#it's exhausting because it's an every day daily thing

[mahyuume]

CAPABLE OF LOVE!

— synopsis. the ways he proofs being capable of showing love!

pairing. various!haikyuu, jjk, bllk, mha x reader | genre. romance, fluff, crack.

reminders. I’m posting after a suuuper long break, hope you guys like this! | mlist

I THINK I NEED I NEED A PICTURE, is something you’ve said countless times to your boyfriend (who will one day be your husband) then proceeding to whip out any kind of device capable of taking a photo. Currently, is happening right now.

“Baby, we need a picture, again!” You gleam at him, the look on his face already dreading the next fifty photos going to be taken; exhausted from taking the last hundred— or maybe more than that photos. But, reluctantly, he agrees. “Fine, but this is the last time,” the boy sighs then flashes his award winning smile. Just in time for- click! that. Now holding the freshly printed Polaroid, he takes a look at your face instead of the physical copy of you both.

Staring at the facial features adorned on you, he sees no flaws whatsoever. He stares at your eyes; shiny but with the hints of clear joy. Lips— he’s kissed them multiple times, but never got over how soft and plush they felt. Always wondered how you do it.

“Are you even listening to me?” You turned your head to him, giving him a small frown. He snaps back into his senses from you cutting his train if thought; now darting back at your eyes, then lips again. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, trying to get rid of all the mushy thoughts in his head. “What were you saying?” Giving a small huff, you re-explain why you both need so many photos. But truth be told, he wasn’t listening one bit. Okay, just a little, but your face is something he could look at for hours. The look of love is real when it comes to him, due to the fact that he always manages to accidentally ignore you; all while adoring you.

As voices drown out, he thinks about adding this new photo to the heart shaped Polaroid collection in his room. Cracks out a stupid smile, then further proves to be undeniably whipped for you.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, NAGI SEISHIRO, RIN ITOSHI, KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, SHOTO TODOROKI, NEITO MONOMA.

‘CAUSE IT’S NEVER ENOUGH! Is what your boyfriend says almost if not every-time he gifts you things. His reasoning is always “just because” and that he truly meant it when he said if he could give you the whole world, he would. And what I just relayed out for you to process, plays out in your daily life. And is, right now.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Repeated sounds of the doorbell chiming in your ear, you smile as you already know who’s behind the door while opening it for your love. But this time like most, it’s not your love facing you. It’s a big teddy bear that’s twice his size. You’re even surprised a thing like that could fit into his car!

“And who is this for?” You question him, a silly one at that. “Some cute girl I met.” He responds but not so clearly since the bear completely hides his figure besides the arms of his holding it up, drowning in the big fluffy stuffy. You roll your eyes at his answer, “Oh? Come in and tell me all about her.” Entertaining him, you take the legs of the bear and help him inside. And oh my, it was pretty heavy. But no surprise your super strong fiancé could lift it without a sweat.

“I would but…” “But?” “I have more things for the pretty girl inside my car,” he looks over at you with a stupid smile. “If you don’t mind.” He says while walking away back to the front door in a seemingly rush.

Coming back, his hands and arms are full of designer goods, and some even being valentine gifts. Talk about a man who can treat!

“You got me all this?” A gasp leaves your pretty lips as he stares at them, it making him smile in return too. “Yup.” Helping him get the bags, he watches you with a dumb look that makes you wanna slap him for being such a mushy lover. Of course, in a good way!

Opening your early valentine gifts, each one never failed to surprise you and leave you even more grateful for the man watching and recording your reactions. He points to the Nekta bag next to you. In the video, you’re surrounded by countless luxury brands but he decides to point out a specific one.

“Open that one baby.” He smirks behind the camera, watching your face twist into one of excitement and shying away from the camera. “Why? What’s in here?” You say as your paid for nails on hands reach for the Nekta bag. Opening it, there’s many boxes to choose from. You’re not sure which he meant. “Which one?” He points to a small one, the tiniest out of the bunch.

Unraveling the box and seeing the message, cluelessly, you didn’t notice how your boyfriend set down the phone and got down on one knee.

‘Look in front of you dummy.’ You read aloud then looked up. And there he was, holding the missing ring from the box, proposing to you with it.

“Will you marry me?”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI, SATORU GOJO, SAE ITOSHI, REO MIKAGE, KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

TO SEE YOU SMILING IN MY MIND is a memory you often hear being told over and over again by your boyfriend. His dreams of you both are beyond romantic or very dramatic, there’s really no in between.

By far the most exaggerated thing he’d ever say is something about how you two turned into fishes and lived a happy life together swimming around the ocean, avoiding sharks and fishermen. But this time, it’s quite different.

Ding! Ding! Your phone goes off at 7:35pm, right as you’re getting ready for bed or doing whatever it is. Checking what notified you, a smile lit across your face as you read your boyfriend’s display name.

Weird random: Babe

Weird random: I had another dream call me rn it’s so important

Giggling and mentally calling him a weirdo, you read the messages in-app then click the Video Call option.

“Oh my gosh baby, you won’t believe what I dreamt of.” Is what you hear your boyfriend say from the audio of your phone that’s now prompt up on a water glass as a substitute for a stand. “What’d you predict this time?” You cheekily asked him as he closes the space between his device and face; now a super close up of him is in your screen.

You’re not complaining though. He’s in one of those hoodies you promised yourself to ‘borrow’ one of these days and has messy bed hair, which tells you he just woke up from a nap.

“Okay so like, it’s me and you right,” he settles his phone down somewhere around his house, now making hand motions like a story teller. “Mhm.” “We’re having this cute date and stuff right.” “And?” “And then like, you look so beautiful. Like so, like, just so beautiful that flowers bloom when you walk near them type of beautiful!”

Laughing at his silly compliment, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks turn a pink hue. “You’re so corny I swear…” it’s his turn to laugh at your comment, “Come on girl, don’t tease me like that.” His voice suddenly turns into one more of a softer beat, “hurts my feelings.” He says as he puts a hand on his heart, seemingly clutching it. Rolling your eyes at your favorite boy, he continues on with his story- dream. His dream.

“Then boom, some random dude comes up to you and goes like ‘hey you’re pretty’ and I’m like ‘dude back off’ and then we get into a fight in order to see who wins your love.” At this point he was just background music as you did your night routine. “Babe, are you even listening?” Or maybe not.

“Of course I am.” You look at him from the side of your eye, noticing how he’s now closer than earlier. “Doesn’t seem like it.” From the looks of it, it seems like you’re plain out ignoring him. But you’e not, really! “Promise I am.” Adjusting the camera to face you fully now, he focuses on you rather than talking about his hefty dream storyline.

“What if I just married you, like, tomorrow?”

What a nice question he asked, and your answer is…

“I don’t know?” You stop doing whatever you’re doing and look at him. “Why’re you asking?” “No reason.” Liar. “Stop lying!” His hands go up in protest, “I’m not!” He looks away for a bit then returns to stare at you. “Just… just had a dream about it.” And it clicks.

“So that’s what you were trying to tell me?” And like that, it’s as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Ah, I guess so…” he muttered, hand on his nape as he realizes he’s not the best at lying when it comes to you. “I mean, come on!” He finally breaks, “you looked so good in the wedding dress and we…” his voice trails off the second you were getting invested.

“We?” You omit him to continue, but it comes out hurriedly. “We had a big, happy family. Like seriously happy.” He admits with a smile, clearly smitten about you. This makes you innerly gush about him.

“Yeah?” “Yeah. We did.” He sighs, “If only it were true.” He fake pouts, an ugly thing he does that makes you laugh horribly. “I mean, it can be.” You nonchalantly said, as if you weren’t wishing for the same thing. His eyes light up from your sentence, lips curling into a smile. “You can’t take that back!” You laugh at his antics, “as if I would ever.”

SHOYO HINATA, TOORU OIKAWA, YUUJI ITADORI, MEGURU BACHIRA, YOICHI ISAGI, KEIGO TAKAMI (HAWKS).

​৻ꪆ. Happy valentines everyone! I hope you like this one. (It’s been planned ever since December.) there were supposed to be two more lines added but I seriously ran out of time and didn’T know who else to write for… so, take this??

[amoeganism]

DON'T LIE, I'M PERFECT AND YOU LOVE ME luka

Luka really wants to take a nap after a long day of being exploited and being a pain in the ass to every human around him, but your priorities (pissing him off) come first!

WC: ~600

Your boyfriend, visibly exhausted, miserably slumps his upper body onto his bed and his knees collapse. Bundled under mounds of thick blankets, you reach an arm out to ruffle Luka’s blond hair, brushing through his wavy locks and petting his head like a dog. You snicker at the sight of his face contorting after realizing what you’re doing, lazily swiping your hand away and grunting before coughing into his arm. 

It takes you a few moments to inch over to where Luka lays. You didn’t want to sacrifice the comfort of being suffocated and melting into your bed until you’re a pile of sweat and nasty mulch. His eyes slowly flutter shut and his breathing slows but the uncomfortable position he’s in acts as a barrier between him and falling into a deep sleep. However, it takes too much energy to try to pull Luka fully onto the mattress, but what doesn’t take much energy is disrupting the rest he needs. You aren’t planning on getting the title of “Number One Lover of a Superstar” and you hadn’t seen him the entire day since you both had woken up; you deserve this, you reason to yourself. 

Under your fingertips, you switch between prodding and poking his pale cheeks until they warm and bloom into a faint pink. Luka tries his best to make you stop, puffing his cheeks and intertwining your fingers together but you retaliate by grabbing his face and watching him deflate. It gives you a slight ego boost when he gives up and chooses to throw his lanky limbs over you, adding his heavy bodyweight over the mass of your blankets.

“How was your day of terrorizing the music industry?” you ask, immediately returning to pinching his cheeks. 

“I don’t need to terrorize anyone. Everyone already knows that I’m a fan favorite.”

“Yeah because I totally hallucinated you having at least ten different tabs about Mizi and you weren’t writing in a notebook titled ‘Evil and Devious Masterplan’. You’re embarrassing when you beef with people eight years younger than you.”

“God forbid a man has hobbies.”

“Yeah I really hate it. Stick to singing and looking cute. Only I deserve to see your evil. It makes me feel special when you aren’t exposing yourself to everyone.”

“You make it sound like I’m flashing the public.”

“You pretty much are. Your dick and bad personality are the same thing.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Luka whines in which you stick your tongue out at him in response. “I’m an innocent man who can do nothing bad. Ever. And here I am, being mistreated by the one who is supposed to love me until and beyond death. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry Luka,” you press a kiss to his sore, red cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin before hugging him tighter. At the same time, you ignore the fact that he is a thirty year old man throwing a minor tantrum over you having fun being insufferable the same way he does on a daily basis. “Anyways, can I bite your face? I have a really bad urge to do that right now. Actually, I don’t need your permission.”

“Hey! I have a show tomorrow, you know? My fans are going to be disappointed if I appear with teeth marks on my face. What will the public think—ow!”

“Hehe, you’re so cute like this.”

“At least bite the other side to even it out,” Luka sighs and turns his head. 

“I knew you loved me.”

[momo-minomo]

Fic Fairy Friday: Batfam Valentines Special

Happy Valentines Day everyone! I wanted to post this earlier today but I'm sick and now it's the very END of Valentines Day but it's the thought that counts, right? Here are a nice handful of ships for Tim, Jason, and Bruce. Enjoy!

Tim Ships

(TimKon) under the small fire of winter stars by merils

Summary:

In winter, Metropolis gets an average of nine hours of sunlight daily. In the aftermath of a fight with Metallo, Kon is so exhausted he forgets about date night. Tim doesn't seem particularly upset about it, though. OR: "Why Doting On Your Solar-Powered Boyfriend Who Needs To Photosynthesize More Is A Totally Acceptable Date Night Activity": a treatise by Tim Drake.

(TimKon) all the quiet nights you bear by merils

Summary:

Kon has a rough day. Tim is determined to take care of him. After all, he didn't memorize all the variations of Kon's curl routine for nothing, now, did he?

Momo's Notes: This two fics by merils are an indulgence I couldn't resist including. I have a huge weak spot for lovers just taking care of each other on a hard day and they are adorable.

(TimKon) midnight sun by merils

Summary: Who would win: four men with guns who just happened to get Red Robin to walk into a trap, or one royally-pissed Kryptonian juggernaut? Yeah, it's not even a contest.

Momo's Notes: Yep! Another one by merils! I couldn't help myself! Tim is a certified badass who's absolutely terrifying and all of the bats are the most dangerous mofos in the room on any hero team but they aren't invincible. Sometimes they get in over the heads or just get unlucky. So having a bat in trouble and it making one of the Supers go absolutely feral? Swoonworthy!

(TimKon) Nicknames by MieczyslawS

Summary:

He scrubbed at his face, letting the soft wool pull him out of his brain funk, he sighed and mentally prepared himself to stare at the stalagmites until Bart and Superboy woke up. “Rob?” Tim spun around to see Superboy standing in the doorway, “ya alright?” he mumbled, blinking sluggishly. Tim, Kon and their nicknames over the years.

Momo's Notes: I'm a comics nerd so seeing little snapshots of Tim and Kon's relationship over the years from early Young Justice onward as they slowly grow closer? Love it!

(TimKon) daylight by dreamrecurrentdreams

Summary:

Seeing Tim again was confirmation of how much he’d liked hearing his name in Tim’s mouth, the way Tim’s pretty, pink lips shape around Kon, how he imbues it with so much emotion each time. Kon’s heard him say it every which way. At the start, when things were rocky, it was Superboy laced with frustration, ground under Tim’s gritted teeth, seconds from snapping because he had Tim at his wits’ end. Then, over time, it became Conner , falling out of Tim’s mouth naturally, seamless like their teamwork as they fought side by side through thick and thin. Kon, rounded with unshakable trust from the third Robin, a cynic trained to never let down his guard by Batman himself. Kon , impossibly soft with fondness from a boy with sharp eyes and pointy elbows. Kon wants Tim to keep calling his name, in other ways too. He wants.

Momo's Notes: Daylight feels like the perfect companion piece to Nicknames. And this one has a little spiciness at the end lol

(TimBerKon) a study by bernard dowd by cv_angels

Summary: Bernard opens the laptop, spinning it to face Tim with a flourish. It’s a powerpoint with a truly hideous red background, and Tim feels a moment of relief that Bernard isn’t breaking up with him before he registers the words on the slide.REASONS WHY TIMOTHY DRAKE-WAYNE IS A SUPERHERO, A STUDY BY BERNARD DOWD. - Based on my post on tumblr: "I’m obsessed with the idea that Bernard like. Figures out that Tim is a superhero but guesses the wrong one. Like he compiles all this evidence and makes a PowerPoint and presents it to Tim and is like “Tim. I figured it out. You’re Impulse.”"

Momo's Notes: I had to add a TimBerKon fic on here! There's just something adorable about Kon lamenting he missed his chance for the love of his life and Bernard being quick to jump on the "Tim has two hands" bandwagon!

Jason Ships

(Jason Todd/Tonystark/Bucky Barnes) Do Every Stupid Thing by thepartyresponsible Summary:

Jason doesn’t mean for the Winter Soldier to be a present for Tony Stark. The youngest Stark isn’t supposed to be involved at all. The plan is simple: intervene before the Winter Soldier can murder Howard and Maria, tranq the Winter Soldier until he’s sufficiently incapacitated, and then drag him off for further study and let the Starks carry on with their fraught, bourgeoisie bullshit.

Momo's Notes: This is a crossover but it's so damn good I had to include it. Basically while seeking answers about his own resurrection, Jason ends up accidentally falling in love with a feisty young Tony Stark and the Winter fucking Soldier. The series follows their relationship as Jason accidentally adopts first them, then Coulson and a teenaged Clint Barton, and later a teenaged Natasha as well. The alternating camaraderie and friction between The Batfamily and Jason's SHIELD team/found family is interesting and the side pairing of Clint and Tim being awkward flirty teenagers at each other while Jason is disgusted by how sweet they are is adorable.

(JayRoy) If your real dad isn't present store bought is fine by Here_we_go

Summary:

“Daddy!” the voice screams and suddenly something collides with Jason’s legs. He looks down, it’s a child, black hair, brown eyes, tiny little overalls and a tiny little backpack. She’s clinging to his legs and she’s definitely talking to him. What the shit? “See?" She shouts pointing, "My daddy's here now and he's going to fuck you up!" Jason looks up and sees a grown man, now stopped in his tracks, clearly having been following the girl. Jason doesn’t know what the fuck is going on here, but he doesn’t like it one fucking bit. - Jason goes to Star City to rub out a gang that's been getting too cocky back in Gotham. Things don't quite go according to plan. For JayRoy week day 2: Fatherhood/Family Dinner

Momo's Notes: This is a short little meet cute without a lot of romance but I'm including it because all love starts somewhere and these three are such an adorable family unit. I plan to do a full rec list for them of some point. Lian is so clever and feisty she runs circles around everyone. I love her. That goon better thank his lucky stars that Jason won't kill in front of a kid because he 100% he had it coming.

Bruce Ships

(BatCat) We, So Much Older by LemonadeGarden

Summary:

Selina Kyle doesn't particularly like children. They're too noisy and stupid and they cry way too much. Bruce's kids though, they're something else altogether.

Momo's Notes: This one is really cute. Despite her protests about not being mother material, Selena only ever falls in love with Bruce in this fic because he's a good dad. Bruce's emotional walls and facades are good enough that, at first, she can only see the best parts of Bruce when he's with his kids. And as time goes on, they bring out the best in her for Bruce to marvel at, as well.

(SuperBat) On the Way Down by TimmyJaybird

Summary:

A series of uninvited guests finally get Clark to confront Bruce about all the feelings he's harbored for years.

Momo's Notes: This fic and the Selena one both show my weakness for Bruce's kids interfering in their dad's love life because he's too emotionally stunted to do it himself lol. Poor Clark is doomed to have spooky ninja kids show up to fix things when Bruce is too busy wallowing in his own man-pain to be a functional adult about his relationships. I also love the respectful way fandom treats Lois in SuperBat fics.

(SuperBat) Loading and Aspect Ratio by JUBE514

Summary:

So, it didn’t start out like this. Alfred would scoff at the statement, about how Bruce was trying to justify the whole situation to himself. It had started out as a simple design, black everything with black outlines and black hood. It got a little more intense as the world went on, got wind of his ghost on the streets, and became scared of The Bat . So Bruce got a little more creative with it, Alfred and him had a good laugh over the name, the scare, and Alfred had a vicious streak of humor that he had passed onto his ward- So now the suit had a visible bat-theme, an insignia to drape in the shadows and to paint across the streets of Gotham. It only took a year into the whole charade of heroism for Bruce to overhear a conversation between some goons- some low level thug hired by the Riddler this week- about nothing at all pertaining to what the hell the Riddler was doing in the sewers but instead: “ The Batman can fly, you know, I’ve seen his wings.” -- A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.

Momo's Notes: There are no words for how much I love this fic. I've re-read it dozens of times. In year one of being Batman he gets the idea from some goons' chatter to add wings to the Batsuit but it's only when Dick joins him that he makes them fully functional AS wings rather than an Bruce being unable to help himself from being as dramatic as possible while committing to the bit. The SuperBat content is slowburn and I freaking love how into Bruce Clark is. It's like Bruce is a walking, talking kink button specifically built for Clark and his pov has these delicious little inhuman things sprinkled in like he can smell the leather of the suits and the dye on their wings from across the room. There's also a lot of amazing Batfam stuff with good dad!Bruce and Dick, Jason, and Tim being thick as thieves. Just as a warning, though, there is one pet peeve about this fic and it's that the author misspells Lois' name as Louis every time and never fixed it. It's minor, tho, and Lois isn't on screen very often.

(SuperBat) Clark Kent and his Robins (and his favorite Bat) by Zell_Hatoule

Summary:

Due to shenanigans that Clark cannot possibly comprehend, let alone understand, Bruce has somehow talked him into being Batman for a week. And then it keeps happening. Or. How Clark Kent and Batman choose to protect what they love.

Momo's Notes: Bruce and Clark balance each other out beautifully in this. They keep each other honest, remind each other to keep being men under the symbols, master tag team parenting, and there's playfulness between them that you don't often get to see in a Bruce pairing. This is a softer universe than our regular canon since here Bruce and Clark don't allow the job to take over their lives. They're heroes but they're fathers and lovers first and that makes all the difference to each other, to the Robins, and to certain multi-verse refugees who deserved better than what they got in their own elseworld AU.

[slasherscream]

really wish people would read blog rules more, it makes running blogs like this very low reward and you feel like a machine if people aren't commenting and aren't even abiding by one of the, honestly, very few and politely phrased rules i even have

[milo-is-rambling]

I can’t even imagine living without anxiety. Like. How. What?

[ridingthatd]

𝐌𝐑. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

you didn't know nanami could be so kinky? testing his limit till he's angry seemed to trigger something in him

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 nanami kento x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 heavy breeding kink, a loooot of cùm, squirting, rough s, angry nanami, possessive, jealousy, angry s, choking, talking you through it, creampies, cùm play, period s, eating your p out till it's swollen, man handling, pet names, daddy nanami , cervix kissing, spitting, kinky, very very smutty

nanami was the sweetest boyfriend anyone could ask for. he would treat you with so much gentility. affection. love.

nanami was really the definition of a gentleman. gentle kisses on your forehead. long big arms folding you close to his chest. muttering nothing but sweet things. breakfast made by him, helping you serve dinner then gently place you on his huge thighs teasingly biting the sensitive part of your neck ripping a sweet giggle out of you. giving you massages to your feet after a long day of wearing heels- kissing the top of your feet while he gently rub the soreness out of it.

nanami was such a man, the aura around him screamed musculanity. muscles surrounded every inch of his body, you weren't really shocked by that since you would wake up to grunting and groaning sounds every morning at 4am- sounds coming from your man as he do his push ups shirtless, biceps flexing each time he goes up-down. up-down. it was such a drooling sight that it had your pussy clenching everytime.

as if nanami could feel your eyes on him. he would stop- taking in a deep breath then slowly get up to take a glance at you. you slowly trail your eyes from the sweat that's dripping from his forehead. to his biceps just to slide across his abs to the delicious v line. grey pants hanging lowly against his hips-failing to hide his boxer the same boxer that's hiding the thick, juicy cock, outlined in his grey pants that's already hard from the attention you're giving him.

"hm" nanami hummed lowly while making his way towards you, trailing his hands under the cover of the blanket just to get ahold of your thighs, squeeze them. he has made it his daily routine to have his special- what he calls after work out protein from you every morning. you slowly spread your legs for him to crawl in, he didn't have to remove any clothes from your gorgeous body- because you were already bared and naked for him. only wearing a shirt- his shirt since nanami made it clear that he doesn't like his food to be enveloped.

nanami has always had a quite liking to your breast- he always manage to give them extra attention no matter where you are or what you are doing.

he says it restore his energy- especially after a long exhausting day at work, as soon as he opens the door of the apartment you both share- he walks straight to where you are cooking dinner at the kitchen, he gently lifts you up, and place you on the counter- you just sit there running your finger tips through his hair smoothing it out. he lifts whatever shirt you're wearing and immediately lash into your nipples letting out a groan as if he was a starved man and your nipples was his first meal.

nanami might be your sweet boyfriend. but deep inside you knew there's a side- maybe sides of him, he doesn't wanna show you. after all you have only been together for a few months.

at first you never questioned that. you never questioned the sweetness of your boyfriend. you never questioned the gentleness of your boyfriend.

you wake up at 4am as always but this time- it wasn't because of your boyfriend. it was because of the intense pain you're feeling in your belly- of course it's your period cramps. you groan and burry your head into your pillow-to in pain to notice that nanami has already made his way towards you- crawling into the bed ready to take his protein.

he gently rub your feets giving you a hint to spread your legs- and let him lap on your sweet pink pussy.

"not today nanami, im on my period" you tiredly mumble, to exhaust.

nanami raise an eyebrow up.

"and? i don't mind licking your blood soaked pussy- it's still a natural fluid, coming from your little pussy that I wanna drink on".

he horsely say- clearly indicating that he also just woke up a couple minutes ago.

"ew no nanami that's gross" you say pushing

his hands away with your feets- little did you know that this action activated a side of nanami that you have never experienced.

"so you're denying me from having my pussy?" nanami says through clenched teeth, clearly not happy that you denied him what's his.

you frown caught of guard by the tone of his voice- you have never seen nanami mad or displeased at you before. he's always so gentle and understanding about everything when it comes to you.

you hold your face up from your pillow taking a look at him- standing at the edge of the bed with a blank expression on his face that you can't seem to read.

"I asked you a question y/n. are you denying me from what's mine?" he says sternly as if the next thing you say might be the death of you.

yet you still playfully roll your eyes at him and bring your face back into your pillow mumbling a "it's my pussy, not yours"

it goes silent for a moment you assumed that your boyfriend went to the bathroom to get ready for his work- but oh you were dead wrong.

you let out a gasp as you feel a strong hand firmly hold your hair, pulling your face out the pillow- it wasn't strong enough to hurt but it was sure enough to sting.

your head was turned around to face no one other then nanamis face.

"nanami-" you were cut off by your boyfriend tsking at you.

"I see now what it is- do I have to teach my little baby a lesson? make sure she knows that this pussy is very much mine?".

you stare at him utterly confused- scared because that's completely off for nanami.

"i-" again you were cut off by him shushing you while bringing your face closer to his by your hair.

"you don't utter a word out of this pretty mouth of yours if you don't want daddy getting more mad at you baby".

for some reason the insanity in his face make your pussy throb- you have never thought you would see nanami this way- viens popping out of his hands and neck, hair slightly messy, while his scary-angry eyes are staring at you like they wanna devour you.

you were used to nanami soft gaze at you but this- this was completely new. you were snapped back to him when you felt an aggressive pull at your hair that made you groan out.

"do you understand?" nanami spit out, you node eagerly clenching your thighs together-turned on by whatever is happening right now.

and nanami seems to notice that.

"aw my little baby's pussy is needy for me?" he aws at your pussy as if he's speaking to a baby- he realise your hair out of his grip and instead he holds both of your legs into his shoulder-holding your lower half body up in the air close to his face.

your shirt goes down from gravity exposing you fully- you're basically naked right now in front of his hungry eyes. pussy and ass so close to his face you can feel his warm breath against your pussy.

he groans out as he slowly pulls out your tampon and throw it into the trashcan next to your bed- your mind is to hazy and drung off pleasure to even care about what he just did.

you can feel his hand trailing up your stomach till it reachs your breast and he tugs hard on your nipple ripping a moan out of you- you arch your pussy into his face desperate for something- anything.

he trails his nose up to your pussy down to your ass sniffing everywhere- claiming what's his-then he lashes into your pussy his tongue is restless. lapping at every bit of you- to much to much you think. you couldn't help letting out a sniffle from how sensitive you're because of your period.

"is my baby sensitive?" he groans out trailing his tongue to your ass- as his eyes role behind his head.

you throw your head back and moan out at the ceiling-clearly to much for you to even form a sentence.

"mhm it's okay. daddy is gonna make you coat his cock with your blood and juice first before letting you cum" he says as he free his cock out, stroaking it hard as he lean in-

"open your mouth for me baby" he whispers and you obey without hesitation.

nanami purse his lips and spit in your mouth, warm, wet spit hit your tongue and you swallow it all- nanami let out a whimper at the sight clearly going insane over this.

he slowly line up his cock on your puffy pink pussy, sliding in so fast. so hard. your pussy immediately squeeze around his dick like you're tryna strangel him. nanami couldn't help taking your little suck-covered feets close to his face and groan out into them. the little gasps and mewls that escape your puffy lips make nanamis mouth dry. He begins fucking his hips up.

nanami curses, head tipping back, Every little curl and twitch of your toes, every feel of your curved arch has him dizzy with need. He feels his blood hot beneath his skin, abdomen tightening with an overwhelming lust.

"fuck," he growls, fucking you sloppy and he almost can't recognize himself. It's exhilarating.

"faster, baby, shit-faster. I'm almost there, just a bit—nngh—a bit more."

his words come out in heavy pants, but you rapidly nod along like his perfect girl. You squeeze around his dick as you cum,eyes rolling and he just watches himself slide in you, cursing and grunting until the tension that's built inside of him completely snaps, he pulls out and he comes with a long moan. his come spurts up, more than usual and landing on your toes and top of your feet.

nanami thinks he blacks out for a few seconds.

"nanami" you suddenly breath out, making him to open his eyes just for them to turn dark as he watchs you slowly swiping your finger on your cum covered socks- covered with his cum, before you place it inside of your mouth, so sweetly sucking it, nanami groans, his cock is already hard again, ready to splash you with his cum again.

and suddenly he has the urge to suck his juices off from your sock. So he does. lightly grasping your ankle, kento ignores your little yelp as he licks from the bottom of your foot to your toes. your sock is soft against his tongue, pressed so close to your skin, and then kento tastes his own come. moaning, he takes your toes into his mouth, sucking the small digits and pressing the tip of his tongue in between.

[mayspicer]

Mmm nothing like a good old full blown panic attack, I haven't had one in years. This time at least I have access to medication to make it stop a lot faster, but I have 6 pills left for the next 2,5 months and the recent trends in my mental state are not looking good.

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[kavehayati]

If things keep going wrong like this I’ll soon become like the xiao-less people in 2021 ;-;

[kateschi]

back in action

synopsis: being the wife of bakugou katsuki comes with multiple benefits, one of which is a front-row seat to his scrumptious back.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i know at least 2/3 of you have seen that figurine

you swear there’s no better sight in this world than katsuki bakugou’s back.

not the view from your honeymoon suite in santorini, not the sparkling ocean from your vacation in okinawa—hell, not even the perfect strawberry shortcake you baked last weekend.

no, none of that compares to the sheer beauty that is your husband’s ridiculously broad, wonderfully sculpted, unfairly muscular back.

the way his muscles shift under his skin when he moves? art.

the ripple of strength as he stretches? divine.

the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulders after an intense workout? a masterpiece.

and, as if the gods of attractiveness hadn’t blessed him enough, the scars that mark his skin only add to his allure.

each one tells a story of battles fought and won, of heroism that the world praises but he humbly shrugs off. to you, those scars aren’t just symbols of strength—they’re proof of his resilience, his dedication, his heart.

so, yes. you are absolutely obsessed with your husband’s back, and no, you don’t care how shameless that makes you.

“katsuki,” you call from the couch, chin propped up on your hands as you shamelessly watch him rummage through the fridge.

he’s in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his shirt? nowhere to be found.

a completely intentional choice on his part, because he knows exactly how weak you are for him like this. “did anyone ever tell you that you’ve got the best back in the entire universe?”

he pauses, a carton of orange juice in one hand and an eyebrow raised in your direction. “you tell me that every damn day.”

“well, I mean it every damn day.”

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother hiding the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re such a weirdo.”

“damn right,” you shoot back, grinning when he snorts. “come here. let me look at it properly.”

“what, my back?” his expression is one part exasperation, two parts amusement as he shuts the fridge and leans against the counter, arms crossed. “the hell do you need to ‘look’ at it for?”

“because it’s a work of art, obviously,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “and I haven’t had my daily dose of admiring you yet.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face like you’re the most exhausting person on the planet, but he still walks over to you without another word. you can tell he’s secretly enjoying this, though.

“alright, idiot. knock yourself out.” he turns around, presenting you with the full, glorious view of his back.

your eyes immediately light up. “oh my god, it’s perfect.”

“it’s a back,” he deadpans.

“no, no, no. it’s the back,” you insist, reaching out to lightly trace your fingers along the curve of his shoulder blades.

he tenses slightly under your touch—his body always reacts before his mind can catch up—but quickly relaxes as you continue your impromptu “admiration session.”

“you’ve got no idea how unfair this is,” you mumble, running your hands down the defined lines of his lats. “how am I supposed to focus on anything when you look like this?”

“you’re ridiculous.” he’s shaking his head, but you can hear the way his voice softens, the way the edges of his usual gruffness smooth out when he talks to you like this.

it’s a few days later, and you're lounging on the couch, flicking through your phone when you hear him coming from the hallway, the sound of his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

katuski’s been in the gym for a couple of hours, and you can already hear the deep exhale he lets out as he moves closer, his breath still heavy from the workout.

"guess who's back," you say, looking up just in time to see him walking into the living room, wearing only a towel around his waist, his body glistening with sweat from his workout.

he pauses for a moment when he sees your face—wide-eyed and full of admiration, already zeroing in on that perfect, chiseled back. his muscles tense as he moves, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

"really?" he says, voice dripping with disbelief. "you still on about this?"

“can’t help it,” you say, setting your phone aside and leaning back against the cushions, fully prepared to watch him, unashamed. "I’m just amazed that someone like you exists in the world."

katuski rolls his eyes, but there's a soft chuckle that escapes him, betraying his indifference. "yeah, well, quit starin'."

"I can’t help it," you reply, your voice a playful purr as you look him up and down. "I mean, who else looks this good after a workout?"

he tilts his head to the side, his signature scowl starting to form, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“quit actin’ like I’m some kinda showpiece, alright?” he grumbles, though you can hear the lighthearted edge to his voice.

you laugh, clearly enjoying yourself too much. "sorry, can’t help it.”

later that week, you and katuski are out on patrol, both suited up in your respective hero uniforms.

it's business as usual—rescuing civilians, stopping some petty criminals, and making sure the city is safe.

the sun’s setting, painting the skyline in beautiful oranges and purples, but you're still laser-focused on one thing: his back.

it's a total accident—really, it is—but when you're standing next to him after you’ve just subdued a villain, you can't help but sneak a glance at the broad expanse of his back.

you feel that familiar pull to reach out, to trace the powerful lines of his shoulder blades again.

“don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice low and gruff as he catches the glint of mischief in your eyes.

you smile innocently, taking a step closer. "what? I was just going to—"

"not here. we’re in the damn public," katuski growls, his sharp gaze snapping to yours as his fingers tighten around his gauntlet. "you really think I’m gonna let you paw at me in front of everyone?"

you laugh, unbothered by his obvious annoyance. "I’m not pawing at you, I’m admiring you. there's a difference, katsuki."

his jaw tightens as he glares at you, his usual frown deepening. "that’s the same damn thing."

you can’t help but grin, even though he’s clearly not having it.

but, deep down, you know that katuski secretly loves it. sure, he’s tough and grumpy in front of the public, but you both know how soft he gets when you're alone, how he indulges you without hesitation.

so, you take one last daring step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, letting your fingers brush along the fabric of his uniform.

he’s about to bark at you to stop, but you just flash him a quick, mischievous grin, and that’s all it takes for him to roll his eyes, muttering under his breath, "unbelievable."

and katsuki was right in his reprimand cause you were breaking the headlines the very next day.

for all the wrong reasons.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[mohammeddawood]

Hello...My name is Mohammad Dawood, I’m 18 years old, and I’m from Gaza.

Like every family here, mine lived a simple life full of daily challenges, but we always found a way to livece. That was until the recent war, which left us with nothing but painful memories.

During those dark days, we lived in constant fear. Every night, we would hear the sounds of bombs getting closer, and the drone of planes overhead never ceased. We huddled together in a small corner of our old house, praying to survive. My younger siblings' eyes were filled with tears and terror. One night, the worst happened. A sudden missile strike tore through our home and shattered our dreams. Thankfully, every member of my family survived, but we lost everything we owned.

My father, Nabeel, who worked tirelessly to provide for us, lost his workshop in the bombing. I also lost my small job, which helped support our large family. All the savings we had quickly ran out, and we found ourselves homeless.

We were relocated to an unfinished school in Gaza. This school is not fit for human habitation. There is no roof to protect us from the rain or the heat, no clean water to drink, and we live in inhumane conditions. The children can't attend school because theirs was destroyed, and even the simplest things, like a peaceful night’s sleep, have become a luxury we can no longer afford.

My brother Youssef, who is 12, cannot sleep at night because of the sounds of explosions that still haunt him. My little sister Hala, who is only 6, asks me every day, “When are we going back to our home?” and I have no answer for her. My youngest brother Mahmoud, who is 3, no longer knows what it means to play or laugh. The war has robbed them of their childhood and taken everything from us.

My mother Suha tries to remain strong, but we all know how exhausted she is. Every day we wake up to the same nightmare, not knowing when this suffering will end. We live without security, without a clear future. Life here is filled with fear and uncertainty.

We are now in desperate need of help. We need to build a new home, to provide a safe haven for my siblings and my family, to have a chance to live with dignity. Your support can restore the hope we lost and give us a new chance at life.

Your donation, no matter how small, can make a huge difference in our lives. Help us overcome this hardship and build a better future..

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you were accommodated in such a shabby hotel, the last thing you needed was a power outage. and upon learning about one of your colleagues' fear of the dark, you can't bring yourself to not help him

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, spencer is afraid of the dark and the reader comforts him, they comfort each other tbh, elle&morgan my fav duo, glasses reid obvi.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.7k

𝐚/𝐧: these are my official apologies for all the recent stories 🫶🏼 i wanted it to be so much shorter but i just love writing conversations between characters so that's how it turned out. @mggslover i'm so sorry for not adding spencer falling off the bed but i didn't want to ruin that subtle ending :(( maybe next time

"Please, I’m begging you, I’m really begging you—begging in the name of a god I don’t even believe in. Tell me we’ve got the wrong address," Morgan said, squeezing his eyes shut the moment you all crossed the threshold of the motel where you'd been assigned to stay while working on the case in another state.

You noticed Elle’s expression falter as well. From the outside, the place hadn’t looked that bad. Well, perhaps it only seemed that way because the street it was on was so dark you couldn’t make out much of anything. Midnight must have been approaching; the first day of the investigation was officially over.

“We didn’t get it wrong,” Reid declared, stepping inside as the last of you, quickly scanning the interior. “I memorized it perfectly. Besides, there aren’t any other accommodations in the area, so this has to be it.”

“Do you remember that one case,” Elle started, “where the unsub killed women in hotel rooms and decorated the interiors with their intestines?”

You glanced at her, curious—or as curious as you could be under the circumstances. You’d only joined the team fairly recently; this was your third or fourth case at most, and none of them had been quite that… gruesome. Of course, you were well aware cases like that happened. It was only a matter of time before one came your way. Unfortunately.

“This motel totally looks like the kind of place where something like that happens on a daily basis,” Elle continued. “My advice? Don’t look under the beds tonight. Or in the closets, if there even are any.”

“I just hope there’s hot water,” Derek sighed, his voice carrying a tone of resignation. “We once ended up in a place that didn’t have any. I almost handed in my resignation.”

“You deal with gruesome murders every day, but no hot water is too much for you, Princess?” you raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as you made your way toward the reception desk to pick up your room keys. The motel’s walls were yellow—not the cheerful sunflower or sunny kind of yellow, but more like dried-up cat pee yellow.

“He’s got a point, though,” Elle chimed in, taking the key from an elderly woman at the reception desk. “Think about it. You come back after a long, grueling day, from dawn to midnight, just like today. You’re exhausted, barely standing, and you can’t even take a hot shower.”

Morgan pointed at her and nodded in agreement. You shrugged.

“Cold isn’t that bad,” you muttered. Honestly, you hadn’t expected anything luxurious from the place you’d been sent to. It was just a few days, after all.

“Oh, are you one of those people practicing that millionaire morning routine?” Derek teased. “You know—waking up at three, cold shower, steak for breakfast, daily planning, self-help book…”

I just grew up poor, you thought to yourself, but aloud you only let out a short laugh.

“I’d kill to have time to read a book before work. Any book. Not to be yanked out of bed by Hotch at five, like today, and scrambling to get out the door.”

Elle and Morgan exchanged a very brief look, almost secretive. You narrowed your eyes, suspicion suddenly welling up inside you. Before you could ask about it, someone else spoke up.

“He called me at half past six,” Reid said, tilting his head in mild confusion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the others silencing him with a look.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you stopped in your tracks, demanding an explanation. “He called me half an hour earlier than the rest of you?”

“You live farther away.”

“We’re practically neighbors, Elle Greenaway.”

“I’m about to drop,” Derek suddenly interjected with theatrical exhaustion. A change of subject. A not-so-subtle change of subject. “If I don’t lie down soon, I’ll fall asleep standing up. See you all tomorrow, folks.”

“You’re absolutely right—sleep well.”

With that, he and Elle headed up the stairs to the third floor, where they’d been assigned rooms. You and, as it turned out, Reid were staying on the second floor.

You turned to him slowly, arms crossed over your chest.

You didn’t even need to say anything—your stern gaze alone made it clear you were waiting for an explanation. Reid looked like he was about to throw his hands up in a defensive gesture, clearly regretting that he’d brought up the topic at all.

“Okay,” he sighed nervously. “What I’m about to say is not meant to offend you in any way, not even the slightest…”

“Offend?” you repeated, furrowing your brow. “Jesus Christ, Reid, don’t look at me like that—I’m not about to punch you in the face…”

“It’s just…” he began, a little calmer now. “All of us, including Hotch, I assume, are aware of the fact that, occasionally—just sometimes—you have a slight tendency to…run a bit late to work.”

He looked at you, and a telling silence fell between you.

"Yesterday, you were fourteen and a half minutes late."

"Fifteen minutes doesn't count as being late. And have you heard of a grace period? It's allowed to arrive within that time frame, without any consequences."

"Fine. What about two days ago, twenty-one minutes and seventeen..."

"Metro malfunction. I had no control over that."

"And six days ago, on Tuesday? Twenty-four minutes and..."

"I don’t remember such a situation, because, Mr. Big Brain, not all of us have such a memory. But I assume there was a reason..."

"Alright, fine," Reid interrupted you calmly. "I’m not saying there wasn’t a reason. But still... it happens quite often, and that's a fact. So it’s no surprise that Hotch, when the situation especially calls for it, prefers to call you a little earlier than the rest. Just out of caution."

You sighed, no longer able to argue about it. Maybe he was right; you did sometimes lose track of time in the mornings or fail to wake up to the sound of your alarm, closing your eyes for an extra five minutes... which resulted in small delays. You had never been directly reprimanded for it, so you were unaware that it had become such a big issue. Slightly embarrassed, you pressed your lips together.

"As usual, I guess you're right. And by the way, I’m heading to my room. I had thirty minutes less sleep than all of you, I’m exhausted," you said in a lighter, joking tone. A brief smile crossed Reid’s face. "Good night, wise guy.”

"Good night. And don’t look under the bed."

"Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it!"

With those words, you both disappeared into rooms directly opposite each other. The sounds of doors closing synchronized. You started your usual evening routine, placing your suitcase in the corner of the room. It was really small, narrow, and rectangular. The walls had that same awful color, the light was too bright, causing a headache. So you decided to just turn on the night lamp on the shabby nightstand next to the single bed.

It turned out that the only bathroom was in the hallway. You almost cried; you didn't want to take all your things with you and then come back with them. You remembered that you'd taken a proper shower that morning, so maybe a repeat wasn’t absolutely necessary. You were too sleepy for it, so you just set the alarm for fifteen minutes earlier to do it in the morning. After changing into comfortable clothes, you immediately lay down on the bed. Following Elle’s advice, and then Reid’s too, you didn’t check what might be hiding under it.

You weren’t hiding it, you were a terrible sleeper. Falling asleep in new places usually wasn’t a problem for you, even if it was a place that looked like a dive where someone could stab you in your sleep. But that night, something was bothering you. After giving it some thought, you realized it was Reid’s words.

Of course, it wasn’t that you held it against him. He was just stating facts; he had no intention of offending you, as he assured. And you didn’t even feel offended. More like unpleasantly confronted with a certain fact. You had only been part of the BAU for a short time. Well, just a week ago Derek stopped calling you the new girl. Although on the outside, you came across as very confident, on the inside, you were preoccupied with the team’s opinion of you and what they might think about you. Mainly because they were all older and more experienced.

You were especially worried about the fact that your tardiness and chaos had drawn the boss’s attention. Being on good terms with your superior was incredibly important, in case something ever happened, in case you made a more serious mistake…those small things could influence how the rest of your career would unfold, and the decisions made about you.

But above all, you wanted everyone to like you. Simply like you. So you wouldn’t walk around every day with your heart in your throat, praying for the day to end, constantly overwhelmed by a sense of misfit and loneliness.

You turned to your side, not sure how long you had been lying there, thinking. Suddenly, you realized you had to pee.

With great reluctance and sleepiness, you reached for the bedside lamp to turn it on and go to the bathroom. However, when you tugged at the cord, it... didn’t turn on. The room remained shrouded in darkness. You tried once more, then blindly made your way to the light switch in the room. You pressed it, and nothing.

What was going on, a power outage?

You shook your head in confusion. Whatever was going on, it didn’t change the fact that you had to go to the bathroom. You remembered the flashlight in your jacket pocket, and in the darkness, it took you a while to find it. When you finally had it in your hand, you felt ready to complete the mission. To pee, that is.

The moment you stepped out into the hallway, a light source flared up right before your eyes. You let out a muffled exclamation, partly from surprise, partly from being almost blinded.

“Damn, sorry…” Reid hissed, equally confused, turning his flashlight downward, away from your face.

You rubbed your eyelids, turning off your flashlight. Two light sources were unnecessary.

“Is there no power for you too?” you asked.

Reid nodded. It was only then that you really looked at him—he was wearing very loose pajama pants and...

“Cute,” you clicked your tongue, pointing at his white sweater with a bear wearing glasses. He had them too, worn very low on his nose. He must have put them on absentmindedly, in the dark, right after getting out of bed.

“I got it from Penelope for my birthday,” he said in a tone as if he were giving a statement. His hand briefly touched the fabric, right at the center of the brown bear’s face. “It’s really comfortable and soft. Perfect for sleeping...Anyway, I was heading to the reception to find out what the issue is and whether anything can be done about it. You too?”

"No, I just really need to pee. Do you really want to go there at this hour?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I mean, outages happen, and they'll have to fix it, but it's the middle of the night. We don't really need the lights right now, and if you want to go to the bathroom, you have a flashlight, as I can see."

You kept your gaze on him, realizing that since he noticed the lack of light, he must have been either heading somewhere himself or keeping the light on. Or maybe he had been sleeping with the light on. He did seem a bit tense. One of his hands was still resting on the half-open door, nervously gripping it. The other was pressed tightly to his body, his chest rising in an odd rhythm. Not a quickened pace, like with a panic attack, but more unnatural, like he was trying to control it.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" the question slipped out of you directly. After a moment, you realized it might have been a little too blunt. You had asked it carelessly, suspecting there might be another reason behind his behavior. For some reason, fear of the dark didn’t seem to fit his rational character.

Reid quickly shook his head, firmly denying it.

"No. No, of course not. I was just... reading when the light went out."

Oh, you didn’t even need to be a profiler to see right away that he was lying. You crossed your arms, a little amused by how stubbornly he was denying it.

"You were reading? At this hour? When we’re back to the investigation first thing tomorrow morning?"

He shrugged, shaking his head again.

"I couldn’t sleep."

You sighed. In the end, neither his fear nor his shame were your concern, so you didn’t see the point in interrogating him any further. You signaled that you were dropping the subject, and some expression passed across his face. Gratitude. Gratitude for not pushing the issue or mocking him. You felt a bit offended that he had even thought you might do that.

“If you still plan on going to the reception, wait for me, I’ll go with you. I just need to quickly stop by the bathroom.”

Reid opened his mouth, clearly surprised by your suggestion.

“Well, what?” you replied with a shrug. “I can’t let something eat you on the way. A demonic hand emerging from the darkness…”

“Very funny,” he commented, rolling his eyes. However, the corner of his mouth twitched, and his breathing seemed calmer.

“…The ghost of Richard Ramirez haunting the walls of this hotel. Or some other bloodthirsty maniac.“

"Didn't you really have to pee badly?"

"The team wouldn’t recover from losing you, Reid!" You threw that line over your shoulder as you walked toward the bathroom.

Of course, there was no light there either, so you had to use your flashlight. He was waiting for you, and together, in silence, you headed down the stairs toward the reception. Given how small the motel was, it wasn’t open 24/7. You had to wait a while before someone came to assist you.

“That happens sometimes,” the employee shrugged. “We’re not sure where the problem is exactly, but someone’s supposed to come check it out tomorrow…”

“Can’t anything be done about it now?” Reid asked, a trace of frustration in his voice that he was trying to mask—especially when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Maybe it’s just a simple overload? Where are the fuse boxes…?”

“Reid,” you said gently, placing a hand on his elbow to draw his full attention. He turned his head toward you, surprised by the tone of your voice. You gave the employee a discreet signal that you didn’t have any further questions and he could leave.

“You’re not fixing the electricity in some rundown motel. That would just be… ridiculous.”

“I’m not talking about fixing it,” he clarified quickly, though it was clear he hadn’t let go of the idea. “But in most cases, it’s just a simple short circuit. I could just take a look—”

“—Or you could just sleep in my room.”

The words left your mouth, surprising not only him but also yourself. Yet, it wasn’t as though you regretted them or wanted to take back the offer. On the contrary, the moment you said it out loud, it felt even more fitting. When you were a little kid—like most children, probably—you’d also been afraid of the dark, and running to someone else’s room always helped. Curling up beside someone, just knowing someone was there, made all the difference.

You watched his reaction, the way he shook his head slightly from side to side, a small frown creasing his forehead.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. Come on.” You grabbed him by the wrist—the hand not holding the flashlight—and pulled him along. He moved hesitantly, but he seemed too caught off guard to plant his feet and stay put.

He stopped only when you reached the door to your room, pulling his hand free from your grasp.

"How do you even imagine this working? There's... there's only one bed in there."

"If that bothers you, grab the mattress and some bedding from your room. You’ll hardly notice the difference—those beds are unbearably uncomfortable anyway."

He lowered the flashlight slightly, letting the surrounding darkness of the hallway creep over his face. It was barely visible now, but the hesitation etched on it was unmistakable. Standing across from him, you held his gaze without saying a word, silently reinforcing the fact that you weren’t joking.

The thought of him struggling to fall asleep for the rest of the night and then suffering through another day made you feel genuinely sorry for him. Besides, even though you hadn’t known each other long, you already considered him a sort of friend. If there was anything you could do to help, you wanted to do it.

"It's no big deal, Spencer," you reassured him one last time, hoping the words would finally sink in. "Really. And if you want... we don't ever have to talk about this again. Tomorrow, or ever."

His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath.

"Th-thank you," he said at last, cautiously, as though he'd packed so many thoughts into the single word that saying it out loud was an effort.

You smiled gently and understandingly. Before stepping into the room, you briefly placed a hand on his arm.

"Oh God, that sweater really is soft..."

He let out a short laugh, perhaps releasing a bit of the embarrassment he’d been holding back. You both disappeared into your respective rooms, and you lay down in bed, waiting for him to show up. Well, the moment dragged on a little too long.

You were almost certain he’d only agreed to your suggestion to get you off his back and had no intention of actually following through. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you debated whether to go to his room and drag him over or just let it go. They say you shouldn’t force help on others. Maybe there was some truth to that.

Shortly after that thought, your door creaked open slowly. You heard it but couldn’t see much—the room was too dark, and he wasn’t using his flashlight. Perhaps he assumed you were already asleep and didn’t want to risk waking you.

Either way, he moved around your bed to lay down a pillow and blanket on the floor, skipping the effort of hauling over an entire mattress. 

"Your back is going to hurt," you remarked softly, your voice adjusting to the rhythm of the night, blending with the surrounding darkness.

You lay on your side, facing the spot where he had set up his makeshift bed. All you could see was the outline of his figure, his hands clasped loosely over his stomach, head resting on the pillow. You even caught the slight shrug of his shoulders in response to your comment.

"Actually, sleeping on the floor can have health benefits. It helps maintain a neutral spine position," he replied.

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “Do you really have to come up with a counterargument for everything I say?”

“Such a curse of mine. If you don’t like it, well, you invited me here.”

“Annoying bastard. I guess it’s too late to kick you out?” you wondered aloud, of course, rhetorically. But you quickly added, worried that he might take it seriously, “Sleep well. You and your spine.”

An amused sigh escaped him.

 “You… and your spine too.”

Well, you guessed that's enough of the chit-chat. You felt a bit disappointed, but you had brought him here for a reason. To let him sleep, not to entertain you with conversation. To your surprise, you didn’t feel sleepy, even though you had struggled with it earlier. You had been thinking about... hard to even pinpoint what, there were a few things. The little worries typical of the night, suddenly growing to some huge proportions.

You were still lying in the same position, some time had passed. Your cheek was almost touching the edge of the bed, on the same side where Reid slept. Well, actually, he wasn’t sleeping. You could see a faint, barely noticeable gleam of his open eyes. They were cast downward, trying not to stare into the empty blackness above his head.

“Have you always been afraid of the dark?” you decided to ask, with no sarcasm.

“I’m not afraid,” he replied, though he could always pretend to be asleep. But the answer came out automatically.

“Alright, brave guy.” You didn’t even scoff, you just said it calmly and accepting. Maybe later he’ll tell you, when he stops being so embarrassed about it. “So, I guess you came here to get to know me better. And you know, I think you’ve got the chance. Could you... could you tell me something? Just honestly?”

"Me?" he asked, surprised, even sitting up slightly. "I mean... sure. But what?"

You suddenly sighed, regretting even bringing up the topic. God, that was so stupid...

"Just remember, honestly. Do you think the rest of the team likes me?"

Reid was silent, a strange feeling gathered in your stomach. Instead of answering negatively, he propped himself up on both elbows, and you saw a slight movement of his head. A nod.

"Are you asking this completely seriously?"

You shrugged, not sure if he noticed, so you confirmed out loud in a slightly hoarse voice. And then, to your absolute surprise, he just laughed.

"I don’t get it," he confessed after a short moment during which you stared in silence at his silhouette. "How... how could you think it could be any different? You’re always joking with Derek and Elle, and... we get along well too, I hope..."

"You’re right. But... but that’s not what I meant, I just... ugh, seriously, I can’t explain it. Fine, you know what, never mind."

You turned onto your back, as if that would completely sever the conversation. The one you’d stupidly started. You hoped he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Another stupid thought, after all, he wasn’t like that.

Silence again, broken only by breaths. A new sound joined them, a slight rustle of the sheets. When Reid spoke again, his voice sounded somehow higher, and you were sure he was sitting on the floor as he said it.

"It might be a little surprising, but when I was a kid, I wasn't afraid of the dark," he began, completely changing the tone of his voice. He wasn't surprised like before; it was lower, gentler, despite the topic he was addressing. "I mean, I wasn't afraid of it more than any other kid my age. That... that serious fear, the real fear, started later. I don't want to say it was when I started working for the BAU because that wouldn't be entirely true. But it was around the time I started taking everything seriously. Seeing it with my own eyes, every day."

You didn't even realize when you had turned back onto your side, just to look at him, listening to his words.

"Do you have nightmares?" you asked.

"Sometimes. Actually..." he sighed, swallowing. "All of it, the fear and the nightmares, it's like they don't exist when I'm in a place I know. A place I trust. I can sleep just fine with the lights off in my apartment, the same in a jet. Everything starts in places like this. “

There was silence from your side, and you felt a bit… touched that he decided to tell you this. No beating around the bush, no lying, and, most importantly, no overwhelming embarrassment. It was a normal topic after all; everyone has their fears.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you have nightmares?"

In the first few days after starting the job, you did. Then they stopped. That’s just how things go, you suppose.

"Not anymore," you admitted, letting out a small laugh. "But that doesn’t mean I sleep well. Now I just worry at night."

"About whether the team likes you?"

"Okay, I know it sounds childish, but it’s really been bothering me lately. They might… they might seem to like me, but deep down, they might not think that highly of me. I… I'm new, not that experienced, I’m always late, and I don’t think I’m bringing anything new to the table..."

"Of course, you’re bringing something," he interrupted you. You hadn’t noticed when, but you were both sitting up now. Your voices weren’t sleepy whispers anymore, you were having a real conversation. "Each of us brings something different, something characteristic of ourselves. That's how it works in a team. That’s why you’re here. Without you… okay, you might not know this, but since you’ve been here, these last four cases have gone much more smoothly."

"Do you really think so?" 

"Well, you asked me to be honest. Completely honest."

You've always had a bit of imposter syndrome, doubting your abilities, and approaching others' positive comments about you or your achievements with skepticism. 

Something in the way he spoke, his quick words, his engagement in them... made you believe him, somehow.

"Reid," you began, surprised to find that there was less weight in your chest, in your body. "I know, I just know, that you'll refuse, but still, I'll ask. Do you want to lie down with me?"

You didn't even know what exactly prompted the question. Caring about your back, you could answer. But was that really all it was?

For a moment, he was silent, thinking you were joking, but when it dawned on him that you weren't, he scoffed.

"Well, you were right, I'll refuse..."

"Sorry, but I doubt you'll fall asleep any other way. I was watching you, as creepy as that sounds. You were lying there with your eyes open, you were scared."

"I'm an adult man who's afraid of the dark. That's pathetic on its own, without being tucked to sleep by a coworker."

"I never mentioned anything about tucking you in."

He hesitated, embarrassed. 

"You took the least important part of my statement..."

"I took what I wanted. The rest is nonsense. Your age doesn't determine what you can or can't be afraid of. I'm a grown woman, and I'm afraid my colleagues don't like me. Which sounds more pathetic, huh? Fear of the dark or that?"

“I think it’s a point we could argue about for hours.”

“Which we don’t have. It’s late, we should go to sleep. Quick question, are you lying down with me, or are you fooling yourself into thinking you’ll fall asleep without it?”

A heavy, resigned sigh escaped him. Without adding anything else to his words, you turned onto your side, your back to him. You heard the rustling of the sheets, and for a moment, you froze, surprised. But no, he hadn’t joined you. 

You weren’t sure how you felt. Disappointed seemed like too strong a word. It wasn’t as though he had refused some incredibly important request of yours. It was just… perhaps the best explanation would be that, once you had convinced him to sleep in the same room for the sake of helping him, you wanted him to take something comforting from that night. You wanted it to be one of those good nights, like the ones he had in his apartment or in the jet, the ones he had mentioned. Not one of the others, filled with fear.

But then, the mattress beside you dipped, as someone else settled onto it.

You turned to the other side, and suddenly your faces were right across from each other. Reid swallowed, almost nervously. He seemed to be adjusting to the situation, to the sudden closeness, the small space you shared. You propped your hand under your head, observing him discreetly. It hit you that he always had a bit of an issue with contact with others. A doubt crossed your mind: had you made him uncomfortable?

Minutes passed, though, and his body seemed to sink more comfortably into the bed. His arms were no longer stiff, his hands resting freely, no longer clasped tightly across his chest. You could also hear his breath, and the more peaceful it became, the calmer you felt too.

And even though no words seemed necessary anymore, he decided to speak once again.

"Thank you."

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @kakamixo @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo falls ill and reader does finishes his missions and her own missions as well do Gojo doesn't have a pile of work waiting for him once he gets better. Gojo gets better. And finds out. Hehehehe Lobe u babes

omg I love this, let's do it hehe

Reader finishing Gojo's missions when he falls sick and he finds out

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 2,3k

Synopsis: When your husband falls sick, you don't think twice about completing all of his tasks in order for him to not be stressed - even if it means multiple sleepless nights for youself. Little did you know that your husband will find out about it and thank you in his own way...

Warnings: pure fluff over fluff so enjoy, Gojo basically being THE husband for y'all, not proofread because it's already darn late here and I'm way too tired

„Oh come on, don’t tell me the honoured one caught a cold”, you playfully tease your beloved husband.

He’s definitely ill, there’s no doubt in that. The way his forehead is covered in sweat, his unusual pale face paired with his heavy breathing. Let alone the sight of his red and runny nose.

You never thought this is possible. After all, Satoru is one of the few people who are able to use revered technique. Isn’t he able to heal himself, to prevent his body from falling sick?

“Looks like I overdid it those last weeks. My body is catching up on my apparently”, he replies weakly along with a nasty sounding cough.

You know all too well these last weeks were like a trip to hell and back for him. This is actually the first time you saw your husband after one whole week of him running from mission to mission and coming home into bad past after midnight. Being two special grade sorcerers, it is your responsibility to prevent the worst things from happening. Especially during summer, the number of curses triples. And that paired with the stinging fact that jujutsu sorcerers die like flies each and every day…

It’s no wonder his body took a toll on him.

“You’ll stay here for the rest of the week, babe”, you instruct him gently while pulling a blanket up his chest.

“Nah, no chance. I’ll have a pile of work when I get back and-AH.”

It’s frightening, the way he almost chokes while coughing so roughly that it vibrates through your whole body. This doesn’t sound good at all. To be exact, you’ve never seen your husband like this despite the fact that you’ve been together for multiple years by now. If he’s feeling this miserable, it’s definitely time for a break.

“Don’t worry about that. I hold the position while you’re gone.”

Little did he know you meant that.

-a week later-

“It’s far past midnight. Why are you still up, (y/n)?”

His hoarse voice rips you out of your microsleep immediately, lids so heavy they feel like closing by themselves if you don’t pay close attention.

“Oh, just work.”

No, it’s not just work. Apart from the daily drama you have to endure, you made it your mission to complete each and every task your husband would face as soon as he comes back. You know all too well he’ll throw himself fully into work again, not thinking about his own health a single second. And to prevent that, you decided to finish his missions as well, to teach his students, to do anything in your power to prevent Satoru from a pile of work.

Including swollen eyelids, constant grumpy mood, no effort to eat and your shoulders hanging down onto the ground.

You hate to admit it, but you are exhausted. You never realized how much work your husband does during the day. Must be easier for him, though. Teleportation sure sounds nice at the moment…

“I’m worried about you, babe. Are the elders bombarding you with work again? Maybe I need to have a serious talk again-“

“No, don’t think too much about it. I’m just hanging on a bit, that’s it”, you lie.

Oh, Satoru knows it is. After all, you’re talking about yourself. You, so disciplined that you’d never leave work unattended. No, it’s absolutely impossible that you’re “hanging on a bit”. But what else is it? The dark circles underneath your eyes look like valleys in the soft light of a lamp, tired eyes failing to focus on the paperwork in front of you. Usually, this is what you’re doing straight in the morning when he’s still asleep. What keeps you so busy these last days? He has to find out, he-

He almost chokes on himself again, earning a concerned side eye from you. It’s been a week and he’s still sick to the brim. Worry lines decorate your face, palm gently resting against his scorching hot forehead.

“Off to bed with you.”

“Don’t stay up too long, okay? All you seem to do is work these last days”, your husband replies worried himself.

You sigh to yourself. That’s because you do. But leaving your husband to a pile of work after he returns to Jujutsu High only to get sick again? You grab the pen in your hand tighter, force your eyes to fully open. Only a few more days and you’ll be done. After all, you’re doing this for him, right?

Satoru is definitely worth the sleepless nights.

-a few days after-

“Turns out I’m fully back at normal again, babe!”, your husband announces proudly.

You blink against the harsh light of the merciless sun, eyes dry like sand. Only a few hours ago, you returned from a village Satoru was supposed to inspect. Well, minutes turned into hours when a special grade curse appeared out of no where and made your life living hell. The sun already began to rise when you carried yourself back into bed.

But still, you can’t help but smile at him. These last days were rough for him. Him, the strongest, passed out because of a cold. He wasn’t himself all this time, weak body bound into bed with his limbs aching.

“So glad to here that”, you mumble while pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips.

“Sleep in for a while, you look exhausted (y/n). I know you just came back a few hours ago and don’t you dare to lie at me.”

Your eyes widen in an instant, cheeks blushing ever so slightly. You were so careful about leaving and returning, his even and long breaths not giving a single hint that he might be awake.

“I’m heading to Jujutsu High, bet work piled up pretty bad. Wish me good luck and have a good rest princess, I’ll kick their asses if they try to call you!”

With one last loving glance at you, he’s gone. And you can’t help but pass out immediately.

“Guess who’s back to save the day!”, Satoru announces proudly into the room filled with his students and Yaga Masamichi who looks at him with the same disinterest as usual.

“You? Didn’t even know you even exist anymore”, Nobara mumbles while filing down her nails.

“How are you? (y/n) told us you were sick”, Yuji interjects.

“I’m completely back to normal!”

“What a shame”, Megumi mumbles under his breath.

“Sooo, what side of earth do I have to save today? I’m sure a lot of work piled up while I was gone. After all, I’m the strongest.”

Satoru stretches himself playfully, waiting for the director to tell him about all different kinds of missions, curses and teachings he has to deal with these next few days. But instead, he just shrugs his shoulders.

“What? Got nothing to say? Okay, let me guess, what about that special grade curse in the village-“

“Done”, Yaga Masamichi replies dryly.

“The combat training with the first year-“

“Done.”

“Any curses that appeared in Tokyo?”

“Done.”

“Taking care of-“

“Done.”

This can’t be true, the man in front of him has to joke. Apart from you, Satoru is the only special grade sorcerer here at Jujutsu High. No one would ever be able to fulfil some of those missions, let alone teach his students just like that. Not even the director himself is capable of dealing with that special grade curse he was talking about just before Satoru got sick. But who…?

“Didn’t your wife tell you she already managed all those things?”

Oh, he was so stupid that it hurts. All these nights he caught you almost falling asleep on your desk, the multiple times you sneaked out of bed far past midnight, the dark circles under your eyes. All this time, you weren’t only busy with your own missions. No, you actually fulfilled all of his work for him as well.

“Just the amount of work I have to do when I come back. Urgh, being sick sucks.”

“Don’t worry, love. I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Yeah, he sure as hell is. But only because you decided to make your own life living hell for two weeks straight.

“Please don’t tell me (y/n) did all of my stuff while I was gone.”

“I’ll never understand how a kind-hearted woman like her ended up with you. She didn’t even stop when I told her to and somehow managed to get information about the missions I prepared for your sick ass”, the director replies dryly.

“Call her in right now.”

Words aren’t enough to thank you for this. No, you deserve way more than that, way more than his mouth could ever give you.

“And let her leave again in about an hour.”

-an hour later-

“Again, sorry for calling you in, (y/n). Now get back home, you’re free tomorrow.”

“Thank you”, is all you’re able to reply, wobbly feet carrying you back into your car and onto the road.

You sigh to yourself. Well, you definitely didn’t expect the director to call you this early when you just returned from an exhausting mission. But who are you to say no to him? After all, it’s your job to do this, it’s your job to protect the innocent.

But…Is it also your job to answer strange questions from your students in the morning?

“Come on, use your brain! You know what the director said!”, Nobara hisses through gritted teeth, the trio sticking their heads together after you were forced to drop your haircare routine to Nobara.

“Ehm...so…well…”

“If you don’t have any further questions, I’ll go-“

“Yes! I have a question!”, Yuji screams so loudly that his voice echoes through your tired brain.

“What is it, Yuji?”, you mutter with your eyes closed.

“How exactly are babies made, (y/n)-san?”

“You’re an idiot…”, Megumi grumbles.

“Really? This is all you have left in your pea-sized brain?”

“What? You just told me to ask her something and that’s what I came up with!”, Yuji defends himself.

“Yeah, but that ‘something’ definitely didn’t include THAT!”

It’s almost as if they were forced to ask you dumb questions. You’ll definitely have a talk with your husband about their strange behaviour when you caught up on sleep. But before that…

You open the door with a swift motion.

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widen.

The usual so modern and clean living-room is now covered in rose pedals and filled with the fresh scent of sakura leaves, your couch unfolded and covered in the most fluffy blankets, pillows and stuffed animals you’re ever seen. And there he sits.

He, your beloved husband, holding up your bathrobe oh so inviting.

“What’s going on here?”, you breathe out.

Suddenly, all the exhaustion you felt earlier disappeared into thin air. Did he really do all of this for you? The candles flickering, the blankets, the strawberries covered in chocolate waiting on the table, him wearing that black t-shirt you love so much.

“Guess what, I found out what you did. Did you really think you’ll get away with stealing my work in silence?”, he teases, love dripping from each and every word he says.

“It was nothing”, you try to brush him off.

But instead, he gets up and grabs your hand in order to guide you into the dim bathroom that is only lightened by a few candles. Again, the lovely smell of sakura leaves radiates from the bathtub filled with bubbles and hot steam. Just the thought of letting yourself sink into that warm water, to finally release the tension in your sore muscles-

Before you’re even able to comprehend what’s happening, Satoru took off your clothes and lifts you off the ground with ease. Your body doesn’t dare to fight back, too weak from all the missions you completed these last days. Just the tip of your toe, relaxing in the water for a few minutes before returning to Jujutsu High…

“Nothing, huh? So you mean doing the stuff I need a month for in two weeks besides your own missions is nothing? Words can’t express how thankful I am to have such a sweet, caring and steaming hot wife”, he whispers against your ear, his fingers starting to massage your back oh so skilled.

You allow yourself to sink into his touch, to rest your eyes for a few minutes. Well, there is no denying in the fact that this was a little too much for you. All the fighting, the paper work, the heart and soul you poured in each and every work.

And then there’s him. Satoru, your beloved husband, who massages your back with his skilled fingers. How lucky you are to call him your husband, that he decided to spend the rest of his life with you. Even though he scolded you ever so slightly for managing his pile of work, you know he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. What a treasure, how glad you are to know him, how wonderful he is…

“(y/n)?”, Satoru purrs against your ear.

You don’t response, chest rising and falling slow and steady. He can’t help but smile to himself, admiring he beauty of your finally resting face. Carefully, he lifts you out of the bathtub and covers your body in the fluffy bathrobe you love so much. You definitely deserve some rest for all the work you did these last days.

He can’t help but gently caress your cheek, making sure you’re completely tucked you underneath your favourite blanket.

“What a lucky man I am”, he mutters to himself while outlining your parted lips.

“To call someone so wonderful my wife…”

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(this took me forever so if I tagged u be so kind and leave a like/comment/reblog lol)

[buttercandy16]

Consequences to your Actions

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader, Rio Vidal x Reader

SUMMARY: A woman, betrayed by her wife, embarks on an affair with her boss, Agatha Harkness. Agatha's control leads to a divorce, but when the truth emerges, it’s too late—Agatha will do anything to keep her.

WARNING(s): Infidelity, Manipulation, Obsession, Implied Stalking, Betrayal, Deception, Abuse, Control, Gaslighting, Dub-Con, SMUT, and other Dark themes I forgot to mention.

A/N: The itching need to add Rio even if I'm only writing her as a minor character. Enjoy!

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Rio started coming home late. At first, she had excuses—work meetings that ran over, urgent deadlines at her law firm, impromptu drinks with colleagues. You didn’t think much of it at first; your own work at Harkness Industries was demanding enough, and you weren’t about to begrudge her the same kind of schedule.

But as the weeks went by, the excuses started to feel hollow. She became distant, absent even when she was physically there. When she kissed you, it was fleeting. When she held you, it felt like her arms were a cage keeping something unspoken inside.

And then there was her phone.

It started buzzing at odd hours—late at night, early in the morning. She was quick to silence it, brushing off your questions with tight-lipped explanations. “It’s just work,” she’d say, or, “You know how chaotic things get this time of year.”

You wanted to believe her. God, you needed to believe her. But the unease festered.

Your life began unraveling on a quiet Tuesday evening. You hadn’t expected it—betrayal rarely came with a warning. As you walked into the apartment, exhausted from work, Rio stood in the kitchen, fiddling with her phone. At first, it seemed innocent, just another moment of routine. But when you greeted her, she flinched, quickly locking the device and shoving it into her pocket.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing.” She gave you a nervous smile, brushing past to put the kettle on. “How was work?”

Her attempt to divert the conversation only made you more suspicious. It wasn’t like her to be evasive. Still, you brushed it off. Maybe you were overthinking things.

But the unease didn’t go away. In fact, it worsened as the days passed.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you saw Rio’s phone buzzing on the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen—"Unknown"—was strange enough. Stranger still was the message preview: “Can’t stop thinking about you. Last night…”

You froze, nausea twisting your stomach. Before you could react, Rio stirred, taking the phone in her hand and quickly silencing it.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, clearly trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“Who is this?” you demanded.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “That’s—she’s just a friend. It’s not like that.”

“A friend?” You couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped you. “Who texts their friends last night was amazing?”

She tried to defend herself, but the damage was done. You didn’t believe her. How could you? A message like that wasn’t innocent. Not when it left a dull ache pounding in your chest every time her phone buzzed. That pain, the uncertainty, stuck with you. It hung in the back of your mind at work, bled into your daily routines, and stole your ability to focus on anything else. You stopped going to bed with her. Stopped sharing your dreams or your fears because you weren’t sure if she deserved them anymore.

The seeds of doubt had taken root, and no amount of reassurance could pull them out.

At work, you found no reprieve. If anything, your performance began to suffer. Tasks that once came easily felt impossible to focus on. Meetings dragged on, your mind wandering to the phone calls and late nights that awaited you at home.

And that’s when Agatha Harkness began to notice you.

You’d always admired her from a distance—the way she commanded attention in every room she entered, the sharp confidence in her stride, the cool authority in her voice. As the CEO of Harkness Industries, she was untouchable, her presence as formidable as the empire she’d built.

The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor broke your spiral of thoughts.

“[Your Last Name],” Agatha said, her smooth, smoky voice cutting through the hum of the nearly empty office. You jumped slightly, not expecting her presence this late. Looking up, you saw her—impeccably dressed, her charcoal-gray suit tailored to fit her tall, sharp frame. Her silver jewelry gleamed in the pale fluorescent lighting. Her presence dominated the room, her piercing blue eyes narrowed on you.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her true intentions. Agatha didn’t ask questions unless she already knew the answers.

“Yes, Ms. Harkness,” you replied stiffly, quickly closing your laptop. “Just catching up on some work.”

She leaned against your desk, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been… off lately,” she said, her voice softening ever so slightly, though her usual smirk stayed in place. “If something’s wrong, you can always come to me, you know.”

You hesitated. There was something unnervingly genuine in her tone, but that wasn’t what threw you off. What unsettled you was the realization that her gaze wasn’t just observing you—it was studying you, drinking in every little tell, every weakness.

“Thanks, but it’s personal,” you muttered, reaching for your bag.

She raised an eyebrow, giving you an indulgent smile. “Personal, huh? Let me guess—relationship trouble?”

You froze, your hands stiffening on the strap of your bag. She tilted her head, and for a moment, her smirk softened into something like sympathy. But even then, her eyes glinted with a hunger you didn’t fully understand.

The question caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, leaning against your desk with an air of casual confidence. “Call it intuition. But if there’s something you want to talk about…” She let the sentence trail off, her piercing blue eyes holding yours for a moment too long.

You shook your head, brushing her off with a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

But Agatha wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

It started innocently enough. After that conversation, Agatha began to invite you out. Sometimes it was coffee before a morning meeting, other times drinks after hours in her office. At first, you felt awkward accepting her invitations. She was your boss, after all. But you were desperate for a distraction from the storm at home—and she always had a way of drawing you in, her words dripping with charisma.

She began offering casual advice or anecdotes from her life. Before you knew it, she wasn’t just a boss—she was a confidante.

You never meant to open up to her about Rio. It happened one particularly draining night when you were both finishing late meetings. Agatha poured you a drink, her glass already half-empty as she leaned back in her leather office chair.

“Darling, what’s eating at you?” she asked casually, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “You look… burdened.”

It was her words—so precise and unnervingly accurate—that broke something in you. “It’s my wife,” you admitted, staring into your glass. “I think she’s cheating on me.”

Agatha didn’t react immediately. She studied you, her expression unreadable. “Cheating?” she repeated, her tone deliberate. “Or do you know it for a fact?”

You hesitated, recounting the texts, the lies, the evasive behavior. Agatha nodded slowly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Sounds like you already know the truth,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. And though you tried to shake it off, Agatha had a way of making the impossible seem logical. She fed into your doubts, her every comment precise and calculated. “She doesn’t deserve you. Not if she could betray you like that.”

Weeks passed, and Agatha grew bolder. She started showing up by your desk during breaks, brushing her hand across yours under the guise of sharing paperwork. She leaned a little too close when she whispered in your ear during meetings, and her compliments shifted from professional to deeply personal.

One night, she invited you to her penthouse.

The space was breathtaking: high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and an unobstructed view of the city skyline. You felt out of place amidst the luxury, but Agatha made you feel welcome. She poured you wine, teasing you gently about your stiff posture.

“Relax, darling,” she said, her voice low. “This isn’t work. Consider it a treat for all your hard efforts.”

You tried to keep your guard up, but the wine and her proximity eroded your resolve. She was magnetic, her every gesture deliberate and sensual. When she leaned in to brush a strand of hair from your face, you didn’t pull back.

“You know,” Agatha whispered, her lips so close to yours that her breath brushed against your skin, while swirling a glass of Merlot in her other hand, “someone who cheats isn’t worth your time.”

The comment was blunt, almost cruel. You stiffened, staring into your own wineglass. “She says she didn’t cheat,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced. “She’s been trying to prove herself, but…”

Agatha clicked her tongue, setting down her glass. Her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “But she broke your trust,” she said firmly. “That’s not something you can just fix. Trust isn’t some toy you can glue back together once it’s shattered.”

Her words stung because they echoed the feelings you’d been trying to ignore. And yet, there was a strange comfort in her conviction—in the way she made everything sound so clear-cut when your own thoughts were muddied.

Weeks turned into months, and Agatha grew bolder. She started calling you “darling” in private. Her hand lingered on your lower back when she guided you into her office. She’d brush your hair out of your face under the pretense of being “helpful,” though the look in her eyes told a different story.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice. She was beautiful—undeniably so—with an effortless allure that seemed to cloak her every movement. And more than that, she understood you. Agatha didn’t sugarcoat things the way Rio did; she told you what you needed to hear, even if it wasn’t pretty.

The first time it happened, you blamed the wine.

You’d stayed late again in her penthouse. She’d convinced you to let her cook dinner—a surprisingly simple but delicious pasta dish that you ate together at her marble-topped kitchen island. The wine flowed freely, and by the time you were sitting beside her on the couch, your head was spinning.

“You deserve better, you know,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and intimate.

You turned to her, your heart pounding as you realized how close she’d leaned in. “Agatha—”

She cut you off with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against yours. You froze, your mind racing with a thousand reasons why this was wrong. But when she cupped your face, her thumb brushing against your jaw, reason melted away.

The world seemed to pause in that moment, her lips soft but firm against yours, her hand cradling the back of your neck with possessive ease.

Her kiss deepened, her hand sliding into your hair as she guided you closer. It was overwhelming—the heat of her body against yours, the hunger in her touch, the way she seemed to pour all her intensity into that single act.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, she studied you with a small, satisfied smile. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You didn’t.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” she murmured, her voice husky. Guilt churned in your chest, but as she pulled you closer, kissing you again, it melted into a warmth you hadn’t felt in months.

The affair began in earnest after that night. Agatha was relentless, her touch searing and possessive every time you were alone together. She made you feel things you hadn’t felt in years—desire, adoration, worship.

You knew it was wrong. Every time you returned to Rio, guilt clawed at you, threatening to choke you. But you couldn’t stop. Agatha was a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.

Her hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if memorizing every inch of you. Agatha consumed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, her touch igniting a fire that left you breathless and desperate for more. Her hands were everywhere—pinning you against the cool walls of her penthouse with an intensity that bordered on possessive. Her lips left trails of fire on your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone as she pulled moans from your throat. She made you feel wanted, consumed, and for the first time in months, alive.

She whispered things in your ear that made your heart race and your cheeks burn, things you’d never heard from Rio.

“You’re mine,” she murmured one night, her voice rough with need as she pinned you against the wall of her penthouse. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else deserves you.”

For weeks, you lived a double life.

But the guilt never went away.

“Agatha, I can’t keep doing this,” you said one night, pulling away from her lips with more effort than you thought you could muster. “I feel like I’m drowning in this lie.”

She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “Then come up for air,” she murmured, her voice dripping with reassurance. “You know what you need to do, darling.”

When you still hesitated, her tone sharpened ever so slightly. “She doesn’t love you—not really. If she did, she wouldn’t hurt you like this. She wouldn’t make you feel this… empty.”

Her words were surgical, cutting away your last shreds of resistance. Before you could stop yourself, you found solace in her arms again.

When you tried to end it a second time, Agatha didn’t take it lightly.

“You think you can just walk away?” she said, her voice eerily calm as she cornered you in her office after hours. “After everything?”

Her eyes burned into yours, her intensity both terrifying and magnetic. “I know you feel guilty, but what you have with me? It’s real. It’s worth the risk.”

She leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “And you want it, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. She was right. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t stay away.

Eventually, she began to push harder.

“You need to leave her,” Agatha said one night, lying beside you in bed. Her fingertips ghosted along your arm, her lips brushing against your shoulder as she spoke. “She doesn’t deserve you, and we both know it.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

She cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Yes, you can. I’ll be here, darling. You don’t need her.”

Her words echoed in your head long after you left her apartment. The divorce papers sat on the kitchen table for weeks before you finally signed them. Rio cried when she found out.

“You’re making a mistake,” she pleaded, clutching your hands. “I didn’t cheat. I swear to you.”

But Agatha’s voice drowned hers out: “She’s lying. She’ll only hurt you again.”

After the divorce, your relationship with Agatha became official. The media marveled at her whirlwind romance with a “mystery employee,” and you found yourself thrust into the public eye —lavish dinners, expensive gifts, and a wedding straight out of a magazine spread. And yet, something felt… off.

Rio didn’t disappear. She called, sent emails, even showed up at your doorstep one day, begging you to listen.

“She’s manipulating you,” Rio said, her voice trembling with desperation. “She planned this. She’s dangerous, and you can’t see it because she’s in your head.”

You slammed the door in her face, brushing away the small seed of doubt her words planted. Agatha loved you—didn’t she? She couldn’t have orchestrated everything.

It was a rainy night when you found the folder. Agatha had left for a business meeting, and in a moment of idle curiosity, you opened the drawer of her desk. Photos of you—some from months ago, others dating back to years before you’d even started working for her. Copies of emails supposedly from Rio, doctored to look incriminating. 

Your stomach dropped as realization dawned.

She’d planned this. All of it. Agatha had orchestrated everything, from planting those damning messages to pulling you closer into her orbit.

“You’ve been busy,” Agatha’s voice startled you. She stood in the doorway of her home office, her eyes unreadable.

“How could you?” you demanded, clutching the folder. “You lied. You manipulated me. You destroyed my life—my marriage—all because you’re obsessed with me?”

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, she looked amused. “I didn’t destroy your life,” she said calmly, stepping closer. “I saved you.”

“You ruined everything,” you spat, backing away.

She closed the distance between you in an instant, her hand grabbing your wrist in a vice grip. “I gave you everything,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Everything you have is because of me.”

Panic surged through you. “Agatha, you’re scaring me—”

She softened instantly, her hand loosening but not releasing you. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. “You don’t need to be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

Her smile turned sharp. “But if you ever try to leave me, I can’t promise things won’t get… messy.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened, her nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince. Her lips curled into a predatory smile, her eyes dark with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. “You think you can just walk away from me?” she purred, her voice low and dangerous. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve given you?”

You tried to pull away, but she was stronger than she looked. Her other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against her body. You could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her blouse, the hard press of her breasts against yours. “Agatha, let me go,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made your stomach twist. “Oh, darling, you don’t really want me to let you go, do you?” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve always been mine. You just needed a little… persuasion.”

Her hand slid down your back, cupping your ass and squeezing hard. You gasped, your body betraying you as a jolt of heat shot through you. “Stop,” you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction.

Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss fierce and demanding. She didn’t ask for permission; she took what she wanted, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moaned despite yourself, your body responding to her touch even as your mind screamed at you to push her away.

She broke the kiss, her breath hot against your lips. “You’re mine,” she growled, her hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

You tried to protest, but she silenced you with another kiss, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons and pushing the fabric off your shoulders. Her hands roamed over your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her hands found your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden instantly. You gasped, your body arching into her touch. “Agatha,” you moaned, your resolve crumbling.

She smirked, her hands moving to the waistband of your skirt. “That’s it, darling,” she purred, pushing the fabric down your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

You stepped out of your skirt, your body trembling with anticipation. Agatha’s eyes raked over you, her gaze hungry and possessive. “Perfect,” she whispered, her hands sliding down your thighs. “You’re perfect.”

She dropped to her knees, her hands spreading your legs apart. You gasped as her tongue flicked against your clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Agatha,” you moaned, your hands tangling in her hair.

She didn’t respond, her tongue working its magic as she devoured you. You could feel the heat building inside you, your body responding to her every touch. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against her mouth.

Agatha’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she continued to pleasure you. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. “Come for me, darling,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your skin.

You cried out as the orgasm hit you, your body convulsing with pleasure. Agatha didn’t stop, her tongue lapping at you until you were trembling and weak. She stood up, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “That’s my girl,” she purred, pulling you into a kiss.

You could taste yourself on her lips, the taste of your own arousal on Agatha's lips sent a thrill through you, even as a small part of you recoiled at the intensity of the situation. But Agatha didn't give you time to overthink it. Her hands were on your body again, caressing and claiming every inch of skin as she backed you towards the bed.

You fell onto the plush comforter, Agatha's weight pinning you down a moment later. She straddled your hips, her eyes dark with lust as she looked down at you. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice rough with desire. "Say it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and excitement warring within you. But as Agatha ground her hips against yours, you felt yourself giving in. "I'm yours," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Agatha smiled, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Louder," she demanded, her hand wrapping around your throat. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you feel owned, possessed.

"I'm yours," you repeated, louder this time.

"I'm yours, Agatha."

Her grip tightened for a brief moment before she released you, her hand trailing down your body to your breasts. She cupped them roughly, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. "Good girl," she purred, leaning down to take one into her mouth.

You arched into her touch, moaning as her tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. Her other hand moved between your legs, fingers teasing your still-sensitive clit. "You're so wet for me," she murmured against your skin. "So responsive."

She continued her ministrations, alternating between your breasts and your core. Your body was on fire, every touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You were panting, writhing beneath her, desperate for more.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. Agatha seemed to understand, though. She withdrew her hand, leaving you bereft for a moment before she shifted her hips.

You felt the head of her strap on press against your entrance, and you gasped.

Agatha was large, larger than anyone you'd been with before. She paused, giving you a moment to adjust. "Breathe," she instructed, her voice calm and soothing despite the hunger in her eyes.

You did as she said, taking a deep breath as she slowly pushed inside you. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but it wasn't long before your body relaxed, accommodating her size. She filled you completely, her hips pressed flush against yours.

"Fuck," Agatha groaned, her head falling forward. "You feel incredible."

She gave you a moment to adjust before she began to move. Slowly at first, her hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. But as your moans filled the room, she grew bolder, her thrusts becoming harder, faster.

Your hands clawed at her back, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you. The pleasure was overwhelming, every stroke of her cock sending shockwaves through your body. You could feel another orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Come for me," Agatha growled, her hips snapping against yours. "Come on my cock like the good little slut you are."

Her filthy words pushed you over the edge. You came with a scream, your body convulsing beneath hers. Agatha followed shortly after, watching you come undone was enough for her to find her own release.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. For a moment, you lay there in silence, the only sound your ragged breaths filling the room.

But as the haze of pleasure began to dissipate, reality started to set in. Agatha had manipulated you, planned everything from the beginning. She had destroyed your marriage, ruined your life—all for her own twisted desires.

A lump formed in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Agatha must have sensed the change in you, because she pulled back, her gaze searching your face.

"Talk to me," she urged, her voice soft but insistent. "What's wrong?"

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You pushed at her chest, trying to make her release you. "Let me go," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha's expression hardened. She didn't move, her body still pinning you to the bed. "No," she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're mine now. I won't let you go."

Panic surged through you. You struggled against her, your heart pounding in your chest. "Please," you begged, your voice rising in pitch. "I can't do this. I can't be with you."

Agatha's grip tightened on your wrists, her face inches from yours. "You don't have a choice," she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're mine, and I always get what I want."

You felt the tears spill over, running down your cheeks and into your hair. You were trapped—trapped by Agatha's obsession, trapped by your own weakness. You had let yourself fall for her manipulations, for the thrill of being wanted so desperately.

Now, there was no escape.

Weeks turned into months, and you fell deeper into Agatha's grasp.

She isolated you from everyone—your friends, your family. If anyone tried to contact you, she intercepted their calls, their messages. She told them you were busy, that you needed space to focus on your new life with her.

And you let her.

Because what choice did you have? Agatha had all the power. She controlled every aspect of your life—where you went, what you did, who you saw. And if you tried to resist, she punished you.

At first, the punishments were subtle��a sharp look, a harsh word. But as time passed, they grew more severe. She would leave you locked in a room for hours, ignoring your pleas and sobs. She would confiscate your phone, your laptop—anything that could connect you to the outside world.

Once, when you tried to sneak out to meet Rio, Agatha found out. She dragged you back home by your hair, slamming you against the wall hard enough to leave bruises.

"You belong to me," she snarled, her face inches from yours. "I won't let you leave me."

That was the day you knew there was no escape. Not really. You were trapped in this gilded cage, a prisoner to Agatha's twisted desires.

And still, part of you craved her touch, her attention. Even as she hurt you, she made you feel alive. She made you believe that everything she did was out of love—that she needed you as much as you needed her.

It was a sick, twisted cycle—one that left you feeling lost, broken, and hopelessly addicted to the woman who had shattered your life.

You knew then that you were trapped. Rio had tried to warn you, but it was too late. Agatha had you in her web, and there was no escaping now.

The city lights glittered below as you stared out the window of her penthouse, feeling more like a prisoner than a partner. Somewhere deep down, you resolved to find a way out. But one look at Agatha’s cold, calculating smile told you that escape would come at a cost you weren’t sure you could pay.

_-_-_

Please don't forger to vote, reblog, and comment.

Happy New Year my Twisted Darlings!

[niuniente]

Oh wow, I knew I was really sick with the anemia but I never realized just HOW sick I was. Feels like I was living like a zombie in a body bag with only 10% access to the world.

I didn't expect anemia to affect my eyesight this much! I have been admiring colors around my for days and I just can't stop admiring them. The first day back at home I walked around my apartment looking at all the postcards and posters on my walls, because they were so bright and vibrant. Even a candle light looked brighter! I went to my favorite café afterwards to celebrate this milestone and I never realized how brightly green their plants are and how beautiful the café's plates are, too.

Other things I have noticed with the improved iron levels:

I fall asleep in 5-10 minutes when I'm sleepy instead of tossing with insomnia for 3-5 hours.

I sleep really well and soundly, and have lots of dreams which is always a good sign for me.

I don't sweat as much and as easily anymore.

My mysterious anxiety, bad mood and feelings of doom (which are not who I am!) which have been looming on the background for 24/7 and never left no matter what I did are almost all gone. Digestion and traveling still causes some anxiety but I can live with that.

My natural walking speed is a lot faster.

My heart isn't trying to kill me when I get up stairs to my apartment.

I'm REALLY happy and excited 24/7, even when I'm tired! That's who I am! I feel like a fast and luxurious Ferrari when it comes to my mood and excitement for life!

Breathing is easier, even when resting/sitting.

I have energy to clean the house, for example I have done dishes daily without issues. Starting something isn't hard anymore.

I can think clearly and my horrible brain fog is gone.

No more restless feet when trying to sleep.

I'm not exhausted 24/7 for no reason but I can actually do things that I like and I enjoy of them (before they exhausted me, too, like watching something).

My body doesn't ache 24/7 as much as it used to.

Period pains are easier.

I think that my appetite has improved a bit and there's less of nausea.

I can't wait for the time when I can live like this every day! <3

P.S. I've been a bit sleepier than normal but in a good way like "Ah, sleep! <3 I love sleeping!" I don't know if it's a side effect from the treatment or is it because my body finally gets a chance to rest for real, and it's catching up with the years of loss of a proper rest.

[scientia-rex]

Sometimes people tell me I'm a good person. I'm not a good person by nature, or by default. I'm a good person because I've decided that it's important to me to act like one, on a daily basis, forever.

My actual nature is that I want power. I want power and I want my life to be easy and I want other people to be forced to be nice to me even if they hate me. I want other people to have to suck up to me, I want to watch people who I know hate me suffer through the indignity of having to suck up to me. I want to hurt people who hurt me. I want all of these things in the same exact deeply recognizable way that a gorilla or a chimpanzee does. I watch those documentaries and I recognize myself, intimately. The fact that I can behave like a good person in spite of that has taken me a long time and a lot of effort to achieve.

What you feel isn't as important for your "goodness" as what you do. And you get good at what you practice. So practice your skills at being polite, pleasant, kind. Practice gently interrupting negative behaviors--whether that's someone's negative behaviors directed towards themselves, or directed towards someone else. The idea that we have to be inherently without sin is such Christian garbage. It's psychological gibberish. We want things! We want everything! That is normal and human and the key is not acting on every bad feeling you have.

I have taken my insatiable desire for power and to manipulate people and I have used it for good. I have learned how to manipulate people into coming to the doctor and taking their blood pressure medication and being honest about their recreational substance use. I have taken my psychology education and I have used it to craft a persona that makes people feel at ease. I go home at the end of the day exhausted, because maintaining a persona for ten hours straight is exhausting, but I do it happy, because I manipulated the people I work with into feeling better and having brighter days. I manipulated my patients into feeling good about their achievements and recognizing where we need to do things differently.

The hard part is that when the mask slips, people find it not just off-putting but deeply upsetting. When I explain things like "I have thought very carefully about how I would conduct a career in domestic terrorism because I would genuinely like to bomb the headquarters of most American insurance companies, but I don't see a way to do it without getting caught and either killed or spending the rest of my life in prison, and at the moment I consider that an unacceptable outcome," people go from "ha ha! my wacky colleague" to "Jesus Christ, I didn't realize there was something actually wrong with you."

Anyway, don't make your kids read the extended works on Machiavelli at twelve, my dad thought he was helping me but all he accomplished was making me sad I'll never be a king.