#what drink lowers blood sugar

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 1. the beginning

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: A head injury on patrol causes you to lose your memories of the outbreak and the people you have grown to know and love over the last ten years.

Chapter Warnings: language, descriptions of blood and wounds, vomiting, angst, amnesia

WC: 7.6K

A/N: I shortened the timeline a bit - all of the events from the first game have happened, but this takes place ten years after the outbreak instead of twenty.

Series Masterlist

Pain.

That was all you could recognize at first. The back of your head throbbed so badly, you couldn't even open your eyes. There were sounds, but they were unidentifiable through the searing, red hot pain radiating across the back of your skull. Tenderly, you reached your hand back to press against the source. You recoiled instantly, the pain too much to bear. A thick and sticky wetness coated your fingers.

Then you smelled it.

The smell of metal. Coppery, familiar. Then... did you smell fireworks? Was it the Fourth of July? A few years back, your older brother was messing around with fireworks and nearly blew off his hand, ending the night in the emergency room. Your parents never let him forget it. Is that what happened? Did he make some stupid bet with you? A game of chicken wasn't out of the realm of possibility. He always brought out your competitive side.

You forced your eyes open just a crack, the sun immediately causing you to close them again. It was too bright and your brain was vibrating like it was trying to escape from the confines of your skull.

You were outside. It wasn't dark, fireworks wouldn't make sense. What was going on?

Then you heard your name. Someone shouting it, over and over, panic stricken.

You tried to hold up your hand, wave them off, tell them to stop being so loud, but you could barely lift your hand before the nausea hit. Unable to stop yourself, you rolled onto your side, your head screaming and punishing you for the sudden movement as you heaved, emptying the contents of your stomach into the grass. The force of it made your head hurt even more, if that was even possible.

The smell of acid mixed with the smell of metal, now.

Maybe you were dying.

Someone's hands were on your shoulders, pushing you onto your back, yelling your name over and over.

"Stop," you pleaded weakly, tears springing into your eyes. The pain was too much.

"Jesse! Get her water!"

You groaned and covered your face with your palms. The sunlight was so fucking bright that you could even see it through your eyelids, a red glow everywhere you looked. You needed darkness. You needed quiet.

"Here, drink," you heard a man's voice say, then the hard plastic pressed against your lower lip. You whimpered and tried to pull away, the thought of anything in your stomach making you feel sick again.

"Shit, Joel's gonna fucking freak," you heard another male voice say from behind your head.

Against your better judgement, you forced your eyes open. Blinking rapidly, you locked eyes with the first person you saw. A man with dark, curly hair that went past his ears, with patchy facial hair and soft, brown eyes. Your eyes drifted down to his dirty, denim jacket, and then you saw his hands. Fear shot through you when you saw the drying blood, fist still clutching a gun, and as you tried to scramble away, you bumped into someone behind you, causing you to panic.

Why were they surrounding you? Who were these people? It wasn't fireworks, it was gunpowder.

"Get the fuck away from me!" you screeched, but the dark haired man inched forward, his free hand reaching out to you, telling you to calm down, it's okay, sugar, but you continued to crawl backwards, ignoring the pain throbbing behind your eyes. What did these people do to you?

"Whoa, it's alright," the other man said. A younger man, also darker hair, but shorter.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, panic seizing you from head to toe. Your eyes flicked around the forest, the huge tree trunks making it impossible to figure out where you were.

"W-where am I? Where's my mom?"

The man holding the gun frowned and exchanged concerned glances with the other man.

"She's gone," he said gently, as if it were obvious. A strangled noise got caught in the back of your throat when you looked at the man's gun again.

"What did you do to her?" you asked, voice wavering. The man's eyes dropped to the gun in his hand and he quickly holstered it.

"I didn't do anythin' to her, sugar," he said, and again looked at the younger man before continuing. "She died the first day."

"What?" you asked, lip trembling. What the fuck was going on?!

"First day of what?"

"You don't remember?" he asked, and you could see the worry in his face. His eyes wide and his hand a little shaky.

"No, I don't fucking remember! What the fuck are you trying to pull?" you exclaimed, your voice rising the angrier you got.

"Sugar, do you know who I am?" he asked, sneakily taking the handgun that laid abandoned by your side in the dirt and tucking it into the back of his pants.

"No," you spat, then winced and clutched the back of your head again. When you pulled your hand back, you saw fresh blood coating your fingers. Your heart began slamming in your chest and you were finding it difficult to bring in enough air to keep you level.

"Jesse, get a rag," the man ordered. Jesse jumped up and jogged over to a backpack discarded on the ground. Old, worn, faded, with splashes of blood.

Then you saw the bodies.

Well, you supposed they could be considered bodies, but they didn't look like people. Not anymore. Their skin was sagging and grey. Clothes, torn and dirty. Mangy hair ripped out in handfuls at the scalp. Their mouths were agape, revealing yellowed teeth and stinking of rot.

"What the fuck?" you whispered as your vision narrowed. You faintly realized Jesse was pressing a rag against the back of your head, trying to stop the bleeding and had you not been so scared and confused, you might have shoved him away.

"Tommy, what do we do?" Jesse asked, and you could hear the fear in his voice now. His hand shook against your shoulder as he tried to keep you still.

"We gotta get her back home, have Nick take a look at her," he said, and you looked back and forth between them, flabbergasted. Talking about you as if you weren't right there.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," you told them. You tried to stand up, but fell to your knees. Tommy knelt down next to you, his arm circling around your shoulders, but you shrugged him off.

"C'mon, sugar. We ain't gonna hurt you, you just hit your head and you need to see a doctor," Tommy said. "Jesse, grab me my first aid kit."

"I gotta go home," you mumbled, and forced yourself to stand again. You couldn't see straight. Everything around you was spinning even though you were fairly certain you were standing still. "I need to see my dad... my brother."

"Shit," you heard Jesse mutter under his breath as he hustled over with a small, leather bag.

"Okay, why don't we take you to a doctor first, then we can talk about your family, alright?" Tommy asked gently. "I'm just gonna patch you up til we get back," he added, reaching into the bag for some medical tape. You watched as Tommy instructed Jesse to hold the rag against your head while he ran the medical tape around, holding the cloth in place.

You didn't have much choice. As you looked around, you were becoming more and more aware you had absolutely no idea where you were or what was happening. You definitely weren't home. There weren't trees like this back home.

So, begrudgingly, you agreed to follow them. Tommy stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled, a sharp, piercing noise that made you wince. You were confused until you heard the soft pattering of hooves approaching, and through the trees, three tacked up horses emerged. A pale yellow one slowed and stopped a few feet away from you, snorting loudly and stomping its foot. You watched as Tommy and Jesse grabbed their backpacks and mounted their horses. Then Tommy seemed to realize the problem and quickly slid back down to the ground.

"I'll give you a boost," he said, crouching next to the yellow horse and lacing his fingers together. Slowly, you walked forward, eyeing the horse wearily before gripping the saddle and stepping one foot into Tommy's hands. He hoisted you up as you tossed your leg over the side of the horse and you bent forward, momentarily burying your face in its mane while you tried to stop the world from spinning. Fuck, your head was going to explode.

You followed Tommy's horse while Jesse took up the rear, all of you maneuvering around the rotting corpses littering the ground.

"What is this?" you asked, utterly confused. "Did I faint when we found a bunch of dead bodies or something? We have to go to the police," you told them, panic rising once again.

"We will," Tommy said, and you took a deep breath. Okay, things were making sense. You hit your head. Maybe you fell off your horse and knocked yourself out. You don't remember meeting these men before, but they seemed to know you, and they didn't appear to be threatening. If they were, they wouldn't give you your own horse, right?

"How far away are we from your home?" you asked after about ten minutes.

"Not far. Maybe another half hour or so. You holdin' up okay?" Tommy asked, twisting around in his saddle to look at you, his eyes briefly glancing over your shoulder at Jesse.

"Yeah, I think so. My head really hurts, though," you said, blinking slowly. "Do you have a farm or a ranch or something?"

"A what?" Tommy asked, confused until he looked down at the horses. "Oh, right. No, but we do got a barn."

"Oh, okay," you said uncertainly. You looked around at the trees as your horse obediently followed Tommy's. It was so quiet. You must have been deep into the woods because you couldn't hear any road noise at all. Looking up, you didn't even see or hear any planes. You had never known quiet like this before. It was almost... peaceful.

You looked back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Jesse, who gave you a nervous smile.

"Is he your dad?" you asked, and Jesse snorted.

"No," he chuckled, then cleared his throat and wiped the smile off his face, becoming serious again. "No, Tommy's just my friend. Our friend," he added, and you slowly nodded before turning back around.

You loosely held the reins in your hands as you made your way through the forest, the only sounds coming from your horses and the birds singing in the branches above your heads. When you crossed a small stream, Tommy called over his shoulder not much further now.

At the end of the forest was a clearing. You could see it already. A huge gate and reinforced walls surrounding what you assumed was home to these men, but it looked like a fortress in the middle of nowhere. There were even guards with guns strolling along the top of the fences.

This didn't seem right.

"Stop," you told your horse, but of course it kept walking.

"Stop!" you shouted, and it pinned its ears back. You looked up at Tommy, who had now turned around in his saddle.

"How - I don't know what I'm doing, tell it to stop! I want to stop!" you told him as the panic rose from your chest and squeezed your throat.

"Pull on the reins," Tommy said, and you quickly tugged them, making the horse come to a sudden halt.

"Where are we? What is this?" you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him. By now you had made it just outside the gates, and the guards on top were looking at Tommy questioningly.

"This is Jackson," Tommy said calmly, then slid down from his horse to approach you. "This is where we live. We got a doctor here who can take a look at that head wound."

"Why don't you live in a normal house? A normal town? I don't understand," you said, and the tears began to well up in your eyes. You were so frustrated and everything was so confusing and all you wanted to do was go to bed and forget this ever happened.

"I'll explain everythin', I promise, but first we gotta get you to the doc, alright?" he asked as your tears began to fall. Tommy glanced up at the top of the fence and nodded. You watched as a handful of men began to crank open the gate, revealing the beginnings of a quaint -looking town.

"Can you get down? Go slow, I'll catch you if you fall," he said, and when you looked into his eyes, you could see affection there. You did as you were told. Swinging one leg over, you slowly and carefully lowered yourself to the ground, Tommy's hands reassuringly hovering above your shoulders until you were standing on your own two feet.

"Are we... together?" you asked him.

Tommy and Jesse both laughed heartily and then he quickly shook his head.

"No, sugar," he said, a smile still etched across his face. He looked over at the open gate and his smile slowly began to fade. "But we oughta get you to the doc right away."

You sat on the edge of an exam table, head tilted down, chin against your chest as the doctor Tommy introduced as Nick stitched up the laceration on your scalp. He had numbed the area pretty good with something from a very large needle that sent you spiraling into a frenzy until Nick and Tommy managed to calm you down and convinced you they were not in fact trying to drug you and sell you into sex trafficking, like you had accused them of trying to do.

Once the doctor started to work on your injury, Tommy excused himself, mumbling something about needing to talk to someone and that he would be back as soon as possible.

Nick said he had to cut away some of your hair, that you would have a small bald spot for a while, but the rest of your hair would be able to hide it effectively.

After he took care of the cut, he began to examine you further. He flashed a bright light into your eyes, making you wince and recoil. He asked you strange questions that you were confident you didn't answer correctly based on the expression on his face.

"Cordy- what?"

"Cordyceps," he repeated.

"No, I have no idea what that is. Is it a band?" you guessed, and he shook his head.

"Well, you certainly have a concussion, and I'm afraid you have some memory loss," he said, sitting down on the small stool across from you.

"How much is 'some'?"

"Uh, difficult to say, but ten years? Give or take?" he said, and you balked.

"Ten years?!"

He nodded.

"I'm afraid so. Can you tell me the last day you do remember?"

"Well," you began, relaxing your shoulders as you thought. "I remember it was fall, but it was still hot out. I had a long day at work - I'm a banker," you told Nick, and he nodded. "My feet were killing me, I had barely sat down all day. It was family dinner night at my parents' house. Me and my brother go over there every Friday. My dad made ribs out on the grill so he wouldn't heat up the house with the oven. My mom was wearing this new, green dress that I thought looked hideous but I lied and told her it was cute. And my brother was telling us about a girl he had met the weekend before."

Nick looked at you to continue, but when it became clear you were done, he sighed.

"That's the last day you remember?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, finally picking up on the concerned look he was giving you. "Was that really ten years ago?" you asked, softly this time. Nick pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and nodded.

"Oh my god," you breathed, looking around the sparse, run down room. What happened in ten years to make the world look like this? You were about to ask when you heard shouting coming from the lobby of the infirmary.

Nick jumped up and opened the door, then turned back to you.

"I'll be right back," he said, then shut the door quickly behind him.

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs lightly swinging as you tried to piece together what you knew.

Ten years.

Ten whole years, just... gone.

What memories did you make in that time? Your mom is dead, but what about the rest of your family? Is there anybody in this town that you might actually remember? You looked down at your body. You thought you looked the same, maybe a little thinner, but otherwise the same. Did you ever get married? Have kids?

The shouting got louder and pulled you out of your reverie. It was a man's voice, and it was growing closer. He sounded angry. Livid, even.

You could now hear him opening up the other exam room doors and calling your name, ignoring the voices of Tommy and Nick urging him to stop, and a jolt of fear shot through you. Glancing around the room, you looked for something, anything that might protect you or reinforce the door, but it was too late.

The door swung open and you jumped off the table. If this man was going to hurt you, you wouldn't go down without a fight.

He paused in the doorway, his eyes raking up and down your body, assessing you silently while you did the same. He was tall. Broad shoulders strained underneath a black T-shirt. A blue flannel was clutched in his fist. You could see his muscles twitching under his tanned skin, and when your gaze finally met his, you felt something else other than fear. Something you couldn't quite identify. You knew this man, but you didn't know how.

His hair was dark and had loose curls, similar to Tommy's but shorter and a little lighter. The beard surrounding plush looking lips had a dusting of white at the corners of his jaw, but it was his eyes that drew your attention the most. A deep, beautiful brown that told a whole story in just one moment.

Nick and Tommy stood behind the strange man, looking back and forth between the two of you. Dragging your gaze off of him, you looked at Tommy, hoping he would explain.

Then the man said your name softly and your eyes flicked back to him.

"What?" you finally said with an edge to your voice, growing annoyed with how nobody felt compelled to say anything. They just kept looking at you, waiting for you to acknowledge him as if you'd known him your whole life.

"You remember Joel. Right, sugar?" Tommy asked, and your eyes drifted back to him. All three men stared at you, the room so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Slowly, you shook your head, and Joel's face fell.

"Is it permanent?" Joel asked, turning to Nick.

Nick paused, his mouth opening and closing as he considered his answer before clearing his throat.

"It's too soon to say-"

"The fuck d'you mean?!" Joel roared, grabbing Nick by his collar and shoving him up against the door. You stumbled backwards in surprise.

"Joel!" Tommy yelled, yanking on his shoulder, trying to loosen his grip on the poor doctor but Joel just shrugged him off.

"Fix her!" Joel yelled, redness creeping up his neck as he slammed Nick up against the door again.

"I-I can't just fix her! What do you think this is? Look around!" Nick stammered, his fingers clawing at the backs of Joel's hands.

You gasped and felt your knees give out from underneath you. Slowly, you sunk down to the floor, crippled in fear. You huddled against the side of the bed, your hands clamped over your mouth as you rocked back and forth, trying and failing to keep your tears at bay.

"Joel! Let 'em go, you're scarin' her!" Tommy yelled, and that finally seemed to snap Joel out of it.

His grip instantly loosened and his head swiveled towards you, his eyes softening when he saw you curled up on the floor. He rushed forward but you held out a hand to stop him.

"Don't come near me."

He froze and stared down at you, hurt written all over his face.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, and you flinched. Baby?

"Maybe we should give you two a minute," Tommy said. Your eyes widened and you shook your head.

"N-no! What do you mean? No!" you cried out. You clawed at the table, pulling yourself up as the tears dried on your face. Joel took a few steps back and stood against the wall, crossing his arms and dropping his head, hiding his face.

"It's just Joel, he ain't gonna hurt you," Tommy said softly, but you still shook your head.

"Look what he just did!" you exclaimed, not even caring anymore if you were hurting his feelings. "How can you say that?"

"Because he loves you!" Tommy said, sounding exasperated.

The room fell silent, the only sound coming from you as you struggled to catch your breath. You glanced over at Joel but his chin was still tucked against his chest.

"Is that true?" you asked him. He nodded, but still didn't look up from the spot on the floor.

You sighed and rubbed your palms roughly over face.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? There's just a lot happening right now and I'm very confused," you said, suddenly feeling guilty.

"I get it," Tommy said, looking back and forth between you and Joel, but Joel still appeared to be fixated on the floor. "Why don't you go home and rest. Can she, doc? Maybe some sleep will help?"

Tommy raised his eyebrows at Nick, trying to get him to agree and play along. Say yes. Don't piss off Joel.

"Yeah, perhaps it's a good idea if you went home. There's some evidence to suggest being around a familiar setting might trigger your memory to return," Nick said, and Joel finally looked up from the floor.

"What else can we do?" he asked as your fingers fidgeted at your sides. You really didn't like the idea of going home with this man. He clearly had a short temper and that set you on edge.

"Are there any personal effects that she holds some sentimental value to?"

Your gaze bounced back and forth between the men as they all talked about you like you were some science project.

"Yeah," Joel said with a nod.

"Alright. Start with that. Anything since you've known each other would work best, see if it jogs her memory. A necklace or a trinket-"

"Yeah, I get it," Joel said, finally chancing a look in your direction. You quickly dropped your gaze from him and looked back at Tommy.

"Can I talk to you?" you asked Tommy, who looked at Joel. Joel didn't say anything, he just stared right back at Tommy, his jaw clenched and his shoulders rising and falling slowly, as if he were trying very hard to control his breathing. You looked back and forth between them, waiting for the silent standoff to end.

"I'll be outside," Joel finally muttered, then stalked out of the exam room with Nick in his wake, leaving just you and Tommy.

"I don't want to go home with him."

Tommy sighed and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his eyes.

"It's your home, too," he said.

"He scares me," you replied, crossing your arms. "He's a loose cannon. I-I don't feel like I know anyone here and everyone seems to know me. Do you know how that feels? Do you know how scary that is?"

Tommy dropped his hands and looked up at you.

"No, I don't. And I'm sorry, but I promise you nothin' bad's gonna happen. Joel's always had a short fuse but he would never, ever lay a hand on you. He's been head over heels since the moment he met you, and you love him back, sugar."

You looked around the room, needing a break from eye contact for just a minute while you gathered your thoughts.

"How long have I known him?" you asked.

"Five years."

You nodded and chewed on your lower lip.

"And how long have you known him?"

"All my life."

Your eyes darted over to his in surprise and he gave you a small smile.

"He's my older brother," Tommy explained, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh," was all you said, suddenly feeling like shit for saying such things about his family.

"Listen. Why don't you give it a chance, hm? One day. See how it goes, and if you're still uncomfortable, we'll figure somethin' else out," Tommy offered. You considered it for a moment before reluctantly nodding your head. Aside from just walking out of Jackson, you didn't see much of a choice.

To say the walk to Joel's house was awkward would be putting it mildly.

You weren't sure if he overheard your conversation with Tommy, or maybe he just could sense how you felt about going home with him, but ever since you forced yourself to leave the exam room to find him waiting for you in the lobby, he had been very quiet.

His feelings were hurt, that much was obvious, but what could you do? It wasn't like you set out to intentionally hurt him. You had no idea who he was at the time.

You still weren't sure who he was.

You tried to subtly admire his profile as you walked side by side. He had a strong jaw, a sharp nose and a full head of hair, although you could tell he was older than you. By how much, you weren't sure.

You tried to see underneath the gruff exterior, wondering what on earth made you fall in love with him, but it was so hard to see past your first impression.

Well, second first impression.

Then he turned his head to look down at you. Your eyes met and you thought you felt a small flutter in your chest, but you couldn't tell if it was nerves or fear or something else but his eyes were absolutely beautiful. There was something so sincere about them and you found it oddly funny that they seemed to betray the rest of his hardened expression.

"Anythin' lookin' familiar?" he asked you. You blinked and looked around.

The street he was leading you down was filled with people. Children laughing and playing, adults chatting and smiling. If it wasn't for the setting being so strange, it would feel normal. You squinted at some of the faces as you walked by, hoping you would recognize somebody, but you didn't.

"No," you said with a shake of your head, and you thought you saw his shoulders slump next to you but you didn't want to get caught staring at him again, so you focused on looking straight ahead.

The two of you remained silent the rest of the walk, although you could feel the energy radiating off him and for the first time, you began to realize this must be just as hard for him as it was for you.

You were examining the huge watch towers that surrounded the town and wondering what on earth would require such firepower when you realized Joel was no longer at your side. You swiveled your head around, suddenly lost in a sea of people that were smiling at you as they strolled on by but you didn't see a single recognizable face. You felt the panic begin to build again until you heard your name and a gentle hand on your elbow. You looked up and actually felt relief when you saw Joel.

"Sorry, thought you were still with me," he said, then tilted his head towards a side street he must have began to walk down without you.

"We live down here," he added. You heard someone call out both your names as you walked down the street. Joel waved to an older gentleman on his porch and after a brief delay, you waved as well.

"This is so weird," you muttered, shaking your head as you looked around.

"Yeah, I reckon it is."

Joel stopped short in front of a small, two-story house with a large front porch. You looked up at it, taking in every detail. The shutters, the rocking chairs, the small garden out front surrounded by a white picket fence, hoping something would click but you still felt nothing.

"This is your house?" you asked him. He watched you carefully as you continued to look around, wishing he would see something in your eye that would give him a shred of hope.

"Our house, yeah," he corrected you. You glanced up at him and quickly looked away, feeling too guilty when you saw the look on his face.

"Sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be sorry," he told you, but he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and glanced around. "D'you wanna look inside?"

You nodded and followed him past the gate and up the little stone path that led to his - your - porch steps. A flash of yellow in the garden caught your eye and for the first time, a small smile played upon your lips.

"Oh, I love black-eyed susans," you said dreamily, your hand instinctually reaching out to touch the delicate petals.

"Yeah, I know. You told me your mom planted 'em every year," he said, stopping at the top of the steps to look down at you.

"That's right," you said with a smile. "Although it drove her crazy because-"

"The bunnies kept destroyin' 'em," he finished for you.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment: him, waiting for you to remember, and you, wondering how you could forget.

"Yeah," you finally said, then dropped your gaze and cleared your throat, giving the flowers one last look before ascending the stairs to the front door.

Joel unlocked the door, pushing it open all the way and stepping aside so you could go in first. You peered inside for a moment before taking a step forward.

The first thing you noticed was it smelled faintly like firewood and coffee. The kitchen was to your left, living room to your right, and a staircase was in front of you next to a small hallway that appeared to lead to a back door of the house.

Joel stepped inside behind you and shut the door quietly, allowing you to take your time and process everything at your own speed. He desperately wanted to drag you around the house and show you things you should remember, but he refrained. Instead, his eyes followed where yours went. When you looked at the kitchen table, he thought remember when we had breakfast there this morning? When you looked at the fireplace, he thought remember on our anniversary when we couldn't make it up the stairs quickly enough so we made love in front of the fire? When you noticed the board games, boxes all frayed and worn, sitting on a bookshelf next to the couch, he thought remember when you beat Ellie in Scrabble and she flipped the board over?

But of course, you didn't remember any of those things.

You looked around blankly, and he could tell you were trying to remember but not a single shred of recognition flickered across your face. Your eyes landed on the kitchen counter and you took a step forward.

"We had coffee together today, didn't we?"

Joel's heart fluttered excitedly in his chest.

"Yeah, you remember that?" he asked, quickly joining you at your side. You looked up at him and he could immediately tell what your answer would be.

"No, I'm sorry, it's just-" you pointed to the two mugs still sitting together on the counter and he nodded solemnly.

"Oh, right," he said, then walked over to pick them up and rinse them off in the sink. He turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched you slowly navigate the kitchen. Opening and closing drawers and cupboards, picking up a recipe book and flipping through it, then looking at the paintings on the walls.

"Did you or I draw this?" you asked, stepping towards a portrait that was clearly of him.

"Neither. Ellie did it," he told you, and you looked at him curiously.

"Ellie?"

He nodded and just as he was about to open his mouth to explain, the front door whipped open, startling you.

"Is it true?" a young girl with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail asked as she barged into the kitchen. When her eyes landed on you, she dropped her book bag and stepped forward, peering at you as if you were under a microscope.

"Ellie-" Joel began, pushing off the counter, but she cut him off.

"People are saying you lost your memory or something, is that true?" she asked again, and you nodded slowly.

"Holy shit!" she sputtered, and Joel repeated her name again, but harsher this time.

"Sorry," she mumbled, then pulled out a stool that was tucked under the kitchen island and plopped herself down. "Are you, like, okay? How's your head?"

"Uh, better now. The doctor gave me some medicine and it finally stopped hurting so much, but I got a pretty bad cut," you reached back and touched the bald spot with your fingertips. "He had to stitch it up."

"Can I see?" she asked, and you couldn't help but laugh a little, completely missing the way Joel perked up when he heard it.

"Sure," you said, turning around and lifting up your hair. "Can you see it?"

"Yeah, fucking gross, dude," she said with a shudder. You dropped your hair and turned back around.

"Is she your daughter?" you asked Joel, and Ellie burst out laughing.

"No way," she said, and he just rolled his eyes.

"I don't understand," you said with a frown. "Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," she told you so casually it almost gave you whiplash.

"Oh, my god! I'm so sorry," you said, feeling terrible, but she just gave you a look like you were crazy. Maybe you were.

"It's cool," she said, looking back and forth between you and Joel. "So she really doesn't remember anything?" Ellie asked him.

"Only stuff from... before," he said, narrowing his eyes at Ellie as if trying to silently communicate with her.

"Oh," she said, nodding slowly as if she understood. "Shit."

"Before what?" you pressed, but they both ignored your question.

"Why don't you give her some time to settle in," Joel told Ellie. "Meet us later for dinner at the Bison."

"Yeah, okay," Ellie said, sliding off the stool and picking up her abandoned backpack.

"You don't live here?" you asked her.

"Sorta. I live in the garage, see?" she said, pointing out the window to a building out back with a large window in the front and a small light next to the door.

"In the garage?" you repeated, appalled, but she just laughed.

"It used to be a garage. Joel helped me fix it up and it's more like a guest house now. Right, Joel?"

"Yeah," he said, walking deeper into the kitchen so he could look through the window with you. "You helped her paint it," he said quietly.

"I did?" you asked, and they both nodded.

It looked like they were both waiting for you to say something further, waiting for you to maybe recall the color or the weather that day, but nothing was ringing a bell. You looked at them hopelessly and Joel averted his gaze.

"Go on, Ellie. I'm sure you got schoolwork," he said, and she rolled her eyes as she turned and headed towards the door.

You watched her walk through the backyard and unlock the garage, catching a brief glimpse of the inside before she shut it softly behind her.

"You wanna go lay down for a bit?" Joel asked after he noticed you yawn, and you nodded. You followed him up the creaky staircase, your eyes drifting over everything you could find, hoping something would jump out at you along the way. When he got to the top of the stairs, he stopped suddenly between two bedroom doors and you gave him a confused look.

"What's wrong?" you asked, the look on his face beginning to worry you.

"Nothin', I just realized..." he trailed off and took a deep breath, still staring at the two doors. "We share a room and I just realized tonight'll be the first time in years we sleep apart."

You looked away, feeling uncomfortable. You could see the anguish all over his face. His jaw ticked to the side and he was blinking faster than usual and the guilt was burning a hole in your stomach.

"I'll stay in the spare room," you said, breaking the tension. "Can you just show me where I keep my stuff and I'll-"

"No," Joel said, shaking his head. "I'll go in the spare room. You stay in our room. Maybe it'll help... it should be more familiar to you in there."

You decided not to argue with him. He finally stepped towards the door on the right and pushed it open, leading you into a master suite with a queen sized bed in the middle of the room. There was a quilt on top that appeared to be handmade in various shades of greys and purples. You ran your hand over the material thoughtfully while Joel opened a few dresser drawers and pulled out some spare clothes for himself.

"This is pretty," you said, and he turned around to look at the quilt.

"Becky a few doors down makes 'em," he said, turning back to the dresser. "You really wanted purple and I fought you on it, but you always win," he said with a chuckle. You smiled to yourself as you continued to look around the room while Joel collected a few more belongings. You noticed a pair of reading glasses on top of an old western book on one end table. The other end table had a few loose hair ties, a homemade lip balm, and a black, leather bound book with a pen on top. Without even thinking, you walked forward and picked it up, flipping through the pages one by one. It appeared to be a journal, and it looked like it was your handwriting.

Joel stepped out of the bathroom attached to your room and saw you holding the book. He swallowed and watched your face closely, looking for any sign that what you were reading made sense.

"I was gonna show you that tomorrow. Thought it would be too much today," he said after a few minutes.

"I kept a journal?"

"Yeah. You don't write it in often, but sometimes if somethin' special happened, or you just felt the urge, you would write it down," he said, putting his toiletries next to his clothes on the bed.

You closed the book and placed it back on the table, staring at the old cover, lost in thought. You had a million questions and you had to start somewhere.

"Joel... what happened?" you asked him. He frowned, not following at first until you clarified. "In the world, I mean. What happened? Because all of this," you waved your hands around the room and gestured out through the window. "This doesn't seem right. Did I join a cult or something?"

Joel shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I don't wanna overwhelm you," he began. You sat down as well, making sure to put plenty of distance between you.

"I'm already overwhelmed. Just please... tell me what's going on."

He sighed and looked at the clock on the wall.

"The world ended," he said bluntly, glancing in your direction. You stiffened but you waited for him to elaborate. "It was quick. Happened on a Friday, everythin' was gone by Monday. There's this fungus called cordyceps-"

"Nick asked me about that," you said, and he nodded.

"Well, best guess is the fungus mutated and got into the food supply. It, uh, it infects the brain. It grows and takes over, but it doesn't kill you. Well, not technically." He could see the confusion on your face. He wasn't explaining this right. "The fungus wants to spread, you see? That's it's basic function. If it killed the host, it wouldn't be able to spread. So, the host remains alive, but they're no longer... them."

"And the hosts are... people?" you guessed, and Joel nodded.

"Yeah. Spread like wildfire. One person would get bit-"

"Bit?" you repeated, eyes wide.

"Yeah, it's how the fungus spreads. Through blood. One person would get bit and they turn within hours."

"And there's no cure?"

Joel paused and took a deep breath, his gaze darting nervously around the room.

"No, there's no cure," he finally said.

You sat back on the bed and thought about what Joel just told you. Suddenly, things were starting to make sense. She died the first day.

"And my family?" you asked softly, closing your eyes as you waited for the answer. Joel looked at you, his heart breaking that he had to deliver the news.

"They didn't make it," he said, and one tear slowly escaped and slid down your cheek. "It was a miracle you even made it. That any of us made it," he added, hoping to take the sting out of it.

"A miracle?" you scoffed, opening your eyes now. "How do you figure, Joel? What's the fucking point in living like this?" you asked him angrily, standing up from the bed and pacing around the room.

"Don't say that," he said sadly, rising to his feet. "Believe me, I thought the same thing," he said, unconsciously scratching at the scar on his cheek. "But it turns out there's plenty to live for. It ain't so bad."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" you challenged, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "What is there to live for? Because I have to be honest, I'm not seeing it."

Joel swallowed as he watched you angrily move around the room.

"Love," he said quietly, and you stopped. You stood with your back to him, your shoulders rising and falling as anger and frustration coursed through you.

Finally, you turned to look at him, tears silently falling.

"But everyone I loved is dead," you sobbed, burying your face in your hands. "My family is dead! Everyone I know is gone! What do I have left?" You dropped your hands and looked at him, tears steadily falling as you waited, completely forgetting the obvious answer.

"You have me," he said, his voice cracking. "And I know that don't mean much now, but I promise you, it will."

Your head fell forward, chin tucking into your chest with your hands on your hips.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, still looking down. "That was so rude, I didn't mean to say it like that."

"This is hard for me, too," he said, taking a few steps towards you, then stopped. He wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close, tell you everything was going to be okay, but he had to remind himself that he was essentially a stranger to you.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizin' for somethin' that ain't your fault," he told you sternly. You dragged your eyes back up to him, your shoulders slumped forward, eyes puffy and red.

"What if my memory never comes back?" you whispered. It was a question Joel didn't want to ask out loud but knew eventually it would be brought up. He took a deep breath and looked you square in the eye.

"Then I'll have to make you fall in love with me all over again," he said with a small shrug, and you let out a huff of laughter at that.

"You sound pretty confident," you replied.

"I did it once before, I can do it again," he told you, his gaze never wavering. "I'll never stop tryin'. What we have together, it's... it's rare. And it might sound stupid, but we're meant to be together. If you let me, I'll prove it to you."

Something in his eye made you feel calmer the longer you looked at him. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't joking. He meant every word. You tore your gaze away from him and looked around the room again. The room you shared with him. The room where you held each other, kissed each other, made love together. Years of memories etched into the floorboards. Countless secrets whispered into the pillows. Laughter and tears echoed against the walls. Your eyes found him again just to realize he never looked away. He stood tall and firm in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for you. And you had to assume if he felt this strongly about what you had, then it must be worth fighting for.

"Okay."

Follow @punkshort-notifs for fic updates ❤️

[misserabella]

two geniuses (don’t get along)

enemies to lovers;; spencer reid x fem reader!

masterlist!

note; in this fic lila’s episode happens after elle’s departure to make the story have more sense. (S1 E18). also there have been some changes :))

synopsis; spencer reid; doctor spencer reid. some of them (mostly of them), would say he’s a genius. but if he was, then so you were. maybe that’s why you hate each other. maybe that’s why you can’t stand him.

cw;; +18 content! minors dni!, reader and spencer’s competitive asses, talk of murder, graphic scenes, weapons, guns, blood, shots being fired, lila flirting, spencer kissing lila, lots of fighting, lots of tension, teasing, apologies, reader getting hurt (mentions of stitches), threats, murder of secondary characters, talk about kinks and trauma (spencer being a smartaas), mention of spencer’s childhood and her mom… ( i bet there’s so much more but i can’t remember rn) angst, fluff and smut in upcoming chapters!!!

“another coffee, pretty boy? you wanna die?” morgan inquired the puppy eyed profiler, whose right hand held a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

“actually, the caffeine in coffee has been found in animal and cell studies to protect cells in the brain that produce dopamine. in a large prospective cohort of more than 500,000 people followed for 10 years, an association was found between drinking higher amounts of coffee and lower rates of death from all causes.” he easily spat in less than a mere minute, making morgan scoff.

“it’s not considered coffee if a 99% of it is sugar, reid.” you barged into their conversation, taking a look at the files of new cases.

“sugar is one type of carbohydrate, as are fiber and starch. carbohydrates are essential macronutrients.” he defended himself, taking a sip of his coffee-sugar.

“wrong. although carbohydrates are essential macronutrients since the body uses them in large amounts, something wrong about your thesis is that sugar is not one of those macronutrients. the body doesn’t use it. in fact, the effects of added sugar intake which are higher blood pressure, inflammation, weight gain, diabetes, and fatty liver disease, are all linked to an increased risk for heart attack and stroke. so yeah. technically, morgan was right. you might die.” you nodded towards the man, who smiled at you, walking towards you and taking your face in between his hands.

“have i told you how much i love that brain of yours?” he inquired, leaving a kiss to your forehead. “brilliant.” he smiled, raising his hands in victory since for once he had won spencer and his extensive knowledge. the profiler simply rolled his eyes.

“thanks.” spencer spat at you, to what you smiled.

“you’re very welcome, agent.”

“it’s doctor.”

“yeah, yeah. whatever.”

spencer reid. with an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and the ability to read 20,000 words per minute, he was considered a real walking genius. maybe that’s why the two of you seemed to despise each other so much. people say geniuses actually like each other. well, you and spencer were the exception. it was easy to get on his nerves. he was not used to having someone smart enough to actually suppose a threat to his intelligence. yet there you were. you had been jumping your way up to college since you were twelve, and at the ripe age of 22, and numerous phds later, you had found yourself working at the BAU.

you had been hired after elle had left the team, and everyone had seemed happy greeting you. you had specially made quick friends of penelope and morgan. something reid didn’t seem to like. well… he didn’t exceptionally like you. something that seemed stupid ‘cause you two were the perfect pair. there was nothing the two of you didn’t know, nothing you wouldn’t catch or realize. maybe that’s why spencer despised you. ‘cause now they had you too, not only him.

it was actually a pity. you liked smart people. you liked to share opinions and learn new things you might not know with the help of others. but spencer was borderline narcissistic, and that made your body cringe in disgust. and worst of all, he was really attractive. curly caramel hair, hazel puppy eyes, full lips, small straight nose, tall stature, pretty hands… also his voice…

well, anyways. you were losing focus.

so you’d decided to match his energy. and that only seemed to make the situation worse. sure, you two worked together, but only because you had to, if you could you’d much prefer to do everything alone rather than have to share office with reid.

hotch caught your attention as he pushed a file on your table.

“and what’s this…?” you sung as you took it, inspecting it.

“training program in los angeles.” you looked at him. he was leaning against your table. “want you to go with gideon and reid.” you let out a single chuckle, tossing the paper on your table.

“no.” you simply said, watching the man sigh. “tell jj to go! or prentiss!” you offered.

“can’t. jj is helping penelope to trace an unsub and prentiss is new, need someone who has been on the ropes longer.”

“then what about morgan? he’s not doing anything.” you pointed at the man who played with a mini football.

hotch looked at you. “please? you are the only one who gets reid. you know how he can be…”

“a narcissistic, egocentric, babbling, childlike, fourteen looking mess? yeah, i know.” you smiled. “but what do i win in this situation? i mean i must gain something if i’m gonna spend more time than necessary with him.”

“a free weekend.”

“done.” you gave him your hand. “a pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

-

“spencer! spencer reid!” you hear someone call for your work-mate, a tall smiling man approaching him and shaking his hand just as the three of you entered an art exhibition. “look at you. you look just the same.” he chuckled as he gives him a quick hug. “nothing changed… spencer was the only 12-year-old in our graduating class. just the same.”

“thanks.” spencer awkwardly says, giving the man a tight smile. “these are special agents jason gideon and (y/n) (l/n). this is parker dunley. we went to high school together as you can probably gather.” he introduces all of you.

“hey. it’s a beautiful gallery.” jason gives him his hand in a shake.

“oh, thank you, thank you. parker smiles, later on turning towards you.

“contemporary art… right?” you inquire offering him your hand, to what he nods. “contemporary modern art includes a wide range of mediums and genres. it is often characterized by its use of new media, such as video and installation art, as well as its rejection of traditional art forms. contemporary modern artists often experiment with form and content, and their work can be highly conceptual.” you say, making the man chuckle.

“i see you brought your computers.” parker jokes with gideon about spencer and you. “another genius like spencer?”

“oh no, men are just smart. woman are the geniuses.” you smile, making him chuckle.

“and funny, huh? i see, i see.”

spencer coughs to grab the man’s attention. “jason’s a big contemporary art enthusiast.”

“well, we’re exhibiting four up-and-coming artists in this show. everything is for sale. and i could definitely swing a nice discount for a friend of…” he loses focus as a blonde beautiful woman enters the exhibition. “lila! hey. guys, come on.” he invites you three towards his friend, coming up to her to say hello.

“do i look 12-years-old to you?” spencer inquired gideon, to what you scoffed, thanking the waiter that offered and served you a glass of champagne.

“oh, totally.” you said as you took it, taking a sip as you heard spencer crack a fake laugh.

“real funny.”

you three made your way towards parker and… lila. she was a beautiful blue eyes-blonde young girl. the basic american beauty standard.

“spencer. you ever met a real movie star?” the man asks, to what the girl beside the blonde scoffs.

“movie star? please. she has a supporting role on a television series about beach volleyball. totally blue-collar.” your eyebrows slightly rise.

“what a friend…” you whisper to your glass, taking another sip of the champagne.

“i’m lila.” the girl gives a sweet smile to spencer, and you almost roll your eyes.

it’s only a matter of time.

“hi, im doctor spencer reid… i’m spencer. you don’t have to call me doctor.” he corrects himself.

lila chuckles. in 3… 2… 1… and tucks her hair behind her ear. there we go.

“cool.” you say, turning around without even introducing yourself, it’s not as if she’d pay attention to you. she’s too focused on spencer to care as you make your way through the gallery, taking the artwork in, trying to scape the probable flirting that was about to go down.

later on you found the two of them chatting in front of a picture in which the blue and green dominate.

“does it make you feel anything?” the blonde asked him, and you silently expect an answer from spencer.

“like what?” he asks. god he sucks.

“i can’t tell you how to feel.” lila chuckles at his frown.

“right now i feel pretty good.” he smiled and you roll your eyes.

“lila? can i talk to you for a moment?” parker interrupts their chatting and the girl nods, quickly glancing at spencer.

“excuse me.”

“sure!” he gently says, and you make your way towards him.

“feeling pretty good, huh?” you inquire him, teasingly, and he groans. “you totally suck.” you take a sip of your glass and he looks at you. “poor girl seems desperate.”

“desperate for what?” he inquires, frowning.

“oh come on, reid. and you call yourself a profiler? it’s obvious she likes you. she was trying to flirt with you.” you obviously state. “she was trying so hard and you were not catching on…” you laugh, and he sighs.

“you know ogling on other’s business is rude, right?” he questions you.

“we’re the fbi. we’re on everybody’s business. that’s our job, reid.” you ignore him, taking a look at the photograph lila and him were staring at. “calming, isn’t it?” you say and he looks at the photograph as well, taking it in.

“sometimes, the color blue is associated with loneliness and sadness. it usually happens when you combine it with specific elements, like rain.” he spits and you chuckle.

“i know that, genius. the thing is not how it’s supposed to make you feel, it’s how it really makes you feel.” he looks at you as you sip from your cup. “with lila, you might feel good, ‘cause you enjoy her company, with me on the other side, you might not even want to be here, staring at a photograph that you’ve probably seen before. that’s because you focus on everything too much. you need to see what the picture actually tells you, not focus on the person you’re staring at it with.”

spencer’s hazel eyes go back to the picture, trying to focus on it, not on your presence, or the amount of voices that surrounded him.

the exhibited photograph shows an empty gas station, lights of green engulfing it as the nightlight blue sky surrounds it. it takes spencer back to his childhood. to those days in which even if he loved his mother, he couldn’t spend another minute by her side and left his house late in the afternoon for a walk. it helped him get out of his head. he remembers watching the sun go down as the night took over the sky, studying and calling out the constellations above his head, trying to find a solution to his mother’s illness. the stars never worked, and he was always left…

“it makes me feel alone.”

-

“you know, we really can get ourselves to the airport.” gideon said, reid and you trailing behind him as the police officer guided you to his car.

“i didn’t invite the fbi here to let them make their own way around town.” he says, never minding gideon.

“we really appreciate it.” reid says and you whistle.

“so you have manners, huh?” to what he groans.

“oh, shut up.”

“hey, i can’t thank you guys enough for conducting the seminar.” kim smiles.

“well, don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything we can help with.” gideon offered, putting his bags on the trunk of the car.

you stretched your arms after having pushed in your own. “can’t wait for that free weekend.” you muster happily, to what spencer frowns.

“free weekend? what are you talking about?”

“a special thanks from hotch for coming all the way here and putting up with you.” his mouth falls open at your words.

“i didn’t get any free time and i had to put up with you!”

“that let’s you know who’s the problem in this equation.” you falsely smiled at him, patting her shoulder, and you relished on the way his jaw tightened.

your conversation ends as the three of you watch officer kim end a phone call with a not very enthusiastic ‘great’.

“everything alright?” jason asks.

“double murder at hollywood bungalow.” he informs. “a celebrity. a young movie star, natalie ryan, and her fiancé shot to death.”

“very romantic.” you mutter.

“it’s gonna be a major pain in the ass. hey, you guys care to take a quick look before i drive you to the airport? it’s on the way.” he asks, and gideon accepts the offer.

“absolutely.”

you sigh as you get on the back of the car along with spencer.

“seems like that weekend is gonna have to wait.” he happily and teasingly smiles and you send daggers in his direction.

“i’ll choke you with my bare hands.”

“did you get that kink by exposure or trauma?” your mouth falls and your eyes widen.

“what?” you almost yell, watching him ponder.

“maybe it’s because you like to have power and control. have you talked about this with a therapist?”

“you’re gonna have to see a therapist after the torture i’m gonna put you through if you don’t stop that fucking nonsense.” you warn him, and he raises his hands.

“i’m just saying, there’s nothing bad about seeking mental help-”

“spencer!”

-

“no sign of forced entry.” reid points out as the four of you enter the murder scene.

“same weapon.” gideon informs watching at the two bodies.

you stare at the female, getting closer. “the girl was shot execution style, once in the head. the male three times in the torso.”

“so you have two different MOs.” jason wonders before going back to officer kim, talking about the case. you crouch down to take a better look at the man’s corpse.

“what? you found anything?” spencer inquired from behind you, to what you shook your head.

“nah. just fantasizing.” he frowns.

“fantasizing. what the- what would you possibly be fantasizing about in a murder scene?”

“oh you know… you… in that position… you know? it’s really sexy, you should try it. here don’t move let me get my gun.” you offer while getting up, and he just rolls his eyes, leaving you behind.

“what do you think?” gideon asks the officer about the case, wanting his insight.

“i’ve had a couple other cases recently, past few months. same type of weapon, 22 caliber handgun, both shot in the head.” you look at the bodies. “the first was an established film producer, wally melman, and the second was chloe harris, another young actress. though not as well-known as natalie here.”

“any forensic evidence?” reid asks as you step away from them, taking in your surroundings.

“no, and the guys have been going through this place all morning and haven’t come up with anything.”

“so he clearly knows how to cover his tracks.”

“or hers.” you mutter to yourself.

“twenty-two’s are small but efficient. they bounce around inside a person like a pinball.” jason said.

“preferred weapon of the mafia.” spencer added. “you know, there’s no obvious sexual component to these crimes, which is usually the case with serial murders.”

“so you’re thinking this is a serial killer?” kim asks.

“well, it’s certainly a series of murders. we don’t know enough yet to call them serial.” you step into the conversation.

“would you consider hanging out in LA a little while? let me lean on your expertise until we do figure out what we’ve got?” the officer inquires and gideon nods.

“yeah, just cancel the flights. we’ll have the rest of pit team out here ASAP.”

-

the unsub seemed to follow his victims, since he knew their schedules. there was not a single witness, he knows how to blend in and hide in plain sight. he’s meticulous.

and everybody is watching.

just like everybody was watching spencer and lila.

after finding out that the unsub was actually stalking the blonde, and killing people to help her with her career, she had somehow scurried her way under spencer’s protection. it actually bothered you. ‘cause spencer seemed so distracted. and it was totally unprofessional to get involved with a target being their agent.

you were on her studio, studying everyone surrounding her. but it was one person that caught your attention.

“who’s that?” you question prentiss.

“that’s maggie, maggie lowe. for what i know she just works here.” she answers you. “why?”

“they seem pretty close, don’t you think?” you ponder, watching her physical language. “she also seems nervous, she avoids lila’s eyes.”

“maybe she’s just shy.” she shrugs, but knows what you’re pointing out.

“maybe…” then, jj appears.

“what are you guys talking about?”

“lila and possible unsubs.” emily fills her in, accepting the coffee she offers her, you take the one she handles you too with a thanks.

“talking about lila… look who’s approaching her.” she devilishly smiles. you almost groan at the sight of spencer talking to the blonde. “they seem to have hit it off.”

“ugh don’t start. he’s so focused on her when in reality he should be focused on his job…” you sip at your coffee, not realizing the shared look the other two girls send each other. “so unprofessional.” you shake your head.

“are you really mad because he’s distracted from his job or by the fact that a pretty girl is distracting him?” jj asked you, taking in your frown and confused expression.

“what?”

“oh come on, really? do you really not feel it?” emily pushes in too, and you look at them.

“feel what? i-i don’t understand.”

“there’s this weird tension in between the two of you.” the brunette explains, being backed up by the blonde.

“it’s like when two little kids like each other and they don’t know how to show it so they just mess with each other.” you scoff.

“you’re saying that spencer and i are attracted to each other?” you inquired them both and they looked at the other. “come on guys, have you seen him? have you actually worked with him? he’s a fucking narcissist, he makes my life impossible just because i’m as smart as him. i don’t like him. at all. i can’t even stand him!” you rant. “he does this thing when he’s focused, playing with his hands and pencils, it’s so distracting. and when i state a fact, he just has to find something to actually make it wrong. every single time. and let’s not talk about how fucking childish he is, if you guys had been here for the training program, i swear to god he said this stupid things about kinks and me having trauma, oh my god i wanted to fucking kill him. he diminishes me, and thinks he’s better than me. and it just makes me sick…” you take a deep breath when you notice how much you had actually talked and your friends’ looks. “what i mean to say is, no. i don’t like spencer reid. and if he wants to fuck his job up, i’d be more than happy.”

morgan suddenly appeared, hotch right behind him.

“guys. there’s something you have to know…” the first talked.

“michael ryer’s dead.” the second finished.

“oh shit.” emily cursed.

“does lila know?” jj asked.

they shook their head.

“she’s gonna be devastated.” jj said to what you sipped at your coffee.

“well at least she has spencer, right?”

“oh, yeah. can we talk about that real quick?!” morgan inquired, astonished.

“no, morgan!” the girls stop him and he raised his hands.

“okay… but the kid has game.”

-

“woah. i like your house.” spencer said as you two entered lila’s house.

how had you managed to end up with the two of them alone, you didn’t know, and you didn’t like.

“i rent it.” the girl smiled.

“nice.” he nodded.

“lila, you should probably change all your phone numbers.” you said, messaging your team, they’d found something concerning nude photos of the young artist.

“i’m unlisted.”

“anytime you call an 800 or an 888 number your phone number’s put into a data bank that’s then sold to telemarketers. if someone gets your phone number they can go online and research all your records.” you actually responded.

“woah, are you a genius like spencer too?” spencer.

“no. i’m actually smarter.” you gave her a small smile, making her chuckle.

“uh… you should probably carry a piece of paper and pen with you wherever you go in case you see any suspicious license plates that often reappear.” spencer tries to change the conversation as you two followed the blonde towards her kitchen. “and a security dog too.”

“allergic.” she simply answered. “do you guys want some tea?”

you shrugged. “yeah, sure. thanks.” spencer nodded as well. it was already getting late, the sun leaving the city’s sky.

“i’m gonna go change while the water boils, make yourselves comfortable.” she said while making her way upstairs.

you went back towards the salon, your eyes wandering towards a collage on lila’s wall. spencer got your left side, his white stripped button up shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“feel anything yet?” you asked him.

“there is something definitely appealing about this one.” he said and you nodded.

“like lila?”

he looked at you, his mouth falling open to say something, but just as the words were to fall from his lips, the blonde returned in a a more comfortable outfit, making her way towards the patio of her house, beside the pool.

“what are you doing?” spencer inquired her.

“i just need some air. the tea is on the kitchen.” she responded.

“what? no, lila…” your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you watched him go after her.

you could hear them talk and spencer beg her to come inside since there was a psychotic killer aiming at her. you made your way back to the kitchen just as fast as you saw the blonde lean into him, one of her hands tugging at his tie to pull him down. great.

your hands took the cup of steaming tea that lila had prepared you, your eyes on spencer’s as you took a sip. but the warm liquid was poured all over the floor of the kitchen, your head spinning at the blunt trauma that stroke you. your hands went to the side of your forehead as you fell, taking in the sight of your blood. you groaned as someone took you from your hair, pulling you and dragging you across the floor, your hands getting cuts from the smashed cup of tea.

“come here.” the unsub said, taking away your gun, and… you knew that voice. your eyes met the blonde’s.

“maggie lowe?” you muttered to yourself. so you were right. she was the killer and stalker.

you got dragged all the way to the salon, where you could see lila and spencer kissing from the distance. but the kiss quickly broke when maggie fired a shot up into the ceiling, capturing their attentions. spencer quickly pulled out his weapon, pointing at maggie, whose gun’s barbell was right against your head.

“maggie?” lila inquired as they slowly made their way towards you two.

“why’d you have to bring these people here?” she asked lila. “put down the gun.” she ordered spencer, clocking the weapon that kissed your skin. he quickly lowered it, calling out for the killer. “don’t call me maggie! you don’t know me!” “come on lila, let’s go. we gotta go baby, let’s go.” she ordered the actress in a soft yet hurt voice.

“maggie don’t hurt her, you don’t need to hurt her.” you didn’t know if he was talking about lila or you. or maybe both.

“you don’t know anything. i would never do anything to hurt lila. i created her.”

“no, you didn’t.” lila said.

“yes, i did!” you closed your eyes when the barbell dug harsher against your temple. “i did everything for you! and you betray me by bringing these people here… to our house!!!”

“so ungrateful…” you say, loud enough for maggie to hear you. “look at you… you gave her everything and you saw what she did to you… she kissed him. she told him she loved him.” you lied, looking at spencer. he caught on.

“what?” maggie incredulously said.

“i heard them. i saw them kissing each other like animals!” you yelled. “he abandoned me… and now i’m here. about to be killed because of him!” you spat, meeting maggie’s eyes. “you don’t have to hurt me. they don’t deserve us. i’m on your side maggie… i know how you feel. i know how it feels to be betrayed like this…” you nodded, seeing her eyes change. “give me my gun… i’ll kill him for you. and then you can have lila back. i’ll let the two of you go.” you promised, slowly rising up to your feet, extending your hand.

and just as she pointed her gun down, you tackled her, taking the weapons from her and throwing them aside as she fought against your hold.

“reid!” you called out for your work mate, who quickly came to you and handcuffed maggie, who just started crying and begging for you to kill her.

“i gave her everything…”

you looked at spencer, wiping off the blood from your eyes.

“and that’s why we need to stay professional.”

-

“are you okay, pretty girl?” morgan came to you as the paramedics wiped clean your wound.

“yeah, they say i have a light concussion. a couple of stitches and i’ll be alright.” you gave him a small smile.

“what happened in there, huh? we only got what the paparazzi had on camera, which is…” you nodded.

“yeah. well, maggie got into the house with lila’s spare keys, and basically almost killed me. it was good luck that spencer kissed lila, or else i don’t know what i would’ve done.” the rest of the team had gathered around you.

“you did good. spencer told me how you got into her head.” gideon said.

“thanks.” you responded.

“make sure you’re on the clear before getting up. we’ll be right back, gotta fill in the other officers.” hotch informed you, to what you nodded.

they all left except spencer, who silently looked at you.

“i’m sorry.” spencer said, looking at his feet. “this shouldn’t have happened, if i hadn’t…”

“… played barbie?” you finished off for him, catching his attention. “look spencer. i don’t really care about it. it’s your life and you make your own decisions, just… make sure to not put any of us in danger while doing it. even lila. one of us three could have died tonight.” he nodded. you reached on your back pockets, pulling out the films of the paparazzi’s camera. “i guess this is yours.” he called out for you once again, probably to apologize one more time, but you were still pretty shaken up and you were still pretty mad at him. “would you mind? my head is killing me.” you asked of him and he nodded, silently turning around and walking its way towards morgan and emily. your mind went back to her words the moment the needle punctured your skin. oh ‘come on, really? do you really not feel it?’ ‘there’s this weird tension in between the two of you.’. and then back to jj’s. ‘it’s like when two little kids like each other and they don’t know how to show it so they just mess with each other’. you couldn’t help but chuckle.

you liking spencer? no way.

if there was anything you felt for spencer reid that was hate.

-

a/n; im so excited for this series!!!! so much angst and fluff and smut yet to come!🤭

[lipglossanon]

Day 8

Kink: Spitting & Overstimulation

Pairing: Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a slightly softer CC Leon (don’t ask me how it happened lmao), dirty talk, possessive Leon, spitting, overstimulation, praise, daddy kink, fingering, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, squirting

not proofread

The night’s breezy, sending chills across your body and making you regret your choice of wearing a cute skirt to meet up with Leon at the local carnival. Surprisingly, the date has been sweet. He’s only touched your shoulders and lower back to guide you around the stalls and rides. 

You split a funnel cake and share a messy, powdered sugar flavored kiss afterwards. It’s enough to let your guard down, which is your second mistake of the night (after the fashion choice). It all starts with some people from out of town, a couple of guys who more than likely have had too much to drink. 

They say something to you, but you’re not paying attention. Leon is though. Leon’s head is always on a swivel when you’re out together. He leaves you standing next to the basketball game, hands clutching the plushie he just won you as he walks over to the pair. Your heart rate picks up, seeing the look on Leon’s face—nothing ever bodes well with that look. 

A group of teenagers stop in front of you, blocking the trio from view. Standing up on your tiptoes doesn’t help and you don’t really wanna move and have Leon be disappointed you didn’t listen to him. The teens shift and you see Leon walking back to you, bypassing the noisy group to stand in front of you again. 

Glancing down you see blood on his knuckles and you gasp.

“Are you okay?” You reach for his hand but he pulls away. 

“Of course,” he uses his clean hand to cup your chin, thumb smoothing across your skin. “Let’s head home so I can clean up.”

You nod, “Okay.”

His lips tic into a half smile, “Such a good girl.”

Heat sweeps through you and you bite your bottom lip, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and lead you out of the carnival grounds to his car. The ride back to your place is quiet save for the radio playing on low volume. You squeeze the plushie to your chest, eyes watching the landscape pass you by until he’s pulling up to your place. 

Once the door’s unlocked, Leon disappears into the guest bath to use the first aid kit tucked under the sink. You kick off your shoes and wander down the hall into your bedroom. Gently sitting the stuffed raccoon on your dresser, your shoulders drop, tension leaving your body now that you’re home.   

“Is this where you’re gonna keep him?” 

Leon’s thick arms wrap around your body, hugging you back against his chest. 

“Mmhmm,” you smile although he can’t see. “It looks cute here.”

“Sure does, sweetheart,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “Know what else is cute?”

A breath hitches in your throat as he slips his hands down your body, one pulling up your skirt so he can run his other hand over your panty clad mound.  

“This soft pussy,” he groans, fingers delving underneath your panties to rub against your slit. “Cutest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

He bites down on your neck and you mewl, hips rocking into his hand. Moving your hands behind you, you tangle them in his hair with a sigh. 

“Oh,” you pause, body stiffening, “how’s your hand?”

“Aw, are you worried?” He chuckles and it makes your skin prickle. “It’s fine, just a few cuts. Won’t stop me from playing with your hot cunt, pretty girl.”

Shivering, you whine and relax back against him. 

“That’s it,” he coos mockingly, “you like me taking care of you, huh? Yeah, you do.”

“Leon, please,” you whimper, slick filling the gusset of your panties. 

“Spoiled pussy,” he grunts. “Nothing but a spoiled little pussy.”

Three of his fingers sink knuckle deep into your drippy hole. You whimper and rock down against his hand. 

“But this is my spoiled pussy isn’t it, baby? She’s only crying so much cause daddy treats her so nicely.”

“Yes, yes, please, Leon,” you hiccup a whine, thighs trembling. 

“My pretty girl,” he sinks his teeth in your shoulder and you cry out, clamping down tightly on his fingers buried in your cunt. 

Curling the digits, Leon rubs against your g-spot, heightening your pleasure until it’s too much for your body to handle. He pulls his fingers out suddenly and your orgasm teeters on the edge before tapering off. Frustrated tears slip from your eyes as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Daddy, please, ‘m so close,” you moan softly, fingers tugging his hair.

He cups your throat with one hand, angling your head back onto his shoulder. 

“Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers tightening on your neck. 

Dropping your bottom lip, you loll your tongue out, heart pounding in your chest as arousal blazes through your veins. He laughs down at you. 

“Don’t have to tell you to swallow, do I, pretty girl?”

Not letting you answer, he spits down on your tongue, watching with dilated eyes as you swallow with a moan. He shakes his grip when he feels your throat bob against his hand. 

“Again.”

Your lips fall open eagerly and he drools a line of spit down into your mouth. Whining, you swallow down the saliva, mouth dropping back open without Leon saying anything. 

“Good girl,” he spits on your tongue one last time before manhandling you over to the bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress and shoves your skirt up, yanking your panties down and off. 

His hand comes down and smacks your clit, the flat of his fingers stinging in the best way. Your hips writhe, torn between wanting more of those rough slaps or reprieve from the sharp pleasure. Leon decides for you, gripping one of your hips and pressing down on the bone until you whine. Once you still your movement, he rains slaps down across your thighs and cunt, catching your clit with his fingertips. 

Crying out, you tangle your fingers in the sheets, leg muscles twitching and jumping. 

“God, look at this wet mess you’re making, baby,” he croons nastily. “Love getting this fat pussy slapped, don’t you?”

He lands a hard smack across your cunt and your whole body shudders, slick dripping from your hole to saturate the bed spread. His fingers part your pussy lips and he fucks the digits into your fluttering walls, scissoring you open before curling upwards to rub across your g-spot. 

“Leon, oh that’s so good,” you keen, head grinding back against the pillow. 

He fingerfucks your pussy fast and hard, thumb pressing against your clit to circle the swollen bud. With his fingers constantly rubbing the spongy spot at the front of your pussy, your orgasm winds higher and higher. 

“Soak my fingers, sweetheart,” he grins, eyes dragging up from your spread open pussy to your blown out gaze. “Show me how good it feels.”

He leans over your hip and spits, a hot glob of saliva dripping down over your clit that he rubs in with his thumb. That’s enough to push you completely over the edge. A low cry spills from your lips, toes curling while your body jerks as you cum. The wet sound of Leon fingering you through your orgasm meets your ears—the loud plap plap plapmakes you whine, cunt fluttering and milking his fingers even more. 

“Give me another, I know you can,” he goads, the pads of his fingers grinding against your g-spot. 

On the heels of your first orgasm, creeps the second. It doesn’t take as long as you think before your back bows off the bed, climax creating fireworks in your brain as you moan and whimper. Leon still doesn’t let up and the pleasure begins to become too much. He pins you down against the bed, roughly fucking his fingers into your sopping wet cunt. 

“Leon, I can’t—“ 

Your voice cracks, a sob breaking free as tears fill your eyes. 

“Please, daddy, s’too much.”

“One more,” he murmurs. “One more and you can rest.”

Openly crying, you nod, knowing that when he wrings out your next orgasm it’s going to make you pass out. Your cunt pulses at the thought and Leon groans, thumb rubbing your slippery clit. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, you can do it.”

He lets go of your hip and brings his hand down to pinch and lightly smack your clit. The pain is enough to trigger your third orgasm of the night, pussy squirting so much it soaks the bed and Leon’s arm. 

 “Fuck, good girl, that’s my good girl,” he hums, pleased as punch. “God, look at this messy fucking pussy.”

Blood rushes through your ears and your dazed eyes meet his before they flutter shut in empty bliss. 

[moonstruckme]

Steve Harrington!! We love him!!

I’d love to request established relationship fem!reader passing out. I just know Steve would be so loving and caring🫶🏼

Thanks for requesting babe! He is so loving and caring...in his own way <3

cw: reader passes out, mention of skipping meals

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Hey, hey!” Steve taps your face frantically, tone accusatory as if you’ll wake up if you know you’re in trouble. “Y/n, come on.” 

You’ve been working in the garden all afternoon. After weeks of complaining about the pests that had been eating your tomatoes, you’d finally found a free day to plant marigolds to keep them away. Steve thought he’d win Boyfriend of the Year by making a pitcher of lemonade for you, but when he’d called you and you’d turned around, you no sooner stood up than you went back down. 

“Babe, hey.” Your eyes move behind your eyelids, and he looses a breath, patting your cheek a couple more times until they peel open. 

You look frighteningly out of it, eyes squinty and unfocussed as they move over your surroundings before settling on Steve. 

“What?” you ask, like he’s woken you up for no good reason. 

“You okay?” He shuffles closer to you on the ground. He feels heart-twistingly guilty about not being quick enough to catch you, but thankfully you’d crumpled to the side, onto the soft grass, so he’s hoping you haven’t hurt yourself too badly. Still, he can’t move you until he knows for sure. At his question, you only blink sluggishly. “Hey,” he tries again, urgent. “Does anything hurt?” 

“I don’t…” Your face scrunches confusedly. “I don’t think so.” 

“Okay, okay.” That’s good enough for Steve. He slides a careful hand under your head, feeling for blood or bumps. When he doesn’t find any, he brings it into his lap, grabbing the cup he’d set on the ground after running to you. “Here, have—have some lemonade.”

Miraculously, there’s still some liquid that hasn’t sloshed out. Your first sip is tentative, but you drink greedily after that, a thin rivulet missing the corner of your mouth and running down your cheek. Steve swipes it away before it can drip off your chin, bringing his hand to your forehead to cover your eyes from the sun.

“Jesus, babe, are you trying to kill me? What happened?” 

“M’not sure.” Your voice comes out a bit clearer as you lower the cup, eyes blinking open further now that you’re not squinting against the light. “I just got really hot, all of a sudden. Did I pass out?” 

“Yeah.” Steve tries to position his head so it’s blocking the sun, using his hand to brush dirt and grass from the side of your face. “You fell pretty hard, honey.”

“Sorry.” 

A funny little laugh startles out of him. “Yeah, you fucking should be.” Steve shakes his head, squishing your cheek meanly with his thumb, both of you sticky with sugar and soil. “You scared the shit out of me, idiot. Are you sure you’re not hurting anywhere?” 

You frown. “My head sort of hurts.” 

Steve’s blood runs cold. “Yeah?” he asks, already probing at the side that had hit the ground with panicky, perhaps less-than-gentle fingers. 

“Mm, but just, like, a headache,” you say, discomfort evident in your tone. “It’s not bad.” 

Steve finds that to be of little consolation. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” he says, helping you sit up before wrapping an arm under your shoulders to support you as you walk. You seem perfectly capable, now, almost back to normal if a little disoriented, but he’s not taking any chances. 

He sets you onto the couch and you all but dissolve into the cushions, pressing your face to the cool pillow while he goes to get more lemonade from the kitchen. He detours to grab some painkillers too. (Those might be a bad idea if whatever’s going on with you turns out to be serious, but he can’t think past making you feel better right now. If painkillers do that, fuck everything else.) You take them both gratefully, sitting up again to gulp down the contents of the cup. Steve presses the back of his hand to your sweaty forehead. It doesn't seem hot enough outside for heatstroke, but you never know. Thankfully, you seem normal, though you lean into his cool touch with an adorable little sigh. 

“I’m gonna make you something to eat,” he tells you, taking your cup for a refill. “PB and J sound okay?” 

“Yes, please.” Your voice follows him into the kitchen, and he relaxes a bit at the far more familiar sound of it, less waver in your tone. Maybe the drink and air conditioning are doing you good. “Sorry, Stevie, I don’t know what happened.” 

“Have you been drinking water?” he asks, getting a plate down from your cabinets and setting the bread on it.

“Yeah,” you sound confused. A bit defensive, too. “I brought a water bottle out with me, I’ve been drinking from it the whole time.” 

That’s true, Steve had seen it sitting upright in the grass next to you. “Maybe one water bottle wasn’t enough,” he suggests. “You were out there for a while.” 

“It’s not that hot out,” you argue, but you sound unsure. 

He huffs though he doesn’t disagree, slathering the jelly side of your sandwich thicker, the way you like it. “What’d you have for lunch?” 

There’s a pause. “A banana.” 

“No, you had that for breakfast. I was there.” He finishes with your sandwich, putting his supplies back where they came from. “I meant what’d you have for lunch?” 

You’re quiet, and when Steve turns the corner with your PB&J, you’re already looking over at him, your expression sheepish. 

His next exhale is huffy with exasperation. “Oh, you asshole,” he says, even as relief floods through him. At least this, he knows what to do about. “You are trying to kill me!” 

“I’m sorry, I forgot!” Your voice pitches as he stalks closer, almost laughing when he dumps your plate unceremoniously in your lap. “I really just forgot, Stevie, I would never try to kill you.” 

“You’re just trying to make me go gray in my prime, is that it?” He shakes his head, but your smile has always been contagious, and his lips start to curve against his will. “Just eat your sandwich.” 

You take a bite obediently, humming in satisfaction. “This is really good, baby. Thank you.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ll bet it is.” 

“Steve?”

He grunts. 

“Could I have a kiss, please?” 

He looks over, and you’re giving him the eyes. Those sweet, never-did-nothing-to-nobody, beautiful eyes. And, well, he’s hopeless for them. 

“Yeah, fine.” He leans over, still careful as he sets a hand on your face to tilt you towards him. You taste of sweetness, lemonade and strawberry jam and your cherry chapstick. Steve samples it once, twice, three times, before drawing back. “I’m gonna cut you up some fruit, okay?” he says softly, thumb sweeping across your cheek. “Stay put.”

“You’re such a mom,” you tease as he starts back towards the kitchen. 

“Keep talking like that,” he threatens, “and I’ll cut off kisses completely.” 

[forest-hashira]

Surprise, Baby

ok i've decided to stop being so In My Head bout this and just post it. it was entirely self indulgent so it's just fluff, & i apologize if anyone seems ooc but i really like this one ok?

pairing: gojo/reader, geto/reader, also technically satosugu

word count: 3.3k

read it on ao3

warnings: pregnancy, gn pronouns used for reader but implied afab reader (it is a pregnancy fic after all), reader is referred to as "mom", other than that it's pure fluff

It wasn’t like you’d planned for this to happen. 

Raising four children when you were still practically kids yourself had been rewarding, but it had also been difficult. Even with three of you to juggle everything – getting the kids to school, running errands, keeping up with appointments and practices and rehearsals – it still got overwhelming sometimes. 

Despite all that, though, all three of you were incredibly proud of the people the kids had grown into. They were all strong, kind, and considerate, even as they became moody teenagers; yours and Suguru’s endless patience over the years had ensured that, as had Satoru’s eager and constant encouragement in everything they did. Raising those kids was one of the most rewarding things you’d ever done in your life. 

So why were you so terrified of the thought of doing it again with a baby of your own flesh and blood?

“Are you feeling alright, love?” Suguru asked, his brows furrowed with concern as he took you in. “You look a bit pale.”

You offered him a weak smile from your spot in bed, propped up by a few pillows, trying to stave off the waves of nausea as subtly as you could. “‘M fine,” you assured him quietly. “Just not feeling very good right now.” 

Your words only seemed to worry him more, and he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching out and resting the back of his hand against your forehead, checking to see if you had a fever. “You’re a little clammy,” he said quietly, “but you don’t feel warm. Can I get you anything?”

You hesitated for a moment at his words, not wanting to inconvenience him at all when you knew he needed to head off with Satoru to start their students’ lessons, but before you could brush off his offer, your stomach decided to make an ungodly noise. “…some toast would be nice,” you admitted, unable to do anything but blush as he smiled at you.

“Whatever you want, love,” your dark haired partner agreed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before he stood and left the room. 

Satoru was already in the kitchen when he stepped into the room, pouring a truly obscene amount of flavored creamer into his coffee. The sight caused Suguru to wrinkle his nose slightly, but he said nothing, too focused on making the toast you'd asked for to tease his lover for his sugar addiction. 

“Everything alright?” the white haired man asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched the other move through the kitchen; his shoulders were tense, a clear sign that something was bothering him. 

“They’re not feeling well,” Suguru answered simply, still focused on his task. 

“Again?” Satoru asked, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s what, four days in a row now?”

“Five days total this week,” Suguru confirmed with a sigh, dropping two slices of bread into the toaster and pressing down the lever, after making sure the settings were to your preference. 

The blue eyed man said nothing in response, a concerned hum escaping him as he set his coffee aside. Drink now abandoned, he turned and made his way back to the bedroom, his only thought being checking on you. 

“Sweetheart?” he called softly, stepping into the room. “Sugu said you’re feeling sick again.”

You smiled apologetically at him. “Nothing to worry about,” you promised, but he was clearly unconvinced. In just a few steps, he crossed the room, easily crawling up the bed to snuggle up beside you. 

“D’y’want us to stay with you today?” he asked, shuffling as close as he could get as he rested his cheek against your chest near your shoulder. 

You shook your head slightly at his question, one hand coming up to play with his snowy locks. “The students need you.”

“They’d understand,” Satoru insisted. “Megs and Yuji asked about you yesterday. Nobara won’t admit it but I think she’s worried, too. They miss you.” 

“The twins haven’t said anything?” you asked, fake pouting, hoping to lighten his mood a bit. 

“Sugu spent over half his time yesterday keeping them from sneaking off to check on you.” 

Not having expected such a heartfelt answer, you suddenly felt as if you were going to cry. You blinked quickly, biting your lip as you fought away the tears; the last thing you wanted was to worry your partners even more. 

No such luck. Satoru immediately noticed the shift in your mood, and he felt his heart stop for a moment. “Oh, honey, don’t cry, please? I’m sorry, I didn’t think that would upset you.” His words held an edge of panic as he lifted his head, brows pinched harshly in worry. 

“‘M not upset,” you promised, shaking your head and reaching out for him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you.”

He easily took your hand in his own as you reached out for him, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Don’t apologize, sweetie,” he soothed. “Just don’t like it when you don’t feel good.”

“Neither of us do,” Suguru chimed in, stepping into the room with the toast you’d requested from him. “Love, what’s wrong?” His voice was impossibly gentle as he approached, and for some reason, that was the last straw for your fragile emotional state. 

Tears began to pour down your cheeks as you burst into sobs. You covered your face with your hands, apologizing over and over again on hiccuping breaths between your sobs. 

This alarmed your partners a great deal, and Suguru raced forward, hurriedly closing the remaining distance between the two of you. He set the plate on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed, taking one of your hands and carefully pulling it away from your face; Satoru did the same on your other side, with your other hand. “What are you sorry for, love?” he asked softly.

“For everything!” you burst out, then seemed to get embarrassed by your own outburst. “For crying,” you continued, voice lowering as you sniffled. “For worrying you, and the kids. Didn’t mean to, I just…just didn’t wanna make a fuss for no reason.”

“Let us fuss over you,” Suguru murmured, offering you a gentle smile.

“We worry when you don’t let us fuss over you,” Satoru added, a hint of teasing in his gentle words. When it succeeded in drawing a hint of a smile from you, he felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. “Now, can you please tell us what you didn’t want to cause a fuss over?”

You hesitated again, looking between the two men beside you, the love and tenderness practically beaming off of them making you feel foolish for keeping this to yourself for so long, worried about what they might say. Before you spoke, you carefully guided their hands to your stomach, releasing them and allowing their long fingers to splay over the area, the warmth of their hands still easy to feel even through the fabric of your shirt. 

Two sets of brows furrowed in slight confusion at the gesture, but they waited patiently for you to elaborate. No matter how curious they were, they would never push you to speak before you were ready. 

You wracked your brain for a clever way to break the news, but eventually you gave up, not wanting to keep them waiting any longer. “I’m pregnant,” you said, and for some reason you found yourself blushing.

Two sets of eyes widened in shock. The men sat in silence for a moment, before Suguru’s soft voice broke it. “You’re having a baby?” he asked, wonder all over his face. 

“We’re having a baby,” you corrected softly, heart swelling with love as you took in his lovestruck expression. “All three of us.”

“We’re having a baby!” Satoru exclaimed from your other side, hauling you into his lap and burying his face in your neck. 

The movement knocked the air from your lungs for a second, but his excitement was so palpable you couldn’t even be upset with him. A small laugh bubbled out of you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in his hair for a moment. 

“Careful, Toru,” Suguru scolded his partner, though there was no heat behind his words. “Don’t break them.”

Satoru’s half-hearted “sorry” was muffled against your skin, the tickling sensation of his lips causing you to giggle softly. 

Another thought occurred to you after a moment, and you deflated a bit. This did not go unnoticed by either of your partners. 

“Nooo, no sad thoughts!” Satoru pouted, lifting his head from your neck as he spoke. “This is good news!”

“Toru’s right, love,” Suguru agreed, tilting his head slightly; you couldn’t help but admire the way his bangs drifted across his face at the movement. “What’s got you down?”

“Do you think the kids will be upset?” Your voice was small as you asked the question, and you bit your lip immediately afterwards. 

“Why would they be upset?” The question was gentle, holding no judgment whatsoever, just like your partner’s brown eyes. 

“I dunno, I just…don’t want them to feel like they’re being replaced, or something.” You shrugged slightly, avoiding his gaze as you spoke; you realized how foolish it sounded, but you still couldn’t help but worry. 

“You’re their mom,” Satoru said, as if that answered the question, as if it was the obvious cure to your worries. “They would never think you were replacing them.”

His words made you burst into tears again, which earned him a harsh pinch on his thigh from your other partner. 

“Stop making them cry, babe. It’s rude.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“S’okay,” you cut in, not wanting them to bicker, even if it was lighthearted. “Happy tears. Just love you both so much.” You sniffled softly, rubbing at your eyes with one hand and reaching for your dark haired partner with the other. “Too far away, Sugu,” you pouted. 

“They’re right, sugar,” Satoru agreed, a cheeky grin on his lips. “Cuddles aren’t as effective or as satisfying without you.”

Suguru rolled his eyes at his lover’s words, but he couldn’t help but grin back at him. He didn’t waste another moment before climbing up the bed to properly join the two of you, settling comfortably against Satoru’s side and your back, one hand wrapping around your front and resting lightly on your stomach again. “Better?” he asked, the word murmured sweetly into the back of your shoulder. 

“Much,” you agreed, turning your head to press a kiss to his temple. 

As the two of you got comfortable together, the white haired sorcerer adjusted slightly, shifting just enough to pull his phone from his pocket. He kept one arm wrapped around you, his free hand pulling up his messaging app. 

“Whatcha doin’?” you asked, face still toward Suguru’s, so you could only sort of make out what he was doing on his phone. 

“Texting the kids,” he said. The text he sent to the four of them was short, to the point: class canceled. family meeting. He tucked his phone away again after that, unable to resist the urge to bury his face in your neck again. 

All you did was hum in response to his words, too wrapped up in the warmth and adoration from your boyfriends to worry too much about what he might have told them. 

The three of you spent the next few minutes snuggled up together, exchanging little kisses and soft touches, just happy to be with each other and revel in the warmth of your good news. 

The moment was cut short by a knock at the door, though, and your nose scrunched in confusion. 

“I’ll get it,” Satoru said right away, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before transferring you into Suguru’s lap. Once you were settled, he hopped up from the bed and left the room. 

You pouted as he left, but allowed yourself to be appeased as your other partner held you close, pressing kisses along your hairline. 

Just a few seconds later, you heard several sets of footsteps enter the apartment, accompanied by a familiar voice. 

“Where’s mom?” Megumi asked, hurrying past his sisters and his father figure, his eyes scanning the main room of the apartment. 

“In here, Gumi!” you called out to your son, frowning when he hurried into the room, worry etched into his features. “What’s wrong?”

Megumi returned your frown as he looked you over, not able to see anything noticeably wrong. “Gojo canceled classes and called a family meeting, and you’ve been out most of the week. I thought there was bad news.”

The girls filed into the room after their brother, peering at you with worried expressions of their own, though Megumi seemed to be the most frantic of the group. Satoru followed the girls into the room, and you scowled at him. “You called a family meeting?” you asked, crossing your arms as you turned to face him a bit more. Suguru easily accommodated you as you shifted, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. 

“What? It was the quickest way to get them all here,” Satoru said, somewhat defensively, crossing his own arms in a mirror of your stance. 

“You should have asked us first.”

“Or at least told them there was nothing to worry about,” Suguru added, hooking his chin gently over your shoulder after he spoke. Satoru said nothing, just let out a huff, though he did have the decency to look a little sheepish. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” you assured the kids, offering them an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry Toru worried you. I promise I’m fine. C’mere.” You extended a hand towards the kids, beckoning them closer, encouraging them to join you and Suguru on the bed. 

As stoic as he usually was, Megumi was the first to join you, settling on the edge of the bed, as close to your side as he could get. The girls followed soon after, all of them perching on the mattress and looking between you, Satoru, and Suguru expectantly. “So…what’s the reason for the family meeting?” Tsumiki asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly as she looked up at Satoru. 

The white haired sorcerer’s eyes flashed at the question, and he smiled, tilting his head in your direction. “Ask your mom.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, all varying levels of confused and curious, and you felt yourself grow a bit flustered at the attention. 

“I can tell them, if you’d prefer,” Suguru offered quietly, immediately picking up on the shift in your mood. 

“No, Sugu, it’s okay,” you answered, though you did lean your cheek slightly against his before you spoke again. “Your dads and I are having a baby,” you told the kids. As all four sets of eyes widened at your words, you felt the heat return to your cheeks, but you smiled brightly at the excitement that was so obvious in their expressions; even Megumi was smiling. 

“A baby?!” the twins chorused, followed by a cheer when you felt Suguru nod against your shoulder. The sound drew a giggle from you, and you settled further back into your dark haired partner’s chest. 

“That’s really great to hear,” Tsumiki agreed, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her smile, and you smiled right back at her. “We’re happy for you guys.” 

You nodded in response, then turned your attention to your son, who had yet to say anything about the news. “Whaddya say, Gumi? Would you rather have a brother, or another sister?” You nudged his ribs lightly with your elbow as you teased him, and your expression softened slightly as a chuckle escaped the boy. 

“I just hope it doesn’t look like Gojo,” he replied, a playful twinkle in his eye as he spoke. You could feel Suguru’s chuckle rumble through his chest and into your back, and your own giggle turned into a full-out belly laugh as Satoru let out a cry of indignation. 

“Megs, you wound me! I happen to be very good looking, and I have two romantic partners that would wholeheartedly agree,” Satoru insisted, flopping dramatically down on the bed beside you. 

“Subjecting a kid to those genes seems a little unfair, that’s all I’m saying.” 

You did your best to stifle your laughter at your son’s response, but given that all of your daughters and your other partner were all laughing, too, it was difficult not to join them. 

“You’re a traitor,” Satoru pouted, looking up at you and Suguru from where his head rested on your thighs. “Both of you are, siding with the kid over me like that.”

“You’re just whiny because he’s right,” Suguru replied, smirking down at his partner. 

“Sorry, Toru,” you soothed, reaching down with one hand to run your fingers through his hair. “I think you’re very pretty with your white hair and blue eyes.”

He seemed to brighten a bit at that. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “Pretty like a cat.”

Satoru’s brows furrowed at the words. “…I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” he said after a beat. “But I’m going to take it as one.”

The exchange drew a fresh wave of giggles from the twins, which in turn made you, Tsumiki, and Suguru laugh; Satoru and Megumi watched with silent smiles. The moment was warm, and happy, and lovely. You couldn’t have asked for anything more. 

“Good morning Sensei!” Yuji greeted enthusiastically, a bright grin on his face as he waved. “Fushiguro says you’re feeling better?”

“Yes, Yuji, I’m feeling much better.” You smiled at the boy as you answered him. “I’m sorry if I worried you at all.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” the pink haired boy said easily. “You’re not sick very often, we weren’t sure what was going on. Even Kugisaki was worried.”

Your eyes darted over to the girl as Yuji said her name, and you couldn’t help but smile as she turned away, saying nothing but letting out a soft grunt; not agreeing with her classmate’s words, but also not denying them. 

“Well, there’s nothing to worry about,” you promised. “And I wasn’t sick. Not really.”

Yuji’s face scrunched together in confusion. “But Gojo-sensei and Geto-sensei both said you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I wasn’t.”

The boy’s expression grew impossibly more confused at your words, drawing a soft chuckle from your partners. 

“Just tell him, love,” Suguru said, fingers trailing lightly down your back as he spoke.

“Please do,” Nobara agreed. “Itadori’s brain isn’t built to think this hard.”

“His head’ll probably explode if he tries to figure it out on his own,” Megumi agreed, the twitch in the corner of his lips only noticeable to you and your partners. 

“Hey!” Yuji said indignantly, though he gave no specific arguments; he had no clue what could’ve kept you feeling unwell but not actually sick for so long, and he really wanted to know. 

“Fine,” you said, sighing melodramatically and suppressing your own smile. “It was morning sickness, Yuji.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Itadori you, dumbass!” Nobara exclaimed, her eyes wide as she looked at you. “They’re having a baby!”

“A baby?” Yuji asked, tilting his head slightly, before the words seemed to fully click in his mind. “Oh! A baby! That’s amazing!” He turned his beaming smile back on you full force for a moment, then glanced over at Megumi. “Aren’t you excited, Fushiguro?”

“Nope!” Satoru cut in, trying – and failing miserably – to hide his playful grin. “Megs is a party pooper who never gets excited about anything.”

“Satoru,” you and Suguru scolded in unison, causing the white haired sorcerer to hold up his hands in surrender. Even with his blindfold on, you knew his eyes were flashing with love and mischief. 

“We told Gumi and the girls yesterday,” you explained. “No surprises for him today.”

“…is that why Gojo-sensei canceled classes yesterday?!”

i hope you guys enjoyed! like i said this is purely self indulgent fluff lol. i have a couple other lil ideas for things floating around in my brain/that i've started working on but idk if/when any of them will be finished 🙈

dividers by @/benkeibear

[oneshotnewbie]

hi could you possibly do a maya and carina x reader where reader is maybe drunk and stubborn and it is them taking care of her and just complete fluff 🫶

ᕚ---ᕘ

You staggered around the room, completely losing your balance. You got drunk into oblivion on your best friend's birthday and your two girlfriends had to pick you up from the restaurant. As soon as Maya and Carina arrived, they quickly rushed to a private room at the other end of the building to come to your aid. "Bella, are you okay?" The brunette asked worriedly as they saw you leaning against a wall, your cheeks burning red and your eyes bloodshot and glassy.

Maya had immediately jumped to your side, hooking your arm over her shoulder so that she could catch your body and hold it upright before you stumbled and fell unhappily. "Sure thing, pretty. I'm awesome! I swear I can walk straight!" You muttered in an unintelligible slur and started to giggle, but all you got was serious faces, eyes looking at each other in incomprehension.

Using their combined efforts, they tried to gently lower your heavily intoxicated body onto one of the wooden chairs. “Y/n, darling, how much did you drink?” she requested, reaching out physically to lift your head and catch your gaze. You, however, looked back at your fingers, tried to count the shots on them, but failed miserably as they blurred and wavered in front of your eyes. "Um, I think a few more than I should? But hey, you suddenly have four eyes that I can look into, and all of them are beautiful!"

The blonde's hand fell to her forehead, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed on it as she bit her lip. She looked up at Carina, who couldn't resist a gentle chuckle. Maya scuffled her hair and asked herself what you had gotten yourself into. Normally you were never the drinker. “Let’s get you home,” she sighed out loudly and rose from her kneeling position in front of you.

Both Carina and Maya helped you get up and carefully brought you into the car to take you home. During the journey it became quiet around the two of them. While Carina tried to keep the car straight and not swerve too much, it was Maya who turned around every minute to check on you. However, you were caught up in your own daydream, humming shrilly to the tune on the radio as you traced the tears of rain on the window. "Why didn't you call us and let us know? We could have picked you up beforehand. Then maybe you wouldn't have drank so much."

You looked at her with wide eyes, your pupils greatly dilated from drinking alcohol. You tried to remain serious, tried to think of a clever answer for your friend but failed and started laughing instead. "But then I would have denied you this wonderful trip!" This time, Maya and Carina couldn't help but laugh at your rambling, although they remained worried about your condition.

Both women were happy when they unlocked the door to their shared apartment and you were finally back in your own four walls. Up the stairs to the second floor with you in their luggage, the two of them were completely exhausted. While the blonde struggled to get you onto the couch, the brunette grabbed coffee and a blanket to help you get over the alcohol rush and keep you warm.

When she came back with the things, she also got salty crackers to balance your blood sugar levels and avoid side effects. Maya gratefully took the warm drink, handed it to you and supported the glass with one of her hands to avoid any accidents. "Here, drink some of this. It will help."

You nodded perfusively, pulled the glass closer to your face and sniffed it. You immediately wrinkled your nose, grimaced and pulled your head to the side to stop the smell from lingering in your nasal cavities. "That smells like burnt hope and Monday morning! Speaking of which, what kind of day is today?"

"Saturday morning," Carina laughed once more and moved back towards the kitchen while Maya stayed behind with you for a moment. When the Italian woman came with another glass, this time she put it to your lips and let you take a few sips. "This is water, maybe it will help you a little better."

"This tastes like the opposite and not as good as what I had before. Ugh!"

Maya shook her head miserably and began to take off the jacket she was still wearing, all the while standing next to you and making sure you didn't suddenly tip over to the side or fall forward onto the floor. "Maybe we should go easy on your taste buds? I think they've already experienced enough today."

You nodded in agreement, knowing she might be right. There was a short silence in which the two of them joined you on the couch. Carina took your legs on her lap and pulled them close to her middle, hoping that you would slowly relax and become calmer. But suddenly you started singing loudly, the words barely understandable, startling the two women who were tired and just waiting for you to fall asleep.

Shocked at the sudden noise and shrill tones that left your throat, they both looked at each other with wide eyes. The brunette held a hand over her mouth and looked away for a moment before she burst out laughing and couldn't stop herself. With this she also drew Maya under the pure spell of laughter. "Babe, is this your take on karaoke?" The blonde asked, holding her now aching stomach, but you didn't listen to her, got even louder and held your hand to your heart. You swayed on the couch, Carina holding your hand as you tried to sit straight on your shins and sang a tune that resembled the national anthem. "Bambina, I think you could make a new hit out of it if you sang the words a little more clearly!"

You laughed yourself at the incomprehensibility and the mood of the two women became increasingly relaxed. There was barely a shred of concern in their hearts, more happiness that you were doing well and that despite the poison in your blood, you generally made a good impression. "You know, you're probably the most entertaining drunk I know. And I've seen my entire fire team drunk."

Grinning widely, you bowed your upper body to her and punched your chest a few times before kissing the palm of your hand and holding it up in the air. "I take that as a compliment, my wonderful and beautiful Maya Bishop!"

The three of you sat together for a while until you noticed that you were getting more tired and slowly falling asleep. The blonde carefully covered you more tightly with the blanket and spoke to you gently to show you that you were cared for and safe. After the two were sure you had fallen into a deep sleep, they stayed close to you to continue to provide attention and support until you were stable again. Meanwhile, Maya and Carina kept exchanging amused looks.

"Hopefully she learns from this," Maya whispers in a gentle tone and squeezes herself next to Carina, wrapping her in a deep hug. The brunette leaned back, letting herself fall and trying to let the tiredness take its place. "Yes hopefully."

They stayed vigilant through the night to make sure you slept peacefully and didn't fall into a nightmare before deciding to seek some peace near you as well. They clearly deserved it.

[swifty-fox]

[ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

Would love something for Gale/John in Little Beasts—even a different prompt. Just something where they’re having to be emotionally vulnerable in some way.

John's leg jiggles rapidly, fingers tapping against the cheap plastic seat between his legs. The staccato beat is the loudest thing in the near-empty emergency room. It's only him and a harried looking young mother cradling her coughing child. She spares a glance at him, lips pursing unreadably and he offers her a faint smile that is not returned.

It's three A.M. and there's blood on his hands, under his fingernails. Coppery and sickening and mixed with the vomit on the knee of his jeans. He picks at it absently, too tired or perhaps too shell-shocked for disgust. Exhaustion sits heavy on his shoulders, and every glance from that woman has his skin crawling. It's irrational and unlikely but he imagines somehow she knows exactly why he's here, who he's brought and the six care rules he'd broken in the process of doing it.

No more late night wandering, if you can't sleep have a cup of goddamn tea Egan.

If tea doesn't help text Brady, yes even if Ev complains fucking text Brady

Don't text Curt

Don't let Curt text you

Don't go see Curt, no matter what he says or begs or promises, you can't save a man determined to drown

Stop trying to save the world.

Not the world, Johnny, just one man.

He stares so long and so hard in front of him the linoloum floor tiles begin warping and sliding against each other as if waves of the ocean. Florescent lights buzz above him, a mosquito whine in his ear and he tries not to picture Curts pale grey face, the way his teeth had unconsciously sunk into the meat of John's hand until it drew blood as he choked around his desperate begging fingers.

Don't be too far gone, please Cutty don't be too far gone.

Solid black shoes, shined to a modest polish step into John's field of view, a steaming cup of coffee pressed into his hands. (his bloody, bloody hands)

Father Cleven, who had been Gale to him now for longer than he hadn't been, folds himself gracefully into the chair beside him with his own cup of coffee. Takes a sip and hisses but doesn't complain beyond that.

"Drink, John," comes the pastor's quiet rumble.

He drinks. The coffee is made how he likes. Heavy on the creamer, light on the sugar but never wholly unsweetened.

"They said he's awake." Gale says, "But since I wasn't an emergency contact or family they couldn't tell me more."

John was Curt's emergency contact, or at least he used to be. He wasn't quite sure whether the man had kept him on the papers after not speaking for over two years.

He nods, takes another sip of his coffee and tastes none of it.

"John," Gale says and there's a slightly uncertain wobble to his voice. He's dressed in a white shirt and worn-soft jeans. Glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose and his hair was sticking up in odd places, flopping over his forehead and tangling around his ears like the ruffled feathers of a duck.

Hello?

Gale- fuck sorry I know it's late-

It's fine, John, are you alright?

Yes- no. Yes I'm alright but I need- fuck

Take a breath, what's going on

I need you to drive me somewhere. It's my friend, he's in trouble.

John sits his coffee on the floor and pushes his fingers into his browbone, exhaling slowly.

He's taken something.

A hand rubs along his back, an excusable away touch of a Paster comforting one of his flock only not twelve hours ago Gale had pressed John down into the mattress with that same hand on that same spot and made him muffle his cries into a pillow.

"What do you need John?"

He swallows. Swallows again. Swallows again and then gasps for a wet breath, tears clogging his nostrils and avoiding his dry eyes.

"Take me home," he pitches his voice lower, only for them, "take me home and let me hold you."

He feels Gale exhale just as shakily and braces himself for spitting bitter rejection.

"Okay."

[cupids-chamber]

— “ Tea party for two “  Commissioned by @mewpangxin

Overblot Riddle / Gender Neutral Reader / Suggestive | [ Can be read as yandere / non-yandere ]

The tea cup fell, crashing into the ground, shattering into many specs of glass, scattering all around the ground… And then everything seemingly changed, turned on its heel even, as Riddle's once calm and composed demeanor turned dark, and alongside him— so did his Garden, the surroundings. The queen’s lively lush garden turned dim and cold, as if to match the hurt ego of its queen, its ruler. The bushes, hedges, plants.. all turned gray and black, as if to replicate Riddle's own attire, the garden shifted and distorted, spikes of black shards, similar to his, now shattered teacup, were scattered all over the garden, as the painted roses grew as dark and red as blood. 

An irry unsettling shade of gray seemed to surround the area, and then it hit—it hit everyone, as students of Heartslabyul screamed in panic, trying to escape the premise as fast as humanly possible. Clashes and clings could be heard at the gates, as they struggled to open the metal gates, an intercrete maze forming at its queen's call, and before you—before anyone could move, they were trapped. Trapped in the queen's maze, all… alone.  

The unsettling silence was what surged panic within you, the soft silence, as if everything was normal, as if everything was fine— it felt calm, quiet. There was screaming from all sides of Heartslabyul a few seconds ago, the sounds of clashing and clings from the metal gates as they tried so hard—so ridiculously hard, to open the gates... and now, there was only silence. 

As if on auto pilot, you walked.. carefully, fearing that one simple noise would trigger something that you, truthfully didn't want to deal with; Fixing your disheveled clothes, you walked through the maze, until you reached, what you could only assume was the center. It was all well coordinated, you noticed that things only got brighter.. more.. soothing, lively,... and calm, as you reached the center. As if to ease you in for a big surprise, reeling you into a false sense of comfort. 

You entered the center, with a heavy heart, only to witness Riddle, in all his glory, as he sat there, at the tea table, peacefully drinking his tea... "You've arrived?" His voice seemed sweet, as he opened his eyes, "Settle down now...", he was smiling softly, it would've felt sweet, had you not been trapped within this makeshift maze, that seems to follow its queen's emotions. 

You were conflicted for quite some time, before finally deciding to go through with his words, settling down in the seat across from him, shifting in your seat, slightly uncomfortable about the arrangement— He wasn’t stable, as of right now, anyone could tell.. and you’d much rather not anger him at this moment, not until someone else was in sight, you can’t quite tell what would happen if you were all alone with him. 

Riddle stood up, pouring a cup of tea for you, “Sugar?” he asked. You mindlessly nodded in response, staring at the teacup, as he put two cubes of sugar into it. He didn’t move from his position behind you, “Drink it” he ordered, his tone was demanding; you picked up the tea cup, feeling him stare you down, “Hold it with one hand, the tea cup should be facing the right…” he watched you intently, as you fixed your cup in one hand, you heard him chuckle, “Careful now.. the tea is still hot.” 

You nodded, feeling his warm shaky breath on your neck, “Like this?” you asked him, curiosity laced in your voice. You heard him laugh, “Yes! Exactly like that.. Such a quick learner… now drink it.” he commanded, his voice stern, a tad bit shaky. 

He gazed at you curiously, as you brought the cup up to your lips, carefully sipping the tea, making sure not to make a single noise, “Ah—Such an obedient student.” he let out a playful chuckle, as you felt him lay his head into your neck. His tone lowered, his words coming out, just above a whisper,  “I wonder.. Just how far can I push that obedience of yours..” 

You felt his hands trail, towards the back of your neck, just a bit, then he flicked the area, connecting your neck to its body, before leaving a small kiss on the area, “Tell me… “ 

“...Are you scared?” he laughed, watching you squirm with amusement. “How adorable…” His words were laced with excitement. 

“... That’s not so nice is it?.. “ he asked playfully, placing his hands on your shoulders, putting a hand on your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes, “..I haven’t hurt you have I?” he asked with a fake pout, words laced with fake concern, “... How cruel..” he stated bluntly, with vivid sarcasm. 

He gave you a small kiss on your lips, “Tell me… how exactly do I scare you?” he stared at you, looking you up and down, with a smirk, “... tell me everything..” ….. “I’m quite the curious individual, my dear rose..”, Riddle let out a laugh, as he watched your face show vivid panic, at his words, the way you struggled to form a coherent answer sent shivers of adrenaline down his spine, what a stupid, yet so, so obedient rose, he’s found in his garden…  He wonders, how long it’ll take for you to answer him, how long will it take for you to break… one of his many rules... 

“That isn’t an answer my rose.. I hope you aren’t finding this funny” he says, with a scoff, holding back a laugh at your pathetic state, the pure raw fear on your face filled him with unadulterated excitement, “.. I hope you could give me a proper answer, soon my rose.. After all, rule breakers shall be dealt with, accordingly..” he smiled, watching the way you panicked.. ‘Oh this will be fun’, his thoughts ran wild..  

He gently squeezed their shoulders, letting out a slight chuckle, “I’m waiting for your answer my dearest..”

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Health Update

First, I want to say thank you to everyone who reached out or commented on the latest installment of Where's Mommy? to wish me good health. I am so grateful for all of you 💚

However, the health issue I'm currently dealing with isn't due to a virus or bacteria, and there's a possibility it won't get better.

A little history.

Back in 2022, there was a two week period where I felt like my blood sugar was dropping, and I was very symptomatic. There was a moment where I slumped down a wall at work because of it, and they had to dump sugar packets from the break room into my mouth to rouse me. It was a very scary time.

After those two weeks, I went to my Primary Care Physician who ordered blood tests and had me purchase a glucometer to test my blood sugar several times a day. However, during the two weeks she had me do this, I never got a reading below 70, and the same symptoms did not develop as they did prior. My blood work came back clean, and without a reading lower than 70, my PCP dismissed it and told me I was having anxiety attacks, lol. She told me to come back if the symptoms came back, and they never did.

Backing up a couple more years.

Without revealing too much of my medical history, I have a chronic illness called POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome). It's a dysautonomia or a dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system, the system that controls all of the automatic functions of the body. It was caused by my battle with Lyme Disease in 2010 and is currently incurable. I was diagnosed with POTS in 2018, after being told for 6 years that I had anxiety, lol.

POTS is not a very well-known illness, but it's getting more attention these days. It garners a host of different symptoms, including tachycardia, chronic fatigue, brain fog, orthostatic intolerance, migraines, gut issues, syncope, dehydration, blood pooling, etc. Everyone's POTS presents differently, and most people with a POTS diagnosis live on disability. I made the choice not to.

Fast forward to 2024.

Fast forward again to this past Wednesday.

Well, I finally was able to get a POTS specialist in my state this year. A huge win! When I had my initial consultation, I had mentioned the low blood sugar episodes in 2022 and asked if it could be related to POTS. The doctor told me that they don't see POTS patients having low blood sugar issues, but we're concerned enough to refer me to an endocrinologist. Another big win!

I had my consultation with the endocrinologist, and he ordered more blood tests, some of the same tests as before, and some different (y'all, they took like 20 vials from me). He also gave me a CGM (continuous glucose monitor) to wear for 14 days so they can track my highs and lows to see if they can catch anything.

Well, the next night, my blood sugar dropped below 70, 20 times, and 55, 9 times. Which means I was woken up 9 times throughout the night. I got only about 2 hours of sleep, and still had to go to work the next morning. But, once again, it went back up by itself without any intervention from me.

Y'all, it caught A LOT in just the first day, actually night. My blood sugar dropped below 70, 11 times, and below 55, 4 times while I was sleeping. Now, because anything below 55 is considered critical and could be fatal, there is an alarm that cannot be overridden and will sound. It sounds like a smoke alarm. So, I was awoken 4 times.

The odd thing is that my blood sugar dropped, then went back up on its own. I didn't eat or drink anything. Blood sugar doesn't really do that, so I thought it was odd. This also begs the question: If I'm asymptomatic at 53, then what level was I at in 2022 when I had symptoms? Honestly, I don't want to know.

Here is a nifty graph!

All of the red is considered low blood sugar, below 70, and anything close to that 50 line is considered critical low blood sugar. And again, I did not eat anything during the night.

There are four major anomalies with my low blood sugar occurences:

Most cases of hypoglycemia are seen in diabetics, I am not diabetic

Most cases of hypoglycemia seen in non-diabetics are sporadic, mine are consistent

Hypoglycemia is normally corrected by consuming sugar, mine auto-corrects

When blood sugar drops, it creates symptoms, I do not get symptoms

There are only a handful of things that can cause hypoglycemia in a non-diabetic and even less consistently at night time. The doctor has already ruled out insulinoma (insulin producing tumors in the pancreas), so that leaves even less, and also the good old "we don't know what's wrong with you".

I'm not going to lie. This whole thing terrifies me. There's no telling how long my blood sugar has been doing this, and it only takes one dip below 50 for me to slip into a coma and die in my sleep. Luckily, my blood sugar does this crazy autocorrect thing, and I haven't died yet! Humor makes this easier.

Right now, I'm emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. Adding this on top of my already difficult life with POTS has been hard to cope with, and I'm crying a lot.

Hopefully, I'll get results soon, and my endocrinologist can figure out why this is happening and how to manage/fix it if it can be managed/fixed. Maybe I've got a completely new illness, and you'll find me in a medical journal! Wouldn't that be something.

Anyway, thanks for the continued support. I have a lot of IRL support from friends and family, but while I go through this process, I may seem distant, my posting might be sporadic, I may not keep my fic posting schedule, etc. And when I have an update, I promise to let y'all know!

Much love 💚💚💚

Steph

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 2

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

The morning is marked only by the distant sight of wispy clouds strewn over the grey sky. The colourless world skews vaguely with the passing of time, making the minutes, hours, and days near interminable. The night you spent in dread of the coming dawn, thus you were already away, mopping the foyer with some foolish thought of being arrested on a clean floor.

The mulch of tires comes with the rumble of an engine. You close your eyes and grip the wooden mop handle. You knew better than to take the Commander’s threats lightly. You stand paralysed; you might accept your fate but it doesn’t make facing it any easier.

The pounding at the door shakes you. You leave the mop in the bucket and wipe your shaking hands on your apron. You pull open the arched door to greet the duo on the doorstep. One man, a Commander you’ve seen before, the other in full black; he may be an Eye.

“Commander Hansen,” you pronounce coldly, “under his eye.”

He smirks and gives you that sly look that makes his blue eyes twinkle. The same leer he gave to the household’s former matriarch and their fleeting handmaid. The kind that is most ungodly.

“Here to see the boss man,” Hansen declares, “he must be around. I hear he’s a hermit now.”

“Yes, Commander, I will go–” You back up as your smock ripples around your legs and his eyes stray down to the cinch of your apron.

“Hansen,” the sonorous voice fans down from the stairs; not loud but deep enough to reach you. 

You step back and fold your hands over your apron, chin down. There is some hope in that the visit is not entirely expected. Commander Shelby steps onto the lower level, a pipe in his mouth as he hums and approaches his guest.

“What is it?” He asks harshly as he pulls the pipe free, letting it smoke freely before him.

“I am here on behalf of The Committee. Your peers,” Hansen replies sharply, “making sure you are more than an empty seat.”

Shelby taps the pipe and curls his lip. He beckons the men inside with a curt wave as he backs up. He pauses and you sense the roiling detest of his gaze, “coffee, it is early.”

“Yes, Commander,” you take the order and await their departure before moving.

They ascend the stairs, leaving a trail of crumbling dirt to mar your morning’s work. You spin without mulling over it and go to put on the water. It is good at least to have some necessity. To be more than an aimless shell, wiping down already scoured countertops, dusting barren corners anon.

🌫️

You come to the office door, the voices carrying down the hall as you approach. You enter with a tray in your hand, set with a carafe and matching cups, a sugar dish, and creamer. There is also a small pot of tea as you know Commander Shelby does not drink coffee. You place it on the round table and fill each cup.

Commander Hansen requests a touch of cream, and his companion, silent, accepts a plain black. You bring Shelby his cup of tea and he accepts it only after a stiff pause. He does not drink but puts it down beside a closed ledger. 

You back away and retreat to the hallway. You will wander and wait for the ring of the bell should he require anything further. As you pull the door into the frame, Hansen’s voice rises.

“As I was saying, The Committee thinks that a wife…”

You shut out the last part of the sentence. It is not your concern. You go back to the first floor and sweep up the clumps of soil left in the foyer. The task is taken without urgency as you try to fill the early void of the day.

The men emerge again and leave without a word. You don’t expect courtesy. A martha is a piece of furniture, a fixture of any household. Expected but not prized.

You listen to the engine roll over and the tires crunch. The house returns to its previous stillness and you to your restless pacing, duster in hand but mostly unneeded.

A metallic clang frightens you. You’ve not heard that noise in some time. The bell that beckons you.

Your heart clutches and you set aside the duster and rush up the stairs. A stitch sews into your side at the effort. You are no young woman and certainly no one would mistake you for one.

You near the office door and find it closed. You steel yourself as you face it and raise your fist to knock. Before you can, Shelby’s voice calls from within. “Enter.”

You obey and ease the door open. Shelby stands at the window, his back to you, his shoulders made broader by the cut of his vest. The smoke of his pipe tickles your throat.

He doesn’t need to give an order. You gather the empty cups onto the tray. He puffs quietly.

“The car must be readied,” he declares to the pane.

“Commander,” you affirm.

“I don’t want to see you again today. I've had enough of your face.”

You nod and take the tray. His cup is empty, as is the tea pot. His words are betrayed by his actions. It is not that he doesn’t need your work, it is that he resents it. As much as you resent him and this world. On that, you can commiserate.

[genieofthebooks]

Family Line

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Fem!reader

Part One: Ghostly Memories

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Mentions of Child Abuse and Neglect, Crying, shouting, Some Comfort. (Photo is not meant to be a description of the reader)

You were avoiding everyone. Everytime some one would walk into the room that you were in but you always came up with a pathetic excuse on why you could not stay in the room or you would quietly slip out before anyone could say anything to you. It had been a few days since the case at your old house and you have never felt so weak in front of your friends, waking up from nightmares every night of repressed memories that you thought had been lost and forgotten but were brought back to the surface like blood when you pick at a scab.

You padded out of the attic as quietly as you could skipping over all of the creaky floorboards that you had memorised so you did not wake Lucy. Sneaking around was a skill of yours, it was a survival especially in your old house and It comes in handy sometimes during cases because of Lockwood's Idiocy. Deciding that the library was your safest option as George likes to go down in the middle of the night for a glass of water. Slowly pushing the door open, seeing the soft glow of the lamp in the corner made you hesitate but whoever was sat in the big armchair had seen you before you could run back away.

"Lockwood what are you doing here at-" You looked to the clock, the small hand just passing one. "One in the morning?" You moved to sit in the armchair next to Anthony. Where the boy in question lowers his magazine to look at your pajama clad form and the anxious clawing that you were unkowingly attacking your wrist with leaving a bright red mark on your skin. He leant over the arm of his chair and pulled your hand away from your wrist so you could not inflict any more damage to your skin.

"I could say the same to you L/n" You paled at the usage of your last name, it was never used unless you were in trouble.

"Last name. What have I done?"

"You are pulling away from us, I know very hypocrytical coming from me but Y/n, we know you are not okay. Please just let one of us in." He shook your hand and swayed it gently in the air, both of you still sat in the two arm chairs but your arms interlinked brought you two together. Oceans apart but your hands were the rivers on land keeping the two of you connected.

"I don't want to talk about it" you muttered keeping a grasp on the final shield as the rest of them had fallen.

Lockwood nodded and the two of you sat in comfortable silence, your grip on his hand slowly loosened until your arm dropped hitting the edge of the arm chair. He sat up quickly but soon relaxed when he saw the rare peaceful expression on your face, asleep in the weirdest position possible. He threw a grey blanket over you. It was your favourite one that you must have left down in the library during your other midnight escapedes. He moved the hair that has slightly fallen across your face and moved it behind your ear so your were not suffocated by your hair in the middle of the night. He leant down and pressed a light kiss to your hairline, making sure you were as comfortable as you could be before switching of the only light source in the room and going to his own room.

It was morning when you awoke. Finally deciding to stop hiding and stay with your friends you got dressed into a black tank top and a pair of black ripped jeans, blue fluffy socks finalizing the look.

You walked into the kitchen where everyone was sat eating or drinking, you quietly walked over to Lockwood who was buttering toast and then slid it over to you with a soft smile on his face. You lifted the piece of toast and walked to the table with one half in your mouth, you sat next to Lucy who gave you a smile before taking a sip of her tea and George passed you the sugar to put in your tea that Lockwood placed on the table with his. He sat next to you and slung his arm on the back of your chair. The four of you were sat in content silence as it was still early morning and none of you had woken up yet.

The peircing ring of the doorbell woke you all up as you walked with Lucy to the door, knowing if you went by yourself you would not be friendly with the person at the door.

It was the same man from a few mornings ago. Your father. Once you caught his face you slammed the door back as hard as you could, not wanting to deal with him, the door rattled in the hinges when it slammed, echoing throughout 35 portland row. "No"

He knocked again and by now Lockwood and George had joined you in the hallway confused on why they might need to change the hinges and lock because of the strength that you used to slam the door. You re-opened the door and yelled. "Go away"

You went to slam the door again but when you did a foot got in the way and you seriously considered squashing it like a bug. "Please can We talk."

"Why, you never wanted to talk when I lived in the same house as you." You muttered hiding what you really wanted to say but you wanted to give him another chance because there was a stupid feeling in your heart, you thought maybe he had changed.

"Please!" Your father begged when he saw you hesitate closing the door. You turned around to your friends, you met Lockwood's eyes, who nodded, signalling that you can do it and whatever happens, he will be there for you.

"Fine" You coldly stated opening the door further, letting your father walk into the front room, where you normally meet the clients.

You walked up to Lucy and whispered in her ear. "You might not want to stay, with all the things that happened between your mother. I don't want it bringing back any painful memories."

She grabbed onto your hands and shook them before walking into the front room as her answer where your father was waiting with George and Lockwood staring at him. You sat next to Lockwood who pulled your hand into his. Being the gravity that will hold you to the ground if you start to drift off.

You glared at him. No more childish cowerdice, you managed to look your mother in the eye and taunt her while she held a gun to your head so you should be able to do this. "What are you doing here?"

Everyone got deja vu to a few days ago. Especially when your father started to shift in his seat unvomfortable with the coldness you, his daughter was presenting him with. "I came to ask for forgiveness"

You raised your eyebrow and scoffed. "Mother is in jail and you don't want to go either so you are trying to get me to forgive you"

He stretched his hands out towards you, where you sank back into the sofa, sinking into Lockwood's safetly. Glad he kept a hold of your hand. "No, My daughter that is not it."

You closed your eyes and took a few quick breaths to stop your rising anger or sadnessbut it did not work. You bit your lip while thinking of how to rationally answer him. That all flew out the window. "No. No." You frowned. "You don't get to call me that. After everything that happened. You are just being cruel." You were surprised at how quiet your voice was.

"I'm being cruel" Your father questioned shocked that his own daughter would call him cruel.

"Yes. Yes. Do you know how worthless you made me feel. The fact that my own father did not stand up to me against my own mother. You never loved me and I thought my whole life that there was something wrong with me but there is not. You are incapable of Love" You leant forward staring right into your fathers eyes.

"I did not do anything to you!" Your father stood up trying to defend his case but in reality was making it worse like in a court when the defendant screws it all up at the stand.

You stood up, Lockwood standing up with you ro provide support if you needed it. "Oh but you did. By not doing anything. You just stood there and watched me get hurt by one of the other people who should show me what love was." Your voice cracked as you pointed to yourself. "You just watched and made no move to protect me because you are pathetic. You made no effort to help when she locked me in my room for nights upon end with little food to feed me. When she held a gun to my head the first time, trying to kill me because I killed her child. But I didn't he fell off a tree. It was an accident. You know it. Mother knows it but you were both filled with hatred that the only child you loved died and the unwated child was left. I was a child. But you never loved me so I'm guessing I don't count as a child"

You were stood face to face with your father and for the first time he hit you. You felt the world stop. Lockwood stepped next to you, he glared at your father with such intensity that even Lucy and George were slightly afraid of him "Get out"

You and your father were both stood frozen shook that he hit you. He never did that but now he finally did, he was just as bad as the rest of them. Only was he taken out of it when he heard Lockwood yell "Get Out! Now" he looked to you where a red handprint started to show and fled like a criminal fleeing from a crime scene. Lucy and George following behind and closing the door.

Lockwood pulled your shellshocked frame into a hug, his arms going around your shoulders. Pulling you close to him so the rythmn of his heart would lull you and ground you. Still in your fragile state but as you could move you wrapped your arms around his waist. Crying into his shirt.

Soon he pulled away from you but moved one arm down to your waist and another hand to your chin lifting it to assess the mark, he wiped away the tears that were falling with a softnes that you had never felt against your face before used to harsh touches not soft and light. He placed his forehead against yours, and you just stayed there until you could focus normally.

"Hey, you're safe. I've got you"

Sorry If it was not the best and there was not much of a confrontation but I hope you liked it.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Here For You

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

rating: M (period talk!, reader has PCOS, painful menstruation, talks of bodily fluids [blood, vomit], brief mentions of alcohol consumption, nonsexual nudity, one mention of a future blowjob, frankie carrying the redemption of the entire male species on his back)

word count: 1.7k

a/n: another self-indulgent piece because i am currently dying from my PCOS cramps. just a disclaimer: this is based on my personal level of pain and symptoms. everyone menstruates differently. this one is for my fellow PCOS girlies—hang in there babes!

frankie masterlist | frankie playlist

It was a typical Friday night, Frankie off at one of Benny’s fights per usual while you were supposed to have been going out with your friends for drinks, but thanks to a particularly rough second day of your period, that was cancelled. Instead, you laid in your bed writhing in pain, your PCOS deciding to make itself extra known this month by bringing on the most unbearable cramps you’d experienced in months.

Clutching your heating pad to your lower stomach, you reached for your phone on your nightstand at it buzzed. With a wince and a tear slipping from the corner of your eye, you breathed through the contraction-like cramp until you could focus on the message displayed on your screen.

[9:04 PM] Lover: Hey, sugar. Just got to the fight.

[9:05 PM] Lover: Santi’s being particularly determined tonight. You can blame him if I’m drunk when I come home.

You wanted to smile at the thought of a drunk Frankie, his sweetness only amplified whenever he got liquored up, but between the pain that seemingly radiated from your uterus to every single nerve in your body and your extra-sensitive emotional state thanks to your hormones, you found yourself crying.

Without messaging him back—you were too irritable and sensitive to hold a conversation at the moment—you locked your phone and set it back down before forcing yourself to your feet. You nearly fainted from the change in position as you waddled your way to the bathroom, hoping that a hot bath would help ease some of the pain.

“Here,” Santi sat down beside Frankie in the front row of the packed gym, handing him a beer while his free hand held his own. Frankie accepted the drink but immediately set it down on the floor between his feet, his eyes fixed on your message thread, concern filling his stomach with each passing minute and no response. “You gonna stare at your phone all night?”

“Sorry,” Frankie sighed and locked his phone before stuffing it in his pocket. “She’s just not responding right now.”

“You guys in a fight?” Santi asked, keeping his eyes on the two lower-level boxers in the ring that were opening the fight night.

“No,” Frankie lifted his beer to his lips and took a swig before elaborating. “She’s supposed to be out with her friends, but she never checked in.”

“Why don’t you go call her before Benny comes out? Just make sure she’s good,” he suggested and Frankie immediately nodded, knowing that until he heard your voice assure him you were good, he’d spend all night distracted with worry.

The bath had helped a bit, but as soon as you left the comfort of the hot water, the pain hit you like a tonne of bricks. You hardly made it to the toilet before you threw up what little you’d managed to keep down today, the convulsing of your stomach furthering the exhaustion and pain rooted deep in your bones by now.

As you laid there in your towel recovering, you heard your phone buzzing against your nightstand, a sigh leaving your lips at the thought of standing up again. Instead of even trying, knowing full well that you’d likely faint if you tried to overextend yourself—you’d done it before—you found yourself naked, free bleeding, and crawling into your bedroom to reach your phone, sliding the green arrow to accept the call from your boyfriend.

“H-hey,” you croaked into the line, bile still burning your throat.

“Thank god,” he exhaled in relief. “Was worried something happened to you. You guys alright?”

“Didn’t go out,” you managed through a sigh, laying on your back on top of the rug covering your bedroom floor as you felt another cramp begin to dawn. Unable to hold in your whimper, you winced at the pain that began to flood your every nerve again.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Frankie worried. When you couldn’t form a response, you swore you could hear his heart begin to pound in his chest over the phone. “Baby? Talk to me.”

“Can’t—cramps,” you whimpered through heavy pants, trying to breathe through the contracting in your uterus but it only triggered another vomit-spell. “Gonna puke.”

You reached for the trash can you placed at your bedside earlier just in case, but didn’t have time to mute your throwing up before it came out, forcing Frankie to hear the whole thing.

“Oh, baby,” he fretted. “I’m coming home.”

“No,” you croaked in between wretches. “M’good.”

“No, you aren’t,” he snapped. “I’ll be home in fifteen.”

“Frankie,” you sighed, hating the thought of ruining his one night a week he got to spend with his friends. “Stay, I’ll be fine.”

“There’s literally no way in hell that’s happening. I’ll be home in a second baby, okay?” You hummed in response, finally giving in to his persistence.

Frankie arrived exactly when he said he would, not bothering to take off his jacket, hat, or boots as he stomped his way down the hall to your shared bedroom, cooing at the sight of you still on the floor.

“I’m disgusting right now,” you cried, hating the fact that he was seeing you at your lowest—blood between your thighs, throw up in the trash can beside you, a cold sweat covering your skin.

“Baby, no,” he shook his head and stroked his warm palm over your forehead to wipe some of the sweat away. “C’mon, lemme help you up.”

He hoisted you into your feet and carried most of your weight as he walked you into the bathroom. Turning on the hot water, he helped you settle back into the bathtub, letting the hot shower head rain over you to wash the blood away before he switched it to the faucet so that the tub could fill up.

“Gonna go clean up a bit,” he mumbled as he placed a kiss to your forehead. “Have you eaten?”

“Mm-mm,” you shook your head, your eyes closed at you relished in the warmth of the slowly filling tub.

“Okay, I’ll order a pizza.”

“Can’t do pizza—can you just make me some plain oatmeal?” Frankie frowned at how sick you must be to turn down one of your favorite foods in exchange for plain oatmeal.

“Sure thing,” he nodded. “Have you taken meds?”

“Ran out.”

“Pobrecita,” he cooed, sitting down on the closed toilet seat, unable to leave you quite yet. “I’ll go to the drugstore.”

“I feel so bad,” you whined, opening your eyes to look over at him. “Ruined your night.”

“No you didn’t,” he was quick to correct. “I’d rather be here for you than out getting drunk. Do that every Friday anyways.”

You chuckled weakly and leant your hand out for him to take, Frankie quickly intertwining his fingers with yours. “Soon as I feel better, I’m gonna suck your dick for hours.”

It was Frankie’s turn to laugh, lifting the back of your hand up to his lips. “Holding you to that.”

Standing up, he let go of your hand and placed a kiss onto your cheek.

“Be right back, bonita.”

Somehow, Frankie’s momentary presence had given you enough strength to climb out of the bathtub, change in to a clean set of pajamas, throw away the trash bag filled with vomit beside your nightstand, and make yourself cozy in bed all on your own by the time he got back from the drugstore.

Frankie looked pleasantly surprised to see you beneath the comforter as he walked into the bedroom with a plastic bag filled with much more than just a bottle of Midol.

“Look at you,” he commended with a dimpled grin, setting the bag down at the foot of the bed before peeling off his outside clothes until he was was stripped down to just a pair of black boxer briefs. He tossed the comforter back on his side of the bed and crawled in beside you, his warm hands quick to replace the warmth of your heating pad as he pulled you close to his body.

“Even managed to brush my teeth,” you mumbled, exhausted from the pain of menstruating. He chuckled and kissed your shoulder.

“Wanna see what I got you?” You nodded and watched as he sat up, allowing you to place the heating pad over your stomach once more as he opened the bag up and began to take things out one at a time. “First, Midol.” He opened the packaging and handed you two pills which you quickly downed as he reached into the bag again. “Next, snacks.” He placed a bag of your favorite gummy candy on your lap before repeating the action with a chocolate bar and a bag of your favorite chips. “Lastly and most importantly,” he grinned as he reached into the bag and pulled out the book that you’d been dropping hints about wanting for the last month, your eyes tearing up at the thoughtful gesture. “Since I’m forcing you into bed rest, thought you’d want some reading material.”

“I am so in love with you,” you breathed out and tugged him down for a kiss, Frankie’s warm body half on top of yours as he moved his lips soft and slow against yours, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone as he cradled your jaw. “Thank you for doing this—for being here for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he reminded but you were quick to shake your head.

“I want to. You could have easily just stayed out and left me to deal with this alone, but you didn’t.”

Frankie gave you an adoring frown, wondering what shithead you’d been with before set the bar so low that you were this blown away by what Frankie considered to be just a basic show of love, but he didn’t dwell on the thought too long, suddenly remembering you still had yet to eat.

“Gonna go make you that bland ass oatmeal you requested,” he mumbled as he pecked your lips. “Don’t get up.”

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and delighted in the chuckle you caused, his chest vibrating against yours. Before he could get too far, you reached out your hand and gently gripped his bicep to stop him, his eyes quickly turning to yours. “I love you.”

Frankie cooed and crawled back into bed for one more kiss, letting his nose nuzzle against yours.

“I love you more.”

[epigstolary]

Big Deal

TW: Medical treatment and discussion of health issues.

Look, I get that you think I need to lose weight. I’m not oblivious. I’ve seen the worried looks you think you’re hiding when I ask you to bring me a fourth portion, or when you have to tell me you couldn’t find the shirt I wanted in a 9xl. I get it. But I really do think you’re making way too big a deal out of it.

Especially when you’re the one who helped me get to this size. I remember a lot of messages from you, back when I was still under 300, about how big you were going to make me, how you didn’t have any limits, how you’d love to see me get immobile and have nothing to do but eat and get even fatter. You pushed more than your fair share of cookies and doughnuts down my throat while you were fondling my growing belly; and you were perfectly happy to explore the rolls and folds spreading over my lap while you were making sure I had chips and soda and plenty of empty calories within reach to grow them even more.

And I’m sure you’ll remember, you certainly didn’t seem to worry about me or my health during my early gains. Where were your objections to me picking up the gainer shake habit, lounging on the couch drinking a two liter of the stuff for an entire weekend? I definitely don’t recall any. In fact, all I remember is how horny you were to see me starting to struggle under my new weight, carrying around a paunch that was hanging lower down my bulging thighs by the day, hauling around a growing ass that was straining my jeans more and more as time went on. I think you even told me how sexy it was when I started getting red-faced doing minor chores around the house, how your chubby little piggy didn’t need to worry about getting out of breath — that all it meant was I’d been doing my job of eating and resting very well.

But I could tell you were getting worried once my hips and thighs were too wide, the fat covering them too thick and bulbous, to fit in the passenger side of your car anymore. Once it started to become genuinely hard to find any clothes I could literally fit into, let alone look good in. Suddenly, there was a lot less food around a lot more of the time, and a lot less talk about how wonderful I’d be as an immobile blob. Instead, you started talking about going on walks together — walks! As if you were actually interested in my fitness all of a sudden. And as if there’s any chance of me hauling these hundreds of pounds of blubber and cellulite, this belly hanging down to my knees and crowned with two plump tits, any further than the driveway. We both know I’m not walking anywhere — waddling, more like — unless there’s a buffet at the end of the trip. Someplace I can settle down on a couple chairs, pull down my elastic waistband to give my belly overhang some desperately needed relief, and have you bring me about ten plates of food so I’ll have the energy to haul all this thickness back to the car.

And yeah, I know what the doctor said. I need to exercise more and eat way less. “All the weight puts you at high risk. Heart attack and stroke is only a matter of time. Blah, blah, blah.” He’s been saying all that since I was 250 and he wanted me to get a gastric bypass to cure my sinus infection. You know these doctors are all fatphobic and won’t even think about anything else once someone’s the least bit overweight. You never hear him talking about how my bad cholesterol hasn’t gone up hardly at all since I broke 400, or how my blood sugar is still barely prediabetic, do you? Nah, he just can’t stand to see a fat person prove him wrong by not being on the verge of having a coronary. He’s probably disappointed that I’m still able to get around at this size, instead of stuck in a hospital bed getting lectured by someone like him about my poor choices every day.

What’s the matter, are you uncomfortable now that you have to deal with the reality of a partner who’s over 700 pounds? Now that you have to grasp my forearm flab and heave backward to help me get up any time I need to get out of bed or off the couch? Does it make you self-conscious that whenever I walk or move or stand, I can’t help but breathe in raspy heaves with the effort of maneuvering more bulk than most people could ever hope to carry? That I’m going to make us the center of attention wherever we go? That the same people judging me for going out in public with fat hanging out of the biggest clothes I can find are probably judging you too for allowing it to happen? If I can handle strangers staring at me and whispering to each other about how a person like me can “let themselves go” so badly, you can sure as hell suck it up and help me get around.

So skip the lectures, the hand-wringing, and the bullshit about being concerned about my health that’s probably in the back of your mind. This is what you signed up for. You wanted a fuckable lardpile of your very own to keep blowing up, and that’s exactly what you got. Sorry it’s not the consequence-free orgy that I guess you were expecting, but it takes a little work to maintain a body like mine. And anyway, deep down under whatever angst you have about our situation, I know you still want me ballooning over a half-ton. Splayed out in bed, arms and legs too swollen with fat to move, belly flowing out past my knees, anchored in place by a massive ass with nothing to do but gorge and try to keep myself entertained. You can’t help wanting it, can you? Whatever worries you may have about where things are going with me — I can see your eyes light up just at the thought of it.

Now, how about you clean up those McDonald’s wrappers, get me a refill of my Coke, and pop a couple of those frozen pizzas in the oven so I can get started on lunch. Sound good? And bring me a couple aspirin, too — I think I pulled the muscle in my shoulder again…

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 13 - Tiara

{puscifer - bullet train to iowa}

tapestries & tile - part i

Warm breeze teases through Marius’s hair as he holds Daniel by the hips, dragging him closer, the hard stone of their balcony digging into his lower back. Half-seated on the ledge, one leg crooked with a foot perched on the baluster. Ahead of him, Daniel breathes a small whimper of pleasure, and behind him is the noise of traffic and static of the ocean. 

They’re both buzzed, from Little Drinks at the night club, one of the songs from the DJ set stuck in Daniel’s head, phantom bass still pulsing in him as he leans in to suck at Marius’s bottom lip.Traces of someone else’s drink on his mouth—whiskey cola, Marius guesses. Something in him recognizes the stickiness of it, knows how sugar tastes to a blood drinker, even if it all tastes of poison to him in the end. Still, the ghost of it there is exciting, leftover evidence of a victim, and it makes Marius tingle. 

80’s night at the club, and the DJ kept sampling all these atrocious old songs. Daniel joked to Marius at one point that they shouldn’t have been excavated, that not everything deserves immortality. But there was some sense of fondness in his voice, dreamy look in his eyes.

Daniel’s arms circle around Marius’s shoulders, and Marius has to open his legs to make space for him as they crush into each other, just breathing for a moment. Marius savors the warmth, the scent of humans stuck to his clothes, letting it wash through him for a beat before going for the throat.

He tastes different than he used to. Healthier with each month that passes, his blood full of the personality that had been lost. Full of feelings, and memories, and he’s so confident with the way he shares it. There’s never a sense of shame afterwards, knowing what Marius may have seen there, just the generous truth of it.

And now.

The heat hits the roof of Marius’s mouth, and he can feel the sludgy echo of the song in Daniel’s head, like the DJ unlocked some memory.

One of the dance clubs on the Night Island—Marius may have been there, he can’t quite be sure, but he knows because Daniel knows. It had a disco ball and checkered floor and Armand had commissioned tacky murals to cover all of the walls. 

Daniel remembers his head was pounding—a little too much to drink, and he had trouble keeping his balance, and the colored lights everywhere were smearing together. Frankie Goes to Hollywood was playing way too loud, and he was too uncoordinated to dance along, but all the humans were fawning over him that night. Girls were touching him and cooing, and kept adjusting the tiara on his head when it would slide down to the side. Ridiculous thing that Armand had forced on him, but he’d been in that perfectly-drunk stage, just a couple hours ago, and had found it funny at the time.

Now he wants to go home.

It’s too loud, and he can’t see Armand. He turns carefully in a circle, afraid he’ll puke if he moves too fast, eyes scanning over all the shiny bodies, errant limbs and sprayed hair, but he’s adrift in the crowd, all alone.

And some girl near him. Her nails bite into Daniel’s forearm and her eyeliner makes her look mean. She frowns at him, so tall in her heels that she gazes down into his face, and his vision doubles as he stares back at her.

“You’re too drunk, princess,” she says. “You’re the birthday girl, you can’t ruin your own party.”

“S’not my birthday,” Daniel slurs, but he doesn’t think she hears him.

“Open your mouth,” she commands.

Daniel wonders if Armand sent her. If she knows something, and who she is, and why she’s here. But he obeys her, anyway, without meaning to. Vision softening as he opens his mouth, unsure what he’s waiting for.

“You’re dehydrated, baby,” she says, and Daniel hadn’t noticed the glass bottle in her free hand. Fancy water that Armand insisted they stock at all the bars. Her nails click against its cool gleaming body as she pours some into his mouth.

Some of it spills on his chin, and he wipes it with the back of his hand. Room spinning as the water hits his stomach. She adjusts his tiara for him, and taps him on the nose.

“Good girl,” she says, and then she’s gone in the crowd.

His head lolls back, and he stares up at the disco ball. And water didn’t help. Just makes him feel more full, makes his stomach slosh uncomfortably. Doesn’t help the spins, and the disco ball doesn’t help either. Makes it worse, actually, but it takes a minute for his brain to catch up, and for him to look away.

Armand is there now, where the girl had been. Right in front of Daniel on the dance floor, with all the colors catching on his unnatural smooth skin.

“You’re too drunk, princess,” he repeats. His face stays expressionless, his voice flat. 

(It always chills Marius, seeing memories like this. Impossible to ignore that he isn’t the lively boy from Venice anymore, impossible not to notice that something happened.)

Daniel rubs a hand over his chest, over the bloom of heartburn in the wake of too many tequila shots. 

“You’re the birthday girl,” Armand mimics again, in the eerie deadpan. His eyebrow quirks as Daniel sways on his feet, and a sarcastic twang wraps itself around his accent as he tries to imitate her. “You can’t ruin your own party.”

“M’gonna be sick,” Daniel mumbles. 

Armand glances up and down Daniel’s body. Tilts his head as if listening. Daniel’s stomach gurgles and he wonders if he can make it to the bathroom in time, can’t actually remember where it is, but Armand’s cold hand is around his forearm before he can figure it out. Mind five steps behind as they weave through the dance floor, stumbling behind without a clue where they’re going.

His ears ring as they cross the threshold into the bathroom, as the door slams shut behind them. The music muffled instantly, and heat turned down. He feels clammy in the cool air, and the mosaic of the tiles blur as he tries to decide which toilet to go for.

It’s empty, he thinks. Can’t be sure. Oddly grimy in here, despite Armand’s standards. But, it usually is by the end of the night. It’ll be good as new by the time they reopen tomorrow. But there’s paper on the floor, and the garbage can is overflowing, and the faint smell of piss makes him wonder about the subtle damp layer across the tiles. 

“Open your mouth,” Armand says. He looks like a teenager from here, gazing up at Daniel, but he’s so freaky in the unforgiving white overhead light. Daniel glances towards the shiny green toilet stalls, mouth watering as his stomach cramps, but Armand has a hand on his shoulder before he can move. He’s too short, he shouldn’t be so strong. Uncanny that Daniel buckles beneath it, sinks straight down to his knees.

Already drunk enough and ready to be sick, but the wetness that soaks into his pants off the floor almost has him gagging. So near the urinals that he can smell the deodorant cake from here, down on the floor, at eye level. They never really work, do they? They just create something new. 

“Open your mouth,” Armand repeats.

The tiara slips as Daniel tilts his head back, catching sharp in his hair so it doesn’t fall. Armand is so tall from here, towering over him. Eyes stormy as he looks down. Daniel opens up, and Armand’s hand grips him tight on the jaw. Enough to hurt, enough that Daniel doesn’t move.

“Good girl,” Armand mumbles, and spits into his mouth. 

Marius swallows, licks over the wounds as they heal, and his whole body shakes with need as he comes up for air. 

[gutouhua]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

vampire!kaeya x human!f.reader

wc. 1395

tags. kaeya drinking reader's blood, penetrative sex, hickeys, slight dumbification, size difference, cervix-fucking sorta, not edited

a/n. last reader insert piece i'll post for the year! i love the reader fic community very dearly--y'all were the ones that made me want to write!--so even if i'm writing other stuff besides reader fics, know i will always be back! gonna be working on zine stuff & the next part of shrine master's bride in the new year! i hope you lovelies have a gentle christmas and peaceful rest of the year <3

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭! 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝟏𝟖+!

There were times when Kaeya felt that he was made specifically for you. For your needs, your comfort, your pleasure. A knight at his queen’s service. 

At the farmer’s market, he’d carry everything for you even though he knew you were more than capable of doing it yourself. He’d never admit it, but it was just an excuse to be by your side. 

And as you flitted from stall to stall, he’d trail after you with heavy arms, juggling bags and parcels of food and trinkets, and admire your pretty sundress. He told himself that he followed behind to protect you, but it was mostly so that he could enjoy—ogle—the way the cotton voile clung to your ass. 

You’d always buy fresh fruit, vegetables, and meats wrapped in kraft paper. (Bloodied steaks, he’d noticed, were a particular favorite of yours.) 

But the shop you always lingered the longest at was the dessert shop. Dainty frosted cakes, golden flaky pastries, and soft cookies presented prettily in delicate containers was your ultimate weakness. The shopkeeper always had your order of sugar rush ready even before you arrived, and Kaeya was always careful to balance your desserts in expert fashion, careful not to jostle them too much. 

(The last time your baklava got crushed into a sticky, flaky mess, you refused to kiss him for an entire day which left Kaeya very distraught and aching.) 

And when you come back from a mission, your familiar scent smothered by the tang of feral vampires, Kaeya would greet you like clockwork with a kiss and a hug at the door despite his intense aversion towards the smell of ferals. 

He’d hoist you up into his arms and carry you to the bathroom before peeling your hunting clothes off and depositing you into a bath scented with your favorite rose oils. The bathwater would get most of the stink out, but Kaeya knew your muscles would ache from the hunting and that some of the stench would linger, he’d work the knots in your body and scrub at the blood that stained your scarred skin. He always started at your neck and ended with your toes and you’d always try to stop him—you were extremely ticklish—but in the end, he always had his way. 

But archons. When you were under him—

“I swear you get wetter—tighter, ah fuck—” you desperately arch up against his hips, chasing heat and friction, “—when my fangs are on your neck. Why’s that baby?” Kaeya mumbles. Sugar and sin against your beating pulse, so loud you can somehow hear it through the rough rasp of his voice and the erotic sounds of your bodies intertwining with each other. 

Kaeya is mocking, but his tone belies his own control; taut, thin strands of sweet candy floss that could snap at any moment. But your unraveling is always his goal, what’s most important to him, so he squeezes his eyes shut to push the bleeding red from his eyes and tightens his grip on your hips to anchor himself. 

“I—I don’t know—” Your answer comes out as a moan, half-delirious from the steady pressure building between the juncture of your thighs, and you buck against him again before digging your heels into his lower back to keep him inside you. 

But Kaeya simply ignores you with a lazy smile, instead mimicking the drag of his hard length inside you with blunted fangs against the column of his throat. The dull pain slides across your sensitized skin, a numbing, delicious promise. 

“P-Please I, I need, ah,” you whimper brokenly, trying to fight your mind for words when Kaeya presses a perfectly timed callused palm to your stomach. And suddenly it feels like he’s filling you everywhere, consuming all the empty spaces in your body. 

“You need what, darling? You’re a smart girl so use your words,” he chides, dragging each thrust out—slow and honey amidst the haze of your pleasure. “You know I’ll give you whatever you ask for. Command me as you see fit.” 

“It’s easy for you to say when you—” 

A sharp thrust, full. His tip kisses your cervix and the stretch almost hurts, making you scramble for a fistful of his hair to steady yourself. Keeping his pace steady, he returns to nibble your neck, fangs teasing and nipping the hollow of your neck. Even when you whine against him, raking your nails down his back, Kaeya doesn’t stop until he feels he’s lavished enough attention on your neck. He licks the blooming purple rose on your neck and draws back to admire his handiwork. 

Kaeya hums. “Is that what you need, baby?”

The vibrations travel straight to your core, and you shake your head and whine. Kaeya grins. He knows that’s not what you meant, but seeing you beg and fall apart is so much better than just giving it straight to you.

He liked the chase almost as much as he liked watching you lose your mind. 

“Y-You know that’s not it. That’s not what I want,” you cry while squirming, trying to seek sweet, hard relief.

“Then tell me, baby.” 

Your muscles tighten with each quick thrust, the heavy drag of his cock like a key twisting your insides tighter and tighter. “I want you to-to—ah, fuck, baby not—”

“Words, baby,” he whispers hotly. Fire and brimstone. 

"I-I can’t,” you sob shakily, tears welling in your eyes. 

Kaeya flips you over and pulls your hair lightly, creating a delicious burn on your scalp. You dig your hands into the sheets, crinkling the silk as you blink wet eyes in an attempt to focus your thoughts. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, not at all sorry if the way he thrusted into your cunt was any indication of his intentions. “Too dumb to speak, are you? Can’t use your big girl words?” 

“Want you, mmf, want your, ah, fangs, please—” 

“Ah, my love.” Kaeya slips two fingers into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. Warm saliva drips down his cold fingers. “I’ve got you now,” he murmured, voice low against the shell of your ear. “You want me to drink your blood, baby?”

You turn, nodding as much as you could given the position.

“Then I need you to cum.” Kaeya pulled out, and you whimpered at the loss, a cry of frustration bubbling in your throat. 

“But I want it now. I don’t care if it hurts,” you whine, eyes glassy with need. 

“I need you to cum so it hurts less though, baby. You know that’s how we always do it.” Kaeya adjusts himself and lines the tip up with your pussy, moving his cock up and down to spread your slick and tease your clit. “So will you be a good girl for me and cum so I can reward you?” 

You nod. You’re so close to the edge that you know you’ll cum the moment he sinks into you again. 

He kisses you. Full-bodied, tongue circling yours, and pulls back when he smells the frustration—arousal—increase. He steadies himself against your cunt before pushing inside without warning in one fluid motion, and remembers that he still has to stay sane enough to give you what you want. (But it’s hard to think when his balls are pressed tight against your ass, and your insides feel tighter than they did before.) Kaeya drags his heavy length out, leaving just the tip inside your wet heat, before achingly pushing back in. 

Close, close—

“Almost there?” he murmurs, voice soft against his hardness. He grinds down on you and sinks deep while pinching your clit hard, watching as you fall apart under him, mouth open, throat straining, vein thickening—long, smooth and—

Sharp fangs sink into your beating pulse. Blinding pleasure streaks through you before syrupy pleasure spills into your veins. Kaeya sees red and struggles to keep himself steady against your soft body and wet heat. 

You seemed to have a habit of doing that to him. Making him crazy, wild, ache for you. With each heavy draw of blood, he relishes the sweet taste, hoping that each additional drop would quench his thirst, but it never does. His mind grows fuzzy, fangs throbbing with each drag.

He might never have enough of you. Never be satisfied. 

Kaeya groans.

You’d be his downfall.

[solcorvidae]

Modern Witcher AU: My Headcanons: (part 3 of ?)

Geralt smells of coffee, caramelized sugar, kerosine, and mineral oil. The sugary scent is from his favourite fragrance (Vanilla Woods—The 7 Virtues) and it mingles well with his natural body chemistry and environmental scents. It’s very subtle but distinct and it works shockingly well for him.

Jaskier is determined to figure out what fragrance Geralt wears but is looking in all the wrong places. He assumes some of the “masculine” notes from the environment that linger on his skin and clothes are a part of the perfume. It takes Geralt explicitly telling Jaskier to look in the feminine and/or the unisex sections (of fragrantica) for him to actually do so and finally get put on the right track.

Jaskier smells of lavender and chamomile. His hair also retains the smell of his shampoo exceedingly well so he always smells clean. He uses solid fragrance that’s reminiscent of “Chamomile and Lavender Milk Tea” by The Dua Brand. It has notes of honey and raw almond milk that gives it a good balancing effect and works well with his body chemistry.

Jaskiers extended family organizes regular family reunions at grossly lavish locations at least once a year. Most of his family besides his parents and a few cousins don’t know about his cross-country road trip… or Geralt. When Jaskier brings Geralt along one year to a reunion at a rented out ski chalet he wants to make sure Geralt makes a good impression. Little did he know, most of his family would adore him and think he is such a doll. Geralt had no less than two people at any given time chatting with him for the vast majority of the weekend. As an introvert, he was exhausted by the end of each day. Jaskier is secretly convinced his family loves Geralt more than him after just a few days; however, Jaskier is more than happy to show him off so it never really bothers him much.

Geralt has a stiff gait. It stems from extremely tense muscles in his hips and lower back as a result of so many hours on the road and not enough proper stretching. Jaskier makes it his personal goal to get Geralt into physiotherapy and at the very least, flexible enough to touch his toes comfortably again.

Geralt’s nausea inducing alcohol of choice is tequila. Eskel’s is flavoured vodka. Lambert loves to get a reaction out of them over it.

Geralt can't have tequila (especially margaritas) anymore because of the near-two day hangover he had after drinking with his brothers on New Years Eve one year. Not even the night he came of age could compare to the sheer amount he knocked back that night.

Eskel's grievance against (lemonade) vodka started after a night out at the bar in his early 20's. He doesn't remember how many times he threw up that night (and he doesn't really want to either).

Lambert can hold his alcohol well but gets hangovers extremely easy, unlike Geralt and Eskel who rarely get more than a headache that's readily manageable with a single ibuprofen capsule. Lambert started keeping a bucket under his bed for this exact reason. He doesn't have a gag-inducing alcohol because if he did, all options would be exhausted with the amount of times he has been ill after a night out.

Geralt’s personal vehicle is a baby blue rust bucket of a pickup truck. It’s a sturdy but rough looking 1990 Ford Ranger.

Eskel drives a grey 2013 VW Jetta that was not taken care of too well by it’s previous owner. It’s a secondhand shitbox but it’s his secondhand shitbox.

Lambert refuses to buy his own car and when he’s not working, he makes Vesemir or his brothers drive him places when he can’t/doesn’t want to catch the bus.

Eskel gets extremely bad caffeine withdrawal symptoms since he has a much lower tolerance and rate of consumption than Geralt, who has a worrying dependency. Geralt says he's fine, but his blood pressure says otherwise.

[Modern AU Headcanon Masterpost]