled we are both idiots in love and neither of us is leaving, what shall we do now?”

“Hmmm. You could request dinner be served in our room and you could take me to bed.”

“Bed? At this early hour? Countess! Are you so determined to shock the servants then?”

At this, she laughed and kissed him. “My love, I believe we have already done that today.” Her eyes moved pointedly to the desk and Peeta felt himself blushing.

“Well… then perhaps it will not be so shocking after all.”

[mymoodwriting]

Because You're Mine

Female!Reader x Werewolf!SKZ

Genre: A/B/O

Warning: Anxiety, Panic, Distrust, Insomnia, Suppressants, Numbness, Pheromones, Harassment, Non-Con, Revelations, PTSD, Reconnection, Mentions of Heat

Words: 4.5K

Chapter Ten

(Prev//Next) (@starillusion13 @salfetkablog @youngunknownwitch @loveforred @hydroyaksha @meowmeeps @azazel-nyx @luvyev @stellasays45 @littlebaby-bunbun @bangchansgirlsblog @puppyminnnie @bahablastplz @lemonn015 @blankperiodssn @stellasays45 @kkamismom12 @rxlvvrz @riri53 @stressymessyana @aalexyuuuhm @jutfelixdwae)

Prompt: With omegas completely removed from society, they needed their own communities and institutions to grow. All your life you had lived and gone to school alongside your fellow omegas, and orphaned alphas. You had managed to keep yourself together, but now at the university level, keeping your secret had grown impossible. You had to face your fears and make friends with an alpha eventually, and now was the time.

“I don’t like this…”

You had been locked in your bedroom with Felix, anxiously pacing around the room. You couldn’t hear much of anything going on outside and you weren’t sure if that was good or bad. Felix was taking all this better than you, merely on his phone while lying in bed.

“Maybe we should check things out, make sure Ji-”

“No, no, no.” Felix got up and grabbed your hands. “Y/n, the last thing you want to do is go anywhere near Jisung or the alphas. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“But-”

“The alphas are trained for this, Jisung is in good hands. By staying here we are helping.”

“Trained for this… how does an alpha train to handle an omega in heat… that’s just ridiculous…”

“I mean, we’ll see for ourselves some day.”

“… right…”

Despite Felix’s words of assurance, you couldn’t shake the nerves. You asked him multiple times if he could hear anything, which he said he couldn’t and would rather not try. You didn’t sleep all night, and Felix only dozed off a bit, trying to make sure you didn’t do anything rash. It wasn’t until early morning that you heard someone outside the door, Hyunjin and Jeongin checking in.

“I thought you would have fallen asleep?” Hyunjin questioned.

“I tried.” Felix mumbled. “But you know…”

“Is Jisung okay!?” You jumped to your feet. “Can I see him!? Where is he!?”

“Easy, easy.” Jeongin chuckled. “Jisung is fine, and he’s been moved to an observation room for the time being. You won’t be able to see him for a while.”

“Observation room? What’s that? Why can’t-”

“It’s temporary. Jisung’s in a delicate headspace and needs to be closely monitored, which means no guests. Once he’s better he’ll be back and then you can ask him questions. Okay. I promise he’s fine.”

“When will he be back?”

“It takes a few days, and the timing depends on every omega.”

“… okay…”

Even though you weren’t satisfied with the answers given to you, there wasn’t much else you could do. You had no idea where Jisung was, or what you could do for him. Of course you asked about him everyday, and the answer was always the same. Jisung was fine and doing well, he would return soon. You didn’t want to be an anxious mess, but you hadn’t been away from Jisung in so long. You couldn’t help but worry about him despite what everyone told you. Not to mention this was making it difficult to focus in any of your classes. Instead you started to realize other omegas were absent from class too, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were in the same predicament as Jisung.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I… well I trust the alphas not to hurt Jisung.” Felix admitted. “And they’re calm, so I’m calm…”

“Ah, right… your senses aren’t numbed up like me…”

You could be a light sleeper at times, and now was one of those moments. Every little sound at night made you think Jisung was back, but that wasn’t the case. The alphas told you that they’d let you know when he returned, but you were still waiting. Even if you didn’t sleep well, you were getting some sleep. It wasn’t enough to ease the alphas though.

“Y/n, can I talk to you.”

While you were trying to do an assignment Changbin knocked on your door. He stayed out in the hall, but he still wanted to talk. He didn’t look upset, and even if you couldn’t pick up on his pheromones you felt like you were in trouble. That was probably written on your face.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“You’re not in trouble for starters.”

“Oh, then what?”

“I need you to calm down.”

“Huh?”

“I know you’re just worried about Jisung, but your anxiousness is rubbing off on Felix. Not to mention you’re not sleeping well either.”

“… sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault.”

“I just want to know what’s going on…”

“When Jisung gets back he can answer all your questions.”

“I know but-”

“You’re gonna make him worry about you, and if you keep this up you’re gonna freak out Felix. You know it’s bad given you’re on suppressants and still affecting him.”

“… oh… right… right… I just…”

“I know the idea isn’t your favorite, but I could help you with my pheromones.”

“No. No, I don’t-”

“Hear me out. I know the last time I did such a thing it wasn’t consensual, but this would be different. You’re on suppressants so to get the desired effect it would take a lot longer than normal, so we can go slow and at your pace.”

“I… I don’t know…”

“You won’t get overwhelmed, but if you don’t want to I am going to need you to at least take sleeping pills. You need rest.”

“Fine… we can try… the pheromones first…”

“Okay.”

You weren’t entirely sure what Changbin had in mind, but he wasn’t going to do anything in your room and mess up your safe space, again. So instead you went to the living room. He turned on the TV and let an old show play, asking you to sit next to him. You had brought your assignment, wanting to work on it, but you only managed a bit before giving up. You sat back on the couch, keeping close to Changbin but not too much. He hadn’t said anything the whole time, creating a calming atmosphere and letting you ease into it. The others were out for the time being, so there wasn’t anything to interrupt.

You focused on the show, getting a bit engrossed in that and unknowingly leaning against Changbin. Even though he had noticed he didn’t draw any attention to it. His intention was for this to be slow and gradual. He carefully moved his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you closer. You were starting to feel a bit tired, leaning against Changbin as you dozed off. Changbin slowly pulled you into his embrace, adjusting his position and letting you rest against his chest. A hand softly pet your head, soothing you and getting you to sleep. This was long overdue for you, and very necessary. 

Come morning you woke up in your own bed, actually feeling well rested. It was surprising, but you also didn’t feel as anxious anymore. Still, you weren’t gonna be completely better until Jisung returned. The wait wasn’t long after that night with Changbin, and you felt such relief when you saw Jisung again. He returned to the dorm early one morning, and you immediately rushed to hug him. You were so happy to have him back, and of course you couldn’t help but berate him with questions about what happened and how he was doing. For everyone’s sake, the alphas let you and Felix catch up with Jisung.

“I’m just fine, I promise.”

“But what happened to you!? The alphas said you were in an observation room.”

“Yeah, I was, they just had to keep an eye on me as my memories came back to me.”

“So you really blacked out?” Felix questioned. “After the whole ordeal?”

“I mean… yeah, it was… intense… and the alphas were very nice.”

“Yeah I bet. Did all six of them-”

“No! No, let’s not talk about that.” You interrupted. “What matters is that you’re back, and you’re not gonna disappear again, are you?”

“There’s no reason for me to. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s not your fault. Something like that is out of your control.”

Things seemed to go back to normal now that Jisung was back, and you were very much at ease. You figured everything would be fine, but what happened with Jisung was only the beginning. One night you were up late doing some reading when you decided to get snacks. The dorm was quiet enough, so you snuck over to the kitchen. There you discovered you weren’t the only one up late, seeing Felix rummaging around the fridge. You chuckled and cautiously approached him, tapping his shoulder.

“You gonna share?”

“Sh! Only with you.”

The two of you giggled and grabbed something to munch on, sitting on the kitchen counter top. You didn’t need to talk, just enjoying the quiet of the night and your snacks. You wanted to get back to your book, but Felix caught you by surprise when he followed you, hugging you from behind. He nuzzled into your neck, tickling you.

“Felix, cut it out.”

“Don’t go, not yet.”

“It’s already late, we shouldn’t be up anyway.”

“But we are.”

You tried to get Felix to let go, but he wouldn’t budge. You figured maybe he was just sleepy and a little delusional so you started moving with him in tow, planning to take him to his bedroom. At one point he stopped and held you in place, whimpering.

“Felix, come on now.”

You tried again to get Felix to release you but his grip only got tighter. You groaned, grabbing at his hands and really forcing him off. You got free, but only for a moment before he pounced on you, pinning you to the ground with his body.

“Don’t be so mean.”

You tried to get Felix off of you and then your hands brushed against his face. You felt this warmth, cupping his cheeks and pressing your palm against his head. He was burning up, but you began to realize this wasn’t just a fever. You immediately began squirming and trying to break free, but Felix wasn’t letting you go.

“Help! Help! Chan! Minho!”

You knew this wasn’t Felix’s fault, but you shouldn’t be anywhere near him in this state. All you could really do was scream for help.

“Changbin! Seungmin! Someone! Help! Hyunjin! Jeongin! Please!”

You didn’t know who it was, but all of a sudden Felix was yanked off of you, another pair of hands pulling you back and getting you to your feet. You heard some scuffling, but didn’t get to see much before you were taken away. Next thing you knew you were in your room, Chan looking you over.

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“… no… no, is Felix okay?”

“He will be, we’ll look after him.”

“… sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“You did the right thing. Now you stay here, okay?”

“I know… wait, what about-”

Before you could finish your question Hyunjin came in with a sleepy Jisung in tow. You pulled him over, having him lay down in bed.

“You two will be okay, right?” Chan questioned. 

“Yeah…”

“Okay. Stay here, like last time. Someone will check in later.”

“I know.”

Even though you had been through this before, you were still worried. You hadn’t seen what Jisung was like before the alphas took him away, but seeing Felix. He didn’t do anything to you but you could only imagine what would happen down the line. 

“Y/n, take it easy.” Jisung mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Felix is gonna be just fine, he’s in good hands.”

“…”

“I was in his situation before, and now I’m here. You know he’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah… you came back no problem… but what if-”

“No, no, no, no, none of that.” Jisung went to hug you. “Don’t think like that. This is just a normal part of being an omega, it’s okay.”

For a moment you felt at ease, processing Jisung’s words and then something dawned on you. Jisung was right, this was a normal part of being an omega, and given that Jisung had gone through this not so long ago, it meant you were surely next. You didn’t like that idea at all, holding on to Jisung tighter than before.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this…”

“Maybe it’s just Felix’s lingering pheromones, how about a shower? Then we can get some rest.”

“Sure…”

You washed up with Jisung, the shower actually helping. Even if you were worried about your own future right now, you couldn’t get any answers until later. You focused on the present, deciding to try and sleep while everything else went on. You only managed to doze off here and there, getting some rest. Jisung slept through the night, but he would wake if you disturbed him too much. He kept you wrapped up in his arms, not wanting to lose track of you even while he was sleeping. Come morning there was a knock at the door, and you looked over to see Chan and Seungmin peeking in.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Seungmin teased.

“I tried…” You mumbled. “And Felix?”

“He’ll be away for a few days.” Chan said. “He’s just fine.”

“Good… uh… I wanted to ask… uh…”

You felt a bit embarrassed to ask, so Chan gestured to talk elsewhere to let Jisung sleep. You carefully slipped out of bed and headed out to the living room. The other alphas weren’t around, but you were still nervous.

“Did something happen?” Seungmin asked. “You can tell us, we won’t be mad.”

“It’s not that… I just… Jisung and Felix… am I… gonna… you know…”

“Ah, you’re cute, but no. You shouldn’t be going into heat anytime soon. You’re on suppressants.”

“So as long as I take them, I’ll be fine?”

“Not necessarily.” Chan continued. “The suppressants will certainly delay your first, but it can’t prevent it. Not forever.”

“… is there anything… I can do…?”

“Omegas have heat cycles, it’s a natural thing. It’s gonna happen eventually, but honestly, I don’t think it will be anytime soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause you don’t trust us. You don’t feel completely safe around us and the stress of that means your body won’t put you in such a vulnerable state. You’ll get there in your own time.”

“… okay…”

Jisung stayed close while Felix was gone, feeling a greater imbalance in the dorm for the time being. You mostly stuck to your room, wanting to distract yourself until Felix was back. Also to not think about what Chan had told you. While at your desk doing homework you noticed a random scribble on one of your notebooks, seeing a phone number and name, Gunil. You suddenly remembered that when you got back from the party you had written down Gunil’s number before going to wash up. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The thought of texting him crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea given how much time had passed. Still, curiosity won out, so you send him a message.

“Hi… it’s y/n… sorry I didn’t text sooner.”

There wasn’t a response, and you figured he was probably busy with something. As you were about to put your phone down you felt it buzz.

“Hey, nice to hear from you. How you been?”

“Good, and you?”

“Same old stuff. Just working on this paper.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. I need a break anyway. What are you up to?”

“Just some reading.”

“I’m kinda jealous you just get to learn and not take exams.”

“It has its perks, but also feels pointless to a degree.”

“Touché. You know, I have some free time later today, wanna meet up?”

“Sure.”

You thought things over for a moment, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to see Gunil in person. Besides, there were some things you wanted to ask, and only he had the answers. Now the problem was going out. You never did that, so obviously the alphas were gonna ask questions when they saw you heading for the door.

“And where are you going?” Jeongin asked, walking over. “Your classes are done for the day.”

“I know. I’m just going to meet up with a friend…”

“A friend? Who?”

“I knew him back in high school and we recently reconnected… he gave me his number at that party…”

“Is he an alpha?”

“… yes…”

“Since when-”

“Let her go.” Minho cut in. “She wouldn’t be going out to meet with some alpha if she didn’t trust them, and she’s not lying either. You can hear her steady heartbeat.”

“Fine. You won’t be out late, right?”

“No, no, I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Good. Call us if you need anything.”

“Okay…”

You agreed to meet up with Gunil outside the library, wanting to be out in the open. When you arrived you saw him sitting on a bench browsing his phone. As you got closer he looked up, seeing you and smiling, getting up to meet you halfway.

“Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi…”

“I’m glad you agreed to meet me. Why don’t we get something to eat and talk, no interruptions this time, right?”

“Yeah.”

There were a lot of places on campus that you hadn’t been to before. You knew of them, but the idea of going and potentially getting mobbed by alphas frightened you too much. Things were different now with the suppressants, and you weren’t alone. Gunil bought some snacks and drinks, the two of you finding a table to sit at.

“You got my favorite…”

“I was hoping that was still the case. I remember when I used to leave them on your desk with a note. I don’t think I ever saw you eat them.”

“Uh… well… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t want me to see?”

“… didn’t know…”

“Huh?”

“I never found any snacks on my desk…”

“Oh…”

“I would have thanked you… and probably told you it wasn’t necessary…”

“I see… I guess I should have kept a better eye on that.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I suppose… you know… after everyone switched classes… I didn’t see much of you anymore…”

“Did you miss me?”

“… I’m not sure I can answer that…”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” Gunil got silent for a moment. “Even though we weren’t in the same class anymore, I still saw you.”

“You did…?”

“Yeah. Out in the halls, always scurrying off and keeping your head down… I could tell something was different about you. Everything and everyone seemed to frighten you, and you avoided alphas as if they were the plague. You seemed stressed, and I didn’t want to add to that, so I waited. Yet you were always sad, so I kept my distance, for your sake.”

You had always wondered what happened to Gunil. You wouldn’t have been able to face him after the incident, but his sudden absence didn’t go unnoticed. All this time you thought he only paid attention to you cause you were in the same class, and now that you weren’t, he didn’t have time for you. It was a long time ago, but knowing the truth now was comforting.

“… thank you… for your kindness… back then… I really do appreciate it…”

“Y/n… I am sorry for what happened to you.”

“… what? Did you…”

“Only recently.” Gunil explained. “I heard about those that got expelled, the names were familiar, and I remembered what they were like back then… so I just put the pieces together… it was my fault… and I understand if you can’t bring yourself to face me after this but… I would still like to keep in contact, if that’s possible.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You took a moment. “I’ve been… healing… slowly getting better… I dorm with some alphas… and they’re all pretty nice… even if they have their secrets…”

“I’m glad to hear that. There was certainly joy and life in your eyes when I saw you at the party, something I hadn’t seen in a long time.”

With the heavier side out in the open, the uncertainty between you two seemed to lessen. You found it easier to talk with him, and just be friends. In a way he helped you look back on your high school days in a more positive light. You had been stuck in one place for so long, and were only now shedding the past and living in the present. You did keep your promise to the others though, excusing yourself before sundown, telling Gunil you’d message him later. He was glad to see you smile, offering you a quick hug before letting you go. When you got back to the dorm you heard a lot of commotion, and a familiar voice.

“Felix!”

You ran to hug Felix tightly, glad to have him back. You didn’t even have to ask as he began to tell you that he was alright.

“It was a nice long vacation, but I’m back now, and I’m perfectly fine.”

“Good.”

“I am sorry about before…”

“I know it wasn’t your fault. It’s just good to have you back.”

You could finally feel at ease with everyone back, knowing there were no more surprises in store. Or at least, no one was gonna spontaneously leave. Although now that you weren’t worried about those two, you could finally sit down with everything else that had happened. You kept texting with Gunil, glad to have a friend, and he helped you see things a bit differently. In reality, he let you see things as they really were. When you were around the dorm you found yourself staring at the alphas. You knew them more than any other alpha. You had seen the good and bad from them, but you knew that at their core they wanted to do good. Jisung and Felix never had any reason to be weary of them and liked them from the start. Perhaps if things had been different you’d feel the same.

You knew more than you should and it changed your view of many things. There were serious consequences for alphas who did not do well, and you didn’t want anyone to suffer in such a way. You wanted to do better, to get better, but you knew that was still a work in progress. As long as you were open to the idea, things should work out. Still, you weren’t quite ready to talk to the alphas, but you still wanted to do good. For the moment you’d just stick to what you did best, knowing you’d get there at your own pace. One day as you were doing some reading you were starting to get frustrated, getting hot. Perhaps you needed a break so you went to take a shower. The cool water felt so refreshing, yet after a moment you realized it wasn’t helping.

“Y/n.”

You jumped a bit when you heard Jisung calling your name, knocking on your door. You didn’t want to see anyone at the moment, so you called out from the shower, saying you were busy. You thought he left but then heard another knock on your bathroom door.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound-”

“Go away!”

You felt bad for yelling, but you hoped he’d take the message. It had the opposite effect as Jisung entered the bathroom. You screamed when he pulled back the shower curtain, covering yourself. Jisung apologized but still reached over to grab you, pulling you closer and pressing his palm against your head. You shook him off, telling him to leave again, but he didn’t move.

“Y/n… you’re kinda burning up…”

“I’m fine, now get out!”

“You know… you’re likely going into heat…”

“I’m not!”

“The alphas are gonna notice eventually, and you’re gonna get worse.”

“It’s not that, now go!”

Jisung decided to do as you asked this time, leaving you alone, but he put the idea in your head, and now you were starting to panic. You sat down in the tub, hugging your legs to your chest and just telling yourself it wasn’t true. It was probably just some fever or something and you’d be fine. You just needed to get some medicine, but you didn’t feel like moving. You hadn’t felt any better since Jisung called you out, and you were scared if he was right.

“Y/n…” You heard Chan’s voice knocking outside your room. “Are you alright? Jisung-”

“I’m fine! Don’t come in here!”

“I won’t, I promise, but are you-”

“Go away!”

Chan honored your wish, but he wasn’t happy. After talking to you Jisung ran to him, and he could catch your faint scent on him, and he knew what was going on immediately. He knew you wouldn’t just let him in, let him help, but he couldn’t just let you suffer. It wasn’t long before the others realized what was going on, wondering what to do.

“She can’t be alone.” Changbin said. “We need to do something.”

“I know, but this is still a delicate situation.” Chan stated. “We can’t just barge in, even if she’d forgive us in the end. This is an important time for her, we shouldn’t mess it up.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hyunjin asked. “It’s only gonna get worse the longer she keeps to herself.”

“Which is why she won’t be.”

“She won’t…? Wait, are you suggesting Jisung and Felix help her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nuts?” Seungmin snapped. “Her pheromones are gonna trigger them, then we’re gonna have three omegas in heat.”

“It will help her though.” Minho added. “And that’s the priority here. I think we can handle three omegas. Only one of them would be going through their first.”

“It honestly sounds kinda fun.” Jeongin chuckled. “But are we sure we can deal with this? Y/n’s going through her first, she needs the most care and attention. If we have to worry about Jisung and Felix too, things are gonna get complicated.”

“It will help though…” Jisung mumbled, making his and Felix’s presence known, the pair having been eavesdropping. “Right?”

“She needs to feel safe and be in a good state so she accepts our help.” Chan explained. “If you can help her with that, it would be very good for her.”

“We’ll do it.” Felix confirmed. “We can help.”

♥♥♥♥♥

You wanted the cold water to help you feel better, but it wasn’t. You were scared, having no idea what was supposed to happen. Reading books and being told about it was all just theory, and everyone had a different experience. While lost in your own head you heard knocking, looking up in a panic only to see Jisung and Felix. They knelt down by the tub, Jisung reaching for your hands.

“Hey… you can’t stay like this… the water won’t help.”

“Just leave…”

“We’re not gonna do that.” Felix said. “We’re gonna help you.”

The two helped you get out of the tub, shutting off the water and wrapping you in a towel. They dried you up a bit, but without the water you were starting to feel worse. The heat in your body was spreading, making you anxious. This didn’t feel like a normal fever, and it was hard to deny what this really was.

“You two… shouldn’t be here…”

“We know.” Jisung admitted. “But we can’t just leave you alone. The alphas don’t just want to help unless you’re okay with it.”

“I don’t want them to… help…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Felix wondered. “It’s gonna get worse. They can help, trust me they really do, and-”

“No… no, I’ll be fine…”

“You’re gonna change your mind.”

“I… I won’t…”

[dark-elf-writes]

The Assclass (haha, ass) Percy au is so good, but i think that we are sleeping on Korosensei as the first good teacher Percy ever has. He thinks is Christmas when Percy arrives. A New student? Who has a sword? He will teach him to kill so many things with it, so few assassins use them this days, they are underrated. He already knows how to use it? HE HAS DEFINETILY KILLED SOMETHING WITH IT, HE IS SO PROUD

But then when he starts teaching him basic Hiragana and Katagana he realises that maybe he is a bad teacher if it takes him so long to learn. Oh wait, let's take this test, just in case... Ok, he will study every single book about ADHD and dyslexia ever written in a single night. And make sure that he has a responsible adult watching over him just in case, he is still a minor (the government are all useless)

It’s not hard to notice that Percy is different than his other students, obviously reasons aside. He can’t sit still. Can’t focus. Is constantly fidgeting with his odd pen sword. Keeps squinting at the board and his papers like the words (written in both English and Japanese) won’t sit right. Truthfully it’s almost embarrassing that it took him so long to put it together. To coax Percy into a few assessments during one of their extra lessons to help teach him Japanese.

Percy nods when he tells him he shows signs of ADHD and dyslexia, then frowns like he doesn’t know why it sounds so familiar.

(He wouldn’t know, of course. Couldn’t remember his own last name much less things he may or may not have been diagnosed with before he arrived in Japan.)

It’s a matter of seconds to read everything he can get his tentacles on on both ADHD and dyslexia. Microseconds to adjust his teaching plans into a structure that would better help Percy learn better. To tailor a completely new curriculum for his strange little student.

(He informed Karasuma that Percy lived alone within minutes of the man settling into his new position as teacher. Watched the frown take over the man’s face as he checked the child’s file and cursed when the information didn’t match. He didn’t question Korosensei’s information. He isn’t that stupid. He doe, however, promise to look in on Perseus whenever he can. He seems to know that Korosensei is already doing the same.)

(Percy blinking in infusion when Karasuma shows up at his apartment with takeout and claims he’s there for a wellness check as someone didn’t inform him that Percy was alone and he lived in the area. Percy doesn’t really see where the problem is but lets him in anyway and spends the first nights he can remember not alone.)

[rylem33]

A Good Person -- Ending #2: Reality Rewrite to a Bitchy Girlfriend

I asked you all for ideas on endings to my story "A Good Person" and you came through. Here's the the second one, requested by @shift-change. "Maggie's alterations becoming her new reality, with ripple effects flooding backwards, altering her memories, and Scott's memories too, so that they both remember her getting the nails, and the lip injections, having the bigger breasts, and blonde hair, and also remembering being the kind of person who would have wanted to be like this. It could affect her personality, making her more vain, more selfish, more materialistic, with a shorter fuse. Maybe even tailoring the particular personality changes to specifically fit her "bad" slip-ups from earlier in the story (e.g. road rage -> crass and vulgar; lying to boss -> dishonest and catty; judging the couple -> bitchy and judgy; skipping work -> lazy and entitled). It could also affect her and Scott's dynamic as well. She with her altered personality would be a very different wife (or even girlfriend if you want to make her not the kind of person to get too tied down), and Scott is put off by her changes, but too enraptured by her to leave. the Devil and she becomes a succubus." Here's a link to the original story in case you need it: https://www.tumblr.com/rylem33/773678228559872000/a-good-person?source=share

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

Scott’s fists clenched, his voice trembling with desperation. “What do you mean, collect?”

The man tilted his head, his smile widening with faint amusement. “Oh, Scott. It’s quite simple. Maggie made her choices, and choices have consequences.”

Before Scott could respond, the air around Maggie shimmered. She gasped, her hands flying to her chest as a ripple of heat coursed through her body.

“No!” she cried out, stumbling backward. “What’s happening to me?”

The Devil chuckled, stepping closer. “Not just you, Maggie. The reality you’ve created with your actions is rewriting itself. A new you. A new life. Perfectly tailored to the person you’ve been this past week.”

The room trembled as invisible waves of energy radiated outward from Maggie, distorting the air like ripples in a pond. Scott staggered, clutching his head as his vision blurred. Memories crashed into his mind, layering over the life he thought he’d known.

When the sensation faded, Scott opened his eyes. Maggie stood before him, but she was completely different.

Her hair was a sleek, platinum blonde, cascading perfectly down her back, and he suddenly remembered her excitement the day she came home from the salon. Her smile had been wide, her eyes gleaming as she’d run her manicured fingers through her freshly dyed locks, tossing her head back with a confidence that felt foreign and magnetic all at once.

“Do you love it, babe?” she’d asked that day, posing dramatically in the mirror. “I have to look perfect if I’m going to turn heads.”

Scott stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat as more memories flooded in. He remembered Maggie’s complaints about her body, her obsession with achieving the “perfect” figure. He recalled the hours she’d spent researching surgeons, the arguments about the cost of breast implants, and the way she’d dismissed his concerns.

“This is about me, Scott,” she’d said sharply. “You just don’t get it. Women have to look good to get ahead. You’ll thank me when I look amazing in everything I wear.”

He could still hear her delighted laughter after the procedure, the way she’d flaunted her new curves in front of the mirror, running her hands over herself with pride. “I told you this would be worth it,” she’d said with a wink.

Scott’s heart pounded as he took in her crimson nails, long and glossy. Another memory hit him of Maggie dragging him to the nail salon every two weeks, insisting on the most expensive designs. “You don’t want me walking around with chipped nails, do you?” she’d said teasingly, holding up her hands for him to admire. “This is part of the whole package.”

His mind reeled as the ripples continued to rewrite their past. He remembered the lip fillers, the complaints about how her natural lips weren’t “voluminous enough.” The painful sessions she’d insisted on enduring to get them just right, and the endless stream of selfies she’d posted afterward.

He saw the countless shopping trips, the designer dresses, the sky-high heels, and her obsession with curating her appearance for maximum impact. Every memory painted a picture of a woman who was vain, self-absorbed, and relentlessly focused on her looks.And yet, despite all of it, he remembered telling himself he loved her. He had to love her.

“Maggie…” Scott whispered, his voice shaking as he took her in.

But she wasn’t paying attention. She was scrolling through her phone, her manicured crimson nails clicking against the screen as she smirked.

Another ripple hit, and Scott’s memories twisted again.

He no longer remembered Maggie as his loving, caring wife who worked tirelessly for their future. Now, she was the Maggie who always wanted to be the center of attention, the Maggie who pouted until she got her way, the Maggie who loved flaunting herself for the stares and admiration of others.

He remembered their arguments about money, not because they didn’t have enough, but because she demanded more for designer clothes and expensive nights out.

Maggie looked up from her phone, her lips curling into a smirk as she caught him staring.

“What?” she asked, her voice sharp, almost dismissive. “You’re acting weird, Scott.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms, her body language oozing entitlement.

Scott struggled to speak, his mind wrestling with the fragmented memories. “Maggie… you’re… different.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Ugh, you’re always so boring. Honestly, Scott, why don’t you loosen up for once?” Her tone was dripping with condescension.

Another ripple hit, and Scott’s chest tightened as more memories shifted.

He saw her snapping at waiters when her food wasn’t perfect. He remembered her yelling at drivers on the road, flipping them off while laughing. He remembered her lying to her coworkers to avoid blame, brushing it off as “survival of the fittest.”

Now, all of those traits fit perfectly into the woman standing before him.

Scott’s head spun as he tried to reconcile the memories with the woman he loved. He stepped closer, reaching out to her. “Maggie, I don’t…”

She slapped his hand away with a laugh, her expression both playful and cruel. “Ugh, don’t be clingy,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “It’s such a turnoff.”

His heart broke at her words, but he couldn’t look away. She was stunning, but she wasn’t his Maggie anymore.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she said, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “Most guys would kill to have someone like me on their arm.”

Scott’s jaw clenched. “Maggie, we’re supposed to be partners. We’re supposed to love each other.”

She laughed, loud and dismissive. “Love? That’s cute, God, you’re such a loser.”

Her words cut like a knife, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Another ripple hit, and Scott’s feelings shifted. His heartbreak mingled with a desperate need to please her, to keep her happy, no matter the cost.

Scott’s knees felt weak as he sat back on the couch, watching her adjust her dress in the mirror.

The Devil stood silently in the corner, watching the scene unfold with a satisfied grin.

“This is what she chose,” he said softly, his voice dripping with amusement. “And this… is what you’ll live with.”

Maggie turned back to Scott, pouting as she inspected her nails. “Well, are you going to get up and take me out, or are you just going to sit there?” she snapped, her tone impatient.

Scott blinked, his heart breaking all over again. “Maggie… where would you even want to go?”

She rolled her eyes. “Somewhere expensive, obviously.” She grabbed her phone, snapping a quick selfie before tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Let’s go,” she said, striding toward the door without waiting for him.

Scott hesitated, glancing back at the Devil. “Why are you doing this to us?”

The Devil’s smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting. “A deal is a deal, Scott. She’s perfectly tailored to the choices she made. The real question is… what are you going to do about it?”

Scott’s turned back to Maggie. She stood by the door, scrolling through her phone with one hand while adjusting her purse with the other. She didn’t even look at him.

“Well?” she snapped, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Are you coming, or do I have to find someone else who knows how to treat me right?”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, but the thought of losing her terrified him even more.

“I’m coming,” he said quickly, his voice small and desperate.

She smirked, turning back to the door. “That’s what I thought.”

Scott followed her, his shoulders slumped. He hated what she had become, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight her. She was intoxicating, and his love for her, twisted as it was now, kept him tethered to her.

As they stepped outside, Maggie didn’t wait for him. She strode confidently toward the car, her heels clicking against the pavement, her head held high.

Scott hurried to catch up, reaching for the car door to open it for her.

She slid into the passenger seat without so much as a thank-you, immediately pulling out her phone again. “Drive me to that new rooftop bar downtown,” she said, her tone commanding. “And don’t embarrass me this time.”

Scott nodded silently, starting the car. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove, her laughter and selfies filling the quiet between them.

The Devil’s words echoed in his mind. What are you going to do about it?

Scott glanced at her in the rearview mirror, she posed for another photo, oblivious to his feelings.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He would do whatever she wanted, anything to stay by her side, even if she barely noticed him.

[eggcompany]

Divorced Zaundads AU

Except they get back together after years of being apart.

Silco grew his business, renting a big empty apartment that didn’t smell like their old apartment above the bar. He mostly just sat on his little balcony and smoked cigarettes. He spent all his time alone, doing yoga in his living room and eating salad. Food didnt taste good when he made it. Nothing felt good if he was doing it by himself.

Vander raised little Violet and baby Powder. He tried his best but he felt kinda… empty. He was stressed and did his best working the bar and taking the kids to school and trying to keep the apartment clean. He sometimes still grabbed four plates for dinner.

Everything falls into place one day, after three years. Silco’s in a bad place. He’d been drinking and yelling at employees and just spending every minute out of the office sitting in the dark of his apartment. Vander was burnt out, going through the motions. He just wanted to sleep all the time.

Silco decided he’d go to the place him and Vander used to go to. The bridge. He threw on his coat, wearing his slippers and wrinkled silk pajamas, and went out to smoke a cigar and over look the river.

Vander decided he needed to go on a walk, get some fresh air. Benzo had agreed to babysit AKA sleep in the recliner in the apartment living room just in case one of the girls woke up. He ended up at the river, the bridge, the one where he asked Silco to spend their lives together.

Silco didn’t notice him until Vander was leaning against the guardrail next to him. He could’ve cried. He was warm and the smell of him was so bone deep familiar. Silco didn’t mean to let the sob out.

“I missed you. I miss you so fucking much it’s killing me.” Silco said as Vander pulled him into a hug, so close, so tight. Vander held onto him like he’d never let go, nosing at his dark hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just- I need you.” Vander said and Silco nodded, hands twisting in Vander’s jacket.

Silco was being pushed away, his hands coming up to wipe away his tears before Vander was leaning down to press a kiss onto his lips. Neither of them knew who started it but soon they were making their way to the closest motel.

It was a blur of familiar hands, clothes hitting the floor, whispered ‘I love you’s, and what they both needed. The intimacy of being with someone who knows every inch, every good spot, everything.

Vander kissed across the scar on Silco’s face, the mark he’d caused, even as Silco cried, the feeling of being full, for the first time in so long, he could feel Vander’s heartbeat, his sorrow.

“I wanna go home.” Silco said as they laid together in the motel bed, cuddled close, satisfied and happy.

“I what you home. It’s where you belong.” Vander said and pulled Silco impossibly closer.

When the morning rolled around Silco put his pajamas back on and his coat, a giddy, teenage kinda laughter filled them as they put their clothes on and left the motel. It was a flower bloomed again for the first time in the spring.

The girls were happy when their papa came back. Powder clinging to his pant leg, violet was a little more withheld. Silco understood. The scars and his eye, she was afraid of him. It was okay.

Soon he let his lease end and their apartment, the one that they were always supposed to have, was bright and back to the way it was supposed to be.

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 1/24: Fanart!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the current series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin, I would like to first direct your attention to the Ko-Fi page of @autistic-artistech , as they have a small assortment of Republic Commando fanart available alongside a few other items. So, if there's anyone out there who would like to help an artist, be sure to check it out.

Secondly, as you'll obviously notice as you scroll down...I may have gone a little overboard with the Mandalorians this time around, but given the state of the world these days, I kinda feel as though I needed a few extra pieces of armor for my mind, even if they are imaginary. So for the time being, I guess I'm wrapping myself in a beskaar forcefield in order to feel better protected outside. ^^;

Anyways! Before I get too distracted, lost, or hauled off for Imperial interrogation...here now are my picks of the week!

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @vikushat:

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @foxyaran:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @cookiebeatz:

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @zahmaddog:

STAR WARS REBELS

Star Wars Rebels Fanart--By @englishwerewolf:

Star Wars Rebels Fanart--By @universesstardust:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanart--By @discopartydruid:

The Mandalorian Fanart--By @muensterfucker:

THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT

Boba Fett Fanart--By @terroreignor:

Boba Fett Fanart--By @jbcrochetwizard:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and highlight those artists who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

If anybody likes what they see here AND would enjoy seeing more posts like this; please drop the rock star emoji (👩‍🎤) into the comments or reblogs, and I'll be sure to tag you when the next update comes.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you, stay safe, and I’ll see you in the next post!

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @the-osborn-way @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenathegreengirl @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve @apocalyp-tech-a and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanart.

[sammyluvr]

✶ green couch — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, younger sibling!reader, fluffy hurt/comfort, mentions of arguing, unedited, 898 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : a green, velvet couch + “i don’t say it enough, but i care about you. a lot.”

a green, velvet couch sounds like something fancy and desirable, maybe like it belongs in the home of some wealthy person’s well curated home. this one smells a bit musty, is falling into disrepair, and resides in bobby’s cluttered living room. regardless, you think it deserves some merit for the fact that it’s still so soft after many years of use and admittedly poor care. it’s not even lumpy, and is a surprisingly nice place to fall asleep when one is avoiding their overprotective older brothers.

you are trusted to be alright most of the time. you have all of the skills that you need to keep yourself safe, but it doesn’t stop sam or dean from worrying. it’s just that you didn’t expect to get any shit about it from sam today. dean is more likely to overreact about something like this, but sam must be extra on edge today.

honestly, you’re not even completely sure what it was that he got upset about, just that it was something about this last hunt. either way, it was all frustrating enough that you abandoned the cot in the room you usually share with sam here, and have migrated to your favorite couch of the house. the sun is long set, and you fall asleep there, knees bent to accommodate the size of the couch and neck tilted up as your head presses into the armrest. you’ll be sore in the morning, but you’re as stubborn as sam and already fast asleep anyway.

the clock on the wall ticks softly, marking 2:17 a.m. when sam finally comes back inside. you’d argued in the gravel driveway, and when you stormed back into the house, sam took to sitting alone on the hood of some dysfunctional car for hours.

he treads lightly as he lets himself back into the house, not wanting to wake anyone, but most especially you. he’s sure you’re tired after the hunt and subsequent argument, which he’s felt bad about since the moment he raised his voice at all. he doesn’t notice you when he passes by the living room, the shadows and wide back cushion of the couch keeping you hidden from his view. but he enters the bedroom where you should be sleeping and immediately notices your absence. he calls your name softly, then turns on his heel, mind already wheeling with worst case scenarios. he checks dean’s room and the bathroom before rushing back down the stairs. he’ll wake dean if he can’t find you in the house.

he keeps his voice quiet as he continually calls your name, not panicking just yet. he’s glad he kept quiet when he spots you on the couch, cheek squished against the armrest and day clothes mussed. a sigh of relief leaves his lips, and another rush of guilt floods his chest.

his feet carry him softly to you, silent to keep you sleeping. he crouches in front of you, the faint sound of muffled music meeting his ears. you’ve fallen asleep with one earbud in, the wires leading to your ipod all tangled. with quiet, slow hands, he slips the ipod from where it had begun to disappear in the crack between cushions. his big thumb almost presses skip instead of pause, but the music stops. your sleep is deep enough that the change doesn’t make you stir one bit. now, all sam can hear is your soft, even breathing and the ticking of the clock.

he gently pulls the earbuds away from your sleeping form and wraps the wires neatly around the ipod before setting it on the carpet and returning his gaze to your face.

“jesus, kid, i’m sorry,” he whispers, a light frown on his lips. your short sleeved shirt catches his attention and his frown deepens. it gets cold at night here, and the downstairs isn’t as good at retaining heat than the rooms above. he shrugs his brown jacket off and carefully settles it over you, its fabric warm with his body heat. his expression softens when the warmth pulls a soft sigh from your lips and you seem to settle a bit more than before.

he waits a little while to see if you’ll wake. he’d rather you sleep in a bed tonight; he’ll give up the bigger one for you if you want. but he’d also hate to disrupt your sleep. you’ve always had an affinity for this couch anyway. so when you stay fast asleep, he brings you down a blanket from his bed and promises to apologize when you’re awake in the morning.

his hand lingers over the top of your head after making sure you’ll be warm enough, and his voice is soft and sincere. “i don’t say it out loud enough, but i care about you. a lot. i’ll go into town and buy you a good breakfast in the morning.”

a few hours later, you get too hot. half asleep, you kick the poor blanket off and it falls to the floor in a heap. but you curl your fingers into the thick material of sam’s jacket, not needing to open your eyes to recognize the familiar texture. sturdy on the outside edge, but the lining a bit softer. for a work jacket, it’s quite comfortable to sleep with. more than anything, it’s comforting and a very appropriate beginning to an apology.

[nikoniclove]

A short blurb for @nerdy-mama who wanted Emily and glasses

First Sighting

You’ve been sleeping with them a bit. You’re still technically keeping track of how many nights it’s been, so it’s still new. You’re not better about waking up at their apartment per se, but you know you can make coffee and read on the couch with Sergio until they wake up.

This time you’re just waiting for Emily since JJ is away on a case with Rossi. Sergio has found a way to drape over your shoulder and the back of the couch, occasionally digging his toe beans into your neck or pawing at your braid. You don’t mind, as long as his claws stay tucked. His quiet purrs, soft fur, and his unique blend of mischief and cuddly is perfect, and you’ve loved the cat from the start. You boop his nose, tipping your head slightly when you scratch under his chin.

You hear her muffled footsteps, the change in sound between the carpet of the bedroom and the hardwood of the hallway, and look in the direction she’ll appear.

You’ve seen her waking up a number of times, but this morning you’re flustered. Glasses. She has glasses. Your heart skips a few beats. Emily yawns, rubbing her face tiredly and then stretching languidly; the silk of her robe shifts against her thighs. Her hair is still sleep-mused, and the glasses… fuck… the glasses. “Morning, love,” she rasps, her voice rough with sleep. Your mouth gapes open a bit. “Are you being a pain in the ass, Serg?”

Emily glances over at you expectantly. Right. English. Words. Speak, brain. Speak, you chide yourself. “Glasses,” you manage, which… sure, fine. It’s technically a word, but you were hoping your brain could come up with a proper greeting and not a jarbled one-word phrase like an utter idiot. “You wear glasses.” More words, not any better.

“I’m sure you’ve seen them before, or honestly, I’m just really bad about giving my eyes a break when I switch out my contact lenses.” She leans against the back of the arm chair, taking in your very obvious flustered appearance. “What?”

“Umm… they’re… uh… you look…” Her pearly white teeth pierce her bottom lip in the most flirtatious smile, and your heart flutters around, further exacerbating your flustered state of being. Emily waits you out, smug and intrigued. You swallow the lump in your throat. “You’re pretty.”

She walks toward you slowly, her tongue peeking out to lick her lips. “Yeah? You like the glasses, hmm?” You nod immediately, not trusting your voice at all the closer you get. “You want to show me how much you like the glasses?”

The halves of her robe float apart, and despite the swaths of pale skin, lean muscles, and heavy breasts now on display, you keep getting drawn in by the glasses. Maybe it’s the shiny black of the glasses matching the silky black of the robe. Maybe it’s the way it draws your attention to her beautifully brown eyes with her lusciously long lashes. Maybe you’re just head over heels in love with this woman and refusing to admit it. Possibly all three, but my god, you can’t even think.

“You are so fucking cute,” Emily hums, sitting next to you on the couch. The back of her fingers stroke your cheek, and your eyes finally flit to her lips and the coy smile encouraging you to act.

Back in the bedroom the alarms wail their alerts that it’s time to get up and get ready for work. “Mmm, guess we’ll have to rain check. Coming over tonight?”

“Yes,” you agree quickly.

It’s going to be a long day, and you’re going to have exactly one thing on your mind.

Emily Prentiss in her half-open silk robe, sleep-mused and perfect, with her glasses perched delicately on her nose.

[kitab00m101]

This is home

Names are so beautiful and strange. I never really understood what people ment when they said that their name was a part of who they were, or that it meant a lot to them. Maybe that was because at the time, my name was an obligation. I had no choice but to be (deadname), it was the word that my family attached to their love for me.

Now that I'm figuring out who I am, it seems like I have all the right reasons to dislike and hate my deadname, but I don't have that option. I'm not going to lie to myself and say that once I come out I'll never be called (deadname) again. I'm never going to feel nothing when I hear this name out and about, or when I see it at the top of my old drawings. In my case, it's always gonna be there, for the good and the bad, so I just gotta welcome it like a guest that's overstayed it's visit. You can pop by as many times as you want, but there are new residents living here. They are all aware that the lease is technically in your name, but this isn't your home, and we all know it.

Speaking of those new residents, I'm glad they moved in. There's a lot more of them since (deadname) moved out, but they all fit perfectly into this little chaotic home in their own ways.

Kathrine was an escape from (deadname) when I was younger. In my mind, Kathrine could be whatever it wanted to be, boy, girl, bird, everything outside and inbetween. In the house, Kathrine is the senior resident, who can still remember how unwelcoming these walls used to be, and so it helps give the place a homely warmth whenever it can.

Another resident that I hope stays long after (deadname) leaves is Saurus. I respond to it instantly, and it's been around since I was littler than little. I obviously went through a dinosaur phase that never really went away, so when I was a kid my family would call me (deadname)-a-saurus as a cute nickname, that eventually just became shortened to Saurus. The only reason that Kathrine is considered senior resident and not Saurus is because it was a nickname. It came to this home holding (deadname)'s hand, and despite protests, (deadname) has still refused to let go. I really hope Saurus can let go one day, and connect with the other names in here.

Running around are plenty of nicknames, and the residents still take care of them as a courtesy to (deadname). Some of them have even been taken out of (deadname)'s care permanently, and have been adopted by one or two of the residents. Little nicknames darting in and out of the rooms make this place feel more alive, more like home.

Finally, there's Erin.

It hasn't been living here for more than a couple months, I've only been called it once outloud, but it's my name. It's so close, yet so far from (deadname) that you could have them look at eachother and tell them it's a broken mirror. Despite Erin being the reason (deadname) is getting kicked out, it really liked this new name. It represents everything it couldn't be when I was younger. More masculine, nerdy and goofy, free to be itself despite everything around it. There's still a bittersweetness everytime Erin takes down an old photo of (deadname), but it doesn't mind. (Deadname) knows that it's imprint on this home will never truly leave, and Erin excepted that from the moment it moved in.

(Deadname) still stands at the door perpetually, leading everyone I love to continue thinking it's the only one who lives there. But if you really know me, if you take the time to let me feel comfortable enough to let you in, this home glows with warmth and love even in the hardest of times. If you really love me, one day you'll walk through that door and hug Erin tightly, and make this vital part of me feel loved outside these walls.

One day, I hope the lease is in Erin's name.

[cwritesforfun]

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Escape part three

Part One Link <~ read first Part Two Link <~ read this too

Y/N = Your First Name & L/N = Your Last Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the Gladiator 2 characters or plot* I do change some of the plot!!!

Masterlist

Y/N's POV

Geta rested for a while, and eventually, you realized he was here to stay. He had told you countless times that he wanted to stay, but it hit you that he really did want to.

You thought that him staying would be easy, but why should it be?

Geta disagreed with your leadership style to the point where he kept arguing with you in and out of court. You finally had it with his constant disapproval, and you made your guards escort him out of the room. The rest of the day at court was tense for you. Everyone seemed to be walking on ice around you.

You meet Geta in one of the sitting rooms in the palace and have tea delivered. You take a cautious sip and ask, "So, Geta, would you like to tell me about what was wrong today in court?" Geta glances at you and answers, "I just don't like the way you let everyone have a say in court proceedings. I also didn't believe some of those crimes should have been pardoned. They deserved to be executed." Your eyes widen, and you reply, "I see. Geta, I let everyone have a say in what happens at court because that is what happens in this country. I let everyone preach their case and why they think I should listen to them. It keeps people happy to know that their views have been heard. It also ensures that I know the full story going into the proceedings. I know Rome was different, but you are not in Rome now." He looks distraught, and you continue, "And as for the crimes being pardoned, I think you would benefit learning from my advisors about the rulings in my country. I'll talk to them tonight, and you can attend lessons during the next couple of weeks so you can better understand my decisions. I don't like how you reacted in court and think you can also learn how to better express your disagreements. I'll make sure that is included in your lessons." He asks, "Anything else?" You answer, "I think it might be best if you sleep in another room while you attend the lessons so you can try to remain unbiased. Knowing how I would think may influence your lessons.” He reaches out for my hand and replies, "I thought we weren't going to be parting ways again." You reply, "We're not exactly parting ways. I'll still be at the palace and join you for dinner. Besides, I believe some time apart will benefit us. We began this relationship quickly and with an intensity that no others can grasp." He nods and replies, "Fine, as you wish, your majesty."

Geta's POV

How can one sit through boring lessons all day and not be annoyed?

I keep telling myself that I'm doing this for Y/N, but really, her choices of people to lead my lessons are a drag. For the first week of my lessons, I sat in lessons with her old governess from when she was a child. This lady was cold and stubborn. She kept snapping at me, and she treated me like a child. The second week, I was with her foreign advisor, who was a persnickety old man who kept quizzing me on viewpoints of this country. I kept thinking of how I would react as Emperor of Rome, which was the wrong thing to do. Speaking of Rome, apparently, it thrives under Lucius' reign. Both of these lessons required extra reading too. They had Y/N's notes inside and she often included little jokes that made me smile. I love her. However, the third week of lessons was my favorite. I learned from her military advisor who was both kind and fierce. His team respected him and followed him. He was kind to me and it seemed he actually liked me.

If I thought that was bad, well, I have been attending lessons early in the morning until dinnertime, where I must sit with Y/N and other members of her court as they all chat about their lives. I don't always get to sit next to Y/N, and she rarely acknowledges me. I just want to hold her and kiss her, but her guards keep strict protection around her. Almost no one can even talk to her. Am I a threat? Why is she ignoring me? I need to talk to her. Does she love me?

I'm sitting in my room with a book after my last lesson when a guard informs me that Y/N wishes to speak to me before dinner. Finally.

I get dressed and follow the guard to the sitting room nearest the dining hall. I enter with a smile on my face and see my lovely Y/N sitting at the desk. She stands, walks toward me, and guides me to the couches. I notice her pour two glasses of alcohol from the bottle on the nearby table and I ask, "Love, what is wrong?" She hands me a glass and answers, "I pushed you away wrongly. There was a threat to my life, and I wanted to protect you. So I sent you away. I do believe those lessons were something that you should have done, but I shouldn't have ignored your presence the rest of the time. I'm sorry." I quickly grab her open hand and ask, "What about this threat? Is it neutralized?" She nods and answers, "We apprehended the team this morning after my tea was poisoned. They were trying to harm me because they heard I sheltered you here. They escaped Rome to live here, away from you and Calla's rule. They are being held in prison for the attempted assassination. And as for the tea, well, I noticed it looked weird and I had my doctor test it for anything out of the ordinary. They used a generic poison and we found it quickly." I reply, "Don't send me away again. I'm here for you, no matter what. I love you, my Y/N... does the threat because of me scare you? Will you send me away?" She shakes her head and answers, "No, love. I'm not sending you away. I tightened security, and we'll make sure my people know you are no longer a threat to their lives. This is not Rome, and I would not stand for mistreatment of my people." I ask, "How will you tell them this?" She answers, "It's an idea that I wanted to run past you. I think an engagement is in order." I jokingly answer, "I would like to be engaged to the governess." She tilts her head and asks, "What?" I answer, "I was kidding. I was trying to make you jealous." She replies, "Oh, I'm not threatened by her." I bite my lip, smirk, and reply, "Non-jealousy looks hot on you." She laughs and says, "I meant for us to be engaged, silly." My eyes widen and I say, "I accept your proposal, Queen. I would love to be your husband." She smiles and says, "I am happy to be your wife soon, too... We'll draft a speech for us to give to my people, so they may know the Geta that I love." . . . Taglist: @doodle-with-rhy @ziggeddie

[meear]

umineko fans are the original "if you don't like it you just didn't understand it" people. I genuinely cannot think of anyone more annoying and obnoxious, except SNK fans, except not even them, because in Umineko's case that behavior is enabled by the author himself. It's crazy how a story that spent hundreds of hours discussing the value in several coexisting interpetations will have both characters and fans turning around and tell you that actually you're completely wrong for thinking a certain way

The crazy part is they don't even realise how their smug attitude about being part of R07's very special club of people who "have love" and the superior way they act about holding the true answer are EXACTLY the Erika traits they criticise in readers who don't think like them. "He spells it out but you still cannot see it? Lol" "are there still people who can't accept the literal canon answer? lmfao" "you know you're exactly the goats r07 wrote about right?" (Because r07 is a god who cannot possibly be contradicted, this is supposed to be the worst insult somehow) (these fans cannot seem to decide who the goats are an analogy for, considering they'll scramble to say they only represent the story's witch hunters as a criticism of true crime fans when you call out r07's arrogance, yet they'll smugly tell you you're just a goat when you question the story itself. Thank you, it's nice to know that Ryukishi wrote about me, but that doesn't answer the fucking question, Brian)

It's incredibly ironic. How did a story like Umineko create and encourage so many people to sanctify one "official answer" and taking any other attempt as an insult?? Like is anyone feeling how ryu07 completely fucked up at what he was trying to do?

"So I won't open the catbox and reveal what actually happened on the island." oh, that's cool, I actually really like that! I agree that ultimately the true events of that day are a pretty trivial part of the story, and it's way more interesting not to know - "anyway it's Rudolf and Kyrie and it happened exactly like so and so, and Shkanontrice did this and that".

... Okay, well I really wish that had remained a mystery forever, since the point was that any truth would've been anticlimatic, and the choice to reveal that genuinely kills a lot of what made Umineko's appeal to me, but I guess we can still have fun with EP1-4 and try several alternative theories for the sequence of events- "here's the manga explaining everything in detail and if you didn't get it have you tried maybe having some more love? It would be sooo clear if you had love lmfao. you literally cannot comprehend my work unless you have"

... I really wish that guy would stop making assumptions about the inner mind of complete strangers who read his work, but I do enjoy getting to choose an ending! it really fits in with Umineko's theme of choosing the truth for yourself and making your own path that you can be happy with, as long as you keep thinking- "the Magic ending is meant to be the true end btw. if you prefer the other one you pretty much have no heart lol, it's obviously framed like a bad ending and there's only one acceptable choice and one way ange can find happiness"

... man, I'm so bored. Why write a game like that and then make it so that some choices are better than others instead of letting people think for themselves? Why would you force an interpretation on people/Ange when I've been led to believe that the narrative was against that sort of things? You want to highlight the value in your vision of "magic", fine, but why am I the heartless bitch for disliking that perspective and even trying to see things differently?

Why would you write a whole game around the really fun concept of several tales happening at the same time and the existence of endless truths inside the same catbox only to open the catbox and tell me "NO, you need to think a certain way, and if you don't like my answer FUCK YOU"

I understand that maybe he just had a specific answer in mind but I'm sorry the way he write the ending simply does not match the vision he seemed to have in the earlier chapters.

I genuinely respect Umineko as a work, I think it's one of the most ambitious stories I've seen and there is some amazing writing in there, but if Ryukishi wanted to allow for people to keep thinking and discussing what it means, he has failed miserably and I'm not talking about confession of the golden witch, I'm talking about the way he and his minions have shut down any possible discussion under the guise of "you just don't get it" (rephrased to "you don't have love" to make it sound more enlightened) and it's soured my enjoyment of something that should've been an amazing story. What is even left to discuss here when everyone has pretty much already made up their mind?