#it’s actually quite serious but I don’t know how to process serious things

[harleythealter]

Me: I shouldn’t go swimming if there’s chlorine in that pool because I’m allergic.

Every other person I’ve had this conversation with: Isn’t everybody allergic to chlorine?

Me: Well-

Every other person I’ve had this conversation with: -because it’s really bad for everybody.

Me: I mean that I’m really really allergic. As in I stop breathing and feel like I’m suffocating. It’s probably best if I stay behind and read in my room instead.

Me(alternatively): I actually mean that I have an asthma attack when I go in chlorine water, or when I enter a pool room, or when I walk past a swimming pool, even out in the open. I’m saying I can’t go with you if you decide to do that activity for your birthday/event/whatever.

Every other person I’ve had this conversation with: Oh… well maybe you shouldn’t come then.

Me: *fakes a smile and blinks a few times* I agree.

[cloudtransprncy]

Cheat Code

ITZY Yuna x Male Reader | 5k words Part 1 out of ? Tags: PWP, Blowjob, Size Kink, Cock Worship, Mutual Horny Chaos, 2nd Person POV, Yuna Is Down Catastrophic

She said glasses and earrings were a cheat code—so you tested it. No big deal. Just an experiment. But the second Yuna opens the door, she short-circuits, and next thing you know, she’s on her knees. I guess it works?

The car is parked in your usual spot, tucked away from the main road where the streetlights don’t quite reach. It’s summer.

The air outside warm enough that the windows are cracked just enough to let the night breeze slip through. Chill R&B hums from the speakers, blending into the comfortable silence between you and Yuna.

Yuna’s lounged back, slides kicked off, feet propped up on the dashboard like she owns the place. Her phone screen flashes in quick bursts as she scrolls TikTok, fingers moving lazily while she sips from her boba. Cropped pink tank, low-rise jeans that hang just right, a couple of delicate rings on her fingers—casual but calculated, effortless, she knows she’s hot and she owns it.

You’re half-watching, half-zoned out, fingers drumming absently against your drink. Not thinking about how good she looks. Or trying not to.

Then she speaks, totally unprompted.

“Glasses and earrings are such a fucking cheat code for guys.”

You blink, slow to process. “…Huh?”

She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Like, if a dude who’s my type pulls up with that? Whip it out already, I’m on my knees.”

You choke on your boba. Cough, nearly die, and have to thump your own chest to recover. “You’re a slut”

Yuna finally spares you a glance, completely serious. “I’m sooo serious. Glasses? Hot. Earrings? Hot. Together? Killy me now. Instant buff.”

You recover, rubbing your throat. “Any guy?”

She scoffs. “Obviously he has to be cute, I’m not gonna suck off some rando that's ugly and gross.”

You stare at her, a mix of disbelief and amusement creeping in.

Yuna shifts, folding a leg under her and turning fully towards you, sitting up. Her tank top rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but you don’t look for too long. She leans in like she’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe. “Like, okay, hear me out.”

You sigh, playing along. “K, I’m listening.”

“The glasses just make the guy look smart, but like, not too smart. Unless he’s a nerd, but you get my point.”

“Suuure.”

“The earrings? Hot. Earrings are just hot. Like, I wear earrings. I’m hot.”

You stare at her, unimpressed. “I don’t get it.”

She waves a hand, exasperated. “Like, hot but not too hot, smart but not too smart. ya get me?.”

You squint. “But what if the guy’s ugly?”

She pauses, then scoffs. “See, that’s where it’s tough, ‘cause the buff only works if you’re already cute, ya know? Or like… almost hot.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You saying some guys are almost hot?”

“Yeah, bro, like some guys just need to hit the gym, dress better, get some earrings.”

You just give her a look, telling her you don’t really get it.

Silence lingers for a beat. Then she shrugs, says it so offhandedly you almost don’t catch it. “Like, you’d actually be hot if you tried.”

Your brain stalls. “…What?”

She doesn’t look up, just sips her boba. “You heard me.”

You’re still blinking. “No, repeat that.”

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across her face. “Nope.”

“That felt personal.”

“It wasn’t. But if you feel attacked…”

You scoff, sitting up slightly. “I literally gym, and you gotta admit I dress nice.”

She finally looks at you, eyes dragging over your plain black tee and gray sweats, unimpressed.

You gesture vaguely. “When I go out.”

She snorts, shaking her head but doesn't disagree. “Yeah, aight.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re basically saying I would be hot if I wasn’t ugly.”

Another shrug. “That’s not what I’m saying, but if that’s what you’re hearing…”

You laugh it off, shake your head, shift the conversation elsewhere. But Yuna? She sits with it, lets the words settle.

The idea is planted.

She doesn’t bring it up again, but it lingers. Her gaze flickers to you when you’re not looking, her teeth pressing lightly into her bottom lip like she’s trying not to think too hard about it. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, scrolling her phone with a little too much focus.

A week later…

The drive to Yuna’s place feels normal—same streets, same turn signals, same playlist humming low through your speakers. But today? Today’s different. Today, you’re running a test.

You grip the wheel with one hand, glancing at yourself in the rearview mirror. Glasses on. You always needed them, just never wore them. Now? Gentle Monster frames, clean, sharp. A flex, but a subtle one.

Earrings? Left ear—a small silver star stud. Right ear—a tiny dagger earring. A balance of soft and sharp. Like you weren’t thinking about it, but also? You were.

Your fit? Casual but intentional.

Black compression shirt, snug and sculpting but not obnoxious. Grey wide-leg sweats, laid-back and effortless. Fresh kicks, spotless with no creases.

It’s intentional, but not try-hard. Like you just threw shit on, but somehow, everything fell into place.

You exhale, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel.

Let’s see if she notices.

You knock. A shuffle of footsteps inside. The door swings open.

Yuna stands there, the striped pajama set hugging her tiny waist, sitting snug on her hips, showing just enough skin to be lethal. The fabric stretches over her curves, hinting at the toned stomach underneath, the kind of body that looks soft but still tight in all the right places.

Her red hair falls in messy waves, catching hallway light like she planned the whole damn lighting setup. Even "just hanging at home," her skin glows with that I-woke-up-like-this perfection you know for a fact takes at least three serums to achieve. Light makeup—because of course she wouldn't be completely bare-faced—just enough to make her eyes wider, her lips fuller, slightly glossed and parted in what starts as a greeting but dies somewhere in her throat.

She was expecting movie night. Takeout containers. Stupid debates about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. The usual safe routine.

Instead, she gets you. Version 2.0.

Her entire body freezes. Processing.

Her eyes make a deliberate journey: glasses, earrings—that small hesitation when she notices they're mismatched—down to how your shirt remembers every gym session you've been putting in, lingering just a beat too long where your sweats hang low, then back up to your face with the slow-dawning realization that you've weaponized her own words against her.

She straight-up blue-screens.

Her weight shifts subtly, thighs pressing together like she's trying to create pressure where she suddenly needs it. Her fingers flex at her sides, curling then uncurling like she's physically restraining herself. The sharp inhale is audible—chest rising, lips parting before she catches herself. A full system restart happening in real time.

"What. The. Fuck." It comes out flat, almost accusatory, like you've committed a personal offense.

You can't help the smirk. "What?"

Yuna's eyes narrow, flicking to your earrings again with something dangerously close to hatred—not for the accessories, but for how effectively you've played her. Her jaw works, tension visible as she grinds her teeth. The mental battle is written across her face: pride versus want, restraint versus impulse.

"You're a fucking bitch," she mutters, the words carrying more heat than venom.

Your grin widens, victory sweet on your tongue. "Hmm? Didn't catch that."

No verbal response. Just the sudden, almost violent way her fingers hook into your shirt, yanking you inside before kicking the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame.

Her grip on your wrist is tight—too tight to be casual, not tight enough to hurt. She pulls you down the familiar hallway, the same path you've walked a hundred times before, except now your heart hammers against your ribs like it's trying to escape. This isn't movie-night Yuna leading you to her bedroom to argue about Netflix choices. This is something else entirely.

The words barely form in your mouth before your back hits her mattress, the air rushing from your lungs in a soft "oof." Suddenly everything is different. Same room—same fairy lights strung across her headboard, same pile of clothes heaped on her desk chair, same vague scent of vanilla and something distinctly her—but the air feels electrically charged, dense with potential.

She climbs onto you with feline precision, one knee planted on either side of your thighs, lowering herself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture. The weight of her settles against you—warm, solid, undeniable. The smirk playing at her lips is both challenge and promise, a silent I told you so mixed with you're going to regret this in the best way possible.

And just like that, the tables turn.

Your earlier confidence dissolves under her gaze. Your breath catches as she studies you like a meal she's about to devour, eyes dragging from your face to your throat, lingering on the pulse point there before traveling lower to where your shirt has ridden up to expose a strip of skin.

Pure instinct drives your hands to her hips, fingers just grazing the warm skin exposed between her top and pajama bottoms—but before you can get a proper grip, she's caught your wrists. One fluid motion and your arms are pinned against the wall above your head, chest exposed, completely at her mercy. Her nails dig just enough into your skin to send a shiver racing down your spine, a silent warning that makes your pulse spike.

"Yuna—" Her name escapes as a whine, embarrassingly breathless.

"Did I say you could touch?" The edge in her voice is new—commanding in a way that makes heat pool low in your stomach.

She leans in close again and you flinch slightly, turning your head, caught off-balance by this sudden shift in dynamic. The predatory smile that spreads across her face tells you exactly what you need to know:

You might have started this game, but she's the one who's going to finish it.

Her grip tightens. "What? You getting nervous?"

And you are. Because you don’t know what she’s gonna do next. Because your hands are pinned down, because she’s taking her time, because she’s in complete control.

"Too late." Her voice is soft as her fingers catch your jaw before you can answer—firm, controlling. She lets it hang there, the weight of her words sinking in before she tilts your face up like she’s testing the weight of you in her hands, deciding whether she wants to break you apart or take her time savoring it.

She doesn’t kiss you yet. Just hovers. Close enough that you can feel her breath—warm, teasing, curling over your lips. Close enough that you can smell her—sweet, like strawberries, something feminine and bright, but dark underneath. Something heady. Something that lingers.

"What..." It slips out soft, almost breathless, escaping before you even realize. You're already leaning in—just slightly, just enough to chase the warmth of her mouth, the phantom touch of lips that still haven’t pressed against yours.

She grins. Pulls back just enough to make you ache for it. Watching, waiting. Letting the moment stretch, letting you need.

Then she finally kisses you—hungry, consuming, impossible to escape. Her lips move like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting for this, for you.

Her hands roam without hesitation, clawing at your shirt, nails scratching lightly before pressing harder, groping, gripping, taking. She grinds down, pressing herself closer, hot, desperate, soaked through.

Her tongue slides against yours, deep, messy, filthy. She tastes like strawberries and something warmer, something intoxicating. She bites your bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth before letting go, leaving you breathless, dizzy.

You manage to get half a word out—something cocky, something desperate—but she just presses her thumb over your lips, silencing you effortlessly. "Shh."

Her smirk is wicked, teasing. "Did I tell you to talk?"

One last kiss—hard, bruising—claiming—before she finally pulls back, pupils blown wide, breath heavy, hot against your lips. Still teasing, still in control.

Her eyes flicker, dark and sharp. She lets the silence stretch, lets you squirm just a little before tilting her head, smirking. And then, finally—

“Whip it out when I tell you to.”

She shifts back, slow and deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Legs crossed, arms folded, head tilted slightly—waiting.

“Shirt off.”

You hesitate. Her expression doesn’t change. Just one perfectly raised eyebrow.

You exhale, dragging the fabric over your head, the fabric peeling away from your skin, leaving a fleeting chill before the heat of the room settles over you. The shift makes your muscles tense briefly, instinctively flexing, your lean frame now fully exposed. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches. Eyes dragging down, slower than usual. She’s seen you shirtless before—at the beach, when you work out together—but this feels... different. More deliberate. More assessing. Like she’s realizing something she hadn’t let herself think about before.

Her fingertips trail over your chest, nails scraping lightly as they move down. Her breathing shifts. Not a full pause, but a subtle inhale, like she’s registering something new.

She barely skims your waistband before stopping. Lips part, but no words come out. Just a beat of silence, her fingers still resting against your skin.

Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off. Moves like she never hesitated. “Pants too.”

You move to pull them down, and her hand shoots out, gripping the fabric at your waist. Stopping you. Holding you there.

She tilts her head. Smirks. “Hmm, one sec.”

She leans down, lips trailing from your chest to your abdomen, slow and deliberate, each press of her mouth sending heat curling low in your stomach. Lower. Lower. Until she’s hovering over your bulge, her breath warm against the fabric, her smirk returning as she glances up at you—waiting, teasing.

“Whip it out.”

You follow her command, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats and boxers at the same time. You push them down in one slow motion, the fabric dragging over your hips, your thighs, until they pool around your ankles. The cool air hits first, sending a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling in contrast to the heat of her stare. You kick them off, tossing them aside without a second thought.

Your cock, already stiff, springs free, swaying slightly before settling upright.

You expect some kind of reaction, a smirk, a comment, something. But she just sits there. Silent. Taking you in. Making you wait.

Then, the shift.

Her jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough to notice. Her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the instinct to reach for you. A single exhale slips out—soft, sharp, involuntary.

“...Hah.”

Her thighs press together.

She blinks once, slow, expression still unreadable before she scoffs, voice flat. "You're joking."

It’s not a question. Not disbelief. It’s irritation. Like she’s pissed off that she’s this affected.

Then, before she even registers it, her hand is on you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, testing the weight. Thumb pressing into the ridge, sliding down, measuring. Her grip is firm, not teasing, not soft. Calculating. Then, she swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum across the sensitive skin.

The slick warmth sends a sharp jolt through you, your stomach clenching at the sudden stimulation. A shudder rolls down your spine, hips jerking just slightly—instinctual, involuntary. She hums at the reaction, amused, dragging her thumb back over the head, slower this time, watching you twitch beneath her touch.

"...You’ve been walking around with this the whole time?"

One slow stroke. Deliberate. Frustrated. Her breath hitches for half a second before she exhales through her nose, sharp and controlled. She’s working through something.

Then she moves.

Slow, deliberate, sinking down until her face is level with your cock. She spreads her knees wider, arching her back instinctively, ass lifting behind her as she dips her head down. The motion is fluid, effortless, like she’s done this a hundred times before—but not with you.

Her breath fans over the head, warm, teasing, and fuck, she’s gorgeous. But the way she’s looking at you? The way her lashes flutter as she drags her gaze from the base to the tip, the way her lips part slightly like she’s thinking about something she shouldn’t? Filthy.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, aching to touch her. To run through her hair, trace over her cheek, press against the plush curve of her lips. But you don’t. You know better.

She tilts her head, lining it up. Comparing.

Her fingers tighten around the base, giving an experimental squeeze, jaw tensing slightly like she’s still processing the math of it all.

She hums, amused. Like she just confirmed something. Her eyes drag from your cock to your frame, mapping out the proportions. She’s smaller, you’re lean, cut where it matters. Her fingers tighten around your thigh—just slightly.

She exhales slow, shaking her head. Testing her own reaction.

“It’s almost annoying.”

A sharp squeeze at the base, like she’s making peace with it.

"You're just big enough to be fucking perfect."

She looks up at you, doesn’t blink. Holds your gaze like she’s daring you to move.

"Look at me."

You do. Try to. But the intensity of her gaze is too much, hungry, piercing, hot. Like she’s devouring every inch of you without even touching. Your body reacts before you can stop it. It’s overwhelming. Too much. You instinctively try to escape it, tilting your head back, but she doesn’t let you.

Her other hand catches your chin, dragging you back down to her. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

Your breath shudders. You swallow hard. She notices. Smirks.

Then—she stops.

She knows exactly what she’s about to do. And she wants you to watch.

Lifting her arms, she gathers up all her hair, twisting it tight, securing it with practiced ease. It’s a ritual, a performance, because she knows you’re looking. And she likes it.

The movement stretches her out, making you take in everything—the pull of her arms, the soft dip of her waist, the sleek curve of her long torso. Cinched. Compact. Fucking perfect. Her neck, her collarbones, the bare skin of her armpits exposed for a fleeting second, all of it framed just for you.

"Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot." Your voice slips past you.

She pauses, just for a second. A slow, knowing smirk on her lips as she glances at you.

"I know."

Your fingers twitch, instinct taking over—you reach down, wanting to stroke yourself to the sight of her.

Sharp slap.

Your hand jerks away, stinging. Her eyes flicker up, challenging. Smirking.

"I already told you—keep your hands to yourself."

Then—she leans back down, the same position, same arch. She dips her head low. Her lips purse, and before you can register it, a thick glob of warm saliva drips from her mouth, landing perfectly against the tip. She watches it spread, her thumb smearing it across the sensitive skin, coating you in wet heat before she strokes again—long, slow, deliberate.

She looks up, eyes locking onto yours, smirking like she already knows she's won. "Now sit back and let me enjoy myself."

Then—she sinks lower.

Her red hair spills over your stomach, strands brushing against your skin as she angles herself just right. The dim light catches on the messy waves, glowing warm, wild, untamed. She looks up at you through thick lashes, half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth parted just enough to tease you with the heat of her breath.

She’s so fucking close.

But this isn’t about you.

Her fingers wrap around the base, a slow, possessive squeeze, more for herself than for you. She exhales, lips barely parted, watching, taking you in. Her tongue swipes over her own bottom lip as if contemplating a meal she’s about to devour.

Then—she goes for it.

Heat. Wet. The first slide past her lips is tight, hot, an impossible contrast of softness and pressure. Her mouth stretches, lips plush and slick, sealing around you with a perfect, obscene suction. The wet heat of her tongue presses firm against the underside, dragging against every ridge, every pulsing inch, like she’s mapping you out with her mouth. The pressure of her cheeks hollowing pulls a groan straight from your chest before you can bite it back.

It's not careful, not teasing—hungry.

Her nails dig into your thigh as she sinks deeper, her own body reacting, thighs pressing together, chasing the heat curling in her own gut.

She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t drag it out like a game. She’s working herself up with every motion, letting herself indulge.

Another moan, this one softer, needier, and fuck, she’s enjoying this. Her tongue presses against the underside, massaging every inch she swallows. She pulls back, spit slick and glistening, gasping softly before diving back in, sucking harder, deeper.

She flicks her gaze up—not to check on you, but to see how much more she can take.

The wet pop when she pulls off is obscene, spit stretching between her lips and your cock before snapping apart. But she doesn’t wipe it away—you can tell, she likes the mess.

She tilts her head, gaze flicking up to yours, breathless, her lips curling into something between a smirk and frustration.

"Fuck, you taste so good." She mutters, voice wrecked, annoyed at how much she’s into this.

You start to smirk, breath hitching as you mutter, "Damn, you really know how to—"

But you don't get the chance.

She takes you deep mid-word, zero hesitation, lips stretching, throat tightening as she swallows you down in one sudden, slick motion. The shock rips a strangled sound from your throat, something between a gasp and a groan, because fuck, that was unexpected.

It's warm, so fucking tight, her throat flexing around you as she forces herself deeper, nose pressing flush against your groin. The wet grip of her throat clenching around the tip sends heat jolting up your spine, and when she pulls back—slow, torturous—a thick string of spit clings between her lips and your cock, stretching, breaking, dripping down onto her own chin. She watches you, gaze locked, eyes dark, sharp, daring you.

"You talk too much. And I haven't told you to open your mouth."

Her voice is wrecked, breathless, but smug as hell. She grips the base, firm, controlling, and slaps the head against her lips, wet and filthy, smearing spit and precum across them before taking you back in without hesitation—deeper, tighter, longer.

Your thighs tense. Your breath stutters. Toes curl, heat pooling low in your stomach, a wildfire spreading through your limbs. Your hands clench into the sheets because if you touch her now, you're done for.

She hums around you, low, vibrating, because she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

Then she pulls back, spit-slick and glistening, pausing just long enough for you to feel the absence, to make you ache for it.

You think she’s about to go back in, your breath catches—but she lingers, gaze flicking up, owning the moment, letting the tension coil tighter. Then, slowly, she slaps your cock against her lips once more, her own breath shuddering like she’s just as caught up in this as you are. But this isn’t for you—it’s for her.

She dips lower, tongue dragging down your length, lips wrapping around one ball, sucking slow, wet, indulgent. She pauses for a second, breathing heavy, swallowing like she’s processing how good it tastes, how much she’s enjoying it.

Then she makes a sound—a frustrated groan, muffled, needy, like she’s annoyed by just how good you are in her mouth. Her hand never stops moving, stroking you in time with every pull of her mouth. Then the next, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin, a soft moan escaping her, sending a jolt straight through your core.

She licks a line back up your shaft, slow, messy, like she’s savoring the weight of you on her tongue.

Your hands twitch against the sheets, fists clenched tight, every muscle in your body strung too fucking tight, resisting the urge to grab her. She notices. She loves it.

She pulls off completely, spit pooling down her chin, tilts her head up at you, lips parted, swollen, smirking.

"Hold my hair up."

Your breath shakes as you comply, fingers threading into her red waves, feeling the silkiness as they slide between your knuckles. You gather them slowly, watching the way they shine under the dim light, then bunch them up tight, pulling them together like a ponytail, holding firm.

She exhales slow, eyes flickering shut for half a second like she’s steeling herself. Then, she looks up at you—hungry, determined.

"Good. Now don’t let go."

The moment you tighten your grip, she moans, low and wrecked, like it’s fueling her. Like she’s been waiting for this.

She takes you back in. 

In one go.

There’s no hesitation now. No more teasing. Just her fucking her mouth on you, using your cock like a toy for her own oral fixation.

She goes messy, abrupt, taking you deep with zero breaks, her hands working in sync—one stroking your shaft, the other massaging your balls, slick with spit, wet, filthy, relentless.

She gags. Chokes. Sputters saliva down her chin, but she doesn’t stop—she loves this.

Each time she sinks down, she stays longer, testing her limits, forcing herself deeper, moaning around you, the vibrations traveling straight through your spine. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She pulls off with a wet, deep, gasp, sucking in air, but her hands never stop moving—stroking, twisting, milking you even as she gasps for breath.

“Shit,” she pants, her voice wrecked, her lips swollen, glistening with spit.

Her grip tightens, both hands now working together, slick and dripping, saliva coating every inch. She strokes faster, twisting her wrists, making a fucking mess of you, her mouth hovering just inches away, lips parted, panting.

Your whole body is tight, legs folding in slightly, toes curling, arms flexing involuntarily around the grip in her hair. The pleasure is too much, too fucking good, overwhelming, and if she wasn’t in complete control, you’d be thrusting up into her mouth, chasing the heat, the pressure. But she’s already forcing herself deep, hitting the back of her throat for you. No, for herself, taking what she wants.

Your grip on her hair loosens.

She notices.

She fucking notices.

Her lashes flutter up, eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed—completely cock-drunk—and she lets out the softest, filthiest little whine, like she doesn’t want you to stop her. Like she needs this. More of this.

Your fingers clench, regaining control, and you hold her still.

Her moan shatters through you.

It’s wrecked, vibrating along your length as she hollows her cheeks again and sucks. Hard.

And then—she goes feral.

She spits again, a thick glob dripping onto the head, smearing it in with her tongue before slapping your cock against her lips, her cheek, the curve of her jaw. Then she leans in, sucking and slurping her own saliva back up from your cock and groin, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate—only to sputter it back down again, wetter, filthier.

The slick warmth trickles lower, dripping under your balls, pooling there as her fingers smear it across your skin like she never wants to waste a single drop. She’s moaning the entire time, whimpering under her breath, her own body tensing, thighs pressing together, like she’s getting off on the sheer act of ruining herself.

Her tongue flicks out, lapping at the sensitive tip before flattening against it, rubbing it against her slick, spit-drenched muscle like she wants to taste every inch.

Her hand never stops moving—stroking, twisting, pumping, both hands working together now, slick and dripping, her fingers sliding with ease from how fucking wet everything is.

She’s not thinking anymore.

She’s just moving, sucking, licking, moaning, lost in it. She’s devouring you.

She sinks back down, deeper, until she’s gagging again, nose flush, throat spasming. She pulls off just to spit again, rubs her own mess into your shaft with both hands before swallowing you back down like she missed it.

She stays down longer each time.

Testing her limits. Pushing past them. Letting them break.

She pulls off with a wrecked gasp, drool dripping off her chin, her hands still stroking you frantically, like she can’t stop. Like she won’t stop.

“Fuck—” Her voice is raw, strained, needy. Her lips glisten, her cheeks are damp with spit, ruined.

Next, she slaps your cock against her tongue again, holding it there, eyes locked on yours, lips parted, panting.

Waiting.

Wanting.

She flicks her tongue once. Then again.

Your whole body tenses, a choked moan ripping out of your throat before you can swallow it down. She notices instantly, smirking, lips flushed and glistening.

"Gonna cum for me?" Her voice is low, wrecked, teasing. "Gonna fill up my mouth?"

She doesn’t give you a chance to answer. She’s back down, and you know it wont be long.

She sinks down, deeper than before—deeper than you thought she could go.

Her throat tightens, a hot, slick vice around you, lips stretched wide, nose flush against your skin. She stays there, like she’s proving something, forcing herself to take it all.

Your body shakes. A helpless, broken noise tears from your throat, your fingers twisting tighter in her hair. Your entire body is locked up, muscles taut, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but take what she’s giving you.

She swallows around you—tight, pulsing—milking you. The suction drives you insane, your mind foggy with nothing but her heat, her wetness, the way she’s owning you with her mouth. Your stomach clenches, your toes curl, thighs shaking. The heat in your gut is unbearable, climbing too fast, too much—

And then—she pulls off.

Not all the way. Just enough to drag her lips, tongue, teeth back up, slow, deliberate, before sinking back down just as deep.

She does it again.

Slow. Controlled. Absolutely ruining you.

Her hands are still working—one stroking your length, the other massaging your balls, her slick fingers pressing, squeezing, keeping you so fucking close but not letting you fall.

This time, she pulls off completely.

Your cock twitches in the open air, aching, drenched in her spit, glistening under the dim light. The sudden absence is unbearable, like she just took the world’s best heat away from you.

And then—she stops everything.

Her grip loosens. Her mouth lingers inches away.

Nothing.

You make a noise—desperate, strained. Your fingers clench, stomach tight, chest rising too fast.

She tilts her head, mocking, daring, teasing. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Say it."

Your breath stutters. She’s watching you unravel, watching you need.

You hesitate.

Her fingers go completely still.

The absence is unbearable. The loss of heat, friction, her—everything.

She waits. Just waits.

Eyes locked on you, lips parted, not moving until she hears what she wants.

“You wanna cum or not?”

Her voice is wrecked, low, filthy—and so fucking amused. Like she already knows.

Your jaw locks, but your body betrays you.

“Yuna, please—I'm so close” It rips out of you, barely a whisper, shaky, ruined.

Her eyes spark. She grins.

She giggles. It’s horny, evil, delighted.

And with that, she dives back in.

Messy. Unforgiving.

Her mouth works you over, fast, relentless, sucking hard like she’s dragging the orgasm out of you. Her cheeks hollow, tongue pressing firm, head bobbing fast, sloppy, wrecking you.

Her hands won’t stop moving—both of them now, stroking, twisting, pumping, slick and filthy, drenched in her spit.

She pulls off just to spit directly onto your tip, spreading it with her tongue, letting the mess drip down your shaft, pooling at your base.

She goes back down, faster, tongue swirling, throat flexing, each motion more desperate, more demanding. The sounds she’s making—filthy, obscene, completely unashamed.

You can’t stop it.

Your hips jerk, thighs flex, toes curl, fingers pull tight in her hair.

And then—your whole body locks up.

It hits like lightning, brutal, full-body, overwhelming.

You moan—loud, wrecked, shaking.

She pulls off at the last second, her tongue stretched out, eyes locked on you, stroking you fast as you cum hard all over her tongue and inside her mouth.

Spurts of thick white streak across her tongue, her lips, pooling where she wants it.

She stays there, mouth open, holding it, letting you see it.

Then—she closes her mouth and swallows.

A loud, filthy gulp.

Like she was made for this.

She stays between your legs a moment longer, tongue flicking slow, deliberate, dragging over every inch of sensitive skin as she cleans you up, savoring it. Her lips press one last time to the tip, a lazy, lingering kiss, before she finally—finally—pulls away, her breath still hot and damp against your stomach.

She doesn’t hurry.

She stretches, rolling her shoulders like she just wrapped up a workout, sighing like she’s completely satisfied, her fingers pressing briefly into your thighs as she pushes herself up. She moves like she owns the space, like she just conquered something.

Without another word, she crawls up towards you. One hand grabs your chin, tilting your face up, making sure you’re looking at her.

She’s still wrecked, ruined—her lips glossy, chin damp, pupils dark and dripping with smug satisfaction.

"You're never taking those glasses off again."

Her other hand moves, fingers slipping up to the bridge of your glasses, pushing them back into place with the laziest, most condescending adjustment.

Like she just did fucking community service.

You’re still panting, your limbs heavy, your chest still rising too fast. And yet—a realization grips you.

You just unleashed something.

Something feral. Something dangerous.

She grins, tilting her head like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

And then—she giggles.

That same horny, delighted, evil little giggle from before.

Like she’s already thinking about the next time she ruins you.

End.

----------------

AN: Finally got through this one and can check it off. I'm currently starting a new piece, one of my longer ones so it might be a while until its posted. Ill try my best to fill the next few days with more shorter moments like this one, but I really wanna focus on my longer fics with more depth. As always, room for part 2 with this.

[pucksandpower]

If I Was a Worm

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: would you still love me if I was a worm?

Max leans back on the plush leather couch, his eyes fixed on the TV screen where a football match flickers. The living room is bathed in the warm glow of evening sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. You’re curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Max?” You murmur, breaking the comfortable silence.

He hums in response, his fingers idly playing with a strand of your hair. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The question that’s been nagging at you feels silly now that you’re about to voice it. But curiosity wins out. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Max’s hand stills. He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “A worm? Like, an actual worm?”

You nod, fighting back a smile at his bewildered expression.

He lets out a short laugh. “Where did that come from?”

“Just answer the question,” you insist, poking his side playfully.

Max runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process this unexpected turn in conversation. “I mean ... I guess? But why would you be a worm?”

You shrug, sitting up to face him properly. “It’s hypothetical, Max. Just go with it.”

He sighs, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his eyes. “Alright, fine. If you were a worm, I’d ... I’d buy you the best soil? Make sure you had plenty of leaves to eat?”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt. “That’s sweet, but not quite what I meant.”

Max groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “I don’t know how to love a worm! What do worms even do?”

“They wiggle,” you offer helpfully, demonstrating with a wave of your hand.

He captures your wiggling hand in his, intertwining your fingers. “Okay, so you’d wiggle. And I’d ... watch you wiggle?”

You burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. Max joins in, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulls you closer.

“I’m serious though,” you say once the laughter subsides. “Would you still love me? Even if I wasn’t ... me anymore?”

Max’s expression softens, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “Is that what this is really about? You’re worried I wouldn’t love you if you changed?”

You nod, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I know it’s silly ...”

“Hey,” Max says gently, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “It’s not silly. And to answer your question: yes, I’d still love you. Worm or not.”

“Even if I couldn’t talk to you anymore? Or hug you? Or do any of the things we do together?”

Max is quiet for a moment, considering. “I think ... I think love isn’t just about what someone can do for you. It’s about who they are, their essence. And that wouldn’t change, even if you were a worm.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. “That’s ... actually really profound, Max.”

He grins, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I have my moments.”

“So you’d be okay with having a worm girlfriend?” You tease, lightening the mood.

Max laughs, shaking his head. “I mean, it would definitely make my life interesting. Imagine trying to explain that to the press.”

You adopt a mock-serious tone. “Max, is it true that your girlfriend is now a invertebrate?’“

He plays along, mimicking his media voice. “Yes, it’s true. But I can assure you, she’s the most beautiful earthworm you’ve ever seen.”

You both dissolve into giggles, the earlier tension completely dissipated.

“Seriously though,” Max says once you’ve caught your breath. “Where did this worm thing come from?”

You shrug, a bit embarrassed now. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how much our lives have changed since we got together. And how they might keep changing. I guess I wanted to know if there was a limit to ... us.”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “I get that. Our lives are pretty crazy sometimes.”

“Understatement of the year,” you mutter.

He chuckles. “Fair enough. But you know, through all the craziness, you’re my constant. My home base. That wouldn’t change, even if you grew an exoskeleton.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Worms don’t have exoskeletons.”

“Same difference,” Max says with a dismissive wave. “The point is, I love you. All of you. Not just the parts that are convenient or easy.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, touched by his sincerity. “Even the parts that ask weird hypothetical questions?”

“Especially those parts,” he assures you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “They keep me on my toes.”

You snuggle closer to him, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. “Thank you for humoring me.”

“Always,” Max murmurs. “Though I have to ask ... why a worm? Why not like, a cat or something?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head. Plus, a cat would be too easy. You already like cats.”

“True,” he concedes. “But at least a cat could watch races with me. What would a worm do all day?”

You pretend to consider this seriously. “Worm things. Soil aeration. Composting.”

Max nods solemnly. “Ah yes, very important worm business.”

“Hey, don’t mock my hypothetical worm life,” you protest, poking his chest. “I’d be a very accomplished worm, I’ll have you know.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare question your worm credentials.”

You both fall silent for a moment, the absurdity of the conversation sinking in.

“We’re ridiculous, aren’t we?” You say finally, unable to keep the smile off your face.

Max grins. “Completely. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You lean in to kiss him, feeling a rush of affection for this man who can make even the silliest conversations feel meaningful.

As you pull away, Max’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “You know, if you really want to be a worm, I could always bury you in the garden ...”

You gasp in mock outrage. “Max Verstappen, don’t you dare!”

He laughs, pulling you closer. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Though it might be fun to see you wiggle ...”

You swat his arm playfully. “Keep it up and you’ll be the one sleeping in the garden tonight.”

Max’s expression turns serious, though there’s still a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You know, all this worm talk has got me thinking ...”

“Oh?” You say, curious about where he’s going with this.

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. I’ve realized something important.”

You wait, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“If you were a worm,” Max says slowly, building suspense, “you’d be the prettiest worm in the world.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest to muffle your laughter. “That was terrible.”

“But true,” he insists, chuckling. “You’d leave all the other worms in the dust. Or ... soil, I guess.”

You look up at him, shaking your head fondly. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” Max says confidently.

And as you gaze into his warm, playful eyes, you can’t deny it. You do love it. You love him, in all his goofy, sweet, sometimes infuriating glory.

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

Max’s expression softens, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “And I love you. Worm or human or anything in between.”

You lean into his touch, feeling a deep sense of contentment wash over you. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he says firmly. “Though I have to admit, I’m pretty fond of this current version of you.”

You smile, your earlier insecurities fading away in the warmth of his gaze. “Me too. I think I’ll stick with being human for now.”

“Good choice,” Max murmurs, pulling you in for another kiss. “Though I bet you’d make a cute worm.”

[moonstruckme]

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?” 

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on. 

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow. 

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.” 

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.” 

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Then why not wear something shorter?” 

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.” 

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching. 

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.” 

Spencer nods. “I believe you.” 

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before. 

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh. 

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.” 

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.” 

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?” 

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?” 

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.” 

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet. 

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?” 

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply. 

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.” 

You blow out a breath. “I want to.” 

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too. 

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide. 

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.” 

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?” 

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.” 

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder. 

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.” 

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?” 

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably. 

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely. 

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back. 

[disabled-dippy]

what to do if someone faints ✿

fainting can be extremely scary. if you don’t know what to do, that can make it even scarier. luckily for you (though not for me), I’ve been fainting since I was 13 years old, so I’ve got quite a bit of experience in dealing with these things, and educating the people around me about how to deal with these things. so here is my guide on what to do if someone faints!

{1} how to prevent a fainting episode

first things first, let’s talk prevention. sometimes, people will experience symptoms before they actually faint. if you’re observant enough, you might be able to recognize these signs and take action before the person faints. some signs that someone might be about to faint include:

pale or ashy-looking skin

cold, clammy skin

flushed skin

sweating

slurred speech

dropping things

shakiness or tremors

complaints of a headache

appearing detached or out of it

looking or claiming they feel sick

unsteadiness (swaying, stumbling)

sensitivity to light (squinting, blocking their eyes)

if you notice someone exhibiting one or more of these signs, it's worth going up and asking if they're okay. sometimes people don't understand what's happening, or don't put the pieces together, and even asking if they are okay might be enough for them to work out that they are about to faint.

if they do say yes (or don't know but you suspect they are about to faint), it's time to take action. fainting can happen in the blink of an eye, so make sure you stand close by with your arms at the ready. if you can, help guide them down to the floor, making sure you tell them what you are doing. something like "let's get you on the floor" will work. that should be your top priority. if they cannot lay down, guide them to sit on the floor or the nearest available seat. get them as close to the ground as possible so if they do faint, they are at a lower risk of hurting themselves. guide them to place their head between their knees.

the steps for what to do next are virtually the same as in the next part, so to avoid repeating myself, I will just move on.

{2} if the person has fainted, check to make sure they aren't in immediate danger.

the first thing you should do if someone is unconscious is CHECK FOR A PULSE. if they do not have one, immediately start CPR, call for an ambulance. this should be your number one priority. everything else can come later.

once you've determined they are still alive, you can start checking for injuries. don't try to move them right away, especially if you think they may have hit their head. check for bleeding, bruising, broken bones, etc. if you see any major injuries, call for an ambulance.

also, take the time to check the environment around you. make sure they are not in a dangerous location (ex: near the top of a flight of stairs, on or very near the road, in areas with high foot traffic, etc). if they are, take the time to move them.

THIS IS IMPORTANT: if the person has a service dog, do not impede its duties!! do not try to move the dog. check for medical ID (either on the person or on the dog). if you find something that indicates something serious may be going on, or if the dog tries to alert you or get your attention, call for an ambulance.

{3} get the person conscious again.

if they are not in immediate peril, congratulations! now you get to start on the process of getting them conscious again. of course, it's very likely they will regain consciousness on their own after a few seconds, but even if they do, these are important steps to take to help them recover quicker.

here's some things you should do:

shift the person onto their back and elevate their feet above their heart. this helps get blood flowing back to the brain.

remove any excess layers and loosen any tight clothing.

get some water or a cool compress and apply it to areas like the face and the back of the neck.

make sure they have enough room to breathe. if there's a crowd, you should try to get them to back away.

if the person doesn't appear to be in any immediate danger, there is no need to call an ambulance at this point.

if the person has been unconscious for longer than a minute, call for an ambulance. this is a sign that something more serious may be going on. also, if the person has difficulty regaining consciousness, or lapses back into unconsciousness, that is also a sign you need to call for an ambulance.

if the person has a service dog, you can and should still do all of these things (without impeding the dog's tasks). do not distract the dog or assume that the dog will do everything.

{4} help the person recover after regaining consciousness.

once they have woken up, you can begin the post-fainting recovery process.

ask the person the following questions: 1) how are you feeling? 2) does anything hurt? 3) have you ever fainted before? (if they have not and there is no obvious cause for the fainting, call 911) 4) do you want me to call someone for you?

continue to have the person elevate their feet and apply a cold compress for at least ten minutes, or until they are feeling better.

once they are ready to stand, remain close by in case they lose consciousness again.

once they are upright again, offer them some water.

if they have fainted because of low blood sugar or they have a condition like POTS, try to find them something small to eat. again, only do this when they are upright again.

treat any (minor) injuries they might have sustained.

make sure they have a way to get home (or wherever they are going) safely. encourage them to rest, drink fluids, and eat.

{5} what not to do if someone faints.

do not panic. fainting is very common and usually no cause for concern. a healthy amount of worry is good, but don't get too worked up about it. that could impair your ability to help.

do not call an ambulance if the person tells you not to call an ambulance, especially if this person has a history of fainting. not every fainting episode warrants a trip to the ER, and having paramedics hovering over you can be way more stress than it's worth.

do not elevate the head. the reason you collapse is because your body is trying to get bloodflow back to the brain. elevating the head usually will either not help, or it may be actively harmful. this include placing items like pillows or folded clothing under the person's head, or placing their head in your lap.

do not get them up too quickly. ease them into standing after they have been laying down for several minutes (or when they feel ready to stand). getting them up too quickly raises the chances of having another fainting spell.

do not shake the person aggressively or try to "shock" them awake by slapping them.

do not give them anything to eat or drink while they are laying down or while they are still unconscious.

don't pour water on them, especially not on their face. get a damp cloth, a water bottle, or ice pack instead.

don't leave them alone. if you must leave, make sure someone stays with them until they are up on their feet again.

don't force treatments onto them. if they say they don't need water, food, or your further assistance, listen to them.

{6} times when you should and shouldn't call an ambulance.

you should call an ambulance if:

the person has been unconscious for more than one minute.

the person is not breathing and/or does not have a pulse.

the person has a serious injury, or there is a risk they may have hit their head.

the person is pregnant.

the person is having difficulty waking, or appears extremely confused upon waking up.

the person faints multiple times.

it is the person's first time fainting.

you suspect there may be a more dangerous reason that the person has fainted (ex: stroke, heart attack, etc.)

the person has a seizure or begins exhibiting symptoms not associated with normal fainting (ex: shortness of breath, chest pains, arrythmia, difficulty moving).

you probably don't need to call an ambulance if none of the above are true, but especially so if:

the person has a history of fainting.

the person fainted for a known and non-serious reason (ex: low blood sugar, dehydration, heat, stress, etc).

the person is alert, talking, and improving afterward.

the person is young, healthy, and has no other symptoms.

there are no signs of major injury.

the person regains consciousness quickly.

hopefully you'll never have to use any of this, but if you do, now you know! feel free to drop more suggestions.

[sirenontheloose]

HAVE  A LOVELY DAY

Not everyone deserves to be in your life, even if they once meant everything.

GENRE: angst

Dani’s words hit you like a punch to the stomach. She sighed heavily, her face was unreadable. “Let’s keep this from the girls,” she said quietly, standing up from the edge of her bed. For a moment, you just stared at her, struggling to process what you’d heard. “What?” you managed, your voice trembling with disbelief. The disappointment was clear, and you didn’t even care if she noticed.

Dani turned to face you, her expression cold, unfamiliar. It was like looking at a stranger, and it hurt more than you thought it could. “It’s not that complicated, Y/N,” she said, her tone sharper now, as if you were the one being unreasonable. “This was just a one-night stand. The girls don’t need to know every detail of our lives.”

Your chest tightened, the words hanging in the air, suffocating you. “A one-night stand?” you repeated, barely a whisper. It was like you needed to hear it again to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

She let out a bitter laugh, almost as if she was mocking you. “Yes, a one-night stand. You didn’t actually think this was serious, did you?”

The disbelief quickly melted into anger, the kind that burned and made your hands shake, your vision blurring as tears threatened to spill. You took a shaky breath, trying to hold it together, but the pain was too much. You scrambled to put your clothes on, hands trembling as the anger rose in your chest.

Without thinking, you turned back to her. The slap came before you could stop yourself, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. Her eyes widened, but you didn’t care. “Fuck you,” you said, your voice raw with emotion. You didn’t wait for her response. You stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving Dani and her cruel words behind. 

It had been a week since you’d disappeared, and the girls could sense something had happened. They couldn’t quite put their finger on it, but the unanswered calls and unread messages had them worried. But you had let them know through your mom that you were fine when Sophia, Manon, and Lara came by to check on you. You weren’t ready to face them just yet, especially Daniela. It stung, but you knew you had to pull yourself together. Your week of self-imposed isolation was over, and it was time to step back into reality.

When you walked through the hallway, it was impossible not to notice the change. Your mini black dress and red heels, almost as if you were stepping into a different world, had the students staring in awe. It was clear, the one and only Y/N Y/L/N had returned, and the school wasn’t going to forget it. Sophia’s scream of surprise echoed across the hallway, and you couldn’t help but smirk, feeling a surge of confidence. You’d been gone, but now? Now, you were back, and you owned the room.

Lara gasped, "Damn girl, you look hot!" She grinned, motioning for you to do a quick spin so she could get a full view of your outfit. You couldn’t help but giggle. As much as you weren't looking forward to facing Dani after that whole mess, you knew you'd be an idiot to let something as trivial as “a one night stand” get in the way of the fun with the other girls.

"I thought you were dying," Manon teased, pulling you into a hug, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sensed something was off despite your smiles. The girls were all fawning over how gorgeous you looked, but Manon knew you well enough to notice the subtle shift. You returned her hug with a small, appreciative smile and walked alongside the girls, purposefully ignoring Dani’s presence. Hoping it was clear to her that whatever you had with her, it was over. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret that a lot of people had a crush on you. With your striking looks, your soft brown locks, your reputation as the model student with straight A’s, and most importantly, the sweet smile you offer to everyone every single day. It was no wonder you were a magnet for attention. Flowers, gifts, and letters? All part of your daily routine. Honestly, every day felt like Valentine’s Day for you.

Megan and Yoonchae eagerly reached for the boxes of chocolates you handed them as you settled into your seat across from Sophia.

“What do you want for lunch? I’ll grab it for you,” Sophia offered, brushing a strand of hair from your face before sending you a playful wink. You felt your cheeks warm at the familiar gesture. You’d never get used to her spontaneous acts of affection. “I’ll have pasta, please,” you replied, humming softly as she stood up to order for both of you.

Dani’s eyes followed you across the room as you laughed and chatted with everyone except her. It was clear to her that you weren’t going to make it easy. With a deep breath, Dani stood up from her seat beside Lara and walked over to you.

"Can we talk?" she said flatly. It wasn’t a request, and you knew better than to make a scene, so you nodded and silently walked toward the least crowded corner, hoping no one, especially one of the girls, overheard.

Standing across from her, arms crossed and guarded, you leveled your gaze at Dani. "What do you want?"

"If you keep acting like this, the girls will notice. They’ll figure it out soon enough," Dani huffed, her tone almost pleading.

You let out a bitter chuckle. "You should feel lucky I’m still letting you be in my presence," you said, your voice tight. "And I don’t care if they know."

You turned to leave, but Dani’s voice stopped you.

"So, that’s it? You’re just gonna end our friendship over this?" She bit the words out, her eyes searching for any hint of softness.

You scoffed. "You know damn well we were never just friends." Your gaze hardened as you delivered the final blow. "Our friendship ended the moment you kissed me five months ago. Don’t act like you didn’t know that." With a shake of your head, you added, "Have a lovely day, Dani." You walked away, leaving her with nothing more to say, just the weight of her choices hanging between you.

THE END

[koolades-world]

Hii!! I was wondering if I could get headcanons for an mc that was really attached to the brothers? Like they’re often around them and don’t really give a reason why. It’s only later that they tell the brothers that they’re less frightened when with them. I can only imagine how absolutely terrifying the devildom must be to first timers. Sorry if this was too wordy lol.

hello there :) of course. no worries, not too wordy!!

enjoy <3

Mc who's attached to the brothers

Lucifer

he finds it a little odd that you picked him of all people

hope you're ready to be put to work! of course nothing too serious but you'll for sure be helping carry around papers and stuff like that

in a way, you remind him of his brothers, the loving, cute side of them, not the little gremlin side haha

however when you tell him it's because you are just more comfortable around him, he gives you a gentle smile and hug. you find after this he's sweeter in subtle ways <3

Mammon

of course you want to follow the great mammon around! who wouldn't?

he's a little insecure at first, like you might be reporting back to lucifer with what you see and hear, but you reassure him there's no real reason

he really enjoys getting to spend so much time with you and is glad you're willing to be his friend

he has no clue how to react upon learning the real reason behind why you're always with him, so at first he reacts as he usually would, but once he processes it, he sheepishly will tell you thank you for entrusting him with such an honor

Levi

why would you want to spend so much time with a yucky otaku like him?

as you grow closer, he really begins to enjoy your presence and having a buddy to always chat with about the things he's interested in and won't leave him mid-conversation

you help him grow more optimistic and confident in himself

he initially questions why you'd pick him of all demons to feel most comfortable around, but once he realizes it's because of the bond you formed, he's still shy but is ready to accept this fact. anywhere you go, he'll follow

Satan

he doesn't stop you but he always wonders why you've selected him, the avatar of wrath, to act as your devildom buddy?

at first, he juts chalks it up to wanting to hide behind his rage and get help with rad work, but soon you start to form a closer bond

it's then when you confess that you just feel safer and more comfortable around him. part of his hunch was correct, but what you described was on a much closer, more personal reason

now, he always waits for you and helps you out where he can because now he knows you like him for him, not what others see him as. others say he really softened up after that day

Asmo

his bed is always open if you want to crawl in with him and will gladly be your beautiful knight in shining armor haha

he's used to having fans, but you're much more than that to him

he really doesn't mind and finds it nice to always have someone around

when you tell him the real reason why, he's going to squeal so loud the demon lord hears and hug you incredibly tightly. maybe he's tearing up a little, but you're literally inseparable now. after that beautiful emotional display you're joined at the hip

Beel

he really quite likes that you like to be around him. early on, it's actually quite a comfort because belphie wasn't around and he was quick to reciprocate the closeness

the two of you always seek each other out, and you quickly fall into a routine

soon, you tell him he makes the devildom more welcoming and make you feel more at home, and he's over the moon

even more so than before, he really looks out for you and treats you as a member of the family even if the others haven't gotten to that level yet. to him, you belong at the hol and in the devildom, with him

Belphie

every time he woke up from a nap, he'd find you next to him. he thought it was a little odd but he wasn't going to stop you

he honestly thought you'd never want to see him again, but you always seem to be by his side

odd was the only word he could find to describe you and the bon you'd formed. he never pressed you for why since he didn't feel like he deserved to know

he's overjoyed that he's your safe place. he never thought you'd seek comfort in him, but he's ready to welcome you with open arms. he's ready to join you on every step of your journey where ever you go, and he'll keep you safe since he feels as if he failed you before

[breezeflows]

The Long Road (Stanford Pines x Reader)

Chapter 3

WOOP WOOP CHAPTER 3 IS HERE AND BOY IS IT JUICY🫣 On a serious note though, we are finally getting into some of the exciting bits of the story!! I’m hoping by the next chapter we will finally be back in the present. No more sad flashbacks!! Also y’all writing Lizzy is genuinely my favorite. If this fic wasn’t about Ford I’d be wifing her up instead😔 Anyways- here’s chapter 3 you lovely souls!

Themes: Consumption of alcohol (reader lowkey gets wasted), major hangover, bill himself is a warning, suggestiveness kind of?? idk, heartache, lizzy is overall an amazing friend, alllll the angst and feelings, injuries, etc okay enjoy!

The drive to Lizzy’s place is quiet, the steady hum of the car engine and the sound of raindrops against the windshield the only background noise. You sit in the passenger seat, watching the trees pass by through the window as you fiddle with the wedding band around your finger. Lizzy glances at you occasionally, a small frown on her face as she senses your mood. She remains silent for most of the ride, giving you space to process your emotions if need be.

It's not long before the car rolls to a stop in front of her apartment building. You reach around to gather your belongings from the backseat and step out into the rainy afternoon. Lizzy follows suit, bright pink umbrella in hand as she leads you towards the entrance.

Once inside the building, she unlocks the door to her apartment building and the two of you usher inside. The soft yellow light of the living room envelopes you, creating a cozy atmosphere in stark contrast to the gloominess outside.

Lizzy begins to kick off her shoes, hanging her keys as she silently studies your face. She can see the turmoil in your eyes, and the uncertainty you’re trying to hide.

“So,” she says gently, breaking the silence. “You okay?”

Your eyes snap out of the daze they were in as you look over at Lizzy, giving her a weak smile.

“Oh, yeah I guess. Things went a lot better than I thought they would.”

Her expression relaxes at your response, a hint of relief showing on her face.

“That’s good,” she says as she walks over to the couch and plops down on it, gesturing for you to do the same. “I was half-expecting a tearful scene or something, honestly.”

You manage a light chuckle at her remark, plopping down on the couch next to her. You pull your knees to your chest as you grab a blanket draped across the back of it, wrapping it around you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Ford took it pretty well, actually. Better than I expected.”

Lizzy raises a brow as she leans against the back cushions, her arms crossing. “Girl, he better take it well after what he said to you. If it had been me, I would’ve dropped his ass on the spot.”

You can’t help but let out a small snort of laughter at her words, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips for the first time in a while. It’s a relief to have Lizzy’s no-nonsense attitude around, her bluntness serving as a much-needed dose of honesty.

“Yeah, yeah Liz, I know.” you admit, the smile still lingering on your face. “I was a little tempted.”

Lizzy grins, satisfied with your response as she reaches over and pats your knee supportively.

“As you should,” she says with a nod. “You don’t deserve treatment like that of any kind, no matter how important his research is to him.”

You frown slightly at her words, opting to pick at the blanket below as a distraction.

“Yeah..”

Lizzy watches your expression carefully, sensing your discomfort. She tilts her head slightly, her gaze searching your face.

“But you don’t quite agree, do you?” she probes gently.

You let out a sigh, unsure how to articulate your feelings as you continue to fiddle with the fabric of the blanket.

“It’s just… complicated Liz,” you say, your voice tinged with guilt and frustration. “Yes, I’m hurt and angry with him, but I also understand where he’s coming from. We’ve been together almost our whole lives, and this is all he has ever worked towards. His research is important to him, and he’s under a lot of pressure.”

Lizzy nods slowly as she listens to your words, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. She reaches over and places a hand on top of yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.

“I get that Y/N, I do,” she says quietly. “And I’m not saying he’s completely in the wrong. But you shouldn’t have to feel like an afterthought in his life either. That’s not fair to you.”

Your eyes brim with tears at her response, your hand twisting and taking hers tightly.

“I know,” you say, your voice threatening to break. “I just wish we could fix things..”

Lizzy squeezes your hand as your tear-filled eyes meet hers.

“And you will, Y/N. It’ll just take some time.”

A small, wobbly smile forms on your lips at her reassurance, a few tears slipping down your cheeks. The hope that you might be able to fix things with Ford, to find a way to bridge the gap that’s widened between you both, is a small but significant comfort.

“Thank you, Liz,” you murmur, your voice still shaky. “I really hope you’re right.”

Lizzy stands with a smile, her hand pulling away from yours and resting on your shoulder.

“I know I’m right chick, because you two love each other. I’ve seen it.”

Your heart warms at her confidence, a soft smile forming on your lips as you nod.

“Now, how about some pizza?”

The few weeks you spend with Lizzy fly by, days passing in a blur of movies, late-night conversations, and plenty of chocolate induced comfort eating. As the final night of your stay approaches, Lizzy turns to you with a sly grin on her face.

“Y/N, I know you’ve been pretty reclusive the past couple of weeks, but it’s your last night here and I refuse to let you spend it watching crappy movies in my living room.”

She places her hands on her hips and gives you a stern look.

“We’re going out for drinks and that’s final.”

You mope as you walk into her view from the bathroom, your voice annoyed and pleading as you speak.

“Liz, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m a married woman, and this dress feels less than... modest.”

Lizzy rolls her eyes, her expression clearly unconvinced.

“Girl, you’re not here to pick up someone, you’re here to have fun. And as for the dress I picked out for you, it looks fantastic. Stop overthinking it.”

She gives you a onceover, inspecting your outfit.

“Besides, I’d like to see anyone who tries hitting on you tonight.”

You pout as you watch her, pulling down your dress so it covers your knees.

“I don’t know how Ford would feel about this..”

Lizzy scoffs, shaking her head.

“Ford’s not here, and we both know he should be the last person you’re trying to impress right now. You’re still young, and attractive Y/N, you deserve to enjoy yourself for one night without him on your mind. Not to mention you’ve got to live your life without kids while you can. I know the two of you have talked about it. ”

She grabs the hem of your dress and tugs it back up, flashing you a defiant look.

“And if he has a problem with you having fun, he can talk to me.”

You sigh as you give in, knowing Lizzy wouldn’t be changing her mind about your all’s plans for the night.

“Fine, fine. But we’re not staying out too late, okay?”

Lizzy grins, victorious.

“That’s more like it! And don’t worry, I promise we won’t be out until dawn,” she assures you. “Just a few drinks, maybe a little dancing, and then we’ll come back here. You trust me, right?”

“More than anything Liz.”

And that’s how you find yourself at the bar now, one too many drinks in and slumped against Lizzy’s shoulder.

She laughs at your state, her own cheeks flushed from drinking. She slings an arm around your shoulders, keeping you upright and steady in the booth the two of you occupied.

“Goodness chick, are you already trashed? We’ve barely been here an hour!” she teases, her voice lighthearted and amused.

You grumble something in response, your head spinning from the alcohol in your system. You take another sip from your glass, your tongue loose and inhibitions lowered.

“I blame you,” you slur, pointing an accusatory finger at Lizzy. “You’re a bad influence.”

Lizzy laughs loudly at your accusation, her eyes sparkling. “No one forced you to down those shots, Y/N,” she says, sliding out of the booth with ease. “I’m going to get you some water, alright? You stay right here in your seat.”

You nod lazily at her words, the idea of staying where you are very appealing. You watch groggily as she strides away, her bell bottoms and flare top in tow. She weaves through the crowd to make her way to the counter, your eyes becoming heavy.

Just as you’re starting to doze off from the alcohol, a presence suddenly sits down in the booth across from you. You blink in surprise, your vision clearing slightly as you focus on the newcomer.

Your eyes widen as you recognize your husband’s face, his features strangely serious and intense as he stares back at you. But there’s something off about him… Something otherworldly in his gaze that sends a chill down your spine.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice cool and calculated. “If it isn’t dear Y/N. You look a little worse for wear.”

Your vision blurs as you grip the side of the table, your words slurred as you speak.

“F.. Ford?”

Ford smiles widely, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. The expression is slightly unfamiliar, different from the familiar warmth you’re used to. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“In the flesh, honey,” he drawls, his voice smooth and flirtatious.

“But I see you’ve had quite a few drinks already. Feeling a little dazed? I wonder how Sixer would feel about me seeing you in this state and not him. Hilarious!”

Your arm trembles weakly as you hold yourself up, vision blurring in and out as you sway slightly in your seat.

“Wha.. What? Why are you.. here..?”

His lips curl into a smug smirk as he eyes your disheveled form, eyes lingering on your exposed skin, clearly enjoying your confusion and intoxication.

“Oh, I had a little chat with Fordsy earlier. He agreed to let me take the reins for a few hours…”

He gives a careless shrug. “You know how he is. All work and no play. Figured I’d take advantage of the situation, hell, I even got him a new tattoo!”

You sit there, dumbfounded and wavering in and out of consciousness as your mind tried to process what Ford was talking about.

Ford’s – or rather, Bill’s – eyes rake over you again, giving an exaggerated sigh before his lips turned into a sly grin.

“You really are a sight for sore eyes, I can see why Sixer married you.”

Your thoughts are still spinning from the alcohol, making it hard to focus on the conversation. You struggle to keep yourself upright, your body feeling heavy and numb.

Bill notices your dazed state, chuckling as he gives a mockingly sympathetic tone.

“You look a little out of it, darling. You really shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Especially considering how easy it’d be to trick you into a deal right now.”

Your mind races with confusion as you stand up weakly, your gut telling you something wasn’t right as you sway back and forth, (Or maybe it was the alcohol) your vision blurring as you scan the place in search of Lizzy.

“Going somewhere? Those human legs of yours don’t look very stable!”

You wobble forward, ignoring his protests as you keep moving.

“You really should listen to me if you want to avoid that nasty bruise tomorrow!”

He calls out, and before you know it you trip, and everything goes black.

Hours later… aka early morning.

You slowly open your eyes, your head pounding and your memories fuzzy. You realize you’re lying on a couch in Lizzy’s apartment, a cool cloth pressed over what you assume to be a large tender bruise on your forehead.

Lizzy is sitting perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. She notices your eyes flutter open and lets out a relieved sigh.

“Oh thank god,” she mutters. “You had me worried for a second there. I stayed up with you all night waiting for you to wake up.”

“Liz?” you mumble, head pounding. “What the hell happened? My head is killing me..”

Her expression softens at your groggy murmur, her hand reaching out instinctively to brush the hair away from your face.

“Hey, take it easy,” she says, voice low and soothing. “You took a pretty nasty fall back at the bar. Hit your head on a table on the way down.”

Your eyes widen as your memory jogs itself.

“What..? Wait, Ford.. Ford was there?”

Lizzy freezes, her expression guarded at the mention of Ford. She averts her gaze, focusing her attention on the cloth that she’s holding against your forehead.

“Uh, yeah,” she says, her voice hesitant. “He showed up towards the end of the night when I went to grab you a water… You don’t remember?”

You think to yourself for a moment, your memory patchy and vague.

“I mean, I kind of do. But it was weird? Did something happen?”

Lizzy is silent, her gaze still firmly averted from yours. She adjusts the cloth, pressing it against your head with a little more pressure than necessary.

“Nothing happened,” she finally says, her voice tight. “You just had a little too much to drink and tripped, that’s all.”

Her words are curt and dismissive, clearly trying to downplay the situation. But there’s something in her expression, a flicker of unease that betrays her true emotions.

She glances at you briefly, her eyes meeting yours for a split second before moving back to your injury.

“Lizzy..?” you say, silently pleading with her to tell you the full truth.

She exhales slowly, her shoulders slumping in resignation. She knows you’re not going to let this go, and she owes you the truth.

“Alright, fine,” she mutters avoiding your gaze. “When I got back to the booth, it was exactly when you had fell..”

You listen closely, sitting yourself up slightly.

“I had noticed Ford when I got there, sure, but when I went to go help you..”

Lizzy pauses, a frown forming on her face as she continues.

“Ford laughed,” she says as her eyes meet yours, full of concern and.. fear? “And not in a lighthearted way, in a cruel mocking way Y/N..”

Lizzy lowers the cloth from your head, placing it in her lap as you sit there, dumbfounded.

“He was just… enjoying the view, I guess,” She mutters bitterly. “Like you were some kind of joke, I don’t know Y/N. It was fucking weird, really fucking weird. I didn’t like it. He laughed as if he was the one who had done it.”

Lizzy trails off, brows furrowed as she clenches her fists. While you, on the other hand, are utterly speechless.

Your mind reels with this new information, struggling to reconcile the image of Ford – laughing coldly and mockingly at your predicament - with the caring, affectionate husband you’ve known him to be your whole life.

“I… I don’t understand,” you stutter, your voice small and confused.

“He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that. Not Ford.”

But as you say those words, you can’t help but recall the other strange things that had happened earlier that night. Ford’s detached demeanor, his unfamiliar choice of words, the way he seemed so cold and calculating. Your heart clenches in your chest at the thought, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. Had something happened over the few weeks you’ve been gone? Did Ford get too deep in his research? Something wasn’t right.

As you try to make sense of the situation, Lizzy watches you with a mix of compassion and concern. She knows this is incredibly tough for you to hear, but she also seems to have her own worries about the situation.

“I don’t know Y/N,” she says quietly, her hands twisting in her lap. “It was just… so not him. I don’t know what the hell happened. But I’ve never seen him act like that before. It’s like he was a different person.”

Her voice trails off, leaving the two of you in silence as you’re both lost in thought.

Eventually, Lizzy breaks the silence, her voice sympathetic as she places a hand on top of yours.

“How about this, you rest up today, and when you’re ready, I’ll take you to the cabin to get some answers from Ford? Only if you feel comfortable, of course.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside of you.

“Alright,” you murmur. “I’m still feeling pretty rough, but I’d like to see him… tonight, if possible.”

Despite your confusion and worry, you know that facing your husband and talking with him is the only way to get answers. The answers that you crave so desperately in hopes that it’ll mend your breaking heart - and marriage.

Lizzy gives you a reassuring nod.

“Of course,” she says gently. “You rest up, and I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”

She stands up, gently readjusting the cloth on your head.

“Try to get some sleep, okay?”

You nod, laying yourself back down.

You’re going to need it to cross the bridge that awaits you tonight.

READER AND BILL INTERACTION WOOP WOOP!! Also I’m not gonna lie, I feel like I messed up the timeline a little bit but I’m just gonna go for it. Thank you for reading! :)

Tag List: @artistic-gato @karmaisacatluzi @therottenheartofscum @violetvsworld @inquiit @catr4dora

[astroninaaa]

wtf is going on with cellbit - by a brazilian law major student

hey besties ever since the day cellbit released that PDF i’ve been keeping up with his shit bc as a law student (only two years to go!!!!) in brazil it’s kinda really interesting to see how it goes, specially since i don’t think we’ve ever had this sort of judicial action taken by an internet celebrity, like, ever. so i’ve decided to kinda explain what’s going on. if anyone has any questions after this i’d be really up to talk about it i love talking about law 🫶 xoxo let’s start. also sorry if anything reads weird english is not my native language okay

for those who don’t know, very recently, a judicial action taken by cellbit has made public. in this action, he’s suing over 200 people for the crime of defamation.

the action was taken to court in january, but it was under what we call “secret of justice”, which means only cellbit himself and twitter’s lawyers had access to it. now that there have been decisions by the judge and everything, the process’s been made public.

basically, cellbit started an action against twitter (NOT THE PEOPLE WHO COMMITTED THE CRIME YET), citing a little over 200 tweets that accused him of crimes like SA, psychological abuse, pedophilia, and others. all of those are real crimes in brazil — and accusing someone of committing crimes (specially as awful crimes as those) without proof is a crime in itself (defamation). he claimed that the tweets were harmful to his honor, mental health, and reputation, besides categorizing as defamation, since there’s no investigation going on against him for all these infractions he’s being accused of.

with that, he asked twitter to delete all the tweets, and to provide him with the personal information of said twitter accounts so he can sue them directly for defamation. he did these requests through something called “tutela cautelar”, which means the judge gets to decide whether or not twitter has to do these things before proof production and proper investigation, since, if twitter doesn’t do those things, the damage to his honor and reputation will be ongoing + he won’t be able to sue the proper people in time.

the judge conceded to his requests, and twitter has already deleted all the tweets. the main discussion going right now is wtf do they do about the international accounts — does our law apply to them? what’s gonna happen? we don’t know yet. that’s being discussed in court for the moment and, considering brazilian courts, it might take quite a while.

so, yeah, all those people aren’t being sued YET. but they will, probably somewhat soon.

it’s also important to mention that this lawsuit is from january and was only now released to the public. there’s probably a lot more coming after the whole fiasco that led him to releasing his statement, including a lawsuit against his ex herself.

now, other topics — could he sue other twitter accounts for cyber bullying or death threats? probably, but my personal opinion is that suing for defamation and focusing on accounts that were accusing him of having committed crimes was a much better move because it’s a much stronger case.

there’s very little room for discussion when a person has outright said “cellbit committed this crime”. death threats have more room for discussion: “oh, but they’re hundreds of miles away, it wasn’t a serious threat”, “they didn’t mean it”, “it was a joke”. same thing goes for cyberbullying: it can get too subjective.

defamation isn’t subjective. you accuse someone of a crime they didn’t commit? boom, defamation, at least according to our laws. so, to me, personally, it makes a LOT of sense for his lawyers to focus on that: he’s a LOT more likely to win than if he was suing for cyberbullying, threatening, insult, or any of that. also, he’s a lot more likely to win FASTER.

when he gets to sue the actual people who committed the crime, that is. for now, he’s only requested twitter to give him the necessary information to get to these people, which i think they’ll very likely be obligated to do. there are digital data protection laws in brazil, but a crime is a crime. digital data protection isn’t gonna protect you from the court.

another thing: LGPD (brazil’s general law of personal data protection) forces all social media companies to keep records of all the content posted by their users for AT LEAST six months. many companies keep it for way longer. that’s a law created for judicial purposes, in case something published to twitter, facebook, or instagram needs to be analysed by a court. that’s why even tho twitter has deleted the tweets, they still have them, and why it doesn’t matter if the people responsible are deleting the tweets, the accounts, the fucking app itself. the records are still there, and they will be used judicially.

i think that’s the overall for the situation, but i’m willing to answer any questions and to discuss it if anyone wants to! i’m a big law enjoyer. also personally i think cellbit is so fucking right for this like YEAH people don’t get to commit fucking crimes on twitter and get away with it. really interested in how this is gonna go law-wise, but in general also really glad to see someone take action like this.

[vaguely-concerned]

Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.)  This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that. 

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)   

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them. 

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly. 

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much. 

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.) 

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

[duchi-nesten]

Surprise

Summary:

Danny gets a little surprise from his dad.

Word count: 1,117 || AO3 Link

PHIC PHIGHT TIME!!! Prompt by @underforeversgrace:

Someone gets The KnifeTM.

___

Danny really fucking hated his life sometimes.

Don’t get him wrong. He was definitely glad he had the power to keep his town and loved ones safe. Really. Not complaining one bit. 

Alright, maybe complaining a little bit.

Being the hero was nice, but coupled with school work and house chores it unfortunately left Danny with very little time for personal joys. So when his dad decided to interrupt the lovely free time he was having with the hit game Subnautica (2014) by calling him down into the lab, he was maybe a LITTLE bit peeved. Sue him.

Groaning quietly to not hurt his father’s feelings, he descended down the stairs into OSHA’s worst nightmare of a lab. He skillfully avoided the ectoplasm stains decking almost every step wondering how no one has slipped and got severly injured on these yet.

When he finally reached the bottom, he saw his father standing by one of the furthest desks, his back turned to him. The portal resided right beside him, its opened doors currently being the only source of light, giving the room an eerie atmosphere.

Why his parents wouldn’t just fucking keep that door closed at all times was beyond him. Maybe if the portal to literal hell was perma-closed he would have more time for Subnautica (2014).

Danny was brought out of his alien ocean planet related thoughts by his father’s voice.

“You might be wondering why I called you down here,” he said, voice uncharacteristically low for Jack FentonTM. 

“Is it a new invention you wanna show off or did I accidentally forget to clean a shelf or two?” Danny definitely didn’t accidentally forget. He forgot fully on purpose, hoping his parents would be too engrossed with their inventing to notice. 

He was readying himself to parkour up the stairs again and bring down some cleaning rags, when his father finally turned around. The first thing that caught Danny’s attention was how serious the man seemed to be. There was a hard, unreadable look on his face. 

If that uncharacteristic expression wasn’t enough to make a shiver run down Danny’s spine, the object his father was holding definitely made him freak out on the inside a little bit, because was that a KNIFE?

The knife didn’t look like a Fenton invention, quite the opposite actually. It looked very normal if not really fucking old. It was hard to tell from the distance, but the handle looked handcrafted. Knowing his parents, he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be some old timey anti-ghost artifact, though where they would get such a thing was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to.

Danny looked back at his father's face with a silent query. The man’s eyes hardened a bit more as his voice once again rang out through the lab.

“I know what you are.”

And damn was Danny freaking out a bit on the inside before? Because now he was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT both on the inside and on the outside. He took a step back while his heart threatened to jump out of his throat.

His father knew. His father knew he was a ghost and here he was with a FUCKING KNIFE. This was it. Danny Fenton dies fully today at the hands of his father of all people. He never expected this to actually happen. He thought it was just something the phandom liked to put him through.

In the last ditch attempt to save his life, Danny crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I SWEAR I’M NOT A GHOST!” he squeaked out in a very manly fashion.

Sudden confusion painted his father’s face as he lowered the offending object. “What? Of course you aren’t a ghost, Danno!” 

There was a beat of silence.

“Then..uh…what?” Danny asked very intelligently.

“I wanted to say you’re finally a man!” his dad yelled proudly as he stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Danny, who was still trying to process what the actual fuck was happening. “I saw you yesterday! Fighting that weird box obsessed ghost all on your own like a champion! Oh, I am so proud, my own son,” he pulled away to wipe a tear from his eye.

Danny just stared, now fully and utterly lost. It was true that he did fight the Box Ghost yesterday as Fenton, mostly because he just didn’t wanna bother to transform, but he had no idea his dad was watching that.

It wasn’t even an interesting fight, it was literally just another huge L for Boxy. Danny barely had to do anything.

His dad continued to sing his praises, but Danny’s attention turned to the object still in the man’s hands. Now that he got a closer look, he could definitely tell it was handmade. The craftsmanship was incredible. The handle was full of carefully carved swirls and old looking signs. 

“Uh, dad?” he asked slowly, pointing at the knife “what’s this for then?”

“Oh!” His father's attention now also turned back to the blade in his hand as he held it out to Danny excitedly. “This, my son, is the KnifeTM.”

“A knife?”

“No, The KnifeTM,” he accented the trademark by saying the words in a very specific manner. “It’s been passed down from father to son for millennia! I’m pretty sure it was handcrafted by some old ancestor of ours, way before the times when the Fenton family brand was a thing. Therefore it’s …The KnifeTM. I would rename it to The Fenton KnifeTM to make it more obvious it’s ours, but you know, old family heirloom… Just have to accept it as it is.”

“Uh..”

“Anyway, I’d like to pass it down to you now!” he pretty much shoved the knife into Danny’s hands, yet still careful enough to not cut off anyone’s fingers. “You really proved yourself out there yesterday! You deserve to bear our family heirloom with pride!”

Before Danny could react in any way, his father was hugging him tightly (avoiding the knife somehow) and turning to bounce up the stairs.

“I’m gonna go grab one of my spare jumpsuits and we can go out to hunt some ghosts together! Just me and you!” he yelled excitedly, barely missing slipping on one of the bigger ectoplasm stains. “While I do that, you can take care of those few shelves you accidentally forgot about!”

The door slammed shut behind him and Danny was left in the lab alone, weird knife in hand. Now that his father was gone and his feelings could be spared, he let out the loudest groan ever heard by humankind.

“Ugh, I just wanted to play Subnautica (2014).”

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 6: Silver linings

genre: FINALLY JUST SOME PURE COMFORT FLUFFFFF

word count: 6151

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: weeks pass you by without much happening and you need to remind yourself: you believe in silver linings.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEE! It took me so long to feel like they were ready for this but oh my god, the wait was so worth itttttt! what are you excited about with this chapter? Let me know in the comments! <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments! also, I would love to dedicate this chapter to the lovely @donttrustlove who reads and comments on every chapter I post <3

“We have a few emails coming in for the manager position, do you want to check them out?”

You two are sitting on his kitchen counter like this is the most natural thing to do at two in the morning. Spencer has work the next morning but still insists that it’s fine and that he wants to keep you company. You think he still feels guilty about the fact that, if not for him and his weird connection to Cat, you would have never been put into this tricky of a position. So he makes up for it where he can– he brings dinner whenever he knows he’ll be home late because he knows you’ll be waiting for him to eat; he makes a mean cereal bowl in the morning whenever he has time; he leaves books he knows you are yet to read by the small table next to your armchair because that is now your armchair and he would never steal that away from you. 

In your own efforts, you also try to make him feel a bit more comfortable with the reality of everything, and you don’t bug him much to go outside, anymore. You don’t call him all panicked and gasping for air whenever he goes on work trips either, instead choosing to spend those lonely days in the endless company of Penelope. Officer Kaper has gotten better and been cleared to work again, and having him with you whenever Spencer isn’t brings you some sort of comfort and guilt. This man had become a target thanks to you and suddenly, you don’t quite read the fantastical stories of princesses and their faithful knights. The way your stomach weights down whenever they eventually get hurt to protect the fairest lady of the land does not sit right with you anymore– you refuse to believe that romance is hurt and pain for one and comfort and safety for the other. 

At this point two weeks had gone by without you even noticing. Suddenly, you jumped from day 9 to day 23 and with the month mark approaching, so is your need for answers. Cat has been silent ever since the attack on Officer Kaper’s house, and so is her partner. For a second, it’s almost like she’s teasing you, like she’s throwing a taste of freedom in your face only to later pull the carpet from right under your feet. Spencer must feel like this too, considering how jittery he has been lately. At this point, you know how to recognise the different gestures of those pretty hands, and the way he fidgets with his fingers while reading War and Peace yet again tells you that he is not, in fact, reading the book, but trying to read himself. You don’t quite understand him fully yet, and that is okay; Spencer has shown you that even if it takes time, he is worth waiting for. 

You still don’t know what happened to him, weeks ago, when you two were discussing Josh. You still don’t know what made him choke on his own words or what had his body limp and stripped of energy in your arms, but the truth is that you don’t really care what it was. Not yet. For now, you are just happy that Spencer showed you a side of himself that you had never seen before, and that he has been less… overbearing about your job. Actually, he had been the one that told you to check your emails for applications, suggesting stating the interview process so that you can make a schedule to possibly go back to the store. “Are you serious?” You whispered to him, eyes wide and waiting for Derek to pop out from the kitchen shouting ha! Gotcha! 

“Of course,” He smiled and nodded and the rest is history. 

The chairs are so close together that your legs brushes against his every time you lean forward to squint at the computer, but at this point, you two don’t even notice it. Cuddling on the couch after a mentally taxing conversation had unlocked new heights for you two, and though he does miss the way your cheeks flushed red whenever your fingers brushed, he prefers how now you just smile, honest and bright, whenever he’s closer than he should be. You don’t know that, but Spencer thinks your spoiling him rotten with these smiles. In your defence, however, smiling at him is just the easiest thing in the world. “Okay, what do we think of this one? His name is–“

“No.” 

Your head whips to look at him, eyes wide behind your glasses. “But I didn’t even finish my sentence!”

“There is a weird gap in his resume,” Spence points out with a smug smile. He likes showing off to you, you’ve noticed. 

“I can ask him about it during the interview process! Spence, he used to work at–“

“Next.” 

You know he won’t budge when he gives you that tight-lipped, dimples-showing smile of his. “My god, you are hard to please,” You grumble and poke him in the stomach with your elbow, already scrolling to the next email. 

When you feel his arm falling onto the back of your chair, you lean back a little into his touch, humming to keep yourself awake. “I am not hard to please,” He says easily. “I just won’t accept you hiring mediocre men to do the job you’ve been doing flawlessly.” 

The way he emphasises men makes you chuckle. “But a mediocre woman is okay?”

“A bit better,” He admits gruffly, and you laugh. “This one seems promising!”

“Give me time to read, Spencer!” You groan, leaning forward again and nodding while your eyes scan through each line. “Okay, she seems good, Mr. Picky. Studied English Literature, so she’ll obviously have some literary background, has previous experience managing bookshops and cafes, has dealt with stock and suppliers before…” The list goes on and on, and you write her name down on the notebook to your right. That’s where the names Penelope will be running a background check on go, per Spencer’s insistence. 

“Wait a second,” Something about the name, so visual and palpable in your little notebook previously filled with facts and memories of Spencer, makes you frown. Why does it sound so familiar? 

Abigail Harrison. 

“What is it?” He hums, chin once again finding perch on your shoulder. Little by little, you start to think that that is where he belongs, leaning on you, relying on you. “Who is Abigail Harrison?” 

“I don’t–“ But then you see it, the address on top of the resume and you hold your breath. “Abigail.” 

“Abi– Wait, the new neighbour? That Abigail?” His arms go around you, and now you’re in an awkward angle, half falling off the chair, half leaning on him, but you don’t mind. What you do mind is the uncomfortable, suspicious feeling in your gut. “Oh. That’s fine.” 

“You don’t think it’s a weird coincidence?” Turning to look at him, you bit your lip in unsureness. 

“Not really– if anything, I think it’s a very logical series of events,” He shrugs and you feel it in your own body. “She clearly has the experience and is obviously looking for a job, so why not one that fits her as an employee and is just a five minute walk across the street?” 

As if sensing your worries, Spencer moves, yet again doing the unpredictable and dropping a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Having one thing to worry about it not enough, apparently, so he gives you another one, and now you know for a fact you won’t be able to sleep any time soon. He’s been doing things like this lately, and you think it’s because he’s finally getting used to your presence next to him at almost all hours of the day. His phobia of germs seems to be pushed aside when it comes to your skin, and if he washes his hand right after letting you go, you don’t take it to heart; it’s just who he is. But with cheek kisses and forehead kisses starting a list, this is yet another one for you to tally up– shoulder kisses. All five stars, ten-out-of-ten-would-do-it-again, though you don’t really ask him for them. You just wait. Living with Spencer has taught you patience, amongst many other things, and for him you don’t mind exercising it to its fullest, excited for your list to grow even longer. 

“Garcia already ran her name through the database,” He whispers in your ear, hands going up and down your arms in a gesture that tells you he knows you’re nervous. “She’s clean, sweetheart.” 

This is new too. 

Letting out a strangled noise at the changes that kept on coming, you nod, mind completely shifting focus. “Yeah, okay,” You breathe out, eyes slowly fighting to stay open and not because of the time. “I uh, I’ll reply to her and ask her to come in to the shop for an interview…”

“That sounds great, but it also sounds like it can be done tomorrow when you’re not almost falling asleep,” Oh, sweet, innocent Spencer. Before you can even protest, he shakes his head, smiling like he’s trying to hold it back. “We’re going to bed, Y/N. I have work tomorrow and now, so do you.” 

Any and all protests fall disappear from your lips– the prospect of getting to go to work after only being able to keep the store’s website open actually has you excited enough to make you sleepy. The contradictory emotions will surely bit you in the ass when you actually lay down next to Spencer, but you don’t care. You get to open up the shop again and that alone is enough to make you squeak in glee, naked feet thumping through the wooden floor. He always bugs you to put on socks, afraid that you’ll get sick with the cold breeze that manages to push its way in despite the windows being shut, but you like feeling the cold on your soles. It always sends a little zap of life up your body and you enjoy it the same way kids enjoy hopping in the mud despite the mess– it makes you feel alive. 

There is a rhythmic routine to how you and Spencer get ready for bed. He brushes his teeth behind you, and you usually wash your face first, so that while he does it, you can braid your hair ready for the night. At first, you didn’t really worry about that because you two did your best to stay in your respective corner of the bed. You tried putting a pillow between you too but after the first time you kicked it off of the bed, you never bring it to the room with you again. Then you tried just paying attention, but that made you lose a significant amount of sleep and you ended up cranky for days. Giving up and accepting that, like it or not, you will end up waking up in Spencer’s arms, legs tangled with his and mouth drooling a little on his shirt, had been the best thing to do to move forward. Now, you two don’t pretend that anything else will happen, and before you’re even asleep, he opens his arms with a grunt, your signal to scoot closer and enjoy your very own space heater of man. ��Alright, alright, I’m here,” You mumbled, happy with the way your body is warm but your feet are cold. So cold, in fact, that the moment one brushes up against his, Spencer yelps. 

“What the hell was that?” He gasps, eyes going wide in shock. 

“What?” You ask, smiling mischievously. 

It would be unfair to say that the fear from early in the days has disappeared. It hasn’t– you’re still scared. Sometimes, it tackles you like a football player, abruptly and with so much force that you’re left breathless and immobile for a few minutes. Other times, it creeps up behind you, and you have time to prepare yourself. Despite the sudden appearances, however, your fear has lost that constantness that it had before. It’s duller, to the point that at times it’s just not there at all. And you quite like it, everything considered… it gives you space to breathe. It also gives you space to be– not be anything specific, but just be. And the more you can be, the more your personality starts to come back, peeking through the curtains you had set between yourself and the world. 

Spencer always knew you were a playful woman, but this just confirmed it. “Y/N, don’t you–AH! Oh my god, these are death machines! Put some socks on!”

“Never!” You shout before fully pushing your feet against his legs. 

Laying there, feeling Spencer squirm underneath you and then going off on some random fact about why it is important to keep your feet warm, is when you remember. 

You are a believer in silver linings. 

And you believe Spencer might just be yours. 

————————————

The shop looked exactly like you had left it, which made you happy and sad at the same time. Took you almost an hour to leave the house that morning, Spencer practically having to drag you away from the mirror with promises that “You look beautiful, Y/N.” Officer Kaper is waiting for you by the door when Spencer drops you off with a kiss to your cheek and hurried steps down the street. 

From then on, it’s a frenzy of cleaning. You try to convince Officer Kaper– or Mike, as he told you to call him– that he should sit down and guard the door, but he’s having none of it and instead, carries the not so heavy boxes of brand new books that you ordered as soon as you got news you’d be coming back to work. This is exciting to you, this return to normal, but it also makes you somewhat anxious. Once all of this is resolved– and you’ve taken to thinking about it with the mindset that it is not if it will be resolved, but once it is resolved– what will happen to you and Spencer? Living with him has its perks and the biggest one is that you get to actually see him with some sort of frequency. You get to experience having him in your life instead of just someone who comes and goes as they want. If you go back home, even if just across the street, right above your store he visits everyday… will you still feel this connection you do right now? Will you still get forehead kisses, and sneaky touches of his hand, and his pinky hooking with yours when you pass by?

None of that matters, though, when you hear the bell ringing through the shop. A customer. “Hello!” You call out from the shelves, making your way to the front. A buzz of anxiousness runs through you, though you quickly put it out; there is a literal police office standing guard by the door. You are safe. 

You are even safer when you see it’s Abigail, the downstairs neighbour. 

“Hi! I’m a little early, I hope that’s alright?” 

Oh god. With all the cleaning and organising, you lost track of time. “Oh gosh, yeah, of course!” You say, pulling your hair down from the mess on top of your hair and smoothing it down. 

You want to make a good impression on her. Out of all four interviews you have today, you hate to admit that Abigail seems the most fit for the position. Her experience is almost immaculate and her immediate availability is almost too good to be true. In fact, Abigail as a whole, with her warm smile and welcoming aura, seems too good to be true. As much as you believe in silver linings, she just seems like a straight up miracle. 

“Please, sit,” Pointing to the foldable chair by the corner of the counter, you smile. “We don’t really have a sitting area yet, but I’m working on it.”

“Oh don’t worry about it!” Abigail’s voice is bright and peppy, and you should like her. You do like her, actually, but even so, you can’t quite ignore the nagging feeling in your gut. “I also brought a copy of my resume in case you didn’t have mine readily available–“

“I have it here, but thank you!” So far she has been nothing but delightful, and to be honest, it’s almost like she is a missing puzzle. The way she fits in the store is almost weird, and maybe is the way she is dressed so similarly to you, or how she looks like someone who would manage a bookshop, all plaid and cardigans and pretty smiles. 

Pretty.

Abigail is pretty and that’s when it downs on you that you feel a little jealous. You are not ugly by any means, but the idea that Spencer will go to your store only to look at another woman– a younger, prettier woman– has you holding your breath. 

“Y/N? Are you alright?” 

Snapping out of it, you blush in embarrassment. You’re being crazy and you know it. “Yeah! Sorry, my mind went somewhere else for a second. So uh, why don’t we start with you just telling me a little bit about yourself and what do you want to work here, I guess.” You sound as unsure as you feel, and you suddenly regret saying no to the list of questions Spencer offered to make you. 

“Well, we’ve met briefly when I was moving into the building,” She giggles. “But my name is Abigail Harrison, recently moved to Washington D.C. from New York City–“

“I’m from New York!” You exclaim, big smile spreading as you finally place the familiar intonation in her voice. 

“No way! Where? I was born and raised in Brooklyn!” And suddenly it all makes sense– her cool nerdiness, her extroverted nature, her ease to fit in. This girl is definitely from Williamsburg.

“Oh, I was raised in the West Village but then moved to uh, Upper East Side,” The memory of moving in with Joshua is an uncomfortable one and makes you immediately change the course of the conversation. Throughout this interaction, you have to remember to be nice, but also serious. You don’t want to give her the impression that this will be an easy job, specially not with how reluctant you already were with hiring someone. “So, why do you want to work here? Besides the close proximity, of course.”

“To be honest, I–“ And there is a pause. It’s not long nor weird, it just sounds like she’s thinking, but Spencer likes to point out your own pauses whenever you try to lie to him about your strategy during nightly backgammon, and it’s become a sort of a bad habit you’ve gotten from him. Squinting, you let her continue. “I just really like the store. I know this sounds a bit ridiculous, but I walk past here every morning, and every morning, I prayed that it would be open. Everything inside looked so… homey. So familiar. And I’ve worked with books my entire life, you know? I thought… it was fate.” 

There is a redness in her cheeks that makes you squirm in your seat, nape of your neck suddenly feeling a little clammy. “Fate…” You mumble, nodding while looking down at the blank notebook on your lap. Right now, you are torn– you are trying to understand what is it about Abigail that makes you so hesitant while also fighting against your gut simply because the more she talks about her experience, the more you know she has to be the one. 

“…and after almost five years as a manager, I’ve found that I have a really good method of keeping things in order,” She finishes, nodding eagerly for you to show her any reaction. 

“That is really good to hear,” You gulp, getting your head back in place. “So just to reiterate, this would be a full time, part time position, of sorts. I would still come in some days in the week, and you would be acting manager whenever I am not here to oversee things. Whenever I am here though, you would be a very welcomed extra pair of hands and company. Believe it or not, we tend to get quite busy during lunch time and it was getting a bit too much to be here by myself.”

“So we’d still work together some days, right?” Her excitement is so clear in her voice that even Officer Kaper turns to pay more attention to you two. “Like, we’d still get to be a uh, a team?”

“Of course,” You say, nodding stiffly and looking at the clock. “I love working in a collaborative environment and I wouldn’t leave you alone in a new job straight away. We’ll start with training days and go from there.”

“That sounds incredible!”

“Yeah…” Looking at Mike– you are doing your best to abide by his wishes and call him by his first name– he gives you a little nod of recognition. “Anyways, do you have any questions for me?” When she shakes her head, you get up and offer her a hand to shake. “I’ll be making a decision by today end of day. I have a couple of other people to interview, but I’ll let you know either way.” 

Is it just you or is her hand lingering a little? 

“If you don’t call me, I know where to find you,” She says, her little laughter giving out the fact that this is supposed to be a joke. But you don’t laugh. And neither does the armed policeman by your door. 

“Ha ha,” You say, trying your best to be nice regardless. “That you do!”

“Your boyfriend is lucky to have you, I bet he gets lots of books for free,” Abigail is a chatterbox, that much is clear, and with every try for a conversation, the more you feel like she’s just digging for gossip. For a minute, you actually think you are back in high school. 

“Wha–“

“Or is that not your boyfriend?” 

You don’t really know what to do, and it shows. Which is why you’re not surprised at all when Officer Kaper, your one and only hero, steps in. “Sorry to ask, ma’am, I should’ve said something before, but would you mind me checking your ID? We are conducting a security check system for the businesses in this area, there has been a rise in robberies lately and this is just for precaution.” 

“Oh my! Of course,” After that, it doesn’t take long for her leave. 

There is not even a minute of silence until a customer walks in and you have to slap that fake smile in your face again. The hair on the back of your neck is standing up in a way that makes you a bit too aware of everything, and that, in turn, makes your heart skip a beat. Nervously glancing at Mike, you keep trying to remind yourself that you are safe, that you have someone to protect you. It’s hard to focus on your work when Spencer’s voice echoes in your head making up a list of everything that could go wrong. Your job is very open to the general public. People can easily see inside. You don’t know what they have in their bags. His habit of mouthing off whatever comes to mind is not coming back to bite you in the ass. 

“You have a boyfriend?” Officer Kaper’s questions snaps you back to reality.

“Huh? Oh! No!” Shaking your head, you awkwardly lean over the counter to try and ignore the sure blush on your cheeks. “She’s talking about Spencer.” 

“She knows Doctor Reid?” It’s clear from his tone that this arises some suspicion in him. 

“She just moved into the building and we met her when we were coming out for a second,” You shrug. You don’t want to feed your panic and you also don’t want to leave the man who got injured because of you on edge and scared. Abigail is just a bit taller than you and definitely stronger, with the body of someone who seems to care about her healthy appearance, while you… well, you prefer sitting on your armchair all afternoon with a cup of coffee and a book in your hands. A bit of a cliche, yes, but your life overall was a bit of a cliche, if you think too hard about it. “Spence thought it was better to let her believe whatever.” 

“Hm, I’m sure he did,” Mike said with a dramatic wink, wiggling his brows in that suggestive way that makes you chuckle so desperately that he has a hard time not laughing at your reaction. “You know, I think Doctor Reid has a crush on you.” 

“Ex-Excuse me?” You sputter out, eyes wide at how easy it is for this man to voice something that has been swimming in your head so insistently. 

Spencer having a crush on you is not that wild of a thought, when you think about it objectively. It’s the Proximity Principle. You read about it once back when you were in college and it’s kind of stuck– people are more likely to form close relationships with other people they spend significant amount of time with. Unfortunately, though, you also know that crushes are also dependant on a certain fantastical factor, something that allows humans to project a lot of their needs onto the one that holds their affections. Predicting Spencer’s needs is actually not hard either, and the more he tells you about himself, the more your heart break for the boy that lives inside that man; the one that is afraid of being abandoned, the one that misses his mother dearly, the one sees a family in the coworkers he spends so much time with. You see how you can fulfil this role for him, you’re not blind nor stupid. His smile gives him away, to be very honest, with how bright and big it gets when he notices you waiting for him to get home, sitting in your armchair, reading the book he left for you next to it. Or how he tries to hold it back, that gorgeous, beautiful smile, when he hears you calling his name, all whiny and shy at the same time, to ask him something so ridiculous and out of pocket that he can’t do anything but laugh. 

You are the sense of belonging he never had. 

The same way that he is the sense of consistency you’ve always craved. Though in your case, you know that he is so much more than that. 

In his… well, you will never know until you ask. 

And my god, you’re not ready to ask.

“Yeah, a crush,” Officer Kaper shrugs, walking to the counter and smiling like a kid saying something naughty. “He used to talk about you all the time, before all this. The pretty bookseller.” 

“Now you’re just enjoying making me squirm,” You say, squinting at him despite how his words make your heart race. 

“Maybe I am,” He jokes. “But I’m serious! You two are obviously into each other… right?” 

“Officer–“

“Mike, please!”

“Mike,” You sigh with an attitude, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “Are you trying to profile me?” 

His silence is enough of an answer to make you gasp. 

“It’s not like that–“

“Mike, do you want to be a BAU profiler?!” The way you whisper makes all of this feel like a big secret ever. Your body is leaning over to try and get closer to him, and you’re so excited about knowing this that it makes you bounce a little in your feet. “Why didn’t you say something before? I’m sure Spence would help! You can ask him all the questions and–“

“I already too the FBI entrance exam once and didn’t get in,” He interrupts you with such abruptness that something in the air shifts. This is not fun anymore. It’s tense. “It’s fine. I’m happy doing my part here with the MPD.” 

“You are,” You nod. “You really are. Thank you.” 

That is the last of the small talk for the day, the next interviewee coming in before you can say another peep. 

————————————

“Did you have a good time at the store today?” 

This is the first time that you are not the one doing the waiting. Or the cooking. Or– “Did you clean?” You ask, a bit shocked with how spotless the entire place looks even though the air smells like tomato sauce and… something else? 

“Why do you say this as something so hard to believe?” Spencer is baffled at your expression, laughing incredulously. “I live here! This is my apartment! I’ve been living by myself since I was 18!”

“I just never seen you clean!” You defend yourself with a lighthearted laughter.

“I’m thirty years old!”

“That just means you’re old,” And you two fall back to the usual teasings while you walk around the living room, dropping your coat and bag on the couch, and moving into the kitchen to help with whatever you can. “Oh my! And you even cooked! Careful Spence, you’re spoiling me… I might just want you to make me dinner everyday from now on.” 

Spencer just shrugs with that little shy smile playing on his lips. “I could get used to spoiling you…” 

“I could get used to being spoiled,” You mumble, eyes unwavering from his. Letting the tension of the moment grow, you push your hair behind your ears. “Can I help with anything?” 

“Not really, I made sure to start it really so it would be ready when you came home,” He says and turns into a ball of excitement that is all limbs and fast words. You love him like this and so you listen, like you’ve been yearning to do all day. He tells you that this is a recipe that Rossi taught him a while ago, and the wine is the exact same one he recommended back then, and just as he says, when you look closely to the busy workspace on the kitchen isle, there they are– two glasses half-full. In a very Spence fashion, he goes on and on about the exactness of the ingredients and how the whole idea that cooking is about ‘feeling it’ is kind of stupid, but the more he talks, the more breathless you find yourself. 

There is wine. 

There are entrees, and it looks like Spencer did his due diligence, buying your favourite crackers from the deli nearby. 

There are main dishes, sides, dessert; and you guess it is some sort of a tiramisu, catching the smudges of chocolate powder and coffee by the sink. 

And then there is Spencer. There is Spencer back home early. Spencer wearing his favourite purple sweater. Spencer with his combed hair. Spencer without his phone? Now you are suspicious, looking around with a confused frown on your face.  

“Is everything okay?” 

“Where is your phone?” His satchel is also not where he usually leaves it, gone from it’s perch by the door. 

“My phone?” He asks, sounding as confused as you. “Why do you need my phone?” 

“I don’t, I just never seen you without it.” 

“Oh,” That makes him laugh. “I don’t need it today.”

“Why not?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Y/N,” Spencer catches you by the shoulder and brings you back to the set dinner. “Just sit down and enjoy this. We finally have some time to spend together.” 

“You would never let anything kill me,” You say so easily that it can’t be anything else other than the truth. “Why don’t you need your phone?” 

He snorts and turns to mix something in one of his many pans. “Because Hotch and Rossi forbade the team to call me tonight. Derek said he’d be on call instead.” 

“That’s awfully nice of Mister Muscles,” You comment offhandedly and there is something about the way you notice Spencer tensing a little that makes your smirk.

“He has a girlfriend, you know.”

“Oh, I know– I heard it all from his baby girl, who is not his girlfriend, but is a big fan of that couple,” You say, happily smiling while munching on a cracker. “Why?”

“Just checking if you knew. A lot of girls are usually… taken… by Derek’s looks and charms, but he’s off the market now. I think Savannah is here to stay.” 

Crinkling your nose at the though of dating Agent Derek Morgan, you quickly shake your head. “God, no, I’m not– No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he is objectively handsome, but he’s not my type.” 

“Are we talking about the same Derek Morgan?” He scoffs without turning to you. “He is everyone’s type…”

“Not mine,” You repeat, silently getting up from where you sway your feet. With muted steps, you walk around the kitchen isle to stand behind him, fidgeting with your hands in a moment of unsureness. 

Maybe you are reading this wrong. Not every man that does a nice gesture is interested in you, you know that mainly because you never really believe people are interested in you at all, but it’s getting progressively hard to not look at everything he had done for you and not think it is a date. 

Before you can overthink this, Spencer is moving backwards. “Oh? What is your type, then– oh fuck!” Your arms go around his waist as soon as he bumps into you, and you don’t let him squirm away, even though he tries. “Y/N, wha-what are you doing…?”

Gently, you let your head fall onto his back, forehead pressing close to his nape. Silence reigns until you are ready to speak, but Spencer waits, tense and oh so patient. “Spencer,” You whisper with your broken voice, nerves getting the best of you and making you shake like a chihuahua. “Spencer, is this–“ 

Sweet as ever, his hand moves from the counter, where his knuckles are white with how hard he grips it, to a slow touch to your hand. Brushing his fingers overs your skin, he whispers back. “Is this what?”

“Spencer is this a…” Why can’t you bring yourself to say it? 

Around you, there is noise. You hear the neighbours upstairs, the click-clack of their shoes echoing until they are gone. You hear the heater pipes reading themselves to work through the night once again. You hear the food in front of you two bubbling and sizzling. And my god, do you hear him… you hear his heart, beating, racing, so strong and fast, that you smile to yourself. This is all Spencer– every noise, every shake, every thump and thud of that amazing, loving heart of his.

“It is.” 

Your arms squeeze around him in shock. “I didn’t even say it.”

“By now, you should know you don’t have to,” The soft cadence of his perfect pronunciation tells you that he is feeling confident and calm, and you bask in it for a second or two. Until he hits you with the million dollar question. “If Morgan is not your type, who is?”

“I want to say it, though.”

“Who is your type?”

It’s a weird battle of stubbornness between you two, but you don’t mind. You would fight this war forever, if it meant this– feeling him alive and breathing and laughing. “Let me say it,” You ask, smiling coyly even though he can’t see it. “Please.” His adorable little laughter sends a wave of ripples down his back and you press your face closer to feel it. “Say it then.”

“Spencer Reid, is this a date?” 

“I was hoping it would be,” He says and pauses. “Y/N Y/L/N, am I your type?” 

“I don’t really have a type,” You say slowly, pulling back a little to nudge him to turn around. You only smile when you see his eyes– those curious, curious eyes– that constantly look for answers for his questions. Sometimes, you don’t have answers, but he looks for them anyways. First in one, then the other. Spencer looks at you carefully, slowly, like you are something worth committing to that memory of his by the detail. Like he wants to remember you even when he closes his eyes. You see it, how you make him feel like he belongs, with your open smiles and blinking eyes. But you also see, for the first time, how you are also so much more. “But if I did, it would be you.” 

You are a believer in silver linings. 

And yes, Spencer might just be yours… specially with the way his lips feel against yours. 

---------------------------------------

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[sprite-writes-fanfic]

When the ‘03 Turtles are in love!

🐢💙❤️2003 TMNT x Reader💜🧡🐢

Word Count: 889

CW: Gender-neutral reader as always, referred to as ‘you’, my underrated beloveds ong, (especially Donnie 💜), nothing but fluff! Turtles realizing they’re in love with you and how they act around you!! (+ confessions because yes <3)

🐢💙Leonardo💙🐢

💙 With Leo, it takes him a good while to realize he’s in love with you. It just randomly hits him when he’s meditating, the comfort you bring, the way he can lean on you, the way he’s always seemingly drawn to you! It hits him like a bus.

💙 He gets a little shy and distant with you, but don’t give up! Continue coming to him and acting like yourself, he’ll feel a bit guilty for avoiding you, but you still coming to him makes his heart flips and he’s feeling those butterflies.

💙 That’s when Leo can’t take it anymore and finally confides in Master Splinter, (which we both know that man knows when his sons are in love). Splinter is pleasantly surprised! But he’s happy to help his son sort out his feelings and even devise ways to confess to you.

💙 Finally, Leo works up the courage and asks you to go to the training dojo with him alone, to train. You two do train and by the end of it, Leo finally spills it, confessing his love to you, but also expressing his understanding if you didn’t feel the same.

💙 Pleasantly surprised when you admit to feeling the same way! Man is fist-pumping the air mentally when you confess. After that, you two spent more time together in the dojo, just talking things out and making it official with a hug, (a kiss will come later, Leo’s not ready to make that quick of a step!)

🐢❤️Raphael❤️🐢

❤️ With this emotional turtle, Raph is quick to realize, unlike his brothers, and at first; he’s frustrated. He didn’t NEED feelings, especially not towards a family friend, a human… A very beautiful human at that—

❤️ Okay, he gives up and comes to terms with the fact, Raph, the tough guy with anger issues, has soft feelings for YOU. (Bro went through the 5 stages of grief because of this/j)

❤️ And after coming to that conclusion, man is always trying to impress you, he gets closer to you, wants you to depend on him because he wants to be that someone for you! It strokes his ego quite a bit too.

❤️ It’s when he finally realizes he wants to be with you he shoots his shot. What’s the worst they could say? No? So, one night when you join him on patrol and you two are chilling on a roof, he finally confesses. And he’s straight to the point like, “Look uh, this is gonna sound weird, but I have feelings for you.”

❤️ Dude is so hyped when you say you feel the same way too. Raph isn’t the type to wait around either like Leo, on that rooftop was where you two shared (his) your first kiss.

🐢💜Donatello💜🐢

💜 When Donnie realizes, he panics a little actually. YOU are his best friend, and he’s completely shocked when he realizes that his heart thunders in his chest and his palms get sweaty when YOU are around, (*slow fade-in of the demi-romantic flag*).

💜 He tries to shut down these feelings as best as he can by working on his technology more and being distant with everyone, and I mean EVERYONE.

💜 Even then he can’t stay away for too long, he’s back to ranting and rambling about his inventions to you, and his breath hitches whenever you smile at and tell him, “Go on”, whenever he pauses and apologizes for rambling again.

💜 Donnie has to tell you, if he gets rejected now, hopefully these feelings will go away, right? He didn’t even consider the fact that you could possibly like him back, according to his statistics, the likelihood of a mutant and a human together is low!

💜 Well, when he sat you down for a serious conversation, going on to admit his feelings and saying he wouldn’t be hurt if you said no— Wait what? You were quick to interrupt him and tell him you liked him back?? He had to process a moment before he would shyly ask if you wanted to go for a small ride in the Battle Shell around town. (You two held hands while he drove. <3)

🐢🧡Michelangelo🧡🐢

🧡 Woof, Mikey on the other hand is a bit of a wild card, at first he confuses platonic with romance, but when his brothers point out to him the obvious, he’s all for it!

🧡 Mikey is the type to start reading comics and watch movies that involve romance so he has an idea of what to do, (and yes, he kicks his feet all giddy-like when he’s doing this).

🧡 After he’s obtained his knowledge, he’s quick to try and impress you and reenact some moments from the movies he’s watched, always saying quotes you probably wouldn’t understand. And when you don’t get it at first, thinking he’s just being Mikey, he’s a little bummed…

🧡 Then Raph has to point it out to him why his advances aren’t working, because he’s not really acting any different, and just tells Mikey to grow a pair and to tell you honestly. And that’s when Mikey’s new plan is sent into action, operation confession is a go!

🧡 Still a little confusing because he’s still making references but he’s got the spirit. Eventually he ends up forgetting the movie references and out-right tells you. And it’s safe to say, you guys have a roof-top date coming up here soon.

Gaaah, I’ve been obsessing over TMNT good lord. I wanted to write about them, and I’ll probably write more about them too 😭💙 Love turtle pookies ong, hope you enjoyed, and yes I posted the same day, I am motivated to write. ✍️

[hellodarling1357]

More Than A Moment: Part 3 - Cassian x Reader (AU!)

Wow! This is record time for me. Who knew the crushing weight of needing to do literally everything and anything else would be such great writing inspo!

Read part 2 here!

Hope you enjoy 🥰

Summary: After a drunken night between friends, just friends, nothing more, Y/N and Cassian’s lives end up changing forever. But maybe not in the way they had originally expected.

Word Count: 1.6k

After what felt like both hours and seconds, you let out a sigh and dropped the controller onto the couch.

“I win. Again.”

“Hardly, this was all just beginners luck.”

“Wow. How about you cast your mind back to, I don’t know, maybe every other time I’ve won Mario Kart–“

“Once. That was one time.”

“Yeah, only because you’re all a bunch of sore losers who banned me from playing any other time.”

“Well…that’s beside the point! Clearly I’m going to be off my game, what with being a bit distracted by the fact that you’re…” Cassian trailed off with a sharp intake of breath.

“Mm,” the palpable tension a stark contrast to the flashing colours still emanating from the screen. “It’s almost as if you’re implying that I wouldn’t be distracted by that.”

Cassian’s lip twitched in amusement but it was clear to both of you that time was up.

“We should talk.” The seriousness in Cassian’s tone was a stark contrast to the easy quips that had initially broken your Mario-Kart-induced silence.

“Yeah, we should,” shifting to face him, you studied Cassian’s features for a moment before quietly asking, “what’re you thinking?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not what I expected you to say and I’m still sorta in shock but...,” fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants, Cassian hesitated, eyes darting your way for a moment before his gaze turned back to the floor. “But,” he continued, “it’s not the worse thing you could’ve said?”

“What?”

“No, I mean… it’s just in the sense that it’s not what I expected and, yeah, I was caught off guard, but initially I thought someone had died or something. I’ve never seen you so serious and upset before.”

You gave a quiet hmm in acknowledgment as your mind began to process what he was saying. He was handling the whole situation a lot better than what you originally expected, at least on the outside, which you were selfishly grateful for.

“What about you?” Cassian asked, pulling you from your thoughts, “what’re you thinking? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…–ish,” you added with a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “It’s been two months so I definitely didn’t expect the test to actually turn up positive. And I feel like I’m all over the place, I didn’t think it was humanly possible to experience so many emotions over just a few hours—“

“That could be the hormones.” Cassian interjected with mock-seriousness, earning him a cushion to the face.

“—I just mean,” you continued, “that I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling. My heads all over the place and I don’t know if I want to cry or sleep.”

Cassian shifted from his side of the couch, letting out a breath as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him. “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that had you melting even further into him. You supposed any form of comfort would be more than welcoming in your current state…

——————

The two of you sat together in silence for some time, both deep in thought and not wanting to break the small moment of comfort you were allowing one another; the brush of Cassian’s thumb against your shoulder seemed to be the one thing keeping you tethered to reality.

“Do you even want kids? In all the years we’ve been friends, you’ve never mentioned it before.”

“Yeah, I do.” Cassian replied, voice so certain that you were surprised you didn’t already know this about him. “I know that might seem surprising given… past actions. And I don’t know if I’d be any good at being a dad, but yeah I’ve always wanted to have kids someday.”

When you didn’t respond straight away, Cassian shifted beside you, nervously fidgeting with his drawstrings once again. “I mean, obviously I’d have to change a few things… But I would do that, you know, if there was a kid in the picture. And I might not be great but I think I’d do my best and—”

“You would be a great dad, Cass.” Interrupting his nervous rambles, you straightened up, not quite moving away from his side but just enough so that you could properly look at his face; the raw emotion catching you off guard as he glanced down at you, brows pinched together as he considered your words.

“You think so?”

“I do,” your voice sincere and levelled, understanding of his apprehension and concern falling into place as you remembered that his own father had rarely been in the picture. “One, you would for sure be the fun dad and, two, more importantly, you would be there for them. Think about all the times you’ve dropped everything for one of us. Even today, you’ve been so amazing even though I’m sure you’ve been freaking out internally.” Your voice is teasing but you squeeze his hand to show that you truly mean it.

“Oh. Well, thanks, Y/N,” A soft squeeze of your hand in response has a short-lived smile gracing your features, one that quickly disappears when Cassian turns the conversation back onto you. “We’ve spent an awful lot of this talk discussing what I’m thinking and feeling. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those deflection skills coming out.”

“What deflection skills? I was just asking you about yourself.”

“Those deflection skills. We’ve managed to talk a whole heap about the current situation without actually getting anywhere with it. Now, what do you want to do?”

Scrunching your nose, you let out a groan and slump against the back of the couch. “I want to drink.”

“Easy. I’ll grab us some drinks and then we can… Wait, hang on. No, you can’t drink. Right?” Your pouted lip gave Cassian his answer. “Right, okay, no drinking. I can get us some paper and a pen? You love a pros and cons list. That could help us work out if we’re going to keep them or not.”

Cassian hesitated midway off the couch as he noticed the glistening in your eyes which you quickly tried to hide with a sniff as you looked away. While you had both been mulling over the question all day, neither of you had directly mentioned the details of the decision you needed to make.

“I don’t know what to do, Cassian. I just… I don’t know what to do. It wasn’t meant to happen like this, or now. There’s still so much I haven’t done and I… I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” you managed to maintain a relatively stable voice, despite the tears streaming down your face, as you looked desperately to Cassian as though hoping he would have all the answers. “What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know, Y/N. It’s up to you—”

“No, you can’t leave it all to me. That’s not fair, I shouldn’t have to make this decision by myself.” Your frustration was evident as you snapped back at him, knowing it was unfair in the way Cassian held his hands up in defence but being too clouded and overwhelmed to take it back.

“If you’d let me finish,” Cassian fixed you with a pointed look to which you offered an apologetic smile in return, “I was going to say, it shouldn’t be up to me because I’m not the one who would be carrying them and growing them for the next few months. But whatever you decide to do, I’ll fully back you and stand by your side. You won’t be doing this alone.”

The two of you sat in silence as you mulled over everything Cassian had said; contemplating what he had, whether knowingly or not, admitted through his choice of words.

“So,” you started, avoiding Cassian’s eye, “you think we should keep it?”

“I didn’t say that-“

“You didn’t have to,” you offered a small smile before continuing, “you wouldn’t be the one carrying them, I would be, as in you’re thinking about a future where this happens. You’ve started referring to it - them - as them, as a person, not just a potential blob of cells. You want this baby.”

Cassian tensed, eyes darting across your face, mouth opening and closing as though wanting to say something and thinking better of it.

“Cass?”

“I think so,” despite the slight shake to his voice, the expression on his face was one of certainty. “Yes. Y/N, I do want this baby. And that isn’t to say that you don’t have final say in the matter. But… I dunno, sure this is so, so far from the fragment of a plan or timeline I had in mind for myself. And maybe we aren’t in the ideal position but I really think we could make this work. We both have good jobs, a good group of people around us, we get along… look, put it this way, if I had to have an unplanned and unexpected baby with someone, well, I’d be happy to have one with you.”

You couldn’t help the tug of your lips when you took in Cassian’s slightly flustered appearance, a faint red tinged his cheeks as he looked at you cautiously from under his lashes. Hearing his words, his true thoughts about the matter at hand, had the tension and uncertainty ebbing away. Yes, you will still beyond stressed and scared and every other possible emotion. But now you were also certain that Cassian would stick by your side, solidifying the potential future your mind had been pulling you towards all day.

“Alright then, looks like we’re having a baby.”

——————

I would love to hear any thoughts/suggestions/ideas you have 😍

Also, let me know if you would like to be tagged xx

Tag List:

@cassianstannn32 @tele86 @6v6babycheese @beardburnsupersoldiers @e1jeyy @illyriassweetheart @mistymoocow

[herweirdass]

abbot elementary: a new beginning part two | gregory eddie

by friday, your temporary assignment at abbott elementary is wrapping up, and you’re feeling a mix of relief and reluctance. the kids have been a whirlwind of energy, but they’ve also been a source of joy you didn’t expect. you’ve found a rhythm, even among the occasional chaos, and the thought of leaving makes your chest tighten just a bit.

after the last bell rings, you’re tidying up your classroom when ava waltzes in, her usual swagger on full display.

“well, well, well,” she says, leaning casually against the doorframe. “looks like you survived your first week at abbott. congrats. not everyone makes it.”

you laugh, setting down a stack of papers. “it wasn’t that bad.”

“oh, come on. give yourself some credit,” ava says, her tone suddenly more serious. “the kids love you, the staff thinks you’re a gem, and even i, the queen of this fine establishment, am impressed. so… how would you feel about sticking around?”

you blink, caught off guard. “sticking around?”

ava steps further into the room, folding her arms. “look, word on the street is we might have a more permanent teaching position opening up soon. i can’t make any promises yet, but if you’re interested, i’d like to throw your name in the ring.”

your heart skips a beat. the thought of staying at abbott hadn’t even crossed your mind, but now that it’s on the table, it feels… right.

“i’d definitely be interested,” you say, a small smile spreading across your face. “thank you, ava.”

“you know,” she began, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe, “you’ve got everyone around here charmed, even mr. ‘serious and stoic’ across the hall.”

you raised an eyebrow. “gregory?”

ava smirked. “mmhmm. i see the way he looks at you—like a lovesick puppy pretending he’s too cool to care.” she pointed at the mug on your desk, a red & black cup with greek letters on the side. “where’d you get that?”

“this?” you asked, holding it up. “it’s my sorority mug from college. delta sigma theta.”

ava’s eyes lit up. “oh, my god. you’re a delta?”

you nodded, smiling. “how did i not know you were a soror?”

ava grinned, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “because you didn’t ask, obviously. i crossed in undergrad! spring ‘15, baby. what about you?”

“spring ‘21,” you replied.

“a baby,” she teased, shaking her head. “but i’ll let it slide since you’re already doing our sisterhood proud around here. and now i really have to make sure you stick around. can’t let one of my sorors get snatched up by some other school.”

you laughed. “well, i appreciate that.”

“i’ve got your back, sis.” she says with a wink before turning on her heel. “i’ll keep you posted. don’t go running off to some fancy private school in the meantime.”

after she leaves, you sit down at your desk, trying to process the news. a week ago, you were just hoping to survive. now, you might actually belong here.

that evening, as you’re gathering your things, you hear a knock on the doorframe. looking up, you see gregory standing there, his usual reserved expression softened by something you can’t quite place.

“heading out?” he asks.

“yeah, just about,” you reply, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “what about you?”

“same,” he says, stepping into the room. “i heard ava stopped by. she mentioned something about a permanent position.”

you nod, a little surprised. “she did. i didn’t think i’d make that much of an impression in just a week.”

gregory leans against the desk, his gaze steady. “you did. the kids talk about you nonstop. and… it’s not just them. the staff sees it too. you’re a natural.”

his words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. “thank you. that means a lot coming from you.”

he offers a small smile, then clears his throat. “so, if you do end up staying, maybe we can… collaborate. our classes are right across from each other, after all.”

“i’d like that,” you say, your smile growing.

there’s a beat of silence between you, a quiet understanding that seems to pass without words. then gregory straightens, his usual reserved demeanor slipping back into place.

“well, have a good weekend,” he says, heading toward the door.

“you too,” you reply, watching as he disappears into the hallway.

the following week at abbott was a whirlwind, but there was an undeniable shift between you and gregory. you’d catch his gaze across the hall, share small conversations in the teachers’ lounge, and exchange knowing smiles when the kids did something particularly ridiculous.

one afternoon, as you were packing up your things, gregory appeared in your doorway, his usual calm exterior tinged with a hint of nervousness.

“hey,” he said, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“hey,” you replied, smiling. “what’s up?”

he hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “i was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner sometime. maybe this weekend?”

you blinked, caught off guard but pleasantly surprised. “dinner?”

“yeah,” he said quickly, as if trying to backtrack. “i mean, if you’re busy, that’s fine. but if you’re not—”

“i’d love to,” you interrupted, your smile widening.

his shoulders relaxed, and a small smile crept onto his face. “great. how about saturday? i know a spot.”

“saturday works,” you said.

---

on saturday evening, gregory picked you up, and the two of you headed to a cozy italian restaurant tucked away in a quiet part of the city. it was small, intimate, and the kind of place you could tell he’d thought carefully about.

“this is nice,” you said as the waiter brought over a basket of warm bread.

“it’s one of my favorites,” gregory admitted, glancing around. “i figured it’d be a good spot to talk without, you know, kids running around or ava interrupting with one of her ‘announcements.’”

“does she really have cameras in all of the classrooms?”

“she definitely does,” he said shivering at the memory of her listening in on his private conversations.

you laughed, and the sound seemed to ease his nerves. as the evening went on, you learned more about him—his passion for teaching, his dreams of becoming a principal one day, and even a few funny stories about his early days at abbott.

“i’ll admit, when i first started here, i didn’t think i’d last,” gregory said, leaning back in his chair. “but the staff, the kids… they have a way of growing on you.”

“i get that,” you said, nodding. “i’ve only been here a week, and it already feels like home.”

his gaze softened, and for a moment, the conversation paused. there was something unspoken in the air, something that made your heart skip.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he said finally, his voice quiet but sincere.

“me too,” you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you.

---

as he walked you back to your door later that night, the two of you lingered on the front step.

“thank you for tonight,” you said, looking up at him.

“anytime,” gregory replied, his hands in his pockets again.

there was a brief pause, and then, before you could overthink it, you leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“goodnight, gregory.”

he looked a little stunned but managed a small smile. “goodnight.”

as you stepped inside, your heart still fluttering, you couldn’t help but feel that this was the start of something special.

they never specify what sorority ava is in but i feel like she gives big delta energy lol idk. thinking about making this a little series, part one here!

[byoldervine]

Why No Writing Advice Seems To Work

There’s millions of tips out there for writers, but so much of it just doesn’t apply, and it often feels like nothing ever works because you have to wade through a million failures before you find a success. But why is that, exactly?

1. Implicit phasing. Seeking advice while in the drafting phase of your writing can be difficult when many popular tips are more important during the editing phase. It can build on perfectionism struggles that a lot of writers have, but a lot of people genuinely don’t realise that this advice will suit them better for editing rather than drafting. If it’s about improving what you’ve already got, or just improvements in general, don’t touch it until you’re editing; you can’t improve on something that doesn’t exist, so you’ll just be going over the same draft a gazillion times without making progress. What you need to look for are tips for brainstorming, getting out of a funk, etc

2. Concept to blueprint. For me, literal thinking has kept me from understanding a lot of writing advice and, even when I’ve got the gist of it, I struggle to figure out how to take it from a general phrase (e.g. “Show don’t tell”, “Make it a habit”) to something actionable that tells me what I need to do. If you’re misunderstanding what the advice is saying, or you don’t know what actions it’s implying that you take, of course it’s not going to be helpful. Sitting down and dedicating a minute or two to considering it can really help, and if you’re still unsure then always feel free to ask other writers; there’s bound to be others who were in the same boat that can share their own interpretations and the actions they took that helped them

3. Hobbyist approach. If you’re only writing for fun, and especially if you don’t consider yourself a ‘real writer’, it’s easy to think that some of the advice doesn’t apply to you. For me, I always thought that the whole “Write every day, make writing a habit” thing was just for people who were super serious about it or on a schedule, not for people who were just writing for fun and didn’t mind it taking forever. But after trying out NaNoWriMo, I realised I actually quite enjoy having a set routine that allows me to see consistent improvement, and even after NaNoWriMo I experimented to see how often I could write without it feeling more like a chore than a fun activity. It’s definitely worth it to at least try out tips that you think may not apply to a hobbyist just working for fun; sometimes you might learn something else about your writing style, even if the tip doesn’t work for you

4. Unique takes. Ultimately, we’re all different people with different experiences, habits, interests, styles, physical abilities and neurotypes; not everything will work for everyone. And that’s a good thing! Yes, it’s frustrating when we try a popular tip and it just doesn’t work for us like it does others, but that’s one more thing we know about ourselves and how we work, and maybe it’ll lead us to a new discovery that makes it easier going forward. If everyone was the same, all our writing would be the same, and that would be boring. You’ll stand out as a writer by working differently to achieve unique results. And if you find something that works for you, make sure you share it in case others benefit, too!

5. Customise. Finding your own tips and sharing them can lead others to you, and it all starts with experimentation; try new things, mix and match existing tips you’ve tried and figure out what can be adjusted to make your writing process better. I can’t keep to NaNoWriMo’s 1667 words per day demands, it’s too much work in too little time, but I can do 1000 words every week and be much more consistent than I used to be. Or maybe watching your word count all the time demotivates you? Try changing your measurement from X words to writing for Y amount of time - or you could even try both and say you’ll write for a max of Y minutes unless you can reach X amount of words beforehand. Even if it’s not something that was originally intended by the tip, can you find a way to customise it to work better for you?