#honestly i do think practicing and letting yourself get into their headspace is the most important thing

[eskawrites]

hi! i've seen you give writing advice before and i've been asking around for some tips on writing in third person limited? i've had a really hard time giving my narration life/character and everything i'm writing feels so flat as of right now. your writing style is really awesome and i was wondering what your advice is for making your narration "in character" instead of just setting a scene/telling not showing?

(i'm looking for more general advice, but if you have any specifics for nancy i would also appreciate that because im less used to writing from her pov)

thanks and have a great day! :3

oooh okay yes i love rambling about writing, let's go

so in general i think it's important not to think about it too hard, especially if you're writing a first draft/still trying to figure out plot, dialogue, pacing, etc. If you get caught up in the details of nailing down tone, it's really hard to get the actual story down on paper. and the actual story is what's going to inform a lot of your character voice

on that note, a lot of character voice and tone is rooted in action. for example, say you have a scene where Nancy walks into a room with everybody else. who does she look at first and why? maybe her eyes are drawn to Robin because she's just been thinking about her. maybe she's annoyed with Mike because of a previous scene, so she scowls at him quickly before addressing everyone else. maybe she very pointedly does not look at Jonathan because she feels awkward around him ever since he came back from California. no matter what it is, that can be a quick detail--even just a single line of writing--that tailors the narrative to nancy's pov as you start the scene.

as far as showing not telling goes, one of the most straightforward tips is to write in mannerisms instead of emotions. if you're in an awkward situation, you're not going to sit there and think 'i feel awkward.' you're going to shift your weight or fidget with something or look around the room. keep an eye out for sentences like 'nancy thinks...' or 'nancy feels...' and see if you can replace them with action (nancy scowls, nancy drops her gaze, nancy sees robin fidget, etc.) although again, this is second draft advice--don't worry about it too much until you've got the structure of the scene/story figured out

also, it's easier said than done, but putting yourself in the character's shoes helps. take a minute and stop to think about how Nancy would react to the scene. what would she be thinking, and how would that differ from what Robin's thinking, or what Steve's thinking, or what Max is thinking?

i have a habit of opening scenes with a few paragraphs of internal monologue, especially if i'm switching povs in a story. this can definitely turn into telling instead of showing sometimes, but it is a good way to get into the rhythm of that character and get a feel for their current mindset--all of which makes it easier to continue the scene in their pov/tone of voice. and honestly, it's not a bad exercise just on its own. if you're struggling with a specific point of view in the story you're currently writing, try writing a different little drabble or something from their perspective. or try rewriting a scene that's already in a different character's pov, and this time write it in Nancy's pov. the more you practice, the more you get to know the character--and specifically your characterization of her--and the easier it is to naturally tailor your writing to her pov

as for Nancy-specific advice, i always try to keep her curiosity and inquisitiveness at the forefront of my mind when i'm writing. she's literally always looking for clues. she latches onto details. she doesn't know how to let go of a question until she has a satisfactory answer. and maybe all that curiosity has her being nosy with her friends, or maybe it has her investigating murder cases. either way, that burning need to get answers is what drives her, and it's going to be influencing her inner thoughts (not to use this ask as a plug, but my robin coming out fic is one of my favorites in terms of nancy's pov, because the entire thing is structured around nancy latching onto clues and trying to solve a mystery. it's the most nancy-oriented approach to the situation ever)

finally--and this is something i struggle with in my own writing, but--feel free to make her wrong. third-person limited is not supposed to be a flawless, objective perspective. let her overreact, give her wrong information, make her angry or stubborn or selfish or pitiful, especially in the privacy of her own mind. make it so her thoughts don't line up with her words. make her come to conclusions that are driven by the limited information she has, or the past experiences she's lingering on, or the specific feelings she has in that moment (this is of course another way that plot influences pov and vice versa--the more naturally you can intertwine the two, the easier it is to make your narrative feel in character)

thanks for asking, anon! i have no idea if any of this is in any way helpful, but i hope it is! good luck writing!

[changbinsboobs]

hello this is more about tarot but how you do get into it? Honestly your posts made me so interested but I don’t even know the first step myself 🥲

Hey:) I'm very happy there's interest in that as I've been actually contemplating about making educational content or even a course or something, sometime in the future💗

A few basic tips from me would be:

1. buy yourself a deck you resonate with (doesnt have to be the rider waite tarot)

2. watch readings on youtube from readers u resonate with. The practice of choosing the right pile itself is a good beginner exercise.

3. journaling, shadow work, meditation, writing in general all are very good exercises to calm your brain down and tap more into your heart and be able to feel the finer aspects of life. Also to get to know yourself and your energy better - that way you can pick up easier on things that don't belong to you (others energy during readings)

4. learn the basics of tarot like each suit (the elements), major & minor arcana, the journey of the cards, the meaning / symbolism of every card. Knowledge in numerology and astrology also would be very helpful.

5. despite tip 4, don't focus all too much on the meaning and let your intuition work too. If you focus and obsess over the traditional meaning of each card you will be doing the reading with your head instead of your heart. And i believe the best readings come from the heart cuz they're the most pure and genuine.

6. Take every reading with a grain of salt. No matter who does it. If its you or another experienced reader. Energy is maluable and what was said today, might've been true for today, but may not be true for tomorrow. If you obsess over the readings or get paranoid or let any other toxicity infiltrate your headspace regarding the readings/topic - they won't come out pure. Meaning your intuition will be dampened by the paranoia for example and since tarot works with your own energy, u'll be attracting cards that reflect that. And then your brain will use them to affirm to your paranoia - or whatever other bias you're having. Its very important to have a pure and relaxed energy when you read so nothing interferes with the process. This is done with lots of self work or if you're generally gifted with a personality/energy like that (i think i.n could be a great reader if he tried😂i just had to mention him)

[garden-of-mancers]

Do you have any examples of when you would want to send out an imaginary friend?

I do! I don't have any suggestions for a specific time to send an IF out, (I'd usually send one out overnight or for a few days, just whenever I felt the impulse to do so), but I do have examples for why you'd do it. Also, most of these suggestions are based in magic and witchcraft-flavored spirituality, so I understand if this stuff is really Not relevant to everyone.

A couple specific examples I can think of are as follows:

If you want them to become more autonomous or eventually leave you for good, sending them out is good practice. I know autonomy is more of a goal in traditional tulpamancy, but in my experience, having an IF who's done a few tasks unsupervised makes lucid dreaming with them a bit easier? In this case, sending them out is like a practice exercise; it's just one of the many activities you can do to increase their ability to act alone.

If you have some kind of mystical or non-material thing you want your IF to retrieve for you. Maybe you accidentally left another imaginary friend at an outing. Send your IF out to go get them! Does your IF come from another land where they have unique items? Send your IF out to go bring you some! (And you might spend their time away crafting the actual items for them to give you when they return.) If you've lost an item, there are many superstitious solutions to help you find them faster. Some I've heard of are astral projecting to look for the item, visualizing yourself finding it or having it, and saying the name of the item and sticking a sewing pin in a couch cushion. Well, why not send your IF out to look for the item? Who knows, it might turn up once they've returned. (And if it does, you can say your IF told you where to find it or that they put it there.)

If you just want to be alone. If you're doing a ritual or meditation that requires solitude, (something like the hide and seek alone creepypasta is the only thing I can think of off the top of my head lol), or if you're burned out socially and you need to make sure you stay alone, send them out. Sometimes when I'm in a bad place mentally and want to fight with everyone, it was nice to tell the one person I could control "We need some space" and let her vacation halfway across the world for a bit. If you think about them while they're gone, you can remind yourself that they're at the lake or whatever. And if they pop back in anyway, you can always say, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at the lake?"

One psychological perk of having an IF is that you have a degree of control over them that you cannot exert over other people, pets, or headmates (if you're a system). I'm not saying this in a "you're my servant and you have to do what I say" kind of way; just that being able to create something, decide their appearance and traits, and have them come and go at your desire gives an IF's creator a level of autonomy and control that can be beneficial to your mental health. As an action, sending an IF out has the benefit of a caring act (packing, walking them to and from bus stop) AND asserting control over your environment. Hence: easy mental health hack.

Yes, I get that you can *technically* just make your IF disappear or stay in your headspace/inner world/wherever IFs go when they're not currently interacting with you. However, I prefer having near-omnipresent IFs. I'm unemployed and housebound, so it's not obtrusive for them to be there hangin out 24/7. So, whenever I get overwhlemed or DO want some alone time for more than a few hours, why not turn my IF's absence into a game or a part of their lore and experience?

And my final reason:

Just to let them go on an adventure! Honestly, I only started doing this because I had a travel journal that I never filled. I'm too disabled to travel now, so I would just send my old IF out to various locations and then write her adventures in the journal instead lol. It was a really cute journal! I wasn't gonna waste it lol.

-♥️-

(Sorry if this was overexplained or sounded patronizing. I am an overexplainer over text; if someone asks for clarification, I want to make SURE you get your answer the second time 'round 😂)

TL;DR: Sending an IF on an adventure by themselves can make them more autonomous, give them an active role in various magic spellwork, and provide psychological benefits for both the IF and the creator.

[broodsys]

i have a feeling soooo many ppl would be happier if they just removed generalizing, absolutist phrasing from their vocab. but it's so baked in that i honestly don't think ppl even realize they're doing it sometimes? but generalizing about a whole group is never gonna be true

i see it so often lately about men? men are no more of a monolith than literally any other demographic group in existence. there is nuance and depth everywhere and in everyone for those willing to look

and honestly, you'll be happier if you look! that's smth i think gets glossed over in these conversations. if you treat people not with suspicion but with a compassionate willingness to, if not understand, at least accept, your whole outlook on life will improve tremendously

it's easy in the current climate to let fear and suspicion win. to feel like your worst assumptions are constantly being proven right because that's the conclusion you're looking for. but the reverse is true as well

speaking for myself: i used to regularly assume the worst. i was quick to judge and slow to forgive. i condemned people left and right for being "problematic". and yknow what? it didn't fix anything, my anger certainly didn't serve to make them less "problematic" or to make myself better, and i was fucking miserable all the time. i felt like i lived in hell. and i kinda did! but it was a hell of my own making

like, we can wonder whether this conversation should be about what will make individuals happier vs. what's morally right, but i've always found the former to be a more effective approach. every individual is the one experiencing their own life; they're not selfish for seeking joy and peace when and where they can find it. approaching these issues from a perspective of increasing joy as well as decreasing harm is just effective on two fronts

anyway people are complicated. the most and least revolutionary pov out there, tbh. time and again i see people willing to accept their own complexity and nuance and that of those they know best, but unwilling to extend that same grace to others, in countless contexts, in "real life" (don't like that phrasing but it's an effective shorthand here) and online

but it helps to take a moment to consider their pov too! to consider what of their phrasing might be accidental, or playful, or joking; what of it might be naive; what of it might be a language barrier, or the way they were taught to express this idea. or hell, even to realize that something they said might have been said because they were in a bad mood. this isn't saying any of it is okay/justified/whatever, just observing and accepting the inherent complexity. it's a good mental exercise imo. humanize others the same way you'd want them to humanize you

and to clarify: i'm not saying "please become a doormat for people abusing you!" or "twist yourself into knots trying to get into the headspace of someone who is being actively cruel!" i'm not even saying that you have to interact at all with people you don't want to! that would be a very bad-faith reading of this post. really, at the end of the day, all i'm suggesting - very lightly suggesting; not demanding, not ordering, not insisting - is that people prioritize a good-faith reading. of posts. of interactions. of phrases. for your own mental health if nothing else. i am recommending a mental exercise of compassion and tolerance

people are so, so, so diverse. life is more interesting when you lean into that and practice acknowledging it rather than seeking ways to divide between problematic and decent [ people / groups / behaviors / words / etc. ]

[theambitiouswoman]

I’m new to being back on Tumblr after a lot of years. Your page is everything I used to aspire to do on a platform. I really admire your take on things.

The last year has really put me through a lot. I had a baby in December, my partner and I have both been battling our mental health (he’s bipolar and I have BPD), and in May after 27 years, I found my birth family. This was great for all of 5 seconds, but soon unraveled a very deeply traumatized line of ancestors on both sides- including my dad being unalived by my grandfather before he unalived himself 20 years ago next month.

There’s a lot of other daily nuances I could go into but essentially- I just feel totally taken over by depression, anxiety and a never-ending feeling of being overwhelmed.. and as many times as I feel like I’ve gotten myself out of a bad headspace, this time just feels so overpowering and it’s really ruining my relationship and my family in the process. My boyfriend doesn’t often have the capacity to be emotionally supportive because he’s got his own stuff going on, and I’m in a state with no friends or family around to feel like I can turn to anyone else. We both work full time, don’t have off days together and on all of my off days I have the baby by myself.

Do you have any suggestions based off what I’ve shared as to what I could do to find my way back to myself and a more positive place? I feel like I wake up most days and immediately start complaining and by the evening I’m isolating myself to the bedroom and crying myself to sleep. I just don’t want to be this version of myself anymore.

Thank you so much! I am very humbled 💗

Congratulations on your baby!!!

All of your experiences this past year, good or bad can take a toll on anyone emotionally. That was a lot to hit you with after the other. Any person would be drained especially when we do not have the opportunity to process them.

With that, I want to say that from the outside, it seems like your life revolves around everyone else but you. Like you lost yourself a bit. And that is not really fair for you. But that is okay. Happens to the best of us <3 All of these things aside from i'm sure daily problems and nuisances can alone exhaust us and take a toll on our mental health. Remember that, for us to give the best to others, we have to first give it to ourselves. I know we want and need support. You are not wrong for it. Unfortunately a lot of times we won't get it. The truth is, we need to learn how to be our own support system too. This might sound unfair and hard, totally. It probably is. But it helps build you up. And I think this is where you are currently at with yourself?

These negative thoughts and feelings are going to continue to live there until you decide to take an active role in your life. Not making it about everyone else, and the feelings they provoke in you. If you truly want to change your current reality, you need to decide to and commit. You need to reframe the story you are currently telling yourself. Even if you feel like you are lying to yourself in the beginning. if you know you wake up complaining then that tells me you are already aware of it. Your position would be to realize when you are about to do it, stop yourself, and change your thought pattern into something positive. Start practicing this with every negative thought or action you have through out the day. Start by accustoming yourself to become aware of it all. Even if we mess up, auto correct yourself immediately. Seriously. Remember that the more negativity we project, even valid, is what we will continue to get back. Nothing changes if we do not change. I would recommend finding healthier ways for you to express your negative emotions. Journaling is great honestly because not only can you vent, but you can analyze and create possible solutions. It is very good to let our feelings out, especially understand them past the problem at hand, but it is not good to make them our whole life.

You can regain control of your life and this narrative you are living in the second you decide and commit to. Sounds easy, and it is. It is easy to understand, but hard to implement. It is also very worth it.

Sometimes things do not happen to us, they happen for us. Changing your life starts with you. Do not let these feelings, people, experiences turn you into someone you are not. It is literally YOUR LIFE. Remember how amazing you are, it is time.

[lexstellaris]

Daily Draw - 28/4/23 - Sacred Rebels Oracle (Alana Fairchild)

41 - Bring It Into Form

I've drawn this card a few times in previous readings. It's a call to action, to stop thinking, and start doing. A card of action, and creative expression. You can't achieve things simply by thinking them. You have to do them. It's definitely something I often struggle with, not just with creativity but with other mundane life things too.

It's that sense of uncertainty, not wanting to know, maybe it won't work, maybe I'll fail. That often stops me from doing things I need to do. And it ties in with some of the things Sobek was telling me in meditation tonight. Do the thing. bc you'll regret it if you don't.

I actually really like the imagery of this card, of someone walking along the shoreline, where the waves are moving back and forth, and their footprints remain there in the wet sand. That's what it evokes for me. And the water drops become flowers - or fireflies - as they come into the air. It's that change in form, from something passive, to something active.

There are definitely things I've been procrastinating on. I've got minecraft builds, and artwork, and fics, and ofc other life admin and spiritual/magical work to do. Sometimes I do need that kick in the pants to do them, or finish them, bc otherwise I'll just let them stay by the wayside, forgotten ideas that could have been great if I'd done something with them.

I almost didn't do Senut tonight. I was out at a comedy gig, and while we were home before 9pm, I was still tired, and almost just went for the shortform Kemetic rite I have in my daily rituals book. But Sobek was gentle, and said it was still a good day, and I could do Senut. Just change into clean clothes. The habit won't form if I don't keep it up. And I'm glad I did, and that I have gods so willing to work with my limitations.

I've spent a long time trying to build my spiritual practices back to where they used to be. The pandemic and uni and burn out took a lot out of me, and I'm honestly surprised I kept my 5 min meditation in the morning throughout it all. But it was the anchor that kept me going, and now I'm in a headspace where I'm ready to expand my work.

I've adopted the Hellenic custom of the day starting at sunset. I do most of my spiritual work in the evenings, so it makes sense to use this time to prep for the next day, as that's what I do anyway. So much of what I've been trying to do is to find the right flow, so that these things feel effortless.

So in the evenings, it's Senut and card draws, and some other magical work that's oathbound, bc I've been neglecting that particular thing for a while and I need to get back into it.

In the mornings, I anoint my wrists with some oil dedicated to the planet of the day, then read the Orphic hymn to the same planet, then a hymn to Sobek, then the Orphic hymn to Hekate. Light incense and LED candles, and meditate for 5 mins. It's simple, but it primes my brain, and even if I don't always use that time for Work, but instead let my brain just wander, it's still valuable time to me.

I also have other magical work I've been planning on doing, and this card feels like it's poking me about that too. Stop procrastinating. Stop feeling like there's only one correct way to do the spells you wanna do. Just do them your own way. Let your self-expression come through and make them your own.

This line from the book has stuck with me:

"You are being asked to honour yourself with a commitment to complete your inspired tasks. This will help you grow ... but there is another reason - you know that your inspired ideas are worth translating into practical forms so that other people can access them and experience something special too."

I'm feeling this a lot with much of the Pharaoh Cub fics I've been working on and contemplating writing. Fanfic is very much an avenue for me to process gender feels and explore spirituality and god stuff in a way that's abstract enough for me to work with.

But there's also things here with my Minecraft Java solo world. It's build as a town centred around Hekate and Her worship. I'm working on the cathedral that will sit in the centre of town. And I know I'm procrastinating bc I don't want to mess it up, even though I've built it already in creative and I just need to copy that. There's the fear of it not turning out as good as I want it to. But it won't build itself, so in order to continue the lore of that town, I need to finish it.

Since I don't need to work again until Wednesday, I have plenty of time to start working on these things, and putting in some work towards completing them. bc sometimes you need the universe to kick you in the pants and make you do the thing.

[pies-writes-and-more]

haikyuu boys as expecting fathers

characters: TimeSkip!Tsukishima Kei, Bokuto Kōtarō, & Ushijima Wakatoshi, all with a Fem!Pregnant!Reader

warnings: pregnant reader and mentions of having a baby so pls be mindful if this makes you dysphoric or if you’re not in a good headspace for it. But otherwise, it’s all fluff so I hope it makes you guys smile!

a/n: everyone around me irl is having babies so here is the result of that LOL i love cute stories about expecting families and shit. All of these are obviously with TimeSkip! characters! And none of the following gifs are mine so credits to the original creators! Hope you guys like it :) 

haikyuu masterlist

Tsukishima loves to tease the shit out of you, and that hasn’t really changed since you started getting bigger. But now, he’ll hide your cravings in the top shelves of the pantry so you have to make him come get it. He can’t help it, it’s that angry pouty look in your eyes - he’s so in love with you, even when you look like you’re about to murder him.

But despite him hiding everything you could possibly crave, he is an absolute sweetheart. He calls his mom every now and then to update her about you and the baby, probably asks about what she liked when she was pregnant. She tells him stories about liking to read to him and his brother, or how she enjoyed a nice bath if she was particularly sore that day. She even joked that she found it really hard to put her shoes on so typically she just wore slippers or easy to slip on shoes.

Cut to the next day, you wake up to Tsukishima reading a book of dinosaur facts to your belly. He’s not so much reading it as he is disputing and/or explaining further the facts that are written in it. He doesn’t notice you wake up while he waves away the book and states, “It’s fine. When you’re here, I’ll just bring you to my museum and I’ll show you in person. I can sneak you out of daycare, just don’t tell your mom.”

You had hoped to be able to keep your independence for longer than this, but found yourself struggling to properly put on your shoes. You huffed, muttering something to your unborn kid about how you’d hold this over their heads forever, and just waddled about with the backs of your shoes folded under your heel. Tsukishima raised an eyebrow as he noticed, waiting for you to sit down in the car before holding the door open and bending down to properly put your shoes on.

“Kei, what’re you doing?” You laughed, watching him swiftly tie up your laces. “They’re fine, they’re old shoes anyways.”

“If you wear your shoes like that, you’ll fall and hurt yourself,” he shrugged. “I can’t have you hurting the little Tsukishima just because you can’t put your shoes on.”

His expression was the same plain emotionless face as usual, but you smiled anyways because here he was, kneeling in front of you and helping you with what is supposed to be a simple task.

The day went on as usual, but you definitely weren’t prepared for your husband to call you into the bathroom and display the little bath he had drawn you with your favourite candle lit.

“Did you do something?” You asked him with narrow eyes, making him scoff.

He rolled his eyes, helping you out of your clothes gently, “Am I really such a bad husband that you think I’d have to be feeling guilty to be nice to you?”

You thought about it for a moment before nodding playfully, “Yup. So what did you do?” You laugh and he just flicks your forehead before helping you into the tub.

You watch as he smirks a bit, holding your chin for a second and watching your eyes, “Well I’m the reason you got knocked up so I supposed I have to take care of you don’t I?”

He doesn’t hold that sultry teasing look on his face for too long, especially when you splash him with water, drenching every part of him you could reach 😂.

Bokuto is in a PANIC the closer you get to the due date. You once just felt a bit tired after vacuuming and the boy thought you holding your front meant you were going into early labour.

“I’VE GOT THE CAR KEYS BUT I CAN’T FIND MY WALLET!!! BABE HAVE YOU SEEN NY WALLET? I CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE I PUT IT. OMG WHAT IF THEY WONT TAKE US IN. WHAT IF THERE ARE SO MANY BABIES BEING BORN WE CANT GET IN. I KNEW I SHOULD’VE TAKEN A CLASS ON BIRTHING BABIES!”

You let him run around because he honestly is so entertaining to watch while panicking. He pouts about it later, talking shit about you to your belly, “Your mom’s a big meanie. You need to be born quick so we can team up on her okay?”

“Kōtarō! Don’t you dare try to turn my baby against me!” You laughed, swatting at his head.

Man is overly prepared for any sort of situation. He already set up all the safety baby measures, like corner cushions and outlet covers, though now he’s considering locking up all the knives into a cupboard.

“Kōtarō... how am are supposed to cook like this?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at the lack of your sharp cooking knives.. and the butter knives.

The grown man just poured some more, “I gotta keep both my babies safe alright? I’ll cut everything for you so you don’t cut yourself.”

Except for the fact that Bokuto is definitely more accident prone than you are and has a few bandaids on his fingers now.

As an expecting dad, Bokuto found himself getting more and more teary eyed at any situation that involved a family or a baby. Whether that was just seeing kids and families play in the park that the two of you walked past sometimes, or seeing a commercial for diapers with happy bouncy babies, you would turn to see a misty-eyed Bokuto who would then turn to you and wrap you in a tight squeeze.

He was beyond excited at this point to meet your little baby - he wanted to know what they would look like. The perfect mix between the most perfect woman in the world and him, who was pretty cool thank you very much. This baby was going to be the cutest most amazing kid ever, who would definitely play a really great game of volleyball, Bokuto was sure of it.

Let’s be honest though, pregnancy is not an easy journey. Bokuto loved seeing you grow the baby but he knew that it was a difficult process for you. You were always sore and at the beginning you were always sick. And there were some days where you literally didn’t feel attractive or beautiful at all, but Bokuto would praise you as high as he always did regardless.

“You are the most perfect lady I have ever laid eyes on. The most gorgeous being to ever walk this universe!” He told you one day, pressing kisses all over your face as you laid across a couch.

“Thanks,” you tried to give him a smile - you always appreciated his compliments, even if you didn’t necessarily agree.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you with a small frown, noting your forced smile.

“I just… feel bleh. Not at all like how you’re saying I look,” you admitted with a small smile.

Bokuto’s eyes grew wide in shock, jumping over the couch to sit down on the floor next to you. He clasped your hands in his, pressing kissing to them gently as well. “I know you might not feel it… but I hope you know that I still think it. I don’t even have to force it. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and that hasn’t changed even though your body is changing a bit. I don’t need you to wear the most perfect makeup or the best dress for me to think you’re gorgeous. You’re perfect just laying here in my old sweats and I’m happy that I get to come home to see you like this every day,” he grinned, touching your cheek affectionately.

You loved this man. He was so sweet to you in every way possible. But sometimes…. sometimes his sweetness just went a little too overboard. You tried to insist to him that you were pregnant but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything. Man refuses to let you do anything for yourself. No lifting boxes, no lifting anything in fear that you might hurt your back.

“Kōtarō, it’s just my purse,” you tried to point out in a laugh, trying to reach it as he held it above your head.

“Nope! Not happening. What if you hurt yourself?”

“... with my purse?”

“Ya!”

“Kōtarō, I have to go shopping for food or we won’t have anything to eat. And baby needs to eat!”

“Well I’ll come with you then!”

“You’ve got practice!”

“It’s fine, I’ll tell them I’ll practice another time! My perfect wife and baby come first,” he’d grin at you and insist on opening all the doors as you two made your way to the car. You fall in love with this man more and more every day, even if he keeps stealing things from your hands.

Ushijima is a really nervous new dad, even if you can’t really tell from his stoic expression. He listens intently to all of the parenting advice people give, bought a few books about newborns, and has hundreds of tabs on his laptop of ranging topics from baby products people insist are necessary, mommy blogs about what is important to do when pregnant, and research that he doesn’t quite understand but feels is important nonetheless.

Ushijima isn’t necessarily a man of words all the time, so you were surprised to find that he started to talk a lot more after finding out that your child could hear him.

“You don’t have to play volleyball if you don’t want to,” he told them quietly one day while the two of you were on the couch. It came so out of the blue that you actually thought he was talking to you.

“Hm?”

“... do you think they’d want to play volleyball?” He asked you sheepishly, glancing at you with a shy expression.

You thought about it for a moment and slowly started to smile, “Well they’ll be attending every single one of your games so I’m sure they’ll be at least interested in learning!”

Ushijima nodded and you watched as a soft smile graced his face. You kept your eyes on him for just a moment longer, seeing a flicker of uncertainty on him.

“Wakatoshi, don’t you dare think for one second you’ll be a bad dad,” you warned him, poking his side and making him jump from surprised.

He stared at you for a moment, blinking, “You know what I’m thinking?”

“I know that you’ve been worried about being a good dad ever since I told you I was pregnant. I know that you’re nervous about being the kind of dad you always wanted to have growing up. I know because I’m terrified of being a good mom too,” you admitted with a nervous sort of smile, interlacing your fingers together. “We’ll be okay together though.”

Ushijima nodded and hummed softly, “We’ll have to take them to France.”

“France??”

“Satori wants to meet them too. He said he would make them chocolate.”

It wouldn’t just be the baby that Satori is constantly trying to spoil, but you as well. He sends over packages of his chocolate for you to try, grinning ear to ear when you call him for a catch-up call.

“Do you like them?” Tendō asked, and you could hear him humming to himself as he moved around a kitchen.

“I love them! But you’re going to make us fat if you keep sending them! They’re much too yummy for me to stop eating!” You laughed, eyes wandering to the kitchen where you knew you still had a few bits of his chocolate left.

“No no no no. I’m just trying to make sure your baby is a cute healthy plump baby! They’ll grow nice and strong!”

It always made you smile, knowing that all these people who loved your husband wanted to love you and the baby as well. Even Ushijima’s new teammates would come by and bring snacks or anything they thought might aid you in your pregnancy. Though, Kageyama wasn’t really sure what pregnant people or babies liked, so he just brought a whole bag of the milk boxes he liked.

“You’ve got to grow big and strong so that I can defeat you in volleyball one day. I can’t defeat your dad right now… cause he’s on my team. But I’ll defeat an Ushijima one day for sure,” he muttered to your belly with a fierce intensity in your eyes that made you laugh, making his ears turn red as he realized that you also heard him (Kageyama, the baby is attached to her, of course she heard you lol).

As it neared your due date, Ushijima prepared himself mentally every passing day. He wanted to be 110% ready so he went over your birthing plan mentally at least 10 times a day and reread over all the articles and information he had gathered over the months. He wanted to be the best father possible, but you insisted to him that you weren’t worried about this at all. After all, he was already the best husband you could ever have asked for.

haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join!)

@al0ehas @aurumk @neko-chii1 @thisnoodlewritesao3 @satan-ruler-of-hells @trashy-simp @jeppiet @tobi-momo @darkvadeeer @haikyuutothetop @livy384 @babyshoyo @jesssobs​ @b-bakana​

[fairycosmos]

chloe!! 💛💛 i lost my job today do u have any advice??

omg so sorry to hear that! :( dude it’s actually so fucked how companies just see their employees as disposable like they’ll let them go at the drop of a hat w no regard for them it’s so. annoying. but HONESTLY i think the most important thing rn is just letting yourself feel whatever you need to feel without too much self policing, or without trying to force yourself to quickly get over it. if ur mad sad secretly glad frustrated etc- whatever it is it’s totally normal. and it’s alright to just stop, take a breath and let yourself process those emotions as you settle into what is going to be a period of real adjustment (and then the eventual and inevitable moving on, don’t worry!) also, when you feel ready to, i think it’d be a good idea to like assess the practicalities of your situation. like ur finances for example. are you going to be able to cover rent, necessities, food etc or do you need to reach out to friends/family or even start a cashapp/donation post on here until you find employment again? if you’ve got that sorted i really think the best course of action is just to like - and it’s going to be way easier said than done but. try not to take it super personally. like i said before, businesses view their workers mostly as disposable drones and we all suffer for it. try to think about what you’ve learned at the job (if anything) and take it onwards and upwards and into new opportunities! really milk the whole experience of working there on your resume to make it possible that you’ll be hired for an even better role in the future LOL. this is a chance to find a better working environment, possibly better pay, a whole fresh start. and there’s no need to rush into that or anything ofc! like honesty if you can take some time for yourself, i absolutely recommend doing that. but i just hope you don’t lose yourself worrying about what you did wrong or why things worked out the way they did. i think in circumstances like this our brains tend to catastrophize and self-blame, but like. more than anything else, this is truly just another stepping stone toward your future, one that a lottttt of people have to cross at some point or another. you will find your feet again, you will be okay. but it’s also alright if everything fucking sucks rn and if i was with you we could make an angry playlist and scream at the sky together about it LOL. anyway im manifesting a ton of new opportunities for you as we speak and i hope at the very least you can be kind to yourself as you make it through this, one day at a time. maybe try to treat yourself today to make it feel a little lighter. every time i have to deal w some crappiness, if i’m in a good headspace despite it, i have a nice meal and a nice bath and a nice drink and i sit there and soothe myself like i’d soothe a little kid LOL. just a thought. sending a huge hug your way!! 💛💛

[youarejesting]

Mad

[MASTER LIST] Beta: @fluffy-fluffu​ Rating: 18+ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader x V Genre: SMUT, mature, angst, fluff, mystery, thriller Words: 4.9k WARNINGS & TRIGGERS: psych ward in a mental asylum from back in the 1920’s, misguided medical practices; Electroshock therapy etc. Multiple personality disorder/alter ego’s/Dissociative Identity Disorder, Sex, Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Fingering, Exhibitionism, Voyuerism, blow jobs, Yandere V. If you squint for a split second there is like a slight hesitation in the reader but they consent. Nurse sleeps with the patient. Sad boy Tae, Tae vs. V, Talks about cum, Restraints, Sedation.

Summary: Taehyung from room 10 on the ward is being haunted by V a mischievous sexual deviant. Taehyung likes puzzles and his friends which includes you. But V likes you, your hair, your face and the warmth between your thighs. It’s a fight between Taehyung and V who will win?

Authors note: This is in no way shape of form a diagnosis of DID or multiple personalities nor is it an accurate depiction of said mental disorders or illnesses. This is purely fictional. If you are triggered by old medical horror please don’t read. If you identify anything you think should be added to the warnings and triggers let me know so I can warn others.

“The patients on this ward are docile, they won’t hurt you” the nurse explained, smiling softly. It was your first day, you were a fresh new nurse and it was safe to say you were a little scared of your new working environment. “The only one we want you to look out for is um, the patient in room number 10” 

“Number 10?” you repeated. 

“Let me introduce you to some of them.” You had already met some, there was a group who thought they were kittens and puppies and it was adorable. “Hyuka, don’t scratch the mattress” the head nurse chided before guiding him to the bathroom. 

You heard a noise from room 10. It  sounded a lot like something fell. You walked over and quickly scanned over his chart. “Patient is manipulative, he can do whatever is needed to get what he wants, compulsive sexual behaviour, the patient has two prominent altering personalities, Taehyung and V. When the patient addresses himself as V it is best to leave.”

You unlocked the door, peering inside you saw him cuddling his pillow in deep slumber. He seemed to have knocked something off from the bedside table in his sleep. You sighed softly before walking over, trying not to wake him while doing so. 

He had a beautiful face. It was honestly making you feel self conscious to be around him, you fought the urge to brush your hand through his soft curls and crouched down to pick the book up off the floor. 

You stayed crouched whilst examining the book. It seemed to be a comic book you concluded, a famous one that you knew of. You moved to put it back to its original place. As you were about to stand you turned to the patient to see his eyes open, staring directly at you. 

“Hello?” He yawned rubbing his eyes “I am Taehyung”

“Hello Taehyung, I was just picking up your book, how are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m tired, who are you?”

“I am the new nurse” you smiled as he sat up rubbing his hand over his arm casually scratching an itch.

“You are new, that’s exciting” he smiled sitting up properly on his hospital bed showing his impeccable manners “What’s your name?”

“My name is Nurse Y/L/N,” you said with a soft smile trying to appear friendly. From the hall you heard the head nurse call out.

“Kim Namjoon, please don’t try to escape this morning. We are about to serve breakfast okay? You know breakfast is important to fuel that big brain of yours, so sit back down while I will get you a book. How does that sound?”

You turned to look at the door which was still a fraction open, when a hand touched your hair.  Your body went stiff, heart racing in fear. You had turned your back on him. One of the most important things to remember on your first day and you had to let him get the upper hand. 

“Your hair is really pretty, I like the colour” he smiled and you turned, giving him a polite and gentle smile. 

“Thank you Taehyung, you are so sweet” you smiled. “Are you hungry? I can bring your breakfast in, if you would like?”

“I have to shower first, I have a schedule; shower, breakfast and then I get to do some activities” he said 

“Nurse y/n?” The head nurse said “is everything okay?”

“Yes of course Taehyung and I are just talking, he is telling me about his schedule” you smiled 

“Well aren’t you nice this morning Taehyung,”

“Hello Taehyung, are you ready for your shower?'' the male nurse appeared at the door smiling. Stepping past you he uncuffed the patient's ankle chain that restrained him to the bed, there was raw skin where the metal dug into his flesh and some blood stains on the corner of the sheet. 

“You must be the new nurse. I am Jihoon, a resident nurse on the ward, if you need any help, or there is something you're not comfortable with you can call me,” he grinned, shaking your hand. You thought you heard Taehyung scoff which made you blink up at him curiously. You shrugged it off thinking maybe it was all in your head. 

“My name is Y/n,” you prompted yourself to move on, “it’s nice to meet you” 

“Nurse Y/n, could you get some spare clothes and bring them back?” Jihoon asked softly, “Tae’s clothes are in the green cube on the shelf.”

You went along the corridor and found the cubed shelves. Each cube seemed to have a coloured basket, the green one had Kim Taehyung written on it. “Hello?” A voice called behind you, you turned to see two young men sitting playing cards at a table. 

“Hello, my name is nurse y/n, What are your names?”

“My name is Hoseok” the man laughed

“And I am Jungkook-ah” the other said sweetly “we are roommates, will you sit with us at lunch?”

“I will have to see if I am allowed. I don’t want to get in trouble,” you grinned before waving and heading back to Taehyung’s room where you heard the sound of banter coming from the bathroom. 

“You don’t want to miss breakfast,” Jihoon said standing in the doorway, keeping a lookout for any sudden movements. “Oh Y/n! Thanks, you can leave the clothes anywhere”

You took it upon yourself to make the bed and tried to disregard the blood and other intimate stains on the white sheets. You looked up and caught sight of Taehyung in the reflection of the mirror, he was watching you. His eyes were not wide with curiosity as you thought it would be, no rather they were hooded with something darker. 

“Nurse Jihoon, I am almost finished with my shower” he moaned, still staring at your reflection, you saw how his arm shook and how his lips fell open in ecstasy. “I just have to finish this, it would be quicker if it wasn’t my own hand for a change”

Once the bed was made you ran off into the hall trying to ignore the sounds and clear the images from your head. 

You helped serve breakfast and smiled sitting with the two young men from earlier. The nurse who showed you around had approved of the two boys, saying they were harmless. She did however have a bit of a laugh, “this one is Hoseok and that one isn’t Jungkook, his name is Jimin, they are roommates one has narcolepsy and the other is a pathological liar”

You sat down, talking with them about their card game and laughed at some of their jokes. Jimin promised you the world and told you sweet nothings. He even proposed to you several times, you concluded he was a shameless flirt. 

“Hey Jiminie?” Taehyung said walking over, and brushing his fingers along Jimin's neck, “you want to play a game of cards?”

“I can't, I have to go to a photoshoot today.” He said before standing up, “I should get ready.”

“What a shame, maybe next time?” He smirked. The boy across the table started to draw frantically. You looked over and saw it was a general shape and the clothes and hair were that of Taehyungs but the face was distorted. You hummed at the boy's work.

“Nurse, the young ones are going to play outside.” The head nurse in charge of this ward announced, eyeing Taehyung carefully. “Would you be so kind as to watch over them? Please make sure they don’t eat anything strange.”

“Of course. I will be back in a little while,” You told the boys, they were so cute, it was like playing make believe but there was no turning it off. They really thought they were cats and dogs and you loved them already despite it only being your first day. You wanted to protect them while they were in this headspace no matter what.

Looking up at the second floor of the hospital you saw Taehyung pressed against the glass looking down at you. He seemed to be angry at the fact that you were playing with the boys. You saw him get dragged away from the glass and you could not help but feel concerned, hoping he hadn’t gotten hurt.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day he had been confined to his room and when you walked past all you could hear was crying and begging. You went to open the door but Jungkook, the silent patient grabbed your wrist gently. He handed you two sketches one was labeled Taehyung and it was him smiling and looking happy and genuinely adorable. The other was labeled V and it was the distorted picture from the morning. You flicked through the rest of the book and saw the others drawn, they looked a little different from real life but you knew who was who. The five young boys were drawn as cats and dogs making you smile.

The next day started a little differently, your shift started at lunch and you saw Taehyung sitting at the table looking forlorn, he was bandaged and looked weak. “They sedated him yesterday”,one of the nurses gossiped, “apparently he was trying to come onto one of the nurses working yesterday”

“I wish it was me, I would let him do whatever he wants,” Another nurse whispered back, you ignored them as you walked over and smiled “Good afternoon, how are you all feeling today?”

“Nurse y/n! You are here” Namjoon said, “Tell me, do you have any books to read at home?”

“I have a small bookshelf, why?”

“Well, I am bored and I would like some more books to read” He said and you hummed, “How about instead I tell you a story little by little so you have things to think about throughout the day?”

He reluctantly accepted and you started the story. There was a small giggle at one of the jokes made by Taehyung and you smiled, he looked so tired and soft in his little blanket, his wrists and ankles bandaged.

You were there for a while and the group began playing different card games, you had to explain some of the games and they picked up the concept quickly.

Taehyung left after a while, yawning while stating he was too tired to continue playing and the boys waved goodbye to him. 

Jimin who just yesterday was afraid of him, walked him to his room, practically carrying Taehyung on his back while singing that they were soulmates.

It was odd because Taehyung didn’t seem that strange and when he did it wasn’t as extreme as people made it out to be. You had noticed Taehyung was a sweet boy, whilst V was just a little more forward and flirty. 

Sure he still had his tendencies to do inappropriate things but you tried to ignore those moments and be professional at all times. 

The problem was they began haunting you at night and you were finding it hard to keep your fantasies at bay. He was charming, flirty, and pleasing to the eye, could you really be blamed for being attracted to him? 

The first time you met V and you mean really met V was when you were greeting him one morning and he sat there smirking at you. 

“Hey there bad kitty, you want some milk?” He had his hand wrapped around his hard shaft. It was thick and the tip was an angry red, oozing out precum.  “I want to give you all my milk, but you're a bad kitty and won’t take it”

You tried repressing the images from your head, squeezing your thighs together for some sort of friction, nothing has ever aroused you and made you this wet so quickly. Ignoring him as he jerked off on the bed you continued your act of nonchalance at his actions. You picked up his clothes off the floor and placed them in the wash basket. 

You dodged his hand reaching out to grab you and he frowned before going back to his previous task. You cleaned his bedside table, he was becoming very vocal and more profoundly dirty as time went on. He had resorted to explaining everything about what he wanted to do to you in great detail. 

Your underwear was soaked at this point and you were finding it hard to breath. You had to leave right then, you didn't know how long you could remain professional. You moved to pick up the book that had fallen off the bed, losing focus of your distance from the bed. You were briskly reminded when he took a firm grip of your hair. 

Fuck. 

You cursed at yourself, you made a huge mistake letting your guard down. Stupid stupid stupid. He pulled you up by your hair. “Open your mouth.” He growled as he came on your face. You watched him as his face contorted he growled and came hard as you kept your mouth firmly shut. When he finally finished he let go of your hair. 

“You wasted my milk bad kitty” he huffed watching you clean your face in the sink before you promptly rushed out of his room. 

Taehyung sat confused after breakfast. He took a puzzle and started working, “You okay Tae?”

“Oh hey, yeah I am just working on this puzzle, I am just a little confused” he smiled as the two of you sat and started working on the puzzle. It was a basket of kittens. 

“This one looks like you” he laughed “you are a kitty”

The words and context were so innocent but you couldn’t help but remember what happened that morning and you glanced at the young man from the corner of your eye. 

“What did he do?” Taehyung asked

“It was nothing you should be worried about” you smiled patting his head. “We should only worry about finishing this puzzle”

The night shift was different, you ate dinner with the residence and you all sat and watched a movie afterwards. It was a general audience movie with nothing bad in it. 

Taehyung leant his head on your shoulder as everyone else including the other nurses sat watching the movie as well. The male nurse was sitting with the five young boys. They laid their heads in his laps and he gave them pets on their backs, trying to give all of them equal attention, otherwise one would whine and rub their heads into his arms. 

The female nurse sat with Namjoon painstakingly discussing the movie instead of actually watching it. You and Taehyung were wrapped up in his blanket and you felt his hand start slithering down towards one of your thighs rubbing it tenderly. You glanced at him to see him smirking at you, “You’re such a bad kitty aren’t you?” 

His hand slipped under your dress and into your underwear. His finger grazed your clit gently making you shift in your seat. Taehyung snickered as you bit back a moan, he moved inconspicuously a little closer and whispered in your ear. His voice was deep and barely audible, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“You are a bad kitty aren’t you?” He pressed his nose against your neck and inhaled deeply, “Bad kitty smells nice”

Your mouth fell open, a silent gasp escaping as he pushed a single digit inside of you, “Taehyung, stop” You warned him and he chuckled darkly.

“I am not Taehyung, I am V” He took your free hand under the blanket and brushed it against his dick, letting out a small satisfied moan. He tried to pry your fingers open but you refused, he growled lowly and pushed another digit inside you. Whilst you were distracted he slid himself into your closed fist letting it mould around his shaft.

Unintentionally your fingers clenched around his boner as he gently guided your hand along his length back and forth. You kept your mouth firmly shut but it didn’t seem to stop the feelings from building, you were panting softly, the wet sounds coming from between your legs becoming more audible to you and you sighed in relief when you sawa loud action scene was underway in the movie. 

He pumped his fingers and moved your hand faster as his breathing became sporadic. V turned to you, biting your shoulder hard and coming into your hand. Without hesitation V pressed his thumb against your clit as he pumped his finger into you harder and you came, your body almost doubling over in pleasure.

“You are a bad kitty” He grinned, pushing your hand to your mouth “Lick your milk.”

“No,” You muttered seemingly uninterested and his smile disappeared.

“Bad, bad kitty” He watched as you got up and left.

As the days passed you understood more and more the difference between Taehyung and his counterpart V. You loved Taehyung, he was such a sweet boy who could do no wrong, but, you longed for the thrill of V, it took everything in your power to refuse his advances. 

An easy way to establish who you were talking to was their nicknames for you, Taehyung called you a Kitty after that fateful day of doing a puzzle together. Whereas V called you Bad Kitty for reasons unknown.

One day during the night shift you heard Taehyung crying. Stepping into the room you saw how he wiped his eyes quickly, feigning that he was okay. “Hey, Taehyung, tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing please, you can go?” He sniffled, choosing to ignore his request you got closer and sat on the edge of his bed concerned.

“I am here now, I want to know what has got you so upset?”

He looked up at you innocently. The bedside lamp was his only source of light and it was quite dull. It made the room feel small as the shadows waited on the edge.

“I remember less and less, V is taking over and I can’t remember things, the boys sometimes get really nervous with me, Jungkook’s pictures are horrific.” He sniffed, “I have never been with a lady, let alone kissed someone and he has done such vulgar things”

You leaned over and kissed him before leaning back and smiling softly, “You have kissed a girl now”

He was frozen, fingers slowly pressing to his lips in shock, “Wait, nurse can I um, can you kiss me again a real kiss, I want to know what it feels like” 

You knew you shouldn’t have but you let him. Yet you kissed him and he kissed back, it was soft and timid. He pulled back, “That was amazing, if I was just a normal person. Would there be a chance that you would ever like me, Kitty?”

“I would.” You smiled brushing his hair back and smiling at the innocence in his eyes.

“Would you let me take you out to dinner?” He asked softly, you nodded “Would you let me kiss you and maybe even spend the night together?”

You nodded and he frowned, “I wish I was normal, I just want to be normal” He cried into your shoulder hugging you and as you held him he kissed you softly. You didn’t have the heart to stop him with how gentle and kind he was. He pleaded sadly, “Please, just once, just tonight”

You were helpless to the look in his eyes and you shut his door climbing onto his bed where you kissed him, touching his body as he did the same. The light tinkling of his ankle cuff was the only thing keeping you alert to any possible dangers. But he was gentle. Taehyung wasn’t V.

“Does this feel okay?” He whispered “I am not hurting you?”

Riding him was like a dream, he guided you with his hands on your hips and you felt his heart racing against your hands that were on his chest. Right before he was going to finish, you got off and took him in your mouth, you weren’t going to take any risks without any condoms.

“Yes kitty,” he whispered as he grabbed your head and came. You managed to pull away and he came all over the two of you causing him to frown, “bad kitty you got us all dirty”

Alarm bells rang but he still looked so innocent and carefully wiped your face with a tissue, apologizing the whole time. Taehyung helped you dress and even helped you tie up your hair. “I am really thankful that you helped me experience something, I won’t tell anyone, I don’t want you to lose your job or anything”

“It’s okay, Taehyung, I trust you.” He gave your hand an affectionate squeeze and you slipped out the room before people would start to suspect something.

You and Taehyung spend the next few days bonding, he warns you when he feels himself slipping away and you have enough time to prepare before V emerges. Whilst painting in the garden Taehyung is talking about all the things he loves, his favourite style of music and his favourite colour and the two of you talk about what you would do if you could do anything.

On your way back Taehyung is telling you about a new electrotherapy that has been said to remove alternate persona’s from one's mind. “It is worth a shot don’t you think?”

“It sounds a little scary, what if something goes wrong, what if you die?” you asked

“I would rather die than spend my whole life in this ward trapped in my own body because someone else is taking control of me, making me do things I don’t want to” He exclaimed, laughing almost bitterly.

“Sorry Taehyung, I didn’t know” You whispered “It’s not something I can truly comprehend.”

“That’s right because you are perfect and everything is normal,” He hissed getting aggravated, he was being restrained when he panicked and started apologizing. “Wait I am sorry, I am sorry, please let me go.”

He was taken to his room and your heart felt like it was breaking, he was afraid of himself and he wanted to get better. He was alone, longing for someone to love him for who he was. Could you be that for him perhaps?

After dinner you went to the room to see him, he was hunched over his shoulders shaking as he sniffled, “I’m sorry,” his voice was small. You stepped over and touched his shoulder, his hand came up and squeezed yours. “You should go, I am not the person you should be with”

“I want to stay, I want to be with you. If there was a way, I would love to get married, have a family and live happily ever after.”

His grip tightened and the sniffling turned to laughter, you were pulled on top of him, his grip was harsh, “You want to get married, my bad kitty, you want me to put some babies inside you?”

You were grabbed and one of the male nurses sedated him, you were crying and you left the room, “I just tried to comfort Taehyung, I am fine I was just startled and scared. I will go for a shower and I will head home for the night.”

You came back to work the next day but you didn’t step foot into Taehyung’s room. You spoke over meals with everyone and he was his usual nice and gentle self. He told everyone that he was getting electroshock therapy. He was saying if it all went successful he would be allowed out of the asylum and allowed to live like a normal human again. 

It took three whole weeks before you had willingly stepped into Taehyung's room, it was his first interview about him and his illness they were recording data to compare with afterwards. You walked him to his interview and walked him back, opening his door and stepping inside.

The door shut behind you and you knew he was behind you. The number one rule is don't let the patient block your exit. And here you were stuck in the room blocked in by Taehyung. 

“Hey Taehyung, you want to play another game of cards” you said, watching him look at the door shoulders hunched over. He slowly turned, looking up with a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

“I’m not Taehyung.” he said,his face void of any expression. 

“Who are you, then?”

“You know who I am!” He shouted before reigning himself back in, “I am V, I am the one that scares you bad kitty, that day when they sedated me, I almost had you” 

“You liked what I said though didn’t you, you pressed your thighs together and the sweet scent of arousal filled the room. You want to get fucked and you want it hard” he said, gripping you by the hair and pushing you so your chest is flat against the bed. 

You wanted it, god you wanted it and he knew it, but you would get fired. As if reading your thoughts V softly whispered into your ear, “you can blame me if they come in sweetheart, no one has to know you were willing, just tell me you want it”

“I can’t” you whined into the bed cursing that you couldn’t. 

“You let Taehyung fuck you but not me?” He pressed himself against you letting you feel how hard you made him.

“Because Taehyung was sweet,” and upset. You were trying to comfort him and had forgotten you were at work, but you didn’t say the last bit out loud.

“Listen to me. Taehyung doesn’t control me but I can control him, that was all me, you know it because I called you by my nickname. Didn’t he call you bad kitty that day?”

You looked at him in shock as he continued, all the while lifting your dress and pulling down your soaked underwear, “That’s right it was me all along so what’s the harm if we try it again?”

“Fuck me, please” you moaned throwing caution to the wind, if you lost your job then so be it. 

He pushed himself into you in a single, hard thrust and you felt your walls stretch around him. He felt bigger then Taehyung but that had to be impossible.

Where one was timid and soft, he was rough and ferocious, his hips pistoned in and out as he fucked you hard. He was vocal and unrefined, he didn’t have any other thought except the primal urge to fuck you. The lewd sounds bounced off of the walls as he pounded into you. He thrusted deep, you could feel him deep inside in your inner walls.

You were drooling, biting the blankets on his bed clutching them between your fists trying to muffle the sounds you were making. 

Taehyung had thrust hard one last time before you felt heat spreading inside you and your eyes shot open, “Fuck, Tae what about a condom?”

“You are mine.” he growled, punctuating each of his words with a thrust as he went, leaving you a writhing mess. 

You quickly got dressed and stormed into the staff bathroom and took a shower.

You changed your clothes and hurried home. You spent the night huddled in your blankets crying yourself to sleep. 

You left for a while after that incident, you spent christmas and new years with your family and when you came back you went back to working right away. The shift was awkward as Taehyung kept staring at you, you didn’t know what it meant but you tried to pay it no mind. The end of your first week back was the day Taehyung would undergo Electroshock therapy.

When it came around you walked him to the theatre and stayed in the hall, you didn’t want to witness it but you wanted to be there by him as soon as it was over. What you didn’t expect was the screaming. What felt like after an eternity but was only half an hour later they stepped out wheeling Taehyung on a gurney, he didn’t look so good. 

It took awhile but Taehyung was starting to grow stronger and he would chat and seemed to be getting healthier and there was no sign of V. You were extremely happy and a month later he was reviewed and approved for discharge from the asylum. He was finally moving in with you and you two were going to live together and start a family.

He waved to the boys but they hadn’t stopped crying all morning, they didn’t say a word, only sobbing more when Taehyung hugged them before leaving. “I wish I could take you all with me,” He said, wiping his eyes.

Taehyung moved in and you two started decorating the apartment to make it more homey. You were cooking dinner for him one night, everything was going well so far, it had been two months since his discharge and the two of you were happy.

“We could try for a baby, if you wanted?” Taehyung shuffled his feet looking at the ground. You giggled, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom, he undressed you and laid you on the bed before undressing and settling in between your legs. You hadn’t been intimate since Taehyung had been discharged from the asylum and it was just as amazing as you remembered, slow and sensual just like your first time with Taehyung. 

Taehyung lifted your hands above your head, kissing and licking your breasts. Panting against you when his hands tightened his grip around your wrists. His hips drove deeper inside you, he was soon going faster and harder pounding into you with all his force and you whined in pleasure. “Yes please.”

“Do you like that bad kitty?”

If you enjoyed this story don’t forget to Like | Reblog so others can enjoy it too.

[abundanceofnots]

Ficlet idea: Now that Mickey’s using kevs gym he’s been giving guys tips from his prison workouts. Ian is NOT happy about the level of attention he gets when he stops by one day

(You can read this fic here, or on AO3.)

So, the KevFit membership was still a thing. Cool.

And, okay, listen. It wasn’t that Ian minded Mickey going to the gym. Of course, he didn’t. It was just the way this whole thing came to be that Ian wouldn’t call ideal.

Mickey liked to say Ian body-shamed him into working out, and frankly, Ian could see why he would.

They gave each other shit all the time. Laughed about hairy toes, prodded at each other’s saggy parts. And when they were both in the right headspace, it was just that—provoking banter. But Mickey, being the sensitive creature that he was, sometimes took it too close to heart.

And yeah, maybe Ian nagged him a few too many times about staying healthy after the lockdown started when Mickey’s only method of balancing out his liquid beer diet was riding Ian’s dick. But by then, it felt like they’d been occupying the same 1x1 bedroom for years, so it wasn’t exactly Ian’s fault.

If Mickey decided to go about it this way, great. Seriously. It only meant that Ian didn’t need to worry about getting his knuckles bruised anytime soon. And while he secretly mourned the loss of Mickey’s soft belly, he wasn’t going to complain. Not when Mickey looked the way he did now.

The thought was on Ian’s mind again that morning while he brushed his teeth over the bathroom sink, using the time on his hands to watch his husband in the mirror as he showered.

The curtain was only partially closed, just enough so that Mickey wasn’t splashing water around the tub while still leaving space for Ian to see him.

And boy, did he see him.

His broad shoulders. His arms stretching as he ran his hands through his wet hair. The dimples on his back. The marks Ian left on his ass when they fucked earlier.

When Mickey turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, Ian found himself drawn to the little water droplets sliding over the Ian Galager tattoo and down his pecs, his abs, the V shape of his hips, and into his pubes.

Ian only realized he entirely forgot to move the toothbrush in his mouth when one corner of Mickey’s mouth curled into a teasing smirk.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, sounding smug as hell as he reached for his towel.

“Definitely not your ugly mug.”

Coming out all muffled, Ian’s words lost some of their intended edges. He angled himself back to the sink and spat.

“You have the tits of a 12-year-old girl,” he added quickly like there was a five-second rule for when you could still save your diss. He looked up just in time to see Mickey scrunch his face in mild outrage.

“Fuck off, these are C cups at least.”

“Like you're such an expert on those.”

Ian let out a low yelp as Mickey unexpectedly smacked his back, right around where his Monica tattoo was.

“Well, they're not your mom's tits, that's for sure,” Mickey noted through a sneer.

He then went back to drying himself, and Ian allowed himself to openly gawk at his slightly misty reflection again.

Several mechanical strokes of his toothbrush later, the thought came back, clouding his mind with an ugly feeling.

The intuitive thing would be to push it back and pretend like everything was okay, but they were married now and told each other shit, right? He had to say something.

“Going to the gym again today?” Ian asked eventually, trying to come off as noncommittal as he could with his mouth full and his eyes trained on the drain.

Obviously, he didn’t mind getting horny over his buff husband. No, the actual reason Ian was so bothered about all this was that other people now had free reigns to get horny over him as well.

You see, since Mickey started paying Kev’s gym his regular visits, he’d managed to attract a flock of followers. Fucking fans.

That, at least, was what Ian called them. Mickey, of course, didn’t see it like that. For him, they were paying customers.

“It’s easy money, man. And the crowd’s gettin’ bigger and bigger every week.” Mickey looked pleased as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Anyway, it’s not like I have to do much. Most of the time, I just do my thing, and the bunch of ‘em stare at my ass.”

Ian bent forward and spat.

“So basically, they pay to jerk off your ego,” he pointed out, slumping his shoulders to show how totally unimpressed he was by that notion.

“’Xactly. And maybe something else, too.”

Mickey’s cackle followed him out into the hallway as he left Ian alone in the bathroom.

---

It was clearly a joke. A nasty joke that was supposed to leave a sting, but there was absolutely no need for Ian to worry. And he kept telling himself that all day—right until the moment he entered the badly-lit backroom of the Alibi and found himself in the company of a pack of Northsiders in designer label gym clothes.

Before he could spot Mickey anywhere among them, some blond guy in what seemed like an uncomfortably too tight a tank top came to his side.

„Looks like we have a newcomer in our midst.” The guy clicked his tongue, giving Ian an blatant once-over. “You here for the Mickeffect?”

„The what?“

„The Mickeffect. That’s what we call this class. Unofficially, of course, because the class is sorta kinda unofficial, too.” At that, he sniggered, which Ian immediately found annoying. “3pm, every Tuesday and Thursday. You from the Facebook group?”

Ian resisted the urge to scoff. “Uh, no.”

“Just lucky coincidence, then? Well, since you’re already here, I think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. The dude who leads this class is ex-con, so he knows all the right ways to abuse the body if you know what I mean.”

Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, Ian smiled politely and nodded. He wasn’t going to give this blond douchebag the satisfaction and punch him in the face. Not yet, at least.

“Hot as hell, too. And man, that ass. Simply de-licious. The whole thing actually only went off after I posted a video of him doing squats. Got 50k views in a day, a whole article on PinkNews a week later. The title was The Ex-con Hunk Who Makes Chicagoans Sweat Like Crazy – And Then Tells Them Off. Funny.”

The guy shrugged in this wannabe innocent you know how it is way. Ian was relieved to realize he really, really didn’t.

“We get new people all the time, but the return rate is terrible,” Blond Douchebag continued, amazingly. “Most of the boys come for Mickey but then leave with someone else. Maybe you’ll get lucky here, too.”

“I’m married,“ Ian retorted, hoping it would be enough to make him stop talking.

But Blond Douchebag didn’t even blink. “Yeah, so are some of the guys here. And he is, too, but I don’t think he’s the typa guy who would be deterred by that.“

Careful there, pal, Ian thought. Or you might find your pretty face landing very unprettily on a beer keg.

“Oh, hey!“

The familiar voice came out of nowhere, prematurely ending Ian’s plans to show this complete dickwad the practical meaning of the word concussion.

His head snapped to his right where Mickey was now standing, his eyes carefully roaming over Ian. There was a softness in them for a moment before his whole face morphed into a smirk.

„Came to learn something from the expert?” he teased.

Ian clenched his jaw. “Something like that.”

As Mickey moved past them, Blond Douchebag gave Ian a sly wink.

---

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of problems the snooty Northsiders could possibly be dealing with in their private lives, but this whole thing seemed to have almost therapeutical effects on them.

Mickey called them Ansel Elgort (not a compliment) or White Kanye West (also not a compliment) while he listened to their crap, and they giggled like teenage girls. He yelled at them for being pussies, and they were only a touch away from popping a boner. It made zero fucking sense.

And Mickey, well. The dickhead was so clearly giving them an upgraded version to his usual performance. Biting his bottom lip all the time. Flexing his muscles a little too hard. Grabbing everyone’s attention by letting out these exaggerated grunts.

Ian officially reached his bullshit limit when Mickey finished off a set of pull-ups and promptly took his shirt off to wipe his face. The way everything around him seemed to come to a stop for a hot minute had Ian’s eyes rolling.

It was totally ridiculous. Were these guys really so desperate?

Getting a better grip on the skipping rope he was using, Ian caught Mickey watching him, his brows arched, the dare behind them so plain and obvious.  

And yeah, okay, asshole. Two could play this game.

“You know what,” Ian started out loud so everyone could hear him. He let the rope fall to his feet and instead tugged his own shirt off. “We did things a little differently in the army.”

His grin widened when he heard one of the guys audibly gulp.

---

“Fifty!”

“One hundred!”

“Fuck off, you can’t do one hundred push-ups in one go.”

“With one hand behind my back.”

Maybe kneeling on the feet of two wheezing guys doing sit-ups wasn’t the best time to have a whispered shouting match with your husband, but honestly, Ian couldn’t give two shits. Mickey was seriously pissing him off—and like hell was he going to let him win. Even if it was just this one petty argument.

“You need stamina when you’re the top. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to do all the fucking work while the bottom just lies there.”

“Oh, oh, please! Tell us more about your workouts in the army. Was this before or after you tried to run away from there by stealing a damn helicopter?”

They were suddenly aware that their periphery vision got surprisingly still. Almost in tandem, they looked down at the alarmed expressions of their trainees.

“Did I fuckin’ tell you to stop, Asthma Boy?” Mickey grumbled at his guy. “Gimme three more sets of twenty!”

---

Blond Douchebag must have taken a genuine liking to him because he later offered to cover Ian as he pounded into the punching bag. And while he technically did hold onto the punching bag, his eyes were always on Mickey.

“Wonder who Ian is,” he mused as he observed Mickey’s topless form. “Think it’s the husband? Probably doesn’t even realize what a hot piece of ass he’s got at home.”

Too easy. It would be entirely too easy to pretend Ian’s hand slipped and he hit him by mistake, and he wasn’t going to stoop that low. He wasn’t.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian started punching harder.

He wasn’t.

“Everything okay here?”

Mickey had his shirt tucked under the elastic band of his pants, and from the corner of his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of sweat that covered his face and upper body. He wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, more than okay,” Blond Douchebag practically purred.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Whoa, Ian, hey.” Mickey sounded worried. “Take it easy, man.”

And fucking finally, that seemed to have done the job. Because Blond Douchebag wasn’t looking at Mickey anymore, he was looking back at Ian, and his bravado was long gone. Now, there was childlike fear in his stance, and Ian almost pitied him.

“Oh shit. You’re Ian,” he managed before the next punch landed right into his face, knocking him down on the floor.

Panting, Ian stood over him as he clutched his bleeding nose.

“Yes, I’m Ian,” he snarled at him. “And his ass is all mine.”

Someone gripped his arm then.

“Okay, the show’s over, Muhammad Ali. Better get out of here,” Mickey muttered as he pushed Ian across the gym, past all the Northside wimps who seemed too tired to do anything other than being in shock. “Come on. Ian, come the fuck on!”

From the Alibi, they ran. Sprinted along the streets and over honking cars, zig-zagged through commuters, and flipped off those who wolf-whistled at their half-naked bodies. They ran until they ended up in a dirty alley with no one else in sight, their sides on fire, and broke into a fit of laughter.

Ian only realized Mickey brought his shirt when he used it to slap his chest.

“Jealous fucker.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t jealous.”

But Mickey was still wearing that suggestive whatcha gonna do now smirk, and his lips were shiny from being licked over just a second ago, and so the next thing Ian knew, he was pushing him against a wall and kissing him thoroughly.

His hands went to Mickey’s ass, lifting him up just slightly as his fingers dug in, and Ian pulled back to let out a moan.

“Mm, I fuckin’ love your ass.”

Mickey groaned. “Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me all of this was because of my ass.”

Leaning down again, Ian murmured into his mouth: “Isn’t it always?”

[anika-ann]

In the Spotlight (S.R)

Type: One-shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader    Word Count: 5050

Summary: The one where Tony pushes Steve into a photoshoot, rubbing his hands and smirking at such action being almost a practical joke; a great way to make Cap squirm for a good cause.

Well, the joke just might turn out to be on him.

Warnings: mention of child cancer patients and disabled kids, Tony being a bit of an ass, attempt at humour, some language

A/N: The idea is a courtesy from a wonderful person, chase-your-dreams-away who always saw Chris’ FILA 2015 photoshoot as Steve showing he actually can pose. Thank you, sweet! This one’s for you!

(gif not mine)

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷*✧⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

“Ah, Cap! Just the guy I wanted to see!”

Tony’s voice reached Steve’s ears just as he entered the kitchen after his morning run and shower, his heart skipping a beat, his whole body instantly on alert; he wanted nothing but to spin on his heels and walk right back to where he came from.

It wasn’t that he dreaded to hear there was a mission; that would be fairly alright even if it meant that the world was once again a terrible place with horrible people who needed to be stopped in it. No, Steve’s fright was caused by something else entirely.

You see, living in the Avengers Tower meant spending extended periods of time in Tony Stark’s company. Spending extended periods of time in Tony’s company meant that one would learn how to recognize certain situations; Steve could easily tell when the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist had pulled an all-nighter in his lab, when he was in a long-term fight with Pepper, when he was annoyed, when he was delighted.

And this right here, the ‘Just the guy I wanted to see!’, that meant nothing good – certainly not for the guy in question. Tony seemed awfully excited, beaming in a manner that told Steve that his friend was about to revel in the discomfort he was about to cause to him.

God help him.

Steve forced himself to continue walking, a tight mile on his lips.

“Morning to you too, Tony. What’s the matter?”

The man behind the legendary Ironman suit blatantly wiggled a finger at Steve, smirking; a clear sign that he already had his coffee, possibly with two shots of espresso.

“Morning. Glad you asked. You’re free in the afternoon, right?—Yeah, I already checked the agenda you keep with Jarvis-“ Make that three shots of espresso. Also, incredibly RUDE. But guess that what one gets when living in a building ran by an artificial intelligence. “-so I set up an appointment like four weeks ago-“

Steve shook his head, raising his hand in attempt to stop the rapid fire of words coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Tony, hold on a second-“

“What?” the billionaire snapped, frowning. He hated being interrupted.

“First of all, I don’t have to share all my plans with Jarvis-“

“But you do. Sorry to break it to you, but you have no social life to keep under wraps.” Ruder. “…or do you have a hot date today?”

Steve was so embarrassed and so frustrated with the man that he was tempted to say yes just because. To make a point. But from the two men in the room, he was the less petty one, so he told him the truth.

“Well, no-“

“See? No problem here-“

“Yes there is!” Steve protested, crossing his arms on his chest as anger started to build there. “I could have had plans! You need to consult things with me! It’s about principle!”

Tony eyed Steve, unimpressed, his right brow arched. “Really? Principle? We’re gonna go there? I don’t think so. Aren’t you curious what the appointment is about?”

Steve sighed exasperatedly, so not done with the conversation Tony so carelessly dismissed, but he in fact was curious, wanting to be prepared for whatever insanity the man came up with.

Tony planning stuff usually equalled Pepper planning stuff, or both of them together, except Pepper had a habit of asking first before confirming the plans and setting appointments. Also, plans by Pepper usually equalled PR. Steve wasn’t too fond of PR stuff, genuinely hating shaking hands with politicians with smiles as fake as their election slogans.

“What’s the appointment about, Tony?” Steve asked to humour his not-exactly-a-friend-at-the-moment.

Tony smirked once again, a hint of mischief flashing in his dark irises.

“Feeling pretty today, Rogers?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, his muscles tensing; that sounded even worse than he had imagined.

“Huh?”

“Cause you’re gonna promote a new sports collection. You better start posing in front of the mirror to get your head in the game,” he mocked lightly, just as Steve predicted, basking in the horror that overtook Steve’s very being along with utter disbelief.

“What? Why?”

Steve did not enjoy being photographed. It usually involved ‘striking a pose’ or whatever the kids called it these days and once again, strained insincere smiles. Yeah, he was more than alright to take a picture with a fan if they were a kid who looked up to him. But other than that? Ugh.

“Come on! Lighten up, Rogers! It’s for charity!” Tony called out, stepping closer to pat Steve’s bicep. “Uh-huh, firm, good.”

Please let me leave, Steve begged the heavens, unsure if Tony was actually fawning over his muscles – serum-induced and supported by hard work, thank you very much – or if he was mocking Steve again.

“But seriously, it’s for charity that deals with enabling the disabled kids to do sports, any kind that’s possible with their impairment really. From some sort of a football to marathons or archery or whatever. It’s for a good thing.”

Steve felt the tension in his shoulders partly subdue, relaxing a bit. For one, that did sound like a good cause and for two, there was a barely noticeable change in Tony’s voice, just a little waver in his tone, giving away that for all the smirking and nudging and shit-talking, the genius cared for people and had a heart. Having a heart - Tony Stark’s most heavily guarded secret.

Steve sighed, his previously lost appetite returning.

“Alright, Tony. Where, when and what do I need to do?”

The other man patted his bicep again, this time in a truly friendly manner and grinned. “I’ll let Jarvis give you the details. You just try not to screw it up. Seriously, train how to smile in front of a mirror or something. Some poses, whatever. The photographer looks pretty good – not just professionally, if you know what I mean-“

Steve couldn’t help the eyeroll at the remark, one that was followed by Tony’s scandalized insulted gasp as he slowly made his leave, gesturing.

“-so I guess you don’t have to worry… much. Not sure if there will be trunks involved. Or a speedo. So, you know, keep it in your pants and don’t look anywhere I wouldn’t… which isn’t leaving much-“

“Bye, Tony,” Steve called after him, resisting the urge to childishly cover his ears just so he wouldn’t have to listen to the dirty teasing.

“What, it’s a valid concern we don’t want a lawsuit form her--“

“Go before I rattle you out to Pepper,” Steve grunted and at that, the genius grimaced and swiftly disappeared in the doorway.

Steve once again sighed and decided that he might need a bit more carbs in his breakfast than originally planned just so he survived today.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷*✧⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

You weren’t kidding anyone – you were a teeny tiny bit nervous. Your career had been rather colourful, you dipped your fingers in many kinds of photography and you still enjoyed the diversity, the various pictures of beauty – and there was a lot of beauty in the world to be captured – still calling out to you.

You had met famous people before too and you always managed… but Captain America was a whole new level of a challenge. You were feeling equal parts worried and damn lucky for being picked for the job; a job you wouldn’t get a penny for. Shooting a thing like this for charity with a name as great as Steve Rogers, that wasn’t about money – not quick one at least. It was about prestige.  

On the other hand, you would get almost any props you’d think of, within reason, of course – just saying a word was enough. And you had a few, images already painted in your head as you read on Steven Grant Rogers a bit more, got a good look on pictures online, and obviously, saw the collection.

Thinking about it, maybe it was him who should be scared, because excitement was the leading emotion of yours for while now.

You saw him arrive, the chatter about it instantly spreading like fire. And honestly? He did look a bit spooked, so you took the liberty to knock on the room he was provided with, the stylists already in.

“Come in!” sounded from the inside and you took a deep breath, poking your head in – and deciding that entering fully was more polite since you were about to introduce yourself.

“Good afternoon,” you greeted him, only a showing a smidge of nerves on the outside, you hoped.

As you offered your name, the blond man – built like a tank, a very handsome tank, with the sweetest inviting smile and bright eyes – rose from his seat immediately, holding out a hand to shake, introducing himself as well as if it was necessary. It was a nice sentiment, however.

“Please, call me Steve. Something tells me that formalities would only get in the way,” he said with a slight curve to his lips and you felt yourself relax right away. He’d be excellent to work with. Now you really couldn’t wait.

“Then you must call me by my name too. Thank you for suggesting it,” you accepted delightfully, eyeing the pair of stylists you had met before on similar projects; this kind of business was all about knowing the right people. You nodded at them, grinning. “Now, Steve, I have a very important mission for you.”

The captain’s eyebrows jumped at your wording – and at your teasing. You scolded yourself lightly for your choice of words, unwittingly nudging him towards the wrong headspace. You didn’t need a soldier now, quite the opposite.

“Oh?”

“I need you to tell these two lovely people what amount of make-up and what hairstyle you’re comfortable with,” you explained, earning a slightly confused tilt of Steve’s head. “Sure, I have a certain visual in my head, I’m sure they have too.” You exchanged a knowing look with them. “But most of all I need you to feel good.  If you’re pressured into something you hate, we can’t work any magic there.”

Steve nodded in understanding, stiffly, and you had a hunch that he might have been pressured into this whole thing.

“But please don’t leave on us now,” you added quickly and he huffed a short laugh, bittersweet, letting you know that you were correct in your assumption.

“I won’t leave. But thank you for the tip.”

Gosh, he was so polite and had a subtle air of greatness around him (also known as BD energy these days), you could bask in his presence forever – but you had to work.

“All in days’ work. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Your heart skipped an excited beat when a twinkle appeared in his brilliant blue irises and you were done for.

You really hoped your hands wouldn’t shake; you’d hate for the pictures to be blurry.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷*✧⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Once you were in your own kingdom of wonders, all nerves vanished, only child-like giddiness remaining. However, same couldn’t be said about Steve; he entered the space, fidgeting – not too obviously, but visibly enough – eyes flickering all over the room as if he just arrived to a Wonderland indeed.

If you were being honest, such a hunk of a man appearing so endearingly lost… he was kinda adorable.

You felt the corners of your lips automatically rise at your silly thoughts and at the image of him. Besides adorable, he sure looked hot in the white jacket. Who knew sportwear could look so alluring?

“Looking good here, Steve,” you called out as he approached and upon meeting your eyes, he attempted a smile too – little too apprehensive on the edges for you to believe it was honesty and not sheer professional courtesy. “Clothes feel good?”

You could see his expression melt into pure puzzlement at such question, clearly not having expected it.

“Oh… uhm, yes. Thank you.”

“I meant what I said. I need you to be comfortable, Steve,” you reminded him softly, earning a rather frantic nod.

“I… am.”

You could practically hear the unspoken ‘sort of’. Well, it was a work in progress.

“Little steps. Alright, so… I’m gonna be talking a lot. Cut me off whenever I’ll be getting on your nerves too much, okay? We’ll start with this set-up, with this background, obviously. I need to you to just walk to the centre- good, now turn your head to the left—a bit more… perfect.” Not.

Uh-huh. Probably his first time; you should have figured, though a heads-up would be nice. You should have asked dammit. You chewed on your lower lip, gears in your head spinning wildly as you tried to assess him.

Mm.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

His head snapped back to you in surprise and you couldn’t but chuckle, mock-frowning at him. He realized his mistake and quickly looked away, returning to the pose you had attempted to set him into before – his beautiful profile now dusted with pink.

“The colour?” you encouraged him and started taking photos even if you knew you wouldn’t use them, not with his shoulders so stiff and his expression slightly twisted in confusion still – even if he apparently tried to look natural.

“Uhm, blue.”

His face relaxed a fraction and you smiled to yourself.

“More sky-blue or royal blue or something entirely else?” you continued, not at all surprised when a second later you learned that it was sky-blue.

You thought it might be because of his eyes and you wondered; perhaps his eyes were the only thing that hadn’t changed during the serum transformation. His eyes were last straw to grasp at when his whole body suddenly didn’t feel like his.

Or maybe he was moonlighting as an artist, appreciating all kinds of beauty like you did and knew his stuff.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen colour so well before his transformation and fell in love with the particular shade upon seeing the sky.

“Mm… ever had the time to appreciate the sight of the ocean? Breath-taking blue on the surface, matching the sky, reflecting the sunrays so sharp that it would make one squint—but you don’t, you can’t. Because damn, it’s so beautiful and you can feel the breeze in your hair, almost flowing between your fingers and you just have to keep your eyes open to commit to memory what it looks like, how it feels, the sand between your toes, the sun warm on your skin…”

You babbled on, your heart fluttering at how damn magnificent Steve looked now, gradually relaxing his posture, his eyes softening, the corners of his mouth subtly raised in a smile, not an artificial one, just a soft curve to his lips as he lost himself in a pleasant memory – or a daydream. You had to remind yourself to press the shutter release; it would be too easy to simply watch the man in front of you coming out of his shell, releasing his light and grace for everyone to see.

“Absolutely wonderful, Steve, thank you. Shall we move on?” you praised him softly and his absurdly long lashes fluttered as if he indeed woke up from a dream. He appeared to be a little lost again, but the smile remained on his lips.

“Of course. Where do you want me, ma’am-- I mean-“

“Oh hush!” you interrupted him rudely with a grin. He was too precious for words, resembling a puppy, all soft and loveable and  yet he was somehow so respectable; you’d have to watch yourself just so you wouldn’t fall in love with him in the short time you were given together. “No ma’am, we’ve been over this. Now…”

You instructed him to walk to the wall of a ‘beach house’, half of the background imitating the very beach you had described; you offered him a different jacket and a cap to hold in his hands, the item serving more than one purpose; one was the campaign, the other was to give him something to do with his hands.

For this picture, you had him looking at you, which made you fidget self-consciously for a change; this time, the story you came up with was to put both of you at ease.

At this point, Steve was an open book to you – or, well, open enough. You had done your reading on him a bit, sure, but now you truly started to see his personality – one of your favourite parts of doing photography coming into play.

“Alright. Posture is great. Now, do you often meet kids?”

Steve wasn’t as surprised at the question anymore, replying calmly, but almost without a thought.

“Yeah. We, uh, we sometimes go to the hospitals to make the patients’ day a bit better? It’s such a small thing to do, I know, for an oncological kid, but they are always delighted. And they are so brave, I feel like a—well, like a sucker compared to them.”

“Weren’t you sickly as a kid?” you questioned lowly and Steve’s gaze dropped as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his expression falling.

“Done your reading, huh?”

“The wonders of 21st century and our educational system. But I’m just bringing it up to make a point. I think that you can see them and that’s why they like you visiting so much. Something tells me that you can truly feel what they feel and they sense it – kids can be ridiculously intuitive. Maybe you share, I don’t know of course, but I think that somehow they just know and they see a fellow warrior who beat all the illnesses too. And they look up to you, because you give them hope. And not just sick kids. I bet you met a few kids claiming you’re their favourite superhero just because you have a frisbee.”

He chuckled at that and nodded, but you could see that what you had said before the funny bit touched him and it had been that part that had the desired effect – to pull him back where you wanted him, relaxed and positive.

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“You’re not everyone’s hero for nothing, Steve, you’ve done some pretty heroic stuff to begin with. But I think it’s what behind the shield that some people find even more inspiring. Be proud of that too.”

The perfect shot was taken and you couldn’t but recall the quote I once saw a man so beautiful I started crying, because yeah, you could weep now. You quickly stood up and took few more pictures, because it was too good of an opportunity to pass up on.

“And look at you, turning into a model so easily when it comes to helping people, again,” you teased him lightly while being nothing but honest.

As at ease as he appeared now, you’d think he was doing this on a regular basis. As if you hadn’t been trying to coax out his true self out for everyone to see in a simple photo just a few minutes ago.

His hands found their way into the pockets of temporarily his jacket, gaze falling to the floor before his eyes locked onto yours, grateful and gentle.

“I’m pretty sure that’s all you. Thank you for being so patient with me. I thought this would remind me of the old days when I-” He hesitated, blue eyes lightly misted with doubt, so you beckoned for him to continue to speak freely. You’d got into some pretty deep stuff yourself just a moment ago after all. “-when I was a lab experiment to show off.”

You nodded in understanding, even if you couldn’t imagine what was it like; then again, in your early days, you had met enough parents who came to your atelier to show off their trophy children, so this wasn’t exactly a foreign concept.  

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sure that however you hated doing it, you were giving people hope back then too. And it’s not right to reduce person to a symbol, but symbols were and are important. As long as there are people who are able to see beyond the simplification, then I think it’s worth it. Then again, I never was anyone’s dancing monkey, so…” you shrugged, internally cringing at being such a blabbermouth, afraid that you came too far, put Steve off and that he would withdraw back to his shell.

But he didn’t. He gifted you a brilliant smile, one reaching his eyes.

“And all this?” you hummed, vaguely gesturing around, hoping he’d catch on. “I’m glad if you like the way I work, but the pictures? That’s not me, Steve, that’s you. And all I hope for is to show people a little bit more of you, throwing away the shield and letting them see that Steve Rogers is just as radiant.”

The intensity of his gaze now was enough to make your heart stop beating, his expression suddenly unreadable and you quickly covered your mouth, an apology already spilling from your lips.

“I’m so sorry if this made you uncomfortable and I turned into one of the fawning fangirls, that wasn’t my intention. You have to stop me when I get too much-“

“You’re didn’t and you don’t,” he smiled kindly and shook his head, appearing genuine. “I just never met anyone like you. And I mean that in the good way, just to be clear.”

You felt your face burn; because of your TMI talk and his compliment.

“T-thank you,” you stuttered out, causing his smile to turn radiant indeed.

He kept watching you, silent, eyes roaming your face, irises blue and intense—when had he got so close? Or did you walk to him? He was positively prettier upon closer inspection, all sharp edges to his jaw, lips calling out with how damn soft they would be, not to even mention his hair, and oh, was that a drop of green in his eyes? Oh wow, you could drown in that single drop, surrounded by the most enticing shade of blue and--- you closed your eyes and cleared your throat, trying your best to ignore the tingle in your fingertips and in your gut, pleasant warmth in your core-

“We, uhm, we should probably go back to work,” you whispered, licking your lips as you once again glanced at his and you swiftly spun on your heels, desperately trying to remember what shots you wanted to take next and if it was time for him to change already- oh god, you couldn’t possibly handle the thought of him losing clothes…

His expression dimmed a fraction, an epitome of slipping back into politeness. “Of course. Tell me how you need me… ma’am,” he teased, subtle quirk to his lips and you felt your cheeks burn hotter— but your breathing got easier as he was letting you know that you were still alright.

You had a half-mind to call him a soldier in the same manner, but you didn’t want him to slip into that persona.

“Oh, you have no idea what you signed up for, Steven.”

He chuckled, but followed you as you walked to the next scenery.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷*✧⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

“What the hell, Rogers?!”

Tony’s voice reached Steve’s ears just as he entered the kitchen after his morning run and shower, his heart skipping a beat, his whole body instantly on alert; he wanted nothing but to spin on his heels and walk right back to where he came from.

Why?

You see, living in the Avengers Tower meant spending extended periods of time in Tony Stark’s company. Spending extended periods of time in Tony’s company meant that one would learn how to recognize certain situations; Steve could easily tell when the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist had pulled an all-nighter in his lab, when he was in a long-term fight with Pepper, when he was annoyed, when he was delighted.

And this right here, the ‘What the hell, Rogers?’, that meant nothing good – certainly not for the guy in question. Tony seemed awfully exasperated and perplexed at some of Steve’s past actions probably, and that usually meant a lot of uncomfortable questions coming his way.

God help him.

Yet, he sighed and walked in, preferring to face his fate right away and go about his day as soon as possible.

“What did I do?”

“Jarvis, if you could, please,” Tony requested with a solemn expression, one of his thin holographic devices lighting up on the counter and instantly projecting several floating images as Steve walked closer.

Steve’s lips parted in surprise, shocked ‘oh’ escaping them as his heart was sent into frenzy.

Twenty images in total, photos of a blond man of Steve’s own body-built, clad in sportswear posing in every single one of them. His face was familiar too and yet somehow foreign; surely these couldn’t be real. There was no way Steve looked so confident and almost proud in some pictures, but mainly, appearing so comfortable in his skin.

Steve’s mind raced as he tried to associate the model with his own person and yet—he couldn’t but feel rather satisfied. Because this was most definitely him. And the photos were… well, not bad at all. Simultaneously, while his chest puffed with pride he desperately attempted not to let go into his head, he remembered precisely how these photos came to existence and who should totally take the credit here.

“That’s all you gonna say?! Oh?” Tony demanded, gesturing around the holograms as if these were corpus delicti of a serious offence and Steve was once again reminded of what Tony Stark was not; a patient man.

Steve felt a smile creep onto his lips as he shrugged.

“Oh, he says. You’re asking me what did you do?! THIS! If I knew you were a damn runaway model, I would have expected less fun than I did when imaging seeing you squirm! Look at this! These are way too good!”

Steve couldn’t disagree, mildly amused at Tony’s antics. In fact, he really was ridiculously content with the results of something he had dreaded and couldn’t have even hoped to turn out like this.

“…is that a bad thing?” he couldn’t but mock, earning an exasperated huff… and a smirk.

“Well… not, I guess. My little black heart is just… disappointed.”

Ah, yes. The heavily guarded secret – Tony Stark did have a heart and contrary to popular opinion, it was not little or black.

“No, it’s not.”

“Hush!” Tony shushed him, a twinkle appearing in his eye, amusement mixing with satisfaction. “But seriously. What the hell? Since when do you… pose? Like this? Like… wow.”

“Careful there, Stark, you’ll make him blush,” Natasha hummed as she entered the communal kitchen, checking out the flowing pictures with interest and a curve to her lips. “These are pretty great. You did well, Rogers.”

And all of sudden, Steve couldn’t handle the praise anymore; it had been fun with Tony, but now when Natasha joined in, swiftly followed by a wolf-whistle from Sam at her heels…  it felt wrong to brag about this, it wasn’t fair – he wasn’t the one who deserved to be given the majority of the merit.

“It’s… it wasn’t me, really…“ he admitted sheepishly.

And it wasn’t. It was all you.

Looking at the photos, he could tell what you were talking about when you pressed the shutter release for every single one of them. Painting the vivid image of the ocean just with your words. Calling him a hero in a way no one ever had. Pleading him to be proud of what he had accomplished. Making him feel those things, causing him to gradually gain confidence, feeling good in his own skin even when being at the centre of attention, encouraging him to suggest a pose on his own. Hell, Steve might go as far as to say that he had been having fun.

But it was all you.

“Looks a lot like you, man,” Sam chuckled and Steve would have shot him an annoyed glare hadn’t he been so embarrassed and self-conscious to admit who was to blame for the pictures turning out so great.

Because… yeah, Steve wasn’t vain or tried not to be, but these were pretty swell. You were a magician, you had to be. And he had fallen straight into the trap of your charms.

“Har har… the photographer was amazing. She made me feel-” He didn’t even know how to describe it without making himself look like a complete fool… for you. “-great. She was really supportive the whole time, sometimes even making me forget she was taking shots.”

“Alert!” Tony cried out all of sudden, nearly causing Steve to jump out of his skin. “I sense romance! How’s Cap heart, Jarvis? Has the security been breached? Should we run some scans-”

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve huffed in irritation, attempting to hide how precisely the billionaire hit the nail on its head.

“Awww, now he is blushing,” Natasha teased and Steve felt the heat in his cheeks burn.

“Well, luckily for him, there was a business card along with the printed photos that arrived this morning.”

Steve’s head immediately snapped Tony’s direction, curious and excited. You left a business card? That was—it probably didn’t mean anything along the lines he wished, but still!

The billionaire held out the simple creamy-coloured item between two fingers, but quickly snatched it away when Steve reached for it. Steve shot him a murderous glare. Dammit man-child!

“Full story or you’re not getting any, pun intended.”

“Oh, go to hell, Stark-”

“Come on, Stark. We all know he has some work ethics unlike you. Let him start a thing before you interrogate him. Plus, if he’s got a phone number from a hot girl for the free work he did, good for him. Give him the card,” Natasha supported the poor blond and Tony rolled his eyes before shooting the Widow a look of betrayal. Sam just chuckled at their antics. Steve snatched the card before they could change their mind, while Natasha smiled behind her cup. “We expect a full report later though.”

She exchanged a high-five with Sam under the bar, but Steve was too busy examining the card and having his heart beating incredibly fast to feel exasperated at his childish friends.

As he flipped the card in his fingers, he felt a wide smile spread his lips at their own accord.

If you ever need another photoshoot or anything at all, don’t hesitate to call. xxx

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷*✧⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

S.R. masterlist

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷*✧⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Thank you for reading :-*

Link to the inspiration post will be in reblog!

What can I say to my defence? I just really like making Steve happy, okay?

And yeah, the 2016 FILA is perfect too, but this fic is a result of a suggestion of a friend and babyface CE is more Steve, what can I say…

[voidcat]

— Seijoh 4 & dom!reader

a/n: this is legit my first time writing nsfw so yea b kind pls. I was getting tired of sub!reader stuff and I’m not the most sexual person but yea have a lil dom!reader w the boys,,, as a treat,, I’d also like you all to know that Nicole enabled this... thanks for supporting the sad horn knee hours wife<3

mostly gender neutral reader but i just realized i used nicknames “miss/mistress” few times so yea

Hanamaki Takahiro:

Oh boy is he excited!.. the moment this slips out of your mouth, he is fuming, vibrating from where he’s sitting and can’t wait to get home.

He is always open to try new things. Back in the day you two tried a thing or two but you were unsure how he’d act so you downplayed often... but now that knowing you’re a dom, the things you can do with the trust you share, shit, did it get hot in here?

On random days, he’ll just go “hey babe what do you think of this?” And show you a page of strap ons, for you to choose. some days he’ll practically beg to be pegged. he loves your demanour when you’re in charge, the air within you when you’re the one in control is, comforting but each night a new adventure and he just can’t get enough of it, of you.

Probably the two of you start with a basic list of things to try and see what he is into. When it comes to spanking, you warn beforehand again and say you’ll do it only once. Holding back yourself and smacking him as lightly as you can, you watch his face for any changes. The moment your hand makes contact with his skin, he lets out a “yelp!” and you stop right there, growing worried. Instead of a face in pain, teeth clenched and brows furrowed; he has the most satisfied and flushed face, eyes half closed and glossy and mouth slightly open. “Do it again babe, but harder this time? Please?”

He probably gets on your nerves on purpose & loves it when you call him a brat or your good boy. Some days he’ll just call you to hang out at his place and when you arrive, you find him spread on the bed, touching himself, his eyes on your figure, staring right into your eyes “hope I haven’t disobeyed or crossed any lines Miss” (he’ll be pissing you off on purpose during your movie nights and let you teach him a lesson right on the couch, the counter or the table...)

Def calls you praises and names (especially titles, telling you over and over how much he loves and enjoys you, how he loves to be drowned in your presence, begging you for anything, even the tiniest bit of a kiss. 

He likes to shower together after a long night and wash each other’s hair, gently massaging your scalp and placing kisses all over your shoulders and the top of your head; whereas you gently kiss the places you’ve bitten and bruised, smothering his face with kisses.

Oikawa Tooru

This boy here, loves to act tough and all but let’s face it, he is a switch. It’s a typical Never Have I Ever game and at one point bedroom talk enters the game. He takes notes of the things you drink to, curious and you swear you catch a spark of excitement when you make it plainly obvious you’re a dom. Although that spark leaves as fast as it has appeared and you brush it off as a play of light.

That night when you return home, he practically jumps at you, a little rougher than usual and you’re sure why. Letting him pin you to the wall, hands roaming your body greedily, you let him live out the fantasy. The kisses now rough, one minute his lips on yours, the next on your neck, shoulders, collarbones... desperate to sink his teeth in and leave some marks. You think to yourself, that’s enough.

Next thing Oikawa knows, he is the one pinned to the wall, his wrists pinned above his head. With your unoccupied hand, you graze your finger lightly on his figure, jaw, neck and chest. “Someone is feisty.” he won’t tell at first but definitely got a thing for being marked and marking, and honestly? you don’t need him to tell you that.

orgasm denial!!! lots of it!! first two times you take pity on him and let him but the third time? the smug bastard is so sure you will let him come again but surprise!, as soon as you come, you leave him high and dry. he tries solving the issue by himself (which only makes things worse) after like 5 days of no orgasm on his part, he finally gets the clue, is on his... better behaviour; once you allow him to come, the days long of wait is worth the pleasure but he learns not to test you like this again. (however, this won’t stop him from disobeying you few more times just to get you to be rougher)

public teasing!! pda is already a given but you guys use remote controlled toys some days (usually you have the remote and he is the one who does his best to keep quiet) the driving and being near the edge of his climax is painful but he manages to hold himself until you two return home (or find a safe place to take care of it) and the endless wait and your cruel play with the toy’s settings is worth the wait. oikawa shivers every single time.

besides these, he likes to dress up and put on make up. and he is quite picky when it comes to lingerie the two of you wear, he checks the fabric qualities and colors beforehand, after all you only deserve the best of the best. he’ll be picking palettes to compliment your features best, loves using highlighter and always picks a dark shade of lipstick for each other; just to see how many times you’ll have to reapply until you’re both covered in its colors.

Iwaizumi Hajime

Ok so I know he has the brute facade going and everyone thinks he’s a dom but hear me out: actually quite soft switch/sub-leaning iwachan

Its a night out w the gang and during a drinking game oikawa makes a snark at you being such a dom in the streets AND in bed. to this blood rushes to Iwa’s cheeks and not many pay attention to it, bc he gets blushy easily plus he has been drinking too. but his mind? Oh he’s for sure imagining scenarios on what you could do to him.

Orgasm denial isn’t much of a thing because he’s very obedient. he’ll do his best to please you and follow your each and every word, watch your lips to hear your next words. for him, your word is law at this point... it’s almost impossible to deny him or those puppy eyes and those sweaty arms anything. He will call you ma’am, mistress, your highness, my goddess... whatever you wish and do not wish for. He loves praising you and ramble about how perfect and holy, etheral and magnificent you are.

lowkey into being tyed up, handcuffed and/or bondage. absolutely loves seeing you in full control. some days you won’t even bother to get undressed while he’s squirming under your touch fully stripped, begging for the tiniest bit of release. sometimes you’ll do the smallest gesture of taking control and he’ll be drooling, not even joking, this man LOVES IT when u take the ropes into ur hands (both metaphorically and literally) loves to lose control and wait for you to do whatever your heart desires, he wants to be what you desire.

(lowkey got a “corruption kink” too) when you two decide to shake things up a bit one day, you bring up some games, activities and kinks (mostly stuff he has only heard of) and, and he’s hard on the spot. lowkey into you wearing leather and gagging him up, his hands tied. he doesn’t mind blindfolds but watching you is so breathtaking, he even does his best to blink as little as possible. he loves it when you ride him to the point of orgasming for the 6th time that day, he’s ready to do anything for you, be your good boy and please you til world’s end.

very very good at oral too, his arms arent the only muscles he’s good at using, he loves your taste, your fingers in his mouth, his fingers in your mouth and in you. feeling your warmth however you want is enough to be content.

not something you do often but having sex in front of the mirror, seeing you in different angles drives him crazy, watching you covered in sweat, shining, panting, telling him how good you are is enough to make him drunk. but still he prefers to be chest to chest, you in his lap, riding him as he holds you to his chest, feeling your skin against his, burning with each move, rubbing against each other.

Matsukawa Issei

of all his relationships and hookups, Issei always encountered subs. few times his partners were doms, they were still submessive to him so when he finds out realizes you’re a dom, needless to say, he’s intrigued...

it kinda starts off with sex in front of a mirror one night, your back pressed against his chest, you’re riding him as his face buried in yourneck and his hands howering over you and suddenly, you grab his hands and out them at his sides, hold his chin and make him look at the mirror: “now watch hoe good i’ll be fucking you and your brains out until you won’t get a coherent sentence out.” you whisper in a low voice and do you deliver as you’ve said? but he got tricks up his sleeve too...

Most of the time, it’s rough and the fire play as well as powerplay takes most of the time. There’s always a battle for dominance, which leaves you both covered in marks and bruises. To say neither of you like it, would be unfair, especially when he disobeys you or flirts with other people beforehand, stepping on your nerves on purpose. (the quiet moans he lets out as you bite his neck, his collarbones, his earlobe, chest and thighs is an indicator if you ever need one.)

And thighs! Lots of thigh biting, massages, rubbing with fingers, or just squeezing the others head inbetween thighs is a given during oral and any foreplay that involved pecks and love bites in that area.

And as it is rough, you two always take your time, having a gentleness to jt in your own way. Be it a soft kiss out of nowhere, a certain way of bucking your hips or thrusting his hips into you. And as things are rough, it’s also when you get to let it all out, be yourself, unstrained.

Some days you’ll drop by his current job, or he’ll stop by at your place, and if he sees you in a headspace that’s too distracted, bothered or irritated by something, or just down; he’ll pick you up, wrapping your legs around him, pressing to you and nibbling on your neck and literally fuck your frustrations out. Those times he lets you take the ropes into your hands but if you’re not up for even that, he’ll take the charge on the spot, and leave clear marks to keep your mind off things for days. And in return, you’ll leave claw marks on his back, tug at his hair and press him to yourself until all you can feel is him; some days you’ll flip the both of you out of nowhere and press his head against your chest, hold his hands behind his back and guide him with your body, his muffled breathes tingling your chest, the nape of your neck and your lips; until your skins red, lips bleeding and gentle purples decorating all over you.

(and he’s a sucker for it. some days he’ll go in town to get something for you to use on him and drop at your place without a card or a name. If asked, he always denies, claiming he’d not get you things to make it easier to control him but the sight of you holding a whip and he can feel the blood rushing already, tugging at his belt and your tshirt. He hopes it’ll be just like that one time you pressed against his dick with high heels, making him beg to come.)

tags: @myelocin​ @atsumu-brainrot​

[capri-ramblings]

Ruggie Bucchi x male reader Angst? (it's ok if you're uncomfortable, you can put neutral reader in here! ^^) Reader confess their feeling to ruggie but ruggie reject reader feelings and say sharp words towards the reader. Time passes and ruggie starts to develop feelings toward the reader and starts to regret what he did. I hope it's not too much to ask for this!

This was too long I have to make a separate post for Part 2 lmao but I hope you love this as much I loved working on it even when angst isn't my best skill 😩💖

[A Hyena's Nip] Part 1

Ruggie always kinda knew you had a thing for him. It was in the glances you stole at him when you thought he couldn't see, in every good morning smile you gave to him each time you passed him in-between classes. You also always seemed so... flustered whenever he came near you, but if he was being honest, it didn't bother him all that much.

He did find it a bit weird though, cause he was a guy and you were a guy and there's like a lot of other guys out there that you could be crushing on and honestly, you looked like the clingy type too. The same type of clingy Ruggie always wanted to avoid in girls.

So,it didn't came as a surprise when you went and confessed to him after club activities, telling him how much you liked him and stuff, but it still kinda took him off guard. Ruggie wasn't actually expecting you to pour out your feelings, well, he was hoping that you weren't going to because if he had to be honest,this situation you put him in was very awkward.

He didn't like guys as much as he didn't like girls and not because he doesn't have those kind of urges but because he finds the whole 'i like you,you like me,let's date!' relationship kinda pointless, and time consuming.

You were a good kid though. Ever since you came and got stuck in this school, you always made an effort to lend a hand to anyone who needed it, and there was that time when Leona almost turned his hand into nothing more than dust particles and you practically threw yourself in front of him to stop that from happening. He was grateful, of all the people present then, he wasn't expecting you to come and save him.

Staring down at you now, with your head lowered as your hands fiddled with the hem of your gym wear, Ruggie felt bad that he was going to reject you flat out and he wasn't going to be nice about it too, cause chances are you'll tell him it's okay and that being friends is just enough and when has that actually worked out well for both parties? No. You weren't going to be okay and being friends after telling someone that big of a secret isn't a good story.

He was doing you a favour. Yeah, you'll be down about it, but there's literally a bunch of guys out there other than him. You'll move on and get over him quick. All Ruggie had to do was give you that first push. Even if you'd scrap your knee from it.

"I really,really like you, Ruggie and I know this sounds weird seeing that we're both guys but—"

"But what?" Ruggie cut you off before you could finish and all the nerves you were trying to not acknowledge immediately came washing over you as you saw Ruggie's expression shifted into annoyance.

"If you know that this is weird, what were you expecting? Some kind of fairytale to happen?"

He sounded so harsh despite his voice barely budging, and the words he threw at you made your skin cold. Was he mad? Did you actually went and made Ruggie mad? You were hesitant at first to use this opportunity of the two of you being alone to cleanup after club activities to confess to him, but was it a bad move?

"I,well,I...um.." You tried to speak but your words seemed too far away now and instinctively you averted Ruggie's gaze.

This was a mess. An absolute nightmare. And as if it couldn't get any worst, Ruggie started laughing. He started laughing and you could feel your existence cave in on you.

"Man,look at you! You actually did think some kind of lovey-dovey scenario was going to play out, didn't you?"

One of the things you always found attractive about Ruggie was his laugh. It never failed to make you feel better about a bad situation. But as the realization dawned on you that the same laugh was being used to condescend you...You wanted to cover your ears and run away. If only you could though, it was hard to move when your knees felt like buckling down.

"Hey,answer me." Ruggie nudged you in the shoulder and you winced. "Did you think I was going to feel the same?"

No. Of course not. You had a feeling this was going to happen, you kept denying it but it was often there lingering in the back of your mind. You only hoped for a mutual feeling from Ruggie.

"I'm sorry." You muttered out,lips quivering and eyes burning from the tears you fought back. Your throat felt dry and your chest hurt. Scratch that, your heart felt like it fucking stopped and you regretted ever thinking Ruggie would like you.

"What? Now, you're apologizing?" Ruggie sounded frustrated and looking at you trembling from the rejection kinda ticked him off somehow. Were you really a boy if something as simple as a crush got you all teary eyed?

"Look, I don't know what you were expecting from this whole confession thing, but the bottom line here is that I don't like you that way, and I probably never would." He placed a casual hand on your shoulder then, giving you a slight shake before he pulled away and turned on his heels, his hands folded behind his neck.

"So,just drop it okay? See ya around,kid."

The sound of Ruggie's voice along with the light steps he left behind felt too distant for you to actually hear, but the weight of it all, the rejection and hurt that swelled inside you then, seemed too real to be just a simple nightmare.

As you stood there, motionlessly staring at the ground, you felt your heart shattered in your chest, the bits and pieces of its shards prickling into your flesh.

***

"Hey,____!" Deuce was waving his hand in front of your face, his brows furrowed when you looked up at him all dazed and distant.

"You weren't even listening were you?"

"...Sorry,Deuce. I was thinking."

"And here I thought thinking would only hurt Deuce that way but I guess you guys do share a brain cell after all,huh?" Ace was smirking when he said this, obviously pleased with the reaction he got from Deuce who all but scowled at him.

Another class had ended today, and still, you weren't sure you even heard anything that went on throughout each lesson. Ever since your confession, your headspace had been slightly off. It's like you couldn't even go to your own thoughts without replaying Ruggie's words.

You planted your head on your table with a dull thud and both Ace and Deuce looked to you worryingly.

"You look kinda sick,dude. What about you just skip classes for today?"

"Ace, skipping classes will only get him into trouble"

"What are you? His mom?"

Deuce frowned but turned to you instead, staring at you as if he was trying to read your defeated form, and though you knew well enough that neither one of them would know the reason behind your dispirited self, the fear of them actually finding out still bothered you.

So when you lifted your head, you forced on a smile even when the simple gesture felt like tearing off parts of your own skin.

"I'm fine guys,stop worrying or you're really gonna start looking like my mom."

"Yikes" Ace grimaced. "Definitely not letting that happen,no offense. I'm sure your mom's pretty decent"

Deuce was touching his face when he shook his head and crossed his arms. He still looked worried and unconvinced, and it was starting to give you a churning feeling in your stomach.

"Still,I think you should get some early rest today. You look too pale and your eyes are super red. Didn't you get any sleep?"

No. No you didn't. You spent most of your nights staring blankly at your ceiling while your chest throbbed against your ribcages. You couldn't sleep because whenever you did you heard Ruggie's laugh mocking you and then you'd see him glowering down at you like you were the most disgusting thing he's ever seen.

You heaved a shaky sigh, trying so desperately to keep up your smile despite your voice cracking slightly when you spoke.

"It's nothing,really."

Deuce still frowned,but he let the subject go and the three of you spent the remaining day in various classes as usual before school day ended, and you were heading back to your dorms.

"You could stay and hang with us for a bit, bet Riddle wouldn't mind if we told him you were coming over?" Deuce sent you a sympathetic smile, as if somehow despite how dense you thought he was he knew something wasn't right with you, and for a minute, you wondered then why you hadn't fell for Deuce instead. Maybe he wouldn't have been so harsh.

"Thank,Deuce, but Grim stayed behind today cause he claimed one of the ghosts punched him too hard while they were playing and I think having too much alone time for him would be bad"

Deuce laughed and nodded his head.

"See ya around then, Mr. Prefect"

"Yeah. See ya."

The walk back to Ramshackle Dorm felt like an eternity, and as you placed one foot in front of the other, each step heavy and reluctant, you were beginning to wonder if you'll ever get there without passing out. It's been like this for almost a month now. You were eating lesser each passing day too, which didn't really help your already lethargic self. But every food you ate tasted stale, every small thing you did made you too tired and nothing really meant much point to you now. It all seemed so dull, so terribly agonizing. And all because you believed in that stupid dream of yours where Ruggie Bucchi would return your feelings.

You let out a self degrading laugh before rolling your eyes and gritting your teeth.

"What a dumbass" You said, speaking to yourself. "He's right you know, did I really think he was gonna sweep me up in his arms and say he liked me too? What a load of bullshit."

You stopped, shoulders slumping as the air you tried breathing in turned cold and hard to swallow.

How pathetic did you looked to him then? You couldn't help but wonder. Did he feel weirded out? Disgusted? Did he went back and told Leona and made it their joke of the day? The thoughts spiralled you back to square one and suddenly your throat burned.

Staggering to the closest bush, you fell to your knees and began to throw up.

[myelocin]

home found in the autumn rain | hanamaki t.

synopsis: there are some things that have you recalling an old ache you thought you’ve overcome by now. instead of the comforting words you’ve been used to hearing, takahiro instead reminds you the simple reasons of why you remain despite other’s departure.

characters: hanamaki takahiro, you

genre/warnings: comfort fic, fluff, hurt/comfort, 

wc: 1900+

a/n: i,,,just went on a weird headspace bc i’m at that age where i’m adulting yet realizing that the people i wanted to repay aren’t here anymore,, comfort fic for those who kinda vibe w my emo hours

-

“Maybe I’m so adamant on believing that there’s a life after this because I wasn’t given enough time to really know them just yet in this life.”

“What do you mean?” Takahiro asks.

You look at the room; to where the packed up boxes are stacked into the far end of the corner, the two suitcases that held the tangible pieces of your life right by the door.

“I’m leaving, but it doesn’t feel like I’m starting something,” you answer Takahiro honestly. He looks at you, a little perplexed, but opts to stay quiet when he recognizes the expression on your face. If your heart didn’t ache, that would have been something you’d smile at, but now all you see is a cleared desk and empty space.

“You know how when you get to this age, a lot of our peers’ goals is to give back to their parents?” comes your thoughts again.

Takahiro nods.

You sigh, then continue.

“It’s just,” you begin, then pause only to heave sigh again. “—this is supposed to be a big step, you know? I know you along with the friends around me have said they’re proud again and again, but at the end of the day I’m just finishing something temporary and then staring something that could be just as temporary.“

“I can’t call most places home because I’m not even sure if it counted as home. I don’t have pictures on the walls, and my suitcases are just in the corner of my room always half packed and half ready to go. Buying big furniture or decorating my room wasn’t that practical of an idea because everywhere I was was just a temporary.”

The spot you’ve stared every time you sat in your desk for years now stares back at you. You think of the nights you’ve cried into the four walls of your temporary room, a pillow pressed against your face to muffle the sounds, and the photographs of home framed and looking a little faded on your bedside table.

When you look up, there are still a few of the leftover glow in the dark star stickers you hung up there a few years ago, and you smile despite the ache that settles in your chest. The neighbors who sings karaoke a little too loudly than how they should switches on their system next door, and a few taps to the mic can be heard in the room.

Takahiro next to you chuckles softly; he still doesn’t speak, but he could recall the times where you’d text him in the middle of cramming sessions with your complaints said before even the initial hello when he picked up his phone.

The barely noticeable scratch on the window that’s been there since you first moved in all those years ago stares at you, and it’s that coupled the many things that flood in like the clockwork of your usual schedule that makes you smile a somber smile.

“Was this home?” you catch yourself thinking, then when the image of the house you spent your happiest Christmases in flashes in your mind, the nostalgia in your heart mellows and the ache from earlier finds a home in its place.

It wasn’t, you decide.

After they’ve gone, all the places you’ve passed your nights in just became temporary rooms.

“You okay?” Takahiro asks you, shuffling closer to your form and wrapping an arm around you. You think that with the silence and the timing, that by now you’d hear the steady ticking of the wall clock you hung above your desk the second day you moved in, but you don’t.  It takes a little while longer for it to dawn on you that the mentioned wall clock is probably inside one of the sealed boxes in the corner.

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” you tell Takahiro honestly, scooting closer and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to try to fit it in words,” he says next to you, voice coated in nothing but pure honesty. You smile; that was the very thing you love about him the most.

Hanamaki Takahiro may not have a profound way with words and may not spew poetry from his lips after every eye contact or kiss, but the intention in his words were always as blunt as his presence. Nothing was sugarcoated to the point of exaggeration.

He just—reminded you to be more aware of the pauses in life.

“You think about your sadness a lot,” he continues, and you remain in silence beside him, listening.

He nudges your shoulder and shoots you a smile—which you return—and sigh with your head still leaned against his shoulder.

“Your sadness; the ways to overcome it, the stories behind it, reasons why you shouldn’t feel it…” Takahiro lists. “I just don’t think you ever let yourself feel it, that’s all.”

“But feeling it hurts,” you answer, voice lower than a whisper.

“I know it does,” he tells you softly, kissing your forehead when he turns his head to take a peek at you. “But the thing is, that’s just life. Things will hurt as much as they make you happy. Sometimes the balance is up to us to control, but other times it’s up to the world.”

“A lot of things hurt,” you confess, and you look at him with your hurt visible in your eyes. “And I didn’t realize a lot of things did until now; where I’m at this age and still crying over my friends telling me that they’ll go home for the holidays, or how excited they are to finally be at the stage in life where they can help out their parents with the loan.”

When you feel Takahiro’s hand squeeze your shoulder, you felt safe enough to finally lay yourself bare, so you do just that.

“There’s a lot of things and people I’m thankful for,” you smile, listening to your neighbor’s tap the mic to test the speakers again. “I just think about home a lot, you know? I know I should live for myself because my life is my own, but I was just never given the chance to even see them grow old. I could have done so much for them.”

“People telling me that just by existing and thriving now would have been enough for them, but how would I know if they even thought that?” comes the confession you’ve been denying for years.

Takahiro wraps you in an embrace and rubs circles on your back. Tears can’t seem to find you, but the feeling of loneliness is overwhelming.

Your heart hurts, and you’re even more frustrated because it’s hurting for yourself.

“I never had a conversation with them as the adult I’m trying to be now, Hiro,” you sniffle. “And it hurts because I don’t know if they would even be proud of me.”

As opposed to what others would say, you appreciate the silence Takahiro offers instead of the usual spill from others you’ve heard like a loop. The sentiment—one that’s always appreciated, has times where the words just feed into your false confidence.

“What did they love the most from what you can remember?” you hear his voice ask you softly.

“Flowers,” comes your mumbled reply. “We had a garden back home, and they grew flowers of every kind. They loved coastal towns too; sketching the architecture, taking photographs…” you continue, trailing off.

“I could have given them the world,” you finish, smiling sadly towards the window. They always loved to look outside the window.

“They didn’t bring you here to give them the world, though,” Takahiro says thoughtfully, pulling you tighter towards him as he kisses the crown of your head. “You’re here because they wanted to give you the world.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?” you ask, smiling at his choice of words.

“The world was made for us to look at,” he answers with a familiar sense of conviction.

An honest smile finds a home on your features; Hanamaki Takahiro wasn’t a man who could speak with the most profound poetry, but the bluntness of his words always managed to hit a homerun.

“I can’t bring them back for you,” he says, an apology in his voice. “But I can remind you that home is wherever the flowers bloom the most familiar.”

“I hate driving for more than an hour,” he sighs, then releases his hold for a moment to cup your face in his hands and give you a smile. “—but I’ll drive you to the coastal cities Mattsun’s been telling me about so we can sketch and take pictures there.”

“Neither of us can sketch,” you laugh, leaning into the warmth of his open palms.

“We can just remember that they do, then,” he laughs, his happiness ringing like wind chimes.

“I’m sorry if I can’t take the pain away sometimes,” he later tells you when you’re standing by the door with the doorknob on your hand and the handle of your suitcase in the other.

“Hiro—“ you begin, but he cuts you off.

“It’s okay,” he consoles, smiling. “I understand that there are some hurts from your life that I can’t mend, but for what it’s worth I’m always here.”

“I know,” you answer, leaning into him when he kisses your forehead. “You make the bad moments bearable enough for me to remember that there are still things in the world worth seeing.”

“Thank you,” you tell him honestly when you finally sigh and click the door of your past temporary close behind you. The neighbor’s karaoke machine still can be heard, and the handle gripped beneath your palm still feels familiar.

There’s an ache that doesn’t leave, but when you turn around and meet Takahiro’s smile, you come to realize that it dulls.

“Wait here, I think it’s raining,” he laughs, grabbing the umbrella and one of the suitcases and sprinting towards the trunk of his car.

“Need help?” you call out, laughing when he makes a show with his shivers as a cold breeze comes through with the late afternoon autumn rain.

“No, you’ll get sick!” he laughs, waving you off, before shutting the trunk of the car and making his way back to you, umbrella in hand and lopsided smile in place.

“It’s only autumn, Hiro. Not that cold yet,” you say, rolling your eyes, but tug at his scarf anyway to fasten it more snugly around his neck.  He smiles and keeps his eyes on you as he lets you continue what you were doing.

“Let’s go home?” he tells you with a smile, and the tone he says his words with has a new—much warmer—feeling bubbling up from inside.

Home, you think. The word feels foreign.

“Let’s go home,” you answer, testing the unfamiliar set of words with your mouth.

The warmth settles in, then tingles when you think of the plant you and Takahiro bought for your kitchen counter earlier that morning.

Perhaps the room you return to this time won’t be just a temporary anymore; perhaps this time it really does become home.

[livlepretre]

Hi! You probably get asked this all the time and I haven't had the the chance to see it. What's your advice about gaining confidence about your writing? I have moments when it just flows; I enjoy it; and what I write feels true to me. But sometimes I go back and I second-guess everything and accuse myself of being pretentious. It's my current cycle. I'm asking because I love your writing and you seem to have a healthy relationship with it.

Ask away, friend :)

Honestly the main thing that's going to give you confidence is probably just time-- I find it much easier to let my former anxieties about my writing roll off my back now at 31 than I did when I was 21. The longer you write, and keep at it, the more you will figure out what you like about your writing, or other people's writing, and the more you will find yourself dismissing things that are supposed to be "good" but which leave you cold, and being attracted to things which are "hokey" or unpopular just because you really really like them. Writing really isn't about "good or bad" so much as "do I like this? does this make me feel things? think interesting things? is it fun?" Who cares what the popular opinions are on the matter?

BUT here are some things that could be proactively useful:

1) Give yourself permission to write however you want! It's only pretentious if you find it pretentious-- and pretension, in my personal experience, tends to arise out of dishonesty on the part of the writer. If you're writing something you find meaningful, and truthful, then it can't be pretentious-- it's anything but. So what if it's lofty stuff? GO FOR IT! We need those sorts of stories! I used to have a lot of fear about writing "purple prose" and also about being melodramatic in my writing-- and then I was reading a novel, really enjoying it, and realized that it does all of the things I had held back on in my writing out of fear and anxiety and that I should just say to hell with it and do the things in my writing that I wanted. Like, be as emotionally devastating and really linger on those things as much as I desired, because that's what I like to write. So, just give yourself permission to be "pretentious," but know that you aren't being pretentious at all because you are writing from a place of truth.

2) Not every writing project needs to have the same "bar" for yourself-- I find it helpful to decide when I start a fic whether I'm going to obsess over every little detail (hello Fairytale Ending) or whether I'm going to intentionally keep it casual, and write and publish messy first drafts that kind of meander and explore random tangents and just be satisfied with the writing being imperfect but fun ((The Stars Were Brightly Shining) is mostly a writing exercise I designed for myself to destress because I just write a short 1300 word or so chapter and then publish, so a lot of the time I can get a chapter out after only an afternoon of writing, vs. in FE where it might take me weeks to publish one 8000 word behemoth of a chapter that is compulsively worked over). So, basically, let some writing be more serious, and some more just for the fun of it. This can really help get things flowing.

3) Don't write if you don't feel like it. Unless you're writing for your work. But if it's a hobby-- keep it a hobby. Write when you want to, and don't let it feel like an obligation, because it's not. It should be for fun, when you have the headspace and the desire.

4) Find a time of day when you write best. This can really help you feel like writing more. For example, I'm best at writing in the mornings-- thoughts are clearer, words flow much more easily, and scenes that totally stump me when I pull open a story in the evenings flow like a miracle if I open the document up right when I wake up. Obviously, most of the time I can't write in the morning-- but a couple of days a week, sometimes more often than that if there's a holiday, I can, so I try to make an effort to if I'm excited about the idea of writing. This time for you might be late at night, when there are fewer distractions from other people, or it might be right after school/work, or on your lunch break, or only on Sunday afternoons when the light is just right. But find that time, and it will really help you to think.

5) If you're going through a funk, try Gentle Writing as a technique. This is for when you want to write-- genuinely-- but you're having a ton of trouble getting the words out. The idea is this: instead of trying to meet a high and ultimately arbitrary word count which can add unneeded stress and anxiety (I have to write 1000 words today or it's not writing!), give yourself permission to write however much you actually want to write and be content with that. That might mean writing a paragraph, a few lines of dialogue, or maybe just one sentence. The idea is any writing is writing. It could even be just adding in a word, or switching a word or a phrase out on something you've already written to something that sounds better. It could be just rereading what you already have, or jotting down some notes on your outline. It's called Gentle Writing because it's gentle on yourself, of course, but also because it's about rearranging your relationship to your writing and doing away with the arbitrary stressors that tells us you're not a real writer! Because of course you are. This is probably the form of writing that I practice the most often, with those spurts of furious inspiration where everything just flows only happening occasionally.

6) Accept and embrace the inherent imperfection of the craft. I prefer writing fic and self-publishing in many ways to submitting work for publication in other forums because that medium embraces the messiness of writing-- it's okay to have typos (I have them, you have them, everyone has them) and it's okay to be totally experimental and have clunky formatting and change your ideas midway through the process-- posting chapter by chapter tends to encourage those sorts of changes, and the "learn as you go" approach and it's easy to see it in fic-- but all of this is also true in published works, it's just that what we see when we read a book is far from the original manuscript-- many revisions past. Fic helps me to remember that all writing has its flaws, its failures, and its inadequacies, but that the whole process is really a big learning process, and hopefully the next fic or even the next chapter of the fic is written a little bit better. It's actually super freeing to realize that writing is always going to be imperfect-- for me, that's what helps me move on from past mistakes and keep swimming forward.

I hope some of this might be helpful. Good luck with your writing!!

[tcsauaskblog]

What's the most wholesome thing Gladstone has ever done for Donald? ps: this blog gives me life

Gladstone can't cook. Sure, he could probably whip up something and have it taste moderately ok, but that was just his luck kicking in. It’s not like he knew what he was doing. 

‘Oatmeal’s so easy it’s practically cheating,’ he remembers Della saying a forgotten amount of years ago. And if Della could cook anything even remotely edible, then surely Gladstone would have no problems. It would be fine. He totally had this in the bag.

He looked up from his table of ingredients to the home phone hanging on the wall and had the fleeting thought of calling Gran. Not because he couldn’t do it or needed any help or anything, but just to be sure for assurance's sake. 

But no, he couldn’t call her even if he wanted to. Gran had taken Del and Feth up to the mountains for an overnight Woodchuck retreat and wouldn’t be within phone service till Sunday. 

Meaning Gladstone was on his own.

Gladstone rolled up his sleeves and gave a huff of determination. Like he thought, he’d be fine. Making dumb oatmeal was totally within his capabilities. Prepare yourself world, Gladstone was about to rewrite history and make the best freaking oatmeal ever!

He turned on the stovetop under a saucepan of water and brought it to a boil before adding in a cup of oats. He doesn’t really know what else you put into oatmeal besides, well, oats, but he had a distinct memory of Don’s oatmeal always tasting sweet and cinnamony, so he adds a spoonful of cinnamon and honey and keeps stirring. 

Somewhere in the back of his head, Gladstone thinks Don usually puts more stuff into his, making it taste creamy and sweet and delicious. But asking Don about it would seem like he lost this battle and Gladstone would not give Donald that satisfaction, so he pushes the thought out of his head and keeps stirring till the oats seemed soft enough.

Turning the stovetop off and letting the oats cool down a bit, Gladstone cuts up an orange and makes some honey lemon tea before putting everything on a tray and making his way upstairs.

He knocks on his cousins’ door twice, but doesn't wait for an answer as he opens it anyway and walks into the dark room. 

“Wakey wakey, eggs and.. well... ok so I didn’t make any bacon. Or eggs. But get up anyway, I have something better,” Gladstone sing songs as he balances the tray on his hip and uses his other hand to flip the light switch on.

The lump of blankets in Donald’s bed shifted as soon as Gladstone walked in the door, but it was another few seconds of jostled movement before a head poked out of the pile of quilts and glared at Gladstone.

“Go away,” Donald practically growled, and Gladstone had to forcibly stop himself from flinching at how scratchy and gravely Don’s voice was.

“No can do patient zero, I’m your self designated nurse for the next two days whether you like it or not,” Gladstone says, grabbing Della’s desk chair as he walked over to Don’s bed.

“Since when?” Donald croaks again, and buries his head under the blankets once more just as Gladstone took a seat beside him.

“Since you collapsed in the field a couple of hours ago with a 102-degree fever and nearly gave Gus and I a heart attack,” Gladstone comments as he sets the tray down on the bedside table beside them. “Gus is fine by the way, I sent him back to Cuthbert’s a little while ago after he helped carry you in. What have you been eating lately anyway? Took us nearly five minutes to haul you up here.”

“Shut up,” Donald groaned again before poking a one-eyed glare at Gladstone from under the blanket. “They couldn’t send a prettier and nicer nurse?”

“Excuse you, I’m the prettiest and nicest nurse in this joint. You’re lucky to have me, there’s a teddy bear down the hall that’s in dire need of a stitch job and here I am tending to your dumb ass instead,” Gladstone remarks as a heated joke, but quickly regrets it when Donald just breathes haggardly and stays a little too still under the blanket for Gladstone’s taste. “Anyway, can you sit up? You need to eat something. I made you some oatmeal.”

Donald didn’t reply back for a few quiet moments, and Gladstone almost thought he had gone back to sleep. But before Gladstone could shake his shoulder to check, Donald rolled over from his side and slowly sat up, the bed creaking the entire time as Donald rubbed his eyes to adjust them to the light. “You... you made oatmeal?”

Gladstone swallowed hard at the sight of his older cousin, and didn’t think it was possible to look so pale and so flushed at the same time. His cheeks and forehead were tinted a soft red, but his hands and arms looked clammy and washed out. There were dark bags like bruises under his eyes, a combination of stress and sleep deprivation that had overworked him to the point of getting a fever and Gladstone felt absolutely sick with how tired Don looked.

His eyes were a glazed over blue, unfocused, and hazy as he lazily made eye contact with Gladstone. “I... I didn’t know you knew how to make oatmeal. I didn’t know you knew how to make anything.”

“Please, oatmeal is so easy, it’s practically cheating,” Gladstone rolled his eyes and hoped he could get away with quoting Della without Donald noticing. 

It must have been a testament to how rotten Donald was feeling because he didn’t question it a second time and just nodded sluggishly, stifling a yawn as he balanced his head against his knee and closed his eyes.

“...Don’t need it.... I’m ok,” Donald muttered halfheartedly into his knee, like he was desperately trying to convince himself instead, and the worried knot in Gladstone’s stomach tightened into something angry and frustrated.

“Still dizzy? Need any more ibuprofen?” Gladstone asked, trying not to let the worried knot that had tied itself in his gut over the past few hours tighten, but Donald just shook his head softly.

“Don’t lie to your nurse, dude. You’re obviously not ok,” and Gladstone hated this side of Donald. The stupid stubborn side that refused to let anyone in and help him when he needed it. It reminded Gladstone too much of himself, which honestly made him hate it even more. “You can barely sit up and talk to me. Can you suck up your stupid pride for like, two seconds, and just tell me what you need?”

Donald gave Gladstone another one-eyed glare, but there was hardly any fight in his words when he mumbled a, “Really... I’m ok... Just tired.” And Gladstone was seriously starting to get pissed off now.

“If you say you’re ok one more time, I don’t care if I’m your nurse or not, I swear I’m gonna smack you,” Gladstone snapped, and was surprised when Donald let out a low and wheezy chuckle. 

“Are you... really trying to pick a fight with a sick guy right now?” Donald mused and Gladstone almost rolled his eyes so hard, he would have hurt himself if he wasn’t a pro at it.

“Oh, so NOW you’re sick. But when you’re hauling irrigation pipe around in 100-degree weather while being so dizzy you can barely walk straight and with a high enough fever to boil an egg, you’re all, ‘oh, don’t worry about me gran,’ and ‘I’m totally fine Della, go have fun.’ And by the time we figure out you’re not, it’s too late and you’re already half-dead in a creek somewhere,“ Gladstone complained, throwing his arms up in the air exhaustedly.

“I was in a field, not a creek.”

“My point is,” Gladstone rubbed his brow in annoyance, and tried to remember that he was indeed trying to take care of Donald, not pick a fight with him. But Gladstone was his cousin first, caretaker later, and it was high time someone spoke up to Donald about his self-sabotaging tendencies. “You always do this. You always push yourself too hard and never let any of us help you when you need it, and I’m getting sick and tired of having to worry all the time about you lying to us about whether you’re ok or not.” 

Gladstone crossed his arms over his chest tightly and let his words hang in the air, his eyes glued to Donalds in a fierce sort of way that practically dared Don to try and argue back with him.

But to Gladstone’s surprise, Don just knitted his brows tightly and shifted his gaze. Hugging his legs to his chest and resting his forehead on top of his knees, Donald muttered a soft “...I know... Sorry,” that caught Gladstone completely off guard.

And Gladstone had never seen Donald cry in all his 13 years, and Donald wasn’t crying now, but his eyes got an intense watery that made Gladstone’s heart turn ice cold and sink all the way to his feet. 

And maybe it was just that Donald was really sick and tired and wasn’t in the right headspace to put up a fight and defend himself against Gladstone, but still, Gladstone couldn’t help but feel the guilt of his earlier accusation tear through his angry exterior like a knife through butter, and Gladstone melted into something soft and forgiving and far less intimidating and hard-pressed.

He was still frustrated with Donald, but to be fair to his cousin, it wasn’t like Donald tried to be difficult like this on purpose.

Donald’s always tried to do things by himself, ever since they were little kids. He always tried to carry the world on his shoulders and be the singular pillar holding all his family up. When they all moved into Gran’s for the first time, Gran made a comment to Donald that he was the man of the house now, and she would be needing his help to take care of everyone. Gladstone knows Gran only meant it as a way to cheer Donald up, but Don took it all too seriously, and used it as an excuse to do things on his own.

It really wasn’t like Donald was too prideful to ask for help, like Gladstone. It was just that he didn’t know how or when it was ok too. And he’d much rather burn up completely at both ends before he ‘burdened’ his family with what he considered ‘his’ responsibilities. 

And it was frustrating cause in the same light, Gladstone didn’t know how to offer help without it seeming like he was looking or picking a fight.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s just,” Gladstone sighed, and ran a tired hand through his hair before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the edge of Don’s bed, craning his neck so that he could make eye contact with Don from where he was leaning his head against his knee. “I don’t like doing this. I’m not good at doing this.”

“What... taking care of my ‘dumb ass’?” Donald muttered sarcastically. 

“Seeing you sick and being useless to help you,” Gladstone stated flatly, staring at Don’s eyes with a heated deadpan as they got wide and electric with surprise.

“Helping you is the easy part dude. Getting you to let me is what I’m not good at. You know it’s ok to take a break, right? I know I complain about doing chores and all, but it’s not like I won’t help pick up the slack if you need it.” And Donald's eyes were large and blue and glued to Gladstones as he continued, trying with every once of his luck to get Donald to understand his wishes. “You don’t always have to do everything yourself all the time. You’re allowed to take a step back and breathe once in a while. It’s not like everything will fall apart without you there to hold it together, ya know. We’re not so fragile that we’ll fall into ruin if you don’t run yourself into an early grave to fix everything yourself. You’re allowed to ask for help.”

Gladstone leaned forward and tapped Donald’s forehead a couple of times and gave him a wry smile. “So I don’t need you to apologize. I just need you to be ok. Like, really be ok. And to not try to take on the world by yourself. You’re not alone, dude. Stop acting like it.”

Donald didn’t retort with anything witty or spitfire back, which Gladstone half expected him to, but he nodded honestly and clearly, and gave Gladstone a wry smile of his own.

“Ok,” was all he said, and that was as good as gold for Gladstone.

“Ok, good!” Gladstone straightened up in his seat and reached over for the bowl of oatmeal on the nightstand. “It should be cool enough now for you to eat. I can’t promise it’s like, the best thing ever, but you need to eat something and I’m pretty sure this won’t make you feel any worse.

Donald took the bowl slowly, and raised an eyebrow of surprise in Gladstone’s general direction.

“I still can’t believe... you made me oatmeal.”

“What, like it’s hard?” Gladstone answered back, leaning forward on his elbows once again and looking at the bowl with a nervousness he didn’t quite know what to do with other than to not show it to Donald at ALL costs. “Just eat it before it gets cold, ya skeptic.”

Donald took an unhurried bite, and chewed for what seemed like a torturous forever to Gladstone, before breaking into a gentle smile.

“It’s good,” Don commented while he chewed, and smiled even bigger when Gladstone physically beamed on the spot.

“What, really? You mean it? I knew it wouldn’t be like, horrible, but it was my first time making it so I wasn’t sure and-,”

“Try it,” Donald interrupted, still smiling as he held out a spoonful towards Gladstone, who, in his defense, took it immediately in his excitement over his first real cooked dish. And didn’t even think twice about possibly getting Donald’s sick germs, (even though he never gets sick anyway.)

As soon as the spoon entered his mouth, Gladstone started coughing and gagging, and almost downed Donald’s entire cup of tea in one swig to try and wash the oatmeal down.

It wasn’t like it was horrible, it definitely was by anyone's standards edible. But it wasn’t good by any means either. Gladstone had definitely put too much cinnamon in it, and the honey was almost nonexistent, making it all together just taste way too bitter and chalky.

“UGH! You liar! You said it tasted good!” Gladstone barked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and staring daggers into Donald as his cousin smiled innocently back. 

“I said it was good, not that it tasted good,” Donald supplied simply, taking his spoon back from where Gladstone had thrown it back onto the bed and taking another bite. “Not that is matters. I’m pretty sure this fever made me lose my sense of taste.”

“What’s the difference then?” Gladstone demanded, and Donald just continued to smile softly into his bowl, his soft blue eyes practically illuminated against the red of his cheeks.

“It’s warm,” Donald replied back plainly, not looking at Gladstone as he took another big bite out of it. “I like it.”

And Gladstone didn’t really understand what Donald meant by that, but a pull in his stomach told him it was a compliment, and he could feel his own cheeks get hot with pride. So he stood up abruptly and said something about getting Donald a glass of water as he walked toward the door, not wanting to show Donald how pleased he was by the praise. 

Even though the oatmeal wasn’t a huge success, Donald still liked it, which meant Gladstone won the battle in the end.

Once he had gotten a glass of cold water from the kitchen and a cold wash rag for Donald’s forehead, he made his way back up the stairs towards his cousin’s bedroom.

Gladstone had left Don’s bedroom door open when he left, but before he could announce his arrival, he heard Don’s quiet snoring. Donald had fallen back asleep, with half of his body uncovered by his blanket and with the lights still on. Gladstone shook his head and smiled, but when he walked over to put the glass of water down on Donald’s nightstand, he noticed the bowl of oatmeal completely empty against Donald's side. The spoon was still hanging out of his mouth. 

“Dummy,” Gladstone said with more affection then he’d ever let Donald hear while he was awake, and took the spoon out of his mouth with the utmost care. He put the empty bowl and spoon on the tray and recovered Donald with the blanket, making sure to tuck in any stray limbs. He brushed some of Donald's wild bed hair out of the way before placing the cold washcloth on his forehead. Donald sighed quietly at the contact, but otherwise made no show of waking up anytime soon. Gladstone noticed that his fever didn’t feel nearly as hot as it did earlier, and felt a sigh of his own escape his lips in relief.

Gladstone gathered the empty bowl and spoon on the tray, leaving all but a single slice of orange that he stole for himself on Donald's nightstand, and put Della’s desk chair by where he had found it. 

“Call me when you need me,” Gladstone said, and didn’t care that Donald was fast asleep and couldn’t hear what he had said when he turned off the light and closed the door.