#I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS THING WHATEVER IT IS

[bogleech]

"The question was posed, "Why do people continue supporting Trump no matter what he does?" A lady named Bev answered it this way: “You all don't get it. I live in Trump country, in the Ozarks in southern Missouri, one of the last places where the KKK still has a relatively strong established presence. They don't give a shit what he does. He's just something to rally around and hate liberals, that's it, period. He absolutely realizes that and plays it up. They love it. He knows they love it. The fact that people act like it's anything other than that proves to them that liberals are idiots, all the more reason for high fives all around. If you keep getting caught up in "why do they not realize this problem" and "how can they still back Trump after this scandal," then you do not understand what the underlying motivating factor of his support is. It's fuck liberals, that's pretty much it. Have you noticed he can do pretty much anything imaginable, and they'll explain some way that rationalizes it that makes zero logical sense? Because they're not even keeping track of any coherent narrative, it's irrelevant. Fuck liberals is the only relevant thing. Trust me; I know firsthand what I'm talking about. That's why they just laugh at it all because you all don't even realize they truly don't give a fuck about whatever the conversation is about. It's just a side mission story that doesn't matter anyway. That's all just trivial details - the economy, health care, whatever. Fuck liberals. Look at the issue with not wearing the masks. I can tell you what that's about. It's about exposing fear. They're playing chicken with nature, and whoever flinches just moved down their internal pecking order, one step closer to being a liberal. You've got to understand the one core value that they hold above all others is hatred for what they consider weakness because that's what they believe strength is, hatred of weakness. And I mean passionate, sadistic hatred. And I'm not exaggerating. Believe me. Sadistic, passionate hatred, and that's what proves they're strong, their passionate hatred for weakness. Sometimes they will lump vulnerability in with weakness. They do that because people tend to start humbling themselves when they're in some compromising or overwhelming circumstance, and to them, that's an obvious sign of weakness. Kindness = weakness. Honesty = weakness. Compromise = weakness. They consider their very existence to be superior in every way to anyone who doesn't hate weakness as much as they do. They consider liberals to be weak people that are inferior, almost a different species, and the fact that liberals are so weak is why they have to unite in large numbers, which they find disgusting, but it's that disgust that is a true expression of their natural superiority. Go ahead and try to have a logical, rational conversation with them. Just keep in mind what I said here and be forewarned.”

From a facebook post, with a lot of comments from people who actually didn't realize it was like this. Yeah, I grew up knowing these kinds of people too and that's exactly how it is.

[idiomagic]

Things I Have Learned By Somehow Surviving To 55 Years Old -- It is actually ridiculously easy to say 'I'm sorry'. Doubling down in a panic, trying to prove you're 'right', loses you friends and makes everything worse, every time. -- Life goes by in the blink of an eye. Don't waste your time on stupid bullshit. Discourse, internet arguments, fighting over useless details... are just going to roil you up, make you miserable, and that time can be better spent doing anything else. -- There is no One True Way. If you're convinced that your 'praxis' or whatever is the only correct one, that your view is the only correct one, that your belief is the only correct one, only one thing is guaranteed: you are absolutely wrong. If you find yourself being smug and patting yourself on the back that you are the Only Smart and Correct Person on the internet, you are embarrassingly wrong...and everyone else knows it. -- It is never too late. It's never too late to change careers, go back to school, transition, change your beliefs, change yourself. You don't have to live like this, you don't have to think like this, you don't have to be like this. It's not too late to change. -- Life happens offline. The internet is for fucking around while you're in between real life stuff. The world of the internet is not real, it's not real life, and if your only life is online, you really need to log off, leave your phone behind, and go out into the world. Interact with real people, in real situations, without a keyboard.

-- You learn way more by listening than by talking, and people will respect you more when you do have something to say. -- You need to get out of your online bubbles and talk to people who do not share your beliefs. Tumblr gives you the impression that you are the majority, that everyone believes what you do, thinks like you do, has the same outlook on life that you do. And that is far from the truth. For example: 98% of the country is cis and heterosexual. The vast majority of people do not have fandoms. The majority of humanity cares more about what you do than whether or not you use the 'correct' terminology. -- There is always hope. No matter how bleak the world seems right now, we have made staggering amounts of progress just in my lifetime. But we've done it by showing up, by voting, by acting. Progress happens in meat space, not through discourse. Online activism isn't activism. It's the prelude to activism. If you want change, you have to put down your screens, get out in the world, and make it happen. -- The sexiest thing any human being can do is to learn, to grow, and to be able to say 'I was wrong. I've learned more now, and I'm going to do better.' -- Finding love, in any form, is the barest beginning of what a relationship is. If you want to keep that love, you have to work for it, every day. And every party to that love has to do the work. If your partner/partners/friends don't work to make the relationship strong, it's not love and it will never be healthy. -- The only limit to who you can be and what you can be is you. You can't change your physical limits, but you can always decide that you will learn, that you will change, that you will grow. You can always be more than you are right now, bigger than you are right now. No one and nothing can stop you from that, except you.

[street-smarts00]

Wish You Were Sober

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: The four times you confessed to Spencer while drunk, and the one time you did it sober

WC: 8.0 k

Tags/warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, lot’s of mention of alcohol consumption, regretting things said while drunk, drunk flirty reader, reader is emotionally constipated and doesn’t want to feel her feelings at first

A/N: chat I’ve been sitting on this for MONTHS it’s been marinating in my google docs for a while so hope you enjoy! I lowkey picture this happening in earlier seasons Spence but picture whatever you like ;) Beta read by the lovely @whats-yesterday00

The first time it happened, your feelings were just starting to peek through the surface. 

You tried your hardest to shove them back down. Trying to convince yourself that developing the beginnings of a crush was absolutely not happening. But the alcohol opened the door you tried to close.

The whole team went out for drinks on a friday night. After multiple shots with Derek and JJ, plus the drinks you had before that, you were feeling quite a buzz. A buzz that always left you more flirty and courageous than normal. 

You were busy dancing amongst the crowd with Penelope and JJ. The music was flowing through you all as it blasted throughout the bar. The movement and crowd caused the temperature to rise exponentially. 

You wiped the sweat forming on your forehead and paused your dancing. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked. 

“I’m melting,” you answered, fanning yourself. “I gotta go sit down.” 

Penelope blew you a kiss and said, “be back soon!” as you made your way to the table. You of course blew a kiss back to her. 

After weaving through the mass of people, you approached the table housing the rest of your coworkers with a heavy sigh. 

“You done partying already, pretty girl?” Derek teased. 

“No, not yet. I just need a breather. It feels like 1000 degrees right now.” You sat down across from him and next to Spencer. 

Derek’s attention was pulled towards someone behind you. A smirk grew on his face, “Oh Reid look, it’s that girl from earlier she’s back.” 

Spencer’s face flushed at Derek’s remark. 

“What girl?” you asked intrigued. You hated the taste that question left in your mouth. 

“It’s nothing,” Spencer tried to brush off before Derek interrupted. 

“She was flirting with him when he went up to the bar.” 

“She was not!” Spencer squeaked. 

Derek chuckled, “oh yes she was,” his eyes turned back to you. “She was definitely into him. And judging by the fact that she keeps looking over here, I think she wants to talk to him again.”

Spencer hid his face in his hands and quietly groaned.

“Why don’t you go over there? Go talk to her,” you encouraged while silently hoping he doesn’t leave the table.

Spencer lifted his face from his hands. His face was scarlet now. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off. He saw your eyes staring back at him and felt his palms getting sweaty. He swallowed and stuttered on his words. “Because I wouldn’t know what to say. I can’t flirt.” 

Derek leaned back in his chair, dissatisfied with his answer. “That’s bull.” 

“It’s not bull.” That was probably the closest you came to hearing Spencer curse. “I’d probably make a fool of myself and say something stupid.” 

“Spencer, you say a lot of things,” this earned a chuckle from Derek across the table, “But I don’t think you could ever say something stupid.” 

Spencer tried to resist the smile spreading on his face from your compliment. 

“Still doesn’t change the fact that once I open my mouth, she’ll lose all interest in me.” 

A small pout appeared on your lips. “Well, I don’t see how a girl wouldn’t find you endearing.” 

“Really?” He didn’t believe you. 

“Yes! I thought you were so cute when I first met you,” your eyes brightened. “The day we met, I remember you were rambling about something and I just sat there amazed.” 

He swallowed as his ears turned crimson. “You thought I was cute?” his voice cracked at the end of his question.

“Sweetie, I think you’re more than cute,” your voice lowered as you locked eyes with him. 

“Morgan calls you pretty boy for a reason,” you continued with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

Spencer’s heart damn near stopped. He knew your playful demeanor was from the amount of drinks you’d consumed, but still seeing you so openly attracted to him was making him delirious. 

Morgan, of course, found the whole interaction to be the most intriguing thing he’d seen all week. The growing amused smile on his face was telling enough. 

“Wow I think that girl from the bar has got some competition,” he teased. 

You shrugged in response to his comment. “Maybe,” was all you gave as your answer. You stood up from your chair with Spencer's eyes still beaming at you. 

“I’m gonna go dance some more,” you turned to the man next to you. “You wanna come with, pretty boy?”

Spencer struggled to get the words out for a few seconds. “I can’t. I don’t know how to dance.” 

You tried to hide the disappointment on your face but the gleam in your eyes had dimmed. 

“Maybe next time,” you replied before making your way back to the girls. 

Spencer watched you walk away and disappear into the crowd. He then received an extensive amount of teasing and questions as to why he didn’t say yes from Morgan for the next 20 minutes while you were gone. 

Over the weekend, the hangxiety set in. You layed in bed staring at the ceiling as the memories from Friday night flooded your mind. 

The anxiety followed into Monday as you stood in the elevator. The doors opened to the sixth floor and you reluctantly dragged yourself to the bullpen. 

Your hands tightened around your bag as you approached your desk. Spencer’s eyes lingered on you as you set your things down

“Morning,” he greeted with a small smile.  

“Morning,” you mumbled. 

You fidgeted with your hands and stepped closer to his desk. 

“Listen Spence, about Friday night… l’m sorry I was flirty with you.” 

His cheeks turned a dusty rose at the memory. “It’s alright.” 

This still didn’t ease your worries. “Are you sure?  The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable around me. Especially because of something I did.”

His eyes softened when he noticed just how nervous you were. 

“I don’t, I promise,” he reassured. 

“So we’re okay?”

He nodded with a small smile and the weight started to lift off your shoulders. 

___________________________________________

The second time it happened was a few weeks later. 

It was Derek’s birthday. The whole team went out to dinner followed by a trip to the bar to keep the night going. 

Spencer stayed behind at the table, watching you order drinks and chat with Emily at the bar. He also tried to ignore the angry green feeling surfacing as the bartender flirted with you. 

“So, are you finally gonna dance with her tonight?” Derek asked the young man as he sat down beside him. 

Spencer sighed as he kept his eyes trained on you. “I don’t know.” 

His friend patted him on the back, “Come on man. Consider it my birthday present.” 

Spencer turned his attention to the man beside him. “I already got you a present.” 

“Kid,” Rossi interjected from farther down the table, “in my professional opinion, when a woman asks you to dance, you dance.” 

This brought out a smile from Hotch. 

“Even if you think you’ll look like a fool,” Rossi continued. 

“Like two weeks ago when that woman asked Morgan to dance,” Hotch teased, which brought out an annoyed expression from the man in question. 

“Hey! I was not that bad,” Derek defended. 

“You looked like a bird doing a mating dance,” Spencer now joined in. 

Derek looked appalled from the younger man’s joke. 

Soon after you approached the table with Emily. “What’s so funny?” You asked the table.

”Morgan's attempts to woo women,” Rossi joked. 

Emily took a sip from her drink and rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh where do I begin?” 

Derek stood up from the table shaking his head and smiling. “Well, I’m gonna go dance with people who appreciate my moves.” He then made his way to the open area where Penelope and JJ were. 

Back at the table, before you could sit down, the speakers of the bar started to play Maneater by Nelly Furtado. You gasped and a bright smile filled your features. 

“I love this song!” You squealed. 

You set your half consumed drink down on the table and looked at Spencer, “Do you want to go dance?” 

He looked at you surprised. “Me?” He squeaked. 

You giggled, finding his reaction cute, “Yes you!”

Spencer started closing in on himself. Before he could come up with the excuse he used last time you said, “I can teach you. It’ll be so much fun!” 

You were oblivious to the knowing looks from your other team mates at the table. Your focus was only on Spencer. Staring deep into his golden eyes and finding nothing but comfort. 

“Okay,” he agreed with a small smile. 

You beamed with excitement, “Yay! Let’s go.” You offered your hand to him. He took it and found you pulling him up from his chair and towards the dance floor. 

He followed you through the people in the crowd until you found an open space to settle. You held onto his hands as you swayed to the beat. 

Spencer tried to follow you but was still noticeably tense. He was also less focused on his dancing because he was too enamored by your movements. Watching you sway so effortlessly with the rhythm. 

“Look at you Spence! You’re getting the hang of it,” you praised. 

He appreciated the compliment but cringed, “I feel awkward.” 

“That’s not how dancing should feel. You should feel free and loose.” You let go of his hands and spun around.

A real smile spread on his lips, “I’m surprised you’re this coordinated with how many drinks you’ve had.” 

“Oh, I guess you missed when I almost stepped on you.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, “I guess I didn’t.” 

The song ended and changed to Don’t Stop The Music by Rihanna. Your jaw dropped and your face filled with excitement. 

“You like this song?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. 

You grabbed his hands once more and grinned, “Yes!” You resumed dancing with his hands in yours. This time you were mouthing the lyrics of the song. 

I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away you heard from the speakers and shook Spencer's hands. 

“You gotta shake the stress baby!” you cheered at him. 

He bashfully laughed watching you drunkenly shout. And hearing you call him baby, but that’s beside the point.

As the song played your hips and shoulders moved to the rhythm of the music. He wasn’t as successful as you when it came to swaying his hips but he could move his shoulders and copy you. 

Who knew that you’d be up in here lookin’ like you do?

You took a step back and gestured to him as the song said. Spencer shook his head and pulled on your hands to bring you back closer to him. 

Do you know what you started? I just came here to party

You took him pulling you back as a way to sneak your arms around his neck. 

But now we're rockin’ on the dance floor actin’ naughty 

Spencer’s cheeks started to turn red at the closeness. 

Your hands around my waist, just let the music play

You retracted your hands to grab his and place them on your waist. 

We’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now we’re face to face 

By the time your arms returned wrapped around his neck, his ears were crimson. With your arms around him your shirt raised slightly. His hands met the gap of your skin that was exposed. 

Even though he felt like his insides were going to melt, he kept his hands on you and kept dancing. Spencer followed the steps you took, the way you moved back and forth. He was finally starting to let the music flow through him. 

You definitely took notice. It only made you more eager to dance with him. 

As the song continued into the next verse you grew more confident. 

Don’t you feel the passion ready to explode? 

Your hands moved to his shoulders. You moved in closer, and with a playful smirk sang along the words so Spencer could hear. 

What goes on between us, no one has to know

Just when Spencer thought the fluttering in his stomach couldn’t get worse, you leaned in close to his ear and whispered the next lyric.

This is a private show

The air between you was magnetic. It felt like you were in your own little world. Like the rest of the bar goers were gone. Suddenly, it was just you two on that dance floor. 

Spencer’s face was inches away from yours. You were so close you could count the freckles on his pink cheeks. 

“You look so cute, all flustered,” you muttered. 

He licked his lips nervously, “I’m not used to dancing like this with someone.” 

“Are you having fun at least?” 

“Yes,” he answered instantly. 

“Well then, we should do this more often,” you offered with a sweet smile. 

As the song came to an end you leaned up and left a kiss on Spencer’s cheek. You took a step back to fully look at him. His eyes slightly widened and his lips parted from your peck on his cheek. 

“I love dancing with you,” you released your hold on his shoulders. The ghost of your touch was still hot on his skin. “Hopefully we can do this again.” 

His eyes shined as he looked at you, “I’d like that.” 

________________________________________

The third time it happened, Spencer got a phone call at 12:04 am. 

He was resting on his couch, nose deep in a book, when he heard his phone buzz. He breathed a sigh of relief at the caller ID revealing it to be you instead of Hotch with a new case. 

When he answered, he heard loud music and faint voices in the back. 

“Hello?” 

You quickly answered back, “Spencer! I didn’t wake you, did I?” Your voice had a higher pitch than normal. 

“No, I was just reading. What’s up?” 

“I went out to a bar for girls night but…I had one too many drinks,” you whined. 

He sat up straighter, “are you alright?” 

There was a pause before you spoke again. “The room is spinning. I’m really dizzy and everything is overwhelming,” you mumbled. Hearing you sound so scared and small made his heart hurt. 

“I didn’t want to bother the girls because they’re having so much fun and none of them can drive right now.” 

Before you could finish your statement, he was already standing up and walking to find his shoes and jacket. 

“Do you want me to pick you up?” He knew the answer. 

“Please. Can you?” you begged. 

Spencer was grabbing his keys and out the door in a heartbeat. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. He walked inside and looked around the crowded room. A few meters away, a hand rose from a booth and waved him over. 

He followed it and found Emily, JJ and Penelope keeping you company at the booth. You rested your head in your arms, which were folded on the table. 

JJ carefully tapped your arm, “hey, your ride is here.” 

You slowly lifted your head up and beamed at the sight of him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he said softly. 

“They found me,” you said pointing to your friends. “They said they would babysit me until you showed up.” 

He chuckled and lightly rubbed your shoulder, “You okay? You think you can walk to the car?” 

You nodded and slowly stood up. 

“Text one of us when you get home safe,” Penelope announced. 

You gave a lazy thumbs up in her direction and turned to Spencer, “Can you remind me to do that?” 

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Of course. Come on, let's get you home,” he nodded towards the door. 

You waved and said goodbye to the girls before Spencer led you through the crowd with his hand in yours. You grasped his hand like it was an anchor in the over-stimulating environment. 

When you stepped outside, the cool breeze caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. The fresh air and dulled sounds were already starting to help you feel better. 

Unfortunately, your balance was still screwed and you managed to trip over air. Before you could fall to the ground, Spencer swiftly reached out and caught you. He helped you stand back up and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. 

“I got you, you’re okay,” he muttered close to your ears. 

Him being so sweet was going to make your stomach twist. 

The rest of the walk to the car he kept his arm around you. Your body instinctively leaned into him and used his frame to keep you upright. 

When you reached his car, he opened the passenger door and let go of his hold on you. You almost whined at the loss of contact. 

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you spoke quietly as he helped guide you into the car.  

Before he closed the door and headed to the driver's seat he offered a kind, “You’re welcome.” 

The beginning of the car ride was quite aside from the hushed music on the radio. You leaned back, slouching in the car seat. 

You watched Spencer’s hands on the wheel instead of the rapidly changing view of the windshield. Your fuzzy mind was trying to focus on anything that wasn't the dizzy spinning feeling that couldn't go away. 

Of course your thoughts were jumbled with images of the man next to you. 

“You’re so nice,” you said with a fond look. 

He looked at you with brief confusion over your random declaration. “Thanks,” he returned his eyes to the road. 

You shuffled in your seat to face him. 

“No you’re really nice,” you huffed, frustrated he somehow didn’t understand the full scope of what your drunk brain meant. “You’re so kind and sweet to everyone. I love it.” 

An amused smile grew on his face. “I try to be,” he returned.  

“You are.” 

He quickly glanced over to see your figure leaning against the seat. Or more like the seat holding you up. Your eyes occasionally felt heavy, leading to your eyelids fluttering every so often. 

“You look half asleep,” he teased. 

“I feel half asleep.” 

“Then why are you so chatty all of a sudden?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know, just feel like talking.” 

You forced your eyes open to get a better look at him. “I like talking with you.” 

Spencer tried not to think about how your voice was much more soft and melodious than normal. 

“I like talking with you too,” he affirmed. 

He suddenly went down a mental rabbit hole of your previous conversations with him. How often you conversed over coffee early in the morning. All those plane rides home where you both had to stifle your laughter so as to not bother the others. Or the dozens of times he rambled to you about endless topics. 

“I’m surprised I haven't bored you yet with how much I talk.” 

“Oh sweetie, I could never get bored of you.” 

His ears started to turn red at the flirtatious tone in your voice. 

“I could listen to you talk for hours. Even about things I don’t understand. I’ll always listen to you,” you continued.

“Really?” He muttered with a slight voice crack. His heart rate was steadily growing. 

“Uh huh,” you confirmed sweetly. 

His eyes darted to yours for a fleeting moment. You looked completely and utterly enraptured by him. 

“Your voice sounds like honey.”

Spencer's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead. 

“We’re almost at your apartment,” he deflected. 

Your smile fell slightly. 

The air in the car was growing stale by the seconds. Neither of you spoke until he pulled up to your building. 

As you reached for the door handle, he whispered for you to “wait one second.” You complied. He got out of the car and walked to your side. He opened the passenger door and held out a hand for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you said with a smug grin. 

He chuckled and made sure you didn’t stumble as you stepped out of the car. 

“I try,” he replied. 

“You succeed.” 

As you walked together to your apartment, neither of you let go of the other's hand. At your door, you fumbled with your keys. Spencer tried to offer to open the door himself but you shooed away his hand and mumbled, “I got it, I got it.” 

After fighting with the lock, you stepped inside and practically threw your bag on the couch. You were seconds away from falling on the couch yourself before Spencer calmly grabbed your shoulders. 

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” 

You whined but didn’t object. He guided you down the hall to your room. In the dark, he reached for your lamp and turned it on. You plopped down on your bed and yawned. 

“Where are your makeup wipes?” He asked, looking around the room.

You pointed towards the dresser, “In the top left drawer.” He followed your directions and returned to your bed, handing the pack to you. 

“See I told you. You’re so nice,” you complimented while lazily cleaning your hours old makeup off. 

“Why because I got you your makeup wipes?” He joked with a playful tone. 

You giggled in response. The sound made Spencer feel like he was the intoxicated one. He would never get used to the way you laughed. 

“No silly, not just that. The fact that you’re still here.”

You tried and failed at getting your lipstick and eyeliner off. Instead you smeared the deep colors around your face. 

Spencer’s lips formed a thin line, trying not to smile at you smearing your makeup. He grabbed a fresh wipe and kneeled down in front of you. “Here let me help,” he mumbled. With careful hands, he pressed the damp wipe to your face to finish the job. 

“Of course I was going to stay with you,” he acknowledged your previous comment. “I’m not going to just drop you off. I wanted to make sure you were safe and feeling okay.” 

You tried not to smile because his hand was so close to your mouth. Your brain was going to short circuit at the closeness. His face mere inches away. His hand and the skin of your face are only separated by a tiny piece of cloth. 

You watched intently as he used his thumb to wipe off the last bit of lipstick. His movements were desperately slow as he handled you with care. Like you were a fragile statue he couldn’t let break. 

The action made your chest tighten and your heart race. If you had consumed another drink or two back at the bar, you would’ve jumped at the chance to kiss him. 

But instead, you stared deeply into his eyes as he checked your face for any more makeup residue. His pupils were wide. You assumed it was from the dim lighting of the room. 

You may not have been drunk enough to kiss him, but you were drunk enough to joke about it. 

“What if I just kissed you right now?”

His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock. “What has gotten into you?” he questioned in a lighthearted tone. 

“What? it’s not just me! You’re also staring at my lips!” you put your hands up in defense with a mischievous grin. “Just say you wanna kiss me.” 

He chuckled at your antics. “Because I’m taking off your makeup. And what about you staring at my eyes?” 

A grin spread on your face. “I can’t help it. They’re beautiful. Nice to look at.” 

“They’re not that nice.” 

“I beg to differ gorgeous,” you returned with a wink. “I could look at them all day.” 

Spencer smiled as his cheeks turned pink. He looked between your eyes and your lips before his expression faltered for a moment. Like he was mentally stuck on something. 

However, because of your dizzy mind and vision, you didn’t pick up on it. 

He stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You think you’ll be okay?” 

You nodded, “Yeah. Thanks again for … everything.” 

“You’re welcome.” He started walking towards your bedroom door but before he left the room, he paused. “Don’t forget to let the girls know you got home safe.” 

Your jaw went slack and a hand flew to your forehead, “oh my god you’re right.” 

He fought back a grin from your reaction. “Goodnight,” he offered before he left. 

You waved and said goodnight as his frame left your bedroom. The sound of the front door shutting soon followed. 

Before you passed out for the night you texted penelope you got home safe. But you didn’t see her reply until the morning. 

Penelope: yay! 

Penelope: hope you feel better my sweets <3

Thanks :) I have a raging migraine so I better feel better soon 

Penelope: :(

Penelope: oh btw, how’d it go with boy genius???

Ugh 

I flirted with him AGAIN 

Penelope: you’re kidding! 

Penelope: What did you say?

I can’t remember all of it but at some point I said his voice sounds like honey 

Penelope: OMG

Oh no it gets worse

He helped me take off my makeup and I said I wanted to kiss him. And THEN I pointed out how he stared at my lips and I said “just say you wanna kiss me” 

Penelope: oh girlie

Penelope: I think you have to throw in the towel 

Penelope: you love him

You stared at the words on the screen before your hands could even type a reply. Mentally fighting with yourself about the subject. 

No way

I can’t be in love with him

He’s my friend I can’t do that 

Penelope: I don’t think you have much of a choice  

You sighed and turned off your phone. As you reached for the aspirin bottle, you prayed you wouldn’t do something stupid like this ever again 

You were wrong. 

______________________________________

By the fourth time it happened, almost a month had passed since you asked him to pick you up. 

To celebrate the success of a case, his coworkers and friends wanted to go out for some down time. He thanked them for the invitation but kindly rejected it saying he had previous plans to attend some film festival. In reality, he had been on the fence about attending the film festival and ended up spending the evening at home. 

As much as he wanted an excuse to spend time with you, he couldn’t go through another evening of you flirting with him. 

Normally, it’d be his dream to have you flirt with him and call him sweet names. To hear how much you liked his voice, his eyes, and the way his brilliant mind worked. But the more it occurred, the more confused he felt.

At first, he assumed you were just a flirtatious drunk and there was no meaning behind your advances. But as time went on, he saw your actions and affectionate words had so much desire, so much longing that he started to suspect they were based on real feelings. 

Yet, it was only reserved for the version of you that had multiple drinks running through your system. 

He’d almost given up on asking you how you felt. Almost. 

Something that gave him a glimmer of hope was a voicemail he received. 

In an effort to actually get some sleep, he took a late night shower. When he returned to his bedroom, he found his cell phone had received a voicemail. He checked and saw he missed a call from the very person he was anxiously avoiding. 

With new clean pajamas on, he grabbed his phone and sat down on his bed ready for the possible plea for him to pick you up. He clicked the message and lifted the phone to his ear. 

“Hi Spence! I wanted to talk but it looks like you’re busy,” your voice sounded sweet and bubbly. He deduced you might have already gone home at this point given the fact that this time there was no loud background music or voices.

“I missed you tonight. I wish you came with us. I know that isn’t always your favorite place to be, but I still kinda had hope. I love spending time with you. I don’t care if it’s at work or off the clock, it makes me so happy to see you.”

His heart felt warm from the way you talked about him. Your voice sounded giddy and occasionally you would slur your words. 

“It’s kinda silly but when we don’t have work or plans, I will literally count down the days until I get to see you again. Isn’t that silly? I spend like five or six days of my week with you and when I don’t see you, I’m thinking about when I’ll see you again.” 

Spencer found familiarity in what you were saying. For the last few weeks he found his thoughts were constantly revolving back to you. Whether intentionally or not. 

“I pretty much think about you all the time. It’s becoming a bit of a problem. I don’t mean you’re a problem! The problem is how much I like you. I’ve never liked someone as much as I like you.”

There was a brief pause in your message. He almost thought the voicemail was over until your voice returned softer than before. 

“I’m probably falling in love with you.” 

“And that’s really scary to think about because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. You’re different Spence, when I’m around you I feel-“ 

You were cut off by the time limit of the voicemail. Spencer stared at his phone screen with wide eyes. His heart was beating so fast it could’ve jumped out of his chest. 

He finally got an answer to the question that plagued his mind. You loved him back. 

You loved him. 

His whole body was filled with adrenaline. He almost grabbed his keys and drove over to you at that moment. But he knew he had to wait. He couldn’t have this conversation with you while you were still intoxicated and would probably fall asleep by the time he got there. 

Spencer on the other hand, could barely sleep. He was too busy on cloud 9 to come back down and let sleep overtake him. 

The next morning he was practically buzzing with excitement. He got up earlier than normal for work so he could stop by your apartment. 

He nervously knocked on your door. He kept fidgeting by fixing his tie and cardigan while he waited for you. 

When you did open the door he saw you were still in the process of getting ready. You had on dress pants and an old college t-shirt. 

You looked surprised to see him of course since he didn’t announce he was going to come over. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

Suspicion started to creep its way into his mind. For now he ignored it and pushed on. 

“I thought we could commute to work together. I figured you would be hungover and not in the best mood to drive.” 

Your eyebrows raised and lips turned up. “That is so sweet of you,” you beamed. You opened the door wider, suggesting he was welcome. He followed and walked inside your apartment

“You’re absolutely right by the way. I feel like shit,” you groaned. “My head is killing me, I’m exhausted and I have this massive bruise on my leg.” You waved your hand over your right thigh indicating where the injury was. 

“I have no clue how I got it. I probably fell but I'm not sure. Most of last night is fuzzy, I barely even remember how I got home,” you joked with a chuckle.

The suspicion Spencer felt turned into a pit in his stomach. With furrowed brows he asked the million dollar question. “Do you remember calling me last night?”

You stared at the ground as you tried to shuffle through the vague images of the night before. “No I don’t. What did we talk about?” you asked innocently. 

His grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “We didn’t. Talk. I couldn’t pick up the phone and didn’t realize you had called me until this morning. That’s why I wanted to stop by. To make sure you were okay.” He topped off his lie with a flat smile. 

”Thanks for checking up on me,” you sweetly replied, not yet aware of the internal mess he was experiencing. 

“It’s no problem,” his voice almost cracked.

“I need to finish getting dressed and brush my teeth but I’ll be ready to leave in like five minutes.” You speed walked back to your bedroom. 

It wasn’t until he heard the door close that he finally let the storm of emotions rip through him. His chest was getting tighter by the second. It felt like he was suffocating. 

You don’t remember. 

You told him you loved him and you don’t remember it at all. The best news he’d heard in months was a blip in your memory. Was late night drunk babbling. 

He felt so foolish. So stupid for thinking you might really reciprocate his feelings. 

One part of himself that was still holding onto hope tried to remember that “drunk words are sober thoughts.” But that’s not always true. 

He knew studies have shown intoxication can lead to someone misinterpreting their own thoughts or feelings. Leading to them impulsively expressing things that they don’t really believe. 

Unfortunately, the factual and heartbroken part of his brain was overwhelming compared to the sliver of hope he had left. 

“Alright, I’m good to go,” you snuck back into the living room. Your voice brought him back to the present. 

You grabbed your purse off the couch and walked towards the front door. As you put on your jacket you noticed the sudden change in Spencer’s demeanor. 

“Spence, you okay?”

”Yeah, I’m fine,” he nodded and answered with a light voice. But you could see right through it. His eyes gave it away. They looked so full of hurt. 

”Spencer-“

”I promise, I’m fine,” he interrupted. He offered you a fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He walked to your door and tightly held his bag. “We should go before we hit traffic.” 

You observed him for a few seconds longer than he liked. The profiler side of you wanted to pry but you knew it was a bad idea to push your friend. 

The drive to work was agonizingly quiet. It was odd for you two to barely speak when in close quarters. Instead, you both let the tension hang in the air, ignored and untouched. 

Spencer sat with his feelings for most of the drive. He didn’t want to be hopeful anymore. He didn’t want to be confused if it was real anymore. At this point, he just wanted to give up. 

Now, he’d have to keep a tight lid on his feelings for you. Leave it to fester and wear away at his heart. 

Like that would do any good though. He couldn’t stop loving you no matter how hard he tried. 

____________________________________

The following days felt like a dream to you. But not in a good way. 

It felt like one of those dreams where you know something is off, but can’t tell what it is. 

Spencer had been closed off ever since he picked you up for work. You couldn't wrap your head around why. He seemed so happy and eager when he arrived at your apartment that morning. 

That was the last time you saw him act normal around you. Now there was an underlying bitterness in the words he spoke. Everytime you tried to ask him if he was okay, whatever excuse he gave you left a sour taste in his mouth. 

You weren’t the only one to notice either. Everyone could sense the air go stale when you entered a room he was in. How his eyes no longer lingered on you. Or how it almost pained him to even look at you. 

His sudden change in behavior was starting to drive you insane. You were overthinking and overanalyzing every single interaction you had with him, leading up to that day in your apartment. Every move you made around him was calculated. You were terrified one wrong word or move would make him hate you. 

“He hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Penelope swung around in her chair to face you. “I think it’s impossible for him to hate you.” 

You shook your head, “but still he won’t talk to me Pen. He’s always been so open with me and the last few days he’s been shutting me out. He hasn’t been weird around you guys at all.” 

She twirled a sparkly purple pen in her hands as she watched you sulk. “You said it started on Thursday last week?” 

“Yeah, the day after our last case.” 

Penelope sat back in her chair thinking. “Do you think the case bothered him? Could that be why he went home instead of going out with us?” 

“No, I don't think so. The next morning when he showed up at my apartment he was in a good mood. A great mood even,” you folded your arms in frustration. “But when I left the room and came back he looked like a sad puppy.” 

Penelope tapped her pen against her chin. “Why was he at your apartment before work?” 

“Apparently, I called him the night before but he didn’t pick up so he stopped by to check up on me and assumed I’d be hungover.” 

“Awe, that’s sweet,” she cooed before her confusion crossed her features. “Wait, you apparently called him? You’re not sure?” 

You cringed as you explained, “I don’t remember calling him. I was really drunk.” 

She tried to hide the amusement on her face but failed. “Why did you call him?” 

You stared at the floor trying to piece together what happened after you got home that night. “I remember missing him. I wanted to talk to him, but I’m not sure what about.” 

“It’d pay good money to hear whatever voicemail you must’ve left him,” she chuckled with a cheeky grin. 

“Right!” You started to chuckle with her until vague memories of talking on the phone came to light. Your face fell as your drunk declarations were pulled out of your long term memory. 

“Oh god,” you said barely above a whisper. 

Penelope filled with concern, “sweetie what’s wrong?” 

“I did leave him a voicemail. He must have listened to it while I was changing,” your eyes widened and anxiety started flowing through your veins. 

Before she could ask what you said in the message, you interrupted. “I have to go,” you alerted as you remembered Spencer already left the office. “I’ll text you later!” 

You practically ran back to the bullpen to grab your things and tell Hotch you were leaving for the night. 

The car ride to his apartment was agonizing. You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white.

This was all your fault. He couldn’t stand to be around you and talk to you anymore because you drunkenly told him you loved him. 

You ruined your friendship. 

The least you could do was go to his apartment to try to make things right. Try to fix whatever you have broken. 

You couldn’t lose him. Not Spencer. Not the first man you ever actually truly wholeheartedly loved. Even if he didn’t love you back the same way. You’d rather live with the soul crushing pain of unrequited feelings, than lose one of the most important people in your life. 

The walk to his apartment was even worse than the drive to his building. With every step you took, your heart grew heavier. By the time you weakly knocked on his door, your eyes had started to water. 

When Spencer opened the door, his face fell with concern. 

“I remember,” you whispered before he could ask what was wrong. 

A look of realization dawned on him. He stepped to the side and opened the door wider, “come in.” 

You followed and stood awkwardly in his living room. You’d been here hundreds of times before. But now it feels different. Even though you were welcomed inside it still felt like he was miles away. 

“Spencer, I am so sorry.” 

“For what?” He already knows what you’re talking about, you can see it in his eyes. 

“The voicemail.” 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re sorry for sending it?”

“Yes, no!” you stuttered fidgeting with your rings. “I meant what I said. Every bit of it. I just uh- I wish I had told you all of that when I was sober. Maybe I could’ve phrased it better. Not come off so strong.” 

“Why didn’t you?” he inquired, a hint of desperation in his voice.

He took a single step closer to you. “You could’ve told me.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at him, “wait, you’re not mad about what I said?” 

He mirrored your confusion, “what do you mean?” 

“All week you’ve been acting weird. I thought you were mad or uncomfortable with me because I said I love you.”

Spencer raised his hand to his face as he realized. “I would never be mad at you for that.” His voice raised slightly in frustration, almost a wine, as he continued, “I was upset because by the time you sobered up, you forgot about it.” 

“Oh,” you whispered —if you could even call it that— under your breath. 

He lied. He listened to the message before he showed up, was going to ask about it, and you forgot like an idiot. 

“You only flirt with me or show interest in me when you're drunk. I couldn’t tell what was real or not,” his expression showed more pain as he spoke.

“Spencer, I promise I really do have feelings for you.”

His lips formed a flat line as he stared back at you. “Then why did you only show it when you were drunk?”

“Because I was scared!” your voice raised. You spoke with your hands as you got louder. “How do you tell your best friend you fell in love with them? You can’t! It just doesn't work. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m in love with you.” 

You deadpanned at him, “Spencer, I’m being serious.” 

“So am I,” he said louder than you. 

The weight of his confession finally settled. Time stood still. The world stopped turning. The hands on the clock stopped ticking. 

His voice was quieter this time when he said it. He spoke in the gentlest tone you’d ever heard from him. Like the words dripped right from his arteries, carrying them away from his heart and to you. 

“I love you.” 

“You do?” 

You don’t know why you asked that. It seemed to be the only thing that could leave your mouth. How could you not believe him when he said those three words like that. Like it was his purpose. That he was put on this earth to love you and only you. 

The realization of what his confession meant started to dawn on you.

“That’s why you were at my apartment. So you could tell me. And I-“ 

You stared at the floor with wide guilty eyes and sat (more like fell) on his couch. The guilt started to creep into your blood. It started to crush your bones. 

“Oh I screwed up everything,” you buried your face in your hands. 

He sat down next to you, “no you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. You have every right to be mad at me.” 

”I'm not,” his hand landed on your back, his thumb slowly caressing you. 

You looked up at him, “really?”

“Yes.” 

You stared back at him, looking unconvinced. 

He surrendered and shrugged, “okay I was kind of crushed about it. But I know now that you really did mean it.” 

“I still hurt you,” you returned meekly. The tears started to return back to your eyes and you blinked them away. 

“I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

His thumb stopped its movements on your back. With the same hand, he pushed back the hair that had fallen in your face. He looked into your eyes like he wanted to see all of you. See every little crack and crevice of your soul you tried to hide from him in fear of judgment, in fear of him running away. 

He could never run away from you. 

“Tell me everything you wished you could say when you were sober.” 

You sat up straighter and turned to fully face him. After taking a slow deep breath, you said what you’d wanted to say to him for months. 

No liquid courage. Just the pure, raw, unadulterated you. 

“Spencer, I’m in love with you. I couldn’t tell you when I was sober because I was afraid. I was in denial for so long. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t falling for you. And it’s not because I don’t want to have feelings for you. It’s the opposite. I love you so much it scares me.”

You started to play with your rings again. “I’ve never been in love before. I’ve never said it and been sure that I really meant it.”

“I mean it when I say it to you. I know I mean it because I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s sitting quietly next to each other on the jet or dancing in a crowded bar. I know I mean it because I’d do anything for you. I’d listen to anything you want to ramble about. I’d drive you anywhere you wanted to go because I know you’re not the biggest fan of driving.” 

You swallowed down the lump you didn’t realize formed in your throat. 

“I always find myself crawling back to you when you’re not near.” 

It was only now you really noticed Spencer's expression. His eyes were soft and dilated so much there was barely any brown left in them. His waterline threatened to spill with tears. 

Before you could even dare to say anything else, he reached to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. His lips mixed with yours in a long awaited dance. 

The kiss wasn’t overwhelmed with passion. But also not too slow and careful. The only way you could describe it was perfect. 

It was perfect. 

He was perfect. 

Every aching moment of yearning and longing leading up to this. 

After kissing for what felt like forever —although you’re pretty sure you could kiss him for forever— you laid down on the couch with your head on his chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as if he could disappear at any moment. His one arm wrapped around your waist while the other was playing with your hair. 

“You can stay the night if you want,” he nonchalantly tried to offer without explicitly asking if you would stay over. 

“Do you think we’ll have time in the morning to stop by my apartment to get me fresh clothes?” 

“If not, you could borrow one of my sweaters.” 

You chuckled, “Imagine their faces when we show up to work together and with me very clearly wearing your clothes.” 

He smiled at the thought of you wearing his clothes to work. The image of you proudly showing off that he was yours. “Yeah I can imagine it.” 

[megamindsupremacy]

absolute fucking banger that kayne tried to spark Another classic jarthur You Are Evil And I Hate You argument in this episode. and then he was foiled because these two bitches simply have had the argument so many goddamn times that Arthur’s just like oh fucking whatever, you did your thing it’s fine and I love you anyways. forgiveness granted. And then they just move on. seasons 1-4 jarthur could NEVER

[sxaymz217]

I have related heavily to everything that has been said on this post. I myself am a late diagnosed auDHD adult, and OP I think you are on to something with the communication angle. For my experience, there have been many times in my life when I rapidly came to the conclusion that I do not possess the ability to do, what appeared to me when I observed others, a simple task. There were/are several overlapping problems that made/make asking for assistance difficult.

One, there's been a delay in processing new information for me. When I was a child, or new at something, people would take a moment to teach me. For me though, even if I got it right away, I definitely need someone to repeatedly teach me until it becomes memory I can recall on my own. And of course, if I dont get it right away, I'm going to need quite a bit more assistance. This excess repetition of instructions, teaching and education, requires a great deal of time and patience. Things I learned very early in life, most people do not have in abundance. "Of course I'll be able to figure out this math equation Ms. Stewart, I just need you to explain it in as many forms as possible, and help me practice a dozen times until I can do it myself," which leads to the second problem.

Two, communication. I have rarely ever been able to choose the right words, the right order, the right cadence and tone of voice to get assistance. Or somehow even worse, I can't get the right timing. Say I needed help with that math problem from earlier, even if I chose different words, was incredibly polite, and managed to refrain from using my regular sarcastic tone of voice (read social armor I built for myself as a child), I could very easily still choose the wrong moment to ask the question. My early memories of raising my hand in class are blurry, but I remember quite a bit of laughing from the other students and things like "we already went over that," "God aren't you paying attention," and of course, "why in the world would you even ASK that question."

For me at least, it's almost like I was punished for not learning fast enough or asking questions that were too obvious. But it's more than just how other people react that makes me hesitate to ask for assistance. Not only do I need to keep track of how a specific person who has the information I need, communicates, I need to know how they respond to questions, what their teaching style is, and how to translate that into information I will understand and be able to repeat. I need to know how to construct the conversation in a way they will interpret positively so I can come back again, when I need more help. All of this is damn near impossible for me to keep track of in my head, and already pretty stressful, to say nothing of whatever it is I am asking for assistance on in the first place.

Depending on the level of emotional attachment I have to the task I need help with, that emotion alone can heighten my struggles with communication.

For example, learning how to fold clothes on a slow day in my retail job was easy for me to ask questions and learn. I had an established rapour with my manager, she was lovely, I mean she was also scary, everyone was afraid of her, but I'm afraid of everyone so it was easier for me lol. Anyway, I knew how to talk to her and learn from her, and the task itself was already incredibly repetitive so it didn't take long before I was self sufficient.

But asking for help when the task itself is already terrifying? Such as running the registers during a rush? Much more difficult to even begin to articulate specific questions about the technical aspects of a transaction when the customer is impatient and angry. Even if they're not angry and a very lovely person, I'm nervous and it's a lot for me to keep track of, I made way too many mistakes. It even occurred to me in the moment I needed help, that I absolutely could not do this alone, and even with an established rapour with teachers I was comfortable being ignorant around, I could not even formulate the questions in my mind. It's almost like, even in perfect ideal circumstances, the social and communication side of the task were insurmountable obstacles or outright distractions that made the technical side of the task impossible.

When asking for help, I worry. Afraid I'll get the words wrong, or somehow mess up the way I'll communicate it. I worry I'm overtaxing someone else's patience. If the task is too important or terrifying on it's own, asking for assistance becomes that much more challenging because now I have ignore not only the fear of having the conversation but also the task itself.

And well, like OP said, it's just easier not to watch TV no matter how badly you want to, than to have to deal with asking about the weird remotes 😕.

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[rafesangelita]

♡ NSFW ALPHABET : COWBOY!RAFE X FARMER’S!DAUGHTER!READER EDITION

warnings: fluff, soft aftercare, tit play, secrecy, descriptions of unprotected sex, cum play, breeding kink, a little bit of traditionalism, illusions to virginity loss, praise, dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), male masturbation, brat taming, mentions of having children

a/n: this took me forever, i hope y’all love it! who else should i do an nsfw alphabet for?

wc: 3.6k

₊˚⊹♡ A : AFTERCARE (what are they like after sex?)

when they don’t have to worry about being caught, or they know they have enough time to bask in each other’s post-orgasm bliss, they could spend hours just talking and whispering to each other in the their own little love bubble. farmer’s!daughter!reader loves when cowboy!rafe traces shapes into her skin, his rough fingers being a stark contrast to her soft flesh. she’s pressing delicate kisses from the apples of his cheeks down to his pecs, leaving behind remnants of her cherry lipgloss. rafe is usually the one who falls asleep last, and he takes full advantage of the matter by watching you sleep peacefully, your eyelashes fluttering closed as you drift off into a deep slumber.

₊˚⊹♡ B : BODY PART (their favorite body part on each other)

cowboy!rafe is a tits man all the wayyy. if he’s not staring at your exposed cleavage every chance he could get, he’s doing a million other things to them in his free time. squeezing and groping them whenever you two manage to sneak in a little mid-day makeout session, sucking and biting on them when he has you pinned down, crying out for mercy while he fucks you into oblivion, or his personal favorite; when you let him tit fuck you and he gets to watch his cock disappear in and out of the perfect swells. if you were producing milk, you swore rafe would be down to try it since he’s made it abundantly clear that he’s obsessed with your, what he likes to call, ‘cowboy pillows’.

farmer’s!daughter!reader can’t choose just one, so of course she’s going to go with rafe’s shoulders and his back. those were the first things that caught her attention when her father first introduced them to each other and he was wearing that tight, white t-shirt of his. she couldn’t help her mind from running straight to the gutter, her dreams soon becoming a reality when she found herself with her legs on either side of rafe’s head, her calves sitting prettily on the cowboy’s shoulders while he plowed into her like there was no tomorrow. her love for his back stemmed from watching him work shirtless all day, the sight of his muscles sending butterflies to flutter in her tummy.

₊˚⊹♡ C : CUM (anything to do with cum)

with the massive breeding kink rafe has, he prefers to fill you up to the hilt with his seed. he’ll fuck whatever cum managed to drip out of your glossy folds back into your cunt until he can’t see a single drop, the idea of you becoming pregnant further riling him up for round two. however, when rafe cums anywhere else other than your pussy, he loves to get messy. if you’re ever the one on your knees for him (which is surprisingly rare) and he finishes on your tongue, he likes to tap you with his cock as you bat your eyes up at him. he’ll even take some of the sticky succulence and spread it around your lips before watching you lick yourself clean.

₊˚⊹♡ D : DIRTY (a dirty secret of theirs)

further expanding on cowboy!rafe’s breeding kink; there’s nothing that turns him on more than the prospect of keeping you here on the farm and turning you into a mama. considering you’ve never expressed any kind of desire to ‘escape’ your town, rafe figures he might as well lock you down here with him and your babies. it’s all he thinks about when he’s inside of you. he imagines you waking him up with his favorite breakfast, a baby on your hip and another one crawling by your feet as you cook on the old stovetop. rafe would work the absolute hardest to make sure that you never have to, the only worry in that pretty head of yours being what dress you should wear for the day.

farmer’s!daughter!reader’s dirty little secret is that she actually likes the fact that you and rafe have to sneak around in order to be together. she loves the thrill. growing up, her father worked tirelessly to keep her interactions with boys very limited, so now that she had a handsome cowboy right in her backyward, she was elated once she got a little taste of something rugged and tough. every time rafe had to cover your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud, you clenched around him tighter, your whines and moans being muffled by his rough palm. “mmph, shit— you gotta be quiet, ‘sweetheart, you don’t want us getting caught now, do you?”

₊˚⊹♡ E : EXPERIENCE (how experienced are they?)

“wait— how many girls have you been with before me? be honest..” you stopped rafe from lifting your dress up, both of you breathless from your earlier exchanges of heated kisses. “i don’t think you wanna know that, ‘darlin.” you whimpered, now feeling full of self doubt as rafe deemed himself a pro and you were just utterly clueless. “i can’t do this with you, rafe, i don’t know what i’m doing—” rafe was quick to reassure you, his fingers hooking underneath your chin as he prompted you to look up at him. “i’m gonna teach you, don’t worry about it, baby,” he kissed you, “i’m gonna make you my own personal breeding whore, ‘you like the sound of that?”

₊˚⊹♡ F : FAVORITE POSITION (click here for !reader’s fav)

cowboy!rafe absolutely loves ‘cancer’ the most. he loves seeing the way your face twists in pleasure as he delivers slow and calculated thrusts that meet your cervix with each stroke. intertwining one of his hands with your own, he used the other to fist your hair at the roots, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him even when you felt your head threatening to droop. “takin’ my cock so fuckin’ good, angel, just look at that pretty face.” he praised you, making you whimper at the sweetness and sincerity in his tone. “you were made to get fucked like this,” rafe could feel his tough resolve slowly crumbling down as you brought him closer to the edge of pure euphoria, “all mine.”

₊˚⊹♡ G : GOOFY (are they serious or humorous?)

this can vary. sometimes they’ll start off humorous, and rafe being rafe, he’ll say a few jokes here and there to help you relax. however, don’t be fooled because it could turn serious real fast once he has you out of your panties. rafe loves to watch all of your reactions to his movements so he can remember what gets you riled up. in doing this, he makes sure to watch you intently, his serious gaze always making your cheeks heat as he says the filthiest things you’ve ever heard. rafe is constantly teasing you for never being able to hold eye contact with him, the intensity in his stare never failing to make you feel small. “you’re just so serious sometimes, i can’t handle it!”

₊˚⊹♡ H : HAIR (how well groomed is he?)

cowboy!rafe doesn’t shave his lower regions.. but, he does keep himself trimmed. to be quite frank, you never really cared about that aspect when it came to intimacy. you knew rafe had more important stuff to worry about other than his hair, and honestly you liked it that way. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he looked better with a happy trail. shaving his face, however, was a different story. you had to practically beg him to keep the pornstache but once the summer heat got to him, he knew he couldn’t keep it up any longer. the stubble along rafe’s jaw always tickled you, a yelp and a half giggle leaving your lips as he buried his head in between your thighs.

₊˚⊹♡ I : INTIMACY (how are they during the moment?)

both of them are so engaging with each other, especially when cowboy!rafe talks farmer’s!daughter!reader through his thrusts, always praising her for taking him so good. even though they’re the closest two people could possibly be with one another, they’re clinging onto each other like it’s not enough; like the only way they could be close is if they merge into one. foreheads touching, fingers intertwined, lips ghosting over the others, it couldn’t get more romantic than this. they share a moment where nothing else exists, when the sounds of rafe’s groans and your whimpers are the only things that you two could make out as the world comes to a stand still in each other’s arms.

₊˚⊹♡ J : JACK OFF (how often does he do it?)

now that you two are getting in round after round nearly everyday, rafe doesn’t feel the need to do it anymore. if anything, he finds himself having to slow down a little bit, which is almost impossible, considering he has a sex symbol for a girlfriend. before you two had even kissed each other though, he had to force himself not to look at you so he could stay focused on the work he was doing. rafe made the grave mistake of watching you ride your horse one day, and had to tell your dad some elaborate lie as to why he needed to go inside for a ‘quick second’ when really he had to rub one out for the sake of his own sanity. what turned into a ‘one time thing’, soon became routine until you two finally got in bed together.

₊˚⊹♡ K : KINK (one of his kinks, read more here)

cowboy!rafe is 100% into brat taming. whenever both of your combative behaviors clash, he finds himself having to pin you down and talk you straight until you’re giving in to his every request. he loves seeing the surrender in your eyes once he’s made it abundantly clear that you’re not getting your way, and he’s the one controlling the reigns. farmer’s!daughter!reader also gets to indulge in this kink, considering it turns her on when he’s assertive and a tad bit demanding. seeing cowboy!rafe be serious and cold as steel wasn’t something new to her, but to have his stoic demeanor directed towards her was something that she found thrilling, especially because it just gave her the opportunity to rebel against him for funsies.

₊˚⊹♡ L : LOCATION (favorite place to do the deed)

contrary to popular belief; it is not the barn. sure, cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have had a lot of quickies in there, but nothing beats the soft plush mattress of her bed. rafe is already so used to his body being sore from a hard day’s work, that once he actually puts ‘work’ into something else, he’d rather both of you be in a comfortable setting. sure, you two had grown used to the hay and the dirt from inside the barn, along with the small space of the tool shed out back, but when you finally snuck him in and you two made love on your soft, clean sheets, there was no going back. it also didn’t help that your bed was the most comfortable thing he had slept on in decades..

₊˚⊹♡ M : MOTIVATION (what turns them on?)

not even exaggerating, everything about cowboy!rafe turns farmer’s!daughter!reader on. watching him work around the ranch, lifting hay bells, roping in cattle, hell, even chugging water down was attractive. he was all man, and you were just so smitten by it. you loved the fact that he was so strong and he didn’t have to talk a lot to prove a point; his actions were always louder than his words. even the little things turned you on. before you two had gotten romantically involved with one another, your heart would beat in your ears anytime his face scrunched up in pain whenever he’d hurt himself, especially when he’d moan or groan— that’s when you’d let your imagination run wild.

cowboy!rafe on the other hand was turned on by your sassy attitude. you weren’t scared to hurt his feelings, and for a man who was used to women catering to him at the drop of a hat, he enjoyed the change whenever you played hard to get (it made him want to fuck you back into your place even more). he liked it when you insulted him since he had a list of things to throw back at you when you were underneath him crying out his name for mercy. “i don’t wanna see those tears now, ‘darlin, just earlier you told me i was good for nothing except kissing your daddy’s ass, now you’re begging me to let you cum. ain’t that some shit?” he’d laugh mockingly in you ear while you whine helplessly.

₊˚⊹♡ N : NO (what they wouldn’t do/turn offs)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have never had a conversation about their “don’ts” but anything having to do with water sports or fecal matter is a gigantic no on both of their ends (they spend way too much time with the animals on the farmland, and even though they’re very much desensitized to it already, they rather not). another big no for them is bondage. despite rafe throwing a lasso over farmer’s!daughter!reader multiple times in a playful manner, neither of them want to be restrained or tied up while they’re intimate with each other. they already have to hold themselves back for most of, if not all, the whole day, so when it comes time for some much needed love and affection, they’re not going to double down.

₊˚⊹♡ O : ORAL (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc..)

cowboy!rafe is a giver at heart. his head is between your thighs at least twice a day. he can’t go without a taste or he’ll be incredibly cranky. he doesn’t care about maintaining a cleanliness when he eats you like a man starved, he prefers to be as messy as possible. the best part is that he could do it anywhere, even when it’s the most inconvenient like under the kitchen table while your father rants about the city folk and their need to expand their developments. to say rafe was skilled with his tongue would be an understatement. he knows exactly what it takes to get you going, your thighs locking around his head every time you feel that coil in your tummy burst, your cries of pleasure being music to his ears.

₊˚⊹♡ P : PACE (fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

this can vary depending on whether or not they’re sneaking around. while rafe prefers to take his time and fuck you both ways, he prefers slow and sensual so you two are much more intimate. when cowboy!rafe is slow and sensual, he’s moving his hips against yours at an angle that makes you see stars, your bottom lip trembling as he kisses your cervix with each thrust. he’s interlocking your fingers, pressing kisses to your knuckles while he watches you take him with ease. he keeps his eyes trained on your face, his chest blooming with pride every time you lose yourself and he feels your walls flutter around him, sucking him in like a vice.

₊˚⊹♡ Q : QUICKIE (their opinion and how often they do it)

sometimes quickies are all that they can spare, especially on the days where there’s a heavy workload around the ranch. all rafe has to do is give farmer’s!daughter!reader his ‘look’ and she’ll be waiting for him in their designated shed in no time. despite having to be quick, rafe never fails to have your legs trembling around his waist while he fucks you standing up, his worn out blue jeans pooling around his ankles as your back digs uncomfortably into the metal wall. your cherry red nails are raking down his back, his chin resting in the curve of your neck as he presses wet kisses to your chest. “f-fuck, you make these quickies feel like an eternity..”

₊˚⊹♡ R : RISK (do they take risks, etc..)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader’s entire relationship is a risk, but it’s one that they’re willing to take. with your dad being rafe’s employer, you two have had to keep your relationship a secret and keep it hidden from just about everyone on the ranch. weary of the consequences that may come out of being with cowboy!rafe, the last thing farmer’s!daughter!reader wants is for rafe to get fired and have to leave. even though your father already trusts rafe and has told him that he’s family, rafe thinks it’s better to be safe than sorry when it comes down to a man finding out his daughter is sneaking around with his hired help. in due time though, they’ll come clean about all of it.

₊˚⊹♡ S : STAMINA (how long can cowboy!rafe last?)

this cowboy won’t stop until you’re begging him to. rafe doesn’t care if he already came and he’s shaking so much with overstimulation it hurts, he won’t rest until you’re fucked out and can’t take another round. unlike your quickies, you and rafe can go for hours and have marathon sex (which is something they usually do whenever your father leaves out of town for whatever reason). you know rafe’s body like the back of his hand, and you know that as soon as he can’t hold himself up anymore it’s your turn to take the reins. it’s needless to say that rafe gets off on the fact that he’s the one that makes you lose yourself, your face when you’re cumming is by far one of his favorite sights of all time.

₊˚⊹♡ T : TOYS (do they own or use any sex toys?)

landline telephones are the only form of tech they have on the ranch, so there’s no way in hell anyone has sex toys lying around. there’s only one sex shop in town and no one would be caught dead walking out of there, considering small town gossip spread around like wildfire. farmer’s!daughter!reader is definitely more curious about sex toys than cowboy!rafe is for sure. “you don’t even need any of those things.. i’m literally right here.” rafe would act offended when you first brought up your interest in something you heard a friend of yours talking about. “i know that, obviously, i just— i don’t know.. my best friend said it was a game changer.” you shrugged. “well, your best friend is a liar.”

₊˚⊹♡ U : UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

farmer’s!daughter!reader is notorious for this. she knows rafe is a true gentleman and that fact alone makes her do everything she could to push him past his limits and drive him insane. even after they were in an established relationship, she would do things to get a reaction out of him. this included wearing revealing outfits, riding her horse in rafe’s clear line of vision, talking and flirting with the other cowboys in order to rile him up.. but all of that was used against her once they were alone. it was rafe’s turn to tease her when the head of his cock would be prodding her entrance, her chest rising and falling as rafe muffled her whines. “shouldn’t have been trying to piss me off today.”

₊˚⊹♡ V : VOLUME (how loud are they?)

although cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader have gotten used to having to keep their volume low, it doesn’t stop the occasional squeal or scream from falling from your lips and forcing rafe to cover your mouth while he pounds you in. even though you tend to be the louder one, rafe has still had to bite down on his lip and bury his face in your neck to keep from revealing what was going down in the room next to your father’s. having to be quiet all the time gave rafe the skills to successfully whisper his praises in your ear, the gruffness of his voice only making you squeeze around him tighter. “make a sound,” he’d tease, “go ahead and get us in trouble.”

₊˚⊹♡ W : WILDCARD (random headcanon)

how cowboy!rafe reacted when you told him you wanted him to cum inside you for the first time: you were on top of him, his hands resting in the curves of your hips as he littered your bare chest with kisses. “i-i’m gonna cum—” rafe heaved, attempting to roll over so he could pull out. you only held onto him tighter, your eyes finding his as you shook your head. “i don’t want you to finish anywhere else,” you whispered, “cum inside me please.” rafe groaned at your words, something primal taking over him as he put you in a mean mating press. “yeah? ‘want me to fill you up?” he’d taunt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your calves as he emptied himself inside your needy cunt.

₊˚⊹♡ X : X-RAY (what’s going on in cowboy!rafe’s pants?)

lord have mercy. you remembered seeing rafe’s cock for the first time like it was yesterday. you two were making out in his old truck when you felt it, his jeans growing tighter by the second. you couldn’t believe he was packing that much when you saw the large bulge straining painfully against the denim material. rafe was hesitant when he felt you palm him, a shaky breath falling from your lips as you took him out of the confines of his underwear. you audibly gasped, both you and rafe sharing a look once his length sprung up. he was huge. you felt your mouth water when your eyes landed on the vein that ran down the underside of his cock, your insides fluttering with anticipation at the prospect of having him inside of you.

₊˚⊹♡ Y : YEARNING (how high is their sex drive)

cowboy!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader drive each other absolutely crazy.. these two are on each other as soon as they get the chance. they’re stealing glances at each other whenever they can, holding hands when no one is looking, playing footsies underneath the dinner table, they can never get enough. farmer’s!daughter!reader always manages to slip in a few kisses here and there, followed by a hushed whisper of a promise to give rafe something ‘more’ when they get each other to themselves. there’s no stopping them once their clothes are off and they’re tangled up in each other, neither of them willing to pull away for even a split second.

₊˚⊹♡ Z : Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep afterwards)

farmer’s!daughter!reader is usually the one falling asleep first, her body feeling spent as her eyelids grow heavy with each stroke of rafe’s fingertips on her back, and understandably so. rafe will clean her up while she dozes off, drifting in and out of sleep as he kisses her softly. on days where rafe might overwork himself, he’ll end up falling into a deep slumber in your arms, his cheek pressing against your tits as he snores softly, the compromising position making you chuckle. “you know you’re gonna have to go to the backhouse soon..” you’d whisper, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. rafe would answer with a groan, his arms wrapping around you even tighter. “i’ll leave in a little..”

[stevesgother]

loverboy steve harrington would absolutely fuck his girlfriend on her period cw - period sex kinda (fingering but no p in v), reader with a vagina and breasts 18+

"This helping at all?" Steve asks as he rubs firm circles into your lower abdomen just below your navel where your uterus ails you. You don't have to see him to know he's frowning.

"A little," you admit though it's far from convincing, curled on your side in the fetal position where you'd been holed up all day. The first twenty-four hours of your cycle were always the worst. Steve had been attentive all day-- bringing you light foods and keeping you hydrated. The warm pressure of his palm has brought only a brief reprieve from the incessant cramping.

Steve hums from his place cuddled up behind you. When he doesn't continue, you assume that's it; until he says, "Did you know orgasms can help with period cramps?"

You scoff, "Jesus, are you really trying to get in my pants right now?"

"Hey, no," his suddenly serious tone captures your attention, "I'm not joking! It's not about me-- I wanna make you feel better."

You're slow to turn onto your other side and face him, "You're serious?"

"Dead." And you can tell he's not lying.

"Where did you even learn that?" You ask, mildly curious.

"Girl told me once," he half-heartedly shrugs where he lays in front of you, "Might've been Rob, I can't remember."

A pause. The idea that he's not just fooling around making your cheeks heat up with newfound embarrassment, "You wouldn't... you wouldn't, like, think that's gross?" You question skeptically.

You still have half a mind to think this is some sort of sick prank, until you realize your bodies have been pressed together for nearly an hour now and there's no sign at all of his own arousal. This was purely about you.

"'Course not," he assures you with a hand to cradle your cheek, "If it might help, then I think we should try it."

Your expression must stay doubtful because he doubles down, "Promise I won't look if you don't want me to."

You nod, albeit tentatively, but his expression is beyond pleased. "Can I kiss you?" He asks quietly, lips a breath away from touching your own.

"You don't have to ask to kiss me, Steve," you huff a laugh, suddenly breathless and admittedly a little nervous.

"Want this to be about you," Steve whispers, low in his throat, "whatever you want."

"Okay..." it's more whimper than actual spoken English, but Steve understands, kissing you as softly as his words had promised.

The hand that had been previously massaging your tender lower abdomen travels further south, but he takes his time. Still caressing firm circles as he goes, still kissing you languidly. His tongue tastes minty as it swipes across yours. You can't remember the last time you'd taken things this slow, but it makes the fire in your belly burn all the brighter.

His deft fingers slip beneath the hem of your underwear, and you barely even notice; too lost in the feeling of his lips devouring you and the smell of his natural musk wafting infiltrating your senses. You think, maybe, that he'd done it on purpose.

"Gonna touch you now, okay?" He checks, somehow sounding the sexiest and most loving he ever has simultaneously.

Merely his words alone have you keening before he even touches you. He doesn't have you waiting for long, though.

He collects the concoction that is your arousal and residual blood pooling between your legs, spreading the slick through you folds and rubbing tight but gentle circles around your bud. You cringe inwardly at the insinuation that he has your blood on his fingers, and Steve notices. Of course he does.

Steve shushes you, "Relax, baby, you're so beautiful," his lips find the spot just below your ear, barely speaking more than he's kissing, "So glad I get to make you feel better."

"Steve--"

"Yeah? That feel good?" He knows it does.

"Yes," you gasp.

"Good."

Maybe you won't be needing that Midol after all.

[katsu28]

oooh kait i love the list!!

what about lando + 50. putting a hand over the other's mouth where lando is yapping abt smth?

got a little carried away with this but fuck it we ball

lando norris x sainz!reader, 1.7k. request something from here :)

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

You glance up from your phone to see a grinning Lando leaned up against the wall next to you, and you raise an amused brow. “It’s my brother’s wedding.” 

“Yeah, I know, I was just—” 

“Why would I not be here?” 

“Jesus, I was just trying to be funny, you don't have to be mean about it,” He huffs, bumping his shoulder against yours with a roll of his eyes. 

“Sorry, Lan. You’re just too fun to mess with.” You tease, reaching out to pinch Lando’s cheek. 

He scowls, batting your hand away haphazardly. “Carlos said you were gonna be here early to help get everything settled.” 

“Aw, were you waiting for me?” 

“No, I wasn't.” You shoot him a disbelieving look. “Okay, maybe I was. I had to work with your great aunt, and lemme tell you, that woman is handsy.” 

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

“I know. All because you abandoned me.” 

“I had to help Rebecca with some last minute adjustments. And besides, It takes time to look this good, Norris,” You tut, gesturing towards yourself. The bridesmaid dresses Rebecca had picked out are absolutely gorgeous. Hopefully gorgeous enough to get you what you want. 

“You do look amazing,” Lando murmurs, eyes not-so-subtly raking up and down your body a little too long to be considered innocent. Mission accomplished. 

“You don’t clean up too bad yourself,” You reply, letting your gaze do the same. His tailored suit fits him wonderfully, and his hair is styled to perfection. You fight the urge to run your fingers through his curls and ruin it by pulling him close. 

Things between Lando and yourself are…complicated, to say the least. You were both young when you’d met, all the way back in 2019 when Carlos had done his time with McLaren. Since then, you’ve both grown up, kept in touch, and somewhere along the way, you’d come to a realization. 

You like Lando. A lot. And you think he might like you back, but neither of you have done anything about it. You flirt with each other like people who have feelings for each other and tease each other like friends, dancing around the elephant in the room whenever you’re in the same vicinity. 

It certainly doesn’t help that Lando is one of your brother’s best friends. He looks up to Carlos, respects him as a mentor, and wouldn’t dare make a move against his baby sister. But honestly, you wish he just would. This back and forth is starting to get a little old. 

Now is as good a time as any, with Carlos distracted on his big day. And what was that again people said about weddings being the perfect chance for blossoming romance? 

Someone with a headset and a clipboard comes up and whispers something in your ear, cutting your moment with Lando short. You stow away your phone in your purse, already prepared to follow them to attend to whatever needs doing. 

“Duty calls. I’ll see you later, Lan,” You say, straightening Lando’s tie with a sweet smile aimed at him. “Don’t miss me too much.” 

Lando chuckles, looking equal parts fond and amused. “I’ll try my best.” 

The next time you see him is right before you're meant to walk down the aisle together. You take your mark right next to him, smoothing out your dress one last time before looping your arm through his. 

He leans towards you, lips almost brushing your ear with his whisper. “Missed you.” 

“Thought you said you’d try your best not to?” 

“Guess it wasn't good enough. Listen, can we talk later?” 

He sounds uncharacteristically serious, and it has you giving him a cautious sideways glance. “Of course,” You say. You nudge him gently with your elbow. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s good. Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.” 

“Well, now that you tell me not to worry, I think I might,” You reply, brows furrowing. 

“Then don’t.” 

“Seriously, Lando? You couldn't have waited until after the ceremony for this? I mean, honestly—” 

Suddenly his lips are on your cheek briefly, causing your outburst to die off mid sentence. You stiffen momentarily at the unexpected action. When you turn to gawk at him, he’s looking straight ahead, a satisfied little smile gracing his face. 

You don’t have time to process anything any further before you're being guided towards the beginning of the aisle. Straightening up, throwing your shoulders back, you tighten your fingers around your bouquet of flowers. 

Now isn’t the time. 

The ceremony goes swimmingly. There isn’t a dry eye in the place at seeing just how much Carlos and Rebecca love and cherish each other. Every so often, you’ll catch Lando’s eye across the aisle and he’ll wink back at you, settling your nerves at standing up there in front of everyone. 

You start to wonder what he wants to talk to you about. Your mind immediately goes to the worst possible thing, but surely it can’t be too bad. Right?

Lando doesn’t bring it up until well into the reception. He catches your eye from afar, tilting his head towards the nearest exit. Everyone is on the dance floor now, nobody would notice if you left. 

He slips out of the large hall silently and you follow a few seconds later, only startling a little bit when he grabs your hand and leads you further down the corridor until you can’t hear the lively music anymore. 

“What’s going on, Lando?”

He drops your hand in favor of starting to pace, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “I’m gonna be really honest with you right now. Probably brutally honest. And it might fuck things up, but I think I might explode if I keep it in any longer.” 

“Uh…okay. That sounds concerning,” You say hesitantly, shifting on your feet. 

“It is. I mean, no, it’s not, it’s nothing but, I just…” 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night, because you look absolutely stunning,” He blurts. “But not just today. I wanna kiss you all the time, and I know—I know I probably shouldn’t because Carlos is one of my best mates and you’re his little sister and he’d likely kick my ass if he ever finds out, but I don’t care, I—” 

“Lando,” You interrupt, fighting to keep your voice level. Finally, finally, something is happening. 

He continues on as if he hadn’t heard you at all. “—can’t keep doing this…this whatever thing we’ve been doing. I really like you, and I need you to know that even if it ruins our friendship.” 

Normally you’d entertain his yapping tendencies, but you want to tell Lando you feel the same way and he just keeps on talking like he’s the only one in this conversation, so you’re left with no choice. 

You push him back against the wall behind him with one hand splayed across his chest, the other hand coming up to cover his mouth. Lando’s ranting dies off the moment your hand touches his face, like you’ve just found his off switch and powered him down. 

“Can you please just shut up for a second?” You say exasperatedly. He nods quickly, completely doe eyed under your palm. “You gonna let me talk now?” Another nod, this one a little slower. “Good. I like you too. Have for ages.” 

Lando’s fingers curl around your wrist, prying your hand away from his mouth with furrowed brows. “You—you do? Really? Why’ve you never said anything?”

“Why haven’t you?” You shoot back, cocking your head. 

“Because…because!” He says incredulously, wrinkling his nose. “You’re Carlos’s little sister, I—he’d have my head.” 

You scoff. “Carlos isn’t my keeper, Lando. I’m an adult, I can make my own choices without having to consult my brother. If I want to date you, I can!” 

Lando’s gaze sharpens, the edges of his mouth curving into a smug little smile, and you know you’re in for it now. 

“Then let me take you out. On a proper date,” He proposes. It’s a bold move, considering you’ve still got him pinned against the wall with one hand, but his bluntness makes your focus flicker. 

Lando takes the opening and makes his move, now suddenly you’re the one with your back against the wall and he’s pushed himself closer than you’ve ever been before. For someone who was just worried about Carlos finding out mere seconds ago, he seems quite confident. 

“You’re sure you want to do this?” You ask softly, searching his face for any trace of doubt or uncertainty. What you’ve wanted for a long time is finally happening, but that doesn’t make you any less wary. If anything, it feels even more daunting. 

Slowly, Lando’s hand comes up to cradle your cheek almost delicately, like he’s afraid you might disappear into thin air if he moves too fast. His tongue darts out to wet his lips just before he leans in, deft fingers shifting from your cheek down under your chin, tilting your head up just enough to meet him in a gentle kiss. 

His lips are softer than you expect, tasting a little like the rum and cokes he’s been nursing all night mixed with something else sweet, and definitely living up to every dream you’ve ever had about this very moment. 

Lando’s thumb rubs along your cheek, a soft smile playing across his face when you break apart. “Believe me, I’m more sure about you than I’ve ever been about anything in my life.” 

You smooth out the lapels of his suit jacket from where your fingers had bunched into the material, beaming at him happily. “Always such a sweet talker, you.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it? I mean, it took years, but I’ve got you now, don’t I?” 

“Depends on where you take me on our date,” You joke. 

“Oh, I’ll take you anywhere you want, baby. Name it and it’s done.” 

“A sweet talker and a smooth talker. That could come in handy for when Carlos finds out.”

“No, it—why?” His voice squeaks on the last word, eyes widening almost comically.

You give his chest a firm pat, ducking out from under his arm to return to the reception. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, hm?”

“Sweetheart, c’mon! He won’t try to fight me, right? Right?” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

[redhoodsdeer]

on wheels (tired!reader x mechanic jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader's car decides to mess it up on the worst day possible, fortunately the mechanic jason was quite willing to help.

a/n: i finally posted again, and tbh, i didn't really like this one, but i have a thing for mechanic jason that just can't be put into words, i hope you guys love this as much as i love mechanic jason.

It was 10pm on what seemed like the most stressful day of your entire life, everything you wanted was to get home and take a shower long enough for your neighbors to think you were dead, but since this was definitely the worst day of the year, of course you couldn't, and of course your car broke down on a dark Gotham street at 10pm.

Every little thing that could go wrong today, did. Your ran out of coffee and you were way too late to stop by a coffee shop, your work clothes that you were supposed to pick up at the dry cleaners yesterday? still stuck there, your important meeting with your boss? the biggest disaster of your whole career.

All you wanted to do was curl up in an fetal position and cry on the floor until this day became a really distant memory, but instead, you were calling the tow truck at 10pm on a terribly suspicious street in Gotham.

After what seemed like hours of no one answering your calls, you finally got an answer and arrived at the garage, which seemed to be the only 24-hour garage in town, and you were infinitely grateful for that.

Okay, now, you were expecting a mechanic twice your father's age, on a dirty white tank top and a beer belly, you didn't expect that at ten o'clock at night on the day that seemed endless, you would come face to face with a greek god who had escaped from Olympus.

Biceps so big they could break you in two (and you kinda wished they did), the most angelic face you've ever seen, not to mention the white streak in his hair, because of course your mechanic had to be absolutely divine, on the day you were absolutely mundane, your tight skirt stained with coffee (which wasn't even yours!), your face as tired as a construction worker's on the end of the day, and your makeup had abandoned you three disasters ago.

"Ma'am, so what's the deal with the big guy here?" he asks, his voice so deep you thought you might melt. Your voice barely came out, your eyes struggling to stay on the car between you two.

"I don't know, I was on my way home when it broke down, I have no idea what happened, my dad was the one who used to take my car to the mechanic."

And of course the perfect day for you to get used to going to the mechanic by yourself was the same day you tripped in a mud puddle on your way to work and had to walk three blocks back just to take a shower.

He stares at you like you're from another world, before shaking his head and lifting the hood of the car, looking for whatever was wrong with your car.

Your eyes followed every move of his methodically, as if, if you looked away he would disappear and be replaced by a regular mechanic with a beer belly and a bad attitude.

And when he took his grease-stained hands off the hood of the car and turned his blue-gray eyes to you, you felt like you might faint.

"Lucky for you, it's nothing really bad, you've just been a while without an oil change and it's easy to fix." The raspy voice echoes through the shop and you feel your heart beat faster as you slowly nod your head to show that you understood.

"And how much will this cost?" Your voice asks, politely, already searching through your bag for your wallet, which was a bright pink, because you simply felt like everything around you was black, white and gray, and you wanted to have something colorful to remind you of the existence of colors.

As he walked around the workshop, just before he put his grease-stained hands on the hood to open it and change the oil, he gave a little laugh that could have been mistaken for a smirk, and coming from that man, you felt like you needed to lean on something to keep your composure, more specifically, him.

He finished and closed the hood of your car, wiping his hands on a cloth that was lying on a shelf, it might have just been because it was him doing it, but every movement he made sent a wave of heat over you, because everything looked so fucking hot.

But before you could even find your card inside the colorful wallet, a smirk appeared on the man's face, who was now leaning against the side of your car, looking as attractive as humanly possible.

"Chill, it's just some oil change, it's already 11pm on a Tuesday night, you look exhausted, it's on the house, maybe that way you'll become a regular customer" His voice teases and you swear you just felt your heart entangle with your lungs.

There was no way this divinity in human form was flirting with you, of all people, you, at your worst, you were sure your hair that you had delicately styled the night before had given up a long time ago, and you swore you looked as much of a disaster as you could.

But still, there he was, openly flirting with you. "In the face of such an irresistible proposal, maybe my car will break down more often around here, who knows, maybe I'll forget to change the oil again." You shrug, putting your wallet back at your purse and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at him.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he tossed your car keys back to you. “Maybe you should get my number in case you need help and you’re too far from the shop.” He shrugged, just before writing his number on a worn-sided post-it note that was stuck to the counter and handing it to you.

Your hands touched for least than half a second, and as cheesy as it may sound, you swear you felt an electric wave run through your body the moment your hands touched.

And right there, on the scribbled paper, was 'Jason' written in a sloppy handwriting that made you smile to yourself as you read it.

"Jason, huh?" You ask, looking up from the small note. He just shrugs, a silly smile on his face.

"You'll have to call to find out."

As you drove out of the garage, driving your now, not-quite-broken car, with a smile so big they might think you were leaving a casino after winning a jackpot, finally get to you that this interaction had actually happened, and that the neatly folded post-it note inside your pink wallet really had the number of the hottest guy you had ever seen.

And now, you were hopefuly waiting for your car to break down, willing to even crash into a tree if it would make him appear faster.

It turns out, in the end, your day wasn't so bad after all.

[semicolonthefifth]

Well it’s an edit of a comic where the premise is men receiving unnerving or unnecessary compliments from other men (you can even see how the styles between the drawn men and the drawn women don’t exactly match). Here’s the original:

The edit is passed around so much people forgot there was an original. But yeah, the intention is clearly “how would men like it if they were treated/approached like this, unprompted?” The key word being: unprompted, and in a way where the recipient can feel uncomfortable. It can happen, and people are right to feel bad if it does indeed make them so.

Are a lot of men so deprived of love that a simple compliment can be burned in their memories like a campfire in a long bitter winter? Absolutely. But I don’t think all men like all compliments, and depending on how it can be said it can feel awful.

Heck we don’t even have to pretend like men cant receive unnecessary “affection” or be hit on. Examples like the Target guy and male celebrities (both old and especially young) have been on the receiving end of women who are honestly disgusting in how they try to get with them. Unfortunately for men there’s this societal belief that they always want this sort of thing and so they’re “fair game”, no matter how dehumanizing or personally uncomfortable the treatment.

And going back to the original comic: yes, women can feel this too. Catcalling isn’t always fun for the receiver, and I don’t think it’s fair to make this a black and white thing or to compare scars so as to see who’s bigger or more neglected. If the state of the world is to go by, it’s that the greatest mistake ever committed was that assuming nobody outside our own demographic can feel pain - or that we must always be on the offensive when it comes to discussing our pain whatever it may be.

That’s how I see it, at least.

[rox-of-iu]

More head disciple era doodles because i love these idiots

(EDIT i just noticed the mistake there was supposed to be "shimei" instead of "shijie" mannn whatever im not fixing that bye)

theyre so stupid and so fun. anyway more of my headcanons under cut if you wish to see

these are just my headcanons im not saying this is the correct way to see them just me having fun ok lets go (this is mainly MQF cuz duh yeah who would have guessed hgjfk)

MQF usually doesnt insert himself into the inter-peak messes and dramas, but does enjoy the fact that people tend to come to him to rant about the latest nonsense so he does get the latest gossip without a need to personally get dragged into trouble

Just the same, he is also not one to start tomfoolery (too busy for that and somewhat responsible, rip to him) but he does actually feel touched when the others think of him and ask him to be included in their tomfoolery. thats why he usually folds and accepts to take part despite his better judgement

dont be fooled MQF is also stupid silly kid just a different flavour that looks dignified on the surface but will not think twice before testing his newest antidote experiments on himself

if anyone is familiar with my fics then you know i love giving MQF a bad habit of gambling, inspired by the donghuas hilarious decision to use his model in that one scene just for the sake of it (originally rando in the book). absolutely brilliant. QQQ enables him in this most of the time and loves to take his money because she is the reigning betting champion

speaking about being inspired by donghua, one MQF background scene where he is posed on his sword is meant to look like a battle stance, but to me he mostly looks like hes trying not to fall hgjkf, thus spawning hc that he does not enjoy flying too much (on his own)

QQQ and LQG light-heartedly fight both with words and fists over the stupidest things. its enrichment

WQW's has a brand of humour that is sometimes hard for people to get and understand that he is actually joking, especially for people that dont usually interact with him. It is easier to clock for his closer circle though. (inspired by the extras)

this also continues as WQW grows more into adulthood, because he gains somewhat of a severe resting face, despite his jovial nature around his friends. He looks intimidating and grows to be more restrained and exasperated at nonsense that takes his time for no reason, but still keeps his mischievous spirit

damn i had more notes written but i misplaced them somewhere so this is it ok bye

[musedeluce]

Money "Troubles" (Sylus x Reader)

A/N: Happy Birthday Sylus! (This has been an Idea of mine for a while lol I just so happened to write it now) I've seen other, lovely fics where Sylus spends money on MC and wants them to spend his money on themselves. But personally the thought of spending someone else's money is so distasteful to me, I really hate the thought of it. My idea of Luxury and Decadence is the same as MC in this fic, so I wondered how the LI's would deal with that. (l do plan to do the others!) Anyway - Some Musings about money, a pragmatic MC who’s definitions of Luxury differ from Sylus’s and how he deals with that. This is more like small vignettes tied together and not a full fic, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“5 Million, otherwise they’ll think I’m broke.” Sylus’s deep voice sounded in your ear, and you couldn’t help but snort under your breath.

“Or they’ll think you’re stupid, for paying way more than it’s worth.” You whispered, knowing only he could hear it. But since it was his decision and his money, you bought the protocore for 5 million, ignoring the pit in your stomach at the thought of spending that much of someone else’s money. Little did you know, that small exchange would initiate a domino of events, a single thread in the tapestry of your relationship with Sylus.

・・・

Sylus sighed, looking down at his phone, the notification from his bank taunting him. Earlier, he had given you his card, insisting you go out and buy clothes for an upcoming event in the N109 Zone - Black market gala, information hub, the usual for his line of work. You would be accompanying him of course, as your goals aligned. He made sure of that. Apparently, the implication that there was no limit to what you could spend was lost on you. In fact, he wanted you to get whatever expensive designer clothes and accessories your heart desired. Which is why the notification that you spent 187 dollars at a thrift store bothered him so. When you arrived for the mission prep at his place, he took the opportunity to tease you.

“187 dollars? Who knew you had such expensive tastes, Kitten.” It backfired for him, though, as you winced.

“I’m sorry, I tried to keep the cost as low as possible. I can pay you back!” Sylus internally facepalmed. There was no way he was going to have you pay back that paltry amount, especially when it had been such a battle to get you to use his card for this in the first place. He only succeeded when he framed it as work expenses, as if he had hired you, and listed out all the practical reasons for you to use his card, such as making sure your purchase history couldn’t be linked to activity in the N109 zone. (Which was why you mostly used cash when you where there.)

He had to admit though, that your money sense was impressive. The outfit you had managed to put together from the thrift store was absolutely stunning. Everyone around you would be intimidated and impressed by you, as they should be. It probably would have cost at least 2,000 dollars, designer label and brand new. He supposed the cost didn’t really matter as long as you were happy, but he ached to see you in the lap of luxury, as he thought you deserved. As he looked at you though, he was love-struck. Sylus felt incredibly lucky to be at your side, and happy that you wanted him there.

・・・

Concerned, you look at Sylus, who’s expression is displeased, as if he had just swallowed a lemon. Raising an eyebrow you asked him - “Are you alright?”

“Sweetie, you live on how much a month?” He was appalled, and you didn’t help the situation by misunderstanding the reason for his dismay.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s really low, all things considered. With my hunter’s salary it’s easily doable and I have enough to put in savings, an emergency fund and for fun afterwards.” Your smile is radiant as you continue. “I’m grateful to be in a comfortable position.” A smile grows across Sylus’s face in response, because he really does admire you and is proud of the work you do. He just thinks you deserve any luxury you could ever want.

“Of course you have everything handled. I’d expect nothing less of you, kitten.”

・・・

The crux of the matter was, of course, that you and Sylus had very different ideas of luxury and decadence. To you, things like buying the more expensive foods while grocery shopping, splurging on small treats, and sometimes going out were all luxuries to you. But for him, things like a private chef, the newest model motorcycles, designer clothes, state of the art technology, and so on were all luxuries that he wanted to share with you.

His least favorite words to hear from your mouth are “I don’t need it.” You say it almost all the time when he tries to spend his money on you. It’s not a lie though, you genuinely are refusing his attempts to buy you some of these things because you truly do not need or want them. But sometimes, you graciously accept them. He loved it when you did. It made him feel wanted and accepted, as well as triumphant because he felt that you were receiving what you deserved.

・・・

The key was to figure out the common denominators when you accepted his gifts, which was easy enough as Sylus was a smart man, and one who paid particular attention to you. It was a fun game he played with himself, teasing you in the process.

You almost never turned down gifts, as long as you didn’t see him buy them, and as long as you didn’t feel like it was excessive. A single expensive bottle of a perfume you loved? A single set of jewelry? Small treats? Expensive dinners and outings he invited you to? All of those you’d let him pay, and accept. Buying the company that makes the perfume or all the jewelry he thought would suit you? Not accepted.

Every time he tried to get you to use his card it was a battle. You’d almost always refuse, only acquiescing if he framed it as necessary for work or as something you could do in order to help him.

You were loath to spend more for things that you thought they were worth. A designer name meant nothing to you. Multiple versions of something when you only needed one? Out of the question.

It seemed to come down to a balance, anything he provided seemed to be fine as long as it wasn’t something that made you feel obligated, or manipulated, something you thought he might use against you. (Not that he would, but you, your memories gone, didn’t know that.) The two of you were still learning about each other, it just so happened that he knew more right now.

・・・

It was simple - all he had to do was treat you as you deserved, like his most treasured connection, his partner, equal in all things and deserving only the best. He’d give you gifts that you would accept, things you found useful, things you wanted, never making you feel trapped. It was all up to you. Eventually you’d get used to it, and eventually he’d make sure you rose your standards, and wouldn’t question when he treated you to only the best. You’d come to expect it, as you should, he’d make sure of that. Sylus had resolved to be with you, his partner, his equal and he would always treat you like the treasured person you were to him, who deserved only the best that he could offer, happy to spend his days with you, and that would never change.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

[mylovesstuffs]

“It’s not cute” — Choi Seungcheol

Request: hey, Celeste!!! how are you doing? I'm so glad your requests are open!

i wanted to request something (in whatever form you feel most inspired to): reader having essential tremors (it's an actual condition im not making it up 😭✋) and being frustrated about it, maybe lashing out or breaking down one day. the fact that everyone points it out and sometimes joke abt it, etc. angst + comfort , maybe? also i'd like it to be w cheol or wonu, but tbh any of them is absolutely fine!

tysm <333

It starts with eyeliner and ends in a breakdown. The world doesn’t understand what it’s like to live in a body that won’t always obey, tired of laughing first before someone else can. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to understand it all, he just holds your trembling hands like they’ve always been steady, and loves you like you’ve never been less.

Genre: Non-idol au, established relationship, angst and comfort, introspective slice of life and character study

Pairing: Seungcheol × fem!reader

Content: Essential tremors [aka benign tremor, familial tremor, and idiopathic tremor], emotional breakdown, eyeliner symbolism [bc girlyhood], comfort from a loving partner who is choi seungcheol, no judgment, warm arms and understanding hearts, one-sided flashbacks to bullying/teasing, reader struggling with internalized shame, reassurance, love that stays

Content warning: Mentions of medical condition [essential tremors], anxiety, childhood bullying, ableist microaggressions, internalized frustration and self-doubt, crying, cursing once or twice, one emotionally charged breakdown. No explicit content.

Word count: 921 words

A/N: It was supposed to be shorter... about 400 words like a drabble, though I still think it's drabble but I was hoping for it to either be 400-500 words or 1k 😔

For my sweet anon—i hope this gives you even a sliver of the comfort you were looking for. This one was written with a lot of heart at like... 2:46 am when i should’ve been asleep but cheol brainrot said otherwise. To anyone else who reads this and relates even a little: your exhaustion and frustration is valid, and your hands deserve to be held gently too. I experience a slight tremor as well, though I believe it’s genetic since it runs in my family. According to my doctor, mine is primarily triggered by stress and anxiety [I was under treatment back in October during a period when my mental health went really down]. I’ve been prescribed different medications since then, not specifically targeted for tremors, but the tremor was listed as one of the symptoms being addressed in the medication guidelines. While I might not fully relate to this experience, as my condition hasn’t been formally diagnosed and doesn’t really interfere with my daily life, I still hope I was able to do this piece justice. Also, huge thanks to Calli @hhaechansmoless for beta-ing. As always, we run anyway ! (￣▽￣)ノ♡

It starts small, and it always does; a dropped spoon, a tremble in your fingers while pouring water. The slightest bit of shake that you'd think it could pass unnoticed, but that, people always notice, and never don’t comment on.

“Why are you always shaking?”

“You nervous or something?”

“You should drink less coffee.”

“Aw, you’re like a baby deer.”

Haha, it is so funny to you at this point. But today, it feels entirely different to you, it's like you're not yourself anymore. You’re tired, and you just want to put your eyeliner on, but the line goes jagged again. And for some reason, that tiny thing becomes the last straw of the day.

You slam the eyeliner on the counter and nearly knock over everything else with your unsteady hands. “God, I’m so sick of this!” you hiss. “Why can’t I just be normal for five fucking seconds?”

The bathroom door creaks open and you already feel Seungcheol behind you. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

You blink back your unshed tears, but still they betray you like everything else lately. “It’s not cute, Cheol. It’s not quirky, or funny, or something you get to joke about. I hate it. I hate how I shake. I hate how people treat me like it’s some personality trait. It’s a condition, and I’m tired.” Your voice cracks, and so does your composure, and you sink down onto the closed toilet lid, face in your hands, breath shaky just like your very own fingers. The way they’ve done for so long, it doesn’t even surprise you anymore.

All you expect right now, is silence. But instead big, calloused, warm hands wrap gently around yours.

Shaking or not, he brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles, softly and slowly. “I know it’s not cute when people don’t take it seriously,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “And I’m sorry if anyone’s ever made you feel like you have to pretend it’s no big deal.”

You look up with your glassy eyes and trembling lips. “I’ve never once thought less of you for it,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be ‘normal’ to be everything I love.” A small sob leaves your lips, and he pulls you into a hug, his arms secure around you, voice a low hum against your hair. “You can be frustrated. You can hate it, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here, even if your hands shake every day for the rest of your life, I’ll still hold them just like this.”

You want to believe him, even as your fingers tremble. In fact, you do believe him; believe that he doesn’t want to let go, that he won’t.

But there’s something bitter lodged deep in your chest, a heaviness that doesn't disappear just because someone holds you through it, because you've heard this before. Variations of it. Words that sounded like comfort, but were laced with pity, gestures that looked like care, but never stayed long enough to be safe.

You remember being younger and dropping your spoon in front of classmates during recess. The laughter and the mock sympathy haunted you for years and they still does. “Are you scared?” they'd tease. You weren’t; not then at least. You didn’t even know what was happening, and why your body betrayed you when all you wanted was to be still.

And now, years later, it’s not even the tremor that hurts most, it’s what comes along with it without your consent. The way people watch, the way they assume it’s your fault, the way you're constantly being explained—to others, to yourself, that you’ve become a walking explanation.

“You know, she has this thing—”

“It’s not that big of a deal—”

“She’s always been like that—” You’re always like that.

It chips away at you, little by little, and you start adjusting your life to avoid the gaze. No eyeliner on days you feel particularly self-conscious, two hands to hold a cup, even if it makes you look ridiculous, rehearsing how you’ll brush it off when someone points it out again; laughing before they do, so it seems like you're okay with it.

You’ve weaponized your own shame into pre-emptive jokes. Turned your fear into something palatable… but it still hurts. It hurts when people don’t even ask if you’re okay. They just assume you’re something to laugh at, to observe, and you’ve been strong for so long, that today just felt like the end of it. Like how this one tiny thing —the jagged eyeliner—was all it took to remind you how helpless it can feel to live in a body that doesn’t always listen. But now, there’s warmth.

And maybe that should terrify you, because if people can be cruel, then love can be temporary. But his arms around you don’t feel temporary, his silence doesn’t feel judgmental, and most important of all, he doesn’t ask you to feel better; he just stays along with you.

You want to believe that someone can see all of it: the struggle, the cracks, the exhaustion, and still choose to stay, but not because they pity you, not because they want to fix you, but because they love you even like this, and especially like this.

Your breath hiccups in your throat, and you let yourself lean into him just a little more. Though your hands still shake, you begin to believe they don’t make you any less worthy of being held.

[lastoneout]

Okay I'm just working through my thoughts and journaling in public ignore me this is messy and about me more than anyone else okay? Okay!

Anyway thinking about this again and like. The thing is, knowing I have OCD does actually make it difficult for me to be upset with people who post like this, because quite often they're people who clearly struggle a lot with self-esteem and seem to be reacting to that by fully embracing a very strict set of social rules crowdsourced from other people online they look up to that one can follow to signify they are a good, safe person and holding others to it like their life depends on it as like...idk a way to both soothe anxiety about being a bad person("My brain says I'm a bad person but I know I'm not because I do [xyz good behavior] and shame people who don't.") and also help them make and maintain friendships/avoid bullying because they've failed before and you don't get a feedback form when a friendship falls through of OF COURSE you're going to reach for rules and structure when something so devoid of actual stucture happens to you, which like!! I GET!! My brain is CONSTANTLY screaming at me about my morality, I understand why people fall into these thought and behavior patterns because they offer safety from the churning chaotic abyss of hell that is severe anxiety!!

But I also know that I have OCD, and they comes with knowing I actually have to avoid soothing my obsessions like this, because even though obsessively scrolling through my blog to make sure I didn't reblog from a Bad Person convinces my brain I won't get canceled and abandoned by everyone I love, it makes the problem worse long term by reinforcing that my obsession is correct, that judging people this harshly is right and it will protect me from being canceled and abandoned, and I do need to obsessively make sure I never accidentally rb bad people, and that ISN'T FUCKING TRUE. And that perspective on all of this really makes me wonder if maybe this kind of performative....I don't want to say virtue signaling but like that's what it is, holding yourself to such strict standards of public performance to prove one is good to observers and protect oneself from "bad" people.......I have to wonder if it's actually helping the people who engage in it, or if it's just making the anxiety worse and also isolating them from people who do want to be their friends.

Like, I get that it seems helpful to judge people this harshly and worship your social rules, but this isn't actually proving you're a good person because how many good person online behavior boxes you check does not actually make you a good person. The words you use, what icon you have, how reliable you are with accessibility features, what shows and characters you enjoy, what games you play, if you deleted your account on whatever shitty website fast enough, how many fundraisers you reblog, who you follow, what extensions you download, and how aggressively you shame other people for doing any of these things wrong will never be an appropriate substitute for morals and self-esteem, and also, key point, anyone is capable of utilizing those rules to pass as a safe person including absolute rancid bigots, and the answer is not "more rules". The rules do not protect you, all they do is give you more things to be anxious over failing at and perpetuate that anxiety out into people who are harmed by it.

I think this is why I struggle so much with bluesky's moderation tools and the holier-than-thou style worship of them by some users. Labels, block lists, the promotion of it's alt text feature through harsh shame, being able to see people's followers and who they follow and calling each other out over them, every single one is another thing I have to manage to prove I'm a good person, and unfortunately I've spent enough time being shamed for not living up to impossible standards that I've come to recognize that no one can truly live up to this standard, and not only will it not protect me from both fair and unfair judgement, it is not a replacement for an apology or changed behavior, and I don't want to be so openly cruel and judgemental to everyone around me who also cannot live up to this shit.

A good movement is one where people can fail and not be instantly thrown to the wolves. I think what these people need is assurance that they will not be thrown to the wolves when they fail, but they just...do that to each other. The people who desperately need a community where they can fail safely are the ones tossing people who fail to the wolves and then bragging about it. It's sad because they are people I want as allies, which is why I will forgive them when they fail, just like I want my friends to forgive me when I fail. Or when I think I've failed. And tbh my best allies are going to be imperfect, it's a feature, not a bug. They will like weird ships, or not know all the "correct" terminology. We will have conflicting accessibility needs, like me not being able to offer alt text 100% of the time due to my OCD or others not remembering to tag every single post with body horror or gore. They will use websites I don't like or not consider certain perspectives or not be aware of the harm a behavior can cause and I will have to actually look at what they say and how they treat others to tell if it's actually a red flag or not. And I will have to trust that my actual words and actions and beliefs speak for me because clinging to these rules is not going to make my self-esteem better. A rule system is not the same thing as being able to share a head with me for the rest of my life. And hell, most of the time when I just trust that my friends don't hate me or think I'm subhuman trash for making a faux pa, my anxiety about them hating me gets quieter, and it's easier to love myself as I am.

And also, these rules really don't protect you. Ive followed them and trust me, people who want to hate you will find reasons to hate you no matter how clean your hands are. Using Shinigami Eyes doesn't actually protect you from transphobes, subscribing to block lists won't stop you from rb-ing AI art or a post from a TERF. Anyone can frame any of your behaviors as problematic, not just the "failures" and blow up your life over them, and tbh...the best way to protect yourself and the people around you from that sort of backlash is to not surround yourselves with such strict, black and white ass systems of rules and standards, especially ones where the cost of failure is THOSE KINDS OF BACKLASH.

I wish I knew the real solution to this. I think the only real solution is to be the kind of person my anxiety needs. Not a strict overlord who holds me to ridiculous standards to prove my worthiness of friendship and love, but someone who extends grace to people when they fail(or when they think they fail). That's what I really need. Someone I know won't drop me like a hot potato when I fuck up, and I think irl more people are like that than your anxiety insists. And hope, maybe, by offering this kindness it will help others start offering it to themselves and the people around them.

TL;DR people with OCD do infact hyperanalyze every single thing we do or say or think to avoid being bad people, because being a bad person is literally our nightmare and we were born believing we're monsters and must spend our lives repenting for the crime of existing. Don't make it worse by telling someone that openly enjoying a hugely popular genre of art makes them suspicious and will stop them from making friends or being treated kindly unless they constantly repent in the form of saying they don't hate marginalized people. This shit is a nightmare for us, and again, you are hurting marginalized people in your quest to save them and that's really frustrating from the other side. If you care about people in your communities who have OCD you should be cognizant of what might make your spaces incredibly hostile for us. I already have my OCD telling me I'm a disgusting awful person who doesn't deserve to be treated like a human because I'll hurt everyone I love by accident, I don't need real people telling me they think my mental illness is right.

[natalievoncatte]

The transfer would have to be quick. They had to move Lena -the other Lena- from the Kryptonian stasis pod to the operating table in the Amazonian lab and they had to hurry.

As she watched six Amazons lift her own limp form onto the platform, Lena could hear the cyborg talking to her Kara.

“These are the worst moments. When there is nothing we can do with all our strength. When we’re just as helpless as any other mortal woman.”

“I know,” her Kara said, very softly. “It’s going to work.”

“I’m afraid,” said the Cyborg. “I’ve been searching so long. Fate has a way of snatching things from us at the last moment. What if she hates me for failing her? What if she can’t stand the sight of me?”

“Lena, focus,” said Alex.

Lena snapped her attention back to the task at hand. Her other self, her doppelgänger, her variant, whatever you want to call it, now lay on the table and Alex was attaching sensors all over her body. Lena joined her.

It was a peculiar sight, one’s own self. The way this Lena looked older, maybe wiser, sent some distant part of Lena’s own mind reeling. If they were simply variations on the same universe, merely quantum discrepancies, why would one version of her be older than she was? How could she be born sooner and still be the same person?

It didn’t matter.

One of the Amazons said, “we must move quickly; we’re already losing her.”

Both Karas sucked in a sharp breath, one of them a harsh mechanical wheeze. Lena and ignored it, and hung the bag of while blood while Alex put the catheter in their patient’s arm.

Her blood. Lena’s. This had to work.

“Back, quickly.”

Lena and Alex stepped back, and the device lowered from the ceiling- like everything here it was a strange blend of classical forms and shapes mixed with high technology. Lena stepped back behind the marked line on the marble floor and waited.

The machine built up with a low thrum, the sound increasing and volume and pitch as it rose until finally a vibrant light burst forth, enveloping the other Lena in a cascade of purple hues, constantly shifting and changing.

The body on the bier was absolutely still; the monitors showed no pulse, no respiration, no brain activity.

Behind her Lena felt as much as heard a strangled, mechanical cry like knives being scraped across a sheet of steel as the cyborg cried out in agony and sank to her knees.

Her Kara said, “Wait! Wait! Look!

Lena watched as her own chest slowly began to rise and fall. The monitors began to pulse with the beat of her heart- slow, at first, weak, but growing stronger with each beat, as her brain activity lit up the screen. It was working. It was working.

“I can hear her,” the cyborg rasped, her voice strangely tinny with elation, “I can hear her heartbeat. I can hear her heartbeat again!”

She lunged forward, but both Kara and two of the Amazons stopped her.

“The process will take hours. Perhaps days. She must not be disturbed.”

A crimson tear welled up in her eye, scratching its way down her cold, pale cheek.

“I can’t leave her.”

Diana stepped forward. “You will not have to. You must simply remain outside the boundary. My warriors will stand vigil with you.”

“I’ll stay too,” said Alex. Nia nodded.

“Lena,” said Diana. “A word.”

Lena swallowed hard and walked beside the enormous warrior woman, the top of her head barely reaching her shoulder. She’d even made Clark look small. They walked outside in the crisp Mediterranean evening air. Even the atmosphere here smelled lovely and clean. There was a full moon rising and in the distance it sparked across the sea.

“There is a problem.”

Lena turned sharply. “What problem?”

“I had my physicians examine the cyborg. We had intended to heal her as well- her Kryptonian physiology should enhance the healing properties of the Purple Ray even further.”

“I sense a ‘but,” said Lena.

Diana nodded, her expression darkening as she looked out over the sprawling city of gold and marble around them.

“The damage is too extensive. Much of her dermal layers are synthetic as well- forgive my bluntness, but there is actually very little left of our friend. Other than her brain and spinal column, very little remains. I’m not sure that she herself is aware of how much has been replaced.”

Lena’s legs weakened and she leaned on the railing in front of her, the stone cold against her palms.

“There has to be a way. Can our Kara help somehow?”

“Not unless she can grow a second heart and liver. Forgive my bluntness, but but I don’t believe that we can help her any further, only try to make her condition more-“

“Highness!” an Amazon shouted as she ran towards them, “Princess! There is a quantum surge nearby. The signature resembles a boom tube!”

Diana turned from Lena as if she wasn’t there. “Sound the alarms, surround the incursion site, and have Supergirl join us- we may need both of them.”

“The cyborg is too damaged to fight,” Lena insisted.

“If this is what I fear, we cannot let any warrior sit idle. Come!”

She turned and ran, and Lena struggled to keep up, her lungs burning even in the pure air of the earthly paradise.

Dozens of Amazons surrounded an empty space in the courtyard, aiming spears and swords at seemingly nothing, an empty space. Kara and her cyborg counterpart rushed to flank Lena.

“What is this?” said Lena. “What is a boom tube?”

In answer, there was a crack of thunder that almost launched her off her feet. Kara instinctively caught her in a smooth motion and lifted Lena into her arms. The sound came with a blinding flash and when Lena opened her eyes, purple spots stained her vision.

A corridor of light unfolded in the air, spending from a central flash, sending waves of air cascading around their feet.

“Ready,” Diana called, cracking her knuckles.

Thwip!

A thin stream of some silvery substance shot out of the aperture or tunnel or portal or whatever it was and hit one of the nearby columns with a loud splat, hanging in the air in thin silvery cord that went taut as something swung out of the portal at impossible speed.

Lena could make out that the arrival was woman, but not much else- she was blinding fast, launching another one of those… webs… from her wrist.

Diana tried to grab her and she twisted out of the way with impossible reflexes, turning in the air, using her swing to build momentum and somersault, finally landing on one of the columns, clinging somehow to the smooth stone.

“Easy, easy, easy!” the intruder shouted, showing her hands as she crouched against the marble. “I come in peace.”

The voice sounded too familiar, almost like-“

“Get down from there!” Diana bellowed. “Stand and show yourself.”

The stranger leapt down from the height with unnatural grace, and Lena heard gasps marching her own as she recognized… herself.

Herself wearing a leather bomber jacket over a black bodysuit emblazoned with the white silhouette of a spider.

“Who are you?” Kara snapped, moving between Lena and the… new Lena.

“I’m Lena 938,” she said, offering a hand to shake, “and I’m her to help.”

“Seize her!” Diana barked.

“Oh come on,” said Lena-938. “Can please not do the ‘heroes have to fight before they become friends’ thing? I’ve had a long day and I want to skip to the part where I give you the exposition.”

“Wait!” said Lena. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

Her counterpart looked at her. “Oh thank God you’re not one of the crazy variants.”

“Variants?” said Lena. “How many have you met?”

“A lot, and some of us would like to join the party. I’m here to talk about the League of Lenas, and how we’re going to help you.”

She pointed at the cyborg.

“Everyone inside,” Diana snapped. “We will hear your explanation, but no more portals!”

[manmuncher777]

As an annoying person, im surprised my boyfie still loves me. I think it would be totally cute if the reader was such a bitchy bratty, not many friends (jst a fcking loser) having a total breakdown and sukuna jst has to listen and comfort her. Bonus points if she starts to be emo (like to the point shes not even eating) 😶 wth is wrong w me 😬

Yesss girl, sukuna would die for you even if you were having a meltdown!! Hope you enjoy my love 💞

“I said I’m not hungry!”

You scream it from under your silk throw blanket, voice muffled into the mountain of plushies on your bed. You’re still in yesterday’s clothes—a pink tube top with one strap hanging off your shoulder and sparkly shorts that haven’t seen daylight in three days. Your lashes are clumped, hair in a messy bun, and your lip gloss is half-faded.

You’ve been stomping around the apartment all week, huffing and puffing, slamming doors and crying over nothing. When Sukuna tries to ask what’s wrong, you just whine or scream or pout, claiming, “You wouldn’t understand!”

Sukuna was used to your moods swings, he had seen it all. Hardly phased by it anymore. But this was different, you hadn’t been this bad in a long time. You had locked yourself away, and aas much as he struggled to always show it, he absolutely hated seeing you like this. He missed his bubbly girl, it was hard to see you not taking care of yourself.

He felt like he had tried everything. He had tried to bribe you out of you room with plans of whatever you wanted, offering free shopping trips, or little dinner dates. But all of those you declines with a sniffle. He tried sulking with you, he even tried guilting you out of your room, but nothing was working.

Today, though? He’s had it.

“That’s it.”

The door to your bedroom slams open, and you jump under the blanket like he’s the monster from under your bed. You peek up just as he marches in—tight black tee, heavy boots, expression dark.

“You haven’t eaten. You haven’t showered. You’ve been a fuckin’ brat for days and I’m done watching you waste away acting like this.”

You glare at him through your tear-streaked face. “I’m not wasting away, I’m just—fragile!”

You burst into another dramatic sob and try to turn your back, but Sukuna is already crouched beside the bed, peeling the covers back with one arm and dragging you straight into his lap like you weigh nothing.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on,” he growls, cupping your chin. “And you’re gonna eat. Now.”

Your bottom lip wobbles as you blink at him, all pout and glossy eyes.

“I just feel… like… everyone hates me lately! And I dont have many friends as it is, and these stupid girls were laughing at me when we went to the bar the other night, I had mascara under my eyes and—you didn’t even notice, ‘Kuna!”

You wail it into his chest like it’s a war crime, fists lightly hitting his shoulder as he just sighs and pulls you tighter.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, kissing your head roughly. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

You gasp.

“Rude!”

“Yeah, and I’m your rude-ass boyfriend who’s gonna make you a sandwich, brush your hair, and slap some fucking sense into you until you remember you’re the hottest thing walking and everyone else is just breathing your air.”

You blink. Then sniffle.

“…Can it be a grilled cheese?”

He smirks.

“Yeah, baby. It can be two.”