#but they take care of you and give you food

[bills5lut]

aftershocks

masterlist prompt list

synopsis: billie watches you walk out angry, not knowing the next time she sees you, you’ll be bleeding.

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of abuse, violence, blood. 

note: @gldwing ask and u shall receive baby

w/c: 5.5k

The house feels smaller tonight.

It’s not in the square footage, but in the way the air folds in around your shoulders, tight and pressing, the walls a little too close together. The quiet has teeth. You can hear the ticking of the old analog clock Billie insisted was cool on a trip to New York in the hallway like it’s right by your ear. Billie sits across from you at the dinner table, her legs pulled up, arms folded across her chest, staring at the food on her plate like it’s personally offended her.

You made her favourite, roasted sweet potatoes with harissa, garlic butter, and those crispy Brussels sprouts she once raved about for three days. The plate in front of her looks beautiful, thoughtfully portioned, steam still curling from the vegetables. She hasn’t taken a single bite.

You sit with your fork in hand, watching her nudge a piece of potato half-heartedly with the tip of her knife. Her shoulders are hunched, her hoodie bunched under her elbows like a barrier, and her jaw works tight even though she’s not chewing. Her eyes flit everywhere but to you, the corner of the table, the blank TV screen across the room, the window, the small crack in the tile by her foot.

She’s been like this for days. Cold in a way that doesn’t scream or slam doors but in that slow freeze that makes you feel like you can’t breathe. Conversations clipped. Eye contact rare. Her affection, which normally runs so warm, so constant, so instinctual, has withered into small nods and hums. She’s a closed fist. She’s unreachable.

Still, you’ve been trying. Cooking. Asking. Holding space. Giving her distance when she seems to want it, presence when she might need it. You’ve brought her tea in bed without being asked, rubbed her shoulders in silence, told her you loved her in passing just to keep the air soft. But she hasn’t softened. Not once. She’s barely touched you.

You take a careful bite of your food, chewing quietly. The silence stretches so long you start to count your own breaths just to fill the space.

Finally, because the quiet is unbearable and you hate how small you’re starting to feel, you try for lightness.

“Maybe you’re just hangry,” you offer, smiling gently, not trying to be funny so much as disarming. “These are small portions to be fair, I, uh, think I’ve got ice cream in the freezer? That good?”

You look up at her, eyes searching her face for any shift, any curve of her lip, any spark of humor in her eyes.

But her expression hardens instantly. She sets her fork down with a soft but decisive click against the ceramic plate. Her eyes meet yours, cold, unreadable, mouth drawn.

“Don’t fucking joke about this.”

You blink, stunned by the force in her voice. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, like a crack in glass. You swallow.

“I wasn’t” you start, voice gentle. “I was just trying to make you smile.”

She huffs a short breath through her nose, like that sentence exhausts her. Her eyes roll, not dramatically, but with a weight that lands hard in your chest. Her shoulders slump, and she pushes her plate a few inches away like the food has soured.

“You think that’s good enough?” she mutters. “A joke? A fucking joke? You’re not even trying to see what’s actually wrong.”

Your heart sinks. She hasn’t told you what’s wrong. You’ve asked, carefully, respectfully. She’s shrugged. She’s said “nothing.” She’s sighed and changed the subject. She’s pulled away when you’ve tried to hug her.

Still, you nod slowly, keep your voice level. “I am trying.”

You reach across the table, palm open, hand outstretched, not grabbing, just offering. “Baby, I’m trying.”

Billie’s eyes flash, and she leans forward an inch like something in her finally snaps. Her voice cuts sharper now, louder, crueler,  a sound you haven’t heard from her mouth to you in this way before.

“Trying ain’t good enough, baby.”

The way she spits the word back at you, baby,  like it’s sour in her mouth, like it’s a joke, like you’re an idiot for even saying it, hits something primal in your chest. You flinch, visibly, involuntarily, not dramatically, but just enough that your hand halfway across the table freezes and slowly curls back to your side.

Her eyes flicker, maybe registering the flinch. But she doesn’t stop.

You sit there with your hand pulled back into your lap like it’s been burned.

The overhead light above the table feels too bright now, casting long shadows across Billie’s face that make her look even more closed off, like she’s turned to stone in front of you.

You don’t say anything at first. You just breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth, quietly, trying not to let her see how deep it cut. But your chest feels tight. Your throat’s dry. The food on your plate is cold now.

Then, Billie starts.

It comes out low at first, mumbled, bitter. “You always do this.”

Your eyes flick up to her, wary. “Do what?”

“You skate over things. Make everything light. Like that’s gonna fix it. A joke. Ice cream. Really?” Her tone twists with disbelief, laced with something darker.

You open your mouth to respond, gently, maybe explain yourself, maybe apologise, you’re not sure yet, but she barrels over it.

“You don’t listen when I say something’s wrong. You just pretend everything’s okay so you don’t have to deal with it.”

“That’s not true,” you say, carefully.

Billie snorts, shaking her head. “No? You didn’t notice I’ve been off all week? Distant? Cold? You don’t think that means anything?”

“I did notice,” you say, more firmly this time, sitting forward slightly. “I asked. I’ve been asking. You said you were fine.”

Billie laughs once, humorless. “Yeah, because I knew you couldn’t handle the answer.”

That stings. A lot more than you want it to.

Your voice goes quiet. “That’s not fair.”

But she doesn’t seem to hear you anymore. Or maybe she does and doesn’t care.

“You walk around like you’re this fucking perfect partner,” she says, waving a hand vaguely at you, her voice rising with each word, “Cooking dinner, running baths, saying all the right things, like that fixesanything. Like I’m just gonna melt the fuck down if you stop coddling me.”

Your stomach churns. Her words are like static in your ears, loud and confusing, but beneath them — under all that sound, something starts to crack open. Because none of this is really about the dinner. Or the joke. Or the ice cream.

She’s spiraling.

And you’re trying, really trying, not to get pulled under with her.

“Billie,” you say gently, “I don’t want to fix you. I just wanted you to smile. I wanted to feel close to you. You’ve felt so far away lately and I didn’t know how to….”

She cuts you off, voice sharp, “So you feel better? Right.”

“No,” you say, almost whispering now. “So we feel better.”

But she doesn’t seem to hear the distinction.

Instead, she stands up suddenly, chair legs scraping harshly against the floor, and begins to pace. Her hand pushes through her hair in frustration, fingernails scratching lightly at her scalp. She’s spiraling fast now, and you can’t catch her. Her hoodie hangs awkwardly off one shoulder, and her body is tense, coiled tight like she’s trying to hold something in but failing.

“You think saying ‘I love you’ is some kind of magic eraser,” she spits. “Like I’m supposed to just believeyou while you sit there acting like I’m the problem. Like I’m just having a little moment.”

You feel it building in your throat, a kind of quiet panic. The way she’s looking at you right now feels unfamiliar. Her jaw’s clenched so tight the muscles twitch, and her hands keep balling into fists and then releasing.

You stand slowly, unsure whether it’s to calm her or protect yourself or just to feel less small.

“I do love you,” you say. “I love you more than anything.”

Billie doesn’t even blink before snapping back, louder now, all heat and injury and impulse, “Do you? ’Cause you’re not fucking acting like it”

Your heart drops.

It’s not even the words themselves. It’s the way she says them, raw, like she means them, like she believes them.

You stare at her, stunned. Then slowly, you shake your head.

Your voice wobbles when it comes. “Billie, you want to fight me more than you want to believe that I love you.”

And something in her face flickers, almost imperceptibly. You think maybe the words land. Maybe they brush something soft underneath all that anger.

But then she scoffs. Loud. Harsh. Defensive.

And keeps going.

You stop listening to the words for a moment. You’re too focused on not crying. You’re still standing beside the chair now, one hand on the table, trying to keep steady. Your chest is tight, throat aching. You feel heat building behind your eyes, that pressure like when you’re on the verge, the real verge, and any wrong word will push you over.

You try to say something, anything, to ground her again. But it’s too much. Your voice gets swallowed by her next rant. You can’t even tell what it’s about now. You don’t think she can either.

It all feels loud. Too loud.

You raise your hands in the air, palms up like surrender. Not shouting, just overwhelmed.

“Can’t do this,” you mutter under your breath.

What you mean is this, the fight. The yelling. The spiraling. You mean the conversation. You mean the chaos. You mean, “I’m going to go take a moment before I say something I regret.”

You take one small step back from the table, half-turned toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom. You want to get away from the white hot centre of her rage just for a second. You’re not leaving. You just need air.

But she misreads the movement. Or maybe she chooses to.

She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes dark and narrowing. Her voice lowers, almost quiet now, but bitter.

“Just leave then. Like always.”

That hits you like a slap.

You freeze, staring at her. “What?”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t clarify. She just looks away, jaw tightening again.

Your heart pounds in your chest. You don’t know whether it’s anger or grief or confusion rising in your throat, but whatever it is, it presses against your ribcage so hard you feel like you might burst.

Because you’ve never left her. Not once.

You swallow hard, searching her face, for recognition, remorse, something. But she won’t meet your eyes.

Eventually, you look away too. Something inside you folds in on itself. Quietly.

You take a breath, long and deep through your nose.

Then, without a word, you turn.

Walk down the hallway.

Past the little bowl with your keys and hers stacked together. 

Past the photo of Billie and Finneas as kids, both playing the piano together, Billie on Patrick’s lap. 

Past the little lego figurines of you both in some multicoloured mis-matched house you both made when the tour bus broke down, sat at the very top of the cabinet.

Past the framed set list of Billie’s first headline show.

Past some book you need to give back to Maggie that she lent you, perched on the edge of the cabinet ready for you to take next time you see her.

Past the coat rack where her jacket still hangs next to yours.

And then you open the front door.

Step outside.

And close it softly behind you.

You don’t slam it. You don’t stomp. You just… leave. Quietly. Like if you don’t make noise, it won’t be real. Like maybe Billie will follow.

But she doesn’t.

The cool air outside hits your face before the sound does, the distant hush of a car somewhere on another street, the low murmur of wind rustling trees, the city faint but always present, humming in the background like a bad thought.

You don’t have a plan. No bag. No jacket. Your sleeves are too thin for the breeze, and the air has a chill that makes you feel underdressed and exposed.

Still, you walk.

At first, you don’t even register where you’re going. It’s just movement, step after step, body leaning forward, arms crossed tight over your chest not for warmth, but for containment.

The neighborhood is dim. Mostly residential. Houses with warm lit windows glowing through sheer curtains. Other people’s dinners. Other people’s silences. You pass a kid’s bike laying abandoned in a front yard, a porch with wind chimes whispering against one another. A dog barks behind a fence as you pass, startled by your presence. You don’t flinch.

Your brain feels fogged, like you’re underwater. Your jaw’s locked tight, so tight it aches. You rub it absently, notice how your teeth press against each other like they’re grinding. Your shoulders are curled inward like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. Eyes prick at the corners, not crying, not really. Just raw.

You keep walking.

The sidewalk changes, from smooth concrete to cracked and uneven, and still, you walk. A long block. Another. You don’t check the time.

Eventually, the quiet dissolves around you. Houses thin out. The neighborhood fades into sharper edges, shops, closed early for the night, with metal shutters pulled halfway down. The occasional convenience store sign buzzing softly. Streetlights flickering above you like they’re deciding whether to stay on.

A car drives past, headlights sweeping over your body. You look down at yourself for the first time, hoodie sleeves pushed up unevenly, sneakers a little scuffed, your phone heavy in your pocket like it knows something you don’t.

You pull it out.

Two notifications.

Instagram , a story repost from someone you don’t care about. A dm request you won’t open.

Gmail, a newsletter you never unsubscribed from.

You stare at the screen, waiting for it to change. Waiting for Billie’s name to show up, just once. But it doesn’t.

You lock it again.

Shove it back into your pocket.

You feel so fucking alone.

You walk faster.

The city bleeds into you, louder now. Busier. You didn’t even notice when the suburban quiet shifted. The roads are wide and lit by storefronts and neon signs. People pass you, laughing or arguing or hurrying. Someone’s playing music from a speaker balanced on a backpack. Horns honk in the distance, and headlights smear past in bright, too fast streaks.

The smell changes, distant oil, cigarette smoke. You pass a man hunched over in a hoodie, vaping something sweet. A girl in heels walks past you fast, phone to her ear, mouth tight, like she’s holding in tears. You feel like stopping her. Saying me too. You don’t.

You’re not sure what time it is now. The sky’s dark. Could be 9. Could be midnight.

You feel the burn in your calves now, the slight ache in your lower back. Your body is tired in that bone deep way that has nothing to do with sleep. It’s a chemical exhaustion. A reaction. Fight or flight still slowly, slowly, draining out of your limbs.

You pull out your phone again. Check it.

Still nothing.

Not Billie.

You swipe to your call log. Her name’s right there, still pinned to the top. Your thumb hovers over it. You stare at it. Just stare.

The screen dims. You let it go dark again.

You walk.

More cars. A couple holding hands passes you, laughing too loud, probably drunk. You glance at them like they’ve broken some kind of rule. You wonder what Billie’s doing right now, if she’s still at the table, arms folded, staring down at her untouched plate. If she even looked out the window when the door shut. If she cares that you left.

No.

You shake your head a little, physically trying to dislodge the thought.

Your hands are cold.

One of your shoelaces is loose.

You walk anyway.

You don’t know where you’re going, and that’s the point.

You just keep moving.

Your mind keeps slipping back to it, the edge in her voice, the way she said “like always” like it was some kind of pattern. As if she was waiting for it. As if she wanted you to go, so she could be right about you leaving. That thought is the sharpest one, not her yelling, not the tone, just that part. That she might’ve wanted you to prove her right.

You pull your sleeves down.

Clutch your arms.

Your chest aches.

You turn a corner, your steps unsteady, thoughts still tangled in the fight, in Billie’s words that echo in your chest like blows. You barely notice the street performers trying to catch a passerby’s attention or the late night diners sitting under flickering signs.

Then, suddenly, you bump into him.

Your ex.

The man you swore you’d never see again.

Shock freezes you before anger spikes, his face is too calm, too composed. He’s leaning casually against a brick wall, a smug smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. His eyes gleam with something that feels too familiar, too wrong.

You step back instinctively, heart clenching painfully in your ribs. The air between you shifts, thickening with unspoken history and danger.

He straightens, smoothing his jacket with deliberate slow motions, and offers a twisted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, look who it is,” he says, voice low, dripping with false friendliness. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You want to move on. Pretend he’s not there. But your body freezes like it’s caught in a trap. The memories, bad ones, rise unbidden, the bruises you hid under long sleeves, the nights you spent terrified in silence. Billie knows about him. You told her everything, at least, you tried to. And now, here he is, mocking your past with his presence.

You say nothing. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Look, I’m just saying hi,” he continues, tone shifting, venom barely concealed beneath the surface. “No need to be like that.”

You grit your teeth, already too wound up from the fight, from the raw ache in your chest.

“Fuck off,” you say flatly, trying to keep your voice steady.

He steps closer, ignoring your distance. His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist with a grip that’s rough and tight and possessive. Pain flares immediately where his fingers clamp down, but it’s the violation that stings worse.

You try to wrench free, but your back is slammed hard against the rough brick wall behind you. The impact steals your breath for a flicker of seconds, sharp, punishing, real.

You taste it already, the metallic hint of blood in your mouth, and then the sudden, excruciating snap as your jaw catches a jagged corner of the wall in the scramble. Your bottom lip splits with a sting that shoots fire down your chin, mixing with fresh bruises. You scrape your skin, raw and burning.

He leans closer, his face inches from yours, the sour stench of his breath hitting you hard.

“Go back to your little girlfriend, faggot,” he spits low, voice laced with cruel contempt.

Nearby pedestrians slow, their eyes flicking to you both, tension hanging thick like smoke in the air. Nobody moves. No one steps forward. The city hums around this moment, noisy but silent in its unwillingness to intervene.

The grip on your wrist tightens like a vice. The jacket fabric scratches loudly as he shoves you again, the force jarring your entire body.

Your limbs shake uncontrollably, adrenaline crashing through your veins like wildfire. You gasp for air, shallow, jagged breaths, but you’re trapped, the world narrowing down to his presence, the pain in your lip and jaw, the pounding in your chest.

Then, finally, the presence of witnesses seems to push him back.

He releases you abruptly, spitting on your shoe with calculated disgust before turning and melting back into the streets.

Your hands shake uncontrollably, fingers trembling like fragile leaves in a harsh wind. Adrenaline surges through your veins, wild and unrelenting, leaving you wired but exhausted all at once. Your breath comes in short, uneven gasps, chest rising and falling unevenly beneath the weight of everything crashing through your mind and body.

Instinctively, you bring your hand up, fingertips brushing over your split bottom lip. The sting is sharp and raw, a hot contrast to the cold air biting at your exposed skin. You taste the faint iron tang of fresh blood on your tongue. Your chin throbs where it grazed the wall , dull, persistent pain pulsing through the bruised skin.

A dull ache hums low in your back and wrist from where he grabbed you so roughly, reminders of his presence lingering like unwelcome ghosts.

With trembling fingers, you reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. Your thumb hovers over Billie’s contact, the familiar name lighting up the screen like a fragile lifeline. But there are no missed calls. No messages. Nothing.

Your chest tightens painfully, the loneliness crashing down over you like cold waves. A raw, hollow ache that sinks deep into your ribs, making your breath catch. It’s a loneliness you know too well, different from the quiet solitude you sometimes crave. This is the heavy, raw kind, that twists in your gut and makes the world feel impossibly empty.

With a shaky, almost defeated breath, you shove your phone back into your pocket.

The city hums around you, distant and indifferent now. The neon lights blur into a dull wash of color, cars honk and engines rev but it all feels muted, as if you’re moving through a dream or a nightmare you can’t quite wake from.

You start walking again, slower this time. Your steps are cautious, tentative, each footfall heavy with fatigue and fear. Your head bows low, shoulders slumped, muscles aching. You feel raw, exposed — a wound beneath skin.

Your mind replays the fight with Billie over and over, fragments of harsh words, the sharpness in her voice, the way her eyes avoided yours. And then it drifts into darker memories, ones you try to shove away but that cling stubbornly, moments with your ex, the bruises you hid, the nights filled with quiet dread.

Fear tangles with loneliness, a complicated knot you can’t unravel. Fear of being alone, fear of being misunderstood, fear of being hurt again.

Your fingers twitch nervously at your side, occasionally brushing the fabric of your jacket, feeling the faint stickiness of blood you haven’t had the strength to clean.

You check your phone again. Still no Billie.

You keep walking, each step a little shaky. 

You finally reach the familiar shape of your house, the way the warm glow of the porch light cuts through the creeping night feeling like a small relief against the cold bite of the city. The two hours since you left have passed in a blur, aimless footsteps, racing thoughts, and a body that aches in every joint. Your legs feel leaden as you cross the threshold, the worn welcome mat rough under your shoes.

The hallway smells the same, a faint mix of Billie’s favourite lavender candle, a hint of last night’s takeout, and the slightly musty undertone of the old walls. You drop your keys in the bowl by the door, the clink louder than it should be in the quiet.

From the kitchen, you catch movement, Billie’s silhouette, pacing fast and tight, like a storm confined. She’s holding her car keys in one hand, the other fumbling with a charging cable, trying and retrying to get it into her phone.

The click and frustration in her movements fill the air, the small sounds echoing around the cluttered room.

The moment she hears the front door open, she spins around quickly, eyes wide and sharp. Her voice breaks through the silence, frantic, irritated, breath catching,

 “Oh my fucking god. My phone  it won’t charge, it won’t fucking charge. I was about to drive to, I don’t know, your mom’s? I don’t know, I was…” Her words tumble over each other, raw and jittery.

Then her gaze lands on you, fully looks at you.

Her mouth falls open, the frantic energy draining instantly, replaced by sharp concern. “What happened to your face?”

Your body betrays you before you can stop it. The pressure behind your eyes breaks, and tears spill out, unbidden and unstoppable. They streak down your cheeks, hot and urgent. Your breath catches, uneven and raw.

You don’t say anything at first. You just let it happen, the release of everything bottled up inside.

Billie’s footsteps come fast, sharp against the floor. You flinch instinctively as she closes the gap between you, eyes wide and frantic. Her hands hover for a moment, unsure, then gently cup your face like she’s trying to hold every crack in you together.

You’re trembling, raw, your breath ragged and uneven, and the tears won’t stop. You start trying to explain, but the words come out in broken gasps, too heavy to fully form. “I… I didn’t mean for it to. He…he grabbed me, Billie. And then…” your voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

She goes still, frozen for a heartbeat, then pulls you closer until you’re pressed against her. Her arms wrap around you tight, like she’s trying to shield you from everything. Her hands move slowly, running over your hair and tracing gentle circles on your back.

Her voice is low, steady, and careful. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. You’re here now. You’re safe.”

You lean into her warmth, the steady beat of her chest grounding you through the storm inside. Her breath catches in her throat, shaky but sure, and her whole body trembles against yours.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage between sobs, your voice shaking. “I’m sorry I left. I didn’t want to.”

She presses a kiss to your temple, her voice soft but firm. “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe. I’m right here.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself melt against her, the ache in your jaw and wrist momentarily fading beneath the weight of her arms. The kitchen around you blurs into the background as she holds you close, steadying you without saying more.

The silence stretches, but it’s not empty, it’s full of everything you need: safety, care, and the quiet promise that you’re not alone.

Billie carefully helps you lower yourself onto the kitchen stool, her hands steady on your elbows as you settle. The air feels thick but quieter here, away from the noise and chaos outside. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint clink of dishes left in the sink fill the space, grounding you in the moment. Your legs tremble slightly, the ache in your back a dull throb, and you’re painfully aware of your split lip, still stinging and slick with fresh blood.

Without a word, Billie moves to the cabinet under the sink and opens it. She pulls out the first aid kit with quiet efficiency, settling down in front of you on one knee. The stool creaks softly beneath you as you shift, still shaky. Her eyes lock onto yours, calm but searching, and she lifts your chin gently with one hand. “Let me see,” she says softly.

You try to speak, but the words come out in broken gasps. “I…I just… he grabbed me… pushed me… my lip…” Your voice cracks, the memories pressing hard against your throat.

Billie’s other hand reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, steadying you without breaking eye contact. “Hey, stop trying to explain,” she says quietly, her voice firm but kind. “I get it. You don’t have to say anymore.”

Your breathing is ragged, shallow, uneven, and she leans in closer, as if to shelter you from the storm inside. “Just breathe with me, okay? In… and out.” Her voice is steady, slow, a soft anchor.

You take a shaky breath in, then out, trying to match her rhythm, but the panic still curls in your chest like a tight knot. Billie pulls a sterile wipe from the kit and moistens it with antiseptic, then carefully dabs at the cut on your lip. You flinch from the sharp sting, biting back a whimper.

“I’m right here,” she whispers, fingers still gentle against your cheek. “You’re safe now.”

You try to tell her more, about the way he grabbed your wrist, how your back slammed against the wall, but the words catch in your throat, coming out in little bursts between sobs. Billie waits patiently, letting you gather yourself without pressure. Her hand moves to rest lightly on your knee, a silent promise.

When she pulls away the wipe, you watch as she unwraps a small strip of sterile gauze, folding it carefully before pressing it softly to your lip. The adhesive pulls slightly at your skin, and you wince, but Billie’s touch is gentle, steady.

“Almost done with your lip,” she says softly. “You’re doing really good baby.”

Then she turns her attention to your wrist, where the bruising is already starting to bloom dark purple and blue. Carefully, she rolls back your jacket sleeve and presses a cool, damp cloth to the swollen skin. The cold sends a shiver through you, but it dulls the ache.

“I’m going to wrap this up so it doesn’t get worse,” she says, pulling a bandage from the kit. Her hands move with quiet precision as she winds it snug but not tight around your wrist.

You want to tell her again how sorry you are for walking out, for the fight, for everything, but your breath hitches, and you’re too exhausted to string words together. Instead, you rest your head against her shoulder, finally letting yourself lean on her.

Billie’s fingers trace slow, soothing circles on your arm. “You don’t have to explain anymore,” she repeats, voice gentle but sure. “I’ve got you.”

Your chest rises and falls unevenly, tears still slipping down your cheeks, but the storm inside you begins to dull under her touch. The simple act of being cared for, of not having to hold everything inside, starts to crack the tension that’s been coiling tight in your body all night.

She pauses, meeting your eyes. “I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this. Together.”

You nod, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”

Billie smiles softly, brushing a thumb along your cheekbone. “Always.”

The kitchen feels still, but not empty, it’s heavy with quiet, the kind that settles after a storm. Billie moves around with soft certainty, grabbing a fresh shirt from her bedroom closet. It’s oversized, a little worn at the collar, but familiar. The fabric smells faintly like her, warm and a little sweet. She kneels down in front of you, gently helping you peel off the blood-stained shirt. Your skin is clammy under her touch, and you can feel the bruises on your jaw and wrist aching now.

She slips the shirt over your head slowly, careful not to brush against your injured lip. The shirt falls loose on your frame, swallowing you a little, and you pull it close like a shield.

Billie’s fingers linger at your shoulder for a moment before she stands, and you follow her to the small dining table, the one you’d tried to eat dinner at hours ago but left abandoned. The dim light above casts a warm glow, a gentle contrast to the cold world outside.

Without a word, she reaches into the cabinet, pulls out two glasses, and fills them with water. Then she digs around until she finds a bag of bread, the kind you both like,  and pulls out the toaster. The hum and clicks of the toaster feel oddly domestic and grounding, familiar in a way that almost hurts.

When the toast pops up, she hands you one slice, then her own, and you both sit down. The bread is warm, crisp at the edges. You take a bite, but the tears start again, slow at first, then more urgent. They slide down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back.

Billie’s hand moves softly to your bruised jaw, her fingers tracing light, soothing patterns over the tender skin. She doesn’t say anything at first, just brushes away your tears with the pad of her thumb.

“Shh, hey,” she murmurs, voice low and calm, “It’s okay.”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but it catches in your throat again. You look up, meeting her eyes, dark and steady, the kind of eyes that don’t flinch away from pain.

For a long moment, you just sit like that, forehead nearly touching hers, breaths mingling in the quiet kitchen.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, voice breaking just enough to feel real. “I didn’t think.”

You shake your head slowly, voice barely audible, “Me neither.”

The room feels impossibly still except for the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing together, a small but powerful tether.

Her hand finds yours, fingers slipping in and curling around yours, thumb brushing gentle circles on your knuckles. She squeezes your hand, slow, deliberate, grounding.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Billie says softly, eyes shining with something fierce and raw. “Neither am I. You’re home.”

You nod, feeling something inside you unclench, just a little. The weight in your chest eases enough to let you breathe again, here, held by her quiet promise.

The night lingers around you, thick but not suffocating. You take another bite of toast, her hand still in yours, and for the first time in hours, it feels like you might be okay.

[lazysoulwriter]

how i met your wifey ── pedro pascal .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff / wife!reader / bestie!Sarah Paulson / chaotic IG live / marriage origin story / soft teasing + drive-thru shenanigans

Sarah’s phone is angled just right, catching the golden late-afternoon sun slicing through the car windows.

Pedro’s driving. You’re in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched on your nose, humming softly to the radio. And Sarah’s in the backseat, legs curled up, sunglasses on, Live flashing in the corner of her screen.

“Okay, so listen,” she says, already giggling. “Everyone’s always like, ‘How did Pedro and his wife meet?’ and technically I introduced them—so I’m taking credit for this marriage until the day I die.”

Pedro glances at her in the rearview. “We’ve talked about this. You're not allowed to say that unless you also take credit for the arguments.”

“I will, gladly,” Sarah grins. “I’m part of the origin story.”

“She really is,” you say, glancing at your husband with a teasing smirk. “Go on, tell them. The whole story.”

Sarah leans in like she’s about to drop the greatest tale ever told.

“Okay. So. I had a party—casual, low-key, some wine, some fancy cheeses Pedro refused to pronounce—”

“They were French!” he defends, drumming the steering wheel.

“—and then this goddess walks in,” Sarah says, pointing the camera dramatically at you. “Looking all effortlessly hot. And Pedro just—froze. Like, full statue mode.”

“He didn’t talk to me the whole night,” you add, turning to smile at him.

“I panicked!” he cries. “You were so pretty and cool and I was sweating through my damn flannel!”

Sarah cackles. “So I had to do the work. The next day, I texted her like, ‘Hey, my friend Pedro thought you were cute but he forgot how to speak. Can I give him your number?’ And the rest is history.”

“And now I’m married to him,” you say, holding out your hand to show off your ring to the camera. “Because Sarah Paulson plays cupid when she’s drunk off rosé.”

Sarah flips the camera to show herself, grinning. “I am, in fact, the love witch of Los Angeles. You’re welcome.”

As if on cue, the car rolls into a drive-thru.

“Babe, you want anything?” Pedro asks you as he leans toward the speaker.

You rattle off your order, then Pedro tilts his head back toward Sarah. “You want something?”

“Yes!” she yells. “Uh, fries, large, and a vanilla shake please. And maybe a little burger if you’re feeling generous?”

“You're worse than my niece,” Pedro mutters, reaching for his wallet.

“I feel like your kid right now,” Sarah announces to the live. “Riding in the backseat, playing on my phone like a damn iPad kid, and getting drive-thru food from Mom and Dad.”

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your phone.

Pedro just grins. “That makes us the hot divorced parents everyone still ships.”

Sarah snorts. “I hate how true that sounds.”

And in that warm little car, with the smell of fries already filling the space and three lives tangled in love and laughter, the comments roll in:

the holy trinity of chaotic love, I want this life, Sarah Paulson IS the blueprint, Pedro and his wife being that couple makes so much sense now, can I be your other kid pls

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

[sevsevteen]

Is there anyway you could write about the 14 th members struggle with sleep during comeback season? Maybe also they have a tight grip on caffeine which had been surprising their apatite, making filming more difficult ? The amount of nausea I’ve been having cause of this recently is mental

OMG get well soon girl 😭 this is so relatable, but please remember to take care of yourself too!!🤞 i hope this will make you feel a little better - i made it a little joshua-focused by accident BAHAHA prepare for the angst

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The waiting room was colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just you.

Sat curled up on the floor between takes, your knees were drawn to your chest as the chatter of the staff and members buzzed distantly in the background. Your head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that echoed behind your eyes - not painful enough to cry out, but sharp enough to disorient.

“Five minutes till next cue!” someone called.

You didn’t move.

For the past three weeks, your body had been running on caffeine and fumes. The combination of pre-dawn call times, demanding choreo and practice days, interviews, and rehearsals hadn’t let up - and as always during comeback season, your chronic insomnia decided to rear its head again. Every night, you’d lie awake for hours on end, scrolling endlessly or staring at the ceiling, unable to get a wink of sleep.

Three weeks. Barely any sleep. And now, barely any food either.

Breakfast was skipped because you didn't have any appetite after lying awake all night. Lunch was missed because the group had a last-minute schedule. Dinner…you couldn’t even remember the last time you ate a full one.

Only iced Americanos, hot Lattes, anything that contained at least two shots of espresso in them. Bottles of water. An energy bar once, maybe.

And now, your body was starting to turn against you.

Your vision swam for a second as you leaned your head against the wall behind. Your limbs felt unusually cold, stomach hollow and churning. There was a faint buzzing in your ears, like a warning siren your body was trying to sound.

You tried to breathe. Focus.

Just one more segment.

Smile for the fans. Laugh a little. Hold it together.

"You okay?"

You blinked, startled by Seungkwan’s voice. He had crouched in front of you without you noticing, brows furrowed.

“You look really pale.”

You forced a smile. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.

“You sure? You’ve been quiet all morning…”

Before you could answer, staff called for positions again. The members moved instinctively, stretching and walking toward the filming area.

You stood up on legs that immediately protested - the moment you pushed yourself off the wall, your balance tilted, and you nearly stumbled into the makeup table. Your vision whited out for a second as nausea surged from your empty stomach.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, heart pounding.

No. Not now. Just one more scene.

Someone gently touched her elbow.

“Hey.”

It was Joshua, his voice softer than usual, his eyes scanning your expression. You hadn’t even realized you were swaying on your feet.

“You okay?”

“I-” you opened your mouth, then froze.

Because the world tilted again.

And this time, it didn’t stop.

Your knees buckled as you felt your body give way, but before you could hit the floor, arms caught you - firm and warm. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, only to feel the panic in Joshua’s hold as he pulled you to sit down again.

“Someone get water—quick!”

The others were gathering fast, voices overlapping. The set blurred behind the haze in your eyes, sounds muffled.

You hated this.

Hated that it took this for someone to notice.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly, “I just - I skipped breakfast.”

Joshua crouched in front of you again, worry laced in his usually calm expression. “You skipped all your meals yesterday too,” he said quietly. “You think we don’t notice when you’re only running on coffee?”

Your eyes widened slightly, guilt catching in your throat.

Wonwoo had already come with a bottle of water, pressing it gently into your hand. Jihoon stood nearby, frowning deeply as he talked to one of the managers in low, serious tones.

“We’re delaying the shoot,” he said firmly. “She’s not continuing like this.”

“No, I can-”

“No.” His tone was final. “We can always film it later. You’re more important than a damn shoot.”

You bit your lip hard, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes - not from pain, but frustration. Embarrassment. Relief.

So many things you couldn’t name.

Joshua took the bottle from your trembling fingers and opened it himself, holding it up gently. “Just sip for now, okay?”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

And when the bottle touched her lips, you let yourself accept it.

Your lips parted, and you took the water, letting the cool liquid trickle into your dry mouth. At first, it felt like relief.

But then-

Your stomach twisted. Violently.

It was too much.

The taste of metal rose in your throat, and your body jerked with a sudden, nauseating reflex.

“I-!” you gagged, hand shooting up to push Joshua away, water splashing onto your knees. You scrambled up on unsteady legs and stumbled toward the corner of the room where a trash bin stood, knocking over a stool.

The next moment, you were on your knees, bent over the bin as your body gave in.

The sound of you retching cut through the backstage chatter. The room fell into a shocked silence.

Behind you, Joshua immediately knelt to help but paused, respecting the space as you gripped the edge of the bin, gasping between each wave. Everyone's chest tightened helplessly at the sight of your shoulders shaking - not just from nausea, but shame.

No idol ever wanted to be seen like this.

Seungcheol muttered something curt to staff before walking over, immediately motioning to a manager to assist. “Get her jacket. And another water bottle,” he ordered lowly.

Seungkwan hovered near Joshua, jaw tight. “She’s really not okay,” he said under his breath, chest rising with stress. “She’s been running herself to the ground.”

When you finally stopped, you stayed hunched over, breathing in shallow, shaking breaths. Your throat burned, tears had spilled down your cheeks without noticing.

You didn’t dare look back.

You hated crying in front of them. Hated the worry it sparked in their eyes - eyes that saw you as strong, independent, unshakeable.

But right now, you were none of that.

A soft touch broke through on your back.

It was Joshua again, closer now, a tissue in his hand and worry etched so deeply into his features it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, wiping at your mouth with a trembling hand, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I didn’t mean to- I just-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, crouching in front of you now. “Not for this. Not for any of it.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his.

And for once, you didn’t hide the exhaustion in them.

Just behind him, Seungcheol nodded once. “You have nothing to prove.”

You could only muster a small grateful smile as your eyes burned.

Because this time, someone caught you before you could fall.

--

[harrysangel23]

Full*

A/N: I'm back! sorry for not posting, the weekend was busy but currently can't sleep so I decided to type something up. Kept it short and sweet but still hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Soft Dom Harry x Sub reader

Warnings: cock warming, and light dirty talk

WC: 1,363

Summary: After feeling like something was missing all day, Harry and his angel soon come to the realization she just needs to be full (of him).

18+

His angel sat there, feeling needy, but what was new?

She always needed him, wanted him, and to be fully emersed in him. 

Harry was currently back from work, taking a nice hot shower after work, washing off all the stress that came with his job. But luckily enough for them, it was the weekend, and he wouldn’t have to return until days later. 

She got up from the stool next to the kitchen island as the timer for the oven had gone off. She moved quickly to take it out and move it towards the dining table, even plating it up for him. 

She was well aware of how hard work could be on him, so she did everything she could to make home as comfortable as possible. Even on the good days. No matter what, she did everything to make it easier on him, it was the least she could do. In a way, it was a small proportion and act of devotion she had for him. 

He deserved nothing but the best as he treated her so good and she felt incredibly loved everyday. 

With perfect timing, Harry came down the stairs, ready to eat. His hair damp from his shower, some droplets falling down and marking the tshirt he had thrown on. He smiled as soon as he saw her and the plated dinner. 

Harry made his way over to the table, stopping behind her, arms wrapping around her shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek and nuzzle his head into her neck, where he placed more soft kisses. 

“Thank you for making dinner sweetheart, so good t’me.” God his tired voice was so hot. His freshly cleaned self had a woodsy sent that made her nearly feral. 

He removed himself, to her dismay, and settled into the chair beside her, where he food was plated. 

“Of course Harry, its the least I could do when you take such good care of me.” She smiled fondly at him while his whole expression softed even more. 

“See what I mean, always so good t’me, such an angel.” His hand came up, palm resting on the side of her face and stroking his thumb across her cheek. Her eyes looked at her with such admiration, it was simple times like this that made her feel so loved. 

Harry leaned in, placing a soft and chaste kiss on her lips before pulling away and both of them started on their meal. 

She always felt so strongly about Harry, she adored everything he did. But today felt different, more prominent. As he ate, she couldn’t help but watch him with a dazed look. 

He quickly noticed but wasn’t sure of what to think of it, he instead settled on talking with her, “Make sure y’eat the food you worked so hard to make lovey.” His gaze wandering to hers as she blushed and picked up her fork. But instead of eating, she kept pushing it around her plate, keeping her head down. 

“I didn’t work that hard H, its a simple thing really.” He frowned, he didn’t like when she talked like that about herself. 

“Don’t sell yourself short, I love how you do this f’me. It makes me feel special knowing my girlfriend goes out of her way to do this for me damn near every night, I really do appreciate it pet.” As she gazed up she noticed his furrowed eyebrows as he made his point to her. 

“I love you Harry.” His frown was turned into a smile, as she looked at him with her dazed eyes. Although he was a little concerned with her slightly-off behavior, he didn’t want to bring it up in the moment. 

“And I love you angel,” His hand reaching for hers, giving it a squeeze. “Now please eat your food, we can watch a movie after were done, hm?” 

She nodded her head before focusing back on her plate. She wasn’t sure of this feeling she was having. She felt extra needy of him today and didn’t even know how to explain it to him. She didn’t think he had noticed, but she could never be sure with him as he was always excellent at observing her and knew exactly how she was feeling a lot of the time. 

The feeling had came after this morning. He had woken her up with soft kisses that soon turned into passionate sex that left her wanting more. Although he wasn’t exactly able to do so with already running behind for work, she felt like she just needed to be filled again. 

She tried focusing her mind on less dirty things and complied to his wishes of eating the dinner she had made, all she wanted to do was make him happy afterall. 

~

They both laid on the couch, completely entangled in eachother. Harry, rested on the bottom, with his angel laid overtop of him. His arms circled around her, hands rubbing comforting circles on her back, as a blanket was pulled over them. She felt so warm and cozy, but still had a missing piece that needed to be filled (literally). 

She completely lost focus on the film that was on the screen, deciding being wrapped up in Harry completely was much more fulfilling as she moved to lay to head from his chest to where his shoulder and neck meet, pressing sweet kisses continuously before he spoke up.

“Whats wrong honey, hm? Love it to bits and pieces when you’re needy like this but y’worrying me a bit,” She felt embarrassment creep up her and she dug her head deeper into his skin that still had his bodywash scent lingering from his shower earlier. “I noticed something at dinner. You can tell me, I’m the last person to judge you sweetheart, just want to make sure you’re alright.” His hand kept rubbing reassuring circles into her back and she kept her face in his neck. 

“I don’t know what wrong H. I’ve just been feeling like this since this morning. Like- like I need you, like full of you. I don’t know how to explain it- I haven’t felt like this before.” Her lips brushed his neck as she spoke lightly. 

Although she might not of understood what was going on, he did. “Y’need to be filled sweetheart? Want me inside you hm?”

“Yes H. I’ve never felt like I just needed you in me, you know? I don’t know if it would feel nice for you, I just don’t want you to get disappointed.”

“I could never be disappointed by anything you give me. Whatever you want, you have it, okay? I’ll help you out angel but you need to tell me these things so you aren’t feeling crummy.” He lightly scolded her but she didn’t take it to hard. She knew he really did just want to please her whatever way he could. 

“Okay, I’m sorry Harry.”

“Its alright angel, nothing to be sorry for.” He turned his head placing a kiss on her head before moving his hands further to pull his boxers down. “Now you just relax and keep my cock warm, hm? Sound nice?”

“Yes.” she breathed out before his hand moved to her panties before pulling them to the side.

He grabbed his cock, slowly dragging it up and down her folds that already managed to get wet- partially from her dirty thoughts she had previously been thinking about. “Already wet for me, such a good girl.”

His cock stopped dragging before it was pushed into her, slowly inserting inch by inch. Her breath hitched as more of him was in her and how great it felt after needing it all day. 

“Is this what you needed pet? Needed this cock in you for your pussy to keep warm and snug?” He placed more kisses on your head, moving a hand up to stroke your hair. 

“Yes daddy, feels so nice.” He grinned as knowing his angel was satisfied after needing it all day. 

They both laid there as the movie continued, his cock staying snug inside her, and her fully satisfied with how complete she felt.

[theegyal]

HUSH, [ Annie x Smoke ]

CHAPTER 3 : Remember

11 : 05 PM

Embarrassed, Annie forced a smile, eyes betraying her emotions.

"Please do forgive me Sir, I was not trying to confuse. I confidently mistaken you for someone else..."

He tilted his head, one brow rising. "No need to apologize." He scratched the back of his neck, then added, "I, uh... to answer your question, got a prescription. Problem is, I don't mess with pills and these..well don't sit right with me."

"May I have a look, please ?" she said, stepping around the counter, fingers already reaching out.

He handed her a piece of paper from the pocket of his hoodie.

She unfolded it.

Read.

Then blinked.

Read again.

Her stomach turned.

These were not the usual medicines to give a person, especially a man with post traumatic anxious anemia, like Elijah.

Annie depressed, lowered her shoulders. Sighing. He must still have nightmares, she thought.

She looked up, eyes wide, with a trembling voice. "Who prescribed you this?"

He sucked his teeth, irritated. "Dr. Roberts. VA doctor. Supposed to keep the noise down. Help me sleep. Keep me from—" He paused, jaw clenching. "You know... spacing out. Why?"

Annie folded the prescription carefully, slowly. Her nails nearly tore through the paper.

She stretched her full lips down in a deep, inherently inelegant grin. Annie despised these white men, clowning themselves in their black and white suits, lounging behind their desk and persuaded to be the most powerful.

Annie kept her head down for her man's sake. For his peace. So he could stay sane.

She had given up everything for that. Even their daughter's emotional balance.

"Sir, these are not sleep medicine," she said firmly. "They're sedatives. Strong ones. Addictive. Dangerous."

Smoke squinted his eyes, confused. The woman in front of him has no tag on her blouse. Was she even qualified ? Roberts had been his doctor for a long time. His wife Olivia recommended him.

"Ma'am" he approached close to the counter, leisurely wetting his lips with a brush of tongue "I told you these pills pretty hard to keep with, not that my doctor trying to kill me"

Ah. She had almost forgotten this side of him. Stubborn and foolish.

"Elijah—" the name slipped before she could catch it. Her eyes froze, voice gasping.

"This is the second time..." swallowing the space between them, Elijah stood at her size, matching her gaze "Ma'am" 

Annie's body couldn't remain still. The man's tone sent shiver down her spine.

"Look," he said, clearing his throat, "I ain't trying to cause no trouble. Just needed something for the pain. I can go somewhere else."

"No." Her voice came out quicker than intended. "I mean... no, we got something light to ease headaches. I'll get you something over the counter. Something that won't put you out cold."

Smoke's face softened of relief.

He watched the woman attentively, as she reached behind the counter, pulled a small bottle and placed it graciously in his hand.

"It's a syrup, for the pain" she said. "You can take it with food or mixing it with water."

His fingers brushed hers as he took the package. Annie hurriedly removed it, then swallowed hard. "Take care of yourself, Sir"

Uneasy. That's how he felt. As if he was missing something important.

It wasn't the first time someone in town had mistaken him for another. With a twin brother, that sort of thing made sense. However, folks never addressed him as Elias or even Stack, always as Elijah and never Smoke.

This pharmacist was no less different. Her brown, sloppy eyes were done scanning him at the supermarket this morning.

Now she was hiding behind the coiled curtain bangs of her updo hair,squirming like a teenage girl.

"Thank you—?"

"Annie, the name Sir"

He nodded and smiled before heading out.

11: 50 PM

Driving late at night on Chicago streets was not the safest way for a Black man to live old. Elijah had learned that the hard way: once with bruised ribs, another time face down in slush, hands cuffed behind him for matching a description.

Tonight wasn't an exception.

It had been twenty minutes since he left the pharmacy downtown. Thirty-five since he'd been intercepted by cops.

"Evenin'. License and registration, sir," the white man said, tapping at the car window.

Was the gun necessary for a simple check-up? Absolutely not. Unfairly, Elijah was used to it.

"I'm reaching for it now," Elijah said, keeping his hands visible and slowly leaning toward the glovebox. He retrieved his license, registration card, and handed them to the officer.

"I wasn't speeding. Tail light's working too. Can I ask what I'm being stopped for?" he asked, irritated.

"We had a report of a vehicle matching yours. Dark, tinted windows. Suspicious activity near this route," the cop replied, flipping through the documents.

"I just left the pharmacy. Picked up something for my head. You can check the receipt."

Suspicious, the bulky white man leaned in, sniffing.

"You on something tonight, sir?"

Elijah's gaze blackened with annoyance.

"Just trying to get home. Safe. I took a syrup for migraines. No alcohol, no drugs. You can test me if you doubt."

"You always this jumpy?"

"Only when I got guns pointed at me. Post-stress shit," he replied, eyes shifting to the second armed officer behind.

"Oh," the man whistled mockingly. "Military ID in here too. You served?"

"Fallujah."

Both officers nodded, a flicker of surprise passing between them.

"And you live around here?"

"Two streets away," Elijah answered with a sleepy tone.

"All right. Just stay outta trouble tonight, yeah?"

"That's the plan."

The officers lingered a second too long before heading back to their cruiser. Elijah exhaled, tight grip loosening on the wheel.

The hum of the squad car faded behind him, swallowed by the quiet night.

He sat still. Engine running.

The syrup bottle in the passenger seat clinked against the plastic bag. Then,he closed his eyes.

Even before Elijah had time to let out a shallow sigh, an image pierced through his mind.

It was a snowy morning, he remembered having his mouth bloodied, his chest heavy against the ground. The cuffs too tight. Grumpy policemen's boots pressing him down harshly.  The flashlight was too bright, he heard them barking something but couldn't remembered what.

"Please—he ain't done none ! Please don't hurt him— he can't breathe—"

A  woman crying, begging with a strong southern accent. The officers didn't look at her, not right away. One of them cursed under his breath. The other shifted his weight.

Elijah had barely been able to move, but he remembered her shoes : cheap white flats wet with snow.

"Please... Please, the boy is good Sir, can't do nothin', I swear—"

He did not see her face. Blurred. She seemed young, surely close to his age. Pregnant.

He opened his eyes, his fingernails piercing the steering wheel's frayed cover. Adjusting his grip, he pulled away from the curb and drove on.

"What's that shit ?"

12:00 PM

Annie parked on her porch. The woman was too drained to even open the garage.

Still sitting in her old Honda Civic, face slammed against the wheel, she let out a loud, fretful sigh.

"Dem fucking whites," she cursed.

A neighbor's dog barked in response to the sudden outburst.

Annie was worried. She hadn't been prepared to meet him twice in one day.

That morning — After his evil twin, Stack,explained the details about Elijah circumstances— she'd told herself to let go. To stop the chase. Turn the page and burn the book. She believed fading from his life might be the only way to protect his mental health.

But now, everything had changed. A cold suspicion crept in. She was starting to believe they wanted her Elijah gone. Really dead. 

How could she turned a blind eye and overlook the name printed on that prescription ?

"Lawd... it 'bout to get real ugly. Ain't none of 'em safe." She clenched her teeth out of rage

She tore down the poised composure, roaring threats in her sleek, polished southern accent.

12: 10 PM

"Smoke" the blond haired lady cried out, running into his arms. He didn't move an inch.

Olivia was sure a stunning woman. Tall, elegant, poised. Her thin body sculpted and toned with grace, full blossom lips, wavy blond hair and eyes so green, they made Emerald jealous. She was a Mary, a wife, an angel in a house.  A sure candy for any Congregationalist — or least, a sane man.

Just not for him.

Elijah liked her, obviously.

She was there by his side when he opened eyes in hospital. Stack was there too, fully bandaged yet toothpick resting in his mouth.

That day, she claimed to be his wife. He couldn't remember anything. Was he a spouse ? Women were bothersome. And he was too shy to converse with them. How could he be married ? 

Back then, he looked at his brother, who was on verge of crying for some reasons he never shared with him.

When he asked Elias, not only the man replied by calling him another name : Smoke, but he also ensure to thread details of  his situation.

He, Elijah, was married to Olivia since six years, they were planning a baby before he got drafted.

Months passed from that conversation and he can't still not get used to her touch. Every time Olivia brushed his skin, he felt no butterflies in his stomach, instead a strange sensation of embarrassment.

How did they manage to plan for a baby when he couldn't even think about lying with her ?

"Darling, where have you been ?"

Again. She hushed her chest — barely cover by her nightgown— onto his skin. Her pink-ish nipples stroking against the fabric of his hoodie. Damn he wished to be Elias or Stack —whatever name his twin brother bear. Maybe he would have been aroused.

"Sorry, I want downtown for headache relievers" he muttered, pulling away from her embrace

"Oh. Are Dr. Roberts'  pills ran out ? Just a second, I can search for some in your office room"  she caterwauled, in rush.

She was trying so hard to support him. Elijah felt bad for not wanting her the way he probably used to.

"No, no it's fine. I went to Hayes Pharmacy” he spoke lazy.

“Ah ?” Olivia, once’s childish face crumbled into a scowling mess.

Tag list

@thelifeoflagab @juniooox @tadjoa @shamansha @brownskincheyenne @freelandgoddess @Ib-xci @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @iammyownlover @stormynovashambler @summrsovrinterlude @prettygirl2800 @puffmamaa @harleycativy @jasssdee1 @itstayleigh @queenofklonnie22 @bigjh @tadjoa @Isc72 @forzaferrariii , @blxckberrie

[sunlight-shunlight]

to me it's strange that in dai, the game kind of forces you to take minaeve's story at face value? bc it is so weird when i thought about it. it's most likely just in there as a sort of Bioware Centrism Moment, but i wish they'd done more with it.

like ok. if her clan intentionally threw out a child into the woods, that means they were either cutthroat enough to want to kill her on purpose, OR, they wanted to abandon her, but still give her a chance at survival by being found. which was it?

seemingly... neither?

bc if they wanted to kill her, there is literally no need to give her a whole backpack and supplies beforehand. if they're cold-blooded enough to send a child to die, they probably wouldn't care about giving her extra food and stuff beforehand. and i feel like backpacks are actually pretty valuable, just on a cloth/leatherworking effort level, and especially for a small nomadic society that has nowhere to store things besides aravels. this is weird of them. they spent years feeding and clothing and raising her, then decide to coldly scrap all that effort bc they want her gone, and then give her another hand-crafted useful item before they leave her to die? makes no sense!

and if they wanted to just abandon her but still give her a chance, it wouldn't be hard to just send someone to walk her to the edge of a village first. they're experts at surviving and moving through the wilderness, why would it be a hardship for one adult to take a few days and go "ok minaeve, we're going on a field trip to see the human town :)" and then just lie to her and leave her there? still very harsh, and gives her a sad magic-related backstory and dislike of the dalish, but makes more sense! but they didn't do that either.

on a larger scale level.... every single dalish clan we meet prior to that Loves Mages. there's mentions of multiple mages competing to be first, or being traded if another clan is running low on mages. so even if minaeve's clan are assholes, it would be in their interests to basically trade minaeve to another clan for something else of value, and that would compensate them for the amount of time and resources they spent on raising her up to that point.

and on an even broader level, i think the dalish would benefit hugely from even weak mages like minaeve - even if all they ever learn to do is 1 ice spell... that means their whole group now has refrigeration? that's life-changingly useful! there is no way they'd want to pass up on that. and it makes sense why mages are so valued in their culture, bc having a mage improves their quality of life and chances of survival SO much.

so to me, one way minaeve's story makes sense is if the situation was actually: the clan was in some severe danger. the actual mages had to be on the front lines handling it, and no one else could deal with a scared mage child in the middle of everything accidentally setting things on fire. so they sent her out with some supplies so that she was at a distance from whatever was happening, and figured they'd track her down and pick her up in a few days when it was over.

but presumably they did not survive whatever the incident was, so no one came back to get her. minaeve, seven, interpreted this as being abandoned, and the chantry was like "yeah that sounds about right for those horrible cruel barbarians! luckily this child can be raised with good andrastian morals now 😌" and wouldn't dissuade her from thinking that.

[ghostblogging]

Hi. I don't know what to say. Falestine has been forced to evacuate not just one but twice in the past month. She has run out of money completely and with food becoming scarce and aid being dangerous she is now having to survive on as little as possible. She has lost her old tent and was forced to make a new one on the street out of cloth to stay in. All while having to take care of baby Youssef, who barely just had his first birthday. Please, please, I'm begging you! Donate. She is already having to through so much, consider how much you could afford to give. Anything helps, it all adds up! At the very least share her fundraiser, and put it on your queue so the donations don't dry up.

Things are dire. But we can make sure she makes it through this.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 15

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Bad parents, Body shaming, Talk of abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 14 -- Part 16

Series Masterlist

"It's taken a longer than it should've, but I think we've got a solid plan here," Clay sighs. "Can't say everything's been accounted for 'cause that's a fool's errand, but we've covered just about everything we feasibly can."

"Okay," Jake nods. "Just let me know where and when to press the button. I'll make sure Sharky and I are packed and ready to go."

"How much of this plan have you told her?"

Jake sighs, "not...not a damn thing. She knows you and I are working on keeping Sarah and Jadah safe. That's it's."

Clay raises an eyebrow. "You might wanna get to talkin' to her, young man. Don't wanna undo months' worth of trust building."

"I know," Jake hangs his head. "It's just not an easy conversation to have."

"Lookin' at our timeline, you're gonna wanna start that conversation sooner, rather than later."

Jake nods, trying to think how best to approach the subject. The two of you have been getting along so well, you've really been coming out of your shell. Hurting you is the last thing in the world that he wants right now.

You say goodbye to Clay as he heads out. He always makes sure to thank you for the food and for taking care of Jake before he leaves. Honestly, you can understand why Jake is so loyal to the guy; he looks out for his people. Plus, like Jake, he respects your space. He always stays out of the kitchen unless given permission and he never even looks at the door to the master suite. It wouldn't surprise you if Jake thought of Clay as a father figure, he's a decent role model. Then again, your standards on that front are pretty low.

Jake comes out of his room, formerly the home theater, and hesitates.

"What's wrong?" you coax. "Bad news?"

"No...really, well, potentially really good news, depending on a few things. A number of which I really should've talked about to you before but I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to scare you or get your hopes up or any---"

He's cut off by your finger on his lips and your gentle "shh. You're rambling, Jake."

Jake's heart flutters at your touch, but more so at your behavior. It wasn't that long ago you were too scared to correct him on anything, now you're actively interrupting his ramblings with a gentle touch and no fear of him.

You give Jake a soft smile as your cheeks warm. You've learned to recognize his heart eyes. It's still difficult to believe he feels that way about you, but for months he's backed up his words with action.

"So, um...you know how I've been working with Clay?"

"Yes, he's still your boss."

"Umm...he's been...he and the team, we've been...working on plans to keep my sister and her daughter safe."

You give him a confused look. "I thought that's what the marriage was for."

"It is," Jake nods. "But this is a plan for keeping them safe without us having to be married." Jake immediately recognizes his mistake when he sees your features crumple. "Wait, wait, wait! Please let me finish!"

You don't hear what he's saying. All you can hear is your blood rushing. He's going to leave you. He never really wanted you. It was just convenience and proximity. None of it was real and you're furious with yourself for thinking it just might be.

"Sharky! Sharky, come back to me, please!" Jake grabs your shoulders and pleads.

You look at him, tears pouring. "You don't want me?"

"I do! I do want you, Sharky! That's the reason it's taken so long to get the plan worked out. I couldn't stand the idea of leaving you behind!"

"How...I don't...I want to trust you," you whisper.

Jake gets a determined look in his eyes. He gently moves you to the door of his room. You tense, just enough for him to feel it, and he hates himself for not being more careful with his words.

"Wait here for just a minute, please?" he begs.

You give him a small nod and he runs into the room.

You've never actually seen what Jake's done to the room. Clearly the giant screen makes for a great computer monitor. There's a lot of windows open that you're not sure what they are. What little you can see of the desktop looks to be a marine life photo, probably the default. It looks like he's got the massive recliners rearranged so that there's one for working at his computer, one for a bed, and the two others for conversation, likely with Clay. He's clearly made efficient use of the space.

"Aha!" A cheer from Jake startles you out of your thoughts. He runs over to you, a small box in his hand. "I'd bought this for you, for after we got out of here, when we weren't under the thumb of our parents."

He drops to one knee and opens the box, revealing a gold hammerhead shark ring. "I was going to save it to ask you to marry me when things had settled down. I even made sure to get a hammerhead shark because they travel in groups and I wanted to remind you that you don't have to be alone anymore!"

You bring your hands to your face and let out a small sob.

"I know...I know we haven't known each other long," Jake admits. "But I've never met anyone so wonderful as you. So kind, strong, understanding, able to put up with my...me-ness. I want to be with you, without the pressure from others pushing us together. I want to be together because we want to be together."

"I'm so sorry, Jake," you cry. He swears his heart stops. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I'll understand if you want to take the ring back. But, if you're willing to...to forgive me, I'd love to be with you."

Jake jumps up and hugs you. "Oh god, you scared me! I thought you were sorry because you didn't feel the same!"

"Just...just do me a favor and hold onto it? If my parents catch me wearing it they'll...It won't be good."

"I'll make sure they never find it," he promises. "Can...can I kiss you?"

"I'd like that," you giggle.

And you really do enjoy Jake's kisses. Your experience with kisses is limited but Jake's are, by far, the best you've ever had. They're earnest, exciting, just like him. You're also able to enjoy them because, time and time again, he's proven he's willing to stop whenever you need him to.

This time, though, you think you're ready.

You break away from his kisses. "Jake, would you...would you be willing to um...my bedroom?"

"Are you sure?"

You nod and lead him to the master suite, smiling.

Naturally, that's when your mother bursts in to the penthouse.

"As you can see, we need this space more open," she's telling the man she brought with her. "There's just no room for all the guests!"

You and Jake quickly separate.

"Mother? What...what's going on?"

"I can't say I'm surprised I'm not interrupting anything," she rolls her eyes. "We've got to get this place ready for hosting parties. Now that you and Jake are the face of the families, you have to start hosting parties. This penthouse was meant for family meetings more than anything. Gus here is going to be in charge of the construction!"

"You...you couldn't give us a heads up?" Jake shakes his head.

"Why would I need to do that? You know it's not your names on the deed." She turns to Gus, "kids! So ungrateful!" Gus gives you and Jake a sympathetic smile but nods along with your mother. You can't blame him. Business is business and she's not wrong about who actually owns this place.

"Looking over the layout for the place, we could easily open the place up more by taking out the home theater section," he offers. "We can move the theater system elsewhere."

"What? No!" your mother argues. "Just get rid of the kitchen. Parties are meant to be catered and without a kitchen it'll be easier for her to lose some weight."

"Mother, please! Not the kitchen!" you cry.

"Seriously, why are you cutting out her...her best skill? Even you know she's a great cook!" Jake adds, almost giving away that the kitchen was your safe space.

"Would you be interested in a mini-kitchen?" Gus asks Carol. "There's a lot of...inner workings, like water and heat lines, that would be easier to repurpose than get rid of."

"Ugh, only the smallest of kitchenette areas so the caterers have access to water sources or whatever," she rolls her eyes. "Now let's talk about how to keep that kitchenette out of sight while still opening the floor space."

She walks towards the kitchen, Gus following, when Jake whispers, "can I move my clothes into your closet?"

Your eyes widen at the realization you might be caught not sharing a bed. "Yes!" you whisper. "Move as fast as you can. I'll block her view of the hall."

"Thank you!" he gives you a peck on the cheek before running off.

It takes a little finagling on your part, but Jake manages to get his stuff moved over without your mother noticing. The entire time you hear her talking about all the "wastes of space" in the kitchen. Every time Gus brings up questions about living space they're dismissed as not important, just like you are.

No, like you were. You're important to Jake. He's made that clear. Jake's never purposefully hurt you. You've only known each other for 7 months, but in that time, he's done more for you than anyone else in your life. He's shown you what it's like to be important to someone, dear to someone.

There's an anger and resentment you can't remember feeling before. You've gotten a taste of something better, and he's offering a chance to escape.

When Carol and Gus finally leave, Jake turns to you, expecting to see tears, ready to reassure you with hugs and kisses. Instead you take his hands and look him in the eye.

"When do we leave and what do you need me to do?"

Part 14 -- Part 16

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @embarrasingmf; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @missaprilt23; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63; @watermelonslut

[ramblingautisticman]

Thinking about how the different X-Men were while looking after kids in the mansion.

Jean and Scott are the usual mom and dad. They will scold you if needs be, but if you have a good enough reason for whatever the hell you got in trouble for, they will be a little less upset. They encourage your passions, help you when stressed or upset, and make sure you are doing good in classes.

Hank is the wierd uncle. The one you don't see often but when you do he's always somehow in a new venture and will tell you all about it unprompted, ya know? He's also always there if you need to chat or wants some help with homework, but will also end up rambling about some science stuff.

Remy is the cool uncle, but also the grandma that wants to feed you everytime you visit. He's always making something, or has made something for you to eat. Always. He doesn't let you go hungry, and will be concerned if you deny ANY food he offers. He's very chill and understanding, and gentle parents in a way because he knows how tough Scott can be sometimes. He also will come pick you up at 3am no questions asked if needed.

Storm is the aunt that you listen too no matter what. Sure, you'll argue with Scott or Jean about something they want you to do, but if storm asks? Your doing it instantly. You both fear and admire her. She is a force to be reckond with and doesn't take any shit from anyone, but also likes having fun and doesn't push you so hard you break.

Logan is the quiet one. The one you don't really know anything about until something happens and it gets mentioned in passing. He's not much of a talker, but will listen and give advice if needed, and even though he acts all grumpy, he's got soft spot for you. He's always doing little things that subtly shows he cares. Helping with a birthday party, making sure you have clean clothes, fixing anything broken in the mansion so it's safe ect. Stuff that isn't necessarily direct, but enough to show he cares.

Charles is 100% the grandpa that let's you do whatever you want because why the fuck not? He doesn't let you do anything dangerous, but he will encourage harmless fun that he knows will upset the other X-Men. He's also the best listener in the mansion, and never minds lending an ear or some advice when it comes to your feelings or emotions. He also always offers you some old looking candy from his pocket.

Anyway, this has been another ramble from me :)

[bunnis-monsters]

Puppy Love

Preview || Patreon/Kofi Exclusive

Puppy Hybrid x Fem!Reader

WC: 5k

A/N: the rest of this story is only available on Patreon and Kofi!

It had been beyond late when you got home from work. Your eyelids felt as heavy as a ton of bricks, and you nearly passed out several times on the train ride you took to get home.

Late nights like these have become more prevalent lately, leaving you worn out each day. No amounts of energy drinks and positive affirmations helped the exhaustion that settled into your bones the second you stepped out of your office.

Working overtime had been something you wanted to avoid at all costs, but lately things had been a little rough on you financially.

The one thing that made everything worth it at the end of the day was coming home to your loving boyfriend.

As you lazily munched on some stale fries, you looked out the window. Your boyfriend was the sweetest puppy hybrid ever. He loved you, truly and genuinely adored you more than anything.

It was cute, how he worried for you throughout the day as he worked. You’d get several messages, and even a few naughty pictures when he was feeling lonely and needy.

You tossed your empty fast food bag into the trash as you stepped into your home. As expected, your lover nearly tackled you the second you were in the door.

“You’re home, I’ve missed you so much!”

A laugh escaped your lips. Leo’s tail was wagging so hard, thumping against the floor as he sniffed and nuzzled into you. He was excited that you were finally back in his arms, that was clear to see.

“Silly, it’s only been half a day. I see you every morning and night, don’t I?”

Leo huffed, puffing out his cheeks in a pout before giving yours a lick. “And that’s not enough time to get all of the attention I want! I wish I could keep you with me all the time…”

You scratched behind his fluffy ears, watching him cling to you. It truly wasn’t fair to him, and you were well aware of that fact. Puppy hybrids were possessive, needy creatures that mated for life. Not being with you for such a long period of time was stressful for him.

“I know… I don’t like this either, you know?”

With a sigh, you nuzzled him back. “I don’t have another day off until this weekend, pup. After this project is done, I shouldn’t have to stay so late…”

He placed his hands on your chubby belly, squishing it to relieve some of his stress. “But that’s too long… you’re being mean to me, I want to breed you. You said we could have pups soon…”

You leaned your forehead against his. “I know I did… Why do you think I’ve been working so hard? If I don’t, how will we afford to take care of a whole litter of pups? It’s a lot of work, I’ll need to take maternity leave too.”

Leo’s fluffy ears flattened against his head as his tail drooped. “I know you’re right… but that doesn’t mean I have to like this. You’re working yourself to death, how will we have pups if you aren’t healthy enough to carry them?”

He nuzzled your soft tummy, as if fearing you’d lose your chubby frame from how much stress and work you had taken on. Kisses were left along your pliable flesh, and his fingers started to get dangerously close to your panty line.

“Hey…” you groaned out a low warning, giving his nose a poke. “I’m tired, baby. It’s late and I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

The puppy hybrid huffed, his ears flattening against his head. “Again? It’s been a while since we… you know…”

His tail wagged furiously as he simply thought of the word “sex”. Images of you on your back, your tits bouncing as he fucked into your pretty, fat cunt had him basically humping your leg.

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[fafodill]

I know this never actually happened in canon, but if Molly were to kidnap persuade Severus to stay and eat after an order meeting, how would that go down? How would Molly attempt to mother-hen a heavily resistant Sev? (His little belly needs filling 🥺).

Canon!Molly would absolutely struggle with Severus. She's a real mother-hen, can be quite overbearing and is very vocal with her affection. She's also very tactile.

All the things Severus would dislike.

So we have to imagine here a Molly who's very stubborn (which she is but not as much towards people she dislikes) AND capable of adapting her actions and attitude towards one person. This kinda makes her out of character but let's accept it for the sake of the scenario:

First of all, Severus would never stay unless he was forced to. Molly wouldn't be able to convince him. It would be because Dumbledore ordered him to OR if he was wounded/bed-ridden and had no choice. I like the wounded scenario but for simplicity let's imagine Dumbledore ordered him to eat with them from now on.

He'd put on a sour face all the while. He'd be unpleasant enough just to ensure this wouldn't happen again and she/they just leave him alone or ask him to piss off. He'd hate being treated like a project by Molly and being under scrutiny.

He doesn't like these people and don't want to spend time with them (because he's a bit of a cunt) but also because being mothered would actually tickle his mommy issues.

Because come on, having a loving mother? Who provides? Who takes care of him? Oof... Eileen couldn't.

But despite his sour face, Molly would persist. What might happen?

One good thing about her is that she had 7 children, so she knows how to deal with pouting faces. Severus is nothing new to her (tho she's a tad appalled to see a grown man like him acting like he's 12).

At first she'd be pissed at how much he's bickering with Sirius. Then after a while she'd accept that 1) they both can't help it and 2) despite the chaos it's actually doing them some good because at least they're talking and expressing other emotions than depression (and they channel their anger at each other). It would still get tiring and she'd do her best to not let them in the same room for too long.

She wouldn't try to chat with him too much either (I mean she will, quite a few times) because he's not a talker and if you force it out of him you'll just get insulted.

I think that with time she'd ask him to help in the kitchen (to prep the meals of for some finishing touches). Or ask him to make the coffee or after-dinner tea. Keep him busy every time he looks like he's about to snap at someone or leave.

It's Severus, you have to take your time with him. Gently force him into a new routine.

About the food, she'd try to ask him what he likes and if she can cook something for him (because she likes to please people) and he'd always say no. She'd even ask about his childhood meals and get such an icy answer that she would instantly drop it. But she's stubborn so maybe with time she'd just stop asking and just... look, because she's also experienced with sulking and private children. So she'd look at his expression while he eats, if he gets a second serving, if he looks a bit interested in a second slice of pie (he won't say it but he will look at it) and take the opportunity to just give it to him.

With time she'd figure out what he likes and if he's about to leave she'd pack him some food and just shove it in his hands and as he argues she'd throw her hands in the air and say 'then just toss it when you get home, I don't care!' (she cares, but if she shows she does it won't work).

The real problem is with the other Order members. Severus cannot help himself... many of them he doesn't like and he won't be able to stay out of petty fights. He says things and doesn't care if it's cruel or cold and I'm sure he'd kill the mood quite a few times. It's part self-sabotage, part old grievances, part being a cunt. And with time it's going to get tiring for everyone if he stays and just annoys or angers people.

Tho in a scenario where he's wounded and has to stay at Grimmauld's, maybe Molly would corner him and scold him about the war effort and that -yes- everyone is very impressed and grateful for what he's doing but that this is community and it's also important to take care of the morale by being civil towards each other and that if he keeps being so unpleasant then she can just give him his meal in his room and be done with it.

And they both know part of him would like that. But that it would also read EXTREMELY childish and he's way too proud to accept it.

So he'll start making an effort.

A tiny one.

And then you can build on that.

[ricefamine]

HI EVERYONE!! MY POLL HAS CLOSED AND ITS TIME FOR ME TO WRITE FOR LUFFY HEHE!! Honestly it's hard for me to write long stories so I tried my best lol

Luffy x fem!reader (established relationship)

Summary: you and the crew go to a small island called "jewel Island" full of shores of jewelry!

Fluff! Ooc!luffy

The thousand sunny was approaching a big.. and somehow sparkly island? Everyone looked shocked and amazed. This wasn't just some regular island, the shores were filled with jewels and jewelry! Nami was absolutely in shock, not only could she sell this jewelry for berries she could also have boat loads of treasure!! As the sunny came to a halt to the dock of this island there was a lot of clinking noises.

Nami ran straight to the dock and immediately started collecting jewel after jewel while the others were just staring in amazement. Franky collected some pretty flashy bracelets, while sanji was collecting rings to propose to random women with..? Jinbei was going underwater to collect some stray jewels and Zoro, ussop, chopper and brook just mainly stared after a little chopper and usopp went to collect as much jewels as they could! It was basically heaven!

But that usually doesn't last long does it, welp it was good for now! The locals of the island didn't really seem to care about pirates all to much so they were good! You and luffy were also taking some jewels and jewelry but instead of taking them into bags like the others, luffy was just trying to find something of some sort. You blew it off your boyfriend is just like that anyways! But you became a little suspicious when you realized he was just searching for rings and nothing else but again you blew it off as usual.

"HEY GUYS!" Nami yelled "I NEED ANOTHER BAG COULD SOMEONE THROW ONE OVER HERE!" you went back on the ship to put away your bag and went to go give Nami a new bag.

"Hey nami, how many bags you got so far?" You asked curiously.

"I got about, let me think.. I'm pretty sure I have 12 bags!" She said excitedly.

"Thats a lot! I only have 2 bags."

"How much does luffy have? He must have a lot!" Nami said happily.

"He actually has no bags like at all, and have no idea why! He's just been trying to find something for ages now and the funny thing is he keeps looking at rings! I mean sanji is too but he's just picking every ring he sees! It isn't bad but I still wanna know why he's just picking rings.."

"I mean can't you just ask? You're his girlfriend after all, he basically tells you everything about himself."

"I'll go ask then, I'll tell you ehat he says when I'm back, alright?"

Nami nods and you go back to luffy who's still searching for something.

"Hey lu, whatcha searching for?" You asked curiously

"It's a secret!! I can't tell you but I'll tell you later okay?!!!"

You nod and go back to nami telling her what happened, she did find it odd that he wasn't telling you but at least he said he would tell you later right?

After all the collecting everyone went back on the ship to see their winnings!

Usopp had 11 bags

Franky had 14 bags

Chopper had 6 bags

Jinbei had 23 bags

Brook had 17 bags

Nami had a whopping 28 bags!

Sanji had 4 bags

Zoro had 6 bags

You had 7 bags

And finally luffy had.. no bag! He just had a little box. Odd he would usually get bucket loads of this stuff!

It was the after noon, nami was helping sanji cook dinner and you were setting up the table with Robin. Luffy was tiptoeing to your bedroom, he was pretty bad at it so you caught him before he could even go in.

"Lu why are you going into my room? And what's with that little box?"

"I said it's a secretttt, I'll tell you later okay!"

"Alright luffy.." as you say that luffy gives you a big smooch on your cheek and goes to the kitchen! (He's pestering sanji for extra food.)

After dinner everyone went to their cabins, you and luffy share one as of a few weeks ago but it's pretty nice!

"Hey (name).. I'm gonna tell you the secret now!" He said excitedly.

"Uh huh let me hear it lu." You waited for him to show you or tell you.

Luffy pulls out that small box again and opens it, it was a beautiful shimmering ring and it was your favorite color!

"Luffy?! There's no way this is for me I can't accept this!" You said shocked, but wait.. IS THIS MAN ABOUT TO PROPOSE?!

"(Full name) will you marry me! And become pirate queen when I become pirate king!"

"Oh luffy.. I WILL! I WILL MARRY YOU!" you said with tears in your eyes you hugged and kissed his face excitedly!

After a while of you celebrating with giving him kisses and loving you both fell asleep in each other arms as the ring he got for you was shimmering on your ring finger.

────୨ৎ────

Hihi! This might not be very long ngl😭 but in the future I'll try my best to write even more!! I'm currently at episode 522 of one piece! I'll be writing for law soon guys!!

@sillyeonn

[twinklyylights]

Mickey clocks out of his Old Army shift at 7:02 but doesn’t make to the back door of the Gallagher house until 8:18. His movements are slow and stiff as he brings his key to the lock and twists.

Long. Fucking. Day.  He thinks to himself.

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen to make note of his arrival. But, he can hear that the living room TV is on. He hopes that it’s Ian sat in front of the screen, and not any other members of the family.

When his stomach growls, he groans in annoyance.

He hasn’t eaten since his lunch break early in the afternoon, but he also can’t remember the last time he sat down. 

He’s pretty sure his feet will fall off if he stays on them any longer.

He decides that his stomach will have to wait. 

Ian turns his head at the sound of his boyfriend’s footsteps. He flashes Mickey a brief smile, but it quickly falls away when he takes in Mickey’s demeanor. 

With a groan, Mickey flops onto the couch beside him. His eyes close almost instantly.

“You okay?” Ian asks, as he picks up the remote and pauses the screen in front of him. 

Mickey shrugs. 

“Tired.”

Ian’s hand finds its way to Mickey’s thigh and he gives it a loving squeeze. 

“Ready for bed?”

Mickey shakes his head.

“’Hungry,” he answers through a yawn.

“Debbie made chicken and rice earlier. You want that?”

“Sure.”

Ian’s quick on his feet as he heads towards the kitchen. The bowl of food that he set aside for Mickey earlier is on the counter waiting for this very moment. 

It spends 2 minutes in the microwave spinning slowly.

When he comes back into the living room, he turns on the lamp beside the couch. 

Mickey winces even though the lamp’s light is dim.

“I’m sleeping,” he complains. 

“Nope, not yet. Baby, you gotta eat.” 

Ian sets the bowl down next to Mickey’s feet that are resting on the coffee table. 

Mickey still has his work shoes on, and Ian can’t help but let out a small laugh at the style of them. They’re nothing close to what Mickey would ever choose to wear.

“You gonna sit up to eat?”

“Can’t.”

“You can’t sit up?”

Mickey shakes his head. His eyes are still closed.

“’My fucking feet hurt.”

And even though Ian doesn’t quite understand the correlation, he still nods his head in understanding as he goes to reclaim his spot on the couch. 

“Bring your feet here,” he says. “Let me take your shoes off.”

Mickey cracks one eye open. He looks at his boyfriend incredulously. 

“I’m not a fucking baby. I can take my own shoes off, man,” he asserts.

 Even though he makes no attempt to do so. 

“I never said you were,” Ian shoots back. “Let me do this. Let me take care of you,” he pleads.

The 6 words do the trick and Mickey turns toward Ian. He brings both of his legs to rest in his boyfriend’s lap and Ian does his part to take off the offending shoes. 

“Don’t forget your food,” he says softly. He lets Mickey lean over to grab the ceramic bowl and begin eating. 

“Thanks for saving me some,” Mickey mumbles around a mouthful. 

“’Course.”

With that, Ian presses play on the old Jason Clarke film he was watching before Mickey came home. 

It’s all enough for Mickey to begin to feel the stress of the day leave his body. Enough for him to swallow away complaints of bitchy customers, and focus in on Jeffery Dean Morgan running out of a burning building. 

When Ian’s hand wraps around his foot, he’s caught off guard. 

Initially, he squirms at the contact, but his hesitation quickly morphs into realization and his entire body relaxes.

Ian’s giving him a foot massage.

And while he hasn’t asked for one, he’s already feeling relief from it.

He feels the love in the gesture, too.

He pokes Ian’s belly with his big toe.

“You trying to get laid or something?” 

Ian rolls his eyes. His lips twitch into a smile.

“Laid by the guy that just worked a 9-hour shift?”

As if on command, Mickey yawns in response. He laughs a bit at the irony.

“Man, who am I kidding? I’m so fucking tired.”

And the way he says it makes Ian’s hands go still.

The last couple weeks have been a whirl wind for the both of them. Getting readjusted to everything has been exhausting. And while Ian didn’t exactly have a choice when it came to coming back to the only home he’s ever known, he knows that Mickey doesn’t have to be here with him if he truly doesn’t want to be.

After a beat, Ian speaks again. His voice is timid. 

“Are you still happy to be home?”

Mickey’s face screws up. What kind of question is that?

“You think I’d rather still be locked up?”

Ian blows out a tense breath. The agitation in Mickey’s voice is clear and he internally kicks himself for being the reason behind it.

“No, I just know you’re stressed with work, and parole, and being back here with all of us,” Ian lists off. “I don’t want you to re-”

Mickey cuts him off then. 

“Stop,” he whines, uncharacteristically childlike. “Massage my feet and take me to bed. Don’t start with all that shit.”

Ian does what he’s told. They’re both silent for an awkward moment. The movies still playing. Mickey’s bowl still sat on the coffee table. 

His feet not feeling so bad anymore.

“I want to be here with you,” Mickey promises eventually. “I want everything with you, man. You gotta know that by now.”

Ian sighs.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” he confesses. “I wanted you here with me so you could fucking relax for once. Not work yourself to death at some shitty teen clothing store.”

Mickey chuckles. He hears the concern in Ian’s voice.

“Hey man, don’t shit on Old army."

Ian cuts his eyes over to him. He’s got the nerve to look so relaxed despite it all.

“You know what I mean.”

Mickey shrugs.

“It’s not all bad,” he says with an ease that surprises Ian. “It’s been a Hell of a lot worse, don’t you think?”

Ian finally lets himself laugh. 

“Yeah, it has.”

“You gotta stop worrying about everything,” Mickey tells him. “Shit will figure itself out.”

Ian nods in agreement.

 If he’s being honest with himself, he’s scared of how things will settle out. But with Mickey sounding so sure about everything, he doesn’t let that fear have too much of a say.

When Mickey yawns again, Ian smiles. He grabs the remote and cuts the movie off without a second thought. 

“C’mon let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow will be here before we know it.”

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #44

Continuation of this poll

With slightly shivering hands, you reached forward. Your eyes kept darting up to the alien's, making sure its mood wasn't changing rapidly as you picked up the thing it was holding out to you. Whatever it was, it felt solid and cool in your hand, your thoughts leaning more and more towards it being a fruit. Still, you didn't dare take a bite out of it, not knowing whether it was edible for you or not.

The alien made a chirp, laying its head to the side before moving suddenly, its elongated body wrapping around you. You flinched instinctively and clutched the thing in your hands tightly to your chest as its little legs stepped on yours, slightly wobbly flesh leaning against you. Then it did something unexpected: it clapped its hands, its head excitedly leaning left and right.

"Woah!" you yelled as you were suddenly tackled by the alien, lifted into the air, and thrown over its almost non-existent shoulders while still clutching the thing it gave you in your hands. The scenery changed rapidly as you two dashed through the forest, and you were too stunned to speak, your brain barely able to keep up with what was going on.

You were being kidnapped. On an alien planet. Great.

"W-Wait!" you called out, sounding miserable as you felt your survival chances slip into the deeper and deeper blue darkness. Unless this alien was truly friendly—which you had no guarantee for—you'd probably have a hard time finding back to your spaceship, much less finding food and water in time to still your body's needs. The situation was growing increasingly dire until your surroundings suddenly changed from lush blue to cave-like earthiness.

At first, there were only the sounds of the alien's feet thumbing on the ground rapidly, the sensation of dropping deeper and deeper below earth brewing in your stomach. But then, strangely familiar chirping sounds rang out, and you recognized them as the ones the alien made to you at the clearing, its steps slowing down until it finally stopped.

With great gentleness, you were slowly placed on the floor, seated on soft ground, and stared up at the alien, who was once again looking at you, its head moving left and right as if it was admiring you. You flinched hard when suddenly another face, similar to that of the alien, popped up, then another and another. Soon, you were surrounded by strange creatures looking just like the one that had found you, yet all slightly different from each other, having patterns or different head forms.

Oh god, you thought, I'm in their nest.

Looking down, you noticed the foliage that seemed to make up a sleeping place of one of the aliens, presumably the one that kidnapped you. It was neatly stacked in a large circle, enough to roll up in for sure. Lifting your gaze, you noticed countless of these "beds" around the cave you were in, and it dawned on you that you were in an alien colony with no means of defending yourself should they decide you were the next snack.

With shivering hands, you raised the object the alien had given you, hoping it would show goodwill towards them that you still had it and took care of it. Indeed, the aliens began chirping loudly, and you relaxed a little until suddenly, countless arms stretched out towards you, all of them holding their own version of the object.

The creature that had approached you first did something unexpected as more and more objects were pushed towards you as if everyone was trying to make you take theirs as well, something you didn't expect from the somewhat happy alien. It hissed, loud and clear, at the others, slithering its long body possessively around you and continuing to hiss at its fellow aliens.

Immediately, the mood fell, and most stepped back, their faces dropping in disappointment as they withdrew slowly. Some eager aliens still tried to give you their object, but their hands were slapped away, and they received another direct hiss until they scurried away, too. Every alien seemed to go back to an individual nest, most of their eyes still on you, but you couldn't concentrate on them too long as the alien wrapped around you demanded your attention, carefully taking the object out of your hand and placing it into your lap.

With an arm slung over your thighs, they held it there in place, and the pieces slowly fell into place as you realized that it was, in fact, an egg and you were a soft, warm creature to incubate it. The revelation made you feel both strangely comforted by the fact that you were too valuable to be killed and very panicked as you realized how many aliens there had been, all with an egg of their own and no guarantee you wouldn't be passed around once one of them hatched.

This was not the kind of research you imagined doing when you signed up for the expedition. In fact, every fiber of your being wanted to run away, the unknown future making your heart pound and your flight instinct kick in. You weren't fast enough to outrun the aliens, but perhaps you could fight them one-on-one, as they didn't seem too strong. But what then? Would you try to find your way back, helpless and defenseless against other aliens?

But what was the alternative, sitting here and incubating their eggs for the rest of your life? Playing along to some alien's whims until you were no longer useful? What about your needs? Would they take care of you? Did you want some random aliens to take care of you?

Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about how much you wanted to go home and forget about all that had happened. But as you stirred, the alien's hold you grew tighter, its body hugging you closer.

The next few moments would decide how you'd spend the rest of your life.

[pagesofscales]

If you're experiencing homelessness, a sudden loss of income, a change in living situation, or any other event that makes you unable to care for your pet(s), try reaching out to your local humane society and/or shelters.

Many of them have programs in place to help people in these situations, whether that be by providing you with food/supplies for your pet when you can't afford it, providing free/discount veterinary services, or even temporarily caring for the pet in shelter until you can take them back.

At my shelter, we have what we call "community days" once or twice a month. This is when we give away any extra donations we receive to the community. Although anyone is welcome to come and take what they need, these are usually intended for those who are homeless, low income, or otherwise need some help.

We also have a program called "urgent care". With this program, we take in pets temporarily when their families aren't able to care for them. This could be one of the situations mentioned above or something like recovering from a surgery/illness, being incarcerated, etc. The reason doesn't matter. While in this program, the pets are taken care of like any other animals at the shelter with one main difference -- it's all confidential. Most of our shelter is open to the public to come visit and meet the animals but the urgent care animals are kept upstairs, which is staff only. We also aren't allowed to take any photos of the animals or to discuss them with anyone. As general staff and volunteers, we also know nothing about the family's situation or what brought the pet here. That's kept extremely private.

One other program that we have -- which is less common -- is what we call a "fundraiser spotlight". Each month, we spotlight a fundraiser to help pets. This is usually to pay for veterinary care but can be for anything really. The fundraiser is posted in the newsletter, on the social media pages, etc. and they usually get filled very quickly. I don't know anything about the specifics of how the fundraisers are chosen or what goes on (it's not my job) but it's a great program anyways.

Your local shelters may or may not have simar programs but it's worth a shot! Many of them can at least connect you to people who can help.

[leggerefiore]

I have one!! Do you think the dragons (would) court? I know you have a specific liking to Longan and Ananas rn but if you're willing to brainstorm about any of them I'd love to hear it especially what types of courting they'd follow traditional, personally tailored or otherwise (it's so funny to imagine at least one of them going to the others for advice and depending who was willing to lend it might end up disastrous)

I'm down for Pitaya, anon, too... Don't be fooled...

cw: fluff, dragons maybe having some misunderstandings

characters: Longan Dragon Cookie, Ananas Dragon Cookie, Pitaya Dragon Cookie, Lotus Dragon Cookie

👁Longan Dragon Cookie🌟

⚪️ They follow dragon courting traditions without any hesitation or doubt. Why do they care about what the weak ones are doing? They intended fully to return to the age of dragons, and thus will follow what they know to be the best way to show interest in a mate. Even to a mortal. No matter how much any other dragon warns them from it, they still will. Their wisdom is absolute, and they have little room to doubt themselves.

⚪️ The Ivory Dragon leans towards displays of their power to entrance a mate – especially one that is a fellow dragon. Though, as stated, power is their main display. They know what they can offer most is protection. And in a hectic world, they are the best arms to reside in. No other beings have managed to topple this dragon, even when contained within a weaker form. Truthfully, if that does not sway a potential mate, they may grow disinterested.

⚪️ Yet, they are not above other base instincts. Treasure and gifts, another clear sign to express interest. Granted, Longan may assume to mix this with a display of power and gift you the bones of some poor creature they utterly destroyed. Their most precious treasure, they claim. A sign of their unyielding interest. It is a bit unnerving, needless to say. Other gifts are a bit more rational. Endless precious trinkets they collected over the centuries of their existence. Fine jewels and precious metals… Oh, and food. Granted… the food may be a bit rawer than you are used to if it is meat.

🍍Ananas Dragon Cookie🏖

🟡 The Golden Dragon skews somewhere between traditional dragon courting and that of what they have observed in mortals. It is a bit irritating at first, having to daringly ask a certain someone for advice. While Ananas cares for the mortals of their islands, they admittedly are more unfamiliar with what is commonplace in their culture. So, if they are pursuing a mortal, they may ask Pitaya for advice. The other dragon has far more experience around mortals. Pitaya does not give the best advice, but it is not necessarily… inaccurate either.

🟡 In skewing towards dragon traditions, many gifts are given. Most of them personal treasures of the dragon. It shows their utter dedication and interest, and they hope it is understood. If you were to smile and accept the gifts, just know you are confirming to them that you are interested. It makes their heart race, especially if you wear any clothing or jewellery they gift. It furthers their conclusion that you are interested. Food is also common. Sharing a fruit with you is a clear sign they are interested. Eating together shows you are bonded with them. That is how their mind understands these things.

🟡 Though, if they follow the advice that Pitaya gave them… Somehow, they find themselves in a disguise at a pub with their intended partner. For some reason, it is far more nerve-wracking than admitting to a certain all-seeing dragon about a broke treasured vase. This path seems to work well enough – Their interest is understood, and it seems to progress their relationship along. The other option is far more disastrous. As it turns out, attempting to take over one's potential partner's home does not send a good message. Ananas regrets ever trusting that fool.

🗡Pitaya Dragon Cookie🍉

🔴 Out of all the dragons, they probably skew the furthest away from just traditional dragon courting, but they still somehow accidentally completely follow it…? Pitaya is well acquainted with the culture of mortals – they frequently enjoy visiting various places in search of worthy opponents. A certain far off kingdom they visited (and took over) once had a strong leaning towards romance, so they got a full understanding of it and are pretty confident in their skills. And, well, chances are they are pursuing a mortal.

🔴 The Red Dragon does a little traditional courting in giving their treasures over to a potential mate. But! They try to understand what their mate might desire, too. So, while they drown them in whatever weapons and armour from mortals that tried to fight them had, and they claimed, they may also being you some dish you like that they likely stole. They really are trying, though. Every part of them, especially if you are mortal, just wants them to take you away to their nest. They are being good and attempting to respect courting standards.

🔴 They attempt dates, too. The advice they have gotten from a certain someone suggested a walk through a garden or enjoying dinner at a nice place. Unfortunately, the Dragon's Valley does not really have a lot to offer in that way. Though, they think letting you ride on their back is a decent substitute. They eagerly show you the various land around their nest. You both may even have a drink in Mala Village. Though, they do wonder if it would be worth the trip to try what is recommended. Their substitutes seemed to be sufficient enough. If you asked to, however, they would eagerly fly you off to try those things.

🪷Lotus Dragon Cookie🌊

🔵 The Blue Dragon tries a mixture as well. They are not above their own draconic instincts, and it does feel pleasant to indulge them. But, at the same time, they are completely familiar with the wishes of mortals and how to grant them. It is a fine balance to show their interest in you while remaining within the lines of what they desire themselves. It is a bit easier if they are pursuing a dragon, but they truly are not helpless when going after a mortal. Their methodology just will vary slightly depending.

🔵 Love songs are an obvious choice… Truthfully, it is not necessarily a draconic thing, such as a personal thing. Please — sit and listen to their playing and let it sway your heart to their waves of love. The melodic strings will reflect their endless passion and affection towards you – so will you not hear their songs? They will otherwise take you on a stroll across the lantern filled lake and observe the breathtaking sight at your side. You will feel their presence close at your side as they speak in some assorted poem about how the beauty narrowly compares to your own.

🔵 Gifts are natural, too. Whatever your heart desires, they will give you. Anything and everything to show their undying affection. Their palace is open to you at any time as well. Part of their strategy is having you bask in their presence and getting to know you personally – you entertain them. They would hate to lose that. Even more subtly, they will share meals with you. Another sign of their clear interest that may or may not go over your head, depending on your familiarity with dragons.