#i struggle with that sometimes and it's absolutely not on purpose if i did

[norikuna]

pick your love story °🍵⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ jujutsu kaisen edition (sfw)

gojo satoru ☆ childhood friends to lovers

loves to tease you, and he'll always poke your cheek, ruffle your hair, or steal your food just to get a reaction. if you're shy or quiet, he lives to make you flustered. buys the most ridiculous gifts, including matching sunglasses and designer items that cost more than your rent. acts like your personal heater, always draping himself over you, wrapping his long arms around your shoulders, or sneaking his hands under your sweater to press them against your skin. if someone flirts with you? well, he's throwing him arm around you so dramatically, calling you his 'beloved' in the most obnoxious way possible. if the person doesn't back off, his carefree tone disappears and he gives them a chilling smile. loves late night drives and cafe dates, he's so the type to blast music in the car and sing off-key on purpose, always laughs when you tell him to zip it. his love language is definitely physical touch and words of affirmation, and he needs to be touching you at all times, and he constantly reminds you how much he loves you in different playful and heartfelt ways <3 he's even softer when he's sleepy, nuzzling into your neck and shit, voice always dropping to a quiet murmur as he spills whatever's on his mind.

geto suguru ☆ best friends to lovers

pretty chill, protective and a faux deep thinker type of guy. gentle and attentive, always knowing what you need before you even ask. if had a rough day, he's gonna run you a bath and try to get your favourite drink. tries to sit still and listen patiently while you rant. lowkey a bit overzealous when it comes to jealousy, but never petty. he doesn't get outwardly possessive. but if someone flirts with you, he'll wrap an arm around your waist and give the person a pretty sharp look, enough that they'll back off and shit. always takes pictures of you, and he has an entire album of random shots of you reading, laughing or even just existing bc he really does think you look beautiful in every moment. loves bookstore and vinyl shop dates, and he enjoys those sweet peaceful moments with you (flipping through books, aka arguing about different genres). he's super big on quality time + acts of service, and if he sees you struggling with anything, he'll try to take care of it before you even have to ask. loves running his fingers through your hair, and he claims it calms him, and sometimes he just gets so lost in thought while doing it, that you have to snap him out of it. he's the type to whisper sweet things in your ear absentmindedly, like 'you have no idea how much i love you' when he thinks you're not paying attention. goes all red and dismissive when he realises you actually did hear that :D and he says he's not in gossip and drama but no one talks shit like he does, lets be real

ryomen sukuna ☆ prob sum weird enemies to lover shit

claims he doesn't date, but somehow ends up trying to figure out your favourite flower. calls you stupid shit like 'brat' or 'pet' more than your actual name, but if someone disrespects you, he tears them apart without hesitation. gets jealous easily, but he won't admit it, and if someone looks at you wrong, he'll grab your chin and kiss you (not that you mind <3) his love language is physical touch and dominance, expect him to always keep a hand on your waist, neck or chin because as much as he pretends otherwise, he loves feeling your skin against his. gaslights you over silly things for fun ('i literally told you that' 'no you didn't' 'oh, so you're forgetful now). also whispers absolute nonsense in your ear just from time to time, 'did you know that octopuses have three hearts? bet you didn't, but now you do. you're welcome'). will open a jar way too aggressively to try and show off his strength but breaks it, and now you're left with no pickles and a sulking sukuna with pickle juice on his hand. carries you like a sack of potatoes on his shoulders if you piss him off. pretends he doesn't gaf, but always shares his food with you and tries to order what you like.

toji fushiguro ☆ reluctant friends to lovers

grumpy but soft for you typa boyfriend who doesn't believe in using full words in texts. only texts in 'ya' or 'nah' and he accidentally replied 'k' to you saying 'i love you' and he called you immediately afterwards because he knows he messed up. loves pda but in the most lazy way possible, and will always drape himself over you like a weighted blanket and refuse to move. always steals bites of your food (half the meal) but will act offended if you do the same. once won you a stuffed animal at a carnival and acted like it was no big deal, but he actually used up all his carnival tickets trying to win you the biggest prize. spoils you in a reckless way, and he'll hand you a wad of cash and refuses to tell you how he got the money. he just tells you to go buy something nice. love language is acts of service and physical touch because he claims he's not amazing with words, but his hands always find their way back home to you. loves lazy mornings, and grumbles when you try to get out of bed, pulling you back in with an arm around your waist.

nanami kento ☆ love at first sight

exhausted but devoted you get me, and he claims that you energise him and light up his life. lectures you when you only sleep for three hours a night. replies to the tiktoks you send with corporate replies 'that was humorous. thank you for sharing. i love you.' he thinks you're absolutely the most beautiful person on the planet, and always lets you know. pretty gentle, mature and devoted. shows his love in sweet, meaningful ways. always puts your comfort first, and he tries to take things off your plate without asking. loves cooking for you, and believes cooking is its own love language. hates unnecessary, brash pda but loves quiet intimacy. holds your hand, brushes your hair against your ear. lingering kisses on your temple. reads to you at night, and he'll sit beside you if you have trouble drifting off. his love language is absolutely acts of service and quality time, and he doesn't just say he loves you, he'll prove it in every little action of his. loves taking you out to scenic parks and hikes, and just stares after you with so much love as he tries to adjust the focus of his camera lenses to try and capture you as well as he can.

choso kamo ☆ strangers to lovers

kinda awkward but genuinely, really quiet sweet. overthinks everything, and at the start of your relationship, he even started overthinking how you said 'goodnight!' and wondered if you were mad at him, because there was no heart or emoji. would die before making the first move idk, like you're going to have kiss him first or else, otherwise i fear he's going to have a stroke. holds grudges as long as he can, and will bring up little shit (like you stealing his lunch) six months later 'remember that time you betrayed me?'. but he can only really give you the silent treatment for two whole minutes when you tease him, and then immediately apologises because he feels bad. a lot of friends tease the two of you because they think choso is too quiet or a pushover but the truth is that he's actually pretty snarky, clever and observant. very determined and always sticks to his morals, even at times when you disagree with him, he's able to put his foot down. love language is quality time and gift giving, because he's the type to remember everything you like and surprise him with it. loves watching movies with you, and pretends not to care for 90s chick flicks, but he's digging them deep down. loves holding your hand, and even in public, he'll reach for you quietly.

higuruma hiromi☆ coworkers to lovers

overworked but loves you so bad. he sometimes reminds you of a tired, single dad but he's truly joyous to date. if you call him baby in public, he immediately malfunctions and blushes. you once kissed him in a courtroom (not even when court was ongoing!) on the tip of his gorgeous nose, and he almost choked. will 100% object to random things just to irritate you, with topics like takeout for dinner, 'objection. we had sushi two days ago.' takes everything pretty seriously, until you do something cute. then he just sits there, hiding his smile behind his hand like an adorable anime protagonist. tries to be strict or protective, but you just make him super soft. secretly likes pda but pretends that he doesn't. grips your hand so tight like he fears you might disappear. loves when you rest in his lap or against his chest as he reads over cases and paperwork. you told him that he'd look hot with glasses, and you caught him browsing through lens frames.

naoya zenin ☆ arranged marriage (kinda ooc naoya btw, bear with me)

sort of a menace who should have been left on read a long time ago, but this wasn't your first choice. somehow, he folds for you almost immediately but you think he'd rather dig his own grave and neatly fold his hands over his chest as he buries himself at his own funeral before he admits that he likes you. calls you annoying but will drop everything if you text him that you need help. always saying dumb shit to you, or trying to make fun of you, but if someone else does? they're gone, like he's going to stalk them, find where they work, and get them fired from their job. texts you the stupidest things like 'if i was ugly, would you still love me?' 'i just saw an ugly baby. damn' 'what would do if i got arrested? be honest.' saw someone flirting with you once at like a fancy event, and rolled his eyes, pretending that he didn't give a flying fuck. ended up at the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink and trying not to throw up. if you ignore his texts, he's gonna send vaguely ominous messages, like 'answer me' followed by 'this is how it ends?' 'i'm leaving btw, i'm going to pack up and leave you forever and go live on my own in the wild.' you check his location and he's still at home. naoya thinks he's the prize in the relationship, he's not. definitely a pda menace, and he loves just kissing you in public.

hajime kashimo ☆ enemies to lovers but in that 'we met when we were fighting' way

your relationship is just him being reckless with no survival instinct, and you trying to keep your boyfriend alive. aka trying to stop him from licking the power outlet. will randomly challenge you to fights for no reason, never mind the fact that he'll feel bad and back out at the last minute. has no concept of personal space, and will stand nose to nose with you just to make you uncomfortable. if you back away, he's gonna follow you and ask where you're going. if someone flirts with you, he's not even going to do too much, just laugh in their face and ask the offender if they really thought they had a chance. kashimo has no concept of an inside voice at all, so god forbid you try to take him somewhere quiet. energy level always at 200% and it's a mission to even take him someplace like a grocery store. if you said 'i love you' first, it might have been the only time that someone else has bested him in something. hajime physically can't process emotions and goes green and pale (he loves you so much btw) and he looks vaguely ill at your confession. stares for five minutes before throwing himself at you. definitely a words of affirmation type of guy, instead of actions, because sometimes, he's all bark and no bite.

noritoshi kamo ☆ sweet, rom-com crush

he's actually a bit traditional, but very sweet. unfortunately, he's also so formal that it hurts sometimes. but it's fun when he asks you things like 'would you like to accompany me for an evening meal?' or 'shall we go for a stroll?' if you hold his hand, for the first few months, he sweats profusely but acts as though he's totally cool (narrator: he was not cool). lowkey believes that he doesn't deserve you and he absolutely treats you, the love of his life, like royalty. super observant and determined to make you as comfortable as possible, so you're never really left wanting for anything. if someone flirts with you, he doesn't really get jealous, but rather gets philosophical. 'it is natural for others to admire beauty such as yours. however, they must know it's not theirs to claim.' a key forefront runner of the sassy men apocalypse, even though you wouldn't be able to tell at the start. super quick-witted, but he's the type to keep his thoughts to himself, but luckily, he gets more comfortable sharing his jokes with you as times go on. blushes super easily, and he hates it because he thinks it ruins his aloof/mysterious guy persona.

[imagines-for-earthbread]

Can I get something romantic between warlord longan and dread trident sea fairy? (Both are lesbians)

The ocean was deeper than they remembered. Long did the trenches at the bottom of the ocean extend, ever darker and ever deeper, ever heavier as it pressed down upon them. They felt it in their scales as they breathed and as they moved, even though the dim trill of magic still hummed in their lungs and prolonged their life. They weren't a swimmer, but they swam now, in search of anything that existed anymore, even if it wasn't gilded gold or ever touched by the rays of the sun.

They didn't know what they were looking for. Something alive? --Certainly, the ocean here teamed with its own particular breed of life. Ancient fish and creatures whose shapes held up under this oppressive pressure, who were both clear and glimmered with their own particular brand of bioluminescence whose purpose served to lure prey closer. They would have to struggle less to find food in the dark that way.

Or something ancient and forgotten? There were many shipwrecks in the ocean, pirate ships and cargo boats that found themselves a necessary end. Cookie skeletons slumbered at the bottom of the sea, sugar bones cracked and frayed and perhaps nothing by now, if the years of observing the whalefall were anything to take into account. A ship didn't harbor as necessary an ecosystem as a whale did. Cookies were too small--too insignificant--to matter much down here. And that was only if their bodies made it down this deep in the first place.

They spent years diving the depths of the world, taking in the wildlife that existed subservient to dragons. They found Sugarteara and tore it to pieces mightily, cookies and shrapnel sharp upon their tongue, coral buildings torn to pieces by tail and claw. They hadn't caught every Sugartearan cookie in the slaughter. Some of them, even, managed to flee, scattered across the ocean like motes of dust in a high wind.

Perhaps that's what Longan Dragon Cookie was searching for: The survivors.

Fish, treasure, or stragglers... It was impossible to tell anymore.

Their eyes couldn't adjust to the darkness that permeated so deep without the aid of a dim, golden magic. Their lythe, draconic form wound its way, serpentine, ever deeper, twisting into the underwater canyons and gullies below. Their claws scraped against the smooth stone walls worn away by a millena of salty current and water wear.

They could hear their nails scratching at its surface more clearly now than ever--the noise was louder under the water, and the dense pressure only served to amplify it. They could almost hear their very own bones creaking and hear the shifting of their leathery scales rubbing against each other. They could hear the ichor flowing in them from the tip of their nose to the tip of their tail.

And they heard the sound of nothing--nothing, that was, except the sound of pressure, the noise of the ocean itself breathing.

They snuffled their snout against the earth at their side, snorted, and dug their claws in deeper, determined to leave their mark. They were here. And in a million years, they would come back and leave this mark down here again, fresh and deep, because there was nothing left to do. The world was empty.

The world was quiet.

At the bottom of the trench lay a gently swirling expanse of dusky sea brine, of which the haze beneath concealed the true bottom of the ocean floor. Longan Dragon Cookie paused here, golden eyes shining light and making the cloudy mass almost seem to glow with an apparent halo. It looked like the sunlight reflecting off of the clouds, only salty, wet, and dense. This was where the heaviest matter collected at the bottom of the ocean. Testily, Longan Dragon Cookie extended their paw, reaching inside to press down to find there was no immediate ground to stand upon. The trench extended deeper than life and deeper than sight.

A noise reverberated all around them suddenly, echoing loudly off of the ever-narrow walls of the trenches and leaving a dim ripple of water flowing east in its wake. It sounded like the ocean--not something cracking and breaking all at once, falling to the bottom of the ocean floor, but moreso the humming of an ancient song, one that only Earthbread itself could possibly know. Something about it seemed familiar to Longan, though they couldn't quite place it.

Longan twisted their head in the direction of the noise, bracing themself upon the precipice that dipped into the briney sea, weighted down upon by pressure and cold. For all their sense of sight, they couldn't see particularly far ahead of themself. It probably wouldn't have done much in the first place.

The noise didn't stop. It rumbled within the earth, tingling their claws and sending shivers down the length of their body, from the tip of their nose to the tip of their tail. It shuddered in the air with every ancient note, a siren's call that sang an ancient song of love.

To investigate or to draw themself back?

Well. Longan Dragon Cookie had conquered the world with a mighty swiftness and resolve, dragging the world from a golden age of pathetic, crumbling cookies to the golden age of dragons sprang anew. If life could exist, even down here--if this was a song being sang by a cookie of any form--even if it seemed unlikely that any cookie life could exist this far down, they knew what they had to do.

Powerful legs and a serpentine body snaked its way through the water, defying the laws of gravity, twisting its way through the current. The noise only grew louder, raising in volume, not for lack of becoming louder on its own but for how distant it apparently was. It followed the sea of brine--a sea so long that at some point, they were willing to call it a giant's river instead. The darkness was cold, and it was difficult to see farther than a short distance ahead of them. They found themself hugging the wall of the trench more often than they didn't.

They didn't know how long they swam. Hours, perhaps--it felt like it might have been days. Time was impossible to measure down here, unless one wanted to waste the effort to keep count of seconds and minutes and hours themself. Longan was not one of those creatures. After all, they had all the time in the world now.

As they swam, the taste of the brine seemed to grow thicker, punctuating the water with a taste so dense one could choke on it. They thought at first they were hallucinating how the brine seemed to rise as they traveled, but eventually there came a time that even they had to admit they were wrong.

They traveled for many hours--until, finally, a most peculiar sight met their eyes: A wall of brine, filtering slowly down, in a manner not dissimilar to a waterfall. Longan Dragon Cookie sniffed at the air, magically artificial gills flaring, head lifting in defiance of gravity. Gravity itself threatened to pull them under for how much the water tried to strangle them--they had to kick their feet with great aggression to not sink deeper before they were ready.

The song by now had stopped, the water stilling with the silence of nothing save the beating of a dragon's heart and the breathing of the ocean. Longan gazed upward, estimating the likelihood that the brine was pouring from somewhere above. It was easier to go down than it was go go up, they decided--and besides, it's not like they had anywhere to go but up or back the way they came, anyway. Twisting their body to face upwards, they began to swim in the serpentine manner that their cousins swam upon the air in the far-off tundra.

They thought of their corpses, intermingled in the midst of a fierce battle that ended up leaving the earth flowing red with the flow of dragon jam. They died protecting each other--protecting the cookies that they saw fit worthy to protect--and for what? Nobody would remember them now except as the villains who stood in the way of the re-emergence of the glory of dragons. It was a fitting end for the greater good. They knew not the forces they toyed with.

After a long, long while of swimming upward, taking rest at perches they found along the way, eventually they found they could rise no more. The brine filtered in from somewhere in the cavern wall, which meant there was a hole that led elsewhere. Longan Dragon Cookie's tail lashes furiously, glowering at the brine that drifted steadily downward and tumbled upon itself in slow motion. What a waste of time, they thought with disgust. And they were about to leave when all at once the song of the sea resonated once again.

It was louder here--loudest, even. The source of the noise seemed to come from wherever the source of this brine was.

Longan's tail thrashed, body dancing contemplatively before the brine. Fine, they eventually concluded. They'd come this far. What would be the point if they retreated now? Taking a deep breath of water, Longan Dragon Cookie flattened their gills shut (a feat that wasn't easy and took a great deal of concentration in itself) and dove forward.

It was very thick--so thick, it was viscous. The tunnel they twisted through was large enough to fit their body, but it was impossible to see and seemed even more impossible to work through. More than once, Longan found themself pausing, taking a moment to register from what direction the brine came by sensing the dim pull of the current. It seemed to bring them ever-upward. They held their breath so long that their lungs burned. They held their breath for so long that they had to breathe, and they sucked in water that was more salt than it was water and half as fluid. It burned in their gills, sharp and painful, rubbing the fragile flesh beneath raw and tender.

The song was still singing when Longan breached the surface of the brine, clawing their way through the final gap and finding themself finally drifting above it all. They opened their gills and breathed, heavy at first, and then softer. Already, they found themself bring dragged down by gravity once more, but it felt easier to move from where they currently rested, though it was no less difficult to see. There was no light here--none from above--though looking down, the brine on the ocean floor seemed to glow the palest of teals.

The song rocked softly, so loud that their head buzzed from the noise. It sounded louder to their right, so they angled their head in that direction and began to swim to investigate.

They drifted close. Closer. The golden light shining off of their eyes illuminated what lay ahead dimly, until they could see the face of what looked to be some kind of statue--the statue of the beautiful face of a young woman, one who looked so distantly familiar, Longan could swear they should have been able to remember her name. And yet the song of the sea seemed to emanate from somewhere deep within the statue, playing like the distant memory of a lullaby.

Before Longan could think too much of it, the statue suddenly moved. Soft, quiet eyes suddenly stared back at them, and the music that the sea had been singing all this time faded all at once.

Longan flinched backwards for a moment, alarmed, but didn't draw too far back. Recognition snapped into place in their mind all at once--the song of the sea a song that sailors used to sing on the ocean when they missed their loved ones at home. The thick sea of brine that twisted like rivers in the trenches of the sea, the very same brine that fell from her head like hair. The tale of the Sea Fairy, how she loved the moon so fiercely she never stopped trying to reach the cookie she loved, until finally she did and disappeared thousands of years ago.

This was where she disappeared to.

She stared at them for a long moment, the living embodiment of water staring deeply into their own eyes with a chronic lack of fear that either came from ignorance or dismissal. The brine glowed stronger now, as if awoken from a deep sleep of its own, shimmering a cold teal and allowing Longan to finally see for the first time in what felt like weeks.

She was silent. They were, too.

"I thought you were somebody else for a moment," Sea Fairy murmured, her eyes drooping tiredly. The glow of the ocean floor eased, but didn't go away entirely.

Longan answered: "The depths of the ocean is far too deep for any light from the sky to reach."

"I know," came the quiet answer--quiet, though it still trembled loudly in the air. She shifted, her eyes sliding away from them and drifting to the side, a spark of some unnameable emotion Longan never cared to consider slipping onto her face for a moment.

"So this," Longan Dragon Cookie noted, gazing about the empty ocean themself, "is where you have been hiding all of this time, brooding because you could never reach the unreachable dreamer." It wasn't a question--it was a statement of fact.

Sea Fairy hummed, the sound not dissimilar to the song they'd heard in their search to find the source. The song of love. Were Longan Dragon Cookie not fully aware of just whose domain they resided in, they likely would have scoffed.

"You have dived quite deep," she murmured finally, "to have come here." Carefully, her eyes slipped back over to them, her brow lightly furrowed as she gazed upon the comparatively small dragon. "I wish that you hadn't."

"I certainly didn't descend these depths to find you," Longan proclaimed, searching the ocean floor for a distant island that could be deemed at a safe distance. There was none. "I followed the sound of the sea's song of love, and it brought me here. That is all."

"What are you doing so deep in the first place?" she asked, moving. Longan Dragon twisted back, scowling, but she continued to move her arm, slowly extending a cupped hand, assumedly for them to perch upon. As if they would. "You're no manner of sea dragon."

The bubbles rose from Longan's snout in a shimmering gesture, eyes shifting from hand to face to general demeanor. Her hair fell slowly in waves, blanketing the bottom of the ocean floor in a salty teal that glowed with the power of her magic. Somehow it made her seem paler, framing her face and making it almost seem to glow like the face of the moon on a clear night--all except for her eyes, dark and carefully neutral like the depths of a somber sea.

She was beautiful, they thought.

"I could ask the same," they answered briskly, turning their head aside but still keeping their eye on the waking legend. "But we already know that reason. Don't we?"

Sea Fairy Cookie blinked.

"Is that why you're here, then?" she asked, voice humming like the the curling currents. "To relish in fate's decision to leave you lonely?"

Longan Dragon opened their mouth to speak, but paused, grimacing--an out-of-character action that took them by surprise. But there was something to it that troubled them, rearing its ugly head and hissing with agony and frustration. For several long moments, Longan Dragon Cookie puzzled over it, eyes flickering slowly and warily over the oceanic hue surrounding them.

And then it hit them.

'Alone'.

In all of Longan Dragon Cookie's efforts to expunge the world of all cookie life, they've found themself alone. In electing to live their life in accordance to the superiority of dragonkind, they've also turned away from their very own family--their dragon kin, their brood, their heart. How disgustingly attached to mortal musings they had been. How spiteful and angry they were to turn Longan's vision for the future away.

They'd seen these events unfold. They knew this song and dance. As far as they were concerned, it was worth a millennium of loneliness, if it meant destroying the cookies who were destroying the world and the legacy left behind by dragons everywhere.

But now they were facing the consequences.

And here they were, facing the unforeseen--a living goddess hiding beneath the sea, for a thousand years hence, unable to face her own loneliness in her longing for the sleeping moon.

Briskly, Longan's tail thrashed back and forth, claws digging into the stone to keep themself rooted in place. "I made my decision long ago," they hissed, vile and contemptuous, turning their head to glare at the queen of the sea. Such a shame that it wasn't quite so easy to turn the very sea itself into stone.

She met their gaze for a long, silent moment that was only as silent as a dragon's heart beat. It was only as silent as the static noise of the ocean floor. Somewhere leagues away, a whale hit the bottom of the ocean floor, alone and dead.

She closed her eyes and shifted her head, the light of her magic flickering subtly.

"I did, as well," she whispered. "A long, long time ago."

She really was beautiful, Longan decided. They wondered whether the moon saw her face looking up toward the sky, eyes meeting eyes in desperate want to hold her hands and dance together rather than miles upon miles away from each other. Had Moonlight seen her--seen her reaching out her hands toward the sky from atop her tower, trying to do something so small as to be acknowledged once more by her love?

Or had Moonlight merely slept through it all, peaceful and unawares, as uncaring to the sea's pull as a cream wolf was to it's freshly-killed meal?

"Perhaps," Sea Fairy breathed, drawing Longan grudgingly from their thoughts, "if you don't mind... perhaps we can be lonely together. Just for a while."

She lifted her hand once again. Unlike her face, it was dark, like the abyss of the sea swallowed the light and refused to grant it purchase. They hadn't noticed it when she lifted her hand before, and they hadn't noticed when she moved her hand back to her side.

Dubiously, Longan turned their attention toward her face once more, taking in the expression of her eyes, the movements of her face. Perhaps she was trying not to sound desperate. Who knew how long she'd spent in these depths in an exile of her own making, cold and alone?

Who knew how long it'd take for Longan to find company of their own, in the world above the sea where their pairs of eyes could see?

They knew.

"Very well," they scoffed. "If only for a time."

Gradually, they lifted themself up and swam to Sea Fairy's waiting hand. They nestled there uneasily, muscles tense and poised to spring away at the slightest sense that danger was afoot. But her hand didn't move, and it was oddly warm to be held by the hand of a cookie god where the sun never touched and warmth only came from volcanic vents along the sea floor.

They hoped, then, that they didn't sound desperate.

[fadingstrawberrynightmare]

order of writing. below is first. tags second. picture of text from friend and text after it are last.

by anticipating my needs when you thought I was distressed you are continuing to carve a place in my heart

I do think I would be at my best with two. specifically these two.

my friend is right. but do I even have the capacity to employ this in a way that allows me to enjoy you in all of the ways that I want

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ newfangled technology ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ logan finds your vibrator and discovers a wonder of modern technology┊1k words

contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊implied age gap, established relationship, vibrators, overstimulation & mentioned multiple orgasms, receiving oral

➤ author's note: first logan smut!! i’m a bit burnt out of writing it actually so idk if there will be more, but i couldn’t let this idea go <3

logan likes to believe that he understands modern technology for the most part even though you can often hear him muttering curses under his breath at the stupid machine that isn’t working. if most parents and grandparents are struggling to figure it all out, you can bet that this two-hundred-year-old mutant does. it feels like yesterday when people were using rotary phones in their homes, then hand-held flip-phones, and now smartphones that could show you anything you could dream of at the tap of a button— he feels as though the world is growing much faster than an old man like him can keep up with too many gadgets for too many different purposes getting too many upgrades.

any attempts to get him to understand the internet fail for the most part, so he uses his own phone for nothing other than calling, texting, photography, and occasionally googling some sort of questions. he finds advertisements about the latest devices annoying, but he’s very appreciative of motorcycles, kitchen appliances, and other simple machines that make life so much easier compared to his time.

he’s learning about new tech every week, new and pre-existing, both ones which make him wonder if he should get it for himself or ones which make him furrow his brow at the fact that such a thing actually exists. tonight is one of the times when he has both reactions, but more than anything, an intense curiosity had been ignited in his soul.

you asked him to look for something in your bedroom drawers, something that he can’t recall at the moment after he found something that piqued his attention: an egg-shaped item coated in pink medical-grade silicone neatly hidden under layers of clothing and tightly wrapped in a bag. it was tiny in his massive hand and he didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was or what it was made for until you walked in to see what was taking so long, hearing you gasp and turning his head to find you covering your face with your hands looking absolutely mortified. you struggled to stop yourself from stuttering when you had to explain to him what it was, a sex toy that you bought sometime in the first year of college and buried once you got together since it was no longer needed. it was the only one you’ve ever bought and you’ve honestly forgotten about it until now without any idea of how he would react.

while you were humiliated about it, you could see a sparkle of intrigue in his eyes which quickly led to finding yourself in bed with your clothing removed and his new discovery against your aching cunt. it wasn’t difficult to figure out how to change the intensity of the vibrations with a press of a button, but did he need to put it at the highest setting when you’ve practically lost feeling in your legs at this point? it felt so strange at first now that you’re so accustomed to him pleasuring you personally, yet that foreign sense melted away with the familiar memory of taking care of your needs when lonely— except now you had your handsome lover holding it for you with your hands gripping the sheets instead. 

he’s amused at how such a small little thing was so powerful in reducing you to a moaning mess as it pulls another orgasm from your spent body, feeling his neglected cock twitch with every blissful moan past your lips louder than the humming of the toy. you mutter something along the lines of asking him not to stare out of embarrassment, but it all falls on deaf ears since the view that he has is downright mesmerizing, watching intently as he presses it into your puffy folds with a focus on your sensitive clit. all the while, he’s holding your legs open to stop you from closing them instinctively when it felt like too much, his large hand being a comforting weight on your thigh as you squirm in place.

your body trembled in sync with the pulsating toy, walls barely able to clench around the head of the vibrator while leaking like a faucet and dripping all over logan’s fingers. “it’s too much-!!” you whined, throwing your head back into the pillows with glossy eyes and drool starting to seep out the corner of your mouth from the electricity coursing through your veins. it’s surprising that you were even able to utter a coherent phrase when your brain had essentially been turned to mush.

“you can give me one more, can’t you doll?” there’s a hint of sadism in his voice detectable to even your ecstasy-fogged mind where you knew that he was getting off on your reactions alone, an arrogant smirk plastered across his handsome face that was so slappable and sexy. he can almost feel himself drooling too, craving a taste of the sweet nectar making a mess everywhere. “such a desperate and needy little thing,” he tutted, observing your greedy pussy trying to pull the vibrator deeper within you. “go on, cum for me.”

as if his words commanded your body, the tight coil twisting in your abdomen finally snapped, making you writhe and cry out in relief. your heart was pounding in your chest and you gasped for air, feeling sweaty and exhausted as that must have been your third or fourth climax. you stared at him through half-lidded eyes trying to determine if he had had enough of using the vibrator for torturous pleasure until he suddenly pulled you closer to him to bury his face into your soaked heat. he just needed a taste of you, to lick you clean and make you tug on his hair.

watching you become undone when he doesn’t even need to lift a finger seemed to awaken something in him… it’s definitely a piece of modern technology that he would like to invest in, he plans to buy more of different types, shapes, and sizes to try out on you (the definition of “spectacular, give me fourteen of them right now”).

[cy-cyborg]

I'm begging dragonage fans to do a tiny bit of research about arm amputees before loudly shouting their opinions on the inquisitor returning in the next game Please lol.

Apparently, it was confirmed that the inquisitor, your chatacter from the last game (who looses their arm in the final cutscene of the DLC), will return in Veilguard as a customisable character, similar to Hawke, and they will play an active roll in the story. This has caused a lot of people to start speculating on how they'll handle the inquisitor's missing hand, with most people agreeing they'll have to have a prosthetic to be an active part of the story. Which, while I do think this is the rought bioware will take, isn't true, and a part of me really hopes they leave the inquisitor without a prosthetic arm like in the end of Tresspasser

Partially because we already have a companion with a prosthetic (neve) and it would be nice to see some diversity in how amputation is depicted in such a mainstream game, but also because you dont need a prosthetic to fight as any of the main 3 classes from inquisition.

Mage:

mages just need a staff, the game shows them as 2 handed weapons but it's totally beleiveable that it would be usable 1-handed (Neve also uses a dagger-like weapon in the trailer, you can make a "staff" in inquisition that functions more like an energy sword, and the Mage in the chargers uses a staff resembling a bow, so I think it's more that they just need a focus, the shape doesn't matter as much). A knight enchanter may struggle more 1 handed, but I wouldn't write it off as an option with some modifications made to their main staff.

Warrior:

the easiest to justify, because there are several cases of arm amputees fighting with a sword and sheild in history, and while many did have prosthetics, most weren't functional (meaning they were mainly for aesthetic purposes and didn't actually aid the fighter in any way. There were exceptions, like Götz of the iron hand, who's prosthetic was functional, but most were not). The inquisitor looses their arm just above the wrist*, so they still have most of their forearm. Most sheilds strap to the forearm, so it wouldn't take much adjustment to make that work, and you can use the other hand for the weapon. Obviously, two-handed weapons will probably be off the table, though, lol.

*edit to say, as several people pointed out, i got that wrong, my bad 😅. The inquisitors arm is actually amputated through the elbow, the screenshots i was looking at just weren't very clear and it has been a while since i got to trespasser lol. It would still entirely possible to strap a shield to the upper arm though, with some pretty minor adjustments to the existing straps on standard (as in, those used by non-disabled warriors) tall shields, so the point still stands.

Rogue

this is the one people tend to be the loudest about and the one I understand the most. Obviously duel-weilding daggers won't work (unless you give them something like the hidden blades in assassin's creed on their stump side, I guess) but using a single dagger still would, and is a perfectly reasonable approach, given that's how most irl people used daggers. Archery, though, absolutely can work without a prosthetic, despite what people think. Dragonage has crossbows, not something like Bianca (rip) but a small, single-handed crossbow is an option. Even ignoring that though, amputee archery is a thing irl, and not every arm amputee uses prosthetics for it. The bows are modified to be held in one hand and drawn with the mouth using a kind of pully-system built into the bow that I could very easily see being modified into some dwarven-style contraption in game (some double arm amputees use their feet to draw regular bows, but I don't think that would be pheasable in combat).

Like I said, I think bioware will probably go with a prosthetic, but i hope that they don't. Or at the very least, show them with it sometimes and without it other times (the same goes for Neve, no one wears their prosthetic 24/7, I'd love to see them both take them off around the home base, even just occasionally). A lot of arm amputees in particular prefer to go without one, and arm prosthetics in media are some of the worst offenders of the "perfect prosthetic"/"miracle cure prosthetic" tropes. It doesn't count as "diversity" or disability representation if it doesn't actually change anything other than the look of the chatacter, and im really, really desperate for some actually decent amputee representation in games.

[seokgyuu]

After your flawless job-interview, Seokmin hires you as the newest addition to his company. Just that, once you start, it seems like you’re not who you previously portrayed to be. Instead, he finds himself faced with mini-skirts, push-up bras and gawking co-workers, not to mention your absolute lack of work ethic. Obviously, he needs to fire you! Just that, when he tries to… you simply don’t let him.

Pairing: Boss!Seokmin x Employee!F!Reader

Genre: Porn with the smallest bits of plot, workplace “romance”, Smut MDNI!

Warnings: Morally gray characters, Seokmin is obviously reader’s boss and shouldn’t be fucking her, power imbalance, reader gets objectified a lot, but she enjoys it, reader is… acting very dumb (on purpose), Smut warnings under the cut!

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Hi everyone!! welcome to this little work of… filth! Making my return with a Seokmin fic just felt right (also I just could not stop thinking about this). Please let me know what you think with a reply or a reblog, it would mean the world to me!! also a big thanks to @shadowkoo for making this AMAZING banner and to @bitchlessdino for beta-ing!!

tagging: @okiedokrie, @inkchwe, @shinysobi, @gyuhanniescarat, @haologram, @beomcoups @wongyuseokie, @the-boy-meets-evil, @multi-kpop-fanfics (just some of my fellow dk enjoyers)

Smut Warnings: oral (m receiving), face fucking, praise (good girl, etc.), degradation (whore, etc.), unprotected sex, titjob, breeding, usage of the word “Sir” in a sexual context, tell me if i missed anything!

His phone rings. The Harry Potter title music is playing, letting him know it’s his sister calling. He can’t pick up, or well, no, he can, considering his hands are free, but he probably shouldn’t.

Having talks with his employees about having to let them go is Seokmin’s least favorite thing about being the boss. He never wants anyone to feel like they weren’t good enough or couldn’t live up to any expectations, but sometimes… sometimes it was inevitable.

Like with you.

When you had first walked into your interview, you impressed him with your sharp tongue and your witty humor. Your resume looked perfect for the job, and your previous experience was exactly what he needed. He hired you the following week and deemed his decision a good one - until you showed up for your first day.

See, before anything else, Seokmin is simply just a man. A man with eyes and needs and desires.

The mini skirt barely covered your backside, showed off your legs and those perfect thighs you had hidden from sight before. Your dress shirt would have been fine for the office if only it wasn’t… half open. Or at least open enough to see your breasts almost falling out of your push-up bra.

He knew back then that he should say something. Tell you that this wasn’t appropriate to wear to work. But he didn’t. For the same reason, his mostly male staff began coming into work more punctually, more eagerly and stayed for even longer hours.

It was a mistake, he thinks now, not to say anything to you on your first day. Or any other day after that.

A mistake or the single best decision he had ever made.

Truth be told, he’d never called you into his office to discuss his decision to let you go if it was only about the clothes (or lack thereof) you wore to work. No, he was fine with the clothes, more than fine, actually, if you took just one look at the amount of tissues discarded in his office’s trash can.

But… you lacked certain skills he had thought you’d easily have, considering your previous jobs. You struggled doing, in his opinion, the most basic tasks, and more or less let the others do the work for you. The work he paid you to do. Instead, you sat at your desk all day and played Solitaire or scrolled on Instagram.

The two of you almost never interacted, mainly because he was scared to say the wrong thing or stare too long at your breasts he couldn’t stop thinking about anyway. When it did happen that he had to talk to you, it mostly went with him going back to his office with a raging boner and a guilty conscience.

One time, he brought back some prints from the copy room, only to find out you had been the one to print them. When he asked around the room and you were the one to raise your hand and get up from your chair he almost choked on his spit. You made your way over him, your tight dress hugging every single one of your curves, the slit in the side showing off where your stockings began, the neckline down far enough for him to see the lacy material of your bra once again.

“Thank you, Mr. Lee, Sir,” you smiled at him, your fingers touching his when you reached for the pile of papers. He felt like you shot him and as a result, he shot a huge load of cum into one of his tissues when he was back in his office.

Then, he met you at the coffee maker one time, witnessing you eat a fucking banana in one god damned bite. He couldn’t believe his eyes when you basically deepthroated the fruit all while looking directly into his eyes. He popped a boner right then and there.

All in all, it was safe to say the woman he had met in the interview was gone and he had absolutely no clue why or how he had let you fool him that day you met.

A part of him was angry at himself for letting it get this far, but he couldn’t deny that with every glimpse of your exposed ass and tits, with every encounter like the prints or the banana, he decided to give you one last chance to prove yourself. So far he had given you about 151 chances and you’d screwed up all of them.

Which is how he ended up calling you into his office.

Which is how you ended up sitting in front of his desk on one of the comfortable dark red armchairs, your legs crossed, yet another mini-skirt rising up far enough for Seokmin to at least imagine he can smell you. The shirt you were wearing was tight and cropped and your blazer was lazily hung over the back of the armchair.

“So, Y/N,” he began, shifting on his seat and trying very hard not to look at your tits, “do you have any idea why I called you in here?”

You shook your head no.

“No, sir, I don’t. Did I do something wrong?”

Sir. Oh good lord, Seokmin had to swallow down the pathetic moan he feels creeping up his throat.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I have noticed that you’ve been handing your work off to Chan a lot. Soonyoung as well, and while I understand you’re the newest employee, you have been here for almost five months now, Y/N, and I did expect you to already, you know, do at least a certain amount of work by yourself.”

Your eyes widened the more he spoke, your pout prominent once he finished.

“I’m sorry, Sir, truly! They always offered to help me and I just- I just didn’t want to disappoint them,” your voice strained, almost sounding like you were about to start crying. Seokmin felt his heart speed up.

“I understand that. But still - it must make sense to you that-,”

You jumping up from your chair made him stop mid sentence. He watched how you stalked over to him, your big eyes staring him down with something he couldn’t pinpoint even if he tried.

“It does make sense, Sir, and I want to apologize. I can do better, please don’t fire me.”

Seokmin was frozen in his chair, his seated figure looking up at you, almost panicking when he realized how close you were. If he raised his hand now, he could touch your thigh, could let it slip higher, could-

“Please, Mr. Lee, I’d do anything to keep this job.”

Which is how we get to… now.

His phone is still ringing on the desk, but he’s still nowhere near answering it. He is too focused on your mouth around his rock-hard cock, on the way you look up at him with watery eyes, on the way your hand is fondling his aching balls.

You dropping to your knees might have been the single most hottest thing he has ever seen before. Or well, maybe this right now tops it. Your tongue is flat against his shaft, dragging it along his veins, licking up all the precum that doesn’t directly land in your mouth. You suck on his tip, tease his slit, and moan when you take him all the way.

And Seokmin? He thinks he might have just entered heaven. His hands are itching to touch you, to push you down and fuck up, to lose control, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you with his mouth dropped, with his heart going at triple speed in his chest.

This is wrong. So, so wrong! He shouldn’t let you suck his cock as a way to keep your job, for god’s sake!

Once his tip crashes against the back of your throat, his mind goes blank, and all the thoughts from before disappear. They make room for new thoughts instead, thoughts that finally allow him to do what he wanted to from the second you had walked in on your first day.

The groan he lets out causes you to drip into your panties. And the way his hands now find the back of your head almost makes you come. Your eyes roll back for a second, before you bring them back to look at your boss.

Your extremely hot, perfect boss who took so fucking long to bring you into his office. Who could not take a hint at-fucking-all.

He begins to thrust up into your throat, letting out moans you wish you could record and replay as many times as you wished. His cock is big, just as big as you had hoped it to be. He’s veiny and perfect and his angry red tip is going to become your favorite thing to suck on. He tastes salty and sweet and bitter at the same time, melts on your tongue, and gets you to clench around absolutely nothing.

“Fuck,” he cries out when he picks up his speed, nails digging into your scalp as he continues his hard and fast thrusts, his cock beginning to twitch, his balls tightening dangerously. You need him, want him and almost demand him to come down your throat. To give you everything he has to offer. You press your tongue harder against his shaft, cheeks hollowed out, and you can feel his orgasm nearing with every passing second.

“I’m gonna- fu-fuck, I’m gonna c-come!” His cry is almost taking you over the edge too.

Seokmin sees red and white at the same time, opens his eyes, and stares down at you with his pupils blown and his cock finally emptying his seed inside your awaiting mouth. It almost breaks him, seeing how you swallow all of his cum like a pro, never breaking eye contact.

Breathless, Seokmin slowly gets down from his high, watching how you lick up his cock, your eyes twinkling with mischief, giving his tip a small kiss before finally leaning back, batting your eyelashes.

“So tasty, Mr. Lee. Now, should I get back to work?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It kind of becomes a thing. At the beginning, Seokmin calls you into his office and you suck his cock, make him come, go back to work. All while still wearing your skimpy outfits to work and doing the minimum requirements to not be a complete waste of Seokmin’s money. Even though he figures with a cold shiver running down his spine, it seems like he’s paying you for something totally different now.

You’re enjoying this to the fullest, having a right out blast. Not just because you get to have Seokmin fuck your throat every other day, no, but because of how he looks at you. When you met him that first day at the interview, you already knew you wanted him. Knew he was going to be your next little project. So far you had never failed, and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now.

Working at the company for five months hadn’t exactly been your plan, though. Five months until he finally called you into his office. Five months of you choosing the most outrageous outfits, knowing every single man in that office wanted a taste of you, but only wanting one of them to actually act on it.

“Holy fucking hell, yeah, just- just like that,” he’s leaning against the wall behind his desk, you back on your knees, his cock hitting the soft inside of your cheek over and over again. He’s holding onto your hair with one hand while the other is pressed against the wall next to him. You lick and suck and fuck his cock against your cheek, drool running down your chin. You’re painfully wet, throbbing, and needing him to finally put his cock in you.

By now (3 weeks after your little blowjob-job started) you know his tells, can sense when he’s about to come. So, when you hear that first little noise, you let go of his cock with a plop and get up. Seokmin’s eyes open and he looks at you, visibly confused.

“Wha-,” he begins, but you just take a step forward and crush your lips against his, your hands grabbing his face.

For the first few seconds, Seokmin doesn’t really grasp the situation. You’re kissing him. He begins to melt, his hands somehow finding their way to your waist and when you lead him back, suddenly seated on his desk, his mind goes blank. You want him to fuck you. Want his cock to go inside that probably sweet tasting pussy of yours. He moans into your mouth.

“Take me, Mr. Lee, please, need your cock in me, need you to fuck me,” you whisper into his ear, biting his earlobe after and sighing in relief when he immediately moves to get your panties off of you.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so hot.” He kisses you again, wild and uncontrolled, your panties now landing on the floor. You part your legs and grab his cock, bringing it to your awaiting entrance. There is no stopping the moan that escapes you once his tip slips in, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip harshly. He licks over your teeth, feels his mind fog up, no thoughts just you, you, you.

Then, he’s fully inside of you. Twitches, groans, kisses you harder. And fucks you like a god-damned beast.

The pace he sets is brutal and you’re lucky it’s after hours so no one is at the office anymore. They for sure would have heard the way the desk is bouncing against the floor with every thrust as well as your high pitched moans, and Seokmin’s low growls.

He fucks you like he owns you and you live for it. His cock drags along your walls, fills you like he was made for you, hits your sweet spot over and over again as if he’d done this thousand times before.

“Fuck, yes!” You basically scream, your body falling backward, only his strong hands holding you up as he speeds up once more.

“God, shit, how are you so tight, baby?” He moves to kiss your neck, licks over the salty skin, revels in your taste, in the way you shiver under his touch. You wanna scream and cry and mark his body with your mouth and nails - and so you begin to pull on the hem of his shirt, which he gladly helps you to take off completely.

He’s built like a god. Wide shoulders, bulked up arms, abs like they were painted on. You let your nails drag over his torso, finally sliding them to his strong, muscular back. When he pushes into you even more, his lips not getting enough of your own, you dig into his flesh and hear him hiss. Still, he doesn’t stop. If anything, he goes even harder. Fucks you til you scream his name while experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life, milking his cock of all he had, cum filling your pussy to the brim.

After that it spirals.

He fucks you every chance he gets. He is addicted to you and your pussy. Whenever he needs you, he gets to have you.

He bends you over his desk during work hours, drilling into your pussy like a mad man while pressing his hand over your mouth to make sure no one notices. He comes inside you and stuffs it all back in there with his fingers, pulls your panties back up and sends you out to continue your work day as before.

When lunch time comes around, you meet him in the building’s cafeteria and he drags you to the nearest supply closet to fuck your mouth and then your cunt, telling you what a good little slut you are and how well you always take him.

He sends you pictures of his hard cock after work, begging you to come to his place and bounce on him - but you never do. It’s a game for both of you. No fucking outside of work, no dates or anything like that. He gets to keep fucking you and you get to keep your job - easy as that.

Just that… you’re not really bad at your job. Seokmin is slow to figure that one out, you realize.

When your seventh month at the company begins, he is so focused on getting his cock inside of you, he doesn’t even notice you’ve stopped handing off your assignments to your colleagues. You’ve actually grown quite fond of this job and the team - and Seokmin for that matter. Not that you want to admit that to him, or confess that you’ve been playing this part of the dumb girl with the slutty outfits simply to get his attention.

“I love when you get to the office with no panties on, gods, you’re a dirty little whore.” Seokmin’s hands are on your ass while you bounce on his cock. He’s sitting on his desk chair, admiring the view of your tits as you fuck yourself on his cock. His dirty words make your pussy flutter around him and you whimper, your hands braced on his shoulders.

“Mhmm, only a whore for you, Mr. Lee,” you moan, biting down on your lip. There is no chance you’ll ever grow tired of seeing the way he looks at you when you fuck. His hooded eyes, his red lips dropped open. His cheeks flushed and his hair a mess.

You enjoy being on top, enjoy watching him watch you, setting your own pace until he can’t hold back any longer and wraps his arm around your waist, pushing you down so he can fuck into you at his desired speed.

“That’s right, you’re my whore, your pussy belongs only to me.” He squeezes your ass cheeks and moans when you clench around him again, thrusting his hips up once. You can tell he’s about to lose control, about to hold you down and fuck you senseless. There is nothing quite as hot as Seokmin losing his composure.

Just two days ago, you teased him by being flirty with Soonyoung all day. Seokmin had not thought of himself as possessive, but somehow when it came to you…

Safe to say, he fucked you against his office door two minutes after your last encounter with Soonyoung, simply shoving up your skirt and ripping off your panties, his cock deeply buried inside of you the next second. He fucked you so hard you couldn’t properly walk even the day after.

“Yes, Mr. Lee, my pussy belongs to you, I am yours, Sir.”

You bounce on his cock quicker now, throwing your head back when his hands move to your breasts, taking them both into his hands and cradling them. His fingers press onto your nipples, squeezing them between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and teasing you. With every touch of his, you feel yourself nearing your high.

“You’re so beautiful, always so good for me, isn’t that right?” He breathes out, licking his lips as his eyes are glued to the way your tits look between his hands.

He fucked them a few days ago, your tits. Had you kneeling between his legs, squeezing them together as he fucked his cock between them with the lube he now stored in his bottom drawer. They had felt amazing around him, but nothing compared to your cunt, to its warmth, to its tightness.

“Oh- oh! I’m- I’m gonna come, Mr. Lee! Please, can I come?!” Your orgasm is so close, is ready to crash down on you and when Seokmin moaned out a yes, you let it happen. Waves and waves of pleasure erupt in your body and make you fall forward against his chest, his hips now beginning to thrust up, his moans turning more and more desperate.

“Good girl, such a good girl, fuck- I’m gonna fill you up, yeah? Fill you up with my cum, breed you like my own personal whore, hm?”

Your nails dig into his skin desperately as he fucks you fast and hard, his right arm now around your waist, pressing you down while he uses you for his pleasure, crying out your name when he comes - white hot cum landing inside your spent pussy, painting it the colours of his affection for you.

Seokmin fucks both of you through your orgasms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, kissing your lips passionately when his hips still. You kiss him back, arms wrapping around his neck, your high still present in your bones.

“You’re perfect,” Seokmin mumbles against your lips and you smile, kissing him again, fingers brushing through his hair.

For a while, you make-out just like that, him still safely buried inside of you, some bits of your combined releases dripping down onto his chair.

Only when Seokmin’s phone rings do the two of you part. You give his cheek a small kiss before climbing off his lap and looking for your underwear, all while you put your dress back into its place. Your boss watches you, wishes he could just do this all over again instead of answering his phone. Reluctantly, he takes the call and watches how you wave at him, panties back on and clothes and shoes back where they belong. He waves back, greeting the business partner on the other line.

And when you leave his office and close the door behind you, when none of your co-workers even pay you any mind, you realize that maybe you like to keep it this way for just a little while longer.

[deerlysacred]

🍎 i feel so high school every time i look at you . . . { dean winchester x fem!reader }

𐂂 𝄢 { you always felt like you missed out on lots of silly, social & romantic things in your teenage years because you were very shut-down and depressed back then. dean shows you that there's still time to make up for it. }

𖣂 𝄢 established relationship & fluff

♫ 𝄢 concept song : so high school - taylor swift

‼️ 𝄢 i do not own supernatural or any of its characters; all rights belong to their respective creators. this is purely a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, with no intention of profit.

Clink.

. . .

Clink!

The soft clatter of pebbles against your bedroom window barely registered at first. You were curled up under a mountain of blankets, comfortably burrowed in your own little nest, flipping through a book with a cup of tea precariously (?) balanced on your stomach. You told yourself it was probably just the wind. Or a tree branch. Or, you know, the natural creaks and groans of a house that is absolutely not haunted (you hoped so).

Then— another clink.

And another.

You sighed, your eyebrows knitting together.

Okay. Either a ghost just decided to throw hands, or some poor bird tragically lost its sense of direction.

You went out of bed, padding over to the window as you pulled the curtains away. Your eyes widened against the unexpected scene.

Dean Winchester. Standing in your backyard, throwing rocks at your window.

The sight alone was almost too much for your brain to process. He was grinning up at you like some teenage heartthrob straight out of an '80s rom-com, one hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket while the other —oh great— prepared to lob another pebble.

"Dean?" you whisper-yelled, opening your window. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What's it look like, sweetheart?" he whisper-yelled right back, looking too proud of himself. "I'm sneakin' my girl out for a date. Proper teenage style. Now c'mon, before your strict old folks catch me."

You just stared at him, struggling to process several things at once. One, he is standing in your yard throwing pebbles at your window like a delinquent in a coming of age TV show. Two, he just called you his girl, which— okay, that probably should've sound normal to you since you're his girlfriend indeed. For a while now, in fact. But your brain still short-circuited a little, getting flustered even after all this time.

"…Dean, I don't have strict old folks."

He waved a dismissive hand. "I dunno, Y/N. Your grandma did glare at me once. Feels like I'm riskin' life and limb here."

You bit back a laugh. "You do realize I could just use the door, right?"

Dean scoffed, his breath getting visible with the fog because of the chilly air of the evening. "Oh, sure, and miss out on the whole forbidden romance, Romeo-and-Juliet, sneakin'-through-the-night scene? Where's your sense of drama, sweetheart? Hm? Where's your passion?" He gestured grandly towards the window and flexed his muscles briefly. "Now, c'mon. Climb out or somethin'. I'll catch ya."

You folded your arms, shaking your head as you chuckled. "You will not catch me!"

Dean put a hand over his heart, looking scandalized. "Excuse me? I am a gentleman. I would absolutely catch you."

"Dean, be honest. Do you want to risk finishing this date night before it even began after you broke your arm because you got too full of yourself?"

He squinted, like he was actually considering the question. "…Okay, fair point. Plan B— the ladder in the garage. We improvise."

You shook your head again, a helpless smile breaking through. You knew why he was doing this. He probably couldn't stop thinking about what you told him last night— how you felt like you missed out on things as a teenager. How you overthink about the past missed opportunities sometimes, okay… Maybe more than sometimes. And here he was now. And because that he was Dean, instead of just saying something sweet or reassuring and get over with it (not like he was very good with words too), he was throwing pebbles at your window like a teenage rebel, giving you the moment you never got to have.

And damn it if that didn't make you fall for him even more.

"Give me a minute." you said, already reaching for your coat.

Dean grinned, all boyish mischief and dimples, retrieving the slightly rusted ladder from the garage, setting it against the house. "That's my girl, come."

You sighed and closed the window before carefully making your way back down. When you were only a couple of steps from the bottom, Dean suddenly spread his arms wide, wiggling his fingers.

"Alright, sweetheart— leap of faith. I got you."

You eyed him warily. "Dean…"

"Oh, come on. Where's your sense of adventure? Woulda made such a cute movie moment."

You rolled your eyes but decided to humor him. With a deep breath, you let go of the ladder and jumped.

Dean, to his credit, did catch you. Mostly.

He stumbled back a step, arms full of you, before he managed to steady them both, laughing. "See? Told ya I'd—oof—catch you."

You clung to him, half-giggling, half-mortified. "That was not smooth."

"Eh, I give it a solid eight outta ten," Dean said, setting you on your feet. He brushed an imaginary leaf off your shoulder, voice dipping low and playful. "Y'know, if this was some cheesy teen drama, this'd be the part where we kiss real slow, right before your dad comes out with a shotgun."

You snorted, tilting your head. "Too bad my dad's not around to threaten you."

Just as the two of you turned towards the Impala, movement from across the street caught your eye.

Mr. Jenkins.

Mr. Jenkins was your eighty-something-year-old neighbor who sits on his porch every night sipping his coffee, watching the world go by. And right now, he was watching you and Dean with the exact expression of a man who has seen some things in his time but has never seen this.

Dean followed your gaze and gave Mr. Jenkins a slow, respectful nod.

Mr. Jenkins narrowed his eyes. Took a sip of coffee. Kept staring.

Dean turned back to you, whispering. "Alright, I think I've been made. Your grandpa's gonna call the cops, isn't he?"

"He's not my grandpa."

"You sure? He's got that 'disapproving man of the house' energy goin' on."

You sighed. "Just get in the car before he starts asking questions."

Dean tugged open the Impala's door with a dramatic flourish, waving you in like he's some kind of old-school gentleman. "After you, milady."

"Dean…?" you said slowly, side-eyeing him.

"Mm?" He looked perfectly innocent. Too innocent.

"You're taking me to a makeout spot?"

Dean smirked. "Technically, I'm takin’ you to a scenic overlook with a great view of the stars." A beat. "But, yeah, also a makeout spot."

You groaned, slumping against the seat. "I hate everything."

"Nahhh, you love it."

…You kind of did love it. But he didn't need to know that.

When he finally pulled up to the clearing, the view was stunning. An open sky stretching for miles, stars shining bright against the darkness, the town lights twinkling far below. Dean shut off the engine and hopped out, you hugged your coat and went out to clim up on the hood of Baby to sit. When Dean came back, he was holding— a picnic basket?

Your brows shot up. "Oh my God, you packed snacks?"

Dean looked vaguely offended. "Sweetheart, I always pack snacks."

You laughed as he set the basket down on the hood of the Impala and sat next to you. He pulled out a few chocolate bars, a bag of chips, and—of course—a pack of beer.

"Very nutritious." you remarked.

Dean popped the cap off a bottle. "Hey, you want gourmet, sweetheart, you're in the wrong car."

You rolled your eyes but took a chocolate bar, unwrapping it as you leaned back against the windshield, eyes drifting to the sky. It really was beautiful up here. Quiet. Peaceful.

Then, the soft strumming of a guitar filters through the Impala's speakers. An old, slow love song, the kind that makes your chest ache in that bittersweet way.

You glanced at Dean, who was busy nursing his beer like this was no big deal. Like he didn't just put on a song as if this was a romance movie. Your stomach flipped, biting your bottom lip, you spoke.

"Dean…"

He cleared his throat. "Just thought, y'know… if you ever wanted that teenage movie moment… well. This ain't a prom, but…" He gestured around you. "Got the view. Got the music. Got the devastatingly handsome date."

You giggled, leaning into his side. "You are pretty devastating."

Dean grinned, draping an arm around your shoulders. For a while, you just sat there, listening to the song and cuddling.

After a moment of silence, he glanced down at you as he was caressing your shoulder gently. "So, what kinda stuff do you think you missed out on?"

"I don't know. Just… normal teenage things, I guess. Like— stupid, fun stuff. Sneaking out just to go nowhere. Sleepovers. Gossiping about crushes. A first kiss that wasn't tainted by some deep emotional crisis."

Dean winced playfully. "Oof. That one hit close to home."

You smirked. "Right?"

Dean leaned back on his palms, looking thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. I missed out on a bunch of crap, too. No high school parties. No prom. No dumb summer jobs or college road trips. Just—" he huffed a dry laugh. "—training, hunting, and trying to keep Sammy safe."

You frowned, reaching for his hand. "That's not fair. You deserved those things, Dean."

He shrugged, squeezing your fingers. "Yeah, well… wasn't in the cards for me."

You looked down at your joined hands, your thumb tracing over his knuckles. "Sometimes I think about it. What kind of person I would've been if things had been different. If I'd been happy back then."

"You ever wish you could do it over?"

You hesitated, then shook your head. "No if it meant I wouldn't end up here. With you."

Dean's lips parted slightly, like you just knocked the wind out of him. Then, after a second, he cleared his throat and smirked. "Damn. You keep talkin' like that, and I'm gonna have to start writing poetry."

"Oh, please. I'd love to hear your poetry."

Dean straightened, putting on a dramatic voice. "Roses are red, Impala is black. Every time you kiss me, I forget how to act."

You laughed and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. "That was beautiful. You should publish that."

Dean grinned. "Oh, totally. I heard bad poetry is in high demand."

"Then congrats, baby, you're about to be a bestseller."

You sat like that for a while, the laughter fading into something softer, warmer. Then, as the song playing on the radio faded into another slow melody, Dean suddenly sat up.

"Alright, that's it." He turned to you with a grin. "We're fixin' this."

You blinked. "Uh… Fixing what?"

He hopped off the hood, holding out a hand to you. "We missed out on stupid teenage things, right? So let's make up for it. Starting with a slow prom dance under the stars."

You huffed a small laugh but didn't resist when he took your hand, helping you down. The second you were standing, Dean turned, grabbed a soft flannel blanket from the basket, and carefully draped it over your shoulders.

"Wouldn't want my girl gettin' cold." he murmured, making sure it wrapped snugly around you. Then, with a boyish smirk, he added: "Also, this way you can't run when I step on your toes."

You giggled. "Wow. Confidence through the roof, Winchester."

Dean just grinned and pulled you closer, swaying you two gently to the quiet music playing from the Impala's radio.

At first, it was ridiculous. He exaggerated his steps like some old-school ballroom instructor, guiding you dramatically across the dirt like you were at some grand gala instead of parked on an empty hill. But you played along, batting your lashes and letting out an over-the-top sigh, as if you'd just been swept into the most magical moment of your life.

Then, somewhere along the way, the teasing melted into something softer.

Your movements slowed, your bodies falling into an easy rhythm. Your arms looped around Dean's neck, your fingers absentmindedly curling into his hair. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs drawing lazy circles through the fabric of your clothing. The blanket cocooned you in warmth, shielding you from the cold night air.

For a while, you just swayed. No words, no hurry. Just you two, the hum of the radio, the distant chirp of crickets, and the glow of the stars above.

Then Dean dipped his head, his nose brushing lightly against yours. His voice was quieter now, softer. "Y'know… I think I like our version of prom better."

You smiled up at him. "Yeah?"

"Mmhm." His voice was lazy. "No bad music. No ugly corsages. And best of all…" His lips quirked up. "I get to kiss the prettiest girl here."

You barely had time to catch your breath before Dean tilted his head, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. This one wasn't playful or teasing— it was deep, unhurried, and sure. Reassuring. Reassuring in a way that told you you didn't miss out on anything, everything little step in life brought you here. To him. And you knew, that this was more meaningful and real than any ghost of a never-happened memory.

[helen-with-an-a]

Heyy, i hope you're doing well! I wanted to ask if you would be down to write a fic based on the song "drown" by bring me the horizon. I absolutely love this song and it has a place in my heart because this band and also this song carried me through some dark times ( I cried so hard when i heard that song live for the first time 2 months ago xD) . Maybe it could be a barca x reader fic that also deals with $elf h@rm if that is a topic you're comfortable writing about, because reading books and fan fics about this topic has been helping me immensely with my own recovery. So if this is an idea that interests you I would love to read that fic, but if it's a topic you're just not comfortable with feel free to just ignore this ask. (But seriously listen to drown it's such a beautiful song)

Hiiiiii - I hope I did this request and song justice. Please know if you are struggling, you are loved. You are so, so loved and people want to help you. I know asking for help is really hard, but I promise it is worth it. You are worth it.

Drowning

Barça femeni x reader

Description: R feels like she is drowning and the team comes to help her

Word Count: 5.4k

TW: Undescribed Self Harm; Brief mentions of cutting; Bad mental health

Kelly Clarkson once sang that whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, that it turns you into a fighter, and helps you stand a little taller. Those words are meant to inspire resilience, to remind you that adversity is supposed to build character and fortify your spirit. But as much as you wanted to believe that, as much as you tried to let those lyrics resonate in your heart, the truth is, you weren’t sure if they were true. You wished with every fibre of your being that they were, but deep down, you felt the weight of life’s challenges pressing down on you. Instead of feeling stronger, you often felt worn down, as if the struggles you faced had chipped away at your resolve rather than bolstered it.

You wanted to feel like a fighter, to stand taller in the face of hardship, but more often than not, you found yourself struggling just to stay on your feet. It was as if each obstacle left a scar that made it harder to move forward, rather than easier. The hope that you’d emerge stronger sometimes felt like a distant dream, and you wondered if that strength Kelly sang about was something you’d ever truly feel.

Half the time, it felt like you were floating – weightless, as if you were drifting through life without a solid anchor. There was a strange sensation of being unmoored, detached from the world around you, almost as if you were existing in a bubble that separated you from everything real and tangible. In those moments, you felt neither grounded nor fully present, as if the weight of your worries and responsibilities had somehow lifted, but so had your sense of purpose and direction. You were there, but not really there – drifting in a kind of limbo where everything seemed just out of reach.

The other half of the time, it felt like you were drowning – barely able to keep your head above the water as the weight of everything threatened to pull you under. The world seemed to close in around you, the pressures and responsibilities of life crashing over you like relentless waves. Each day felt like a struggle just to stay afloat, as if you were constantly treading water in an ocean of overwhelming emotions, fears, and uncertainties.

Your mind was a whirlpool, dragging you down into dark, turbulent depths where it was hard to breathe, hard to think, and hard to see any way out. Every little thing seemed like an anchor, dragging you further beneath the surface, making it harder and harder to find the strength to push back up. The sensation of drowning was terrifying – your heart raced, your breath quickened, and panic took hold as you fought desperately to survive the relentless tide.

In these moments, it felt like you were being suffocated by the weight of your own thoughts and emotions, as if they were water filling your lungs, making it impossible to take a full breath. You tried to fight against it, to keep yourself above the water, but the effort was exhausting, leaving you drained and gasping for air. The more you struggled, the deeper you seemed to sink, and the idea of finding solid ground again felt increasingly out of reach.

There was one thing that brought you a small measure of comfort, a fleeting moment of relief that made you feel a little better. It was like a lifeline thrown to you in the middle of the chaos. Just for that brief instant, your feet were on solid ground again, and you felt a sense of stability that had been missing for so long. In that split second, you weren’t drowning in the suffocating depths of your anxieties, nor were you floating aimlessly through the fog of disconnection.

Instead, you felt anchored, grounded in a reality that was steady and secure. It was as if the storm inside you had paused, and the world had stopped spinning just long enough for you to catch your breath. In that moment, you were fully present, aware of yourself and your surroundings in a way that made everything else fade into the background. The weight that usually pressed so heavily on your chest lifted, and for that brief period, you were able to stand tall and feel the earth beneath you, firm and unwavering.

It didn’t last long – those moments of clarity and peace never did. They slipped away as quickly as they came, like sand through your fingers, leaving you once again adrift in the chaos of your thoughts. The sense of calm and stability that you craved was always fleeting, a temporary reprieve that left you yearning for more. But in the aftermath, when the world once again became overwhelming and your mind descended back into the chaos there was one thing that lingered: the small, neat red lines.

These lines were the only reminder of that brief lucidity, etched into your skin like a secret code that only you could understand. They were delicate but precise, almost methodical in their appearance, as if each one was a calculated attempt to bring some order to the chaos within.

The red lines were your way of marking time, of grounding yourself in a reality that often felt too slippery to hold onto. In those moments when clarity slipped away, when you were once again floating or drowning, they were there to remind you that, for just a moment, you had found your footing. The pain they brought was real, sharp, and immediate – something that could cut through the numbness and confusion, anchoring you back to the present.

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when life was simpler, when the world seemed brighter and full of possibilities. Your dad used to tell you stories of when you were just a baby, how you were the very picture of happiness –  all gummy smiles and infectious giggles that could light up a room. He would describe how your laughter was so pure, so full of joy, that it could make even the grumpiest person smile. In his eyes, you were a little bundle of sunshine, radiating warmth and love wherever you went.

You often wondered what happened to that little girl, the one who seemed to find joy so easily in everything around her. Where did she go? What changed between those carefree days and now, when the world feels so heavy and your heart so burdened? You tried to remember the last time you felt that kind of unrestrained happiness, but the memories were hazy, like trying to recall a dream that had long since faded.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things started to shift, when the lightness began to slip away, replaced by something much darker. Maybe it was a gradual process, so slow and subtle that you didn’t notice it happening until one day you woke up and realised that the little girl who used to laugh so easily was gone. Or maybe it was something more abrupt, a single event that changed everything, though you couldn’t quite remember what it might have been.

There were times when you’d catch a glimpse of her, that little girl, in the mirror – perhaps in a fleeting smile or a brief moment of joy – but she was always just out of reach, like a shadow that vanished as soon as you tried to hold onto it. The happiness that once came so naturally now felt like a distant memory, something that belonged to a different time, a different version of yourself.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, a mourning for the person you used to be, for the life you used to live. What had happened to that carefree spirit, the one who saw the world as a place of wonder and possibility? Where did all those smiles and giggles go, replaced by the weight of anxiety and the burden of unspoken sadness?

You wished you could find your way back to her, to that little girl who knew how to be happy without even trying. But the path seemed unclear, the way forward uncertain, and all you were left with were the memories of who you used to be and the quiet hope that maybe, someday, you might rediscover that lost joy.

Ingrid had sensed that something was off the very first time she met you. It was as if she could see right through the façade you were trying so hard to maintain. You were just 17 at the time, still so young, yet there was something about the way you carried yourself that spoke of a weariness far beyond your years. Most teenagers were full of restless energy, eager to explore the world and discover who they were, but you – there was a heaviness in your eyes, a kind of fatigue that no child should ever have to bear.

When you stood before her, Ingrid could see that the weight of the world was already pressing down on your shoulders. It was in the way you held yourself, as if every movement took a conscious effort, every step a deliberate act to keep from being overwhelmed by the burden you carried. You tried to smile, to present yourself as just another teenager navigating the usual challenges of adolescence, but even your smile seemed strained, like it was something you had to force rather than something that came naturally.

Ingrid noticed how you seemed to shrink into yourself, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable, perhaps in the hope that the world might go easier on you if you took up less space. But it was impossible to ignore the sadness that lingered behind your eyes, a sadness that seemed to have settled there long before its time. It was as if you had lived through experiences that had aged you in ways that others your age couldn’t begin to understand.

There was an unspoken tension in the way you interacted with others, a hesitation that suggested you had learned to guard yourself carefully. Ingrid could tell that you were wary of letting anyone get too close, as if you were afraid that if someone saw too much, they might unravel the carefully constructed image you were trying so desperately to hold together. It was a kind of self-protection, a shield you had built to keep the world at arm’s length, but Ingrid could see through it.

She saw the exhaustion etched into your posture, the way your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, as if the weight you carried was too much to bear alone. And though you were still just a teenager, still supposed to be discovering the joys and freedoms of youth, there was an undeniable gravity about you, a maturity born out of hardship that no one your age should have had to endure.

She had gone straight to Mapí, her heart heavy with worry and a sense of urgency she couldn’t ignore. Mapí had always been her anchor, the one person she could turn to when everything else seemed to be spiralling out of control. There was a comfort in Mapí’s presence, a kind of steady reassurance that made the world feel a little less chaotic. And in that moment, when she felt like she was drowning in her own thoughts, there was no one else she could think of who could help her make sense of it all.

As she approached Mapí, she could see the girl was already watching her, those perceptive eyes filled with a quiet understanding. Mapí had always been like that – intuitive, almost as if she could sense when something was wrong without a single word being spoken. It was as if she could read the unspoken emotions, the things that others overlooked or dismissed, and she knew just how to respond without being told.

“I’m worried about her,” Ingrid said quietly to Mapí, her voice tinged with concern as she gestured with her head in your direction. There was a seriousness in her tone that caught Mapí’s attention immediately. Ingrid wasn’t one to express worry lightly; if she was concerned, it meant something was truly wrong.

“Who?” Mapí asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to follow Ingrid’s line of sight. She turned to see who Ingrid was referring to, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

“Den lille,” Ingrid replied softly. It was a name that fit you perfectly, even though you were no longer a small child. To Ingrid, you would always be den lille, the one who needed looking after, the one she couldn’t help but worry about.

Mapí’s gaze lingered on you, taking in the way you sat off to the side, your shoulders hunched slightly as if you were trying to make yourself invisible. She saw the way your fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of your shorts, a nervous habit she had noticed before but never truly understood until now. There was something about your posture, the way you seemed so withdrawn, that tugged at her heart. You looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it didn’t sit right with Mapí.

“She’s been different lately,” Ingrid continued, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. “I’m scared, María.”

Mapí’s heart ached at Ingrid’s words. The concern in Ingrid’s voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual composed and confident demeanour she typically displayed. The way Ingrid had hesitated before speaking, the trembling edge to her voice, suggested that this was more than just a fleeting worry – it was a deep, gnawing fear that had taken root in her heart.

Mapí turned her full attention to you, her eyes softening. There was an undeniable shift in your demeanour that had been building over time, and it was clear now that Ingrid’s fears were not unfounded. The way you sat, so isolated and withdrawn, seemed like a cry for help that was too quiet to be heard. Mapí could feel the gravity of the situation pressing down on her, the realisation that something needed to be done before it was too late.

“Ale will know what to do,” Mapí said with false bravado, trying to mask the tremor in her voice behind a veneer of confidence. Her words were meant to reassure Ingrid, to offer a glimmer of hope amidst the growing uncertainty, but inside, she felt a pang of doubt.

Mapí had always relied on Alexia’s wisdom and experience, believing her to be someone who could handle even the most complex of situations with ease. She had a way of approaching problems with calm assurance and a strategic mindset that often brought clarity and solutions where there seemed to be none. Mapí hoped that, with Alexia’s involvement, they could find a way to help you navigate the turmoil you were experiencing.

She knew, however, that this situation was different. The weight of it felt heavier, more personal. Her usually steadfast confidence was being tested, and despite her efforts to maintain a brave front, she couldn’t completely suppress the anxiety that gnawed at her.

Ingrid glanced at Mapí, a mixture of hope and scepticism in her eyes. “You really think so?” she asked, her voice laced with both trust and apprehension.

“Absolutely,” Mapí replied, her tone firm despite the fluttering unease in her chest.

Alexia had noticed the changes in you too, though her observations were more subtle, filtered through a lens of quiet concern rather than overt worry. She had seen you through different stages of life, from the carefree moments of adolescence to the more introspective phases, but lately, something had shifted, and she couldn’t ignore the signs any longer.

It was in the way you interacted with others, or rather, how you had started to withdraw from those interactions. Alexia, who had always admired your vibrant energy and effortless charm, now saw you retreating into yourself. The once bright and engaging conversations seemed to dwindle, replaced by a more subdued presence that she struggled to reconcile with the person she once knew.

She noticed how you would often linger on the periphery of group activities, participating only half-heartedly, if at all. Your laughter, which used to come so easily, had become rare and forced, a stark contrast to the genuine joy that used to light up your face. Even your physical appearance had changed; where there was once a confident posture, there was now a noticeable slouch, a sign of the weight you seemed to be carrying.

Alexia also observed the small, telling habits that had shifted. The way you fidgeted with your clothes or avoided eye contact during conversations spoke volumes about your internal struggle. It was as if you were trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, a stark departure from the once lively and assertive person she had known.

“Ale, we need to talk,” Mapí said firmly, cornering Alexia in the changing rooms after training one afternoon. Her voice was low and serious, carrying an undertone of urgency that instantly drew Alexia’s full attention. The usual post-training chatter and the clamor of lockers being shut were fading into the background as the gravity of Mapí’s tone cut through the noise.

“Is everything okay?” Alexia asked, her voice betraying a hint of concern as she met Mapí’s gaze. The look in Mapí’s eyes was one Alexia hadn’t seen very often – an earnestness and resolve that spoke of something deeper than just a casual chat. The air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken tension, the room suddenly feeling smaller, more confined as the weight of the conversation settled in.

“No, it’s not,” Ingrid replied, her tone steady but laden with emotion.

Three sets of eyes turned to look at you, the subject of their concern. You sat on a bench, somewhat apart from the group, absorbed in your own thoughts, unaware of the intensity of the discussion unfolding just a few feet away. The distance between you and the others was more than physical; it was as though a chasm had opened up, underscoring the emotional divide that had grown.

You looked so tired. It was a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion, a heaviness that seemed to seep into your very bones. The vibrant energy that once defined you had dimmed, leaving behind a shadow of your former self.

Your eyes, which used to sparkle with curiosity and joy, were now clouded with a fatigue that spoke volumes about the battles you were fighting internally. They were deep and dark, the kind of tiredness that comes from sleepless nights and unspoken worries. The once bright and animated expression you wore had given way to a distant gaze that struggled to focus on the world around you. When you did look up, it was with a slow, measured effort, as if the simple act of meeting someone’s eyes required more energy than you had to spare. Your gaze seemed to drift in and out of focus, mirroring the exhaustion that you felt but could not escape.

Your training top seemed far too big on you now, the fabric hanging off you like a draped shroud. It was as if the clothes themselves reflected the way you had withdrawn from the world; they looked oversized and loose, emphasising the contrast between your current state and the vibrant person you used to be.

Every small movement you made seemed laboured, as though even the simplest actions required a tremendous amount of effort. Your shoulders slouched slightly, as if weighed down by an invisible burden that made every step feel heavier. The casual confidence that once characterised your movements had been replaced by a tentative, almost cautious mannerism, as though you were trying to conserve every ounce of energy you had.

Your breathing was steady but shallow, and every now and then, you let out a sigh that seemed to escape from somewhere deep inside you – a sigh that spoke of exhaustion and resignation. The small, subtle gestures you made, like tucking your hands into your sleeves or curling your legs up on the bench, were instinctive attempts to find some semblance of comfort or protection in a moment where you felt particularly vulnerable.

“Oh, cariño,” Alexia whispered, her heart breaking at the sight of you. The term of endearment slipped from her lips like a soft breath of sorrow, laden with a depth of feeling that words alone could not fully convey. It was a tender utterance meant to bridge the emotional chasm that seemed to separate you from everyone around you.

As Alexia watched you, her eyes were filled with a deep sadness that mirrored the gravity of the moment. The sight of you, sitting apart from the group, lost in your own thoughts, was more than Alexia could bear. Her heart ached as she took in the full extent of your weariness. It was clear that this was not just a fleeting moment of fatigue but a profound, ongoing struggle that had seeped into your very being. The vibrant spirit she once knew seemed overshadowed by a deep, unspoken sorrow that had taken hold.

You weren’t sure why you phoned Ona, out of all people. It wasn’t like you were particularly close with her; in fact, your interactions with her had always been somewhat limited and casual. You knew her mostly through mutual friends and shared activities, exchanging pleasantries and brief conversations but never delving deeply into each other's lives. Yes, you considered her a friend, but your one-on-one time had been minimal, mostly restricted to group settings or casual encounters. She wasn’t someone you confided in regularly, nor did you have a history of sharing personal struggles or intimate details.

Yet, in the midst of your crisis, when everything felt out of control and the world seemed to have narrowed to the confines of your bathroom floor, Ona’s name was the first to come to mind. You sat there, the cold tiles pressing against your legs, a razor gripped tightly in one hand, its cold edge a stark reminder of the darkness you were grappling with. Your thoughts were a swirling mix of desperation and confusion, and in that chaotic mental fog, Ona’s name emerged almost instinctively.

It was an odd choice, and you struggled to understand it yourself. Perhaps it was the nature of your relationship with her – though not deeply personal, it was still a connection that felt solid enough to offer some semblance of support. Sometimes, the familiarity of a person, even if not deeply entrenched, can provide a sense of comfort in moments of profound vulnerability. Ona had always been approachable and kind, traits that, despite the limited interaction, might have seemed reassuring in your current state.

There was also something to be said for the randomness of human emotion and instinct. In moments of deep distress, the mind often grasps at whatever feels familiar, even if it’s not the most logical choice. Ona, being someone who had always been friendly and supportive, perhaps embodied a sense of stability and kindness that was desperately needed in that moment.

“Hola?” Her voice came through the phone, laden with sleep, thick with the grogginess of having been abruptly roused from slumber. There was a softness to her tone, a slow, drowsy lilt that spoke of the deep relaxation she had been in just moments before. The initial, half-hearted curiosity in her voice quickly sharpened into something more alert as she processed the unusual hour and the unexpected call.

“I …” You began, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with the overwhelming emotions that had gripped you. Your voice trembled, barely more than a whisper, laden with a mixture of vulnerability and desperation. It was as if the sheer effort of making the call had drained you, leaving only a fragile thread of sound that barely carried your intent.

“Pequeña?” Ona’s voice was suddenly more awake, filled with concern. The fragility in your voice, so unlike the casual exchanges you had shared before, pierced through her initial drowsiness. The realisation that something was seriously wrong caused her to sit upright in bed, the sense of alarm and urgency pushing away the remnants of sleep.

“Help me,” you managed to utter, the words escaping in a pained whisper

You woke up in hospital. The room cold and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the biting chill that seemed to seep into your very bones, despite the layers of blankets draped over you. The air felt thin and clinical – you had never known such an impersonal space existed. The walls were a clinical shade of white, interrupted only by the occasional piece of medical equipment or the sparse, functional décor meant to provide minimal distraction. The lighting was bright and unyielding, casting a harsh glare that made the room feel even colder and more impersonal. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, their steady hum creating a rhythm that seemed oddly out of place.

Your bed, positioned at the centre of the room, was surrounded by a fortress of medical paraphernalia. An IV drip hung beside you, its clear fluids slowly trickling down a tube that was taped to your arm. The beeping of a heart monitor provided a steady, monotonous cadence, a reminder of the life support systems that were now a part of your immediate environment. The rhythmic sound was oddly comforting and unnerving all at once, a constant reminder of your current state and the care being provided.

The air was filled with a faint, antiseptic scent – a mix of cleaning agents and medicinal odours that seemed to hang in the atmosphere like an unwelcome guest. It was a smell that clung to everything, from the freshly laundered hospital sheets to the disposable gowns and sterile gloves that the medical staff wore.

There was a warm weight in your right hand. It took you a moment to realise what it was. A hand. A hand connected to an arm, that led to a shoulder, that was attached to a whole person. The fingers resting gently in your grasp were familiar and comforting, their gentle pressure offering a steady reassurance. You turned your head slightly, and through the haze of your groggy state, you saw the face of the person whose hand you were holding.

“Hi,” Ona smiled softly, her expression a blend of warmth and reassurance.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a weak echo of her greeting, laden with the exhaustion and vulnerability you felt. Your gaze drifted to the hand still resting in yours. She followed your stare, squeezing gently when she realised what you were looking at.

 “The others have got to get food,” Ona continued, her voice gentle but firm. “It’s just us, if you want to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” you countered, the words a defense mechanism. If you denied it, it would all go away.

“Do not play dumb, pequeña.” Ona’s voice carried a note of gentle reproach. Her tone was soft but resolute.

“I …” you began, but the words seemed to falter before they could take shape. The enormity of your emotions was difficult to articulate, and the effort to speak felt almost insurmountable. You struggled to find the right words, your thoughts jumbled and disjointed.

But how could she truly understand? What little you knew about her life seemed almost painfully perfect by comparison. From the outside, Ona’s existence appeared to be a seamless tapestry of success and happiness. Her football career was thriving, each game a testament to her skill and dedication. She was admired and celebrated by teammates and fans alike, her talent on the field a source of pride and achievement.

Her relationship was also the stuff of dreams. Ona had Lucy, someone who seemed to bring out the best in her, their interactions marked by genuine affection and mutual support. They were often seen together, sharing moments of joy and laughter that spoke of a deep and abiding connection. Their bond was one of those rare partnerships that seemed to transcend the everyday challenges, offering a glimpse into a love that was both passionate and enduring.

Her circle of friends appeared to be equally ideal. They were supportive and loyal, always there for one another through thick and thin. The camaraderie and warmth of their friendship were evident in the way they interacted, their shared moments of happiness and mutual encouragement. It was a friendship that seemed to offer a solid foundation, a network of support that was both comforting and reliable.

And then there was her family – an image of stability and happiness. They were often seen together, their interactions filled with laughter and love. The family dynamic seemed to be one of mutual respect and genuine affection, a supportive backdrop to Ona’s life that added to the picture of her seemingly perfect existence.

In contrast, your own life felt chaotic and fraught with difficulties. The weight of your struggles seemed all the more daunting when juxtaposed against Ona’s polished image. It was easy to feel that her understanding of your pain was limited, that the perfection you saw in her life might somehow preclude her from fully grasping the depth of your own challenges. You wondered if her empathy was genuine or if it was simply a reflection of her innate kindness, an attempt to reach across the chasm of your differences and offer comfort despite the apparent disparity between your lives.

“If you don’t want to talk yet, that’s fine. But let me show you something.” She pushed up her sleeve.

C O N T ; N U E

“You’re not alone in this, pequeña. No one is ever alone.” Ona’s voice was steady, a soft but firm anchor amidst the storm. She shifted slightly, her fingers gently tracing over a tattoo on her arm. “I got this just after I moved to England,” she began, her tone becoming more reflective. “I felt so alone. I didn’t speak the language very well, I had no friends, and we were in lockdown. Everything was different.” Her gaze softened as she looked at the tattoo, her fingers moving lightly over its surface, as if the act itself was a form of remembering and honouring a past struggle.

The room seemed to grow quieter, the beeping of the monitors and the distant murmur of the hospital blending into a background hum as Ona continued. “I almost did it, y’know. I was really, really close – had the bottle and everything.” Her voice wavered slightly, a rare crack in the veneer of her composed exterior. “I haven’t even told Lucy this.” She laughed humourlessly.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ona took a deep breath, her eyes meeting yours as she smiled gently. “Alessia knocked on my door. She noticed I looked a little down and came to check on me. I don’t know if she saw the pills or not, but she stayed with me all day.” The warmth in her eyes deepened as she spoke. “She asked me to teach her some Spanish, she taught me how to make pasta from scratch. She didn’t let me leave her side for three days. Even then, as soon as she left Tooney appeared.”

“Wh-why are you telling me this?” Your voice quivered, the words struggling to get out over the lump in your throat.

Ona’s eyes softened with a blend of compassion and determination. “So that you know you’re not alone,” she began, her voice steady and full of quiet resolve. “I don’t know the ins and outs of what you’re going through, but just know that I’m here, we all are. We aren’t going anywhere.” She promised.

She paused, allowing her words to settle, as if to let the depth of her meaning fully resonate. You blinked, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm you. Tears began to well up in your eyes. The tears were a mixture of relief and sadness.

“You are loved, pequeña. So, so loved. And we will be here for you, no matter what, no matter how long it takes.”

[carbonfiction]

Soundless somethings

When logan comes home one day to absolute silence throughout your home, he knows something isnt right. He further cements that when he finds you tucked up in bed, struggling with a migraine attack.

This is something a little different for me; fluff not always being my strongest suit. But as a livelong chronic migraine suffering girlie, im always searching for comfort. This was completely self indulgent and i threw it at the wall (notes app) in the midst of getting over this very scenario. i figured I'd share in case theres anyone out there that needs some comfort the way i did when this came to be. <33

Warnings?: mention of migraine attacks, mentions of taking pills/medication, mentions of nausea (but no vomit), Logan being a sweet sweet man, Overall just fluff!

Pictured with origins!Logan in mind but feel free to imagine any version!

Masterlist Words: little over 1.3k

Logan could tell something was off the moment he stepped through the door. the lights are off, all the curtains drawn, enveloping the house in pitch darkness despite the earlier hour.

the sound of the tv doesn't play out, nor the usual music that would softly serenade throughout the house. Instead a deafening silence replaces it all.

His steps are quiet despite his weight; rushed yet carefull- calculated- as he treads to find you. He knows your home, the steady beat of your heart hushed in his ears as he strains to listen. He checks the kitchen and then the bathroom but he doesnt find you in either.

Instead, he finds you bundled up in your shared bed, blanket pulled up to your chin, a bag lined trashcan resting on the floor besides your bedside table.

There's a gentle sigh of relief; that your home and safe, as he pads over. A crease wedging its way between his brows as he Looks your bundled frame over. Your expression- that he can see anyway- is pained as he kneels carefully besides the bed. Slow and gentle to not jostle your body as his hands stabilize themselves on the plush mattress. Logan opens his mouth, question poised on his tongue, but you beat him to it.

"Logan?" you croak quietly, eyes squinted open, like the words hurt you to verbalize. In a way, they do.

"Yea baby s' just me." Logan keeps his voice low as he reassures you. His hand gently coming up and over your covered body to rest atop of your forehead and he smiles softly as you try to snuggle into it without much movement; his palm feeling cool and reliving from his time outside against your skin . "What's goin on hm? M' girl not feeling good?"

"Mhm" you hum back, eyelids falling shut again to block out the dimmed light. "'nother migraine attack".

Ah.. So that explains the quiet darkness filling, what is usually, your bustling home.

"Have you taken your pills baby?" Logan enquires with a sigh, voice low and careful to not hurt your head further as he stands as quiet as he can- save for the clicking of his knees that you'd usually tease him about- instead he finds himself apologizing.

Logan knows how bad these attacks can get, how they can range from a dull ache behind your eyes to a debilitating thump that pains every movement. That the trashcan besides your side of the bed often has a second purpose; for the days when you physically cannot move for the pain and nausea.

He knows how, when these attacks happen, even the quietest noise can make you unconsciously flinch in pain. That sometimes even the sound of your own heartbeat worsens the matching throb in your head. It breaks part of his heart every time, seeing you struggling so hard in your own body, but he'll do anything, often wordlessly to ensure you get through each attack supported with anything you need.

"Took em' earlier.. Didn't help much" you mumble, hushed and so sadly it makes logans heart clench in his broad chest. You hear logans steps retreat from the room, and you shift fractionally in bed. The movement deliberately slow as to not highten the nausea that floats over you in waves.

Tugging the cool side of one of logans pillows atop of your forehead, Its just enough to cover your eyes; to stop any extra brightness breaching your eyelids. The scent of him embedded in the fabric is comforting; but you find yourself thankful for the way it slightly muffles sound too as you listen to logan rooting around in the kitchen.

You know he's trying his best- he always does- his large heavy hands delicately struggling to maneuver around items much smaller. You just barley catch the muttered way he swears to himself as he grabs a glass out, accidentally clinking it next to another other, to fill with cold water.

When logan comes back he does so with his arms full. in one a condensation covered glass filled with water, crisp and cool from the fridge. The other is pressed to his chest and holds a box of crackers- simple and plain- and a packaged strip of ginger cookies to settle your stomach; your medicine carton then sitting atop of both.

You crack an eye at the sound of the packets as he places them down on the bed; apologizing for the rustling as you whimper. The idea of food not being over appetizing in your current state.

logan hides a smile, knowing and apologetic, seeing the grimace that rests on your lips.. "I know baby, i know.." he hushes gently, as he carefully sits himself beside you, dipping the bed as it groans. "but we gotta get something in your stomach before your next meds, y'know that."

You whimper again, pained and utterly miserable because you know hes right. You do need to eat before your next dose; otherwise you know it'll make the nausea worse. He sighs softly again as you whine, helping you rest up against the headboard.

The throb in your skull is louder as you sit straight, your eyes fully open now. the room is dimmed but light still filters golden through the fabric of the curtains. You make a mental note to purchase some blackouts when you feel more yourself.

Theres silence then, as logan watches your every move, occasionally handing you another cracker or cookie depending on what you mumble for. By the third cracker and second cookie a small protesting sound passes your lips, nausea flooding your bloodstream mid bite. Logan's hand finds your back, rubbing up and down softly hushing you through the wave, also ready to grab the trashcan if you need it.

"Just a couple more bites baby, you can do it.." he pushes quietly after a while of helping you steady your breath; urging you to just finish the last half of the ginger cookie sat in your hand. He grins slightly when you continue, bites small and almost sheepish as he places a kiss on your head before muttering into your hair "yea there you go. Good girl, proud of you baby."

For a while then, theres no movement; you sitting against the headboard and him resting besides you. His hand rubbing soothing shapes on your back.

Theres a panicked noise when he shifts, your fingers grasping at his shirt, but like always, Logans quick to reassure you. "Shh s' okay, just grabbing your pills, m' not goin anywhere, Promise"

You hum gingerly in understanding as his free arm reaches to the table, pulling your medicine packet into his lap before stretching again for the water.

You grimace, fingers wrapping around the glass as you bring it up to your forehead, resting it against your warm skin. Its cool and damp against you, making a sound of delight slip from your throat. Logan smiles at it, un-popping the little pills and handing you the correct dose.

He helps tip your head back, his hand resting over yours on the glass, guiding and gentle. Once swallowed he praises you again; lips pressing feather light kisses against your temple when you shift closer to his body.

"Love you lo" he just manages to hear you mumble into his neck. Your tone is still slightly sad; no doubt filled with fatigue as he helps you rest comfortable atop of him, head resting in the crook of his neck.

Usually you'd giggle at the tickle of his facial hair against your skin but for now you settle for an amused huff; too pained for laughter as you nuzzle closer to his scent with your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. akin to how a child clutches a stuffed toy.

"Love you too baby.." he replies softly, palm coming to rest under your- his- shirt. He smiles, heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your lashes fluttering shut. His cool hand soothing up and down your spine until he feels your breathing slow. Soft snores falling from your lips as his motions never cease. "Now, get that pretty little head to snoozin' hm?"

lemme know whatcha think? is fluff something you'd like to see more of?? bc i actually really enjoyed creating this <333

[serendipitouslyyyyyy]

sometimes i think a little too hard about how percy jackson started as bedtime stories that rick riordan would tell his son when he was being bullied for his adhd and dyslexia because he wanted to let his kid know that he could also be a hero. and how after his first books were so successful he started to realize that there are lots of kids out there who don't see themselves in any heroes because of various other aspects of themselves, and he doesn't want any kid to feel like how his did, so he started writing heroes that were poc and gay and religious minorities and homeless and genderqueer and physically disabled and from an array of different cultures and he just made it his absolute mission to make sure every single kid could see themselves in his universe. about how the primary purpose of these books is to make kids feel a little bit less alone, and how the percy jackson books are so well loved because they are, themselves, an act of love. percy jackson came into existence as an act of love towards his struggling son and this story grew and expanded into what it is today because so many kids needed that same kind of love, and even those of us that aren't kids anymore still find a home in a story that was made for that exact purpose. and then i cry.

[lovelyjuju]

𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 – 𝐤𝐨𝐠𝐚 𝐲𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐢

bestfriend!k x fem!reader

genre: friends to ??, fluff

warnings: skinship, this is like... very fluffy

word count: 475

this was requested here, tysm anon, i hope you like this! 🌸

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

you were so cute. standing on your tippy toes with your arm all the way stretched out just to grab your favourite mug from the top shelf. if you knew your best friend placed it there on purpose every time he took it out of the dishwasher, just to see you struggling and asking him for help, you'd probably curse him.

but it was just too adorable – the way it was so hard for you to reach things he could easily grab a constant reminder of how you barely reached his shoulders when he was next to you.

honestly, it wasn't even good for himself. he felt like he'd literally explode every time you turned around with that little pout on your lips, looking up at him to wordlessly ask him to grab the mug for you. all k wanted to do was to pinch your cheeks or ruffle your hair and then suffocate you in the tightest hug, and he didn't know why he kept doing that to himself – why he kept putting himself into that situation by placing that damn mug too high for you to reach – but he just couldn't stop.

and of course, he couldn't give in to the way he nearly lost his mind at how adorable you were, so he tried to play it cool with a laugh or a grin that he hoped made him seem amused and not absolutely, utterly in love.

every time he'd step behind you to effortlessly hand you what you wanted, his breath would stop at how close you were, and he'd just hope you couldn't hear the way his heart was running a marathon. sometimes, he'd even lift you up so you could grab the mug yourself – carefully letting you back down and letting his hands linger on your waist for just another second before letting you go – and clenching his fists slightly at the smile on your face only to stop himself from pulling you into a hug.

it wasn't like you weren't used to skinship with k – being friends with him for years brought along occasional hugs or resting your head on his shoulder when you were watching movies and you got tired. and, of course, k noticed how you snuggled up against his chest every time you guys hugged, but he could not risk your friendship by just giving in.

he hadn't confessed his feelings yet, and he wasn't sure if he ever would, but that didn't stop him from straight up telling you that you were cute every now and then. he'd mask it with a mocking tone, fighting back a bright smile whenever you'd glare at him for 'making fun of you' or when you'd complain that 'it's not your fault he never stopped growing'. little did you know that only made him adore you even more. <3

© lovelyjuju (2024)

see my other works here | join my taglist here

ღ taglist: @chiiyuuvv @bananielle @tako-takiiii @lakoya

[hookhausenschips]

can I request some of the drivers dating a girl who isn’t afraid to clap back and go just as low as the fans? I love a messy girl like us😂

Clock It

Navigation

Warnings: Clapbacks, fans being disrespectful, curse words

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Drivers: Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Charles, Max, and Franco

Lando Norris – Paddock Tension

The sun gleams off the circuit at Silverstone, reflecting the high-stakes energy that fills the paddock. The roar of the crowd, the sound of engines revving, and the shimmering excitement of race day are in full swing. Lando Norris, a rising star in Formula 1, walks confidently through the paddock. His girlfriend, Y/N, strolls beside him, equally unfazed by the buzzing attention they attract. Dressed in a striking McLaren orange jumpsuit that hugs her frame perfectly, Y/N commands just as much attention as Lando, if not more. Her calm demeanor contrasts the excitement around them as they head toward the McLaren garage.

It’s not the first time the couple has walked hand-in-hand through the chaos of race day. They’ve grown accustomed to the stares, the whispers, and the buzzing cameras. Y/N had learned to navigate the complexities of being in the public eye, especially alongside a high-profile figure like Lando. Today, however, feels different—the attention is sharper, more intense. Lando senses it too, and as they pass a row of fans, the energy shifts.

“Lando! Lando, over here!” A woman’s voice rises above the usual cacophony of the crowd. At first, it’s a simple call for an autograph, but then it turns ugly. “Ditch the gold digger! You deserve someone who cares about you, not your money!”

The words slice through the air, sharp and cruel, turning the heads of those nearby. Y/N stops dead in her tracks, her confident smile evaporating as she scans the crowd. Lando feels her hand tense in his, his own expression darkening as he tries to pull her away, but it’s too late. Y/N isn’t the type to back down.

With an air of unshakable calm, Y/N strides toward the group, her energy radiating fierce confidence. She stands tall, her head high, and her eyes narrowed on the woman who dared to shout the insult. Y/N’s movements are measured, her anger controlled, but it’s clear to anyone watching that she is not going to let this slide.

“Excuse me?” Y/N’s voice cuts through the noise with a biting edge, each word deliberate. “What was that?”

The woman falters under Y/N’s piercing gaze. Her bravado seems to waver now that she’s face-to-face with her target. She looks to her friends for support, but they stay silent, wide-eyed and nervous.

“You heard me,” the woman stammers, attempting to reclaim her footing. “He could do better than you.” The words, though repeated, now sound hollow.

Y/N takes off her sunglasses slowly, her expression unyielding as she steps closer. “Better?” she echoes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sweetheart, better would be me not wasting my time here educating you. But since I’m feeling generous today, let’s clear a few things up. You see, I’ve got my own. I’m not here for his money—maybe you should Google me sometime, yeah?”

The woman’s confidence crumbles under Y/N’s steady, unflinching gaze. She shifts awkwardly on her feet, muttering something unintelligible. Lando, still holding Y/N’s hand, leans down slightly, his voice gentle as he whispers, “Come on, babe. Let’s go.”

But Y/N isn’t done yet. She holds the woman’s gaze for a beat longer, ensuring her message is crystal clear before slipping her sunglasses back on. “Next time, say it with your chest,” she tosses over her shoulder as she turns away, her stride purposeful and unfazed.

As they walk away, Lando struggles to suppress a grin, his admiration for Y/N shining through. “You didn’t have to do all that,” he teases lightly, though the pride in his voice is unmistakable.

“Oh, I absolutely did,” Y/N responds, her tone unyielding. “People think they can talk trash without facing any consequences. Not today.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder with a smirk, her confidence unwavering.

Lando laughs softly, shaking his head in admiration. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N winks at him playfully. “Smart man,” she replies, the tension already evaporating as they step into the McLaren garage.

Inside, the hum of mechanics working on cars and the murmur of the team greet them. The air is thick with concentration, but Lando and Y/N slip seamlessly into the controlled chaos. The earlier confrontation feels like a distant memory now, drowned out by the electric energy of race day. But as Lando prepares for his upcoming session, he can’t help but glance at Y/N, his respect for her fierceness only growing.

Y/N knows that being in a relationship with someone like Lando comes with its challenges. The scrutiny, the whispers, the constant questioning of her motives—it’s a regular part of her life now. But she’s never been one to shrink in the face of adversity. Instead, she meets it head-on, confident in her worth and her place by Lando’s side. The people who criticize from the sidelines, hiding behind their assumptions and their envy, don’t know her. And frankly, she doesn’t care what they think.

As Lando climbs into his race suit and prepares to join his team, Y/N settles into a chair nearby, scrolling through her phone as if nothing had happened. She’s already moved on, her mind focused on supporting Lando through his race. If the incident from earlier affected her, she doesn’t show it. That’s the thing about Y/N—she doesn’t let the negativity stick. It’s just noise, easily silenced.

When Lando finally steps out onto the track, Y/N watches with a quiet sense of pride. She knows the pressure he’s under, the expectations from the team, the fans, and the sport itself. But she also knows that he’s more than capable of rising to the occasion, just as she is capable of standing strong beside him. Together, they form a team, one that’s unshakable in the face of external doubt.

The race continues, and as the sun begins to set over the Monaco circuit, Y/N’s earlier confrontation seems insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Her confidence, her unwavering belief in herself and in her relationship with Lando, remains unchallenged. And as they leave the paddock hand-in-hand once more, the noise of the crowd fades behind them, leaving only the quiet assurance that they are stronger together than anyone could ever understand.

In this world of fast cars, fast fame, and fast judgments, Y/N knows exactly who she is. And more importantly, she knows exactly where she stands—with Lando, confidently, unshaken, and unapologetically herself.

Carlos Sainz – Vacation in the Maldives

The Maldives is a paradise, a perfect blend of turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, and luxurious resorts that seem to float on the edge of the world. For Carlos Sainz and Y/N, it is the perfect escape from the relentless pace of the Formula 1 circuit. After months of intense competition, the constant travel, and the high-octane energy of the paddock, they have finally carved out time for themselves, away from the noise and pressure of the sport.

Y/N is lounging on a deck chair, her tropical-print dress fluttering softly in the warm breeze. She tilts her head back, the sun warming her skin, and sips from a colorful cocktail as the gentle sound of the ocean waves laps at the shore just a few meters away. Beside her, Carlos is reading a travel magazine, his sunglasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the relaxed vacationer. The two of them are a picture of tranquility, far removed from the intense world they usually inhabit.

“This is heaven,” Y/N sighs contentedly, setting her drink down on the small table beside her. “I could stay here forever.”

Carlos smiles, glancing over the top of his magazine at her. “You say that now, but give it a week, and you’ll be itching to get back to the excitement.”

Y/N laughs softly, nodding. “Okay, maybe not forever. But I’m definitely not ready to leave yet.”

As the conversation lulls, Y/N picks up her phone, scrolling through the latest social media updates. It’s habit, something she does without thinking—checking in on the outside world, even while trying to escape it. She swipes through a few photos of their trip, the beautiful views, the serene beaches, and then lands on a picture she posted earlier in the day—a candid shot of her and Carlos laughing, his arm draped casually around her shoulders as they explored the island. The photo had racked up thousands of likes and comments, most of them positive, celebrating the couple’s obvious happiness.

But one comment, in particular, catches Y/N’s eye.

“She’s so loud and extra. Carlos deserves someone more refined, not some wannabe trying to get attention.”

Y/N’s good mood dissipates in an instant, her relaxed posture stiffening as she reads the words again. The audacity of it, the arrogance in assuming they know what Carlos deserves, sets her blood boiling. She clenches her jaw, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“Oh, hell no,” she mutters, her fingers already moving to respond.

Carlos looks up, sensing the shift in her mood. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, Y/N hands him the phone, the offending comment glaring up at him from the screen. Carlos reads it, his brows furrowing slightly, but then he shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“It’s not worth it, amor,” he says, handing the phone back to her. “They’re just jealous. We don’t need to give them attention.”

But Y/N isn’t having it. “Oh, no. This one deserves a personal response,” she insists, already typing furiously.

Carlos watches with a bemused expression as Y/N taps out her reply: “‘Loud and extra’ keeps him happy, especially earlier this morning in our bed, so maybe focus on making yourself interesting before you come for me. Ciao.”

She hits send with a satisfied smirk, leaning back in her chair as she watches the comment thread blow up with reactions. Carlos lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as he watches her.

“You’re ruthless,” he remarks, amusement clear in his voice. “They don’t stand a chance.”

Y/N grins, taking a long sip from her cocktail. “Damn right they don’t,” she replies confidently. “I’m not the one to come for if you don’t want the smoke.”

Carlos reaches out, taking her hand and pulling her closer to him. “That’s one of the reasons I love you,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her hand. “You never back down.”

Y/N smiles at him, her earlier frustration melting away in the warmth of his affection. “And you better remember that when someone tries to come for you,” she warns playfully. “I’ve always got your back.”

Carlos chuckles, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “I know you do,” he replies sincerely. “And I’ve always got yours.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves and the rustling palm trees providing the perfect backdrop for their quiet moment of connection. It’s in these moments, away from the pressures of the public eye and the constant scrutiny of the media, that Y/N and Carlos can truly be themselves. There’s no need for pretenses, no need to play the roles that the world expects of them. Here, they are simply Carlos and Y/N—two people deeply in love, enjoying the rare luxury of time alone together.

But even in paradise, the shadows of their public lives can creep in, as Y/N was reminded today. It’s not the first time she’s had to deal with online trolls, and it certainly won’t be the last. Being with Carlos, a high-profile athlete constantly in the spotlight, comes with its fair share of challenges. People always have opinions—about her, about them, about what their relationship should look like. But Y/N has never been one to let those opinions affect her. She knows her worth, and she knows that Carlos loves her for exactly who she is.

The rest of the day passes in a blissful haze of sunshine, laughter, and the occasional playful banter. They stroll along the beach, hand-in-hand, the soft sand warm beneath their feet. They swim in the crystal-clear waters, teasing each other and splashing like children. And as the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, they sit on the edge of the infinity pool, watching the horizon together.

Later, as they return to their villa, the night air cool and soothing, Y/N checks her phone again. The comment she responded to earlier has blown up, with hundreds of replies supporting her clapback and laughing at the original troll. She smiles to herself, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It’s not about winning internet arguments—it’s about standing up for herself and for her relationship. And in this world of constant judgment and scrutiny, that’s something Y/N will never shy away from.

As they climb into bed, Carlos pulls her close, his arm draped around her waist as they settle into the comforting quiet of the night. Y/N rests her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You were right earlier,” Carlos murmurs, his voice low and soft in the darkness.

“About what?” Y/N asks, her eyes already drifting shut.

“That you’re loud and extra,” he teases gently. “And that’s exactly how I like it.”

Y/N laughs softly, too content to argue. “Good,” she replies sleepily. “Because I’m not changing anytime soon.”

Carlos kisses the top of her head, his lips lingering against her hair. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

And with that, they drift off to sleep, the world outside their little paradise fading away, if only for a while.

Oscar Piastri – Monaco Grand Prix Weekend

The streets of Monte Carlo are alive with the thrilling atmosphere of the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. Fans from all over the world flood the narrow streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers as the city buzzes with excitement. This is the pinnacle of glamour and adrenaline—fast cars racing through historic streets, the Mediterranean Sea gleaming in the background, and celebrities rubbing shoulders with the elite of motorsport.

Oscar Piastri and Y/N walk through the heart of it all, navigating the winding streets of Monaco like seasoned veterans. Oscar, the young F1 sensation, wears the casual confidence of someone who’s already made a name for himself in the sport, despite his relative newness to the Formula 1 scene. By his side, Y/N exudes confidence and grace, dressed in a sleek, black jumpsuit that hugs her frame and commands attention. Her presence complements Oscar’s calm demeanor, making them a striking pair as they stroll through the city.

The couple is stopped every few steps by fans eager for autographs and photos, and Oscar obliges with his trademark humility and charm. Y/N stands by his side, smiling at the supporters and making small talk with those brave enough to engage her. For the most part, the day feels perfect—Monaco’s luxurious aura surrounds them, and the thrill of the upcoming race is palpable in the air.

But in every crowd, there are always a few who can’t help but whisper. Y/N is used to it by now—the hushed judgments, the sneers, the people who think they know more about her than they actually do. Today, though, it seems louder, sharper. A group of women nearby, decked out in expensive sunglasses and trendy outfits, aren’t as discreet as they think they are. Their words carry over the noise of the crowd, clear enough for Y/N to catch every single one.

“Look at her, acting like she belongs here,” one of the women says, her voice dripping with disdain. “She’s only with him for the status. You can tell she’s not a part of this world.”

The comments hit Y/N like a slap in the face. Her blood boils instantly, and she can feel the anger bubbling beneath her calm exterior. The temptation to ignore them flickers for a brief second, but Y/N quickly realizes that’s not an option today. She’s not the kind of person to let things slide, especially when someone questions her place next to Oscar. After all, she knows exactly who she is and why she’s there—and it certainly has nothing to do with fame or fortune.

Oscar, engrossed in signing autographs, doesn’t notice the shift in Y/N’s demeanor at first. She gently pulls her arm away from his for a moment, her movements deliberate as she turns to face the group of women. Her back straightens, and she walks toward them with an air of confidence that silences their giggles.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Y/N’s voice is sharp and direct, her words cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a knife. The women freeze, their laughter dying instantly as they realize Y/N has heard every word. “Or do you always talk behind people’s backs like that?”

Caught off guard, the women glance at each other, suddenly unsure of themselves. They hadn’t expected Y/N to confront them so boldly.

“Uh… no, we were just saying…” one of them starts, but Y/N cuts her off with an icy look.

“There’s no need to whisper,” Y/N says firmly, her gaze unyielding. “If you’ve got something to say, be bold enough to say it to me directly.” She pauses for effect, her voice lowering with a dangerous edge. “Because trust me, I belong wherever I choose to be.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, it feels as if time stands still. The women are visibly uncomfortable now, fidgeting with their bags and sunglasses, clearly out of their depth. They mumble incoherent apologies before awkwardly shuffling off, leaving Y/N standing tall, her head held high.

Satisfied, Y/N turns back to rejoin Oscar just as he finishes signing the last autograph. He glances at her, a curious look on his face. “What was that about?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N shrugs, slipping her arm through his with a casual smile. “Just some clueless women talking nonsense,” she replies, her voice light but firm. “They learned today.”

Oscar chuckles softly, clearly impressed by her resolve. “You didn’t have to say anything, you know.”

“Oh, but I did,” Y/N replies, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “People think they can say whatever they want without consequences. Not with me around.”

Oscar laughs, shaking his head in admiration. “Well, remind me never to introduce you to Twitter. They wouldn’t survive.”

Y/N flashes him a playful grin, her earlier frustration melting away. “I’d break the internet.”

They continue their walk through the streets of Monaco, arm-in-arm, their connection stronger than ever. Y/N’s heart swells with pride, not just for standing up for herself, but for the unwavering support she feels from Oscar. He never questions her worth, never doubts her intentions—and that’s all that matters.

The whispers, the judgments, the petty comments—they are just noise in the background of their relationship. Y/N knows that as long as she and Oscar are solid, nothing else matters. And as they make their way through the glamorous chaos of the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, Y/N feels more confident than ever in her place by his side.

Charles Leclerc – Traveling in Italy

The warm, golden hues of the Italian countryside create a picturesque backdrop as Charles Leclerc and Y/N sit at a small, rustic restaurant tucked away from the tourist-heavy streets. The charming, intimate atmosphere is perfect for a romantic evening, and the scent of fresh pasta and wine fills the air. Earlier in the day, they had explored vineyards, tasting some of the finest wines the region had to offer, and now they’re relaxing, enjoying the peace that comes with being away from the F1 spotlight.

Y/N scrolls through the photos on her phone, smiling at the memories they’ve made today—Charles grinning with a glass of wine in hand, the two of them laughing together under the Tuscan sun, the beautiful vineyards stretching out for miles. It’s been the perfect day, and Y/N feels content, her heart full as she glances over at Charles, who is busy browsing the menu with a thoughtful expression.

But as she continues scrolling, a new notification pops up, and her playful mood instantly sours. A comment on her latest Instagram post catches her attention: “She’s way too flashy for Charles. He deserves someone more understated, not someone who’s just after attention.”

Y/N feels her stomach drop, the familiar sting of online criticism hitting her hard. It’s not the first time she’s been on the receiving end of such comments, but that doesn’t make it any easier to brush off. She clenches her jaw, her grip tightening on the phone as she reads the words again, the implication clear: she’s not good enough for Charles.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Y/N mutters under her breath, her earlier happiness replaced by a growing anger. She turns her phone around, showing Charles the comment.

Charles looks up from the menu, his brow furrowing as he reads the words on the screen. He sighs softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ignore them, chérie,” he says gently, reaching for her hand across the table. “People like that don’t know us.”

Y/N exhales slowly, but she’s not the type to let something like this slide. “Oh, I’m not ignoring this,” she says, her voice firm as she starts typing out a response.

Charles watches her, his expression a mixture of amusement and admiration as she types furiously on her phone. Within moments, she’s crafted her reply: “Fitting into your world? Honey, I am the world, and Charles knows that. Stay mad.”

Satisfied, Y/N hits send, leaning back in her chair with a smug smile. “There,” she says, her tone triumphant. “That should shut them up.”

Charles chuckles softly, his fingers gently brushing over hers. “You really don’t let anything slide, do you?”

“Nope,” Y/N replies confidently. “People think they can say whatever they want because they’re hiding behind a screen. They need to learn that I’m not the one to mess with.”

Charles’s lips curl into a fond smile as he squeezes her hand affectionately. “And that’s one of the things I love about you,” he says softly, his voice full of sincerity. “You never hold back.”

Y/N grins, feeling her mood lighten under his warm gaze. “Damn right,” she replies, her confidence fully restored. “Besides, someone’s got to remind them who they’re dealing with.”

Charles nods, clearly proud of her. “They’ll learn soon enough,” he says, his tone filled with quiet amusement.

As they return to their meal, the soft murmur of other diners around them, Y/N feels the tension in her shoulders slowly fade away. The comment, as hurtful as it had been, is now just a distant memory. It’s moments like these—sitting across from Charles, holding his hand, sharing a quiet evening in one of the most beautiful places in the world—that remind her of what really matters.

Charles has never doubted her, and she’s never doubted him. Their relationship is built on trust, respect, and love—something no online troll or judgmental comment can ever shake. And as long as they have that, Y/N knows she’ll always have the upper hand when it comes to dealing with the haters.

Later that night, as they stroll through the cobblestone streets hand-in-hand, the warm Italian breeze caressing their skin, Y/N leans into Charles, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her hand.

“You know,” Y/N begins with a smirk, glancing up at him. “If you ever want me to clap back at anyone for you, I’m always available.”

Charles laughs, the sound rich and genuine as he pulls her closer. “I don’t doubt that for a second, chérie,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But I think you’ve got it covered enough for both of us.”

Y/N laughs along with him, the earlier frustrations of the day long gone as they continue walking together through the beautiful Italian night, content in the knowledge that they have each other’s backs—no matter what the world throws at them.

Max Verstappen – Private Yacht in Monaco

The luxury yacht bobs gently on the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. The sound of waves lapping against the boat and the distant hum of Monaco’s nightlife creates a tranquil backdrop for Max Verstappen and Y/N as they relax on the deck, soaking in the beauty of the evening.

Y/N, reclining on a lounge chair in a chic swimsuit and oversized sunglasses, looks every bit the picture of calm and confidence as she scrolls through her phone. Max, sitting beside her with a cold drink in hand, glances over at her occasionally, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s rare for them to have moments like this—quiet, private, away from the chaos of the F1 world—and they’re both savoring it.

But their peaceful evening is interrupted when Y/N’s phone pings with a new notification. She sighs softly, her serene expression darkening as she reads the message.

“You’ll never be good enough for Max. He’s a world champion, and you’re just here for the ride.”

Y/N’s lips curl into a mocking smile as she reads the comment again. The nerve of some people, she thinks, her annoyance growing with each passing second. It’s one thing to criticize her, but to insinuate that she doesn’t deserve to be with Max? That’s a line she’s not willing to let slide.

She turns her phone toward Max, showing him the message. “Look at this,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Max scans the screen, his expression unbothered as he rolls his eyes. “People always think they know everything,” he says with a dismissive shake of his head. “It’s not worth your time.”

“Oh, but this one chose the right day to try me,” Y/N replies, sitting up and quickly typing out a response.

Max watches her, his eyes glinting with amusement as Y/N types: “Good enough? Honey, Max isn’t the prize here—I am. You don’t even have the nerve to put a profile pic up, so maybe worry about your own lane.”

She hits send with a satisfied grin, leaning back in her chair as she watches the comment thread explode with reactions. Max chuckles, clearly entertained by her fiery response.

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” he says, his tone affectionate.

Y/N shrugs, slipping her sunglasses back on as she relaxes against the cushions. “Why would I? People think they can say whatever they want just because you’re in the spotlight. They need to be reminded that I won’t let them walk all over me.”

Max leans over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “That’s why I love you,” he murmurs against her skin. “You’ve always got that fire.”

“Damn right,” Y/N replies, her confidence unwavering. “Besides, I don’t need anyone to tell me what’s good enough for you. We already know the truth.”

Max smiles, pulling her closer as they both settle back into the warmth of the setting sun. He knows that Y/N is more than capable of handling herself—whether it’s dealing with online trolls or navigating the pressures of being in a high-profile relationship. She’s strong, confident, and unapologetically herself, and that’s exactly why he loves her.

As the yacht gently rocks on the waves and the lights of Monaco begin to twinkle in the distance, Max and Y/N enjoy the peace of the evening, content in the knowledge that nothing—and no one—can shake their bond.

Franco Colapinto – Backstage at a Press Event

The backstage area of the press event is bustling with energy as drivers, media personnel, and team members prepare for the upcoming Formula 1 season. The air is thick with excitement, the hum of cameras and the chatter of journalists filling the space. Franco Colapinto stands front and center, answering questions with the ease of a seasoned professional, his charming smile never wavering despite the rapid-fire interviews.

Y/N stands off to the side, watching him with a sense of pride and admiration looking stunning as always. She’s seen Franco grow into his role as a driver, handling the pressure with grace and poise, and it’s moments like this that remind her of why she fell in love with him in the first place. Some fans nearby snap pictures, but a few nasty comments about Y/N quickly make their way online.

But as she scrolls through her phone, her attention is quickly drawn to a notification that sours her mood.

“She’s too aggressive, too much attitude. Franco deserves someone sweeter, not someone who’s always so loud and in your face.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow as she reads the comment, her fingers already flying across her keyboard as she types a response.

“Aggressive? Seriously?” she mutters under her breath. “Aggressive? You mean confident, right? And let’s not pretend you know what Franco deserves, because I guarantee you don’t.”

She hits send with a sharp exhale, the satisfaction of clapping back quickly replacing her earlier annoyance. Just as she finishes, Franco wraps up his interview and walks over to her, his smile widening as he approaches.

“What’s going on?” he asks, noticing the intensity in her expression.

“Just clapping back at some clueless fans,” Y/N replies, her tone casual but firm. “Nothing new.”

Franco raises an eyebrow, his smile softening as he takes her hand. “You’re always ready for a fight, aren’t you?”

Y/N laughs, leaning into him as he pulls her closer. “If they come for me, they better be ready. It’s just who I am.”

Franco presses a kiss to her forehead, his admiration for her clear in the way he looks at her. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

Y/N smiles up at him, her earlier frustration already forgotten. With Franco by her side, she knows she can handle anything the world throws at her—whether it’s the pressure of being in the public eye or the opinions of people who think they know her.

Together, they’re unstoppable.

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

F1 Grid Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @lightdragonrayne, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @dhanihamidi, @xoscar03, @miarabanana, @decafmickey, @icecoldtires, @evesfile, @ysnhua, @mellowluka, @bdreamalot99, @qxeenjen

[psychabolition]

You talk about getting rid of the psychiatric system. But what do you propose should be done instead? /gen

I'm going to tell you a story . I once knew someone called Tim. When I met him he had already spent most of his life in drug addiction treatment centres, psych wards and prisons until he later ended up in a forensic psych ward. After he did LSD he 'never came down from his bad trip' and got diagnosed w schizophrenia. This diagnosis +the addict - diagnosis justified so many fucking human rights violations - it got him locked up, drugged up, strip searched, his privacy violated on a daily basis, isolated away from society and everyone he knew because apparently he needed to be 'saved from this illness in his brain that makes him do/think/feel' things he otherwise wouldnt and because he needed to be 'punished' into being a 'functioning', 'productive' (read: profit-generating) member of 'society' (read: hegemonic cultural norms & forms.) This is what psychiatry does - it doesnt help, it locks us up and tortures us. I dont need to be able to name alternatives to this lol . This is the worst possible way of treating anyone ever. It would help immensely to literally just STOP doing this. Even 'sane' people would go insane in places like these.

So the alternative to acting like an absolute asshole towards people who struggle severely and who dont have a place in society would be to 1)not isolate them away from society and 2)not torture them 🙏 . It would be to get rid off the psychologists' individual and the psychiatric systems' general saviour complex that only results in abusing people bc they act like the people who are labelled as mentally ill are (=their minds/brains) responsible for at fault for their own struggles. Instead we could show solidarity with each other and try to built a world where everyone has a place in and is valued as a person and where the suffering/madness of an individual is not seen as an incentive to literally abuse and socially ostracize them.

And @ everyone dont come at me w 'not everyone has these experiences w psychiatry' - any time you talk about systemic criticism you have to look at the most marginalized experiences. When talking about police defunding/prison abolition we also talk about police brutality that black disabled poor people face . And yes not everyone has bad experiences w every single cop , still ACAB . ALSO dont come at me with 'I know there ar GOOD psychologists who Actually want to help' ,1) fuck their savior complex 2)what individuals motives are for joining this system of oppression isnt necessarily the purpose of a system. The purpose of a system is what it does. The police isnt there to protect us, psychiatry isnt there to help us. We only have each other.

So, what you can do right now to get rid off the psychiatric system in your community? How can we stop relying on this authoritarian system that abuses and incarcerates so many of us ??

I think its important to educate each other on our rights. Because then we have the knowledge on what not to say in a therapy session so we dont get incarcerated or what to do when we are questioned by cops/psychs to see if we are 'at risk' or what to do when we or friends of us are already incarcerated so they can get out of there as fast as possible. Also educating your friends/family on psychiatric propaganda helps - a common myth is that if you dont 'look for signs' and call the cops to institutionalize a friend they might kill themselves. All while institutionalization/incarceration increases the risk of suicide extremely. This is important to know so no one in our communities calls the cops on us when we're doing really bad. Also educating each other on the biomedical model so everyone understands that we dont have an illness that we need to be 'saved from' (depression for example) or 'punished for' (aspd, drug addiction) and that we (=our minds/brains) arent to blame for our struggles Etc.

If you know that youre sometimes in extreme mental distress/pain you could also make a crisis plan with friends so you dont need to rely on the psych system - like for example the plan could be that a friend calls in sick for work/university and then stays at your place for 3-4days and is there for you/drinks tea w you, goes for a walk together w you, smokes a joint with you together until you feel better and arent acutely suicidal anymore. (Its also best to include several people in this plan bc it can get really overwhelming for 1 person). You can als include things in the plan like asking your friends to take away all knives in your apartment if you want to. Or if its a more permanent 'crisis' then a plan on how to move together with friends to get away from your nuclear family/abusive partner (just as an example).

Access to medication, knowledge on how to get off of them if you dont want to take them anymore and freedom and proper education in your decision on taking, weaning off or on staying on medication is not given in the psych system. So how do we change that? A common reason for 'crisis' is trying to wean off of psychiatric drugs (a lot of people get suicidal or psychotic bc of the withdrawal for example - depends on the meds, dosis and since how long youve been taking them though). You could plan when to do this together w friends. Theres anti psych guidelines on how to do this safely - a lot of psychiatrists tell you that you need to stay on meds no matter if you want to or not and they often dont know how to wean off of them or think youre 'at risk' and incarcerate you if you mention that you want to stop taking your meds -this highly depends on how stigmatizing your diagnosis is (=schizophrenia/bipolar are good examples for highly stigmatized ones) or if youre sb who get racialized for example (bc then psychs immediatly perceive you as more of 'a risk'). You could make a plan for example where you ask your friends to stay w you through this by living at your apartment w you for a few days, cooking meals for you and keeping your apartment clean. And then another friend of you could come by each day after work (for example) and also be there since its probably a lot for one person. Also LYING to psychiatrists is always a good idea. For example when youre trans and want to access gender affirming care its important not to mention any diagnoses in general but especially diagnoses like autism, schizophrenia, psychosis or PDs and then literally lie about yourself if necessary. You always know who you are and what you need best. Also dont blindly trust your psych on what medications go well together - look it up yourself !!! Theres a 'drug interaction checker' online where you can see if it might be dangerous to take certain meds at the same time. Also READ on what side effects are possible - make a diary for when you start your medication on how youre feeling/doing . Some changes are awful but still hard to notice bc youre thinking that it could also be a 'normal' worsening of your mental state that you think you might also have without meds. Also depending on what physical conditions you have/had you cant take some medications without it being dangerous - READ the whole instruction paper thing that always comes with your meds and/or google it !!

Also literally just sharing/collecting tips on how to cope w different struggles + harm reduction guides (suicidality, drug addiction, ...) is very helpful. There is a lot of community sourced material already out there.

I understand that the reason most people are severely struggling is because they dont have a community (=like when you only have 1 partner or 1 friend ,because youre (still) legal property of your parents, because youre stuck in a nuclear family,...) and not only because psychiatry divides our communities by blaming us for our struggles and isolating and stigmatizing us. Building community and relying on each other is the only way to get rid off the psychiatric system in the end. If we already had a real community that we could rely on, all the psych wards would be empty and therapists wouldnt exist. This is not the first step, its the solution.

Als there are already alternative institutions (that are already in practice) that are a replacement for psychiatry.

This is probably the answer that youre looking for 😂. I dont really care about these kind of anti psych concepts and practices since they seem out of my reach atm. Ik that theres an anti psych house in berlin whos guiding principles are 1)community care /peer support 2)full autonomy for everyone there and its specifically for people who are running away from psychiatric violence.

Other alternatives that I havent really looked into yet are : bethel house , peer respites, new models of therapy

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ALWAYS!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: taking care of a certain suicidal detective is thankless work—or so, that's what everyone says at least, including dazai himself, but you're not as convinced. (wordcount: 1.8k; sfw, mentions of dazai's struggles w depression & self-care; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: dazaiiiii <3

Dazai chronically neglects his physical health.

You don't know if it's on purpose or not, you don't think it really matters either way, although some of your coworkers beg to differ in the way that they chide you for "encouraging" his behavior when you go out of your way to take care of him when he refuses to do so himself. Kunikida thinks that he’ll never learn to take care of himself if he constantly has you there as a fallback, but you think it's a bit ridiculous to not extend a hand to someone who is clearly struggling. You know Kunikida means well for Dazai, and he often goes out of his way himself to help the man in his own ways, but sometimes it's not as simple as having to "learn to take care of yourself" and you fear that if no one's there to set him straight when he starts to disregard his health, it'll just turn into another suicide attempt and you'll all be scrambling to help him when his body gives in because it's too weak to sustain itself. 

Sometimes, he neglects himself in major ways. Frequently, you catch him going all day without eating, sometimes days if you don’t notice it right away, all because he claims that he’s not hungry. He rarely cleans his wounds properly after missions and they end up getting infected, and that’s always a mess because then he starts whining about "this type of death being too painful" and Yosano has to spend hours treating him.

Days like today, he neglects himself in minor ways—ways that he thinks he can get away with because no one cares enough to scold him over every little thing.

No one except you, at least.

It’s bitterly cold outside, the wind is harsh and dry, and the heat in the office has utterly failed. Usually, the president would let you guys go back to the dorms rather than let you suffer in the cold, but the case the office is handling is time-sensitive, and you need to at least set up the preparations for the infiltration mission that’s going to take place in a few days. 

Dazai is late, of course, and Kunikida is even more irritated than usual because if all hands were on deck for this, you’d all be able to head back to the dorm earlier. You’re a bit annoyed too, honestly, because your fingers are freezing and your nose is cold, but you figure that Dazai is going to get enough shit from Kunikida anyway.

The door to the office cracks open—speak of the devil, you think to yourself—and your eyes cut upward to where Dazai is peeking into the office, as if to see if Kunikida was waiting for him. Luckily, the president called the irate blonde and Tanizaki into his office to go over the specifics of the infiltration.

“Dazai,” you say, shooting him a flinty look. “You’re late.”

“Bella,” he tosses you a charming smile—one that never works, mind you, but he never fails to try. “I have a good excuse, you see.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” you press. “Let me hear it”

“Ha, well…” he trails off, and your expression drops when he finally steps into the office and you see he’s only wearing his thin tan trench coat.

“Dazai, what are you wearing?” you ask, appalled. You’re bundled up in your winter jacket and a scarf and you’re still freezing—and you’ve worn Dazai’s coat often enough to know that there’s absolutely zero insulation or protection from the winds. 

Dazai gives a look that’s eerily reminiscent of a dog that knows it did something bad, brown eyes just a bit too wide and the corner of his lips turned downward. He makes his way over to his desk, right next to your own, and you notice how he’s violently shivering, face bright red and lips so dry and chapped that they seem to be bleeding.

Your eye twitches in irritation, Dazai gives you a sheepish smile and then winces as his bottom lip splits and blood dribbles over his lips. 

“You’re an absolute moron,” you hiss and rise to your feet. “Sit down.”

You all but storm over to the break room, rifling through the closet to find the blanket you stored in there a while back for Kunikida when he decides to stay over at the office to finish up work. It’s fluffy, and warm, and entirely not meant for Dazai’s idiocy but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Yosano gives you an amused look when she sees you gathering the blanket in your arms as she passes by the break room. 

“You know, I bet he does this just because he likes when you fuss over him,” she says offhandedly, leaning against the doorframe as she watches you kick the closet door back shut.

“Well, it’s either fussing over him or letting him go off and get himself killed,” you scowl, making your way out of the break room back toward Dazai, who’s sitting dutifully where you left him.

“That’s so unfair,” Ranpo immediately complains. “I asked for the blanket earlier and you said no, you can’t just give it to Dazai because he’s your boyfriend.” 

“First of all, I can give my blanket to whoever I want, maybe you shouldn’t have stolen my tootsie rolls, Ranpo,” you say, ignoring the way Ranpo raises his chin indignantly. “Second of all, Dazai is not my boyfriend, he is just incompetent at life.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ranpo scoffs. “The day you two get together is the day the entire office can finally be at peace. We’re sick of the pining.”

You gape, picking up a stray desktop tape and flinging it at Ranpo’s head. Ranpo dodges with a cackle, letting it soar past him and into the wall. You glare at him and return your attention to Dazai, not even saying a word as you bundle the fluffy blanket around him until it’s fully covering his thin, shivering form. 

You notice that his neck is still uncovered, both skin and bandages visible—red and frigid from the wind outside. Brows knit together, you unwrap your scarf from your neck and wrap it around his neck neatly.

You think it’s a bit cute the way he’s staring up at you, bundled in thick blankets and your scarf, but you’ll never admit that.

You frown as your eyes dart down to his chapped, bleeding lips. You dab at the wet blood with a tissue before letting out a sharp sigh, wandering back over to your desk and grabbing your lip balm from your drawer. You take a step closer to Dazai again, he watches curiously as you reach out to tilt his head up.

The skin of his cheek is cold beneath your fingers and you stroke it absently, trying to warm it up a bit, before you bring the lip balm up to your lips, biting the cap to take it off before dropping it back down in your hand and placing it in your pocket. 

Dazai is uncharacteristically quiet as he watches you bring the lip balm up to his lips. You trace the outline of his lips with the balm, gentle over where they had cracked from dryness and the cold. You can feel his warm breath against your hand and you try to ignore his proximity because no, Dazai is not your boyfriend, but sometimes you wish he is—for all of his quirks and as much as he frustrates you, you care for him desperately. 

And when he’s like this, pliant under under your touch as he lets you take care of him, watching you with wide eyes filled with an indecipherable, adoring emotion… You feel it all the more intensely.

Your touch lingers for a moment as you finish coating his lips with the lip balm before you finally let your hands fall to your sides. 

“Not dating my ass,” Naomi snorts from across the room, still blatantly watching the two of you, as if you were some reality entertainment. You scowl at her and throw a pen in her direction, she only giggles and tosses you a wink. 

You shake your head and take a seat back down at your desk, putting your lip balm away and about to go back to working on the research for the infiltration mission. Before you can focus, Dazai scooches his chair closer to you. 

His cheeks are still flushed pink from the cold, hair tousled from the wind, and his lips are shiny from your lip balm. He leans in a bit and you raise your eyebrows a bit in amusement. 

“Yes?” you ask quietly, lips tilted up in a small smile.

Dazai doesn’t answer for a moment, his eyes are glittering in a way that you know is dangerous but you don’t move away like you probably should. Instead, you stay still as he leans in a bit more and captures your lips in a soft kiss. It’s brief and gentle, no more than two or three seconds long, and his lips are terribly chapped and tasting of your lip balm, but it has your heart stuttering in your chest and your face feeling hot. You can hear Naomi gasp in delight, clapping her hands together, Yosano let out a deafening whoop of a cat call and Ranpo cry a loud finally!

Dazai leans back—his eyes are still shining and his lips are turned up. He looks as if he’s about to say something but before he can, the door to Fukuzawa’s office slams open and Kunikida storms out of it: “You shitty waste of bandages! You’re two hours late!” 

“Not now, Kunikida!” Yosano says loudly, intercepting the man before he can rip Dazai right out of his chair. She pushes him toward the break room, throwing the two of you a grin and a wink. You shake your head a bit in amusement.

The moment is ruined, but Dazai is undeterred, finally speaking up.

“Let me take you out later, bella?” Dazai asks, voice quiet and teasing as he rests his chin on his hand, leaning on his desk as he looks over at you.

You laugh. “The only place you’re going later is back to your apartment because you’re going to be sick, Dazai.”

Dazai pouts, over-exaggerated and dramatic but then he amends, a bit more softly, “Take care of me later?”

Your smile is gentle now as you reply with: "Always.”

[blippymilk]

Brozone (+ Poppy & Viva) x Touch Starved Fem! Reader

Ok the request is that the reader is a touch starved, easily flustered, insecure yet passionate female. Her hair can change based on how she’s feeling. She likes to rant and info dump a lot. She likes drawing herself and her loved ones, and gives small gifts as a form of affection or to make them feel better. There will be a friend and s/o version.

(I’m also really sorry if this is not to the liking of the request, I kind of struggled while making this 😭)

John Dory:

Friend:

- As your friend he’s a little concerned for you

- Like he knows your fine but sometime he worries 😭

- But nothing JD can’t handle

- Genuinely enjoys your little gifts but he never makes it obvious at first

“Hey JD look I made you a little gift.” :)

“Oh that’s sweet. Can you put it on my desk? I’ll look at it later.”

- One day him and his brothers were rough housing around while you Poppy, and Viva stood by cheering them on. Bruce gets a little too rough with him and knocks something out of his jacket, it was your gift

- This man stops everything

- Like everything

- Like everyone’s frozen in place no matter what stance they’re in

- And picks it up and places it gently back in the pockets inside his jacket then lectures the boys about how he could’ve gotten his belongings crushed 😭

S/O:

- Still worries about you even after being together

- Sometimes the way your emotions change with your hair startles him

- And that’s mostly because your emotions can change rapidly

- But he also finds it really funny

- So prepare for his scare attacks

- Your hair gets so spiky, and you get so mad

“Oh come on I was only playing around babe. Tell you what, I’ll find a better way to mess with your hair.”

- And he did, which was by flustering you with comments that boost your confidence

- Your face turns red and your hair poofs up then falls around your head

- You’re always muttering a lot just like Viva and Poppy and JD finds it hilarious that him, Branch, and Clay are in the same boat (not saying Clay and Viva are not dating jus to clarify 😭)

Floyd:

Friend:

- Loves having a friend that’s the complete opposite of him

- He’ll listen to you rant all day

- With feedback on every question and statement

- Also finds your hair amusing but won’t abuse it’s power on purpose like John 😭

- Shocked by your passion to draw

“Is that me and you?”

“You know it.”

“I love it.” 🥹

S/O:

- Absolutely head over heels for you

- Still would be into listening to you rant but he’s helping you calm down a bit more

- Now your drawings had a more romantic reference behind them and he loved them even more

- No matter where he goes he always has one of your pictures on him

- He carries it around and values it like cash

- And absolutely none of his (little) brothers are getting their hands on it (yes he’s aware that they’re all adults now)

Spruce Bruce

Friend:

- He’s an expert on hair so he’s not too shocked or anything

- I mean look at that fluff on his head

- Seeing as Bruce could handle so many kids in the movie I believe he could deal with a ranting partner just fine

- He knows how to avoid frustration with you

S/O:

- Finds everything you do cute (c’mon it’s Bruce)

- He loves your arts & crafts

- Probably more than you

- Just like John he likes to you see you flustered with that big frizz on your head

- Your hair is constantly poofy because this man never stopsssss

“Hey (____) did it hurt when you fell?”

“Huh?”

“When you fell. From heaven?”

“Bruce you’re litteraly gonna kill me and my hair…”

- Definitely helps you get the knots out afterward 😭

Clay:

Friends:

- He hangs around Viva so the rambling is nothing new to him

- Always tries to hide you from Viva because he knows you two would be a unstoppable force ( plus poppyyyyy?!?)

- Hates when you feel insecure in any kind of way possible

- So just like you leave him little sketches, he leaves little notes of affirmations for you to read

- And makes you read them

- Outloud

“I am so pretty, beautiful, smart, talente- Clay do I have to keep-”

“Keep going.”

“Ok but-”

- Extremely intense eye contact

sighhhhhhhh “I am talented, I am kind, I am loyal…”

S/O:

- One of the most respectful boyfriends in the world

- Eventually gives in and let’s you and Viva mingle (possibly a bad descion!!??)

- Astonished by what your hair is capable of (can’t show his excitement tho cause he’s not a fun boy anymore right?)

- He is a words of affection (and physical touch sjejkemsjks) kinda guy so as your boyfriend he’s all you could ask for

- So now your attached to this man like glue and it’s kind of his fault

- Has to pry you off sometime but he will never stop loving you the same

“I love youuuuuu.”

“I love youuuuuu too.”

Branch:

Friend:

- Just like Clay he’s friends with Poppy so he’s used to the talking behavior (no Boppy in thissss 😔)

- You guys didn’t exactly hit it off at first either

- You met him during his “no color” era so that makes most of the sense

- ntgl when he first finds out about your hair he’s thrown off

- And the other trolls had so much fun with it that he considered you a distraction from the bergens soooo he wasn’t too fond of you

- And it takes a while but eventually you both become inseparable

“You hated me for no reason, and now I’m your favorite.”

“Yeah yeah.”

S/O:

- He’s growing as in character development

- So now instead of getting upset he uses your hair to read you

- He never really knows when he’s doing anything right or wrong as far as the relationship so he depends on your hair to know which path to take

- Your info dumping soothes him, wether he likes it or not

- He plays it off subtly but he knows how to fluster you and he takes pride in that (*AHEM* SINGING)

Poppy:

Friend:

- Doesn’t even realize that you’re rambling cause she’s doing it too

- You both are a special duo that at one point drove Branch up a tree (no pun intended)

- As much as the trolls like you, they don’t realize how actually dangerous you two could be together 😭

- And you can imagine the fear on Branch’s face when he finds out Viva and Poppy are sisters

S/O:

- Everyone knows Poppy is a scrapbooking master so when she begins to receive little arts and crafts from you she’s in love

- Like she’s bouncing off the wall excited

- Literally (it’s Poppy)

- She’s superrr touchy-feely so your living your best life

- Your hair is so fun and amusing to her

- Like JD she might try to scare you a couple times to see your hair spike up for fun but cuddles you after

“I’m sorry sweetieeee you know I can’t help it. Your hair is just so fun!”

“Poppyyyy you say that everytimeeee!”

Viva:

Friends:

- Basically Poppy’s doppelgänger so what can you expect?!

- Always rambling but somehow always manages to do it more than you

- She might just be you plus Poppy times five

- Clay tried to help you hide your hair for the sake of you and Viva

- Unfortunately she popped up out of nowhere startling you both and causing your hair to go erratic

“So so sorry guys I didn’t mean to…OMG YOUR HAIR!”

S/O:

- Everything you could ask for from a girlfriend

- Like she literally could not have given you anymore

- She loves your art works

- She loves to hear you talk and join in with you

- She loves the touchy-feely type

- She literally can’t find a single flaw in you whatsoever

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hey so, maybe an odd question, but did you feel like a different person when you started T? I’m a trans guy and am trying to figure out weather I want to do hormones. A lot of the physical effects sound really great, but I’m kind of scared of what it might do to me mentally. A friend of mine has to take it for medical purposes and he absolutely HATES it. He feels like it turns him into an entirely different person that he hates being and completely destroys his capacity for creativity or emotions of any kind. This can’t be everybody’s experience right?

Heya! Answering this on public for folks to chime in with their own personal anecdotes. (Including bad emotional effects - let's be respectful that not everyone has a great HRT experience. I'd imagine each of us struggles with something we don't like about T.)

Testosterone took the edges off my negative emotions. I stopped frustration crying nearly overnight and got a lot less irritable. My explosive temper went down to a low simmer. I suddenly felt like I had patience for the first time in my life. I don't have as many autistic meltdowns now, and when they do happen, it's more me pacing in circles than breaking something.

I still feel emotions like sadness, but it's harder to physically cry. I haven't noticed any changes to my creativity. I feel happier, but that has more to do with not being closeted anymore.

I'm definitely hornier on T, and that sometimes converts into irritability, something I can control with mindful behavior.

What can shock some trans folks is that HRT won't solve all your mental problems. Testosterone has not helped my Depression that's unrelated to gender dysphoria, so I still battle with cycles of wretched ennui. It also hasn't helped my ADHD, and I sometimes wonder if it's even made me a bit more forgetful. That said, HRT removed a ton of background radiation in my life to where I am now better equipped to deal with my mental illnesses.

Even though my experience has been overwhelmingly positive, I have had a few trans masc folks tell me that they felt like T deadened their emotions in an unpleasant way. The odds are in your favor, but it sucks if you're the one who gets bad results. But I would imagine that your emotions would recalibrate once you'd stop HRT.

But overall, I felt like I was trapped in teenage-level emotional turmoil well into my 30s (when I transitioned), and T makes me feel like an even-keeled adult. I am the same person as before, but a better version of that person.

I hope that helps. When considering HRT, it's important to remember that you can just try it out and stop if you don't like it. There will be tradeoffs, both permanent and reversible, so learning about those will definitely help in your decision here. But you have a lot of control here, especially when you jump in aware.

If you go for it, keep a mood journal and make it a topic to discuss with a therapist or other trans folks. Wishing you all the best!