#fall arrest block

[dutestindustrial]

Information on Fall Arrester Blocks

serious hazard on construction and manufacturing sites is workers falling from heights and sustaining injuries that could sometimes prove to be fatal. Therefore, using the best quality Lifting Equipment and Fall Protection Systems becomes a non-negotiable work condition. This makes the workplaces safer. Selection of the right Fixed Lifeline Systems is critical.

The companies should analyze the possible fall hazards in their workplace. Always work with a reliable company dealing in Fixed Lifeline Systems to figure out the best fall protection system suitable to the place of work. Use of such equipment is of utmost importance where workers are exposed to heights more than six feet. It goes without saying that the equipment should be inspected, tested and certified for sturdiness, durability and safety features.

One of the most reliable companies in the UAE which provides the highest quality fixed lifeline system products is Dutest. It provides all equipment (not limited to) Horizontal Lifeline System, Vertical Lifeline System, Fixed Lifeline System, and Fall Protection Systems like Fall Arrester Block, Full Body Harness etc. Dutest has studied the market requirements regarding the need for safety at workplaces.

When the anchorage is too high to be accessed and the clearance distance is small, the situation poses a major challenge. The Retractable Fall Arrester Blocks by Dutest prove to be an ideal fall arrester in such a scenario.

Benefits of using good quality and tested fall arrestor blocks are

The products from the Dutest stable are the ideal fix for prevention of dangers of a fall at workplaces. This ensures complete occupational safety.

Dutest is one of the leading and most experienced as well as reliable third party inspection companies and supplier of equipment for working at construction and maintenance sites. It deals in Lifting Equipment and Safety Equipment. Dutest ensures that it has a team that is experienced, is in sync with the market requirements, customizes the solutions for the clients and is available to the clients.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Can I put in a request where Joaquin and Sam see on the news or get an alert that there is an explosion at reader’s office job (Joaquin’s girlfriend) while she’s there and he panics and rushes over? I don’t know, it was a random story idea I thought of 😂🥰😅

Ven Por Ti

about this: wc: 661 pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader contents: canon typical violence, anxiety, blood mention, explosions, an: this was such a good idea babe, thanks for sending it in!

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Joaquin feels like all the blood is draining from his body. He’s cold all over and frozen in place, his eyes glued to the TV.

The news station keeps playing it—over and over and over. Like there aren’t lives being lost, like the loved ones of the people inside aren’t bleeding and dying.

Sam comes to stand beside. “Joaquin, isn’t that—”

“Her building. It’s her building,” he whispers in disbelief under his breath.

That’s all he says and then he starts moving. Gathering any and everything he might need to extract you and others more quickly than a police force could.

Sam doesn’t ask questions—just throws on his jacket and grabs his gear, falling in sync with Joaquin’s frantic pace. They don’t speak much on the way out, but Joaquin’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel, his jaw locked so tight he can’t feel anything but the pounding of his heart and the echo of your laugh in his ears. The way you smiled at him that morning. The way you kissed his cheek and told him to “have a good day, wings” like it was any other.

But it’s not any other day; today’s the day he might lose you. That day was supposed to be far, far away.

Smoke is visible before they even make it to your block. It plumes into the air like a warning, like grief. Joaquin parks haphazardly on the sidewalk and bolts from the car before it’s even fully stopped. Sam’s at his side as they flash their IDs, muscles coiled and sharp eyes scanning the chaos.

Fire crews and medics and reporters swarm the scene, civilians being dragged out on stretchers, their faces bloodied, clothing charred. It takes everything in Joaquin not to scream your name, to not tear through the rubble like a man possessed.

“Torres—” Sam says, grabbing his arm, trying to keep him from getting himself hurt or arrested for interfering.

But Joaquin rips free, “Necesito encontrarla.” When Sam opens his mouth in rebuttal, Joaquin doubles down. “I have to find her.”

He gets halfway to the wreckage before someone yells his name.

“Joaquin!”

He spins, heart seizing in his chest at the sight of you.

There you are: covered in soot, hair half-singed, a bandage already pressed to your temple. Your hands tremble as you stand with the paramedics, a blanket draped around your shoulders.

He nearly falls over himself trying to get to you as quickly as he can.

Your knees buckle when he pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his chest, inhaling the clean scent of his shirt, the safety of his being in his arms. His hands cradle your face, run over your limbs like he’s checking for every injury, like if he doesn’t touch you fast enough you might disappear.

“I thought—fuck, I thought you were gone,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I thought I was too,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself relax further against.

He kisses you like he’s afraid to lose the chance. It’s messy and desperate and too public, but he doesn’t care. His hands shake as he grips you, anchoring himself with the feel of your body in his arms.

“I’ll always come for you,” he assures, voice thick with emotion. “Entiendes? Simpre.”

You nod, your mouth brushing his as you say, “Yo sé, Joaquin.”

Sam hovers nearby, eyes scanning the crowd, giving you two your moment but staying close enough in case Joaquin falls apart.

“You’re okay,” Joaquin murmurs over and over, like if he says it enough, it’ll undo the trauma of the past thirty minutes.

But you’re not okay. Not yet. You’re scared and shaken and sore, and the image of flames crawling up the office walls will probably haunt you forever. But you’re alive. You made it out. And he came for you.

That’s enough in the wake of you believing you could’ve lost it all.

lmk if you’d like to be on the joaquin torres taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl, @awkwardgiraffe726

[guerillas-of-history]

🔴 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine:

The American-zionist “aid-distribution centers” are mass-death traps and a tool for forced displacement.

The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine affirms that the occupation’s announcement of opening “humanitarian aid-distribution centers” in various areas of the Gaza Strip—run directly by the zionist occupier and financed and sponsored by the United States—amounts to setting up collective death traps. These sites serve as arrest points and instruments for entrenching racist policies, marketed under a “humanitarian” veneer while actually forming part of the genocidal war and Holocaust being waged against our people. They come amid a continuing siege and extermination campaign that targets civilians—especially children, women, and the elderly—and function as one of the occupation’s displacement schemes.

The Front views these centers as components of an integrated political-military apparatus aimed at emptying the Strip of its inhabitants and separating them from their homes, camps, and cities through direct humanitarian pressure: blocking aid from reaching residential areas to force people to converge on specific, fully occupation-controlled points. These spots then become gateways for mass expulsion and detention, a soft-focus remake of Nazi concentration camps that Netanyahu is trying to replicate.

The Popular Front warns our people against falling into these disguised traps and urges the masses to exercise extreme caution and not be lured by any false “humanitarian” slogans issued by killers and their backers.

The Front also calls on international and human-rights organizations to investigate immediately the purpose and role of these centers, to end silent complicity in the occupation’s crimes, to expose this new tool in its dirty war, and to insist that the proper alternative remains the UN agencies operating in Gaza—foremost UNRWA—which possess the manpower, logistics, effectiveness, and legal mandate to handle aid delivery.

Our people’s struggle for dignity and freedom cannot be reduced to a loaf of bread, nor to distribution points controlled by the occupier.

We reiterate: national dignity comes before all else. Our people will not submit and will not be dragged into the occupier’s attempt to engineer new field and demographic realities under the pretext of “aid.”

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine

Central Media Department

27 May 2025

[luludeluluramblings]

LoungeSinger!Reader??? Can you tell us a little bit about that,please🥺🥺🥺?

LoungeSinger!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Member (Romantic)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this in my head rent free for all of November after listening to Hozier. More specifically, Too Sweet and Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene. This has so many different directions it could go in and I'm having a hard time picking one.

Warnings: GN!Reader, incarceration, possible manipulation

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You had gotten it into your head that you could handle it. That you didn't need that small town mindset. And, that you were going to do something about it.

Now, moving to one of the most dangerous cities in the country to sing at some smokey bar might not have been the brightest of all your ideas. But, fuck the light, it hurts your eyes anyway.

You knew you got lucky when you found some decent paying bar that hired your naive ass. You knew you were good when you sang and made people fall in love with you. You didn't know how fucked you where when you made the wrong people fall in love with more than just your voice.

It had started innocently enough. No one in Gotham would blame you for falling for it. Not even your judgmental family back home would've blamed your for it. The devil is a charmer after all, and he looks like an angel as well. Sure, you were a seductive thing. But, you bit that apple not realizing it was a pomegranate in disguise.

The Bat Family were all about helping people from what you understood. You hadn't exactly expected to run into them. Not with how cautious you tended to be. Just because you were brave enough to move to Gotham of your own accord doesn't mean you were stupid enough not to take precautions. Avoiding dark alleyways. Carrying pepper spray. Taking a taxi even if it was only for two blocks.

But, they came to you. More specifically the bar you worked at. Asking questions from the busboy first. Then the Bartender. Then the waitress. Then you, the singer.

You were fully prepared to help them with whatever it was they were investigating. Wanting to do your part to help. However, you may have been beguiled by their first question.

"What's someone as pretty and as talented as you doing in a city like this?"

Of course, even with your flushing cheeks, you had figured that they were just being charming for kicks. That it was just in their nature and that they weren't really as captivated by you as they had sounded.

Still, they threw in flirty lines every now and then when they had asked you questions about the area. Things you had seen. Things you had heard. Where you lived.

Simple, investigative things.

You hadn't expected it to have gone on for multiple days though. Night after night, week after week of them coming back to talk.

When you had asked around your bar, they hadn't done that for anyone else. And, the people you did mention it to told you to keep it hushed with a cheeky grin and a knowing gleam in their eyes at the sight of our blush. You didn't need everyone in Gotham knowing you were flirting with one of its vigilantes.

It continues on like that for weeks, then months. Flirting and heated rooftop rendezvouses.

But, not years.

Because it suddenly comes to a bone rattling stop when the very bar you work at is shut down by the Gotham City Police and everyone is arrested. Including you. All

Everyone you know and trust, on the inside of those cells with you.

You'd contact your masked lover, but you don't know how. And, you don't want to. Not when you hear the officers talking about how they got all the information about your boss apparently laundering money for some local small time gang. Not when you hear their alias being mentioned.

No one blames you for what happened, thankfully. In fact, you received a substantial amount of pity for your situation. Poor thing. Manipulated and used and tossed aside.

Or, were you?

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Did we do something to have them throw us in there? Did they think we were about to leave Gotham? Was is all a big misunderstanding? Is the GCPD just corrupt? Are they going to bail us out? Who is our masked lover? SO MANY POSSIBILITIES!

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Mihawk prefers to keep work and his private life separate. On one rare occasion when these two have to comingle, Mihawk is rather upset at the attention you attract.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When Mihawk said "It will be just a moment, my dear", you didn't think the issue would take more than half an hour. Yet here you are, two hours after he had left you in a fussy lounge in the back of Midnight Grove...

...and not a Dracule Mihawk in sight.

You let out an exasperated sigh and take another sip of your mai tai. The band is playing yet another song that sounds vaguely identical to the previous one. Similarly, the mob of other patrons seems to be merging into one, murky background of blurry figures in your eyes. Being used to the peaceful yet refined companionship of Mihawk, the aura of Midnight Grove is beyond unbearable.

Mindlessly playing with a coaster featuring a howling wolf, you don't notice a Marine cadet approaching you.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest you, my lady."

The unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome comment makes you look up from the devilishly fascinating coaster. Your eyes fall on a well-built man with long hair and a smug expression. The glint in his brown eyes makes you tense up in discomfort.

"Excuse me?" you ask him, not understanding the meaning behind his words.

The cadet gives you a bad parody of a flirtatious smile. "You look too beautiful," he purrs out.

You can't help but laugh. Somehow, you're undecided whether his pick-up disgusts or amuses you or maybe both. Perhaps his audacity forced a laugh out of you - the ring on your fourth finger is neither modest nor simple. Considering how the large gem in the golden band shone in the low light of the Midnight Grove, even a blind man could tell from a mile away that you are anything but single.

"Anyone waiting for you at home?" he continues his rather poor attempt at flirting.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you toss the coaster on the table. Feeling both curious and entertained, you decide to play along - for now, at least. "Why are you asking, sailor boy?" you question before taking another sip of your drink. The ice has melted and the diluted drink now tastes mostly of old freezer.

"He must be mighty jealous about you. And considering the gold you're wearing," he makes a point of staring at your cleavage, "a millionaire, too."

"Oh, this?" You look down at the necklace of jewels and pearls. A memory flashes before your eyes, suddenly remembering Mihawk's face, barely visible in candlelight as he clasps the jewellery around your neck, telling you sweet things only men in romance novels tend to say. "Yes, it's a gift from someone. I'm sure you know him," you tell the Marine cadet in a casual tone, already imagining how hilarious his face of terror will be when he realizes whose spouse he's been trying to woo. "Tall, yellow eyes, a rather large sword and...

"Awfully annoyed at your impertinence, boy."

The low, guttural voice laced with withheld anger makes both of you look away. There, standing right behind the cadet, is Mihawk himself. Part of his large physique blocks the scarce lighting, making him look significantly more insidious. In the twilight of the Midnight Grove, with fury burning in his eyes, Mihawk appears closer to a demon than a man.

Although the room is dark, you can clearly see the way the cadet's blood draws from his face and the way his eyes are suddenly bigger than an owl's. He scrambles to his feet, almost falling off his chair. Then, muttering apologies and promises of better behaviour, the young Marine runs off only to disappear in the crowd of Midnight Grove's patrons.

Mihawk's eyes follow the youngling for a moment.

"I should have him strung up and killed," he says more to himself than you.

"Or," you speak up, a playful smile curling your lips, "you could sit down, have a drink with your beautiful wife and gloat about the fact that you're the only man to undress her."

You might just be a witch because the change in his demeanour is instant. There is still something wild in his bright, yellow eyes but it's not bloodthirst or anger anymore. You notice how he glances at the ring and the necklace, admiring his own signs of "ownership". One would think they're big enough to send the message. Alas, some people just refuse to receive it.

"You have me convinced," Mihawk says as he sits down next to you.

[nouearth]

“SOME ENCHANTED EVENINGS”

steve rogers x male reader.

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 & 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓— headcanon [ 3.4k ] 〳 part two

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒—male reader〳domestic!au 〳mid-century!era 〳'roommates' 〳established relationship 〳 secret husband!steve 〳sexual content: top!steve, bottom!reader, love-making, rimming, breeding, praising, silencing.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄— y'all, i keep getting distracted with these scenarios, i'm so sorry! everybody say thank you @atomicpaperbrat for making me dream about this headcanon!

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who reunited with you after demobilization, under less than ideal circumstances.

‣ Steve wanted to surprise you a few hours early.

‣ It was the hopeless romantic in him talking—dreaming—imagining you practically jumping into his arms after he unexpectedly arrived a few hours earlier than he had originally told you.

‣ If you were daring, you'd let your tears fall uncontrollably, sink down onto your knees like the tears had weight to them, and a spotlight would zero in on your complete elation.

‣ A round of applause the audience would have given you if you were an actor in one of those plays you'd taken him to before.

‣ That wouldn't be enough, Steve reconsidered.

‣ A kiss would do it. It would show you—how truly magnificent you were. Waiting for him for so long, writing back to him without delay, sending in snacks from the recently opened grocery store down the block—you constantly raved about their state-of-art coolers that made the air feel all-so perfectly breezy.

‣ "You won't believe it, Steve. Ma and I felt like the cucumbers themselves. We're going there as soon as you come home!"

‣ A kiss would also simply assure you that he was here now, and you wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. It would fend off any doubts about him that you'd have festering in the meantime he was away from home.

‣ If they ever returned, Steve was more than willing to find another way to completely dispel them.

‣ After all, he was a soldier—a man of honor.

‣ Instead, the door was left opened when Steve arrived at their apartment unit like you'd been expecting him.

‣ No room for surprises, huh?

‣ Even if it was a foil on his plan, that didn't mean that Steve was any less of excited. Seeing your backside made all sorts of palpitation rattle within him.

‣ He couldn't possibly imagine what it would feel like when he would come face-to-face with you.

‣ Death, most likely? A coma being the best case scenario.

‣ "Ma, you're not helping. You always said I should be taking care of myself more—no, don't come. Why?! Because you'd only try to take over! Really? Watch my tone? Coming from the woman who almost got arrested when—will you stay put? Steve and I will visit tomorrow. He'll probably be tired when I pick him up. If dinner turns out bad, then I'll get something at the deli and we can have a proper one at your pad. Hey, you do know that I'm your son... right?!"

‣ Steve was always charmed by the banter between the man that he loved and the woman that raised him to be the exact replica of her.

‣ Hearing your voice over your mother's and her voice over yours—she was clearly winning over the telephone—it was beginning to register just exactly how much he missed you.

‣ Missed this.

‣ From the living room, he'd been watching your backside for minutes now yet so much has happened within the time span. You were a busy bee for him.

‣ All four burners were on. One stove was warming up a cast iron pan, another had potatoes boiling in water, and the other two—

‣ Steve never got to peek what was in those two pots because his thoughts were punctuated with a throttling scream.

‣ Maybe there hadn't been a foil in his surprise after all.

‣ "Steve?! What in the world?! What?! I was supposed to—what?! Why are you?! Here?!" ‣ "That's certainly one way to greet a loved one."

‣ "No, no. I'm... just—you're here, Steve. Steve—"

‣ As frequent as Steve pictured the perfect reunion, nothing could ever come close to the feeling—the actual feeling—of your arms wrapping around his broad body, pulling him chest to chest.

‣ It'd been so long since he held someone like this. Someone like you. Someone he cherished.

‣ Steve's hands roamed over your back muscles, pleasantly foreign in his palms—he was instantly reminded when you wrote to him that you had been going on more runs to make up for his absence.

‣ No matter how much you complained about Steve's keen desire for you to join him on his runs before the crack of dawn, you still did it and roused sleep off one step at a time.

‣ That was what husbands did.

‣ It was a strange feeling, recognizing what was familiar—like your tendency to massage his nape whenever you went in for a hug or something as simple as your smile—and then having his reconciliation cut short when Steve noticed your hair styled in a different way that made you look sharper.

‣ Maybe it was a one-time, a new look for this special occasion, but it fit you well. Everything did.

‣ So beautiful, so pretty, so handsome. Steve brushed one hand over your temple and held you there, kissing you once on the lips after.

‣ No words could describe you perfectly. Steve could look through a bunch of thesauruses and glossaries all day, but it would further support his theory that your beauty was simply undefinable.

‣ If it was up to him, he'd create an entirely new set of glossaries that was curated based on your likeness.

‣ For now, he settled on sublime. Your beauty was sublime.

‣ Something outer-worldly that took every muscle and fiber holding his body and turned it into vapor to feed your beauty.

‣ You kissed him back, and he was solid again, returning back to reality.

‣ There would be no killing, only nurturing. You weren't like other gods—you were kind and generous, especially with Steve.

‣ Steve felt your heart race against his own, laughing into your lips at how dangerously oblivious you could be to your surroundings.

‣ "You truly didn't notice me? I was going to surprise you, but I thought you beat me to it."

‣ He inhaled the appetizing aroma of onion, garlic, and tomatoes wafting from your apron, and in midst, detected his favorite cologne on you. The base notes always smelled better on your skin.

‣ "Are you kidding? All I can see in my vision are onions, Steve. Tears! Cutting fifteen onions is a death sentence in itself..! Why did you have to like my mother's French Onion soup so much?"

‣ He sighed at how he missed those lips of yours, silently suffering to control himself from stilling the soft and supple moving pair. It was all overwhelming with so many wants and needs. What would be prioritized first?

‣ Your ramblings were ticklish on his mouth, and that reignited an irresistible impulse to kiss you, to properly kiss you.

‣ "The department of fresh vegetables would like for me to apologize on their behalf—preferably with my mouth. Would that appease you then, Mr. (M/N) Rogers?"

‣ He loved how your name sounded with his last name.

‣ "Appeasing means that I'm demanding for some type of compensation, Mr. Steve Rogers. Does it look like I'm demanding?"

‣ "No, but your lips seem like they're still recovering from the aftershocks from those terribly, malicious onions. Might I say... they look lonely, too?"

‣ "Hm... I guess—I wouldn't be opposed to being relieved of my multitude of troubles..."

‣ Holding your cheeks in between warm, calloused palms, Steve captured the last remnant of your breath and let the yearning—for your lips, for your presence—to seal and hold you shut, against him and over him, all within his strong arms.

‣ It all felt natural. His body responded to yours like he had never left. Memories came flooding back in guidance where to hold you, cherish you with every touch he could remember.

‣ Your lower back. You liked being held there, and so Steve does. You liked it when he fluttered his lashes against your nose too—it sent you into a fit of laughter no matter what mood you were in—and so he does after breaking the kiss.

‣ "Well, I thank you for your service."

‣ Laughing when you laughed, smiling when you smiled.

‣ You arched forward, impossibly closer to Steve's body—satisfied, triumphant as your handsome solider returned back in one piece, safe and sound.

‣ One hand of yours curiously surveyed his body—much more muscular than you had last remembered on the day of his drafting.

‣ "Feels good to be home?"

‣ "It feels... incredible."

𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐂𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐍𝐒.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who relished in all things quiet and loud on condition that you would be by his side at all times.

‣ More often than not, you and Steve were too exhausted from work to actually plan something for the weekend.

‣ However, if there was one thing that Steve cannot abide, it was doing stuff without you.

‣ "Hold that thought, fellas. I'll need to check with my hu—roommate—friend. He loves getting a drink or two, so..."

‣ It wasn't like you two were inseparable, but those years without you had been agonizing and Steve wanted to make the most of every moment.

‣ Regardless of whether he was having a blast catching up with Bucky and his friends, you were always on his mind.

‣ Drinking at the bar? Steve could hear you remind him to not give into peer pressure and drink however much he pleased.

‣ Though—like it was much difficult to stop in the first place, he was never fond of the taste of gin and Bucky knew that firsthand—buying him a round of cherry soda instead.

‣ You always made sure to thank Bucky by treating him to a couple of drinks yourself.

‣ Grabbing lunch with some co-workers? Steve made sure to buy an extra sandwich or two to take home for dinner. If you liked it, he'd mention the rest of the menu, and suggest what you'd ought to try next.

‣ "Darling, how about we have lunch there tomorrow? You'd be a real goner for the fries."

‣ "That's an incredibly profound proposition you're making there, Steve-o. Extra crispy and salty, straight from the fryer just like how I like 'em?"

‣ "All of that... and brace yourself—your favorite: cold ketchup on the side."

‣ "Steve-o... forget lunch. We're going now!"

‣ Wherever his mind wandered, Steve would always find his way back to you.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers whose favorite pastime was filling the silence between you two with a vinyl record.

‣ Steve felt safest in his apartment.

‣ So, it was irrefutable to say that his ideal date was simply being at home with you.

‣ Calmly dancing to his favorite record by Jo Stafford, 'The Things We Did Last Summer'.

‣ The early morning hike / The rented tandem bike / The lunches that we used to pack / We never could explain / That sudden summer rain / The look we got when we got back

‣ There was no fear in holding your hands, no trepidation in wrapping his strong arms around your body or kissing you on the neck and lips, all while you held yourself against him and swayed.

‣ The leaves began to fade / Like promises we made / How could a love that seemed so right go wrong?

‣ "I never realized how melancholic the song is, Steve-o."

‣ "It's bittersweet, isn't it? Reflecting upon a love you thought was forever..."

‣ "Is that how you'll think about us for the foreseeable future? Something that was?"

‣ "Well, I can't promise you forever, because that's not nearly long enough. But I can promise that I want to walk with you to our eternal forever. Would you be willing to join me in my search?"

‣ "I'm willing—more than happy to join you, Steve."

‣ "Every step of the way? Even if you can't walk anymore?"

‣ "I'll crawl. If I can't crawl, you're strong enough to carry me the rest of the way. I trust you won't abandon me in purgatory."

‣ "I won't. I would never."

‣ You would follow him to any horizon, and Steve would do the same for you, regardless of what hindrances might lie ahead.

‣ In the end, it felt like home with one another.

‣ And home was the only place where you two could be yourselves.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘.

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who reveled in the deprivation of your peace of mind.

‣ Steve was always a gentleman.

‣ If you had anyone to boast to, that would be an asset of him you would plaster all over billboard signs if you could (or had the budget to, regardless).

‣ So, it was quite expected of Steve to take his time with you, preparing you for one of those nights.

‣ "Steve—honey, come on..."

‣ "I don't want to hurt you, daring. Be patient."

‣ Part of the reason why he took so long was because of how you acted.

‣ Under normal circumstances, you were already impatient as is—so, could you blame him for luxuriating in the sight of your hole desperately clenching for more of him? Whining into the bed as you slumped your chest forward, and taunted him with a wiggle of your ass?

‣ "Look at you. You know how beautiful you look right now? Opening yourself up for me? Being all keen for me?"

‣ Three fingers was what Steve used to stretch you open as you were knelt on the bed on all fours.

‣ One hand stroking your hard wet cock was what made you respond in slow rhythmic cadence.

‣ "I wouldn't know... how about you show me how much you enjoy my ass? Preferably with your impressive cock filling me up...

‣ "Language."

‣ Your body was beautiful—always had been—but exceptionally so as you writhed because of his fingers working inside of you.

‣ Swelled because of his hand fisting your cock.

‣ Sank because of his mouth laving your bloomed opening as a token of appreciation—for gracing Steve with your vulnerabilities.

‣ "You taste so good. I could eat your for breakfast. For Lunch. For dinner. I'd reckon I could make a better meal out of you, darling. I'd have my fill and be satisfied, all because of this sweet confection that's your body, (M/N)."

‣ "Steve—oh, right there—just like that... keep talking to me like that."

Secret Husband!Steve Rogers who sinned with another of his kind, who forced another being to sin with him and exulted him in sin.

‣ Steve was a gentleman, but that didn't mean the man never had any inclination to ravage you.

‣ Only with you—that he would indulge himself fervently like this.

‣ He liked sticking close to your body.

‣ All positions did it for him, but he heavily favored spooning you, pressing his muscular chest to your writhing backside, and withholding you from escaping him—hands by your hips, piling your cavity with a tremendous fill.

‣ No other position could provide Steve the gratification of making love to you like this.

‣ Hearing your disheveled pants, grunts, and moans altogether in his ear.

‣ Feeling you ardently grind back against him as if he wasn't already balls-deep, and losing your sense of rhythm in the process.

‣ Sucking on a patch on your neck and tasting the salt of your skin, of the sweat that Steve and you had collectively harvested together like they were an open orchard.

‣ It all nurtured his pride, feeding into his strength and into the praises you'd graciously honor him as the pleasure of his cock pounding inside of you bellowed.

‣ "Your cock feels so good inside of me, Steve—you feel so good inside of me. Reconstructing my insides with your thick shaft, renewing my body with your mouth, your hands—r-reclaiming my body with your love. God, I'm in love with you. You fuck me so incredibly well."

‣ Your ramblings again, something he'd gotten used to, something he was absolutely smitten with—but this was on another level.

‣ Regarding profanity, Steve made an exception for these occasions.

‣ Fiery, passionate, delirious. Your mind and body was on fire, and Steve was the furnace, pummeling harder, faster—igniting your combustion.

‣ "I'm in love with you."

‣ Steve kissed you with all his might, drowned you in his love, all sorts of emotions beguiling your body to work into overdrive, your mouth to empty a vault of pure contentment.

‣ "Shh, shh. Walls are thin..."

‣ It happened more often than Steve could count—where your uncontrollable moans resounded through the apartment.

‣ You woke the elderly woman next door once and unsurprisingly quelled the woman's worries with your kindness, as lazy as your attempt at lying was, "Must've been the... the wind! Y-you know it is these days... It's been storming quite frequently. Want me to come over and check for any leaks, ma'am? It wouldn't be a bother at all."

‣ As much as he loved hearing you—Steve couldn't take the embarrassment, nor the increasing suspicion on who exactly were the tenants in Room 304.

‣ The better solution would've been to ease his thrusts, slow the pace his hips while making sure you felt every inch—every vein—of his cock throbbing inside of your body.

‣ But this was equally as enthralling—his hand champed shut over your mouth, squeezing at the lower half of your face in a ferocious trial to muffle your pleading moans.

‣ Harder—pounding and filling you amply while his hand restricted you the outlet of your emotions.

‣ "Mfggh, S-Steve!"

‣ "Shh... quiet, You'll wake up the neighbors like you did last time, remember?

‣ "M-mm-mmf—"

‣ Steve got off to this, it was his indulgence—merciless as he was unrelenting in delivering you the utmost pleasure, in submerging himself deep inside of you until you simply came hands-free from the nth time Steve's cock hit that sweet spot of yours.

‣ Your warnings were inaudible, but that didn't mean you didn't at least try. You licked his palm, bit into the thick part of his hand, and he only held you tighter—and that really set you off.

‣ You choked on your own moans, the credence vibrating in Steve's wet palm, and your cock suddenly spurted thick shots of cum.

‣ Steve's spading cock drew every rope out of you, into the air, and onto your stomach and chest.

‣ You turned the mess of your body into a beautiful disaster, and Steve couldn't fathom how he could restrain himself any longer.

‣ "Oh, christ—(M/N)..."

‣ You breathed a deep relief when Steve released your mouth in favor of painting your body with your own cum.

‣ His hand smeared the pool of semen over your stomach, and then upwards to your chest, rubbing the evidence of the love you had for him into your body.

‣ Into his mouth when Steve sucked his fingers to taste—to savor.

‣ And finally into yours, where you eagerly cleansed him off, finger by finger.

‣ Steve watched close, panting and marveling over how pretty your lips looked sucking his fingers, and that was enough for him to erupt inside of your body.

‣ Warmth, you felt his cum flooding inside of you like lava as Steve buried his deep and guttural moans into your neck.

‣ "Feel so full, Steve..."

‣ "Don't let it leak. Squeeze around me..."

‣ You felt the tremors of his body—of his voice—when he resumed his thrusts, albeit slower and much more languid this time around, and milked himself inside of your painted, clenched walls.

‣ "O-oh, I'm so deep inside of you, Darling. Hold me. Hold my loving cock and never let go."

‣ Obscene sounds of Steve's cock creaming you from the inside and out made your sensitive cock jolt, even as you felt him softening within you.

‣ Slowly but surely, Steve's body finally registered with his ultimate high, and exhaustion hit him like a train alongside the melt of your muscles against his.

‣ You exulted in Steve's orgasm, while Steve did the same with yours.

‣ His hands cradled your sensitive cock, tenderly massaging while the other smoothed over your chest.

‣ You turned to watch him in between recovering breaths, delightfully triumphant despite the risk of being with someone like Steve—a complete sin.

‣ Breathing as two, bonding as one.

‣ "I won't let go."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[esmedelacroix]

00 - Pilot

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

series masterlist | cmnt to be added to taglist !

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol, angst, brief mention of self-harm, depressive tendencies, suggestive, explicit mentions of smut

fic radio ! Heavy by The Marías

Ryomen Sukuna knew from a young age that he was a genius. It didn’t take his fourth grade teacher’s praises or his middle school principal placing him in higher level math and science classes. He just knew. But his mother, the resentful drunk, put no effort into his education or his future.

He was the product of her falling in love with an American “businessman” who ended up being a low-level drug dealer who eventually got arrested. On his release day, he had already run away to a distant South American country. So here lived Ryomen and his absentee mother, who moved to America to live in a trailer park.

Ryomen’s mother didn’t bother taking him to school or making sure he got on the bus, so he attended school when he could. His teachers constantly sent notes home begging his mother to bring Ryomen to school, but she didn’t care to read them.

Ryomen picked up small jobs around the park, taking care of the elderly for money and sometimes just a meal. When a social worker was sent home, his mother laughed at the idea of Ryomen being intelligent, chuckling, “That brat will never amount to anything. Both his parents are dumb as fuck anyway!”

By middle school, he was juggling two jobs while attending school whenever he could. He probably broke a good amount of child labour laws, but it’s what kept him and his mother alive.

High school changed his life. His good friend, Toji Fushiguro, begged him to try out for the football team. He mused about how many girls they would get, knowing that he only asked Ryomen to try out with him because he was nervous.

Ryomen picked up football with ease. He was an aggressive tackler, and he was an amazing runner. All those hours he worked at factories and warehouses added to his physique. Having to fight the odd men his mother brought over sometimes also toughened him up. But in the case of football, he wasn't pushing himself because he had to; he played because it became an outlet for him.

He ended up being so good that he and Toji went to college with their amazing skills. Ryomen as a quarterback and Toji as a tight end. Their small town never sent anyone to college for sports, so Ryomen and Toji were practically celebrities. Toji thought it was a miracle that he would be attending a highly selective school just because he could catch a ball and block a few dudes. He had no clue that even without the sports scholarship, Ryomen could have gotten into an Ivy Leauge school with just his grades alone. He was an undercover nerd.

. . .

You grew up in the kind of environment where everything you did was talked about. Being one of the wealthiest families in Upstate New York meant all eyes were on you at all times. You were an only child who was afraid to rebel. So you tried your hardest to be picture perfect. Never allowing yourself to break under pressure.

Attending one of the most prestigious prep schools in New York meant having to be at the top of your class. It meant juggling a full schedule of APs, electives, extracurriculars, clubs, and tutoring. You did all of this seemingly without breaking a sweat. Being the best had a cost. You didn't get to live the teenage life, and it upset you. Your parents insisted on you staying close. But you had different ideas. You were tired of feeling like a hermit. Never having drank alcohol, or dated, or even partied(outside of formal events), you needed to do college right. You couldn’t achieve that close to home.

You could do that at Ohio State. You wouldn’t be the slightly entitled good girl. You'd be the life of the party.

. . .

-> next part

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Rookie Reporter (Hawks x f!Reader)

A/N: I've been writing this one for a long time and I finally finished! It's a long one, but I hope you enjoy

Dont forget to like & reblog <3

Warnings: Hawks, yandere Hawks, abusive work place, manipulation, gaslighting

Wordcount: 5.7k

Ask Box: Open

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | VGen | Patreon | Twitter | Archive of Our Own

Reporters were the bane of every hero's existence. They wanted nothing but a good scoop on whatever and whoever they could find. Hardcore hero fanatics called them the scum of the earth; even worse than some villains. Some of your friends were disgusted when they found out you wanted to go to college for journalism. But they just didn't understand. You weren't going to be a reporter. You were going to be a journalist, someone who seeks the truth and only the truth. 

It wasn't easy. You wish that your enthusiasm had gotten you far, but when you graduated, you had trouble finding a job. Now you were working at a small-time news company. You looked down at your camera, shuffling through the blurry pictures you had taken. Your boss decided for you first job he would send you out to tail the number two hero. Why was this given to someone with no experience? Because your boss had faith in you. At least, that's what he said. You were special. You were talented. It's why he hired you. You scrunched your nose as you peeked around the corner. Hawks was surrounded by a group of small kids, feathers surrounding them as he smiled down at them. You put the viewfinder up to your eye and took even more pictures.

As Hawks moved away, you continued to try and follow him inconspicuously. This isn't what you wanted. You didn't want to follow some random hero to see if he would fuck up and make a mistake. Especially if he was the number two and one of the most popular heroes with the public. You had nothing against Hawks and it felt dirty to do this. He was known for being laid back and friendly with everyone. The only "newsworthy" thing about him is his relationship with Endeavor, who is less than friendly. You hid behind another building. This was stupid!! This was totally and completely stupid. You were going to take a few more pictures and then call it a day. As you peeked out the corner again, you saw that your vision was blocked by a torso. 

"Excuse me, you're blocking my- oh shit."

"Oh shit is right." Hawks was staring down at you, his arms crossed. "Why are you following me?"

You didn't answer. Instead, you did what your boss told you to do if you got caught: you turned around and started walking away. If you pretended like you didn't know what he was talking about, he would just leave you alone. That's what you told yourself. Even as you heard his steps behind you as you walked, you acted like you knew nothing. Of course following the #2 hero was not without consequence. He easily overtook you and stopped right in front of you. With a small oof, you ran into his chest. 

He sighed, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Listen, I didn't want to make any arrests today. But if you don't wanna tell me-"

"It’s my job.” You said, looking down to your camera then up at him. “This is my first assignment.”

“You’re paparazzi?”

You scrunched your nose. “No! I’m a journalist. As my first job, my boss sent me out to follow you.”

“Kid, that’s what the paparazzi do. They follow heroes to get the latest scoop.”

You crossed your arms. “Excuse me, Mr. Hawks, but I am not like those lowlifes. I want to chase the truth and only the truth. My boss said he had faith in me and my talent. He said I was special.”

“Right. And who do you work for?”

"Heroes Weekly."

He laughed. "I can't tell if you're serious or pulling my wing."

"What?" You cocked your head. "Why would I not be serious? I'm trying to be a good journalist."

He let out a sigh and ran his hand through his blonde hair, the strands falling messily around his face. You've only seen him happy and smiling, even when fighting villains. It was rare to see Hawks looking frustrated. It looked like he didn't believe you. You reached for your lanyard, flashing the employee ID at him.

"See? Rookie journalist."

He leaned in, scanning the text. "That says Rookie Reporter, kid."

"What?" You looked at the badge. There, underneath your employee picture, were the words Rookie Reporter. You frowned. "God damn it. And stop calling me kid! You're only like a year or two older than me!"

"Okay then, birdie. You're being hazed." 

Hazed? It almost made you laugh. There's no way they would do that to you. Your boss was kind. He even gave you your own business cards. Your coworkers always smiled at you, said you were super helpful around the office. They said you were lucky for getting this assignment. Someone as eager as…Who were you kidding? No matter how you looked at it, trailing one of the top ten heroes wasn't meant for a rookie. It was meant for humiliation. 

You hung your head in shame. Frustration and guilt mixed together. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hawks. I was just so eager to become a journalist that I-"

"Hey, hey. Don't be upset. Just don't do that again, alright? Other heroes won't be as lenient as I am." He patted your head, ruffling your hair.

You nodded. "I'll delete all the pictures as well."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"Don't worry. I'll figure something out."

You turned and walked away. It was so frustrating. You knew they weren't going to be genuine. That's what you were warned about in college. But it was the only company that would even glance your way. You didn't want to give up your dream of being a journalist. You wanted to write an expose of hero worship and media influence. You wanted to show how idolization affects both the people and heroes negatively. You wanted to make a difference. Yet here you were, doing exactly what you always despised. You sighed as you went through your camera, deleting all the pictures. You were so stupid.

"Hey! Wait up!!"

You turned to see Hawks catching up with you. He gave you a lopsided smile. "I don't want you to go back empty handed."

"It's fine, really. It's not like you did anything out of the ordinary anyway."

He held out his hand. "Do you have a business card?"

"Oh!" You let the camera hang around your neck as you rifled through your bag. "My boss said that the first thing I should do is give my business card. How could I forget that? Anyway, here."

"Thanks." He grabbed the business card, looking over it. "I'll give you a call."

"For…"

"You're so cute, birdie. I'm gonna let you interview me. I like your spunk. It would be great for a journalist to have a contact, right? Plus–" He leaned in, looking proud of himself. "I am the number two hero. It can't get better than this."

"Really?" Your eyes widened in surprise. He had caught you tailing him and now he wanted to do an interview? "Wow. Uhm… thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'll call you later, kid."

"Sure."

As he walked off, you got an odd feeling in your stomach. It wasn't necessarily positive. There was something off about the way Hawks looked at you. Like you were a victim or someone who needed saving. Were you that pitiful? You shook your head and pushed down the feeling. It had to be positive. This was good. This was your gateway into being the journalist you always wanted to be. You had to take advantage of this.

°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

You hated your job. You hated it so much, you could quit at any moment. Especially now, as you carefully maneuvered two drink carriers off the counter at the coffee shop you always seemed to be at. Ever since you came back from meeting Hawks, you were treated as an errand girl. It wasn't unusual for you to pick up lunch or drinks every once in a while. But now it was every day. You rarely had time to even set up a meeting with Hawks. You were able to call him once before you were told to do something else that was supposedly important. And it never was.

Freelance was probably a better option. Sure, your paycheck would practically disappear. But it was better than being bullied in the office. You were treated like a doormat. You couldn't fight back or else everyone would start to see you as the cocky newbie who believed they deserved everything handed to them on a silver platter. It was all so frustrating. But in the world today, it was practically impossible to be recognized as a freelance journalist. They were labeled as crazy conspiracy theorists. Which you weren't. To be fair, you did feel like you were about to go crazy. Your phone was ringing as you made your way to the exit of the cafe.

"Damn it." You muttered to yourself as you pushed the door open with your shoulder. You walked over to one of the outside tables and set down the coffee. You got out your phone and answered it. "Hello?"

"You look like death, busy bird."

"What? Who is-" You checked the caller ID and then put the phone back to your ear. "Mr. Hawks!"

"You need some help?"

You frowned. "Uhm…why would you ask that?"

"Because you look like you're about to cry."

Immediately, you were on high alert. You looked around, trying to spot where he was. He was walking across the street, his red wings making him easy to spot. A shiver ran down your spine. You hung up your phone as he walked over to you. Once again, there was that lopsided smile as he approached you. 

"Hi." You sheepishly waved at him, guilt filling you. "Sorry about the whole interview thing. Work is keeping me busy."

Hawks looked over at the two drink carriers. "Is this work?"

"Unfortunately. I'm forced to do coffee runs and I have to pay for it with my card, which doesn't make sense at all! And ever since I told my boss that I could interview you, he suddenly decided that I was too busy with other useless tasks. Changing the printer, making edits, sending email reminders. I'm not a damn secretary!" 

You huffed, running your hands through your hair. You had applied to countless other places, but none of them would take you. You still didn't have enough to survive off freelancing. So here you were, stuck in a shitty job with shitty pay. Not only that, but Hawks was sure to be disappointed that you can't interview him. This was a feeling you'd have to get used to: utter disappointment.

After getting yourself situated, you picked up the two drink carriers and started walking as your mind churned. You forgot about Hawks's presence, too preoccupied with your own angst. You didn't notice him following you, staring at you like you were an amusing spectacle. You mumbled to yourself about what you have to do after you get back to your workplace. Print out copies for your coworkers, clean out the break room, and then try and make a deadline for an article that'll never be published. What a wonderful day.

"Birdie, do you always mumble to yourself?"

"Huh?" You looked over to the side, finally acknowledging Hawks's presence. "Yes. Well… no. Does it make me seem crazy?"

"It's cute."

The tips of your ears turned red. "Sure. Why are you following me?"

"Because I want to do that interview." He shrugged and gave you a smile. "I won't take no for an answer."

"My boss will flip if he sees you."

"It's alright. I'll handle it."

Hawks wasn't like anything you thought him to be. He looked like the cocky playboy that had an endless amount of women for his disposal. Yet here he was, taking the drink carriers from your hand and giving you a lopsided smile. Maybe you were lucky. Like one of those fanfictions where the person reads a book in the crowd and the rich rockstar falls in love. Maybe this was a fanfiction.

"That's ridiculous."

"What?" Hawks asked, looking over at you.

You blushed and shook your head. "Nothing. Are you sure you wanna be doing this? I don't want to trouble you."

"Don't worry, birdie. Just put your trust in me."

Normally, that would be asking a lot. But Hawks was a hero. So maybe it wasn't too much to ask. And so you trusted him. As the two of you walked into your workplace, you could feel everyone's eyes on you and Hawks. You swallowed thickly and led him deeper into the building. Once you reached your section of the building, you took the coffee from him and walked around, handing out the drinks. The whispers of your coworkers seemed to echo in your ears. Your hands were shaky. This was a terrible idea. A horrendous one that you should have never agreed to.

"Rookie! What are you-" Your boss's voice filled the air. You looked up at him as he stood in surprise in front of his office. "Mr. H-Hawks?!"

Hawks flashed a smile, his wings stretching out slightly. "That's me. I met your rookie reporter and decided to set up an interview. That's okay with you, right?"

Your boss hesitated. You could practically see the vein in his forehead pop as he stomped over to you. "What did I tell you?!"

Your face paled. Here it was. You had thought, just for a moment, that life would be okay. That Hawks showing up would make your boss realize how capable you were and treat you like the others. Like a true journalist. Except life would never have worked out for you like that. You were unlucky. Totally and completely. Not even one of the highest ranking heroes could save you.

"Sir, I'm-"

"You pathetic girl! Absolutely disgraceful! How dare you go behind my back and bring him here?! I assigned you specific tasks!"

"That's-"

"I'm not done talking!" He spit, his face red as he yelled at you. "You can't even listen to simple orders!! How the hell are you supposed to interview a pro hero if you're too idiotic to do what you're told?! I was being lenient by not firing you on the spot when you said you wanted to interview Hawks, but I'm done! You're nothing but an embarrassment to this company! You're fired!"

Your chest constricted as your face grew hot with humiliation. Tears started to well in your eyes. Everyone's eyes were on you. You didn't expect to be fired. You thought you would be scolded at most. And now you were panicking. You didn't know what to do. You needed this job. You realized that it didn't matter how they treated you. You didn't know what to do without it.

You took a step forward. "Sir, please. You can't-"

"I am so sorry, Mr. Hawks." Your former boss pushed you out of the way and looked at Hawks. "She must have been such a bother. Why don't we go into my office so we can discuss details for an interview?"

The tears couldn't be stopped now. You looked over at Hawks. His head was hanging down, but he was smirking. Maybe that's what this all was. He was waiting for you to be humiliated. He knew that you were a rookie and doing something like this would be crossing the line. This was nothing but entertainment for him. You sniffled and tried to keep in your sobs. You wanted to go home.

"Is this how you always treat your employees?"

The man looked confused for a moment before nervously chuckling. "Only the disrespectful newbies."

"Pathetic."

"What?"

"I said–" Hawks stepped forward and leaned down. His gaze was dark. "You're pathetic."

"I-I don't understand."

"You abuse your poor employee just because she could land an interview with me and all you can do is shitty paparazzi articles."

He was sweating bullets now. "You must b-be mistaken! We take pride–"

Hawks didn't let him finish. In an instant, several of his feathers had the man pinned against the opposite wall. Everyone gasped, you included. Hawks sauntered forward. The man was trembling, whimpering out apologies. The laid back hero was actually pissed. It would almost be unbelievable if his aura wasn't choking the room with tension and fear.

"Don't give me that shit. There's no pride here. How dare you say she's disgraceful when you were the one who sent her to tail me."

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Hawks! Please, f-forgive me!"

He scoffed. "Don't beg me for forgiveness. Beg her."

My former boss's eyes met mine. "I-I'm sorry! So sorry!"

You couldn't respond, but Hawks seemed satisfied. His feathers returned to his wings and the man slumped to the ground. "I expect to see a formal apology in your next issue."

You were still crying. You couldn't stop and you didn't know why. Hawks grabbed your wrist and took you out of the office. As you followed him, the situation set in again. Despite his scolding, you were still jobless. Unemployed. The tears got stronger and you couldn't help but quietly cry. Hawks led you to an empty hallway. He let go of your wrist and then hugged you tightly.

"It's alright, birdie. It'll be okay."

"It won't be!" You sobbed into his arms, your shoulders hunching in on themselves. "I got fired! I needed that job."

"No, you didn't. Your boss was an asshole."

You shook your head and buried your face into his chest. "I don't care! No one… no one else will take me! He was right. I'm stupid and worthless and-"

Hawks wrapped his wings around you and pressed you tight against his body. One hand gently rubbed your back. "Shh, shh. None of that, okay? Nothing that happened was your fault. You've got fire in you, birdie. Don't let anyone put it out."

"Fire won't get me a job."

Hawks didn't say anything and let you cry. The tension slowly left your body until you were left with a headache. The pain was dulled by the warmth of his wings and the feeling of his strong hands against your body. Everything wasn't alright. You weren't sure what you were going to do. But at least this moment was alright. Warm. Safe. 

"Work for me." Hawks whispered.

Your voice was hoarse as you spoke. "What?"

"Work for me." He repeated. "Come to my hero agency and work for me."

"Wh-What? What would I even do?"

He shrugged and pulled back, looking down at you. "I don't know. But I'll take care of you."

"Hawks, I can't-"

"Keigo." He reached out and gently cupped your face. His thumb caressed the skin of your cheek. "My name is Keigo."

You felt your face heat up. "K-Keigo… I can't just work at your agency for no reason."

"And I can't watch you struggle." He paused for a moment. His eyes had an odd glint to them before completely disappearing. It was almost unnoticeable. "I have an idea."

You scrunched your nose. "I don't like the sound of this…"

"Move in with me. That way you don't have to worry about paying rent and can look for a job."

"You can't be serious!" You scoffed, trying to take a step back.

Keigo didn't let you. His wings caged you in, the grip on your face tightening ever so slightly. "I want to take care of you. I'm the one at fault for getting you fired. If I didn't follow you to the office, none of this would have happened. Let me fix this."

There was something telling you to say no. This wasn't a smart idea. Even if he was being genuine, he was the number two hero. What would people think if some random stranger moved in with him? And that's exactly what you were. A stranger. You could hardly call yourself an acquaintance. That's what made this even more crazy. 

"Hawks…"

"Keigo."

"Keigo." You looked up at him. "I can't."

There was that glint again. It was quickly replaced with guilt as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours. "I promise it'll be temporary. You can move out as soon as you find a job. I just… I want to make amends for all the trouble I caused."

You sighed. "Keigo…"

"Please." He murmured. "I'm a hero. You can trust me. Let me save you."

Your resolve to reject him weakened. You suddenly couldn't think, not with his face so close to yours. And his voice was sincere. It truly sounded like he had no ulterior motive. He was truly remorseful for what he did. He believed he was at fault for your boss firing you. Maybe… you should listen. He wouldn't be the number two hero if he wasn't trustworthy. The doubt inside of you slowly dissipated. It would only be temporary.

"Okay. I'll do it."

Keigo let out a breath of relief. He pulled you into another hug. "There's a good girl. Just take some time to relax and then we can find you a job, okay? Don't worry about anything else."

"Thank you, Keigo. Truly."

"Don't sweat it, birdie." He nuzzled his face against your neck. You could feel him smiling. "I would do anything to protect you."

°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

It had been several months since you moved into Keigo's bachelor pad. The job search was… not going well. Keigo offered to call in as a reference after you sent in your application, but no one ever called back. You had a feeling it was your old boss's doing. After being humiliated by the pro hero, he probably went and spread rumors about you. You were probably blacklisted from the whole entire industry.

Luckily for you, Keigo was a kind roommate. Before his hero shift, he'd always help you make breakfast. Throughout the day, he'd text you and check in on your job search progress. He always seemed to know what you were doing and when. Maybe he had just grown to know you that well. When he came home, you usually had dinner waiting for him out of guilt for freeloading. It had become routine at this point. 

"I'm home!" Keigo called out your name. "Did you have a good day?"

You poked your head out of the kitchen. "Hey, Keigo. How was work?"

He took off his shoes and tossed his keys on the table by the door. His wings stretched out as he groaned. "Sam as usual. A bit quiet today, not a lot of villains."

You hummed before going back into the kitchen. You were finishing up dinner. The smell of grilled chicken wafted through the house. Keigo walked into the kitchen and leaned against the doorway. He crossed his arms. You could feel his eyes following your every movement. You tried to act nonchalant as you took some chicken skewers off the stove.

"So… what did you do today?"

You shrugged. "Job searching. As always."

"Really? And you didn't go out or anything?"

You stiffened. "N-no, I didn't. I'm trying to save money, remember?"

He pushed himself off the doorway and walked closer to you. "You're making my favorite. Are you trying to butter me up?"

"No, I'm trying to show my appreciation for letting me stay here." You turned off the stove and turned around. "Is that so wrong?"

Keigo studied you. You tried to keep your expression light. You were hiding something, but you didn't want to tell him just yet. You wanted to do it properly. You grabbed a plate filled with chicken skewers and held it out. His eyes moved down to the food before back up to you. He gave you a lopsided smirk.

"Birdie, you can't lie to me."

"Keigo!" You huffed and shook the plate slightly. "Can't you just play along?"

He chuckled. "Fine. But you'll tell me everything after dinner. Alright?"

You smiled at him. "That was the plan."

"Go. Sit. I'll make us some drinks."

You obediently went to the living room. Dinner went as usual, watching a show together and talking about the day that had just ended. Keigo used it as a distraction to keep you from getting too depressed about your situation. But this time, you were excited. You happily ate your food and downed your drink, all while talking animatedly about your day, making sure to avoid going into too much detail.

By the time dinner had finished, your cheeks were flushed and you felt almost light headed. Keigo swore that your drink was light on the booze, knowing you can't handle your alcohol well. It must've been from whatever you were hiding from him. Keigo scooted closer to you, his wing wrapping around your back.

He let out an amused sigh. "Alright. Stop hiding and spill."

"Okay, okay! So…" You paused for dramatic effect. "I went out today."

"And lied to me about it."

"It was a simple fib. Anyway, I met with one of my college friends. He said he's opening up a newspaper company and wants me to join!"

Keigo's eyes widened slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Really? A new company?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And he wants me to be one of the main journalists! He said he always enjoyed my work and thinks I would be a great fit. It's also just outside Tokyo, so-"

"Wait, wait, wait." He held up his hand. "Tokyo? That's so far away."

"Well, yeah, but I'll be moving there. He said there's some really great cheap listings in his apartment complex."

"What's the pay like?"

"We haven't exactly-"

"And he's reputable? Not a paparazzi wanting to make a quick buck?"

You frowned, the excitement slowly draining from you. "No, he's not a paparazzi. He's a good guy with similar views as mine. Aren't you happy for me?"

"I don't know, birdie." Keigo leaned back against the couch. "It just seems suspicious. Does he have any investors? How do you know that it isn't a scam? Can you even afford to move right now?"

"Okay, you're being a bit of a dick. I tried to surprise you with good news and your first reaction is skepticism?"

"Of course it is! I don't want you to get hurt. I'm trying to look out for you."

"And I appreciate that. But now I'm ready to be on my own. This was the plan all along."

Your head was starting to pound. You didn't get into spats with Keigo often. He was normally very supportive of your efforts to try and find a job and get back on your feet. But suddenly, it seemed like he thought you were being too reckless. Which you weren't. You knew your friend was a smart guy. There was no way the newspaper would fail. Sure, it would have a slow start. But this was good. Why didn't Keigo see that?

"I understand you're concerned, Keigo. And I appreciate your concern."

"So you won't take the job?"

"No, I'll still take it."

He scoffed, saying your name in annoyance. "You can't. You're making a decision too rashly. How can you accept the job without even having an apartment in the area first?"

"I told you, he said there's units available in his apartment complex!"

"You're not gonna do this."

"Excuse me?" You glared at him. "You don't tell me what to do."

"You live in my house, birdie. You listen to my rules."

"You're the one who said I can stay here until I find something else! I have, so I'm going to leave!"

"You're being stupid."

"Fuck you."

You had enough. You had given Keigo the benefit of the doubt and thought this would go smoothly. He had promised to help you. This wasn't helping. This was just ridiculous. And you didn't have to deal with it. You stood up, ready to storm off. Dizziness washed over you and you wobbled on your feet. You felt weak. Keigo stood up, stepping in front of you. His gaze was dark as he reached out and grasped your wrist tightly.

"That wasn't very nice." He hissed.

"L-Let… Let go."

Keigo tugged you forward. "I won't. I told you I'd protect you, didn't I? And I've been doing that the whole time. I made sure every job rejected you because I knew it wasn't safe."

His words rang in your head. Your eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"You're only safe here. You have food, a safe place to sleep… me. Without me, you would've been out on the street with nowhere to go. Don't let this job ruin everything."

"Let me go." You weakly tried to pull away from him. "You're s-scaring me."

"Can't you see it? I'm protecting you. I had to make you rely on me. Do you think I didn't know your boss would fire you if you showed up? Of course I did! But it was necessary so you'd realize that I'm the only one who cares about you."

You felt like throwing up. Everything that happened… was because of him. He wasn't calling into those jobs and giving you praise. He was sabotaging you. Every rejection was his fault. You getting fired was his fault. You were so blind to it because you were so desperate to be helped. Keigo smiled, reaching out and caressing your face. Tears welled in your eyes.

"Don't cry."

"What did you do?" Your voice was trembling with fear and anger. "How could you ruin my life like this?"

He clicked his tongue. "Ah, come on. Don't be so cold. Admit that you haven't felt this relaxed in a while. You love it here."

You needed to get out before it was too late. You mustered up as much strength as you could and shoved him away. Keigo stumbled backward and you quickly ran towards the front door. Your heart was pounding and you felt like you were going to faint. The fear inside of you was starting to make you numb. Adrenaline flowed through your veins. Almost there. Almost. Just a couple more steps. Then you would be-

"Should've put more in your drink."

Of course he drugged you. That explained why you felt so sick. There was no way you'd be able to escape someone with a quirk like Keigo's anyway. You were doomed from the start. His feathers shoved you down to the ground. You flipped on your back, trying to tear them off. Keigo sauntered over before straddling you and pinning your arms above your head with one hand. The other gently trailed down your cheek to your neck.

"Why?" You whimpered. "Why me?"

"You looked so helpless." Keigo murmured. "Staring up at me with those big, desperate eyes. I couldn't just leave you. I'm a hero, birdie."

"This isn't what a hero does!"

His hand slowly moved down your body to your hip. "No… no, it's not. But it's what a man in love does."

You almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity. You continued to struggle against him. His eyes were filled with an obsessive glint. He leaned down, pressing his lips against your neck. You were too weak to push him off. Whatever he had drugged you with was taking full effect. His lips trailed up your neck, to your cheek, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss. He pressed his body against yours and a shiver ran down your spine.

After a moment, he pulled away. "I won't let you leave. You'll stay here where I can protect you. Where I can love you."

"You-"

"If you try to escape, I'll just bring you right back. I'll tie you down, keep you shackled. Anything so you'll stay. Stop fighting it. Let me keep you safe. Let me be your hero."

°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

Your whole body ached. A bright, blinding light made you groan and squeeze your eyes shut even tighter than they already were. You turned on your side and curled up. You didn't know how long you've been asleep. It must have been around noon by now. You felt someone warm next to you. A hand gently ran through your hair.

"Wake up, birdie."

Your eyes reluctantly cracked open. Keigo was lying next to you. Last night's memories threatened to make you have a breakdown. Keigo didn't let you go. He kept you in his bed, kept a hold on you so you wouldn't escape. Not like you could. Keigo pulled you closer and buried his face into your neck.

He inhaled deeply, sighing in satisfaction. "I can smell my cologne on you."

"Don't you have work today?" You mumbled, not reciprocating his touch. 

"Yeah. I'll leave soon." He kissed your skin. "I'll keep an eye on you all day. To make sure you're behaving."

You knew what he really meant. It was so you wouldn't run away. Even if you did, what would you do? Tell the world that the number two pro hero Hawks was actually a crazy stalker? No one would believe you. He would cover it up by saying you were a scorned reporter that blamed your unemployment on him. You were trapped.

"Okay." You sat up and rubbed your eyes.

He sat up as well. "Be a good girl while I'm gone?"

All the fight had left your body. You nodded numbly. "Sure."

He kissed your cheek. "Good. I love you."

You didn't say anything. He frowned and gripped your chin, turning it so you were looking at him. "C'mon, birdie. Don't shut down."

"Sorry."

"Let's try this again, hmm?" He kissed you gently. "I love you."

"I love you too."

That satisfied him enough. He got out of bed and started to get ready. You just sat listlessly on the bed. Everything you had dreamed of was destroyed. You wouldn't be some amazing journalist, releasing groundbreaking stories on heroes and hero society. You'd be shackled by the very person all of Japan trusted. You were resigned to your fate that was now in the hands of Keigo. And there was nothing you could do to change that. You were only given one choice.

Accept the love of Keigo Takami.

[kittenlittle24]

Chokehold

Request: f!reader is part of the diagnostics team and one day, they realized that one of the cases they were handling involved a physically abusive parent, which started the patient’s condition. Reader went to confront the parent, which in turn made the parent attack her, and then Dr. House saw this and came in to save her. and then some fluff? and yes, house and f!reader is secretly in love with house @schnitzelbutterfingers

a/n: I based it on s2 e13 but also changed it to fit the request better, I apologize it’s short I had a real writing block.

Btw, gifs aren’t mine! Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

“A 15-year-old model was given by her father before taking the stage at a big fashion show. After walking out, she gets into a violent confrontation with another model, then collapses on the runway.” Cameron presents.

“The tox screen shows she has been taking heroin.”

House ordered a rapid detox procedure thinking the drugs are masking another disease and that we don't have time to wait four weeks to find out. Formen and Chase explained the risks to her father, who agreed to the procedure. They put the patient into an induced coma. She later went into cardiac arrest, of course, they revived her. They explained to the father that if they bring her out of the coma before the detox is over, she will be in extreme pain.

When the girl came out of the coma, she showed signs of short-term memory loss, which House diagnosed as PTSD as the result of sexual abuse from her father.

Cameron of course went straight to Cuddy who called child services, however, you were the lucky one to be cornered by the dad.

“You called child services on me?! I do everything for her! She’s my daughter!”

Slowly you tried to walk away as you denied till your back hit the wall, then you knew you were screwed. He was so close to you, that you smelled his breath and felt his spit splattered on your face as he continued to yell, you hoped one of the nurses would come by already and call security but the next thing you knew he had his hand around your throat, grasping his wrist you tried to move it away, the tears in your eyes blocked your sight, your chest starting to hurt.

He stopped as quickly as he started and fell to the floor. Falling to your knees as well you looked up to see House standing behind him, his cane raised.

“What did you do?” You rasped out.

“He was choking you!” He argued as he helped you up and the security guards lifted the assaulting man.

He took you to his office where he examined you.

He lifted your chin gently and looked at your neck where you already started to bruise.

“Might want to wear a turtleneck,”

You nodded, “Why did you come to check on me? You were supposed to be in the clinic and you never visit patients.”

“Teen model? The perfect excuse to avoid clinic.”

Grasping his arm, “House.”

“I had a bad feeling about the dad, I had to make sure you were safe,” he whispered.

Stepping closer to him, “You were worried about me.”

He nodded once.

Stand on your tip toes, you cupped his cheeks and leaned forward, slowly placing your soft lips on his, giving him plenty of time to stop you.

Instead of stopping you, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer.

[pathologicalreid]

angst masterlist

main masterlist

note: italicized titles denote requests; asterisks (*) mark all retired!reader fics; plus signs (+) mark hurt/comfort.

buried alive (2), (3): in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

the archer: in which a trip to your hometown leads an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

brilliance: in which reader goes into labor after a fight and spencer is nowhere to be found

a father's daughter: in which your father doesn't approve of your relationship, but who knows how he'll react when reid jumps into action after a threat against your life

*stuck between a rock and a hard place: you, an undercover agent, uncover a hidden secret of the country's largest operation, putting your life in danger and under the protection of the BAU.

*the space between us: the adjustment between never being home and always being home starts to take a toll on you

*this is the job: you and Spencer (almost) get into a fight about the demands of your job.

sense memory: after eight months, you and Spencer reunite after he was in prison and you were in WITSEC.

no sign of danger: when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased

next of kin (2):disaster strikes and you and Spencer try to take custody of your younger sister

perennial: unrequited love brings spencer to his death bed, unless you can rescue him

work song: no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

can you come get me? when you manage to escape your captor, and your first call is to spencer

epiphany: a story in four parts, before, during, after, and epiphany

+resilient: in which your boyfriend lends you and hand when your own are working against you

+dazed days: your job at the FBI is hard, but life with spencer is easy

+your needs, my needs: washing spencer's hair after his attempts to save a life go awry

+don't lose your head: a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

+the ninth step: spencer starts to make amends after mexico - and he's starting with you

+don't look in the mirror: in which spencer helps you when you're using sex as a poor coping mechanism

leave a message after the beep: when you go missing on a business trip in texas, the bau travels to investigate, but the situation might be more than they anticipated.

for the fear of falling apart: following her gunpoint confession, your sister pressure you into airing your grievances at Rossi's wedding

+and now i have to act like i can't read your mind: your sobriety is broken by an old 'friend', and spencer's there to help you navigate a new reality

extraordinary measures: in which your life hangs in the balance after a brutal attack, and Spencer has to hold himself together for the sake of you and your baby

blowing smoke: in which Spencer asks you out on a date, but you know better than to say yes

too heavy to hold: in which you and Spencer grieve the loss of the most important person in your life, your son

all the debts i owe: in which Spencer takes your kids into account when deciding whether or not he should take a plea deal, and it doesn't go the way you expect

merry christmas, please don't call: in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

losing you: in which you being in danger in the field elicits a response from Spencer that you're not used to - anger

the angel of the bottomless pit: in which you cope with Spencer's mortality after he's shot in the neck

the anniversary effect: in which the anniversary of reader's assault nears and Spencer would move heaven and earth to make sure she's okay

come home with me: in which you are chosen as the member of the BAU who gets to retrieve Spencer from prison

that gold mine changed you: in which Spencer won't open up to you following his release from prison and you've reached your breaking point

a long way to go: in which your family breaks no contact and Spencer reminds you that you're doing the right thing

the lost daughter: in which JJ goes missing in the middle of the night, and Spencer's attempts to comfort you completely fall through

central nervous system: in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

black hole: in which the BAU has to race against the clock to find you after you've been buried alive, again

called you again: in which you make a late night phone call to your ex-boyfriend because you're convinced he's the only thing that can lull you to sleep

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 27]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

Police Arrest Three After Mass Protests in LA County

By C. Grant

Three people were arrested in Pasadena, California yesterday after a crowd gathered to protest the death of Sheila Pom. Police say the three individuals, whose names have not yet been released, appeared to be Enhanceds attempting to agitate the crowd. Witnesses claim one of the individuals was creating sparks with their fingers and threatening to start a fire, while the two others encouraged the behavior. Police have made no comment about these arrests and all questions about the incident have been redirected to a now defunct phone number. 

Sheila Pom was killed in an officer-related shooting two weeks ago after neighbors reported her as a Dangerous Individual under the new Sokovia Accords Act. Pom, 23, worked at her uncle’s auto body shop as a mechanic while also attending online classes to get a degree in Engineering. She was also a telekinetic - someone who can move objects with their mind. 

Pom was known to not be shy about her gifts. Pom was seen frequently lifting cars and trucks within garages without the help of equipment and is rumored to have once righted a tipped over semi-truck. Neighbors became concerned when Pom began using her gifts at home.

“We’d come home, and things would be floating up and down the street,” one neighbor said.

Another claimed Pom was unstable, and when she would become upset, things around her would begin to shake.

“I thought it was an earthquake until my TV hit the ceiling,” a source who lived in the same building Pom told GKTV, “I learned the next day her boyfriend broke up with her.”

Officers were called when Pom refused to return a motorcycle to the ground while working on it in a residential neighborhood. After a brief standoff, officers fired two shots, striking Pom in the head, and killing her. 

Pom’s family claims she was unaware of the officer’s presence, as wireless earbuds were found near her body after. Pom was known to listen to music to block the noise of machines. 

Protests began after the officers involved in the incident were cleared of any wrongdoing. 

----

A full-page ad takes over your screen, and instead of continuing to read the depressing article, you close the tab.

There has been a palpable unrest in the news cycle the past week that is starting to leave you with an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You’ve noticed a shift in the general narrative tone and terminology used when discussing people who have superpowers. 

Before Sokovia, before Lagos, before Connecticut, the morning shows would bring on people with amazing gifts and gently joke about them joining the Avengers as they made water fly around the set, but now those same hosts debate if they should be allowed to have the right to privacy. ‘Enhanced Peoples’ has been shortened to just Enhanceds and is now spit out like it is something dirty. 

You don’t know when the conversation stopped centering around heroes and vigilantes and started being about everyday people, but it scares you that the change happened. There seems to be no official power scale about what is deemed ‘dangerous’ and your mind keeps zipping all over the place trying to justify different lines of thinking.

Does Matt fall under the category of Dangerous? 

He is a vigilante, so by default the Accords are directed at him, but is it doubly so? If he was forced to reveal himself to the government, would they require him to wear a tracking device? Or would they try to lock him up?

Could he fight it in court, or would they whisk him away in the middle of the night and you’d never know what happened?

If Matt is deemed Dangerous because of his senses, and not just because he is a vigilante, would Minnie be considered the same?

With how intense and angry everyone is becoming you could see yourself having to take her in to be tested.

To be monitored. 

And she is just a baby. 

You can’t imagine how others must feel - people who are older, who are just trying to live their lives. The girl who was killed was just trying to fix her bike, like millions of other people do every weekend. She wasn’t going to other countries to fight terrorists. She wasn’t trying to use her powers to rule over others. She wasn’t hurting anyone.

But she was different, so they killed her.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I need help!”

You’re ripped from your spiraling thoughts and look across the room to where Minnie is sprawled out on the floor. Her Starkpad is in front of her, and she’s set up Pig and Scooby so they are also peering down at the device and you know exactly what she is doing.

It is the same thing she has been doing for a week straight - playing a bootleg Muppet’s math game. 

Since meeting Spider-man, all your little Mouse has wanted to do is learn math. She keeps saying she wants to impress him and make him proud, and you are in no way going to discourage her. Every day has been filled with counting and addition and subtraction and you are a bit amazed she has stayed so focused. 

You are not going to complain at all about it - you are getting time to yourself while she has been glued to Elmo and Kermit. 

You leave your phone on the dining table and head towards your daughter.

“You need help?” you confirm as you crouch beside her. The screen shows a Muppet you don’t recognize, along with various numbers floating around them, and up at the top, the equation that has your little Mouse stumped. 

“I need help!” Minnie repeats as she scrambles up off her belly and into sitting. “I don’t have enough fingers!” 

She holds up both her hands to show you all ten of her itty-bitty fingers and you make a sympathetic noise. 

Mouse has been getting pretty good at using her fingers to help her with addition and subtraction, but on only one hand. She uses the index finger on her right hand to help count by pointing at each finger and hasn’t quite worked out she can use her fingers to point and count. That is okay, though, as you are happy to lend yours to her important cause. 

“Okay, how many fingers do you need?”

You hold out your hands and she instantly begins to manipulate them. 

“This one…this one needs three! One, two, three!” She pushes your thumb and index finger down so the other three remain up, then she pushes down the pinky of the other hand. “And this one is four!”

“So, three and four? What are we doing with three and four?” You ask, trying to not laugh at her determined face.

“We adds them!” She chirps, before starting to jab at your fingers, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! That’s seven fingers! Mommy, it’s seven! Three plus four is seven!” 

“That’s right, it is seven. Which number is seven?” You direct her back to her game, where she triumphantly picks the correct symbol. The Muppet congratulates her before presenting a new equation. 

Minnie squeals in delight before ripping the device off the ground and shoving it in your face, “I know this one! Mommy! I know this one! It’s three! Mommy! It’s three!” 

You can’t even process what the question is before the screen is out of sight. Your daughter holds her Starkpad above her head, treating it like some war prize as she starts spinning and dancing around the living room. 

“It’s three! It’s three! It’s three!” 

You laugh at her antics, heartwarming at her pureness. How could anyone ever think she’s a danger?

“Are you sure it’s three?” You tease as you watch her. 

She whips around to you, eyes scrunching up into a glare, and barks, “It’s three!”

“Okay, okay, it’s three.”

You push yourself up into standing just as Mouse returns to her spot. She drops her Starkpad to the ground a little harder than you would prefer, but that is why it has a big bulky case. She plops down in front of it and happily smacks the number three that is floating around the screen.

You let yourself watch her for a few seconds, silently bombarding her with all the love you feel for her. You want to wrap her up and live in this bubble forever.

Except, there is one element missing from your perfect moment. You wish there were a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a chin on your shoulder. You want to lean back against a muscular chest and lose yourself to eternity like that. 

Instead of indulging those thoughts, you tell yourself to stop fantasizing and you make your way back to the kitchen to check on dinner.

Vegetable curry has been simmering on the stove for most of the day. It has been a while since you had the energy to make the dish from scratch, but you had a craving this morning and went all out. You’ve made curry for Minnie before, and she did not complain - though you think that is because her portion was mostly rice and hot dog cuts. You plan to do the same again tonight, and if she wants more sauce, you’ll give it to her. 

You check your seasonings and give everything a stir to make sure nothing gets stuck at the bottom of the pot. The rich aroma tickles your nose, and you are glad you don’t have to wait much longer to treat yourself.

As you debate adding a pinch more salt, you catch Minnie sneaking towards you out of the corner of your eye. Her movements are slow and dramatic, and you pretend you don’t notice her. This ruse works, and you appropriately jump in fear when she suddenly tugs on your shirt.

“Up!” She demands and you oblige, scooping your daughter onto your hip. As soon as she is high enough, she cups her hands around your ear and leans into whisper, “Daddy saids the food smells yummy-yummy.”

She quickly dissolves into giggles, and it is infectious, so you end up smiling. 

Matt hasn’t been over for dinner in a hot minute, and you are hoping to have a nice quiet family night, before he goes out on his Patrol. The plan is to watch a movie after your meal and Minnie has already prepared for this by dragging multiple blankets out to the couch. You just know she is going to demand a cuddle pile, and now that you and Matt are intimate, it isn’t something you are nervous about. 

You just want to have a good time.

“Can you tell Daddy everything is almost ready?” you ask, even though you know Matt can probably hear you just fine. 

Mouse, always eager to be helpful, nods and relays the message directly into your ear. You try to not grimace, and so it won’t happen again, set her down on the ground. 

“Can you plug in your Starkpad so it can sleep for the night?” 

She streaks off to do her newly assigned task, leaving you to start setting the table. When you were at the store, you bought Matt a bottle of beer - a brand you know he likes - and you set it at his designated spot. You’ve grown accustomed to just drinking water and juice, but you don’t want to push that on to him - not when he’s a guest and coming over after a long day of work. 

As you start to make everyone’s plates, you hear the water in the bathroom turn on. You know Minnie knows the routine for getting ready for dinner and you just hope she isn’t trying to wash Scooby’s paws again. You are worried he’ll end up moldy and you aren’t sure what you will do if that happens. You peek into the living room and are relieved to see your daughter’s best friends have been relocated to sitting on the coffee table, facing the television. 

You finish setting everything up just in time, it seems. Minnie runs from the hallway right to the door as you go to wash your own hands, and you rush to get all the soap off so you can help her open the door. 

Matt is standing on the other side, looking handsome as ever in a gray suit. He looks like he’s had a busy day - his hair is windswept, and he is sporting a strong five o’clock shadow. There is a garment bag draped over his arm and his saddle bag looks a little bulkier than usual and you wonder if he ran some errands on his lunch - picking up his dry cleaning and such. 

You barely have time to take in his appearance before Mouse is launching herself at him.

“Daddy!” She shrieks and Matt oh so easily swings her up onto his hip. “Daddy! We’re having vege-tuhble kermies for dinner! I helped make it! I cut up ALL the carrots! By myself!”

“By yourself, huh?” Matt confirms, a bright, warm smile taking up his entire face. “Soon you’ll be making us dinner.”

You step aside so he can come in and help to take his things to hang while Mouse soaks up his attention. 

“No! Mommy makes dinner because…’cause she makes the bestest foods. I just help!”

“You are a very good helper,” you interject, “You keep a very clean workstation. A professional chef would be proud.”

Minnie beams at the praise, then a microsecond later, is wiggling in to be let down. Her feet hit the ground and she takes off running back toward the living room, probably to collect something to show off to her Daddy. 

Matt takes the small break to turn his attention to you. A hand goes to your cheek, and instead of a brief ‘hello’ peck, he kisses you like he wants to turn and pin you to the wall. It catches you off guard, but you easily melt into it. You clutch at the lapel of his suit jacket and try to not moan as he nips at your lips. You open your mouth for him, but being the tease he is, he pulls back just enough to whisper against you.

“Been thinking about that all day.” 

The words send your blood rushing - some north to your cheeks and the rest to your cunt. 

He’d been thinking about you? About wanting to kiss you? Or has he been thinking about more than that - because you must admit, you’ve been thinking about it. You’ve had more than a few thoughts about what you want to do to him the next time you two are alone together and those thoughts were certainly very explicit. 

“Matt…” you totally do not whine out but instead of replying, his grin just turns cocky. He pulls away as Minnie returns to the entryway, and you decide you need a drink of your water. You escape and Mouse starts showing off her latest masterpieces to Matt. 

Food coloring, cotton balls, and popsicle sticks have proven to be a massive hit and Minnie has made a whole collection of things for Matt - there’s butterflies and flowers, a house with clouds, and various abstract pieces. You are sure his office is already filled to the brim with his daughter’s art, and you would not be surprised if he started to hang things from the ceiling when he does run out of room. He seems to treasure every little thing Minnie has given him and it warms your heart so much. You hope that love never runs out. 

Somehow, Matt ushers Minnie back to the dining room while she shoves different papers into his hands and gets her up in her booster seat. 

“I’m going to put all these in my bag, so they don’t get dirty or lost, okay?” He tells Minnie, who nods way too enthusiastically. 

“Keep them clean!”  And then, just like that, she switches from being excited her Daddy is there to being a hungry toddler. She whips around to face you and asks in an almost impatient manner, “Can I has my hot dogs now?”

You give her the go ahead as Matt returns to the table and takes his place. You quickly tell him the placement of everything, including his beer, then quickly add, “If you don’t like it, I have a few different things I could make you. Or we could order something.”

A brief panic runs through you when Matt scoffs. You think you’ve insulted him - having him come all the way to Chelsea to eat a dinner he won’t enjoy and having to find a substitute. 

“I love curry and this smells delicious. I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, I’m hoping some of those leftovers on the stove are for me to take home and lord over Fog tomorrow.”

You flush at his sweetness and mumble out you’ll pack him some to go. This seems to please him, and he starts to dig in. Ever the little parrot, Minnie mimics him by shoveling food into her mouth with a big grin and you can’t help but laugh a little. 

“It’s nummy!” Your little one declares, and even if she’s just eating plain rice right now, you’ll take it as a win. You know well she won’t eat what she doesn’t like.

“Speaking of yummy,” Matt starts, slow and deliberate, with his head angled towards you, “I was hoping we could go somewhere yummy together.”

You blink slowly at the statement, rolling it over in your mind and trying to dissect the meaning. Did he want to go somewhere for dessert? Maybe get ice cream or something? “Somewhere yummy…?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, then his smile becomes a bit more sly. Even though you know it isn’t true, you feel like, behind his glasses, he is hungrily looking you up and down, “Somewhere like Uvas.”

The name doesn’t automatically generate anything for you, but after a moment, it dawns on you. Uvas in a Spanish restaurant near Central Park known to be high end and impossible to get into. It’s been in the local tabloids a few times for turning away minor celebrities who don’t meet the dress code. You’re mouth parts slightly in shock.

“What’s Oo-vuhas?” Minnie asks around her fork, her big eyes looking between you and Matt. “Do theys has yummy foods?”

“Oh, they have yummy food,” Matt teases. He then leans forward a bit in his seat and stage whispers to her, “It’s where I want to take Mommy for a date.”

“A date?” Minnie scrunches up her face at the word while your mind is still spinning. 

Matt wants to take you on a date? To Uvas? You have never been anywhere that fancy or expensive as a date. Hell, you’ve never been somewhere that fancy, period. The nicest date you’ve ever been on was Hard Rock Cafe - which says a lot about your dating life.

“A date,” Matt confirms, smug and knowingly scheming. You can hear it in his voice as he tells Minnie, “That is where Mommy and Daddy go and have dinner together as grown-ups.”

Up goes Minnie’s hand into her mouth, but it stays there only a split second. Her eyes get impossibly bigger and filled with wonder, and she whispers, “Like Lady and Tramp?”

“Exactly like Lady and Tramp.”

“Mommy!” Minnie says a little too loudly, pointing her fork at you. “You gotta go to Oo-vuhas and be Lady and Tramp! You gotta!”

And at that moment you know you can’t say no, and that Matt knows that. You can’t tell your daughter you don’t want to be like Lady and Tramp. Not that you don’t want to go on a date with Matt - the idea gets you giddy and makes your stomach flutter - but you thought if it happened, it would be a coffee or something. Not somewhere where you can’t even afford to look at the building. The idea makes you a little nauseous, because you are sure you’d make an absolute fool of yourself.

But Matt looks determined and sure of himself. You are certain he asked in front of Minnie so that she could help bully you into saying yes to such a lavish date. 

Luckily, your mind is working in overdrive, and you choke out, “I don’t have anything to wear. They have a dress code, don’t they?”

You don’t expect Matt to push his chair out and get up. Your throat instantly tightens up and fear shoots up your spine. Have you offended him? He clearly wants to do something with you and you’re over here hesitating. You must be coming off as a complete bitch. 

You start to stand up yourself as Matt disappears into the entryway. You don’t think he’d just leave without saying goodbye to Minnie.

Maybe you can talk to him - explain that somewhere a little less grand would be ideal to start.

Before you can start to follow him, Matt is coming back to the table, holding up the garment bag he brought with him, still looking like the cat that got the canary. 

“I thought you might say that,” he starts, his voice almost a little musical, “so I got you this.” 

You stare dumbly at him, shock and confusion overtaking your system. 

He got you something to wear? To Uvas? 

No one has ever bought you clothes before - except your parents. Even when you were pregnant, the small amount of gifts you got were all for Minnie. 

You distantly hear Minnie start saying something about presents, but it is all muffled under the sound of blood pumping through your ears. You step forward hesitantly and reach out for the zipper of the bag, your hand shaking slightly.

You expect it to be a joke. You’re going to open the bag and there’s going to be a clown costume inside, or a skimpy dress people like arm candy to wear, or something akin to a Burka. 

You don’t expect a black floor length sheath gown. The silhouette is simple, but you can tell just by looking at it the quality of the dress is top notch. The fabric has a nice weight to it, and it is incredibly soft to the touch that you have the distinct feeling that it did not come from a dress warehouse or a department store. 

This type of dress would come from a boutique uptown and would cost a few hundred dollars. 

You are so caught up in admiring the dress, you don’t notice Minnie come up beside you until she is also touching the dress. Panic that she might have crumbs or curry on her fingers runs through you, but you force it down.

“It’s like a princess dress for Mommy!” Mouse cooes and you feel your face start to heat up.

You’ve never worn something so nice before and certainly nothing that would be fit for a princess, but it seems like Matt and Minnie are on the same page.

“Well, I want Mommy to feel like a princess.” 

You want to hide your face, but you know you can’t, so you cover your mouth instead.

“Matt, this is beautiful. But this is so much, I can’t accept this.” 

You know that while Matt is a lawyer, he’s still struggling a bit financially. If he had his way, you know he wouldn’t charge anyone for his services, and even though Nelson, Murdock, and Page has paying customers, they still have to stagger out their bills. 

He shouldn’t be spending his hard saved money on you. 

Matt sighs your name before gently draping the garment bag over the back of his dining chair and stepping towards you. Both his hands go to your waist, and you freeze up as he steps close enough to press his forehead to yours. Your heart begins to wildly beat when his hands slowly begin to rub your sides. 

“Let me spoil you. To make up for all the dates I’ve missed. Please?” His lips dip into a small frown and you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy. 

He’s gone out of his way for you, and you are being so ungrateful. 

But it is so hard to say yes. Guilt is pooling in your stomach, and you just want to disappear into the shadows and be forgotten about. That is so much easier than Matt holding you, saying such sweet things.

You don’t want to ruin everything. 

You close your eyes as you have a war inside yourself. All you have to say is ‘Yes’ and you’ll make Matt happy, but the monster inside of you keeps dragging your mind into a pit. 

Matt wants to treat you like a princess, but how crushing will it be when he decides that is no longer the case? Can you take that?

The corners of your eyes start to sting and your monster starts to mock you for getting worked up over something as simple as being asked on a date. 

Why can’t you be normal?

Why can’t you accept this?

Why can’t -

The thoughts cease as Matt’s lips press against yours, soft and sweet and tempting. You respond hesitantly.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathes into your mouth, making you shudder. “You deserve it.” 

“You deserve it!” Minnie chirps from beside your knees and you very suddenly remember where you are and what you were doing. You try to pull away from Matt, thinking Minnie hasn’t seen the two of you like this yet, and it might confuse her, but he keeps his hands firmly planted on your hips, not letting you go. You don’t try to fight it, instead, you turn your head away, trying to hide away in your shell. 

You know there is no way you will win this. Matt is determined and he clearly has Minnie on his side, so, very hesitantly, and feeling like you are going to throw up at any moment, you nod into Matt’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

Mouse lets out a deafening cheer and you feel her dart away.

“LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP! LADY AND TRAMP!”

Matt laughs at her excitement over something she doesn’t understand, while you tuck yourself into his hold, wondering how long you have before he ends up shattering your heart into pieces.

---

tags:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[chlix]

treatment resistant

bf! chan x fem! reader: he comforts you during a mental health episode

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ANGST like seriously, turns into comfort at the end tho 🙏🏾

word count: 4.7k

warnings: graphic depictions of depression, anxiety/anxiety attacks, and psychosis (paranoia); self worth issues; general self-loathing

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting about six months ago and deliberated posting it, but it's almost the end of the year so i feel like i should release it. i used to feel so validated by fics where reader is depressed and gets comforted, but she was never as depressed as i sometimes was, so i drew a bit from life for this one. everyone please be safe and read the warnings <3

It doesn't start with the dishes. In fact, you think your therapist might tell you that it's not about the dishes at all, but about your own poor self-image, or lack of emotional regulation, or about a thousand other things that are wrong with the way you perceive yourself and the world.

The truth is that lately you've been sleeping way too late and waking up too early, and you're so tired that you can't eat, which makes you so hungry that you can't take naps. You're between jobs and the outlook hasn't been great, your best friend keeps blowing you off in favor of her new boyfriend, and just this week you found out that your favorite bakery is no longer making the souffles that you've been using as a pick me up since you moved into this building.

You don't do well with change, or rejection, or honestly anything, lately. You wake up stressed and you go to sleep stressed. You keep your phone on Do Not Disturb because you can't bear receiving notifications. Just today you've talked yourself out of taking showers twice, only to have a meltdown when you tried to sit on your bed because you felt too dirty to touch your own sheets. You sit on the floor instead. You eat a singular banana for lunch, just to make your headache go away. Your headache does not go away. You feel both unreal and painfully solid, sinking into the ground and on the verge of floating away.

Your boyfriend, Chan, keeps texting you updates about his day, and answering them feels like an exercise in performance art. You scroll through your previous texts to make sure you're adding the right amount of exclamation points, that you're using the same recent emojis. It's like cosplaying a happier version of yourself. A better version, a version that he could love, as opposed to how you are now: greasy and gross and plastered to the floor in your hallway. The idea of him seeing you like this fills you terror, or at least it would if you hadn't burned out your capacity for feeling things already.

A new message pops up.

Chan: Hey baby ❤️ Was thinking of swinging by tonight after work? I can bring dinner with me

Just the thought of eating threatens to make you vomit. You suck in a breath and hold it as you type,

You: If you want something specific go for it! I already started cooking but we could have it another time

Chan: I don't want to waste all your hard work. We can have what you're making. I'm sure it'll be delicious :)

You: I can promise edible. Delicious is up in the air rn 😭

Chan: I have faith in you even if you don't ❤️. I'll be there around seven today

You: Okay! I love you sm, see you then! ❤️❤️❤️

You lock your phone and throw it across the room. Why do you do this to yourself? "Already started cooking?" You haven't showered today.  Normally you try to deter Chan from coming over when you're having a freakazoid episode, but now you've basically invited him in? You have to be normal for an entire evening?

You fall on your back on the ground and put your hands over your face, blocking out the sunshine that insists on steaming through the cracks in the drapes. Your heart is beating so hard you worry you're going into cardiac arrest.

Get off the fucking ground, y/n, you tell yourself. You have to go cook dinner for your boyfriend.

"There is something very wrong with me," you say out loud, very quietly. The silence of your apartment swallows the words. They vanish, as if never said.

You get up.

It takes you two tries to make something even passing as edible. Your head is all over the place, and you burn batches of oil and veggies before you manage to stay in your body long enough to finish making anything. It takes an embarrassing amount of pans and spoons and bowls to make something that should be simple, and as dishes pile up in the sink you feel stupider and stupider. Why are you acting like you don't know how to cook? It's not hard to make some vegetables in stew. You don't know why it's taking every appliance in your kitchen and all of your concentration to execute such a simple task.

By the time you're done cooking, you've stressed yourself out enough that you're getting a tension headache. You close your eyes and brace yourself against the sink, rallying yourself.

Just do these dishes and then you can sit down, you think. Just one more thing.

You pick up a sponge.

You put the sponge down.

There is no way you can do these dishes.

It doesn't so much hit you like a train as the realization slowly creeps up on you. It's not that many dishes, really. It looks like a lot, because the pots and bowls are so large, but numerically there's very few items in your sink. It wouldn't even take 30 minutes to clean everything and leave it in the rack for later.

But that's not happening. The idea fills you with a cold and genuine dread, just as strong and perverse as when you'd tried to shower earlier, or sit on your bed. You can't turn on the tap because then the water will touch you, and it will feel Wrong, and then your whole body will feel Wrong, and then you'll die of Sudden Onset Wrongness. And now that you think about it, a lot of your anxiety today has revolved around water, and isn't that a symptom of rabies? Hydrophobia? Did you get rabies somehow? Would you know if you had rabies? Maybe that's the thing that's wrong with you- you're not depressed or insane or just a terrible person living a terrible life. You're just rabid. There's something eating your brain, and that's what's making you into such a fucking failure of a person.

While you're debating the possibility of brain-eating viruses, Chan comes home from work. You automatically turn towards him, a bright smile on your face, and rush to greet him.

"Hey, Channie!" you say, bouncing over to him with a pep you do not feel. "I'm so happy you're here!"

And you are, mostly. You love your boyfriend, really you do. He's loving and attentive, and he's never made you feel like anything less than the number one priority in his life. You have similar values and work ethics, which keeps you on the same page through most difficult periods in either of your lives and careers. You haven't been together long, but your bond is solid, and you really believe you're going to make it far together.

You also really believe you won't if he ever finds out what a complete nutcase you are. So you hide it. You grin at him and you appear light and joyful and easygoing and you brush off his concerns with adages and placations, and you redirect the conversation back to him, because you're a good listener and you love the sound of his voice and you much prefer that activity to any activity that involves you explaining how you laid on the floor for five hours and had an emotional breakdown while slicing cabbage. He has other things to worry about, other problems to solve without adding yourself to the list. You're supposed to be his respite, not another draining task. He doesn't need to know how hard it's been lately. You shouldn't have to say it.

So he doesn't. And you don't.

"Hey baby," he says. He sets his stuff down and kisses you in greeting. "How was your day?"

"Okay," you say. The answer feels curt, but you don't want to ruminate any more on your absolutely fruitless afternoon.

Chan doesn't comment on your strange answer. He takes his shoes off and hangs up his coat, and as he's about to walk past you he spots the mountain of dishes in the kitchen.

"Oh, were you about to do the dishes? I can do them if you'd like."

"You just got home," you protest. "You should go sit down."

"But you've been standing just as long cooking dinner, right? I should do my part."

His insistence is making something terrible expand in your gut. Instead of being flattered at his offer to help, his words feel like a violent condemnation. You should've done the dishes before he got home. You should've finished cleaning the kitchen altogether, so that he can relax in a clean environment. What kind of stupid fucking girlfriend are you, where you can't even do basic chores around the house?

"No, it's okay. I already psyched myself up to do them, so I'll do them."

Chan hums in a tone that's either playful or mocking, you genuinely can't tell which. "Okay, if you say so. Don't be afraid to tap out if the dishes get the better of you."

Great. He thinks you're so stupid you couldn't do the dishes if you tried.

You subtly regulate your breathing as you turn towards the sink. Chan disappears into the apartment out of view, and you give yourself thirty seconds to push your freak-out as far down inside you as you can.

"You're not an idiot, y/n," you tell yourself. "You can do some fucking dishes."

You reach under the sink and pull out some disposable plastic gloves. They make your hands look weirdly swollen and unfamiliar, as if they aren't your hands anymore. For a bizarre moment, you're convinced that they're genuinely not, that someone else's hands have been put on your body. You close your eyes so hard sparks fly in front of you.

Stop being crazy. Do the fucking dishes.

You turn on the water and pick up a bowl.

Chan reappears. You flash him a smile, but say nothing. Chan grins back, all dimples and crescent eyes. He's so handsome it makes you want to rip your own skin off. You thank God every day that you were born beautiful, because you could never have caught his attention with your personality alone. He'd be completely out of your league, and honestly, maybe he still is.

That thought gets shut down and pushed away. One crisis at a time. You don't have hands and you might have rabies, but you definitely have a boyfriend who loves you. There's no point in kicking yourself while you're down.

You turn back to the sink.

You cannot do these fucking dishes.

"Work was funny today," Chan says as he moves over to the stove and opens the pot.

"Mm?"

"Just some technical issues in the studio. Nothing serious, but it gave us some good bloopers."

You pick up a glass cup. You can see your reflection mirrored back at you in the curve, and your eyes are so wide. Have they always been that wide? Are your eyes drier these days than they normally are? You can't tell, because every part of you feels both dehydrated and submerged under water.

"This is really good, babe," Chan says.

You blink. "What?"

Chan holds up his bowl. "The stew. It's great. I told you it would be delicious."

You let out a pleased sound. "Thank you baby. Your encouragement really motivated me."

It was the wrong thing to say. You have no idea how, but from the way Chan's expression changes slightly as he looks at you, you know he's caught on to you acting weird.

"Is everything alright?"

Shit.

"With me? Yeah, I guess so. I've just been really tired lately."

"On the job hunt?" he asks sympathetically. It's like a stake in your heart.

"As always."

He wraps an arm around you and presses a kiss to your hair. "Don't worry, baby. You're super qualified in your field. You'll find something soon."

You need him to stop touching you or you'll start throwing pans at the wall.

"I hope so," is all you say.

"I know so. Just keep faith."

You hum again, noncommittal. It's like you're slowly losing the ability to speak. And the gloves are too tight and the water is so loud and you're nauseous and your head still hurts and it's probably not even the stress, it's probably the rabies, it's turning your brain into swiss cheese as you speak.

After another tight squeeze, Chan lets you go and retrieves his bowl from where he'd set it down. You hope he might leave you to go eat in the living room, but instead he hovers on the opposite side of the island, and continues telling you about his day. Normally, you'd love to hear the play by play of every crazy thing that happened with his group members and managers. Today, it's like nails on a chalkboard. The story is endless, keeps weaving around other anecdotes and tangents and you wish he would just shut up for one second so you can pull yourself together but you can't say that, because he isn't doing anything wrong, you're just being crazy, you're a bad and lazy girlfriend and you can't even put your own issues on hold long enough to listen to your boyfriend talk about his day. Everything is wrong wrong wrong, and you're Wrong and something is Wrong With You and it just keeps going it never stopswhy can't it all just stop-

"Y/N?"

Your name sounds like it's coming from a thousand miles away.

"Y/N? Are you okay?"

You turn to look at Chan, see his eyebrows pinched together in concern. You have no idea how long he's been saying your name.

Very calmly, you strip your gloves off and lay them to the side. You turn off the water.

"Sorry," you say. "Give me one moment, please."

You walk past him and down the hall to your bedroom, where you very calmly and gently close the door behind yourself. You climb on to your bed, filthy clothes and all, and pull two of the pillows from the end to rest on top of each other. You tie your hair back with a hair tie, press your face into the stack of pillows below you so that your whole face is covered.

And you just start screaming.

Screaming is therapeutic, apparently. Or at least, it's on the approved list of emotional regulation activities your therapist had given you. As long as you aren't screaming at anyone, it can be an effective form of release. It helps you release the tension from your core and focus that nervous energy into sound and action.

You scream into the pillow as loud as you can. You aren't sure how much it's doing to muffle your sound, but the belief that it's helping allows you to let go. It's tearing at your throat, the intensity of it. Once you start it's hard to stop, you just keep going and going and going, as if you're expelling demons.

When you finally peter out, you pause for a moment, then push yourself onto your knees. You're dizzy. Blood is rushing in your ears. It's oddly hard to breathe, as if you can't get enough air in your lungs. Even the fact of your own body is too much for you. You wish you could abandon it, just for a moment. You wish you could observe this from the outside so that you would better know how to fix it.

Eventually, your breaths calm. The buzzing recedes, leaving room for rational thought. And your chest feels....lighter. No longer is there a bomb sitting in your sternum, waiting to explode. The pressure has equalized. You look down at your hands, fisted in your bedsheets, and they look like your hands.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

You think you can probably do the dishes now.

Gingerly, you climb out of bed and make your way to the door. You open it, prepared to put your smile back on and apologize for your rude exit.

Chan is outside your door.

His eyes are wide with alarm. He looks stiff, hesitant. One of his hands is outstretched towards the door, as if about to knock.

Your face goes blank, wiring short-circuiting as you try to figure out what to say.

"Hey, y/n," Chan says, slow, testing. "Are you okay?"

Your script restarts, and a big smile automatically draws itself on your face. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that. I just got a little overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. It's fine, though. Come on, you can finish telling me your story."

You grab his hand and try to pull him away from the bedroom. He doesn't budge.

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

You turn back to look at him. "Nothing's going on."

"Baby, I understand if you don't want to talk to me about it yet. But you don't need to pretend there's nothing wrong. You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"I heard you screaming in there."

Ice flushes through your body.

"Ah. Well, it's like I said. I got a little overwhelmed. I'm not hurt or anything. Sorry if I worried you."

"A little overwhelmed?" He's getting frustrated now, put off by your blase tone. "You look like you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown."

"No, I don't," you say, because you don't. You know what you look like when you get like this. You've trained your expressions so well that your face doesn't flush. Your eyes don't tear up. You have to look put together, because if you don't look put together then you can't convince yourself that you are put together.

"Y/n. I know you. I can tell when something's up." He sighs. "I've thought you were a bit distant for the past couple of weeks but I figured you would come to me eventually. But here we are, and you're having an anxiety attack right in front of me and you won't even admit it."

"I'm not having an anxiety attack."

"Love, I know what anxiety looks like. If you'd just let me help-"

"I'm not having an anxiety attack. I don't have anxiety. I would know if I did."

"Everyone has bad days and hard times, baby. You don't have to be defensive. I'm not accusing you of anything."

"You say you're not accusing me of anything after unilaterally diagnosing me with anxiety?"

Chan lets out a long breath. "That wasn't what I meant. I just mean-"

"You can't just assign me disorders when you decide I'm acting irrationally. You don't know my medical history. You don't even know me that well. You don't know if my behavior is normal or not."

"You can't be getting upset at me for 'not knowing you' when it's clear you're actively hiding things from me," Chan says, patience thinning. "I see you're in distress and you're picking apart my wording? I'm trying to help you."

"I didn't say I wanted your help."

"You're my partner! Of course I'm going to help you!"

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because-" You choke on it and slam your lips shut.

Chan's face is drawn in irritation. He makes a go on gesture. But you can't go on. It's like the words are trapped in bubbling tar.

Your silence stretches. Chan sighs and drags a hand down his face in exhaustion. He'd gone out of his way to come visit you and now he regrets it. You've wasted his evening and ruined his mood. It's only a matter of time before he realizes you ruin everything. Hell realize he's drowning in all your mess and decide to save himself, and then you'll be alone again.

You draw in a breath of your own, but you're still lightheaded.

"Why did you invite me over if you didn't want me to see you like this?" he asks finally. "You don't have to see me every day if that's not what you want."

All the anger is gone from his voice. He's being so patient that your own stubbornness is acrid in comparison. You swallow, hard. Every muscle in your body is tense. You have the pull the words out of your throat with hooks, one syllable at a time.

"I wanted to see you," you explain, stilted and pathetic. "I thought I could pretend for long enough."

"Pretend what?"

That I'm not crazy. That I'm not falling apart. That I'm normal and easygoing and a joy to be around and definitely not rabid.

It's impossible to say. You don't know what's wrong with you, but you know that something is. You can't do the dishes. And you can't do this.

Your knees buckle and you sink to the floor of the hallway.

"Y/n?"

You don't respond. You're just staring straight ahead, all your thoughts whirring so fast that you're having trouble parsing any of them.

"Y/n? Hey, baby, sweetheart, can you look at me?"

You blink, and he's in front of you, on your level. He's trying to look calm but you can see the panic in his eyes. It only makes your chest tighter. You're dragging him down, you're cursing him. He needs to get out or you'll have his blood on your hands.

"We need to break up," you whisper.

Chan reels back like he's been slapped. "What?"

"We can't- we need to break up. I shouldn't have invited you over. I'm sorry."

"I..." Chan is at a loss for words. "You don't mean that."

But you do mean it. With everything in your body. "We can't be together."

"Baby, I don't know what you're thinking, but we don't have to break up if you don't want to. I don't want to break up."

You feel sick with his sureness. How can he claim to know you better than you know yourself?

"You don't get it," you say. Your tone is unnatural, words strange on your tongue. "We just can't be together."

"Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

"Just look at me."

"I am looking at you. And all I see is my beautiful, wonderful, perfect girlfriend who is having a very bad day and might be making some hasty decisions."

"Not a bad day. A bad life. I'm fucked up, Chan." The words come out with such a quiet malice that it shocks even yourself. "I can't even do the fucking dishes."

"I can do the dishes, love. I said it wasn't a big deal."

"No no no. It's not about the dishes." You're struggling to explain- the words are getting twisted, the thoughts all merge together- "I can't do anything. It's not about the fucking dishes. It's about- I can't-"

And you burst into tears

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm really sorry. I just-"

"It's okay," he soothes. "It's okay. I understand now."

He doesn't. He can't, and you know that full well. You shake your head, vision blurring from your tears. You're so embarassed and it's making you cry worse. You think you must look so ugly right now. He must be repulsed by you. You're repulsed by yourself, your own misery making your skin crawl.

"Can I touch you, baby? I want to hold you."

You shouldn't. You'll infect him. You'll ruin him and take away everything that makes him good. Why is he even still talking to you? Why doesn't he leave?

"You don't have to-to feel obligated. I can just- if you give me a second-"

"I don't feel obligated," he says, patient but firm. "I love you. I want to hold you all the time."

Something in your chest cracks. You're so weak. It's pathetic. But you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"Please," you whisper, defeated.

Chan reaches out and pulls you into his arm. You're both still on the ground, but he rearranges you so you can hide your face in his shoulder, and you do, too humiliated by your tears to be able to look at his face. He presses a kiss to the top of your head and your traitorous body relaxes without your permission.

"You've been struggling for a long time haven't you?" he asks. "You didn't want me to pity you."

You don't say anything. You can't bear to.

"Well, I don't pity you. I think you're very strong, trying to deal with this on your own. You made me dinner today even though you didn't really want to, right? That was very kind of you to do. You take such good care of me, baby. You light up my life. Isn't it fair that I should get to take care of you too? Can't I return the favor by helping you now?"

"It's not the same," you mumble into his shirt, because the magnitude of the two asks isn't comparable. You chopped up some vegetables and threw them in a pot. He is witnessing you have a mental breakdown in your hallway. You're not equally yoked. It's too much to ask of anyone.

"Whether it's the same or not doesn't matter. Love isn't transactional. It doesn't have to be equal effort every single time. This isn't a favor I'm returning. I'm comforting you because you're upset, and I hate to see you cry. Do you believe me when I say I want to see you happy and smiling? That I would do anything to ensure it?"

You finally pull away from him, wiping away your tears on your sleeve. "You might have to go find a new girlfriend then," you say, voice cracking from the tears and the weight of your despair.

"I don't want a new girlfriend. I want you." He's hesitant, but he continues. "There are ways of getting help, you know. We can try some things, like therapy, or medication. I can help you. You don't have to feel this way all the time."

You shake your head. "I'm in therapy and on meds already. None of it really....works on me. I have fewer bad days than I used to but they still leave me like...like this. And they just drag on....it turns to weeks and months, and I can't....I can't do anything." You let out a shaky breath and make yourself stop talking. Even after all this, the urge to hold back is engrained in you. "You deserve better."

"I think I decide what I deserve," Chan says. "I know it's hard to open up about things like this, but what's worse than you being depressed is you hiding it from me. How can we work on this if you're pretending it's not real?"

"I wanted to be good for you. I wanted to be...to be easy."

Chan leans forward and cups your face in his hands. He looks you right in the eyes, and you see that they're glossy with their own unshed tears. "I don't need you to be easy. No one is. I just want you to be you. And I want you to let me be there for you. In everything. Including this. I want all of you. Do you think you can do that? Can you try?" He wipes away your tears with his thumb.

You swallow harshly. It goes against everything in you, everything you've taught yourself. Chan loves you. He wants to stay. Even though it may all crash and burn later, even though he might still turn on you or reject you or give up on you and declare this all a lost cause, right now he wants to stay. He believes in you. And you want to hold on to that belief as long as it lasts.

"Okay. I'll try."

A relieved smile stretches across his face.

"That's my girl," he says, and presses a kiss to your forehead. It makes something like pride settle in your chest, as if the part of you that cracked earlier might not stay jagged forever.

"Let's get off the floor, hmm? I feel like you might've spent enough time down here today."

You definitely hadn't mentioned that. Maybe he really does understand more than you'd thought possible. You don't know exactly how to feel about that, but you allow a bit of gratefulness to come through as he stands up on his own and reaches a hand down to pull you up. You wipe your eyes one last time, let out a breath, and take his hand.

[fallstaticexit]

Ahhh it's been 65 years, and I feel kinda crazy that I've had this sitting in my drafts for like 2 months. Assuming most readers of Missing Moments are also The Art of Being Seen readers- there's some hefty lore here that will come into play later.

prev/ next

Olive: Time to move on, right Kia?

[phone pings]

Nancy: Hello darling. Do you have a moment to talk?

Olive: Who’s this?

Olive: I don’t recall saying yes.

Nancy: [sighs] It feels so good to hear your voice again.

Olive: I only answered to tell you to block me.

Nancy: I would never.

Olive: Even though I asked?

Nancy: Well. I am incredibly selfish.

Olive: Why did you call me?

Nancy: I would like to see you, Olivia. Please.

Olive: I’m not for sale, sorry.

Nancy: I know. I wouldn’t want to meet on those terms again. If I could do it all over, I would have asked you to have dinner with me when I met you. I would have courted you properly, Olivia.

Olive: [scoffs] You would have gone to a strip club and asked a stripper to have dinner with you? Seriously? When would we have ever met under any other circumstance? It’s been made very clear to me how different we are. The only way this would have happened was if it were a fairy tale.

Nancy: What matters is, I have met you. I’ve experienced you and I can’t go back. My husband- my ex husband- he signed the petition for our divorce. I came out to him- officially. It’s over.

Olive: [stunned] That’s- that’s great. I am so happy for you-

Nancy: I’m leaving all of it. I’m starting over. All I want is you, if you’ll have me.

Olive: [sighs]

Nancy: Let’s just have one dinner and after we’ve talk, then you can decide. There’s so much I want to say, but I want to look you in the eyes as I say it.

Olive: One dinner?

Nancy: One dinner.

Nancy: May I see you tonight? I’ll send my driver and I’ll cook for you at my place. Anything you like.

Olive: Tonight is fine.. sure.

Nancy: [sighs happily] It’ll be hard not to kiss you the moment I see you-

Olive: Not too much, lover girl. It’s one dinner and I’m still very annoyed with you about all this, ok?

Nancy: Yes, my love. I’ll see you tonight.

Olive: And don’t look at me like that. It’s just dinner and a conversation, ok? I am not going to sleep with her ok?

Malcolm: Well. Now I see why my mother was so willing to ruin an entire empire over you. Those mugshots did you no justice.

Olive: What is this? Where’s Nancy?

Malcolm: I noticed our driver was heading this way, I figured I’d tag along. Sight see. Get in. Let’s chat.

Malcolm: I wonder if this feels like dejavu to my mother. She makes yet another thoughtless mistake and someone comes along to make it all go away. She has a nasty habit of that, you know.

Olive: Listen. I’m not feeling whatever family drama you all have going on. I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Nancy.

Malcolm: I was raised by a narcissistic liar and a spineless coward. If I let this company fall apart, then wouldn’t it all had been for nothing?

Olive: [scoffs] So you want pity? I’m suppose to pity you? Give me a break.

Malcolm: Not pity, no. If anything, I pity you.

Olive: Is that right?

Malcolm: When it comes to success, you pale in comparison to your half siblings. You’ve financially crippled your parents in legal fees since your arrest and all you have to show for it is by shaking ass in a low end strip club in the Spice District. That’s right, I know alot about you Olivia Briar.

Malcolm: I know about that quaint little family of yours down in the country. I know about your niece’s struggling restaurant and her undocumented partner. Funny, he’s able to acquire loans under a fake name but there’s no records of a Noa Briar anywhere. I wonder what else your family is hiding.

Olive: [shaken] What is this about? Are you threatening me? What the fuck do you want?

Malcolm: I’m here to help you, not hurt you. One of the greatest lessons I’ve ever learned was the power of the dollar. I can make a lot of your problems go away with one deposit if you do just one thing.

Olive: [softly] ....What?

Malcolm: We’re going to turn around and park in front of your building. You’re going to go upstairs, pack up your things and then, you’re going to go back home to sweet old Henford. You’ll pay your parents back with the money you’ll receive from this arrangement and you’ll help your niece and nephew. All your problems - poof- gone.

Malcolm: All you have to do is walk away, and stay away. You see, my mother has a nasty debt to this family she still needs to pay. Don’t make it your burden.

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, July 6, 2025

My posts

Guess what? I'm going to be having a chat with my spinal clinic about some side effects from that epidural pain block a couple weeks ago. Thus, we didn't have a linkspam last Sunday, and I'm working from a larger pool of posts this week. Also, I am behind on everything. Enjoy. 

Side note, Ian's Silent Hill 2 stream of Toluca Prison (and an hour's discussion of storytelling with Vic Frederick) went up two Wednesdays ago. (He's now taking a month off while I pick up the [my] slack.) I made it to chat, despite shaking off anesthesia. And I'm glad I did because the first major fight was... something I've never seen before, I'll put it that way. I now have a new goal for when my videos get there. 

Meanwhile, remember how I posted about horror as comfort media? These people get it.

Reblogs of interest

Pride parade, Budapest, 100k+ people marching: "the perfect example of 'they can’t arrest all of us'" 

Niagara Falls lit up in rainbow; a lovely bisexual moon.

Important food recalls and news sources for the United States

How to Disable and Remove All AI Features in Mozilla Firefox. Et tu, Mozilla?

After 40 years of being free Microsoft has added a paywall to Notepad. No, I actually expected that from y'all. With links/recs for Libre Office. 

By the way, Shel Silverstein foresaw gen AI

"i think all quiet on the western front and the lord of the rings are in direct conversation with each other," with bonus Narnia shell craters. That sounds flippant, but I really think everybody here is onto something. 

Disney Reportedly Planning Full Reboot of the Indiana Jones Franchise, and Bluesky has some ideas

"To be TRULY fluent in English you must know your SHITS"

"i am not immune to the bit. i’m gonna have to go full mingo aren’t i."

I remember these MTV Video Music Awards Posters from 1999. Yes, the late '90s were exactly Like That.

Putting the CERN back in "concerned," Molly Bair wearing Iris van Herpen inside the CERN Large Hadron Collider. Listen, you know shit ain't been the same since that weasel. You get out of there right now.

"a redditor has mushrooms growing out of his home's electrical sockets" and it's not good. It's Not Good!

"True Gym Bros while flexing their jaws: Come Bro, join us in the Gainshalla"

Prosper, feather beast

"Call me Cismale"

Go in the wet. The wet will love you. The wet doesn't have capitalism. Just go in the wet.

"IT WAS NOT THE FUCKING COLONIALISM THAT INVENTED THE FUCKING POTATO."

"Dude’s out here trying to solve House of Leaves. I give it to page 120 before the actual minotaur gets him." No one has read this book so purely in its own spirit as this one beleaguered guy reading it in French with graph paper and a middle finger.

I am pretty sure I will grab Date Everything if there's a good discount on Steam

"spn Fandom perfec t fun for put new fan in to e\njoy show! inside very Nice and Comfort new fan enjoy fun put new fan in Spn Fandom." (I never get my "mouth perfect size for meme" tag right on the first try)

Tag yourself, I'm the Taylor Swift lyric "some guy said my aura's moonstone, just 'cause he was high"

Art: "The important questions of what if bird were fruit"

"Girl help the pessimists are mistaking an inherently meaningless universe for an inhumane and joyless one rather than recognizing the opportunity to make one’s own meaning and joy and to spread those things to others"

"girl help they’re decoding my cat"

He's all in

A brooch of a fabulous creature

HONSE

Video

"Someday Amaury Guichon is going to release a video where creates a life sized statue of a human being, but as he adds detail, it becomes increasingly clear that the chocolate model is becoming more and more akin to a perfect replica of the viewer"

The painstaking restoration of a wedding dress from 1950

This is not how I expected you'd make magnolia blossom ice cream

"they removed capybara walking (1887) from letterboxd so i’m letting it live on my blog forever"

Knitted sheep, animated

One of the deans at Beijing Dance Academy shows you how it's done

Pre-Colonial Filipino clothing revivalists out on the town

The sacred texts

Children’s Hospital Colour Theory

Dogs in Elk

Personal tags of the week

I'm going to say food, but it was actually a good bit of #chocolate. Also, Pride Month, since it wrapped up while I was still recovering. 

[aminotvxq]

What happened last night in South Korea was horrible.

We were only a few backsteps away from sinking back into dictatorship. Three decades of hard-won peaceful democracy we had been enjoying after three decades of dictatorship was about to fall.

Fortunately, swift action was takan by veteran lawmakers from the opposition Democratic Party, many of whom were survivors of and seasoned fighters against the bloody atrocity that once reigned South Korea back in the 1950s to 1980s. Equally important, some of the parliament members could make it safely into the National Assembly premise thanks to brave Korean civilians who rushed to the place to protest and block military vehicles that were trying to get near the parliament for the 190 lawmakers to make resolutions against the unjustified, out-of-the-blue martial law declared by President--a failed coup d'etat leader--Yoon Suk-Yeol.

▲ Opposition party member Ahn Gwi-ryeong, grabbing a soldier's gun to block the coup from arresting lawmakers inside the National Assembly. (Source: JTBC)

▲ Korean civilians gathering to barricade vehicles of the armed forces from entering the National Assembly. (Source: @woochick2 on Twitter)

▲ Korean citizens helping a parliament member go over the fence of the National Assembly to annul the martial law.

We still don't know the dick-for-brains Yoon's whereabout, neither what he's doing right now after the shitshow he created last night. Allegations are that the footage of him announcing to lift the martial law wasn't a live one; that it was actually pre-recorded at the same time as the footage of him declaring the martial law. Many suspect that some of the military leaders responsible for the failed coup d'etat attempt have already escaped this nation. The majority of the far-right ruling party gathered in their Party headquarters quite near the parliament last night, instead of heading straight to the parliament to vote against martial law, waiting for either the dawn of a new dictatorship or getting ready for being opportunistic. Only 10 ruling party lawmakers who are now known to belong to the opposing faction of Yoon within the party participated in lifting the martial law.

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

By the way, I'm much calmer now...😭 I was born soon after the end of the decades of dictatorship. I grew up in democratic South Korea, although there are still so many problems that need fixing. I barely slept last night. To my generation, it was literally an existential dread. I wished I could've run to the National Assembly to join the protest, but I lived too far away to do so. I owe the brave civilians and opposition party representatives my whole life.🥹🥹

Last night's experience was truly a solemn reminder that the flamboyant Korean pop culture, or Kpop, that we all love is built on a delecate hard-won democracy. Contemporary Koreans including me are only one generation away from brutal dictatorship that killed thousands.