#I am feel all sorts of stuck which is why I feel like I’m taking the ts aw breakup a little too personally too like ouchie am I looking

[placeinthisworld]

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[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?

I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.

First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.

Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.

It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.

Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.

I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.

Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.

After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.

I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.

However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.

Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.

It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.

About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.

Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.

There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.

After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.

Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.

Which brings me to my current problem.

We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.

This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.

When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.

When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.

But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.

The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.

He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.

I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”

I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.

Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.

I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.

Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.

He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?

Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.

I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.

The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.

“I am his only family,” I said.

She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”

That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”

“I’m his wife,” I said.

She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.

I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.

Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.

(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)

I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.

Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds

To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide

!!!!

I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!

What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.

I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.

 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.

I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.

He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.

I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.

I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.

He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.

He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.

When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.

Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?

I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 

But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 

The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 

I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?

 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.

AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?

----

Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!

These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...

Please check that out here (X) if you''d like early access! Otherwise I'll see y'all next week :)

[bearforcecaptions]

The spell worked, sort of, but not how I wanted. I did have the body of my dreams – I was Garrett now, but I didn’t realize the catch was that I wouldn’t be able to control what I’m doing unless I’m totally alone. And Garrett, or, me, I guess – I’m nearly never alone! The frat house pretty much always has someone in it, and I’m super popular, too. I thought being Garrett would be fun and easy, but stuck like this, it’s torture!

I figured out the ritual from this old book I found at that occult shop downtown, thinking it would be a quick way out of my boring life and into something… well, something way more interesting. Garrett had it all, or so I thought. Girls loved him, he was in the best shape, and everyone wanted to be his friend. But nobody told me about this weird restriction, or maybe I just didn’t read that part carefully enough. I guess the idea was I’d “experience” Garrett’s life, but it’s like watching a movie, except I’m the star and I can only move on my own terms when no one else is around.

And god, my roommate, he’s actually so stupid. When I can’t control my actions, we bro out all the time, but he’s so vapid. I guess I’m not much better, but it’s actually infuriating. You’d think we could have a conversation that’s not about girls, parties, sports, or video games. But no, every time he starts talking, it’s like Garrett’s body just falls right into the rhythm of it, responding automatically. I tried fighting it at first, but it’s like this autopilot takes over, and I’m just... stuck.

I’ve been scouring the room whenever I get a chance to control things, like right now, looking for any sign or clue on how to undo this. There has to be something I missed. I rummaged through his messy closet, which is packed with clothes, gym stuff, and random junk, none of it useful. The guy keeps his stuff in total chaos, and I feel weirdly exposed, like I’m actually pawing through my own things.

Shit, no, is that the door jangling? I thought I would have a couple of hours to try and figure out how to fix this. Who the hell knows when I’ll get another chan-

Fuuck, bro. Why’s my roomie home early? Thought he went to his ‘rents for the weekend. I was just about to jerk one out too. Ah well, maybe he’ll be down for some Call of Duty or something. I could use a beer.

“Yo, dude, what’s up? You back already?” I say, grinning like an idiot as I lean against the door frame, flexing a bit without even realizing it. Dude probably thinks I’m just chillin’, but nah, I’m feelin' like a boss.

He laughs, dropping his bag by the door and shrugging. “Yeah, man, got bored at home. Figured I’d head back early. Parents were driving me nuts.”

“Oh, for sure, dude,” I nod, grabbing a can of beer from the mini-fridge by my bed. “Parents, am I right? They just don’t get it, bro.” I crack it open, chugging half of it in one go, feeling the cool rush. Damn, that’s good.

He slaps my shoulder, laughing. “Dude, I swear, it’s like every time I go back, it’s the same speech about responsibility and blah blah blah. Like, whatever, right?”

“Oh, totally, man,” I laugh, shrugging it off. “Why they gotta be like that, y’know? We’re just out here living, they don’t get it.” I toss him a beer, feeling that chill vibe kickin’ in, like nothing in the world matters but just hanging with my bro. This is what it’s all about – no worries, no drama, just cold beers and good times.

“Bro, I’m feelin’ a COD sesh,” I say, grabbing the controller off the couch. “You down?”

He grins. “Hell yeah, let’s wreck some noobs.”

We crash down on the couch, controllers in hand, beers in easy reach, and it’s like all the worries in the world just melt away. I’m trash-talkin’, throwin’ down taunts, and we’re both laughing so hard my sides hurt. I don’t even remember the last time I felt this alive.

“You’re so bad, dude,” I laugh, jabbing him in the ribs as I get another kill. “How are you still this bad?”

“Shut up, bro!” he shoves me back, laughing too, and I’m grinning like an idiot.

Fuck, life is good, I think, as I take a gulp of my beer. I got my bros, I got my beer, and I got my games. What more does a dude need? Life’s good.

[cuubism]

thoughts had while traveling turned into a ficlet

[E]

-

After university, Hob had always kind of assumed they'd end up in the same place. He doesn’t know why he was so foolish as to think that. But he was always foolish about Dream.

Hob had stuck around in London. He liked traveling, liked seeing new places, but London was home. And it was nice to feel like he had roots somewhere. Like he was maybe sort of building a life.

Dream, meanwhile, had essentially vanished.

He’d picked up some kind of remote editing job that he could do anywhere on top of his writing, and took full advantage of it to bounce all over the globe. Hob didn’t even know all of the places he’d lived, Dream moved so often.

He’d been in Los Angeles for a while and apparently hated it. He’d been in Singapore for about six months at some point. Then he’d been in Istanbul— or was Istanbul before? At one point he’d been in a rural village in Slovenia.

(Hob got emails about these things.)

Then at one point, he’d been in Paris, which at least seemed to suit him a tiny bit better. Still hadn’t last long, though.

Now, Hob’s not sure where he is. He tries not to take it personally. Tries not to take it like he wasn’t enough for Dream to want to stay. Dream just had some things to figure out, he thinks. That’s all.

One day, seemingly at random, he gets a FaceTime call.

“Hob.”

Hob squints at the screen. It’s very bright. He can barely make Dream out. “Where are you?”

“Rhodes,” Dream says.

He pans the phone around to show Hob what must be just about the most gorgeous beach he’s ever seen. It’s a little cove with fishing boats bobbing, water still and sun-drenched.

Dream turns the camera back around. He looks like he’s been crying, eyes red-rimmed, eyeliner smudging. He’s sitting on the sand, phone propped on his knees.

“What’s wrong?” Hob asks, alarmed.

“Is it better,” Dream wonders, “to be full of despair on a beautiful beach, or does it not matter?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dream wipes at his eyes. “I. I thought if I just went. Somewhere. That it would get better. Death even said. Try changing your environment. I did. I did.”

“You did, you went to a lot of places, didn’t you?”

Dream nods, and sniffles. “Why didn’t it fix anything?”

“Oh, darling.” So that’s what it is. He’s just running away from himself.

“What is wrong with me,” Dream continues, “that. I am sat watching the sunset in one of the most beautiful corners of the world. And I feel nothing.”

“It’s not the corner of the world that's the issue,” Hob says, and Dream sighs, sniffling again.

“I want to go home,” he says, despondent.

“Come home, then.”

“Is that still with you? After all I’ve put you through?”

“Yeah, Dream.” To my peril. But Hob will never be able to turn Dream away. “It is.”

Dream nods. “Okay.” Then he stands. “I suppose I may as well go for a swim, while I am still here.”

“Not going to drown yourself, are you?”

Dream huffs. “No.”

He risks the fate of his phone taking Hob with him, though. Holds it above the surface as he treads water, hair increasingly fluffy and clumped together from salt.

“It really is gorgeous,” Hob tells him. The water is so, so blue and the sky so wide. “You’re making me jealous.”

Dream smiles faintly. “You would enjoy it better than I.”

“Maybe. I’m enjoying watching you though.”

“Oh?” Dream raises an eyebrow. Only his throat is visible above the water, but it’s enough. Hob can imagine the rest. His attraction to Dream’s never wavered. “Tell me more.”

“Come home and find out instead, idiot.”

Dream smiles. “Hmm.”

“Oh yeah, hmm.”

Dream’s smile widens. God, he’s so gorgeous. “You’re making me want to leave now.”

“Do it then.”

“Okay.” He starts swimming back to shore, and Hob laughs.

“I missed you, you maniac.”

“I missed you,” Dream echoes.

“S’gonna be okay, yeah?” Hob tells him. “So Rhodes didn’t fix anything. It’s alright.”

“It’s alright,” Dream echoes, eyes looking misty again.

“Just come home.” Hob can’t promise to fix anything. But he can promise Dream a home.

“Yes,” Dream agrees, sea water flowing around his throat, sunset in his hair. “Yes.”

-

Hob half-expects Dream actually won’t. That the flash of melancholic clarity will give way to his usual method of running, that Hob will get an email that he’s now in Samarkand or somewhere and isn’t actually coming “home.” Maybe London isn’t really home for him. He hasn’t been there in years anyway. Maybe.

But one day Dream wanders into the pub they used to get Friday drinks in, the pub Hob’s taken up bartending in, partly for the extra cash, partly to feel closer to Dream.

Hob drops a glass when he sees him, Dream flinching at the crash where he stands in the doorway. Hob ducks behind the bar to clean it up, heart pounding. God, he’s actually here. After three years.

When he stands again, Dream is standing right before the bar, looking uncertain. He’s terribly underdressed for the weather, hair damn from the rain, black t-shirt sticking to his shoulders.

“Um,” Hob says, wringing a bar towel in his hands. “Get you your usual?”

Not that Dream’s usual is necessarily the same, after all this time—

Dream leans across the bar and hugs him.

“My usual,” he says, voice so close to Hob’s ear now that he shivers. Dream’s damp hair tickles his cheek. Hob ought to get a towel and dry him off.

He hugs Dream back, leaning awkwardly over the bar. “Missed you.”

Dream hums, finally releasing him. He takes a seat on a bar stool, a faint smile on his face now. On instinct Hob takes off his sweatshirt—New Inn branded—and gives it to him.

Dream takes it, gaze lingering on Hob’s face as he pulls it on. He immediately looks less frigid, though.

“Is it still the driest red on the menu that you want?” he asks, and Dream laughs.

“Yes.”

Hob pours him one, sliding it across the bar. Their fingers brush. It feels, almost, like no time has passed at all. Nothing changed.

“So,” Hob says, grateful there are no other customers awaiting his attention. “Rhodes?”

“The last of many,” Dream says wearily.

“Looked beautiful?”

“Yes,” Dream agrees, and sips his wine.

“So.” It’s hard to ask what he really wants to ask. Are you actually back? Are you actually here for me? “Are you. You have somewhere to stay?”

“I am not wandering the streets,” Dream says with a half smile. “I have a hotel room. For now.”

“Still itinerant,” Hob says, before he can think better of it, and Dream’s smile turns sad.

“Yes.”

“Learn anything?”

“I learned that moving about doesn’t fix anything when the problem is inside of you,” Dream says. Hob winces at the phrasing of it. There’s no problem with you, he wants to say. But he understands what Dream’s getting at. “I do not know what does fix it,” Dream continues.

Hob doesn’t either. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be in Dream’s head. “Try staying here, then,” Hob says. “What’ve you got to lose?”

Dream studies him. “Indeed.”

It really does feel like nothing and everything has changed between them. But maybe not everything. And maybe it’s okay.

He rests his hand against Dream’s on the bar. “Finish your wine,” he says. “And come home with me.”

Dream takes a final sip of his wine, eyes locked on Hob’s over the rim of his glass, and licks the red droplets from his lower lip as he takes Hob’s hand.

-

Hob has him bent over on the bed, bobbing his head on Hob’s cock, before they’ve had the chance to pass more than a few additional words. Dream seems not to need words, anyway. His expression is finally slack and peaceful, neck craning, eyelids fluttering, as he takes Hob’s cock down, down, down, Hob’s grip tight in his hair. He hasn’t lost any of his skill in these intervening years, apparently. Or his enjoyment of it.

“Yeah, that’s it, darling,” Hob praises, thrusting up into his mouth. “Good. You’re so perfect at this.”

Dream whines, the vibration traveling through Hob’s body, reaching awkwardly around himself to press needy fingers to his own hole.

“I’ll do right by you, darling, don’t worry, come here.” Hob pulls Dream off and hefts him up, sitting back so he can settle Dream in his lap. “Don’t worry, love.”

Dream looks down at him with wide, dark eyes, breathing hard, mouth open and wet. He swallows, says, voice thready, “I need you in me.”

Hob’s heart thumps, hard. It hurts. “I know.”

Dream pushes his cheek into Hob’s temple, lips smearing saliva over his skin, clutching so tight at Hob’s shoulders it hurts. “Hob.”

“Shhh.” Hob holds him close as he works him open, Dream crying out and clutching at him with each touch. God, Hob remembers what he was like. He really hasn’t changed at all.

When he finally sinks Dream down onto his cock, Dream lets out a long moan, then goes slack again as he shivers. Hob tries to breathe evenly and stay still, letting him adjust, no matter how good it feels to be buried in him again.

“It has been too long,” Dream says, when his breathing’s evened out.

“Didn’t have tons of adventures on all of your travels?”

Dream shakes his head. “Not the same.”

It’s not the same. No one Hob’s hooked up with in the intervening years has been the same, either. No one else makes this feeling rear up in him, like he would do anything for the man in his arms, like he would dash himself to pieces just to have him. It might not be a good feeling but Hob wants it nonetheless.

He doesn’t say all that. He says, “It’s not, no one takes me like you do, I’ve missed how gorgeous you are bouncing on my cock, missed how perfect it feels to fill you.”

“Yes,” Dream says. “It’s so good. I missed that. Please, Hob.”

Hob hefts him in his lap, bouncing Dream on his cock. Dream cries out, holding to him tight. “Yes—!”

Fuck, he feels good. He’s so pliant and wanting, need burning in his fingertips and his wet panting breaths by Hob’s ears. Hob would give him anything in the world.

“Came back just for this, didn’t you?” he says. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes— I missed— oh, Hob!” This as Hob nails his prostate, Dream wailing and clutching at him. Yes. Hob remembers exactly how it feels to make him feel like that. God, it’s everything to make him feel like that.

“More,” Dream begs. “More, harder.”

Hob will give him more. More and more until he’s full up on it, until it’s enough for him to feel satisfied, enough for him to cease his wanderings and stay.

He fucks Dream harder until Dream’s reduced to incoherent wailing, throwing himself into Hob’s touch like to feel nothing and everything is a relief. And Hob feels everything, too: the tight heat of Dream’s body, the dig of his fingertips, his wet panting breaths—and more than anything, the overwhelming want. He wants Dream. He has always wanted Dream.

Dream comes first, pushed over the edge with Hob’s hands on his waist and his cock rubbing over Hob’s belly. He cries out, and then wraps his arms around Hob’s shoulders, holding tight as Hob chases his own completion in his body.

Hob closes his eyes as he comes, just floating in the feeling of having Dream around him. He’s missed that so much. He’s missed Dream so much, in these years he’s been left behind.

He doesn’t realize how emotional he’s gotten about it until he feels Dream’s fingertips tracing over his cheeks, wiping away tears.

“Sorry,” Hob says, voice choked, holding Dream close even as he gently slips from his body.

Dream strokes his hair. “Perhaps I ought to go,” he says quietly, but makes no move to get up. “I fear I am being unfair to you.”

“I’m the one that told you to come back. Wanted you to.” Even if it just breaks his heart all over again, when Dream decides he still isn’t happy, and can’t stay.

“Even so.”

Still he doesn’t move to get up. Hob runs his hands up and down his back, just feeling him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Dream continues some time later, still stroking Hob’s hair. Hob’s long since buried his face in Dream’s shoulder. “How you. Can feel content.”

Hob barks a laugh. “You think I’m content?”

“Are you not?”

“I don’t know, Dream.” Content to be here, in London, maybe, to not need to uproot himself, chasing some nebulous sense of better, but content? While knowing Dream was out there somewhere?

“My mistake,” Dream says. He rests his cheek on top of Hob’s head. “Perhaps there is no contentment, then.”

That makes Hob laugh for real. He finally lifts his head, looking Dream in the eye. “You’re the most dramatic bitch I’ve ever met. ‘There’s no such thing as contentment'? Dream.”

Dream smiles, then leans in to kiss him. Hob sighs into the brush of his lips. There is such thing as contentment, he thinks.

“What if I don’t leave this time,” Dream says, when their lips part.

“You mean it?”

Dream nods, forehead leaning against Hob’s. “I am. Tired. And this. Is the first moment I have not felt fatigued in longer than I can remember.”

“I’ll have to tire you out better, then.”

“Hob.”

“I’m kidding you, love.” Really, all of Hob is leaping in cautious joy. Could Dream truly mean it? “I want you to stay. Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

Dream nods, and lets Hob help him up. They make their joint way to the bathroom, where Hob pulls Dream into the shower with him, and they hold each other close under the warm spray, and Dream washes Hob’s hair with careful focus, mindful of tugging it. Afterwards Hob gives Dream some pajamas to borrow, for all of Dream’s things are still in his hotel room. Dream cuddles up to him in bed, hesitant at first, until Hob opens his arms and assures him of his welcome.

The feeling of Dream laying his head down on Hob’s chest is heavenly. It’s dangerous. But it’s so good.

"I'm sorry," Dream murmurs, into the dark.

“For what? Leaving? You don’t have to be. It’s your life.”

“I don’t know quite what for,” says Dream. “I feel I am wavering about and dragging you along with me.”

“Maybe I want to be dragged along.”

Dream lifts his head to give him a look. “Precisely,” he says, and Hob feels skewered. Seen in his pathetic wanting. Like if he had more self-respect, he’d hold his inconsistent friend at a distance, not invite Dream right back in to break his heart again.

Dream’s decision to leave the first time wasn’t even about Hob. They weren’t really together, more on again, off again, falling into each other and then away. “Friends with benefits.” Only Hob had always cared more about the ‘friends’ than the ‘benefits.’ Maybe if he had made it clearer, Dream would have stayed.

Maybe he needs to stop making it his fault, when it wasn’t about him.

Only. The fact that it wasn’t about him also means that it was.

“Why didn’t you stay?” he asks, grip tightening around Dream’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t happy,” Dream says. The words feel like a shove to the chest. “I didn’t. I did not know how to fix it. I tried to leave. Then I tried to leave again. Only. You can’t leave yourself.”

“What makes it different this time?”

If London— if Hob— didn’t make him happy before—

“Maybe nothing,” Dream admits, quietly, still lying on Hob’s chest. “Maybe it was a futile chase from the start. And I should give up trying.”

“Dream—"

Dream plows on, as if he needs to get it all out. “I called you because. I was staring out at the ocean. I felt nothing. But I thought, ‘Hob would like it.’ And when I showed you, that did make me happy. For a moment. And when I told you how I felt… that made me happy, too.”

Hob wants to say something, but his throat is too tight. God, Dream always finds new ways to break his heart.

“I think that maybe contentment is not… for me,” Dream adds, fingertips stroking lightly up and down Hob’s side. “But the closest I've felt, in fleeting moments, is when I am with you.”

“Dream…” this time it comes out as barely a breath. “My love.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. Always.” Maybe Hob doesn’t have very good self-preservation. But it’s Dream. It’s always been Dream.

“For me as well,” Dream says, and Hob lets out a long, heavy breath.

“Now you’ve got to show me Rhodes in person,” he teases, to break some of the heaviness in the air.

Dream’s smile curves against his skin. “You will like it.”

“I’m sure.”

“I think I will like it more with you there,” Dream adds.

“Yeah?” Hob says.

“Mmhm.”

“I think you just want to ogle me on a beach.”

“If I’m to be in a beautiful place, I ought to have a beautiful man as well,” Dream says. The feeling of his rare smile still pressed to Hob's chest is devastating.

“Completes the picture?” Hob asks, chest tight.

“Yes.” Dream wraps his arms around him and cuddles in close. “I believe it does.”

[earthtooz]

OMG IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR FAKE PT.2 I LOVED PT 1 SM I LOVE YOU SM EHEHEH

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ─ when the reader receives hate ! pt 1

includes: reo mikage, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi

warnings: gn!reader, they/them prns in kaiser + isagi, 2k+ wc for reo, 1.6k for kaiser and 1k for isagi, ooc!characters, borderline panic attack in reo's, hate and negative comments, happy endings for all, let me know if i'm missing any warnings, bad wriitng LOL

a/n: ask and u shall receive ! bro why is the cover image so low quality i can't be assed to fix it - ANYWAYS ENJOY ANON !!!

MIKAGE REO:

if there’s one thing reo is used to, it’s the amount of eyes constantly surveying his every move. there is not one aspect of his life that hasn’t been intruded by the amount of aristocratic families wondering how he’s doing. reo’s quite fed up with it himself. 

but of course, if there’s one thing dating reo mikage entails, it’s having those same eyes scrutinising your every move even harder- a fact you accepted before he asked you to be his. a fact you were starting to get used to.

despite all the glamourised smiles and ambiguous compliments of your relationship, there will always be some who aren’t afraid to voice their opinions.

which, is how you got stuck talking to some ceo’s daughter at a gala you were attending as reo’s plus one. 

“i’m not trying to be mean or anything, just honest,” she says with a particular slice of her hands, flaunting her expensive nails and jewellery. “but i don’t think you’re right for reo, and i know i am not the only one who thinks that! don’t you think it’s time you stop hogging him and y’know, return him to those who really deserve him?”

something disgusting churns within you at the way she talks of your boyfriend, as if he were some goal; a fish in a sea of hungry fishermen. the statement makes you feel violated, you can’t imagine how reo would feel being talked about like this for his entire life.

“and who might that be?” you counter, trying your best to remain calm and not give in to the storm within you.

she flares her nostrils, narrowing her perfectly painted eyes. “look around. take a good glance at the competition.”

“i won’t do that because there is no competition. reo chose me, whether you like it or not,” you firmly place your drink down on the table beside you before pointedly showing her the beautiful promise ring, encrusted with diamonds that reo himself placed on your finger. “besides, if there even was a competition in the first place, i’m afraid you’re all much too late.”

with a final sneer, she turns around with a pointed flick of her healthy, smooth hair before walking away, classy and expensive as ever.

just like everyone around you.

you, on the other hand, find it hard to breathe, and the luxurious fabric of your even more luxurious outfit is clinging to your body. before you even know it, you’re making a run for the exit, slipping past crowds of people and ignoring their looks of curiosity. 

no one would bother to look too long anyways.

you should be proud of how you managed to remain level-headed during that interaction, but you can’t help but give in to her manipulative tactics. you did take a good look of the competition and they all looked like millions upon millions of dollars. they have had their life plan sorted from the very moment of their birth, their destiny handed to them of a silver platter, and although you know to look beyond the materialism and gold, it’s hard to ignore it when you’re surrounded by marble walls and crystal chandeliers.

suddenly feeling like an imposter, you just want to hop in a cab and go home.

bolting through expansive halls with decorative arches and doors to match, you’re almost at the parking lot where the chauffeurs awaited, just a flight of stairs await your descent.

it’s not until a hand catches your wrist that you stop. 

turning around, you find no comfort in the familiarity of reo’s face which was laced with concern and worry. he’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, and his hair was all over his face. was he chasing after you?

“y/n! where are you going?” the purple-haired asks, eyebrows furrowing even more as he notices the distressed state you’re in. he grabs both your hands, manoeuvring you to look him square in the eyes. except, it’s so difficult, you’re looking everywhere but at him. “i was calling your name the entire time, did you not hear me?” 

“reo, please, leave me alone,” you request with a shaky voice, trying to get out of his grip with no success.

“i can’t, not when you’re like this,” he protests, “deep breaths, y/n, come back to me.”

a few moments of silence pass by, allowing you to return to your senses as reo holds your hands against his heart, stroking your skin with his thumb. no longer overwhelmed and suffocated by your thoughts, it’s hard to look your boyfriend in the eye, cowering away from his gaze.

“what’s the matter?” he asks gently, pressing a hand against your cheek delicately. it’s warm. you want to melt into him.

“it’s- i, i had a really- you know what, nevermind,” you murmur, shaking your head, turning your back against reo as you pull your hands away from his. 

you miss the expression of heartbreak that appears on his pretty face. 

your cold actions don’t deter him. instead, it makes him more determined to stay by your side, chasing after you even as you descend down the stairs. since your shoes were a lot more complicated than his, the soccer player catches up to you quickly to guide you by the small of your back as he mirrors your pace.

“i want to go home,” you mutter to him once you’re on the ground, trying your best not to collapse under the gaze of so many, surrounded by butlers and chauffeurs.  

he nods with a gentle gaze. “let’s go home then.”

his kindness is not enough to shield you from the scrutiny that bears into you. “no, reo, you should stay, i’ll just catch a taxi home or something.”

he looks at you in pure astonishment, slightly taken back by your weird attitude. 

“but i don’t want to. why would i want to stay if you’re not?” asks the purple-haired. 

opting to remain silent rather than answer, you try to walk towards the main road of the highway, only to be cut off by reo shoving himself in front of you.

“and why would i let you take a cab home?” your purple-haired lover questions, placing both of his hands on his cheeks so you can finally look him in the eye. “y/n, what’s going on? something happened, didn’t it?”

taking both of his hands away from your face, you take a step away; once again missing the look of astonishment and heartbreak that appears on reo’s face. “nothing happened,” you say stubbornly, rubbing your hands against your arms.

“i don’t want to go home if you’re like this, can we please just talk for a little?” he remains behind you, getting the hint that you don’t want to be provoked or touched in any way, even if it’s killing him. the soccer player’s fingers itch with the need to embrace and trace every part of you that you’ll allow, but, for the sake of your fragile state, he doesn’t.

with a small exhale, you agree. it would be unfair for you to leave reo in the dark, continually brushing off his genuine kindness due to some chick that got in your head.

he leads you towards the gardens nearby which were dimly lit, yet still very beautiful. spring was in full season, so you could only catch glimpses of the beautiful flora that aligned the path, but there was no denying that it was still breathtaking. reo walks beside you, synchronising his footsteps with yours.

eventually, you arrive at a fountain in the middle of the garden. where you take a seat on its marble ledge, reo whispers ‘one second’ to you before running off to the bushes where the red roses were. he returns quickly, jogging back to you with a singular flower in his hands. 

“for you, my love,” he declares with a small smile, bowing with an extended hand, expecting you to take his gift.

you readily do, heart warming at his silliness whilst twirling the rose in your fingers. “thank you,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he places his hand next to you so he can lean against the fountain for support. 

the promise ring you wear on your finger feels heavier than usual, especially when he smiles fondly at you, a lovesick expression on his face that is no doubt mirrored by you. 

but looking at him, you can’t help but recall the stinging reality that he lived in a world of glamour, decadence, and allure; only doubled by the fame that came with his life as a pro-soccer player. you love reo with your whole being, really, sometimes you fear that your feelings might be a little too much, but loving him with a materialistic barrier in between is difficult. 

the idea of letting him go than stealing him away from the world of mystique feels suddenly a lot kinder.

“reo,” you begin after a few minutes of simply being in each other’s presence. he looks at you with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, directing 100% of his attention towards you. with a deep inhale, you continue.

“do you ever think that… we’re not, meant to be?”

the silence is deafening.

“what do you mean?” he asks with a small stutter of disbelief, “of course we’re meant to be! you’re the one for me- you’re my soulmate!”

usually, when reo says that, it makes your insides gush and flutter, but now it riddles you with guilt and scepticism. “how can you be so sure?”

“y/n,” he sounds so very desperate. reo’s eyes have always been the window to his soul and seeing the way they shine with tears, your chest clenches with an unpleasant feeling. “why are you doubting my love for you?”

his hand goes to your ring finger, playing with the jewellery that you suddenly feel like you don’t deserve.

“you agreed, remember? you agreed to letting me love you forever and loving me in return. i put this ring on you because it’s always going to be you, no matter what circumstance, i’ll always choose you.” 

“but is choosing me the right decision?”

“yes, a thousand times yes, there will never be. anyone. but. you.” reo increases the amount of emphasis he puts into each word, now changing his position so that he stood in front of you, caging you with his build. “can you tell me what happened, beautiful? because something clearly did and soured my gorgeous y/n’s mood.”

the sudden onslaught of compliments, mixed with how close reo was, broke down your resolve easily, crumbling at his feet as you gave in to his gentle demands. 

“i met an unpleasant someone who told me i should give you up for people who deserve you more,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, a gesture of equal affection and possessiveness. 

he hums, seemingly calm but you know better. the furrow of his eyebrows was one of scrutiny and distaste. you’re glad he’s trying to remain subtle, you’ve had enough of emotional responses for one night.

“and who might this unpleasant someone be?”

“i have no idea. she gave me a name but it went in one ear then out the other.”

pressing his face into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, the soccer player revels at this chance to be close to you. 

“it was probably important though,” you reiterate, “and, well, might be able to benefit you a lot better than i ever can.” 

he scoffs into your skin, causing you to shiver. “no one’s name is as important as mine, my love, and no one can boost it more than what it’s already worth. if anything, those who have me gets the boost, i’m already the best.” 

his (rightfully deserved) cockiness makes you smile ever so slightly as you punch his shoulder. “are you implying i’m a gold digger?”

“well, you didn’t choose me, did you?” asks reo with a raise of his eyebrow. “i begged you to go on a date with me and you only agreed the fourth time i asked.”

the recollection makes a giggle slip past your lips- a sound reo dearly missed as he admires your beauty in the dim lighting of the gardens. he places a fleeting kiss on your neck before looking up at you. 

“of course, everyone else won’t know that and assume,” you point out before leaning in towards his lips, unable to resist him much longer.

“who cares?” he mutters against you before melting against you in a gentle kiss filled with love, reassurance, and promises. “they’re all irrelevant anyways, just a bunch of talkers with nothing to back up their words.”

“then what am i?”

“you’re my future. you’re the one that actually cares about me, more than my money or my soccer skills. remember the first day we met and you told me to get out of the way? back in college?”

“well you were blocking my path. i was running late to my class as well.”

reo chuckles, pulling away from you so there was a little distance between your faces. “never thought i’d want someone so bad just because they didn’t know who i was.”

“then show me,” you say with a little challenge in your tone. “screw the gala, take me home, reo.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

MICHAEL KAISER:

“kaiser gets it in! a miracle shot, just what you’d expect from bastard münchen’s genius striker!” the announcer exclaims as the crowd shoots up in excitement, roaring and buzzing with excitement as the members of germany’s football team all swarm around the blond, cheering and celebrating. 

kaiser participates in the hype, fist bumping his teammates before running back to position, but not without sparing a look at the screen that was displaying the match. no one misses the kiss he blows in the direction of the camera and although the stadium is filled with squeals (from boys, girls, grown ups and children alike), you know something they don’t.

right before the match, kaiser made you promise that each goal of his equated to ten kisses, a deal that you readily accepted and bumped up to twenty as a way of motivating him to take the game home.

that kiss he blew was just a way of solidifying that he was thinking of you and the wink he sent straight after was just making sure you’d keep your promise.

you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world with him. 

as the match progresses, you can tell it’s going to be an easy victory, with all favours towards your lover’s team - kaiser earning another two himself. 

it’s almost scary just how effortlessly he dominates, settling the score at 3-1 for bastard münchen, once again making feats you thought were difficult look effortless. as the whistle blew announcing the end of the game, roars fill the stadium once again and you too, jump up with the crowd to cheer as loudly as you can.

repping his jersey with his name on the back, it just feels too good, especially when you bask in the afterglow of a well deserved victory.

you don’t miss the amount of glances kaiser sends your way, antsy to be able to reach you and spend some time with you because he’d rather have you congratulate him than a bunch of old, white men that just want to sponsor him. they can get in line because you’re his top priority.

you hope he sees you and the heart you make with your arms over your head just for him. 

dawdling out of the stadium always takes forever because of the amount of people that always come to see his game so when over half the people have cleared out, you make your way down to the front row, where your soccer genius boyfriend was waiting for you.

“you were incredible, my love,” you say as a greeting, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, one that he readily returns. you don’t really care that he was sweaty, too overwhelmed by how proud of him you were.

not that your opinions really mattered in the grand scheme of things, but kaiser considered it a great lucky charm, one he holds highly.

“as always,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against your cheek. you giggle at the sensation, smiling widely as he continues. “tell me more about how amazing i was.”

rolling your eyes at his arrogance, you decide to indulge him, just a little. “the best out there, greatest soccer player of all time, and you looked so handsome too, my main character,” you pinch his cheek. “done?”

“not at all,” keens kaiser, smiling at you like a cat.

“get your stuff first and then when we’re home, i’m all yours.”

“i’m holding you to your promise, pretty, that’s sixty kisses from you.”

with a final kiss on the forehead as farewell, you bid him goodbye and watch as he runs off to get changed, joining ness who was waiting for him by the exit. the magenta-haired soccer player waves at you from halfway across the field, a gesture you readily return before turning around to go outside.

passing by the security guards who give you a little nod of acknowledgement, you’re relieved to see that the audience that gathered tonight had gone off into their cars, ready to go home for the night. 

you’re about to go around to where the players exit so kaiser wouldn’t swarmed by a flurry of fans and reporters, until you’re stopped by a hand on the shoulder. the grip wasn’t strong, but demanding enough for you to turn around and greet whoever wanted to talk to you.

it was a pair of teenage girls. they were well-dressed and pampered, but the look they were giving you was less than friendly. somehow, you already knew where this conversation was going.

“can i help you?” you ask, flashing them a smile.

one of them eyes you up and down, judgement very clear in her eyes. you cringe a little. “are you kaiser’s partner?” she asks. 

you nod in affirmation. you hate the sleazy feeling developing in your gut, expanding due to the scrutiny of their gazes. one of the girls nudge the other one in an ‘i told you so’ manner, which is returned with a smirk that is mischievous in kind.

“do you need something from me?” you question, finally letting your astoundment show on your face. really, you just wanted to walk away from this conversation and find kaiser so you could go home.

“yeah, we’re just wondering why, y’know, that he’d choose you.” 

“excuse me?”

“like don’t get us wrong, you’re pretty and all, but we just think that you’re kinda bland for him,” one of them states as the other hums in agreement. 

the audacity. you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground.

“okay, cool. what do you suggest i do then since you seem to be experts in my relationship.”

“break up with him, duh?”

“and let one of you date him instead?” you scoff. “fat chance.” 

“just give him up, okay? we could love kaiser more than you probably ever could, clout chaser.”

“gold digger!”

now amused more than frustrated, you bite back the laugh that bubbles in your chest. it was entertaining seeing some sixteen year old girls try to tell you that you and your boyfriend (of two years) shouldn’t be together. 

being kaiser’s partner had its downsides sometimes, and it was mostly just the hate you receive for ‘stealing’ him off the market, especially since he was so young, some fans didn’t appreciate that he wasn’t an eligible bachelor. but, you’re used to it. so long as you get to watch him in the spotlight, you don’t really mind the darkness. 

you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “right… are we done here? because this ‘gold digger’ wants to see their partner and congratulate him.”

“what part aren’t you understanding?” one of them asks before the other one completes the sentence. “you and kaiser just don’t look good together!”

before you could answer, a heavy arm drapes itself over your shoulders. “aww, why not?” a familiar voice asks. the two girls in front of you freeze, panic evident on their faces. “what disturbances held you up from seeing me?”

then you see and hear an overload of flashes and camera clicks. kaiser must’ve caught the paparazzi on his way out and you suddenly remember that you left him waiting, feeling slightly guilty when you turn your head to meet his gaze. you wrap your arms around his torso, happier than ever to feel his warmth against your own. 

“what happened here?” kaiser asks, a question directed at you and you only. 

“they were just telling me that they didn’t like that i was a main role in your theatre,” you say, earning an eyebrow raise from your genius boyfriend. “how should we fix that?”

he hums for a moment, meeting the widened eyes of his fans.

“kick them out,” he simply declares before turning around with you still in his arms. you two pass by paparazzi, paying them little mind except from the small smiles you send their way. 

once you’re in a clearer, quieter area, your boyfriend turns to you and embraces you properly, a gesture you return eagerly as he breathes you in.

“what a way to sour such a good victory,” murmurs kaiser, voice muffled by his jersey that you were wearing. “can’t believe i had to play your knight in shining armour instead of the king that i am.”

you pinch his neck which causes him to flinch with a little shriek. always leave it to you to dumb down his narcissism.

“i was handling it myself pretty well, y’know,” you sigh, “being the michael kaiser’s partner, i’ve grown immune to the hate i receive.”

kaiser frowns, “i didn’t think it happened often,” he whispers. “i’m sorry. how many times have you had to defend yourself without me knowing?”

“it hardly matters-”

“-but it does. i don’t like when people slander you, less when it’s for no reason other than because you’re with me. you should be marvelled at and admired, just like the masterpiece you are.”

his words cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach, a feeling you mask with a playful eye roll. 

“yes but,” you counter, reaching to cup his cheek, “being with you makes up for it.” 

he smirks, contrasting the downhearted expression he wore moments earlier. kaiser’s skill of immediately recovering from whatever kicks him down truly is something to behold and at times, envy. “of course it does,” he boasts, dramatically flipping one of his bangs. 

“besides, i’m willing to fight back if it means i get to be with you.”

before he can argue back, you grab his arm and pull him towards the entrance.

“now come on, let’s talk about it another day. i believe i owe you sixty kisses.”

“make it one hundred now for leaving me waiting for so long.”

“if you get too greedy i’ll leave you on the sidewalk.”

“you’d do that to your king? how dare you!”

ISAGI YOICHI:

“what does your mum like?” you ask a clueless isagi who simply stares at the range of perfumes that the department store had displayed.

“i have no idea,” he mutters. “i never really paid attention to what smells she used.”

“fragrances, yoichi, not smells.”

“oh. right,” the star soccer player rubs his neck awkwardly, smiling sheepishly at you after correcting his small mistake. 

he was so adorable, you wanted to pinch his cheeks.

this was the first time that isagi was buying a gift for his mother with his own money, and the first person he turned to for help was his partner: you, explaining that this had to be the best gift she’s ever received. for how much she’s done for him, and how much she’s supported his soccer career, isagi doesn’t know if he can repay it through money, but gifts are hard to deny regardless.

readily agreeing to help, you have memories of isagi’s mother welcoming you into the family with warm arms. she would tell you how beautiful you are, how excited she was to meet you, and that her son better treat you well otherwise you could always turn to her for help; a statement that made the star striker gulp.

“i mean, you could never go wrong with a few classics like carolina herrera, dior, or chanel?” you suggest, walking over to the section filled with perfumes contained in shelves, their respective brands displayed on top. isagi follows you like a lost puppy, clinging close to your side by holding your hand, squeezing it ever so often.

everything you’re saying is going in one ear and through the other, and isagi lets it show on his face. 

“don’t worry yoichi, any perfume you pick tends to be a good gift regardless, besides, we have the whole day to figure out what your mum likes,” you reason logically, just in case it might provide him with some relief in the midst of expensive, designer fragrances. 

“right,” he huffs, reaching out to read the labels of some bottles.

after a long hunt of going through the shelves, he eventually settles on a fragrance from maison francis (with a pricetag that made you gawk yet isagi was very calm about, agreeing without even thinking about it), but since the packaged version was locked in a glass cabinet, you opted to call a store attendant.

“that’s a great idea, babe, need me to go with you?” he asks, readjusting the strap of his beat-up bag, the one he’s had since high school. funny how some things don’t change for isagi, you love that about him.

you shake your head in response, telling him to ‘wait here’ before strolling off.

however, during this brief time of being without you, isagi was approached by a trio who looked like they were a family, the eldest holding a phone between his hand.

“isagi yoichi?” he asks timidly, fiddling with the phone.

the soccer player flashes a friendly smile, hoping to reduce any of the anxiety they might feel from approaching him. he was just an average, friendly guy after all. “that’s me, need anything?”

“can we take a picture?” the middle daughter asks, pressing her hands together in a pleading motion.

“of course! come on.”

the set of siblings smile eagerly before ambling to isagi’s side, who squats down so he could fit in frame. after a ‘3, 2, 1’ countdown, the photo is taken and just as the dark-haired athlete was about to stand up, a store attendant approaches.

“would you like me to take the picture?” they ask politely, gesturing to the phone.

simultaneously, everyone agrees and soon enough, the photo is taken and done, allowing isagi to high-five them before waving them off, the three of them thanking him profusely for his time.

the store attendant lingers, turning to face him with wide eyes of admiration. “wow, i didn’t think i’d ever get to meet you!” they exclaim. “i watched your match against the under-20 team like so long ago! you were amazing!”

“oh, yeah,” isagi chuckles, flustered at all this recognition, even though he’s been getting more and more of it lately, “thank you for your support.”

although he inwardly cringes at the line that he’s reused over and over again, the store helper thinks nothing of it, beaming back at him. “you’re super cute too, do you think i could get your number?”

isagi lets his shock show on his face before blurting out: “no, i have a partner already.”

the attendant’s face drops into a look of disappointment and the striker wants to run off to find you. you never should have left him alone.

“what a shame. the person that you were just with right?” isagi nods. “don’t know what you think is so special about them, i personally think you’re too good for them and should find someone better, but, it’s not up to me.”

isagi feels his vision zero in, growing red with each word. him? too good for you? what irony.

“excuse me?” he vocalised lowly- practically a growl as he eyes the employee down. “i’m giving you three seconds to get out of my sight before i-.”

he’s too preoccupied with the fury he feels to notice the way the attendant squeaks, eyes laced with fear, before scurrying off mid-sentence, fully intimidated by the striker. isagi sighs, slumping his shoulders. he’s never used that tone to anyone outside of soccer in an attempt of pre-game slander and now he just misses you.

where did you run off to?

right on queue, you materialise beside him, huffing with a pout on your face. “i couldn’t find any store attendants, that’s so weird! where’d they go?”

deciding against telling you that he just scared one away for trashing you, he simply leans his body weight on you, sighing when you embrace him tightly so he wouldn’t knock the both of you over.

“whoa, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you ask, unable to hide the smile on your face from his sudden acts of affection. “everything okay, love?” 

“i want to go home,” he whispers against your shoulder. “spend some time with you.”

“what about the gift?”

“i’ll order it online. it can arrive in time.”

relenting, you pluck him off you with great effort. “if you’re sure then, okay, let’s go home.”

“we can get takeout from your favourite on the way home.”

“what’s the occasion?”

“thought i needed to show you how much i appreciate you.”

[aliidarling]

first time requesting 😋😋

But i went through all your danny ones bro please i luv how crazy you make him.

I would like a wesker one, smuttiest thing you could think of 😫🙏🙏 Yk how sable has the new swimsuit cosmetic? Basically Mc/reader? (idk how you would describe) Runs into wesker in their cute bathing suit 😼 pls abd thanks for being my source of entertainment at 5 am

HAHAH thank you so muchhh!!! i try to make danny as canon-like as i can :)) ive never done wesker before but i can just for u😝

i’m not very educated on wesker lore, i’ve only played re2,3,4,6,& 7 which is basically the games without him 💀 so excuse me if i don’t write him that well! but i love dbd/stars wesker 🤗

the beach

ALBERT WESKER x fem!reader

nsfw content — pls scroll if uncomfortable!!

summary; you’re spawned into the trial wearing a cute swimsuit and albert likes it veryyy much!

warnings; pervy wesker, dub con kinda, fingering, mean weaker, male masturbation, fist fucking, no penetration but he cums on your pussy :3

from the moment you spawned into the trial, you felt the cold air brush against parts of your body it should not be available to. why could you feel the wind blowing against your ass? this had to be some sick joke.

it was like the entity was laughing at you. you looked down at your body to be met with the sight of a cute little bikini— a pink plaid set with strawberries littered over the two thin piece of clothing. the tiny straps holding up the bikini were flimsy and tied into little bows at each side of your hips with two matching ones at your shoulders.

this couldn’t get any worse, you thought.

you were thankful to spawn alongside your fellow girlfriends, feng-min, yui, and claire. all their eyes immediately cast to your outfit, feng-mins cheeks going pink as she gasped softly.

“oh! you must be so cold—“ she says immediately, scooting closer to shamelessly ogle your breasts. you blush and push her away with a playful grumble.

“let’s just get started on those generators..”

you all find the nearest generator and quickly get to work, fingers fiddling with the wires. a few times you accidentally get sparked by it but never bad enough that it causes an explosion. you’re on your highest alert, hoping the killer is one of those mindless monsters instead of the human ones, like ghostface or the legion. the mastermind probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at you, he’s so stuck up his own ass he probably isn’t even into others.

after a short minute of you all working together, the generator finally pops and the bright light begins to shine, alerting the killer of your location. it doesn’t even take five seconds for the chase music to begin, the loud heart beat taunting you.

it was as if the entity was making fun of you today, bullying you relentlessly. you wondered if she was sitting in the clouds eating popcorn, giggling at your facial expression dropping once you saw the mastermind scanning his surroundings.

once his eyes set on you, you immediately yelled at the girls to run and work on the other generators. you’ll loop him for as long as you can, you told them. you don’t have much time to react before the blonde man lunges at you harshly from afar, missing you by a few inches. you rush off to the side and break out into a sprint towards a jungle gym.

“don’t waste my time, deary. you’re wearing a slutty swim suit, you think you’ll last before it gets caught on a twig?” he mocks, his deep voice making you shiver. you hug yourself at his words, scowling as you run around a pallet with him, trying to greed the pallet.

“don’t be a pervert!” you scold, running pass the pallet to trick him, only to double back and drop it on his face last second once he’s standing close enough. a guttural groan is heard from him as he stumbles back, his sunglasses falling off his face. he glares at you.

the few seconds he’s caught off guard your eyes graze over his figure, admiring his rare outfit. it was a uniform of some sort, blue button up with a tactical vest and black slacks. his sleeves were cuffed and tugged up to the crook of his elbow, showing his veiny fore arms and expensive looking wrist watch. you could bet it had a dozen cracks on it by now.

“you haven’t gotten laid in what, months? years? no wonder you’re so uptight!” you yell. “maybe some pussy would do you a favor!” you shriek, still feeling a little offended over his comment on how slutty you looked. as if you had a choice wearing this!

“you’ll regret those words.” he hisses, lunging towards you and managing to grasp ahold of your body, throwing you over his shoulder roughly. you squeal, thrashing around as he starts to lead you to the secluded basement. great, you had really pissed him off.

you’re caught by surprise when he throws you onto the cold floor without any care, a small yelp leaving your throat as you try to stand up. he immediately pushes down on your back with his foot, crushing you into the floor. he grinds his boot into your soft skin, admiring how much of your body was revealed by the flimsy bikini.

“did you anger the entity, darling? no wonder she cursed you with such a scandalous outfit, your frustrating personality must of done what it always does.” he mocks, feeling his pants tighten at the sight of you on the floor under his boot, your pretty skin dirty.

“oh, fuck you! you’re so god damn annoying i swear to—“ you start, getting interrupted when you suddenly feel his boot shove itself between your thighs, rubbing down against your bikini bottom. you squeak, your body jolting at the unexpected friction.

“what? what’s wrong?” he coo’d, a cocky grin on his stupidly handsome face, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. he grinds his boot against your clothed pussy, relishing in the noises you suppressed. he could hear the small gasp leaving your system.

“you pervert, get your boot off my..” you whimper, voice cracking. you blink in surprise as he kneels down behind you, admiring your body from his angle. your butt was pretty much in his face, in your hands and knees. you gulped hard, feeling humiliated. and slightly aroused.

“what? what’d you say?” he tchs, large fingers tugging at the straps that hold your bikini together, the little bow threatening to give out. one little pull of his fingers and your bare butt and pussy would be on display for him.

soon enough he pulls on the thin strap and it falls off your hips, discarding onto the floor. you gasp as the cold air brushes against you, clenching down subconsciously.

“i hate you.” you whimper, pouting as he runs his fingers over your glistening pussy, his other rustling within his clothes. you heard wrinkling and the unzipping of his slacks.

he pulls his half hard-on out, pre cum dripping off the firm tip. he was extremely turned on by the sight of you bent over with your butt in the air line a dog, pouty lips and flushed cheeks. you looked so adorable.

“shut your lips and stay quiet. i can’t have anyone seeing me with you.” he spits out your name like you were a disgrace to be upon his tongue and you can’t help but feel a little offended. you weren’t that bad of a person!

“what is that supposed to mean?!” you gawk at him, pressing your lips together once he swats at your butt, silencing you. you go back to looking down at the basement floor as he smoothly slides two of his glove-clad fingers into your hole, watching how you take him in perfectly. it was a small squeeze but he manages, his other hand wrapping around his cock to lazily pump.

the precum drips down his cock onto his hand, a husky moan leaving his throat as his head leans back, bathing in the pleasure of the little fantasy he has in his head— fucking your tight pussy. but he knows he can’t achieve that, not here, that is. maybe another day. and he didn’t want you to know how damn desperate he was to be inside you, rutting against your butt like a’ animal in heat. he’d rather die then let you see him in such a submissive and vulnerable state, pussy drunk.

“cum for me, dearest.” he rasps, fingering you harder and deeper in attempts to push you over the edge. your orgasm takes you by surprise as he grinds hard against a very deep part of you, making you bite down to conceal your shriveled up scream. white flashes in your eye sight and you go limp, face down with your ass hanging in the air, cum dripping down your soft thighs and onto the cold concrete floor.

he pulls away with a gasp, focusing on fisting his cock now. he clenches his fist and slides it up and down at a rough pace, low deep noises leaving his throat. he positions his head right at your entrance, giving himself a few last pumps. he shoots out his load— aiming for your pretty hole, mixing his fluids with yours.

“ooh, that’s a pretty sight, doll.” he croons, panting. he fixes up his pants, watching how you lay on the floor like a dumb puppy, catching your own breath after that hard fingering he gave you.

“don’t be pathetic, dear. i didn’t even go that hard.” he scoffs, standing up to his full height, towering over you. he gives you a nasty stink eye before walking off, leaving you in your glory on the ground with your bikini by your side.

[tinybeetiny]

Aren’t You Embarrassed Part 4: P.S

NonIdol!Toxic!Fratboy!SeonghwaxAfab!ReaderxNonIdol!Fratboy!Jongho love whatever you can call it triangle….

Taglist: @n1nme4r @e3ellie If you would like to be a part of the taglist please fill out this form

Sorry this took so long, I've been feeling a little stuck these days. Ugh I have a plan for the next few parts… but I’m glad Jongho got his lick back because… as he should!

Cw: explicit language, toxic everything

Previous Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Jongho wait! Please!” You called out, trying to chase the boy as he stomps out of the Library. Luckily the door was a pull not a push which slowed him down just enough for you to catch up “Jongho please.” You begged, grabbing his arm. Your heart clenches when he rips it out of your hold “No. What the actually fuck was that huh? You said you were over him, completely” his voice was loud and thankfully you both were out of the library or else you would’ve gotten the scolding of a lifetime “I am I swear. He caught me at a bad time and I wasn’t thinking straight please.” Jongho really didn’t know what to say. Yeah he expected it from Seonghwa but from you, absolutely not. He thought that you were 100000% over Seonghwa. He would watch as you two walked around campus hand and hand noticing the dark glare from the older man but you never even noticed, never batted an eye, too engrossed in the person you were with. Maybe that’s why Jongho felt immense anger with your words, his eye twitching slightly “Caught you at a bad time? What? Waiting for me?”

He really could not believe what he was hearing. If all you needed was a distraction he was fine with that in fact he was the one who offered. Things only started to change when you wanted more. The little dates, the hand holding, the late night phone calls, everything you initiated. So he was genuinely confused with the events that unfolded just a few minutes ago “No please I didn’t mean it like that” you were on the verge of tears and you can only imagine how you looked right now following Jongho like a sad puppy trying to get him to listen “Then how did you mean it because the way I’m taking it is while you were waiting for me to show up to our study date you let Seonghwa finger you in the nonfiction section AFTER you tell me you have all these big feelings for me so tell me (y/n) how did you mean it?” Jongho spun around to face you stopping you in your tracks. He was mad, no more like furious and a little embarrassed. He really didn’t talk to people or even date for that matter but there was something about you that was different, or so he thought.

You open your mouth to explain but no words come out and you’re stuck opening and closing your mouth like a fish. He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head “You know what. Just forget it. Forget all of this and just leave me the fuck alone” You feel your heart break when he turns and stomps off leaving you in the middle of the side walk with tears streaming down your face. Seonghwa stands at the front of the doors to library, a smug smile on his face as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. It’s only a matter of time before you unblock his number and crawl back into his bed. He feels no remorse, no sympathy just a little victory. He had you first and no matter how hard you try and convince yourself otherwise, he will always have some sort of hold over you. His smile only seemed to grow more when he watches Jongho storm off and more tears run down your cheeks.

You tried, you really did but no matter how many times you reached out Jongho would never answer. You tried to approach him on campus but as soon as you got close he would disappear. You couldn’t just show up to his place and risk running into Seonghwa again, that’s the last thing you wanted but you needed to talk to him, to make things right if he let you. You like Jongho, you genuinely do. He makes you feel great in AND out of the bedroom and you’d be damned if you were going to let some arrogant asshole ruin things. So that’s how you found yourself walking up to that stupid frat house, knocking on the door and praying Seonghwa was not the one who answered. Luckily San was the one to open the door who is very surprised at your presence “Oh! Hey (y/n). Um Seonghwa isn’t here right now” he said awkwardly scratching the back of his neck “Oh no, I’m not here to see him. I was wondering if Jongho was here?” Your hands clasp behind your back as you sway anxiously. His eyebrows raise and his eyes widen slightly “Jongho? Oh! He’s in his room. BUT HE HAS SOMEONE oh nevermind” as soon as you heard he was in his room you pushed past San and ran up the stairs too focused to hear what he was yelling about.

You were determined to talk things through with Jongho one way or another but when you opened his door all hope flew out of the window. There he lay very comfortably with some girl that was in your communications, whom you didn’t care enough to get to know, bouncing like a bunny in heat. He looked over when he heard the door open only to see your shocked expression “Are you going to stand there and watch like a weirdo or are you going to leave?” Your expression morphed into hurt as you spun to leave “Hey (y/n)” you paused when he called out to you feeling the tiniest bit of hope “Can you close the door when you leave? Thanks” you slam the door shut behind you and rush down the stairs needing to leave this scummy house. But can you really be that upset? Do you have the right? You knew Jongho was upset but you still hoped he’d be willing to talk at least.

San watched you practically float down the stairs and Mingi perked up from his spot on the couch. He knew, everyone knew. It wasn’t Jongho who told them, no no the boy was too private to tell them about his situationships. Oh no this was Seonghwa and his big cocky mouth. The boys knew you and Jongho were seeing each other but weren’t really surprised when Seonghwa bragged about the library incident figuring you were back under his spell again. So when Jongho brought the other girl over they didn’t bat an eye “Yo (y/n) what are you doing here? Hwa’s not here so are you trying to get with another frat member?” Mingi teased. You didn’t even process his words as you sprinted out of the front door just wanting to be in the comfort of your own dorm but it seems the universe wanted to punish you even more. Tears blurred your vision so you didn’t see figure approaching “Woah sweetheart what’s the rush” hands hold your arms trying to stabilize you. You blinked a few times to get rid of the tears out of your eyes and when your vision cleared Seonghwa’s dark eyes were staring back at you. You sniffle not having the energy to push him off “Aww poor baby.” He taunts before pulling you against his body, wrapping his arms around you “Why don’t you come back inside and I can help you feel better yeah?”

[taeminsung]

♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── exist..

pairing || bang chan x reader

summary || all he wanted to do was protect you, if only for a moment.

genre/s || fluff. hurt. comfort.

mina’s notes || been feeling some sort of way and just needed some channie comfort lately. please enjoy ♡ 

Quietly Chan crept through the front door of his dorm. The last time he looked at a clock, the time read our 3:42 am, which meant everyone in the dorm was, or should be, asleep with the day they had. As he moved as silently as he could, a bright sticky note on the wall before the hall to the bedrooms caused him to pause and read it over. ‘You did great today’, the note read in your handwriting. Without realizing it, a smile crept across his face. Of course, you’d leave a note here for the other members to see too. It was one of the many reasons he knew that the members loved you and you loved them. You found ways to take care of them without them ever asking you to. A small laugh escaped his lips as he remembered when Felix said that while Chan is officially dating you, it felt like they all got a partner too. Notes like this popped up from time to time, always making him wonder who was in on it with you. Continuing his journey to his much-needed bed, his thoughts drifted to how he could repay the favor this time.

Entering his room, he didn’t expect to see a silhouette sitting in the middle of his dark room. Love? He called out softly, trying not to scare you with the way he was sneaking around his own home. The silent response was enough to tell him something was off, well that, and the fact you were sitting up in his bed well after what had to be 4 am now. Had he missed an important date? Was he supposed to be somewhere today and accidentally stood you up? Is everything ok with yours and his families? A million questions came crashing into his mind before he visibly shook it off and walked towards where you were sitting, eyes taking in the way his sweatshirt extended into sweater paws over your hands, and the way the hood was just low enough to cover your face. In an instant he panicked on the inside, trying to run down all the possible reasons for this. Did you have a nightmare and wake up to an empty room?

Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, gaging your reaction, before scouting further into it and in front of you when you didn’t protest his initial action. As if he was trying not to break the most expensive glass piece he had ever interacted with, he reached out to take one of your paws into him, noting how wet the ends felt. His chest began to ache as he gingerly pulled you into him tucking your face into the crook of his neck, fingers gently moving up and down your back. Words formed in his mind before disappearing before he could open his mouth. Time felt like it was passing too quickly, and he couldn’t get a single word out to comfort you, all he could do was hold you close to him. Trying to back track on all your conversations lately to try to get a clue as to what may have happened, he breath hitched when you finally spoke. I feel like... silence filled the pause, Chan just wanting to urge you to continue. I feel like, a little bit like I’ve failed, you whispered after the long minutes of him holding you close. Part of him wanted to ask why but he knew that if he spoke at this moment, you’d never want to finish the thoughts that were clearly begging to be let you. I’m watching everyone around me succeed at their dreams, your breath fanned against his neck as your spoke, and I feel like I’m stuck.

In that moment, he felt like the dark had come alive and was trying to take you away from him. Pressing his lips together, his eyes shifted to the ceiling, eyes catching the last few glow-in-the-dark stars you had put on his ceiling one night when all he wanted to do was go stargazing with you. I… I don’t know what to do anymore. I just feel like I’m existing and not living, you finished with fresh tears wetting the collar of his shirt. All too well did he know this pain that you were feeling. The feeling of simply existing, rather than feeling like you were in control and living your life. Yet he knew that there wasn’t much that he could do in the form of words for you, so he settled for letting your words echo around in his mind. As your arms wrapped around his waist, he pulled his attention off the ceiling and instead to the side of your head. When your fingers dug into his shirt and face burrowed deeper into his neck with a body shaking sob, he understands that while he had a million things to tell you, mostly the reasons why he was so proud of you, he let his hands put pressure on your back, pulling you somehow even closer to him. You needed to feel grounded in this life. Slowly, he started to adjust the both of you so that instead of sitting in the bed, you were laying on your side, face still protected in the space you had called home so many times before.

All he wanted to do was dive into your brain and chase the demons, monsters, and darkness that haunted you on days like this out. His chest felt constricted as his fingers danced across your back, knowing that you didn’t want to break any further. How long had you been in this room like this? Hours? The day? Desperately he wanted to tell you that you weren’t a failure and were on your own journey in this life, one that deceiving looks like someone else’s but had its own twist and turns for you. The dreams you were longing for were going to come to you eventually, but you just needed to wait a little longer. Something he had experienced firsthand. Yet, he knows that those words would do nothing for you tonight and instead settled for being the tether that kept you grounded. Soon he felt your breaths start to even out, encaged in his arms, a small piece of his chest swelled knowing he was at least able to get you to sleep off a little bit of this. Perhaps in the morning, some of the darkness will have been lightened. Pressing a long kiss into your hair, he made a mental note to make tomorrow filled with things that made you happy, that caused his favorite smile to grace your face. He would shower you with all the love he could possibly give.

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ requests are open.

[freeuselandonorris]

I know all I do nowadays is talk about piss in your inbox (living up to my alias ig) but good god am I having Thoughts about this https://www.tumblr.com/freeuselandonorris/765509716350844928/i-know-alphaomega-isnt-usually-your-thing-but?source=share

like first of all; why not both!

what came to mind for me is how some ABO writers choose to give male omegas an (at least partial) AFAB reproduction system which presents the potential for what I choose to refer to as "piss edging". like a combination of the knot pressing on their bladder while blocking their urethra with the pressure so they physically cannot let it go no matter how much they need to, and their desperation goes up exponentially until the alpha's knot deflates (I think it would be an understatement to say that it would be difficult to hold it after that)

take this as a trick or treat if you want <3 with free reign on anything involving "alpha/omega" and "piss" I just needed the visual of that scene out of my system

so one thing about me is that even if it's a kink i profess not to enjoy (omegaverse), if it's got piss, i will probably write it lmao

this is. written in one sitting in my notes app, not read through, and unhinged. enjoy lmao

cw: piss desperation and involuntary pissing, omegaverse, oscar has a cunt.

By the fifteen-minute mark, Oscar was hanging his head and panting.

It hadn’t seemed to matter at the time, that he’d not been to the bathroom for three or four hours beforehand and his bladder was already starting to ache. It was one more sting in a body full of them. Nothing had mattered other than getting Lando inside him, hands hooked around his elbows and Oscar’s knees spread wide on the scratchy hotel towel he’d put beneath them to protect the carpet. He’d dripped all over it before Lando could shove himself in.

It hadn’t even dawned on Oscar to care when Lando was fucking him, despite the throb that went through his pelvis with every thrust, the clench and ache. His cunt just wanted to be full, and it was, so it was fine.

Only when Lando’s hips had locked up against his arse and filled Oscar up even more — first with his cum, and then, a few seconds later, with the slow swell of his knot — did the pain kick in for real.

“Fuck, you need to hurry up,” Oscar ground out. Lando was still twitching against his back, knot stretching his cunt so much it was on the verge of giving him cramp. “I really need to piss.”

Lando laughed breathlessly, mouthing at the sweat on the back of his neck. “Yeah, nah,” he said. “It doesn’t feel like it’s going down at all any time soon. You’re gonna have to hold it.”

Oscar groaned and let his head drop to the bed. Behind him, Lando shifted his weight and the resulting pressure made Oscar curse into the blankets.

“God,” he said, a bit brokenly. He was so hot, and full, and now he’d started thinking about the burn between his legs it was unimaginable that he’d ever been able to think of anything else. “I don’t. I don’t think I can, it’s bad.”

Lando gave a huffy sort of laugh, but when he spoke there was an edge of irritation in his voice. “What d’you want me to do about it? I’m literally stuck here.”

“I know,” Oscar snapped, trying to curl in on himself in the hope it would hurt less. All it did was jostle Lando, and Oscar let out a high-pitched noise as the burn reached a sharp crescendo.

He shoved a hand between his legs, convinced he’d find himself pissing without even realising it, but all he felt was the tacky residue of his slick.

“Jesus,” Lando said. He sounded a bit concerned now. “You sound like you’re in pain.”

“I am,” Oscar said, through gritted teeth.

Lando made an indistinct sound. “Listen, just grab the towel and stick it between your legs and go into that. I won’t even look, I swear. We can put it in the shower after.”

Oscar wrapped his arms over his head and contemplated what would be worse: the embarrassment of pissing in front of Lando, or feeling like this for another ten minutes.

He reached down and grabbed the towel, bundled it up and shoved it between his legs.

Nothing happened. His urethra burned, heartbeat pounding in his cunt, but — nothing.

He breathed out, tried to relax. It was hard, with the way Lando’s knot was pushing him open.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “I don’t — I don’t think I can. I think your knot is, like. Blocking it from getting out.”

There was a small silence.

“Shit,” Lando said, eventually.

He brought a hand up, touching Oscar’s hair gently. Oscar let out a desperate, shuddering breath. The whole lower half of his body felt seized, like a heat only worse. He tried to breathe shallowly, tried to stay as still as possible, tried to think of anything but the burn and ache in his swollen bladder.

He couldn’t say how many minutes had passed when it slowly filtered through his addled brain that Lando’s knot wasn’t pressing him open in quite the same way anymore.

“It’s starting to go down,” Lando said softly. He was still stroking Oscar’s hair, had been for a while now. “Won’t be long now.”

Oscar made a sound in his throat. He couldn’t nod, couldn’t move at all.

Lando shifted behind him, and a sudden wave of pain lanced through Oscar again. He knew before he heard the sound of it that he was pissing himself, involuntary and humiliating, all over the bundled towel.

“Oh, shit,” Lando said again, and Oscar made a wild, embarrassed grab for the towel that dislodged Lando from his overstretched cunt entirely.

There was no point feeling ashamed about it anymore. He couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t form a thought. He clutched the bundled towel against his cunt and let himself go into it, and the relief of it was almost better than the feeling of Lando fucking him had been. He was whimpering, could vaguely hear himself, but he couldn’t do anything other than concentrate on the feeling of the towel growing heavier and more sodden in his hands as his body finally emptied itself.

[sighonaraa]

augusnippets day 8 -- reunion/found family!

“Do you think I have gotten too tall?” Sam asks Jamie abruptly, rounding on him with such intensity that Jamie, unwittingly, takes a half-step backwards, eyes blown wide. “Please tell me that you brought a measuring tape.”

“Why the fuck would I bring a measuring tape to the airport,” says Jamie. “And what’re you on about, you’ve gotten too tall?”

“What if he doesn’t recognize me?” Sam says, bringing the corner of his thumb to his mouth only for Jamie to tap it away before he can gnaw. “If I’ve gotten too tall, what if he doesn’t recognize me and he leaves without us and he’s lost out in the city for weeks—”

Oh. Oh. “Mate,” Jamie says, fond, “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Sam bristles, so Jamie clasps him by the shoulders; presses his thumbs to the hollows of his friend’s collarbone hard enough that he hopes the warmth of his body, the steadiness of it, will seep into Sam’s and allow him to settle. “Your dad would still recognize you if you grew ten eyes and dyed your hair bleach blond. Swear down, he’d probably love you even more.”

“I just don’t think that can possibly be true,” says Sam.

“No, no, ’cause he’d have to love you more to make up for all the self-esteem issues you gained on account of having ten eyes.”

Sam searches Jamie’s face as though he can’t quite believe that was an actual sentence spoken into being, and Jamie takes it as a massive win because if Sam is stuck on the whole ‘ten-eyes-bleach-blond-hair’ of it all, then he’s not stuck on the whole ‘it’s-been-a-year-since-I-saw-my-dad-and-I’m-scared-I’ve-changed-more-than-either-of-us-are-ready-for’ of it all. Finally, Sam’s expression softens, the mountain-peak crease between his brows eases into a vague hill, and he smiles, tremulous and then brighter, brighter, brighter.

“That,” he says, “might now be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” He returns Jamie’s hold, hands to shoulders, and then draws them together for an embrace that Jamie melts into, every fiber of his being aching for the simple press of Sam’s brow to his neck, for the soft scratchiness of his palm to the crown of Sam’s head. “Thank you. I know I’m being—”

“Shut up,” Jamie whispers. “You ain’t being stupid.”

Sam shifts; huffs a little laugh that tickles at Jamie’s skin. “I was going to say that I’m being silly, actually, thank you very much.”

“Oh. But you were being a bit stupid, to be fair.”

“Excuse me—!”

“I must say, I am incredibly glad to see my boys getting along, but I am feeling rather left out of all this hugging.”

The voice that interrupts Sam is deep, and rumbling, and spilling over with the sort of hearth-warmth that makes Jamie think of thick, hand-knit sweaters in the winter, a proper nice pair of socks resting in front of the fireplace, hot chocolate steaming in painted mugs. He nearly cries from it, which really is stupid, and he lifts his head from where it’s buried against Sam to find Mr. Obisanya standing there with his suitcases and a blistering smile splitting across his face like it could crack him in two from the sheer force of it.

“Daddy!” Sam cries, joyful, and lunges into Mr. Obisanya’s chest. Mr. Obisanya catches him and holds him tight, cradles him close as though life never happened and Sam is still a baby. “Daddy, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you,” says Mr. Obisanya fiercely, and presses a kiss to his son’s forehead. Then, before Jamie can bolt or bury a hole in the ground to die in or hide, he glances up and says, “Jamie! Do you not wish to say hello?”

“Oh, no, I—hello, Mr. Obisanya,” Jamie says, awkward. “I just—”

“Come here,” says Mr. Obisanya. “Join us. And, please, call me Ola. You have more than earned it.”

And when Mr. Obisanya—Ola—catches Jamie by the wrist and drags him to the hug, Jamie doesn’t resist; he brings his arms up and allows himself to melt, slow and sure as sunlight through the window, into this family that—maybe, possibly, yes—he can call his own.

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 4.6k ➠ warnings: cursing, vomiting, depictions of illness, hospital settings, etc. (but he gets better! i prommy!) ➠ genre: fluff, a touch of hurt/comfort, suggestive? (i mean they’re mentioned to shower together but it’s in a very tender caretaking sort of way, it's a ‘you cannot perform this task of hygiene and i love you and will assist you in performing this vital task’ sort of thing), established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (after 27JSC, before garbage goal) ➠ extra info: the title is directly lifted from the title of this academic article on pubmed that came up in some googling i was doing for this fic the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ author’s note: i did NOT expect this to turn into a literal series but these two have rlly captured my lil heart tbh. i’m obsessed with them. they’re in love. i’m not sorry and i will not pretend to be in order to be cute on the internet. anyway enjoy 🫶 ➠ series masterlist

The utter relief that you felt having Sungchan home again was a feeling unparalleled. Having him home, in his own clothes, in your bed, holding you and laughing at something stupid he’d just said but thought was the funniest thing ever—that was the most you’d ever loved someone, you decided.

Stirring slightly in the middle of the night, you were aware of being uncomfortable, hot, and sweaty under all your sheets, blankets, and boyfriend.

“Mmh,” you groaned, pushing at Sungchan, who was of course passed out on top of you like you were the mattress. “Channie, off. ‘m too hot.”

He readjusted slightly, but just grabbed you to pull you to his front like the cuddle monster he was. You were now acutely aware of your clothes sticking to your back and chest.

“No, let go.” You grabbed at his arms. “Come on, Channie, aren’t you hot too?”

He suddenly vaulted himself out of bed, throwing the sheets and blankets off of him in a mad dash towards the bathroom. You sat up in bed, blearily watching him in confusion until he kneeled down at the toilet and you finally put the pieces together, hurrying in after him and turning on the light on your way in.

He didn’t have any hair to hold back from his face as he emptied his stomach, so you mainly rubbed his back through his damp t-shirt. With the bathroom lights on, you were able to see that the front and back of his white shirt were entirely soaked with sweat, his face pink and sweat-sheened, and his hair stuck to his forehead. His whole body radiated with an unnatural heat as you sat beside him, coaching and comforting him through it as he gripped the toilet bowl with white knuckles.

When it seemed like he had gotten to a pause in his retching, you coaxed his head up away from the opening, then flushed it. Grabbing some toilet paper from the roll hanging next to you, you bundled up enough to wipe around his mouth and nose, then tossed that into the bowl as well as the water was still draining.

“We…” He stopped to cough, then spit into the toilet. “We ate the same stuff last night… Why aren’t you…”

“Baby, I don’t think this is food poisoning,” you replied, moving his hair off his forehead to press the back of your hand there. “I think you’re sick.”

“But my immune system is so good! I haven’t even gotten a cold in like five years! I got my flu shot two weeks ago!”

“I know, I was there holding your hand.”

His whining was cut off by more puking, and you continued to soothe him through it.

“Channie, you can’t send this.” You shook your head, reading over his email to his research head again.

“But I have to… to tell him why I can’t come in,” Sungchan reached for his phone from your hands.

“Baby, this is gibberish.” You held the phone away from his grabby hands so you could delete the nonsense email and exit out of the app before setting it on his nightstand. “You go back to sleep, I’ll call the lab for you, okay?”

He sighed, laying back down in bed and closing his eyes. “Okay… don’t take too long… miss you…”

“And he’s out,” you commented to yourself fondly.

It was quick work to look up the office line on the university’s website, and you took the call in the living room as he napped in your room. Hearing the click of it being picked up first, it was answered by an older-sounding, stern man.

“Yoon Taekyung.”

“Hi, Dr. Yoon, this is Y/L/N Y/N, I’m—”

“Jung Sungchan’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, yes, Jung Sungchan’s girlfriend.” You laughed nervously, caught off-guard. You’d never met Sungchan’s research head before.

“Jung talks about you a lot. I don’t stalk my PhD candidates online, in case you were wondering.”

“No, I wasn’t, but thank you for clarifying,” you chuckled. “Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you, but unfortunately Sungchan has a stomach bug and is not going to be able to come in for a few days. He had typed up his own email to you but when I proofread it… you could tell the fever was boiling his brain.”

“I would have appreciated the laugh,” Dr. Yoon said dryly. “We certainly don’t want Jung bringing any outside germs into the microbiology lab. Keep him home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Dr. Yoon.”

Having already finished your master’s degree, you didn’t have any professors to email about missing class today. It was a Friday, and you weren’t scheduled to work all weekend, so you were free to stay home and take care of Sungchan.

Walking back into your bedroom, you stopped next to Sungchan’s side of the bed, pressing your hand to his forehead. He really was burning up.

His eyes fluttered open, and he mumbled something that sounded like your name.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here,” you reassured him, stroking his head. “Go back to sleep, I’m going to make you something to eat, okay?”

His eyes closed again, and you gave his head one last gentle pat.

Poking your head back into the bedroom some time later, you were pleasantly surprised to see Sungchan awake again, scrolling on his phone.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You walked over, grabbing the thermometer off his nightstand.

“Mm… great,” he groaned, setting his phone down.

“Liar.” You held the thermometer out. “Open.”

He pouted up at you with the thermometer sticking out of his mouth as the two of you waited. It beeped, and you took it back, frowning as you read the display.

“I don’t like that…” You sighed, taking a picture of it with your phone. “I’m going to text your mom. How’s your tummy?”

“Fine…”

“You think you can eat? I made some food.”

“Sure, sure, yeah.”

“Okay, be right back, Channie.” You kissed his hair.

In the kitchen, you hurriedly opened your text conversation with Sungchan’s mom. She was a family medicine doctor, and you’d been updating her on how her son was doing throughout the day.

[you: attached image]

[you: his fever keeps going up, even after the meds he took this morning. no more puking so far]

As you spooned out small portions of dishes, loaded them up on a tray, and reheated a mug of some tea you’d prepared earlier, you continued texting back and forth with Dr. Jung.

[dr. jung: Give him another dose of the acetaminophen. If it keeps going up take him to urgent care]

[you: will do, thank you. he’s about to try to eat some lunch. wish us luck!]

[dr. jung: Good luck sweetheart]

Tucking your phone away, you grabbed the tray of food to take back in to Sungchan. He had pushed himself up against the headboard, letting you set the tray down on his lap. Putting the now steaming mug on the nightstand, you started pointing to everything.

“Ginger tea, and easy tummy foods. Some rice, soup, crackers, and for dessert—” You pulled out a small package from the pocket of your hoodie.

He gasped softly. “Chocolate biscuits…”

“Chocolate biscuits,” you confirmed, setting them on the tray table then stroked his hair gently. “I’m going to go clean up the kitchen then I’ll come sit with you. Holler if you need me before then, okay?”

He grabbed your hand before you could get too far, his skin burning hot against yours. “Hey. Thank you.”

“Anything for my Sungchannie,” you smiled, gently swinging your linked hands where they hung in the air. “Small bites, and don’t force anything down, okay? You’ll only throw it back up if you do that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how are you on water?” You picked up the water bottle on his nightstand with your free hand, shaking it. “Eh, half. I’ll refill it for you, too. Be back in a sec.”

After putting the leftovers away and refilling his water, you shook out a couple more tablets of acetaminophen and brought both of them back with you.

“Here.” You placed them on the table next to him. “Your mom says to take another dose, and if your fever keeps going up then we’ll have to take you to urgent care.”

He nodded, thankfully opting not to talk with food in his mouth. You scooted back into bed next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he slowly picked at his food.

“Good food, baby, thank you,” he sniffled, taking a sip of his tea. “I mean, my nose is so stuffed up I can’t taste most of it, but it’s still good.”

You chuckled, patting his chest. “Thanks, Channie.”

“Are you sure you should be sitting so close to me? I don’t want to get you sick too.”

“We live together, I’m either going to get sick or I won’t. It’s not like I’m asking you to spit in my mouth or anything,” you scoffed.

“Yeah, right now.”

Before you could even make a retort, he suddenly careened forward in a fit of violent coughs, and you surged to first steady the tray table so he didn’t knock the liquids everywhere. After moving it off his legs and onto an unoccupied area of the mattress, you rested a hand on his back as he continued coughing, wincing sympathetically at how painful they sounded. Finally, he stopped coughing, and paused to catch his breath.

“Mm… I think you should keep your loogies to yourself for now, Channie,” you tutted. “Drink some water.”

Setting his water bottle back down, he blinked slowly. “Ugh… that hurt.”

“Do you want the food back? Or are you done?”

He shook his head. “I’m done. Don’t want anything coming back up.”

“I’ll put it in the fridge in case you get hungry later.”

You had just closed the fridge when you heard retching sounds from your bathroom.

It was almost two hours later before the two of you left the cold tile floor of your bathroom. There were impressions of the grout in your knees and your joints ached from the unforgiving, hard flooring. And it was only to get Sungchan to sit on the equally hard, cold, tile floor of the shower under a lukewarm stream of water—you were afraid of making it too hot with how high his fever already was, and he whimpered like the water was hurting him if it was too cold. With how much fever-sweating he’d been doing since the wee hours of the morning, you could only imagine how uncomfortable it was for him (you yourself still hadn’t had the chance to sneak in a quick shower since being awoken in sweat that morning either). Not even to mention just all the puke that the both of you had been around.

You knelt behind him to very gently work some shampoo through his hair, then tilted his chin up with your hand to direct his head back into the spray and rinse out the suds. You used your other hand to block his eyes from any stray shampoo that may accidentally run down into them. With his hair off his forehead, you could catch a glimpse of a light scar, from taking a puck directly to the face your senior year of college, soon after you started dating. You’d taken care of him then, warned him to be careful when washing his hair, and he’d joked about having you do it for him. You couldn’t help but run a finger over it lightly.

After finishing up washing his hair, you reached behind you to blindly fumble for the handle and turn the spray off. It was a bit dicey getting the two of you to stand up in the confined space with Sungchan’s less-than-optimal coordination at the moment, and you toweled the both of you off in the bathroom quickly.

Back in new clothes, you let him fall into bed as you appraised the nightstand. “Did you take the meds before you threw up? I don’t— Oh, there they are.”

You grabbed them from behind the water bottle, nudging Sungchan’s shoulder. “Baby, you can take a nap after you take these, okay? They’re going to help your fever.”

“Uh?” He squinted one eye open, then dropped his mouth open. You placed the tablets on his tongue, then held the straw up to his lips. He swallowed with minimal difficulty, then dropped his head back down to the pillow.

You crawled into bed too, curling up behind him and throwing an arm over his middle. Sungchan groaned and shifted in place.

“Are you warm?” You asked quietly. “I’ll scooch if you’re too warm.”

“No,” he whined, grabbing at the blankets and pulling them up higher. “Cold… ‘n everything hurts, baby. My head hurts, my throat hurts, my stomach hurts, my muscles hurt from throwing up so much. Everything hurts.”

“My Sungchannie.” You scooted in closer to him, burying your face in his neck. “I’m sorry… I wish it didn’t hurt, baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could make it stop for you.”

“I’m going to take a nap, I think…” He sniffed.

“I think that’s a good idea.” You kissed his shoulder. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, baby boy.”

“That’s it, we’re going to the urgent care,” you declared with a shake of your head, looking at the most recent temperature readout on the thermometer. Up again.

Despite all of Sungchan’s grumbling about not being that sick, you still managed to get him into the car and to the doctor, keeping a wary eye on him as you took all of your turns very carefully and accelerated and braked as smoothly as possible so that he hopefully wouldn’t vomit all over your car interior as well. After staying in the waiting room for an agonizing amount of time, you two finally went back.

The doctor took one look at Sungchan’s vitals, and you explained just how many times he’d thrown up in less than twelve hours, before deciding to admit him.

You had been asked to step out of his room for the moment, and walked up and down the long hallway, continuing to update his mom.

[you: he just got admitted. doctor says he probably just needs fluids and something stronger to bring the fever down but wants to keep him overnight for observation]

[dr. jung: Who’s his attending?]

[you: dr. chen]

[dr. jung: Oh good. He’s good, our Sungchan’s in good hands. I’ll be by after clinic closes.]

[you: thanks, i’ll let him know you’re coming]

A nurse left Sungchan’s room then, and you perked up as the older man seemed to be walking towards you.

“I’m so sorry, miss, this is going to sound weird,” he began with a sheepish smile. “But has your husband been on TV?”

“Oh, uh, boyfriend…” You corrected him distractedly, way more focused on said boyfriend. “And uhm, not exactly. Why?”

“He just looks very familiar.”

You thought for a second, then suggested, “Do you like hockey?”

“Yes, my wife and I have season passes for the local university’s team’s home games.”

“Sungchan played for the Raptors a couple years ago.”

“Oh! I was wondering why the name was so familiar too…”

“Sorry, did you need something from me?”

“Yes, I need to put his IV in, uhm, but he’s asking for you…”

You nodded. “Yeah, he has a fear of needles. Shouldn’t that be in his chart or whatever somewhere?”

“We just have the records from the urgent care doctor who sent him up here, sorry,” the nurse admitted. “But I’ll make a note of it.”

Following the nurse in, you saw that Sungchan was all by himself, and had to bite your lip at the image of him already hooked up by wires to a bunch of other machines. He still smiled when he saw you, though.

“Hey, baby…” he held his hand out towards you, and you took it, giving it a squeeze.

“Hi. Heard you were asking for me.”

“Thought you might feel left out if I got a needlestick and you weren’t here.”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite hobby, watching you get pricked over and over,” you replied sarcastically.

“Which arm?” The nurse asked.

“The right. He’s a lefty,” you answered immediately.

He looked between you and Sungchan for a moment.

“What she said,” Sungchan confirmed.

As the nurse prepared his arm for the IV, you distracted him on his other side.

“So, I was texting your mom in the hallway,” you told him. “She said she’s going to come by after the clinic closes. She also knows your attending, says you’re in good hands, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He suddenly squeezed your hand tight.

You rushed to find another topic and keep talking, “Also, I have to tell you about this new book I was reading. Really, it was a collection of short stories, but you know how I am with those. God, it’s incredible. It’s like surrealism, and sort of psychological horror, and some of them toe in body horror, but also magical realism, but all of them sort of explore like womanhood and societal expectations of women and that kind of thing. They’re so fantastic. There’s one about a teenage girl who just starts eating birds one day. Like, live birds, the kind of birds you’d keep as a pet. Feathers and all. She’s not actually the POV character, though, you get to follow her dad as he tries to take in this change and adjust and acclimate to it as his otherwise normal teen daughter has to consume live birds while his estranged wife tries to convince him to just accept it and that it’s really not that bad. And obviously that can be a metaphor for how fathers—”

“Done.” The nurse announced. “Dinner’s in an hour, Mr. Jung. Buzz if you need anything before then.”

“I think you freaked him out with your ‘eating live birds and scaring your dad is a metaphor for being a teen girl’ story, baby,” Sungchan chuckled.

“But it is!” You defended yourself. “And it’s so good, really!”

“I’m sure it is.” He scooted over in the tiny bed to make a little bit of room, then patted the empty space he’d just created. “Want my girl to tell me all about it.”

You clambered up next to him, still with one foot hanging off the bed to let both of you fit, but just all too happy to be with him again.

Just a little while later, and the nurse was poking his head back into Sungchan’s room. Dr. Jung paused the funny story she had just been telling from her seat on the small recliner next to the bed, and all three of you looked over at the newcomer.

The nurse focused his apologetic eyes on you, “Miss, I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over.”

“Oh.” You looked around awkwardly, starting to get up from the bed. “Sorry, I thought he was allowed to have one person stay overnight.”

“Spouses and immediate family only, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fi—”

“No, we’re married,” Sungchan insisted, grabbing your hand. “It’s fine, she can stay.”

“Sir…” He trailed off, clearly debating about whether or not he wanted to just outright call Sungchan a liar.

“Channie, I told him earlier we were dating,” you informed your boyfriend quietly. “It’s fine, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Baby…” He sighed.

“It’ll be okay, Channie, I’ll be back tomorrow,” you promised him, grabbing your go bag off the floor and hoisting it onto your shoulder. “You just worry about resting and getting better for me, okay?”

“I’ll walk you out, sweetheart,” his mom offered kindly, standing up as well.

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Channie,” you leaned down to drop a peck on his forehead. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He continued to keep a deathly tight grasp on your hand. “I love you too.”

You gave his hand one final pat before regretfully, gently shaking him off and walking out of the room. Dr. Jung slowly meandered down the hall with you.

“I’ll be there, in case they have to inject him, or draw blood, or anything else,” she reassured you.

“Right, thank you,” you nodded, looking down at your feet. “Has he always been afraid of needles? He never really talks about it with me, it’s just one of those things. I go with him for his shots, blood draws, all that.”

“Since he was a kid. He used to run from the room crying. We at least wanted him to be able to handle it on his own by the time he was an adult, even if it wasn’t comfortable.”

“He gives me my monthly injection now, the one I take for my migraines. Did you know that?”

“Really?” She did sound surprised at this tidbit of information.

“Pretty much since we started dating, yeah. Still wants me to go with him for his shots but…”

“It’s different when you’re the one being stuck.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You pressed the down button on the elevator. “Usually I’m the one that has something wrong with me and he’s taking care of me. It’s so… it doesn’t feel right, seeing him like that.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” She rubbed your arm. “But he’s strong, he’s healthy. I’m sure they’ll discharge him tomorrow to go back home with you.”

“Of course.”

“Now you go home and take care of that migraine that’s been coming on for the last fifteen minutes.”

You looked up at her with one eye open, shrugging. “Well, I don’t know if it’s a full migraine…”

“You’re squinting at the lights, sweetheart. Go home so you can take your meds, okay?”

The elevator dinged just then, the doors opening on your floor.

“Okay, thank you.” You gave her a tired, but genuinely grateful smile as you stepped onto the elevator. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You spent that night going through your first migraine alone in almost two years, curled up on Sungchan’s side of the bed in one of his huge hoodies, feeling like your head was exploding. But that wasn’t even the reason that you were crying.

In the morning, you were awake before visiting hours opened back up, and despite your instinct to drive to the hospital and wait in the parking lot, you pulled yourself into the shower instead. You didn’t have a lot of time nor mobility for your own shower routine yesterday, and were in desperate need of a good thorough clean and refresh now. After eating some of the leftovers you made the day before, you packed up a small to-go meal for Dr. Jung as well, unsure of how good the cafeteria food was there. She had given you an update during the night that his fever had finally broken, then another once she woke up that he slept through the rest of the night fine, and was still resting as of her text.

By the time you got to the hospital, it was open for daytime visitors, and you were let in with no issues. You’d let Dr. Jung know when you were on your on way, and she was standing outside the door to his room when you arrived.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she smiled, giving you a hug. “How’s your head?”

“Fine,” you waved off her concerns, reaching into your bag to grab the container of food you’d packed. “Brought you breakfast. Wasn’t sure what they were serving downstairs…”

She accepted it gratefully. “Thank you. Now: How’s your head?”

“Last night kind of sucked,” you admitted. “And I’ve got a rebound headache, but I’ll be fine. We don’t need to tell Channie right now, though. He’ll just worry too much and he won’t get better. How’d you sleep? That recliner looked pretty comfy.”

“Would’ve slept better, except he snores like a freight train,” she scoffed. “How you get any sleep is beyond me.”

You let out a round of genuine laughter at that. “He doesn’t usually. Must be the congestion.”

“Must be.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’m going to take my breakfast downstairs. He’s awake, been asking when you’d be here.”

“Thank you.” You gave her one last fleeting hug before hurrying in.

Sungchan already looked better than yesterday, still tired, but not as deathly pale as before, with no sheen of fever-sweat over his skin. He really just looked… tired.

“Good morning, Channie,” you said breathlessly, setting your bag down. “Heard your fever broke last night. How are you feeling?”

“Morning, baby.” He reached out for your hand. “I’m feeling a lot better. I wish I could’ve made my girl breakfast this morning…”

“You can make me double breakfast after you come home.”

“And what’s double breakfast?”

“Guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

“Breakfast and breakfast for dinner.”

“Sounds pretty good to me.”

He looked up at you with a thoughtful frown on his face, reaching out to gently touch his fingertips to your cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You’re not feeling sick now too, are you?”

“I’m fine, baby. Just a bit tired. I’ll sleep like a baby once I have my Sungchannie back home with me.” You mustered as big of a smile as you could, squeezing his hand.

“I’ve got to get better quick then, can’t have—” he was cut off by loud, violent coughs, throwing his arm up to cover his mouth with his elbow. You rubbed his back as he continued coughing, and he reached for the bedside table. Handing him a couple of tissues from the box sat there, he spat out some of the mucus that had come up, and you used a few more fresh tissues to grab it and throw it away without complaint.

Returning to his side, you continued rubbing his back as he caught his breath. When he started slowly easing back into his bed, you took your hand away and grabbed his cup of water to give him.

“Here.”

He took a few sips before handing it back, and you took his hand again.

“As I was saying,” he cleared his throat. “Before I was so rudely interrupted by my own phlegm: I can’t have my girl all alone in a cold bed at night…”

You laughed, feeling the smitten smile on your face as you looked down at him. “There is some horndog switch in you that gets flipped when you’re unwell, I swear. Scientists need to study you.”

“I’m a scientist, remember?”

“You study a disease in one kind of fish,” you pointed out. “I mean like… sexologists or something. If those exist.”

“They do.”

“Well they’re missing out on… something here.” You gestured to him.

He half-laughed and half-coughed, which devolved into another full coughing fit. After recovering, he said, “Anyway, once my doctor rounds again and checks me out, he’ll be able to say if I can be discharged today or if he wants to keep me another night.”

“Fingers crossed.”

The utter relief that you felt having Sungchan home again was a feeling unparalleled. Having him home, in his own clothes, in your bed, holding you and laughing at something stupid he’d just said but thought was the funniest thing ever—that was the most you’d ever loved someone, you decided.

You suddenly rolled over to lay on top of him, pressing your face to his chest, wrapping your arms around him, and throwing your leg over him. He let out a slightly punched-out noise at the unexpected force of your affections, but nevertheless readjusted to wrap his arms around you.

“Hey, baby… Everything okay?” His throat was still hoarse, and he let out a half-cough half-throat clearing noise between his sentences. He added jokingly, “I’m not going to float away, you know?”

“I never want you to leave again,” you mumbled into his clothes. “Never. Never ever.”

“Okay, yeah,” his voice softened, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I’ll never leave, ever again.”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

[armins-main-hoe]

HI HELLO!!! I would like 2 request some haikyuu! Manager fluffy headcanons please??? Some of the fem! reader being chubby and popular, it can be either platonic or romantic! I also love your writing ✍️ have a good day/night 💗💗

Hello! That is honestly such a cute request and I have a few ideas for it hehehe

I’m going to do this for Karasuno and Nekoma, if you would like other teams, send in a request again saying which ones you want.

(For those who have sent in requests, don't worry, I'm getting round to writing them all up)

“Nah, I think she’s perfect the way she is”

Karasuno

In all honesty, you were really into music and you wanted to sign up for a music club, so when you found yourself standing in the gym, you couldn’t have felt any more out of place.

It seems there was a bit of a mix up with the sign up sheets and you ended up becoming the manager for the boy’s volleyball team.

You don’t know shit about volleyball.

You talked with the teachers and they said it may take some time for them to go through the sign up sheets and find an empty spot in the music club for you to switch into.

So for now, it seems like you're stuck being the boy's volleyball manager.

On your first day, you were very confused about what exactly you should be doing. I mean the team already has a coach and an qualified teacher with them, what can a student manager do?

So you just sat around, watching the boys practice while the coach yells at them. You weren't going to lie, you got a little bored...

Next few days, you would do the same thing, you even used the time to get homework done, since you thought you'd rather do something than do nothing.

You won't lie to yourself, you weren't popular, or that's what you thought, just known by everyone because of how you looked. You knew you weighed more than the other girls in your class, it didn't bother you all that much and you did always try to see the better side of things.

But that doesn't mean that everyone else thought the same.

You were eating lunch with your friends in the school courtyard when a student walking by with his friends yelled out names at you like "piggy", "diabeto" and "fat cow". You didn't really take words like that to heart, they never were all that creative with the name calling.

However, before you or your friends could say anything, a boy from the volleyball team (you pick who) came and stood up for you.

You watched as he stood in front of you and started yelling back at the boy who was name calling you. "I think she's perfect the way she is!"

As you watched him, you couldn't help but wonder "had he always been this good looking? I hadn't noticed before...."

Funny how now you suddenly feel motivated to actually look into volleyball.

So next time there was a practice, you came prepared. You did your research, you learned the basic rules of volleyball and asked other sport manager's what they do.

The boys were surprised to see you suddenly interested since you usually sat in a corner dong homework.

"The teachers are taking forever with sorting the mess up, I didn't think I'd actually be here for here for this long. But since I am, I might as well help out." You shrugged when they questioned it. It wasn't a lie completely but it wasn't the only reason.

You glanced over to the boy who stood up for you the other day before quickly looking away again, he was smiling at you.

As the weeks passed, you began to pick up more and more about volleyball. It wasn't long before you memorized the positions and each player's weakness and strength.

The other boys were quick to notice your little crush and thought that it was probably why you decided to stick around, but later they began to feel like you genuinely enjoying being manager as well. You weren't a bad manager either, you helped everyone equally and the team as a whole.

Nishinoya was little shit though, you were kind and nice to everyone but with him, you're patience wore down thin.

You did get an offer to change clubs and go do the music club you wanted, you thought of going to both volleyball and music but the timings clashed often so you had no choice but to pick.

Volleyball or music?

Oh well, you can practice music at home and the weekends, it's not like you can see your crush at home or the weekends, right?

You kinda knew making decisions based off of a boy wasn't really good for you but even if you wouldn't admit it, you kinda liked playing manager.

You actually found it fun.

When you told the boys that you were staying as their manager, you were taken back by their cheer.

"We were worried that you'd leave us when you get the chance to join the music cub" Hinata said.

"Sure, we didn't get off too well in the beginning but we like having you around now" Suga smiled at you.

The others nodded their head and in that moment, you felt immense happiness wash over you, your face felt a little hot from the praise and you felt a little embarrassed.

"Thanks guys, I promise to get better at being a manager too. I still have a lot to learn."

At the end of practice, you were helping clean up along with your not so secret crush.

"You know Y/N, I hope you don't mind what the others say about you."

You look at him. "Say what?"

"About your looks. It doesn't matter what a person looks like as long as they are happy and healthy." He says, looking at you with a sincere expression.

"Oh that, don't worry, I'm basically immune to those childish name callings, but thank you anyway for looking out for me" You smiled at him.

As you both continued to talk, you didn't see the rest of the boys spying on you both through the windows, silently cheering you and your crush on. They all are VERY supportive of you both, even though they all suck ass at being cupid.

Nekoma

No one and I mean no one has ever thought of bad mouthing you.

You quite literally were the sweetest girl in the whole school, always having pure intentions. No one could ever hate you, you got along with everyone.

You heard the volleyball club was looking for a manager for a while now with no luck so you decided to give it a go.

"hello I'm-"

"Y/N!" A few of them called out, running over to you. You recognised nearly all of the members, you had spoken to them at some point during your time as school, even the ones that were not in your year. You knew the basics of volleyball since the school sometimes made you do that in your Physical Education class.

Yamamoto was all over the place, he could basically explode with how much joy he felt. His team finally got a manager. He was so going to boast about it to his friends outside of school.

What amazed you was how seriously the boys took the sport, you weren't all that much into sports or anything really, you struggled to find something to actually be that passionate about that could lead into a future career.

So you weren't able to understand but respected their dedication and efforts nonetheless.

You were really good and hyping the boys up and giving them motivation when they needed it, some of them became very fond of you.

Kenma would sometimes try to hide behind you whenever Kuroo would be scolding him, you would give kuroo a sweet smile and lie to his face saying "I haven't seen Kenma all day!"

Whenever lev would to the same, it wouldn't work out the same but you found it enduring still. You would let out a laugh before acting like insanely tall guy was actually able to hide perfectly behind you.

Yaku would often tut at you for playing along, saying that lev needs to learn but you keep taking the seriousness out of it.

"But he has gotten better though, hasn't he?" you would say back.

"Not enough!" yaku would reply back before huffing away.

Though despite you being all smiles and sunshines most of the time, you did have moments where you would get a bit serious.

During tournaments specifically, the boys were good, really good even but so were other teams.

When you get nervous you would become quite and have a serious frown on your face.

Kinda scared the boys a bit ngl-

lev would laugh tho.

Maybe kuroo too.

They find it cute more than scary okay?

You would give them a pep talk before their very first game, promising to buy them all ice cream if they come first place.

Though no one at your school has ever badmouthed you, that doesn't mean people from other schools wouldn't.

Since you were on the chubby side, you were prone to some bullying when you were younger, though in middle school it died down a lot. The boys never saw you differently because of your weight though, you were sweet and a really good manager to them so why wouldn't they adore you?

So when they would overhear people from other schools making fun of you just because of something as little as your weight, they didn't take it that lightly.

They would only stop yelling threats and curse words when their next match is about to start or the "bad mouther" runs away. Kuroo once nearly got a bit physical too.

You would then tell them to ignore that when it happens since there is not use wasting breath over people like that, it's not like you take what they say to heart anyway... well most of the time anyway.

But like always. the team refused to ever ignore anyone making fun of you.

It's almost like you have a bunch of protective brothers, they sometimes tease you but no one else can.

I do hope you like it! Let me know if you want more :)

[ladyofthe-lake]

Catch me, I'm falling — a Suptober ficlet

Summary:

When Cas falls from Heaven, Dean tears up the earth to find him.

So blind I can't see I am descending From heaven above So catch me I'm fallin baby

— Catch Me, I’m Falling by Pretty Poison

There’s the hunger. The cold. The way the pavement stares up at him, wet from the recently-fallen rain. There’s the feeling of being hunted. A constant creeping in his bones. His skin slick with near-panic. His muscles, ready to run at any time.

Castiel wonders if this is how Dean has always felt. He wonders if this, perhaps, is why Dean – his human – acts the way he does.

As much time as he’s spent watching the humans, living among them these past years, he wasn’t prepared to become one. Their needs are immense, their emotions so strange – stuck in his throat, confused. He is unable to tangle all of them, though he knows this main one from seeing it painted across Dean’s features – fear.

He finds himself clothes. He finds a city, a place where he can be discreet. He tells himself that he is safer here; warding tattoo on his body, faces in the crowd, faces into which his might melt.

He steals a sandwich from a trash can behind a restaurant. He sits on a stoop. He watches the street, the people who walk by. He wonders how they do it.

Sam’s taken care of.

Sort of.

It’s good enough for Dean. He can only handle one emergency at a time. He’s got Sam and his inner angel stuffed in the bunker, ready to rest up, and Crowley’s been chained up in the dungeon — with a good warning that the next time Dean sees him, there’ll be hell to pay, to which Crowley had asked, “Promise?”

He throws some clothes into his duffel and he’s in the Impala before he knows it. There’s no rest for the weary, right? The tires squeal as he hits the road.

The best he has is where he last heard from Cas; Longmont, Colorado, he’d said. So Dean heads there, taking the interstate, pushing 100 the whole way. He stops only for gas and a quick gas station coffee; pumps it into his body like he can go forever if he just keeps caffeinated, keeps the fuel level up, keeps on driving. Like maybe it won’t matter that the angels fell. Maybe it won’t matter that Sammy’s dying, held together by an angel Dean’s just hoping he can trust. Maybe it won’t matter that the gates of Hell remain just that: gates, not a locked door.

Once in Colorado, Dean follows the trail. He’s good at this. It’s what his father trained him to do his whole damn life: follow the trail. Whether it’s a monster or an angel or – well, a human – he knows the questions to ask, he knows what to look for. He dons a suit, flashes his badge, gets the security tapes he needs, scours footage. He gets license plate records. He drinks more coffee, splashes cold water on his face in a public restroom. Keep going, Winchester. He scowls at anyone who smiles at him on the street, snaps at those just trying to help.

He follows Cas’s footprints to a laundromat. The owner says yeah, there was a guy with a trenchcoat, he’d left it there and stolen some clothes. “Threw out the coat, it was filthy, wasn’t gonna donate it,” the owner says. Dean climbs into the dumpster himself to retrieve the coat. He carted it from car to car for so long; he’s not fucking leaving it now.

He follows his angel, his human, whatever Cas is now, all the way to a city.

He flashes Cas’s photo to everyone he sees, he gets closer and closer, he gets hopeful – and finally, he finds him.

Dean’s running on fumes, two days without sleep wearing his body thin, and when he sees Cas sitting on the back stoop of a restaurant, halfway down an alley, he stops the Impala and rubs his eyes. Is he seeing shit now?

But no, it’s him. Cas. He’s wearing ill-fitting clothes, certainly a far cry from the trenchcoat and suit. Dean doesn’t care, though; he gets out of the Impala and runs to him, to where Cas is sitting in the cold and dark, eating a sandwich.

“Cas,” he says, embracing him, pressing his face against Cas’s shoulder. And he stinks a little – like Cas doesn’t know humans need showers, or maybe he hasn’t had the chance for one – but he’s there, he’s corporeal, he’s…

He’s shivering.

“Cas, man, you good, you okay?” Dean asks, sitting down on the step next to him, one arm still wrapped loosely around his shoulders. The night is cold, and the streetlight above them is on the fritz – no demon activity, just normal old faulty wiring.

And they’re just two people – two humans, sitting together on a stoop.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas says, and he looks tired, too, his eyes drawn downwards, dark bags beneath them. “You didn’t have to come. You’ve been dealing with–”

“I’m here,” Dean cuts him off. Yes, he’s been dealing with a lot. But Cas is, well, completely unequipped to live as a human. Guy’s used to flying around and being mysterious, to never completing conversations and speaking vaguely about Heaven’s orders – what does he know about renting a motel room, about swiping a wallet when times get really tough?

Dean’s known hunger. He’s known desperation. He won’t let Cas face that alone.

“You should be with Sam,” Cas replies, looking down at his sandwich for a moment as if the object is foreign to him.

“Yeah, but I’m here. Sam’s good, he’s… he’s good.” Dean doesn’t want to get into it. Doesn’t want to risk Cas’s disapproval for the choice he made. He was desperate; he did what he had to do. He did his fucking best, like he always does.

“And you?” Cas turns his eyes on him. Startling blue, just as ever, but there is a glint behind them, perhaps a bit of water – perhaps Cas is crying, or about to.

“I’m good,” Dean says, waving a hand. He wasn’t the one who went through the trials. He wasn’t the one who nearly died. He wasn’t the one who fell from Heaven.

He’s fine.

“Let’s get you inside, get you warmed up,” Dean says, standing up and offering a hand to help Cas stand as well. Cas takes it with reluctance, his eyes failing to meet Dean’s.

****

When Castiel first met Dean, he could see right through him. This was when Castiel was pure angel; there as nothing else in him. He hadn’t met a human in well over a millennia, hadn’t interfered with human affairs at all. He’d spent his time with the armies of Heaven. He was a soldier, when he met Dean.

But Dean was expressive. More so than the humans around him. Perhaps it was because he was Castiel’s charge, but Castiel always felt he could see and understand what was going on beneath Dean’s surface. He could see into the core of him; he had the ability to sense whether something was wrong, whether Dean was injured or sick, and what was more, he had the ability to heal him. Many times, he’d done so, fixing up things that Dean didn’t know were broken – like that liver of his.

Now, as Dean’s showing him the hot and cold water knobs on the motel shower, Castiel is only looking at Dean.

“So usually, if you turn this even an inch to the left, whole thing gets cold,” Dean’s saying, a self-proclaimed motel shower expert. He tells Cas that motels across the whole country are essentially the same, that he’ll teach him the tricks of the trade.

Castiel touches his hand to Dean’s shoulder and Dean jumps, turns his face toward him. “What, what are you doin’?” he asks.

“It’s just strange. I can feel you…” Castiel rubs his thumb across the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “But I can’t feel you . Not how I used to.”

Dean looks sideways, back toward the knobs, the faucet, and says, “Yeah, okay, big guy. Let’s get you showered off. You stink.”

The shower is a strange sensation. Castiel has never been so connected to his vessel; though it is no longer a vessel at all. Now it’s just… his body. He has washed it before, though he has never had to pay as close attention to the temperature of the water, to its ebb and flow, to the slickness of the soap across his skin. It’s sensitive. The water burns if he twitches the knob too far in the wrong direction.

When he’s finished, he steps out into the room, forgetting the towel. He stands there dripping wet and sees Dean rooting around in his duffel bag.

Dean glances over at him, holding up a flannel shirt, and then looks away quickly. “Whoa, man! Hey!”

Castiel glances down at himself and it’s only then, only in that moment – he finally understands what Adam and Eve felt in the garden. They’d rushed to cover their bodies with leaves. Castiel had frowned from Heaven at the time, watching in confusion as they covered themselves, covered God’s own creation in shame.

Now, he hurries to do the same. He grabs the towel from its hook and wraps it around his waist as he’s seen Dean do, only it doesn’t quite work the same way, it’s not as easy as it’d looked. He’s fumbling with it when Dean’s hand catches his; he’s approached, and Castiel stills. Dean takes hold of the towel and tucks it into itself, pulling it tight around Castiel’s waist. His fingers ghost across Castiel’s hips.

“You’ve got a lot to learn,” Dean says, his eyes looking up to find Castiel’s. “But you got a good teacher, too.”

Castiel feels something low in himself burning, and he turns away, knowing this too is connected to shame. Dean clears his throat. “I have clothes for you,” he says. “You can just wear mine, we’re not so different in size. We can get you your own tomorrow.”

Castiel takes what he’s offered and gets dressed; when he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees Dean – the flannel shirt, the jeans that he’s seen Dean sleeping in more often than not.

“It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s better than what you had,” Dean explains, rooting around in his bag once again and producing a toothbrush and toothpaste. “Now, you’re gonna have to use mine, okay? We’ll go to the drug store in the morning.”

Castiel frowns at the toothbrush. The way Dean says it, that he’ll have to use his, sounds like there should be shame involved with that, too. How many aspects of human must involve shame? But he takes it, examines it for a moment.

“Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to teach you to brush,” Dean jokes, handing over the toothpaste tube as well.

“No, I… I believe I can figure it out,” Castiel replies.

In the bathroom, he brushes his teeth and then splashes water on his face as he’s seen Dean do so many times. He grips the edge of the sink and looks at himself, really examines his features. His . Jimmy’s, his – he feels as though he’s been crammed into something too small for him, something ill-fitting.

When he emerges into the room, Dean’s cleared his bags off both beds. He’s sliding the demon knife beneath his own pillow and he holds his pistol out for Castiel to take. “Here. Just a little protection. Never sleep unarmed.”

Castiel takes the gun in his hand and mimics Dean’s movements with the other bed; he slides it beneath the pillow and pulls back the covers. As he lays down, bringing them up over himself, his teeth chatter, loud in the quiet. He’s still cold, despite Dean’s shirt, despite the covers.

****

After shooting off a quick text to Sam to let him know he’s found Cas and they’re both okay, Dean reaches over to turn off the lamp. He pauses when he sees Cas’s back facing him, the undeniable rise and fall of a human body shivering.

He pulls the little cord to turn out the light and comes to lay flat, staring up at the stained ceiling. He’s done what he can – he gave him clothes, let him shower, let him use his damn toothbrush. But he feels uneasy. As much as he hates the day-to-day actions of being human, the little aches and pains that come with it, the neverending need to eat, use the bathroom, and sleep (the latter of which he desperately needs to do right now), he’s used to them.

Cas is… well, he’s a celestial being, he’s eternal – he used to be – and now… well, now he has to piss and shit like the rest of them.

Dean pushes his covers off himself and gets up. It’s only a step to the other bed. He nudges Cas’s form with his hand, and he can tell that Cas is already halfway asleep, though his body still shivers beneath the covers.

Dean pulls them back enough to slip underneath them, bringing his body to wrap around Cas’s, his arm coming up over Cas’s side. He presses his lips to Cas’s hair and breathes in the smell of the cheap shampoo. His eyelids fall closed, and after a few moments, Cas stops trembling and drops into a deep sleep, his body relaxing back against Dean’s.

It’s not long before Dean’s sleeping too, the difficulty of the past few days melting away from him as he falls into unconsciousness.

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[tarothouselattier]

What’s arising for you this Venus retrograde in Leo pick a card

Your expirience + advice from your Barbie as a spirit guide.

Pile 1: Barbie as Rapunzel

your experience this Venus rx

I think you are focusing on some sort of plan you have. You've turned your big dreams into practical plans that you dreamed to nurture and to bring into life and you were so excited. It was so shiny and new and you really put the venture on a pedestal in your mind so much so that it has now become a burden to you. These dreams don’t keep you warm at night, they keep you up instead and you're tired. You put so much pressure onto yourself to achieve this. The fact that maybe it's not coming into fruition is tied like a rope around your neck. You are in over your head with the things that you want to create so much that the thought is now controlling you, and you are now afraid of what you used to love.

I also see that this kind of thinking keeps you stuck in a loop and you're frustrated. You’re tired, you are paralysed with fear and you feel like you can’t do what you love because it’s kind of turned against you and you are sitting here sulking, looking at what other people have. Because at this moment your thing isn't working out you're saying "oh, I can’t have this, I can’t have that", so you find yourself in your tower away from the world. You're saying with what you have, but you don’t like what you have, and you are sitting there looking at other people's experiences, feeling left out in the cold and like you can’t have what you want.

The only one who is keeping your bag away, weather that bag is monetary or your bag of dreams and desires that you want to bring into life is YOU! You’re in over your head. And now you feel like you can’t have it because you're not participating in your own life to the fullest extent. By watching other people you kind of part your power with them (and I can't say that you're sharing power (like a person who thinks there is only one way to use words and you can't brake the mold whenever you please), because you are not doing it willingly). Don't watch other people, wishing it was you. And what is even graver is living vicariously throught other people. If you think watching videos of people living your dreams, watching them do/make things you want to make without taking action yourself will miraculously satisfy your desire to do this thing, honey, YOU'VE GOT A BIG STORM COMING.

It’s like you’re protecting something no person has taken away from you.

What you need to realise is that you are the only one who can just shift your perspective. And to tell you how SERIOUS I am about you shifting your perspective, listen to this.This is my pile as well, and that means your pile gets THE MOST from me. Why? Because I've done this reading 3 days before coming back to edit this text, and this whole lot of time helped me gain perspective. I literally channeled this much information and needed days to fully realise what this reading is about. I've literally come back to the cards and with my new-found expirience of 3 days and because of that I now see another message I can give you. I understand you better and your message, because I understand myself better. You just need to shit your perspective on evrything going on around you. You can still do all these things, they’re not going anywhere. It’s not about the things it’s about your attitude.

let’s take a really basic every day thing as an example. You do the dishes. They’re still gonna be the dishes, they’re still gonna be dirty. They aren’t going anywhere, they’re sitting there and they are needing to be done regardless of what you feel, right? So you can either be happy in yourself and have a positive attitude and wash the dishes with that happy attitude and do those dishes in a breeze. You enjoy it not because you're washing dishes but because you are enjoying life and you have joy inside of you. And on the other hand, you can be all sulky, bitter, angry and frustrated because nothing you what you want to do seems to be getting you anything you hoped it would. Now you're angry at the dishes while you're doing the dishes. But they are still the same dishes that would not be bothering you if you would jsut calm down and realise that what you need and what you lack is not physical accomplishments and money, but love.

You’re in over your head.

Advice from your Barbie guide: Rapunzel

Her archetype also came through in the cards, look:

The truth always comes out.

Just felt enclined to say that. Now that I have watched the movie, I remember that the truth plays a big part in the point of Rapunzel's story.

You may think that you are fighting an internal battle and you’re losing and like you’re spinning on a spinning wheel of life and nothing seems to be going in your favour. Maybe you’re just so used to external forces being against you. You’re so used to fighting with everybody, and even if there’s no one to fight you’re still doing it. Don't you get tired my love? isn’t like the whole point of fighting people is that you don’t wanna fight? You just want to happily live your life without interference from stupid people. zyou probably had to fend for yourself a lot when you were younger. Fight for your place and prove to people that you deserve to be as happy and well-off in live as you are. That you deserve to live your dreams easily and have fun just like that. People are jelous because they believe nothing in life comes easy and of course they're never satisfied. And when they see you just enjoy life and have fun, recieve anything you ask for and more within a blink of an eye they start to have you. They want to have it in life like you do, but they don't undestand your ease. They believe that it's impossible to live life from a state of hope, trust and ease. They believe everything is hard.

You don’t want anyone to tell you what to do, how to be. you don’t want anyone to be the story-teller of your own life. You are clinging to the idea that you’re lost, but the real thing is that you’re actually living in the big picture, okay?

Realise that you’re living in literal Cosmos and life is so much more generous than what it is you think in your head, it is so much more expancive and kind. The wheel of life is always turning. You never know what happens tomorrow, but you do know that you have your passion and your drive and you need to move. Forget everybody who may say something shit about you. You have your passion, you have your drive, the truth always comes out. You're good to go right at this moment.

Complain with me, let it out. It’s foggy up in the head but we gotta blaze our own way out with fire and magic like the Knight of wands that is coming through for us🔥🫡

Your Barbie‘s quote of advice from my self-made “Pinterest quotes” deck:

“STOP LETTING YOUR POTENTIAL GO TO WASTE BECAUSE YOU DON'T FEEL READY ENOUGH”

Literally pulled this card for myself TWICE before doing your reading.

If you chose pile 3 in my previous pick a card “What you need to say YES to instead of the usual NO” and you’re seeing this now, it just proves we’re in the same boat. It just proves that your dream is your kifeline and you're not delusional, I promise you. I feel like I’m checking up on my friends and this is how your things are going after the last time we talked.

PILE 2. Barbie and the Enchanted Garden(it’s a book) Barbie Lily

You are my magical, light, fairy-tail creatures!

Castles crumbled, you were left dissapointed. You're picking up the pieces now willingly and like it's fine, you're on your own. You're making up with someone but you're in this process on your own. Not making up with the physical person, but with their..spirit..more like the mental image of them in your head. It's like "it didn't work out, that's fine. I'm just picking myself up, forgiving and moving forward" But I feel like you're really snarky while doing so lol.

"Go and tell your friends that I'm crazy and obsessive, that's fine!"

It's like "ókay, I've got one less problem without you.(I'm really breaking into song here. Do you do that?) oh, you're leaving? Wheh, 'kay, I was tired because of you you anyway" I'm crying you're so sassy. I thought you were all love'n'light at first.

There was a person involved. I feel it stronglyyy. But there is literally no direct indication of that in the cards. "Out of sight out of mind bitch" lmao.

I feel like it's really time for you to revaluate the self. Really pick YOURSELF up.

Pile 2, I’m on a roll with you.

I am tuning into your energy literally the next day and you have already changed your perspective and see this situation and person clearly.

You’ve taken a loss and you have done so gracefully.  I am sensing this is definitely because a person let you down. This could either be your ex romantic partner, your business partner, or they are one in the same. Either way, fuck them .

I heard “I’m taking the dog, you bastard!!😠” and I kid you not, seconds later this card came out WITH THE DOG.

I thought it was more of a figurative situation to represent your power in the fight with this man. I can’t even say person. I would give you my left arm(left-handed) because I bet this is a man. If you are battling with this person and they literally have your dog, go get your dog mama!!!!!

You don’t need no coins from this person, you don’t need their money. You just get your “dog” back, get your power back!!! Kick him out of your life. You are on your own business, on your hot girl shit, on your plans, you’re assessing your own life situation. You’re so much better off without them. You see them clearly now. Gone are the chains that bound you to this person, you’re setting yourself free. Fuck shit up!!! I feel like cursing in this reading, I feel you are passionately mad. You have been disrespected by this bitch-ass man. But you see right through their schemes and their bullshit. You are withdrawing your energy, you’re having none of it!!! God I love reading tarot. AND I LOVE THIS FOR YOU. YES. BE FURIOUS. Channel your devine rage into building the life of your dreams. Fill yourself with meaning. You are no mother, no bride, you are KING. Your power is yours, and ain’t nobody taking it from you.

It’s the feeling of when someone gaslights you all the time, and there comes a point when you’ve had enough of their bullshit(you can feel the’re bullshitting you), realise your own power, step away and then see how much of a PATHETIC WORM that person is.

ADVICE FROM YOUR BARBIE GUIDE: LILY(Barbie and the Enchanted Garden)

Disappear off the face of the Earth.

I think what she means by this is become completely unavailable to that person and ANYONE who is not serving your highest good for that matter. Trust me, this is the best thing you can possibly do for yourself. 

Redefine yourself entirely and do it FOR yourself. You can do that by answering your inner call.

“You guys, your real strength comes from being the best you you can be, so who are you? What are you good at? What do you love? What makes you YOU!?” - Po in Panda King Fu 3. Kung * I decided to leave the autocorrect part because KING is very fitting for you. Maybe watch that training clip if you want. It’s when Po is training the Pandas to defend the village. You don’t have to be someone else in order to achieve your goals. You are not part of that person you left behind. You are not intertwined or attached at the hip, you never have been. Discover and nurture your inner power. You’re on your own now. You’re actually stronger on your own! Because you don’t have to split yourself apart for others and live with your cup half-full all the time.

“She’s beautiful 🥹” you’re going off on your own now, something you have been afraid off. This is the death of life as you once new it and your big entrance into the life you always dreamed of and deep down always knew you were meant for. You are meant for MORE in this life!!!! Just like you’ve always felt. There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with believing in yourself. You cut the cords with that person and in doing so you cut the cord to your old life, that you once believed would be all that you could have. I feel spirit, your guides being just so incredibly proud of you. The energy of “that’s my beautiful girl🥹🥰👍🔥 YOU GO HONEY!!!!!!! ayyyyy”

“And if I fall - they got me” - the song I can’t live without (haven’t heard it in a long-ass time😂) CAN’T HOLD US - Macklemore & Ryan Lewis.

I’m so fucking hype right now, this song is PERFECT FOR YOU!!!!! And me. I’m going through the same shit, high-five Queen ✋😂

Please feel free to text me, send a message in my ask box or a dm, ‘cause I feel this hype energy so strongly right now, I want to know what is happening for you at this moment sister!!!

You are NOT a care-giver to everyone around you! They are responsible for their own shit, and if they are an irresponsible crybaby who never takes accountability then that’s their own.fucking.problem. You take that responsibility and accountability like a KING. And that’s all you need to know.😌 Don’t waste your emotions and energy and your love on someone who gives you NOTHING!!!! Stop overflowing that cup. What have they ever done for you, huh??? They didn’t ever pour into you and never held space for all that beautiful love that you spilled for them willingly. It’s like this: YOU BOUGHT THE TABLE, YOU BROUGHT THE CUP, YOU PUT YOUR WHOLE SELF INTO IT AND THEY JUST SAT THERE AND STARED AT IT. AND THEN HAD THE AUDACITY TO MESS UP THE TABLECLOTH SO IT ALL SPILLED OVER AND THEY MADE A MESS OF YOUR BEAUTIFUL LOVE.

NAH-AH BITCH. KICK THEM OUT THE TABLE!!! YOU DID THAT!?!???? GOOD. EXACTLY AS YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE!!!🥰🥰🥰🥰 Spirit is really so proud of you and they applaud you for your strength and resilience and your love and power. NOW GO GET YOUR LIFE BECAUSE SPIRIT WANTS TO POUR WATERFALLS AND OCEANS OF LOVE AND ABUNDANCE ONTO YOU ASAP QUEEN🥰🥰🥰😂😂😂

PILE 3. Barbie & the magic of Pegasus

“I won’t rest till I’m in hell”. You have a personal “vendetta” against rest.

“Low-born” heard this multiple times while shuffling for your pile.

Let me give you a song.

“Angel” - Halle.

“Witch blood”

Paint it. Red.

Cut ties. But you won’t let this go.

These messages and energy are intense to a fault.

“Remember me for centuries” - Fall out boy.

God I love my job - me to myself while doing this reading.

Is there like a family situation? Greed? Expectations. Having to hold up family traditions that are EXTREMELY intimidating and harmful.

You just want to live a happy life on your own terms, but your hell of a family won’t let you. They corner you and your love wherever you go. Just when you think you escaped out of their clutches - boom, clap. You’re in their clasp. You don’t see a way out. Don’t exchange money for love or love for money. Those things aren’t in the same lane.

You have to choose love in your life. Cut trough this hell like a sword. “Wounds will heal, time will not.” - I think what this is referring to is that if you cut ties now you WILL hurt. BUT it WILL heal. What won’t heal is the time you’d be wasting by not cutting off those merciless gnomes(?): your family, friends, whoever or whatever it is. I don’t care. You MUST.

You won’t find what you’re looking for in greed and piles of money. What are you good at? Use it.

There is no expansion or generosity in greed. You will lose your family. You will lose everything. EVERYTHING YOU DON’T NEED. Everything that is not your soul’s to carry. This is divinely guided. You KNOW what you must do!

Once you were a hope for a dynasty. You will feel this immense loss of expectation buried in your chest.

There is nothing wrong with being who you are.

If you don’t cut your family off, or end and slash through whatever it is you must end, you will just become a frozen statue, a stone figure in the merciless house of your choosing.

Yes, YOUR choosing. If your choice will be not to walk away.

Wow. I am channeling like CRAZY today.

Go through with it. Or you will be just like the rest of those.

“Time will heal, but this won’t.” - time will pass, and so you might think that becoming complacent and conforming will save you. But make no mistake: you will spend THE REST of your life with this wound in your chest.

“You can make it different. You can make it right. You can make it better. You don’t have to fight”

A lot of generational trauma and karmic density is what I’m getting with your pile.

GOD NO WONDER PRINCESS ANIKA IS YOUR GUIDE BRO I CAN’T MAKE THIS SHIT UP. WATCH THE FUCKING MOVIE ISTG. THIS IS INSAAANE.

Break the chains- reap the benefits. Take! the last stand!

There is always hope to shine the light on the darkest of winters.

“Now I reap the benefits with no congregation.” - Doja Cat in “Attention”.

ADVICE FROM PRINCESS ANIKA

DON’T LET THEM RULE YOUR WORLD.

CUT THROUGH THE NIGHT.

You ARE the Empress of your own world.

You are more than this world could ever imagine. You’re running out of time. Don’t let it pass you. Your time is NOW.

SHINE NOW.

UUUUUUHHGHHHHRRGHHHH.

You sit in the debris and wonder if it’s time.

- YES, it is TIME. What you’re reaching for is also reaching for you. The nine of pentacles. It is your birthright. seize your power.



“Woke up this morning - I feel so f*cking important. I looked in the mirror - I’m different. I finally made a decision.

All the rejected that lost a lack of respect in

Themselves 'cause people get hectic

They hurt you and make you feel helpless

They're not brave like you

They're too scared to do

Anything that's different

Anything that new

I don't need lessons

I do what I want, it's refreshing

As soon as you taste independence

You start living life in the present”

YONAKA - “SEIZE THE POWER”

BOMB SONG. Recommend. Will BLOW yow mtf mind. Idk why, but I felt such a need not to swear in this reading, but now I feel the need to say mtfucking. Feels so important. Like breaking free😁

You look down and see all that your family has done to you. stop looking down and cut your own head off if that’s what you must do to live.(with loving intention). Do you have everything you need? YES.

You have YOU. You, separately. you as in you personally. You own yourself. You alone get to define yourself you own your power. You are power, they are nothing. YOU want to Break free. Once you do, you realise you are everything you need. Once you claim your power and wield it like the Knight, Queen and Empress that you ARE, you realise they NEVER had ANY power over you. You just refused to wield your own power for fear of judgement. Of hurting them. They are the ones who hurt ppl. Not you. Them.

Their forces COMBINED don’t stand a singular chance against the sheer power that you alone yield.

Nothing. Period.

Wow, pile 3. I am speechless. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TEXT ME. Send an ask, a dm. I want to talk to the divine royalty that you are.

May the Gods bless you🙏

Now may you go in peace and fight with what is yours to wield. I’ll be waiting.

THE MOST POWERFUL MESSAGE I’VE DONE IN MY WHOLE LIFE HOLY SHIT GUYS.

I hope you enjoy.

I feel this pile deep within my bones.

We are royalty, pile 3. I know in my heart this pile is meant for me, but I’m so afraid to admit it. But I’m doing it anyway. I’m facing this fear that I stand up to and say: NO MORE! I feel like this is what we do. Say no to this with me.

Shine bright like the Star in the night. You are. You are. We are STARS. And stars are made to shine. That is their nature. No more hiding our true nature, my dear soulfamily.

GOD PILE 3 ALWAYS ROCKS MY FUCKING WORLD.

Goodnight.

[mousy-nona]

I didn't send the initial prompt so I hope this is allowed, but could I request a followup to the story where Lucifer gets addicted to Alastor's blood? One where he finally gets that taste he's been so desperately craving, whether through charm or persistence or a trade of some sort?

Part 1 here.

Lucifer tried everything. He tried meditation. He tried stuffing his face with so much cake his waistband grew three sizes (he later transfigured it away, so no one would ask him Concerned Questions). He even went on vacation to the Lust Ring for a while, but there were only so many sex jokes a person could take before they started seeing penises and boobs everywhere.

The whole time he was there, he kept thinking about the forbidden fruit coursing through Alastor’s veins. And when he was done lusting after Alastor’s blood, he would think about Alastor in general. Alastor would hate this, he thought, bored out of his mind while a cow devil was milked dry in front of him. Alastor would hate that, he thought, as Ozzie and his partner treated him to a very graphic display of affection that left his face redder than a tomato. When Ozzie started rolling out the really premium shows, Lucifer decided it was high time for him to go.

By that time, the obsession had grown to the point where he was nearly deafened by it, the constant refrain of AlastorthisAlastorthatAlastorAlastorAlastor –

Then he stepped out of his golden portal, and a tall figure sitting in an armchair by the fire turned around and the voice went silent.

Alastor barely looked up, too busy petting KeeKee and looking like the world’s best Bond villain to give him the time of day. 

“Ah, you’re back.”

When had that radio static started sounding like home? “Did y’all miss me?” He glanced around, deflating a little at the empty sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“Busy with any number of far more important matters, I’m sure,” Alastor drawled. 

“It’s good to see you too, asshole,” Lucifer grumbled. The brief moment of homecoming faded, replaced by that permanent feeling of annoyance that he always felt around Alastor. He had started stomping upstairs when the shadows by the top of the stairs shifted, crinkled. Then Alastor was there, blocking his way. 

“I see your Majesty has his tiny knickers in a twist,” he commented, as if that wasn’t a totally inappropriate to say to the biblical source of all evil. 

Lucifer’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?” 

“I wouldn’t bother trying to deny it if I were you,” Alastor mentioned. “That would be quite an insult to my intelligence. You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. The whole hotel has noticed it. You’ve been dragging that silly cane all over the place, something you only do when you're upset.” A flash of green lit up Alastor’s wide smile. He looked positively ghoulish, but Lucifer was still stuck on his comment about his cane. I drag it when I’m sad? Since when? And why did he notice? “If it’s bothering you so much, why not share the load?”

“You want me to…tell you my problems? What is this, storytime?” Lucifer scoffed. 

“Perhaps I could lend you my assistance,” he purred. “For a price, of course.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Now you’re insulting my intelligence.” With a flick of his hand, another portal appeared on the stairs, blocking Alastor from view. The demon was oddly perceptive. He didn’t want him to see just how close he was to falling to his knees and blubbering yes please just a sip, just one more taste. 

(Lillith had always called him a drama queen. Maybe she’d had a point.)

The portal didn’t block the sound of Alastor’s voice, more’s the pity. “Is this about the little scratch you gave me a few weeks ago?” 

Lucifer stilled. The portal wavered, guttered, and went out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“How–?” He stammered. 

Alastor’s grin was triumphant. “How many times must I say it? Never underestimate my intelligence. So am I correct?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Alastor sniffed. 

“In that case, I believe I have an answer to your problems.” 

What? Was he offering what Lucifer thought he was offering? “And what could that possibly be?”

“Quid pro quo, my dear. You get some of my blood, and I get some of yours.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer gestured him over impatiently. “Come here and bite me –” 

“Not like that.” 

Alastor raised a small glass vial. His smile would have made a crocodile jealous. “I told you, just a little bit of blood. I never said to drink.” 

Alastor eyes flashed into dials and the darkness was split by a lazer of green, then red – a literal red flag. The biggest STOP HERE, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200 Lucifer had ever seen. 

But his mouth was so dry. He could barely think past how large his tongue had grown. Besides, he was the king of hell. The original sin. What harm could it do to let Alastor have a little bit of his blood? 

A lot, the rational part of his brain whispered. This is Alastor we’re talking about. But the rational part of his brain had grown rather quiet around the Crusades, and he’d lost a good chunk of it by World War II. 

Charlie said he was reckless. She didn’t know the half of it. 

“Fine,” Lucifer said. “But you only get to take my blood once. And I can drink from you when I want.”

Alastor thought for a moment, then his lips moved. 

Deal.

The word disappeared in the cra-a-ack of green lightning that struck around them like fireworks. He started to roll up his sleeves, but Lucifer was too quick for him. He flew up the steps and smashed into Alastor with such force he sent them spiraling into the wall. Alastor gasped, but before he could protest, Lucifer had torn the fabric of his shirt and slashed a deep groove into the cool skin of his neck. 

Finally, that sweet blood flowed onto his tongue. He moaned, his lids fluttering as he drank greedily. Big mouthfuls at a time. 

Sin. Death. Apples. Smoke and sugar. The taste was indescribable, and in that moment, Lucifer thought he could have promised Alastor his whole kingdom, and it would have been a fair trade. 

Alastor, for his part, stayed dutifully still, even when Lucifer licked off the blood that had splattered onto Alastor’s collarbone and the tip of his chin, unwilling to let even a drop of it go to waste.

It took a while, but Lucifer finally leaned back with a groan, his lips smeared with blood like it was cherry chapstick. 

“Satisfied?” Alastor muttered. Lucifer made an incoherent sound of joy. 

“Good. I am as well.” Alastor raised a completely full vial of golden blood. When had he taken it? “I believe it was a satisfactory deal for both parties.”

Then he smiled in a way that made Lucifer's skin prickle. 

Heavenly Father, what have I done?