#oh my god this was not meant to be so long

[keferon]

I'm thinking that because humans know so little about orca mers they probably have a very bad understanding of what their diet entails. So because of this (and because hes depressed as hell) Jazz is pretty underweight

BUT THE KICKER

Under all that blubber whales are basically pure muscle- and because Jazz does all that upper body workout stuff he's like. Visibly muscular. Abs for days. And because humans have fucked up ideas of what a 'healthy' person looks like, they think that this means Jazz is so healthy and happy here at the aquarium! But orcas are meant to be pudgy!!! They live in COLD ASS TEMPERATURES THEY ARE ROUND LADS THEY NEED THE PADDING. Prowl takes one look at Jazz and is like 'THEY'RE FUCKING STARVING YOU ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE??'

Part of Jazz's healing journey is also actually eating properly for the first time in his life

……YOU MADE ME REALIZE. Oh god.

I am just looking at my own concept art and. Jazz is basically V-shaped and humans would absolutely think that looks good. Just the same way they think about all those super skinny girls on instagram or something.

Also it’s not like they have a lot of other merfolks to compare

Prowl would be so confused at first. Like. Why aren’t you eating?? I’m sure they would give you more if you ask?? But then again. Jazz doesn’t want to eat as much as he should because. 1 - depression. And 2 - he has nothing to burn the energy. The tank is small and the performances aren’t that long. So he’s stuck in a loop where he doesn’t move enough - so he doesn’t need to eat as much.

[luvyeni]

sungchan doesn’t find it funny how funny you think it is that anton has a crush on you …

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 이제노 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. unprotected sex, language word count. 0.4k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

at first he thought he was being paranoid; crazy even. but then came the long stares at you when he thought he wasn't looking, the constant wanting to be around you.

“he fucking likes you.” sungchan said ; closing the door of his bedroom. “sungchan you’re being ridiculous, he's your brother.” you laughed , that was pissing him off , your lack of care for the situation. “that makes it worse , my brother wants to fuck my girlfriend.” he said with a scoff. “and my girlfriend thinks it’s so fucking halarious.”

you rolled your eyes. “because you’re acting as if i’ll go into his room and ride him, sungchan it’s a school boy crush , not that deep.” you plopped down on his bed. “expect he’s not a fucking middle schooler , he’s a legal adult.” he said. “my god sungchan do you want me to go fuck your brother is that what you want?” you meant this as a joke — maybe not the best joke to tell you at that moment. “are you fucking serious?”

“sungchan— shut up.” your eyes widened at his sudden voice change. “you think this shit is funny?” he said. “you like knowing he likes you , does that shit turn you on or something?” you shake your head. “of course it doesn’t chan , i only love you.” you said. “prove it.” he said. “huh?” you questioned. “we can’t do that , yo-you’re brother is still here.” he smirked. “good , lay back.”

“fu-fuck sungchan.” you moaned , biting your lips to keep from making any loud noises as your boyfriend hovered above you; his cock reaching deep inside you as he fucked you. “don’t fu-fuck don’t do that.” he growled , grabbing your cheeks. “don’t fucking hide your moans.” he said. “let him hear you.” he said , fucking deeper inside you if that was possible. “let him fucking hear.”

he hit the spot inside you; a moan ripped from your throat with warning. “sungchan!” he sped up , gripping your waist. “that’s it be fucking loud.” he grunted , the headboard knocking against the wall. “ch-channie th-the wa-wall.” he scoffed. “i don’t give a fuck about the headboard , don’t focus on that , focus on taking my cock.”

covering your moans were now on the back burner; your mind was focusing on cumming and sungchan ; the only one who could get you there. “no one can fuck you like this.” he moaned. “only i can make you dumb like this.” he rubbed you clit. “c-cum.”

“you gonna cum?” he hummed. “ye-yes , channie gonna cum.” you whined , stomach tightening. “cum for me , be loud for me.” he gave your cunt a few light slaps , sending you over the edge. “sungchan!” you screamed , as you came hard around him. “oh fuck.” he hissed. “fuck im gonna cum.” he thrusted a few times. “shit.” he hissed as he came inside you pulling out , watching it leak out. “you have a problem.” you huffed. “he probably heard us.” your boyfriend smirked , kissing your forehead.

“good now he knows your mine.”

©️LUVYENI

[minswriting]

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader | vibrators

sharing a room with hotch while on a case and he finds your vibrator on accident so he uses it on you.

it’s not like he meant to find it. you had left your bag open after grabbing your things to take a shower and it caused your bag to spill over. and aaron, being the amazing person that he is, was going to fix it up for you so that you didn’t have to worry about it.

he realized that his kindness was a mistake as he found accidentally came across a device shaped like a rose. aaron wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what it was. and the idea that you were going to use it to get yourself off? well, the blood certainly rushed to his cock.

you walked out of the bathroom dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt with your hair still wet, of course. you saw aaron, sitting on the bed, with that familiar device in his hands, causing your eyes to widen. “hotch-what-“ you stuttered, clearly mortified that your boss had found your sex toy.

“it fell out of your bag,” he said simply, looking at you and then at the device and then back to you. silence encompassed the two of you as you tried to figure out how to approach the situation. that was until hotch broke the silence. “it must be inconvenient to have been roomed with me.”

“aaron i-“ you began but he interrupted you.

“so i might as well make it up to you.”

and that’s how you ended up naked, in aaron’s arms, with your back pressed against his chest as he held the rose toy to your clit. it was on the lowest setting, enough to make you feel something but not enough to quite get the job done.

you made a soft noise, resting your head on aaron’s shoulder as he circles the toy gently against your clit. he kissed the shell of your ear before speaking. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “does this feel good?” and just as he asked that, he turned the toy to the next setting, causing you to jolt and moan.

“mhm!” you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as you kept your head on aaron’s shoulder. “so good,” you spoke, licking your lips.

aaron gave you a hum of acknowledgement, watching the way your body reacted to the toy. he brought his other hand to your chest, massaging your boobs, thumbing your nipple. “oh fuck,” you moaned, your hips moving against the toy.

aaron gave a deep chuckle, leaning his head down to kiss your neck before turning the toy onto his highest setting. you let out a loud whimper, reaching out to grab something, anything, to ground yourself as you basked in the pleasure. you grabbed aaron’s thigh, squeezing it. “o-oh my god!” you said, bucking your hips into the toy.

“pretty girl,” he murmured against your skin before nipping and sucking on the flesh.

it didn’t take long until you were arching your back against him, whining his name in such a way that would certainly live in aaron’s dreams for quite awhile.

and when you had come down from your high, you didn’t hesitate to return the favor, giving aaron the best handjob he had ever received.

[regressionschool]

How a Stiffy Earned Him Crinkles

It was a lazy afternoon, and Ethan sat on the floor of the living room, legs spread apart as he absentmindedly played with the colorful stacking rings his girlfriend, Mia, had given him. He was wearing nothing but his baby blue pull-ups and a t-shirt that barely reached his padded bottom. Mia lounged on the couch, watching her "little" boyfriend with an amused smile as she absentmindedly scrolled through her phone.

Ethan was supposed to be focused on playing like a good boy, but his eyes kept drifting toward Mia. She had just changed into a pair of tiny shorts and a fitted tank top, her bare legs curled beneath her as she stretched. His gaze lingered a little too long, and before he could stop it, his body reacted. He felt a stirring between his legs, his body reacting instinctively as his pull-up grew uncomfortably snug, the padding pressing back against his growig pee pee in a way that made his breath hitch

Mia noticed immediately. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smirk as she set her phone down. “Oh my God,” she giggled, sitting up. “Ethan, are you getting excited in your little pull-ups?”

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror. He yanked a nearby plushie to cover himself, but Mia was already crawling over to him, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I—I didn’t mean to!” he whined, his face burning red.

Mia placed a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter. “Oh, baby, this is just too good. You’re supposed to be my little toddler, and here you are with a stiffy like a naughty big boy.”

Ethan squirmed, gripping the plushie tighter. “It’s not my fault! Y-You changed in front of me.”

Mia gasped dramatically. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? I didn’t realize little boys in training pants still had those kinds of reactions.” She leaned closer, her fingers lightly tracing over the padded front of his pull-up. “I think someone’s proving they’re not ready for these at all.”

Ethan let out a mortified whimper. “Mia, please.”

She sat back, stretching leisurely. “Face it, baby boy. Pull-ups are for little ones who are learning, but you just proved you’re not ready for them.” She tapped her chin, feigning deep thought. “Maybe in a few years.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. “No! I don’t—”

Mia was already up, heading toward the cabinet where she kept his supplies. A moment later, she returned with a thick, pastel-colored diaper in her hands, the crinkly plastic rustling with every movement. She spread out the changing mat on the floor and patted it invitingly. “Lie down, little guy. Let’s get you into something more appropriate.”

Ethan groaned, hiding his face behind his plushie. “Miaaa,” he whined, but he knew there was no way out.

“Come on, baby.” Her voice was sweet, teasing. “We both know you belong in thick, crinkly diapers.”

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the mat, his heart hammering in his chest as Mia knelt beside him. She made a show of tearing open the sides of his pull-up, giggling when his erection was still very obvious.

“Aww,” she cooed, smirking, “look at that little stiffy. Too bad babies don’t get to have those.”

Ethan whimpered, his entire body burning with embarrassment as she slid the thick diaper under him. The moment she pulled it snug around his waist and taped it securely in place, he knew she was never going to let him live this down.

Mia patted the front with a satisfied smile. “There we go. All thick and crinkly, just like a proper baby.” She leaned in, whispering playfully, “Guess we’ll have to keep you padded until you forget all about those naughty big-boy feelings.”

Ethan could only squirm and pout, knowing she meant every word.

[bowtiepasta]

HEAVEN IS A BEDROOM “sleeping naked tonight, open door at your own risk!” are the sort of notes you find taped to your door when gojo satoru is your roommate. of course, there are many pros and cons. but either way — ‘roommates’ doesn’t really cut it for what you two are. ❤︎

WORD COUNT: 1,245

INDULGING: sfw and suggestive at worst, modern/college au, petnames ‘princess’ + ‘sweetheart’, touchy, banter, domesticity over plot, he’s got a fat crush on you, f!reader, some language

ROMY’S NOTE: art in header is by mongsanghwa on twitter, divider by strangergraphics. this one’s been marinating in the drafts for way too long omfg. written for marley hehe ! love you

the only reason you live with gojo satoru is a clerical error. some system glitch paired you two as roommates even though mixed gender dorms weren’t an option (in 2009 japan? absolutely not).

you argued, demanded a reassignment, but the university was already overbooked. all remaining single dorms were full and, no, there were no other available options unless you wanted to couch surf for the rest of the semester. the housing office’s compensation? a rent discount. a big one.

a financial miracle, honestly. living near campus for dirt cheap was a deal you couldn’t refuse, even if it meant putting up with him: a loud, arrogant, 6’3 headache.

which is how you ended up here — standing between the beds in your mismatched socks, coffee mug in hand, digging in his ‘pile’ to see if you can find this week’s language arts assignment.

he leaves his cups in the sink unwashed, clothes strewn over every empty surface, cologne bottles all over the (shared) bathroom counter, and sunglasses in every drawer despite owning only one pair of eyes.

sure, there are benefits. he pays for takeout more often than not, usually without asking for reimbursement. he’s weirdly quiet when he knows you’re studying. he’s clearly very popular, yet weirdly never brings anyone home. and even though he’s a shameless flirt, never crosses any real boundaries with you.

still. he’s annoying. which is why you don’t feel particularly bad when you steal his clothes.

“princess, do you know where my hoodie is? I- oh.”

you look up mid-yawn to find gojo standing in your doorway, hair damp from the shower, towel hanging loosely around his neck. shirt on, thankfully.

he’s blinking at you, lips quirking into a grin that you don’t trust in the slightest.

“well, well, well..” he drawls, crossing his arms. “we’ve got a thief in the house. should I call housing?”

“it was on the couch,” you defend, mirroring him. his hoodies are big, practically swallowing you whole, sleeves covering your hands completely.

“huh. that’s funny,” he says, tapping at his chin theatrically. “because last tuesday, when I simply touched your blanket, you threatened to kill me.”

“that’s different.”

“sure.”

a beat, then a knowing hum from him.

“looks better on you anyway,” he says, not without a certain smugness. “you smell like me.”

you toss a pillow in his direction, rolling your eyes. he dodges it with ease, laughing.

eventually, he stops leaning against the doorframe and stretches, shirt riding up just slightly as he yawns too — a not so subtle trail of white hair peeking out.

“..wait,” he tilts his head, “is that my stuff?”

your mouth opens, then closes. you’re caught.

“I-” you clear your throat, trying to recover. “I was looking for the homework.”

“in my laundry?” he walks over.

“yes,” you say, scoffing as you back away. “because someone likes to throw things around.”

gojo hums, stepping into your space like he’s seriously considering the accusation. then he grins at eye level with you. “could’ve just asked, y’know.”

“yeah, because that always goes well. ‘hey gojo, have you seen my-’”

“nope!” he interrupts, mimicking you. “I am but a humble, devastatingly handsome man. how could I-”

“oh my god, do you ever shut up?”

he laughs, grabbing your wrists when you swat at him. before you can retaliate, he plucks the very notebook you were searching for out of the pile, casually flipping through the pages like it was never lost to begin with.

“wow,” he muses, dragging out each syllable. “can’t believe you doubted me.”

you deadpan. “you’re the one who put it in there.”

“ah-ah,” he wags a finger, stepping backward towards the door. “don’t forget I have what you want.”

“gojo,” you warn.

he hums innocently.

“..give it back.”

“admit I’m handsome.”

you groan, throwing your head back as you plop onto your bed. “I would literally rather die.”

“okay, princess,” he says, clicking his tongue as he tucks your notebook into his elbow, lays down next to you. “guess you don’t need it that bad, then.”

you lunge for him, but he’s faster. not by much, yet enough to be annoying. he holds it over his head.

“gojo,” you warn again, narrowing your eyes.

“hmm? what, sweetheart?”

“give it.”

he pretends to think. “I don’t know, this new arrangement is growing on me. maybe I should hold onto it. for.. safekeeping.”

you glare. “safekeeping? oh, you mean like how you ‘safekept’ my charger for a week? or my textb-”

“that’s unfair.” he pouts, “those were borrowed with a hundred percent full intent to return.”

you huff. “they were in your bag. at school. for a week.”

gojo waves a hand dismissively. “semantics.”

you take advantage of his distraction and jump. it’s a desperate move — probably one you should’ve thought through, but you can’t turn back now.

what you don’t anticipate is how instead of letting you take the notebook like a normal person would, gojo decides to catch you. one arm easily wraps around your waist, and suddenly, you’re way too aware of how close his face is to yours.

“oh?” he says, smug as ever. “if you wanted to be in my arms that bad, you really could’ve asked. I think we need to work on our communication methods.”

there are no words in the japanese, english, nor any language in the world to be exact, to describe how pissed you are at him right now. “let go.”

“but we’re having a moment,” he says, hand to his chest. “the tension is unreal.”

“g-”

“what do they call this in books?” he pulls you closer. “an almost kiss?”

you scowl. “it’s called me pistol-whipping your ass with this straightener if you don’t let go now.”

gojo laughs, but he does let you go — gently, even. but then, the notebook gets tucked back under his arm. “what was that about my ass?”

you glare, holding out a hand., growing impatient. “satoru.”

he whistles, considering. “I think I’d be more inclined to give it back if you ditched class with me.”

you reach for your phone to check the time, but it slides right off the nightstand, sending a small pile of papers tumbling. he picks it up for you, fingers brushing yours when he does.

you take a deep breath, trying to remain composed, but you know you’re about to cave. ��..to where?”

his eyes light up like a kid at christmas. who, to be fair, would probably have a higher mental age than he currently does. he slides the notebook out from behind his back, still not handing it over. “just here.”

you sigh, unimpressed. “just here?”

gojo smirks, arms casually folded over his chest. “yep. just here. way better than whatever you're about to do.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you mean go to class.”

he shrugs like it's no big deal. “potato potato.”

you make a face as you look over at him. before you can answer, he careens over, a quick, soft kiss landing on your cheek. you freeze, brain taking a second to catch up.

“stay here with handsome, yeah?” he says, his voice dipping as he waits for a green light.

you blink, staring at him, face heating up. “god, you’re ridiculous — you know that?” you mutter, heart racing in spite of your efforts.

he nuzzles into your shoulder, not giving you a chance to protest, “come on, princess. don’t make me beg.”

romy 🐰 is typing… college aus are probably among my favorite settings? scenarios? tropes? of all time. they always hit. and I eat them up every. single. time. lmk if you want to see it with anyone else (obv not dorms again. probably sports?). rugby boyfriend kuna is calling to me. brb making a draft

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[gurugirl]

The Honeymoon | a preview

This is a completed Patreon only 4 part one-shot. Total word count: 22,122

Summary: When your fiance doesn't show up on your wedding day, you're left devastated and humiliated. But you plan to go on your honeymoon trip anyway, a monthlong guided tour through the UK. Your handsome and charming tour guide, Harry, helps you see the beauty around yourself as you discover how scenic life is and find the courage to embrace a new beginning.

·⁀ ༄.°✈ ₊⭒˚｡⋆

“What do you mean he’s not at the altar? Like… he’s not here? At all?” You’d been waiting for the signal to come out for nearly thirty minutes in the dressing room. Your mother had left to find out what the holdup was, and you figured Adan was just being his normal self. Often taking way too long to do things or losing track of time. It was irritating that on your wedding day, of all days, he’d cause such a delay, but you were determined to keep positive and not sweat the small stuff.

“Honey, he never showed up. I guess Arthur said he got a text from Adan. He said he’s not coming.”

You’d never in your life felt such a sense of panic. It was supposed to be the best day of your life. Or at least a wonderfully monumental day that you’d always remember with happy fondness.

“Is—he okay? What happened?” You rushed to fish your phone from your bag and dialed your fiancé right away, your 1-carat engagement ring glinting flawlessly in the light that poured in from the window. It was a gorgeous sunny day—too pretty to have something like this go wrong. 

Your mom gently put her hand on your arm. Her expression was pity, sorrow.

“He’s not answering! Oh my god. Is he hurt? Do we know what happened?”

Shaking her head, your mom kept her eyes on you, and there was a knock at the door before it was being pushed open. Your maid of honor, Dora, pushed her way into the dressing room and wrapped her arms around you, sniffling. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m gonna kill him.”

You pushed her off, holding her by the shoulders, and shook your head. “What do you mean? What’s happened? What did he do?”

You had almost no information. Your mother only knew he wasn’t coming based on a text he sent his best man, Arthur.

“He’s gone to Vegas. With Mindy.”

“Mindy?!” You looked from your mom to your best friend, and your eyes widened as it all suddenly dawned on you.

Mindy. She was one of your closest and dearest friends. In fact, she was meant to be in the wedding party, and you hadn’t seen her all day either, but figured she was elsewhere or running late, as she tended to do. A lot like Adan, now that you were thinking about it.

Mindy was Adan’s friend before yours. He and Mindy went to college together, and from the moment he introduced you two, you were connected at the hip, and you adopted her into your tight-knit group of friends. She’d be at your and Adan’s apartment almost every day after you got off work. Already there with a beer in hand and figuring out what to make for dinner with your fiancé. Sometimes, it was like she was a roommate. Sometimes, you wondered if Mindy might have a crush on Adan. But you never imagined in a million years…

“Vegas? Like… to get…” You hadn’t stopped shaking your head as you searched Dora’s face, your mother clinging to you closely in support.

Dora nodded, “Eloped,” she scoffed. “I’m gonna kill the fucking bitch and then I’m gonna cut his dick off with a dull butter knife and make him eat it!”

Your mom let out a shocked laugh of approval, and you broke down. It had been the most dramatic and ridiculous display since you were five, and your brother had cut off your favorite doll's hair and dipped its head in blue acrylic paint.

But this time, it was called for. Your mother and your best friend held you on each side as your legs gave way, and you went limp slowly to the floor. Black streaks of mascara down your face and splotched on the bust of your ivory dress, you ugly cried until you couldn’t breathe and then did it again.

Not only were you devasted. You were humiliated. Your fiancé, the man you were due to marry at that moment, had run off with one of your best friends. To marry her and not you.

Mother fucker.

·⁀ ༄.°✈ ₊⭒˚｡⋆

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xoxo

[laurentidal]

Out of Frame

"Who the fuck is that?" Amelia spat.

Her boyfriend froze mid-swipe as she began to shout.

"No. No. Go back. Let's see. Yeah, yeah. One more to the left. That one."

His finger came to rest on the photo in his camera roll he'd been swiping past. The photo showed what was obviously him on the pier. His arm was outstretched, taking what was meant to have been a selfie with someone else, but the other person had just stepped out of frame. All you could see was his laughing face and his other hand, clasped tight around a woman's hand. Her nails were done. Pretty red.

She looked up into his face, which was full of confusion.

"Babe, that's you."

She hesitated for a moment. "What? No it's not. We haven't been to the pier in months. This photo is from three days ago."

"Yeah," he said, his voice shaking slightly and his eyes full of perplexed worry. "You don't remember when we went to the pier three days ago?"

"No! Because we didn't!"

He tried to take her hands in his, but she pulled them away. "Babe," he started again.

"No. Don't try to gaslight me. I'm not some crazed woman who can't remember what we did over the weekend!"

"Okay then," he said, staring her down, "I won't. I'll let you tell me. What did we do this weekend?"

"Friday we went to the movies. Sunday we were at that market downtown."

"And Saturday?" he asked, bringing up the timestamp. "When this photo was taken, where were you? Where was I?"

She screwed up her face slightly, suddenly aware of a hole in her memory. He sighed a long, sad sigh.

"Amy, you know I've been hypnotizing you?"

"Yes," she spat, her anger still boiling despite her growing confusion.

"I did it that morning but we got interrupted. I thought you'd come out of it. You were behaving normally, but maybe you weren't totally back when we went out."

Amy sat there, stunned. That was… possible.

"Here," he said, reaching for the sides of her head. He placed his hands on her temples and looked into her eyes. "Amelia, drift."

Like a switch, her mind was like sand in a sieve. Her eyes went glassy. Her breathing slowed. She'd been topless already since they'd just been fooling around, and Connor noticed, as he always did, how fucking hot she looked when she sank this deep.

"Think back now, Amelia. You remember Saturday morning. You remember staring at the candle flame and sinking so deep for me."

"I remember."

"That's good. Do you remember the knock on the door from the landlord, and how I needed to leave you on the couch for a moment?"

She didn't notice that had been a statement rather than a question. She simply did as she always did when he spoke to her in trance: as she was told.

"I remember."

"And you remember when I came back and without remembering to wake you, we went out to the pier and had a lovely day."

Another statement. A fact. A truth.

"I remember."

"Good. Amelia, anchor."

She blinked and looked at him aghast. "Oh my God, Connor I'm so sorry! I can't believe I forgot!" Then she punched him hard in the chest. "You need to be more careful with me!!!"

She kissed him on the cheek and apologized again. And apologized for hitting him. Then she took his hand in hers. His fingered intertwined with hers, her nails colorless. And as she stood to go get dressed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

She'd spend all of Saturday here in the apartment, staring at the candle he used to hypnotize her. She'd sat right there on that couch with her fingers on her clit, his name on her lips, and her eyes on the flame. He'd spent Saturday with Bev at the pier, making sure she focused very closely on the blinking lights of the rides.

He dialed his phone as he heard the shower turn on.

"Beverly, drift."

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[shineon3]

hello! <3 could i ask for a 47. sickfic/caretaking for the fic game?

From here.

Hi Esi ❤️❤️Here's some lovely maxiel sickfic for you :3 I hope you enjoy it <3

Daniel wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling awfully cold.

He sits up slowly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and reaching out to turn the bedside lamp on. The blanket is on the floor. That’s probably what woke him up, then. He leans down, reaching for it, when he realises two little things. 

The bathroom’s light is on.

Max isn’t next to him, either, and when Daniel pats the blonde’s side of the bed, he finds it cold, like Max has been gone for a while. The brunette gets out of the bed, socked feet hitting the floor, and makes his way to the bathroom. He finds both Jimmy and Sassy there, curled up right in front of the door, as if keeping watch. The thought makes Daniel chuckle, and he leans in to pet the cats, grinning when they purr. A moment later, he decides to knock on the closed door.

“Maxy? You here, babe?”

The only thing he hears is a muffled groan, making him frown in concern. He pulls the door handle down and opens the door.

Max is curled up on the floor, forehead resting against the toilet seat. He looks pale, awfully so, skin visibly sweaty and clammy. Daniel keels down next to him without a second thought. 

“Baby? What’s wrong?” 

It takes Max so long to reply, and worry claws at Daniel’s gut. He presses a hand to his husband’s forehead. 

“M sick, Danny…”

“Oh, sweetheart… Can I hold you?”

Max immediately curls up in his arms, and Daniel cards a hand through the blonde’s hair, pressing a kiss to it. 

“You’re not too warm, I don’t think it’s a fever,” Daniel hums softly. “Cmon, let me clean you up, okay?”

He hoists Max up, supporting his weight and helps him rinse his mouth and wash his face. Then, he carefully picks his husband up, making sure not to jostle him too much as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“Here, sweets,” He sets Max down on the counter and hands him a cup of water. He waits until the blonde finishes drinking before asking. “Better?”

He watches as Max nods slowly, and leans in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, relishing in the little giggle the blonde lets out.

“You up for trying some home remedy, sweetheart?”

Max eyes him suspiciously, face all scrunched up. He’s adorable, Daniel thinks.

“Home remedy?" His voice is small, a bit rough. Daniel pushes some hair out of his forehead. "You better not be offering sex, you horndog.”

“What? No!” The older laughs, taken aback. “That’s not what I meant, baby, oh my god.”

“You sure? Because that sounded like some weird sex offer right there.” 

God, Daniel loves the little minx.

“I promise. I meant something like ginger,” The brunette huffs, forehead pressed against Max shoulders, Max’s legs wrapped around his waist. “I know you don’t really like tea, but maybe ginger tea would help?”

“I’m willing to try.” 

Max smiles, soft and fond, and Daniel can’t believe that, just a few months ago, he thought he was only marrying Max for financial gain and leverage. Because, honestly? He doesn’t know what he’d do without this little ball of sunshine in his rather grim life. 

He ends up making tea for both of them, and they curl up together on the couch, Jimmy and Sassy keeping them company while they rest and watch reruns of some old, shitty tv show. Max is sleeping by the time the sun rises, and Daniel picks up his phone, cancelling all his meetings.

They can wait. 

Daniel’s doting on his baby today.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Gregory House x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | none.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: 11. He had told her not to make a fuss about his birthday. He definitely hadn’t told her to plan a surprise party.

You had spent years working with Gregory House. Years spent exchanging sharp banter, dodging his sarcasm, matching his wit with your own. Years of stolen glances, lingering touches that were easily brushed off as accidental, and a slow-burning attraction that had never quite ignited into something more.

And now, you were done waiting.

His birthday had seemed like the perfect excuse—an opportunity to show him, not just tell him, that you cared. And, because he was Gregory House, you knew damn well he would never make it easy for you.

“I swear to God, if you even think about doing something stupid for my birthday—” House had warned, his blue eyes narrowing over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Define ‘stupid,’” you had teased, smirking.

“Anything that involves cake, balloons, or people I don’t like pretending they give a crap.”

Which, to House, meant most people.

Wilson had confirmed it. Cuddy had sighed and told you that, yes, House had made it his life’s mission to avoid celebrating his birthday. But you were nothing if not persistent. And stubborn. If House was going to avoid his birthday, then you were going to make it impossible for him to do so.

So you planned a surprise party.

And now, standing in the crowded hospital lounge, surrounded by his team, Cuddy, Wilson, and a handful of other brave souls, you started to think maybe this had been a mistake.

The door creaked open.

“SURPRISE!” The group shouted in unison.

House stood there, his cane still mid-step, his expression unreadable as his blue eyes swept over the crowd. The silence that followed stretched on a little too long.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The tension in the room thickened as people exchanged nervous glances. You, on the other hand, bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

Cuddy sighed. “Oh, come on, House, just—”

“No.” He lifted his cane, pointing it in your direction. “This has your fingerprints all over it.”

You shrugged, unapologetic. “Guilty as charged.”

“You—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You ignored my explicit instructions.”

“They weren’t instructions,” you said, stepping closer, arms crossed. “They were a grumpy old man’s demands.”

He scoffed. “And yet, I find myself standing in the middle of a Hallmark nightmare.”

“Would it kill you to enjoy something for once?” You challenged, tilting your head.

House’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—he’d relent.

Then he turned on his heel.

“Nope. Not doing this.”

The room watched in stunned silence as he limped right out the door.

Cuddy sighed again. Wilson gave you an apologetic smile.

And you—well, you just rolled your eyes and went after him.

You found him in his office, sitting at his desk, tossing a small rubber ball against the wall with calculated precision. You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You really know how to make an exit,” you mused.

“Practice,” he muttered, still tossing the ball.

You stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind you. “You didn’t even stay long enough for the cake.”

“Didn’t ask for cake.”

“No, but I did.” You moved closer, until you were standing right in front of him. “And I spent all night baking it.”

That made him pause. The ball hit his desk with a soft thud as he eyed you skeptically. “You don’t bake.”

“I do when I care about someone.” The words were simple, unfiltered. They hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable.

House studied you for a long moment. “And here I thought you just enjoyed torturing me.”

“Oh, I do,” you admitted with a smirk. “But I also meant what I said.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers drumming against the desk. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Not yet.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something raw, something real. You watched as he reached for his cane, pushing himself to stand until he was so close, you could feel the warmth of him.

“Why do you even—” He stopped himself, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was about to ask.

“Because it’s you,” you answered before he could finish.

His gaze flickered to your lips. Your pulse quickened.

And then, just like that, Gregory House closed the remaining space between you and kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was confident, certain, like he had been waiting just as long as you had for this. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until the world outside of this office didn’t exist.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was warm against your lips.

“Still an idiot,” he murmured.

“Still worth it,” you countered.

His lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile. “I guess one bite of cake wouldn’t kill me.”

You grinned. “Come on, birthday boy. Let’s get you that cake.”

And this time, he didn’t put up a fight.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

▸ House MD

@mayo-i @dustie-faerie @awxcoffeexno @khxna

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #34

[Continuation of poll #21]

Nodding, you crouched down to your fellow victim's height, slinging your arms around his body and helping him up into a stand. You two had no time to waste, but you couldn't leave him here like this. Not when he was the same as you, scared and desperate to get away from the psychos that had trapped you in the mansion. There was no way you could have forgiven yourself later if you made it out and left him behind to suffer, and since he claimed to know the way, there was a real chance of fleeing!

Lending him your shoulder to lean on, you two hobbled quickly through the dark hallways. He only ever glanced briefly between two paths before pointing one out in a firm whisper. You trusted him more and more, witnessing his confidence in his choices and feeling like this truly was the working out. The hallways continued endlessly, a never-ending maze in which you would surely have gotten lost. Maybe this was meant to be, you two helping and escaping together.

"Over there!" the victim suddenly claimed, whisper-shouting, immediately sweeping you up in his excitement. Aside from his instructions and your heavy breaths, you two had moved in complete silence, avoiding causing any attention to your location. Hearing him call out suddenly loosened the tension you both had felt all this time. The goal was so close.

You followed the direction his hand was pointing in, seeing an open hallway lit up by moonlight from the windows. From it, a staircase led down to what you presumed was the ground floor, and before you knew it, you were looking down into a grand entrance hall. "Oh my god," you whispered, barely able to believe what you saw. Together, you two hobbled into the light and slowly, carefully took your first steps down. The staircase was massive, with two tiers, and it made sense, seeing how high up you had been whenever you looked out of a window.

However, this was the toughest challenge yet, as you had to help your new friend down the stairs. He bit his lip bloody while trying to muffle his cries of pain as you two took step after step, but it still took an awful long time. Time you two didn't have. Time you probably shouldn't have wasted, especially when you needed a short respite as you reached the top of the lower tier of staircases.

"There you are~" a seductive, unfamiliar female voice rang out. Both your heads shot up, looking down the left stairs in surprise and shock, watching as a lady in a long, flowy, white dress stood at the end of that staircase, holding a whip in her hand. A large white hat covered most of her face, but you saw the chilling glint of her red eyes and the superior smile on her face as she watched you.

No, not you.

Him.

"Did you get hurt, my darling?" she asked, lifting her dress to take the first step upwards, tutting. "That's what you get for running away, sweetheart. You should have known better, but don't worry, I will take care of you."

She let the whip crack into her palm once before adding, "After I punish you."

"N-No..." your fellow captive whimpered, his whole body shivering in the hold you had on him. "That can't be happening... not again... We are so close. We have to get away!"

His words prompted you to look forward, and he was right. A large, lavish entrance door could be seen at the end of the hall. He had actually told you the truth, leading you to the exit as promised. But at least one of the psychos was now aware of your presence, much too close for comfort, as she kept approaching you two with all the time in the world.

What if she called for backup? What if there was someone else waiting for you two in the shadows? Maybe this was all just show; perhaps it was a grand act to make you two wither in fear before your captors. Clearly, this was more fun for them than it had ever been for any of your captives, so who was to say this wasn't all a big trap in the first place? You've come so far only to have your hopes ruined. One mistake and all the efforts you and the other victim had put into this escape were in vain.

"Oh, I don't want you," the psycho suddenly said, giving you a bored, dismissive look as you met her eyes. "You can leave if you want. Just leave my darling here with me."

"N-No! Please don't!" he begged you, gripping you tightly. Pure, unfiltered fear swirled in his eyes, panic making him shake uncontrollably. "She'll hurt me! She's going to... I- I can't stay here, please!"

"You beg so prettily, but how do you expect to get away from me in the first place?" she laughed, her heels clicking on the stairs as she took step after step, coming closer and closer. You had to make a decision, and this time, it almost seemed like you had to sacrifice your new friend if you wanted to escape. The exit was so close, would you really give up your chance?

Then again... on this small platform between the two staircases, there were little column-like stands with flower vases on top. The decorations were conveniently placed, close enough to the edge so you could push it down. If you managed to hit her with one or two of them, making her stumble and fall back down, you two could make it together. It would be loud and messy, causing others to come to this entrance hall to see what the commotion was all about. Additionally, you didn't know what to expect once you were outside the mansion, but you've come so far together, your fellow victim never lying or misleading you.

You couldn't just leave him behind, could you?

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[iheartinkonpaper]

i'll be like one of your girls (or your homies)

Everybody loves you, baby

“Hey, blondie.” 

Somehow, in the span of four months, Art had managed to forget just how big Patrick Zweig was. 

Sure, he was tall, but Art was, too.  Sure, his body was incredibly toned and bulky from years upon years of intense conditioning and tennis playing but Art’s, though more lean, was toned, too. Sure, he had big hands, a big, gorgeous, face, and, based on what glimpses of skin he’d accidentally caught in the locker room and what he’d barely felt during that feverish night in the hotel room back in June, a big– no. Why was his mind going there?

You should trademark your face

But the biggest thing about him was his presence. How the energy shifted, became heavier, hotter, more, when he was in a room. How he held court without even really trying, permanently at ease and entrancing crowds of people in his little Patrick spell by flashing his sweet little Patrick smile and saying even sweeter little Patrick words.

Linin’ down the block to be around you

“Hello? Earth to Art!”

Art blinked. Patrick had been standing in his dorm doorway for god knows how long at this point, laden down with heavy bags full of clothes and tennis gear. It had been four months– by far the longest it had ever been– since the pair had last seen each other. Art hadn’t been able to sleep last night, tossing and turning at the thought of seeing his best friend after so long. 

All day, he had been thinking about how he would greet him. How he’d run into his arms like they were an old married couple and Patrick would ruffle his hair like they were best friends and everything would be okay again because they were something in between. And now that the moment was here, he had frozen.

“Well?” Patrick had an eyebrow raised, clearly confused and a little glimmer of something in his eyes. Could it be apprehension? Anger? Hurt?

But, baby, I’m in first place

Art turned off his brain and finally stepped forward and pulled his best friend in for a hug. Now Patrick was everywhere. His arms were wrapped around Art’s back, one hand smoothing it up and down his spine in a way that made his brain short circuit. His smell, a smell that Art could only describe as The Patrick Smell, overwhelmed his senses. His curls brushed up against the side of his jaw. His nose pressed gently up against his shoulder as he tucked his head there. 

“Finally,” Patrick murmured into Art’s neck, causing his face to go hot in a blush that he prayed he wouldn’t see. “There’s my Art.”

“Missed you so much,” Art managed to choke out despite his pounding heartbeat and increasingly muddled brain. 

What was going on? He was hugging his best friend. They were the touchiest pair of best friends either of them knew; there was always an arm slung around a shoulder, a hand on a thigh, a leg tossed over another leg. That was just the way they were. 

Patrick, much to Art's embarrassment, was the first to pull away, striding into Art's tiny little shoebox dorm and surveying it, picking up and putting down trinkets, looking at the posters on the walls and the papers on the desk. 

"Man, I can't believe we're no longer roommates," Patrick muttered, sitting down on Art’s tiny twin bed, looking him in the eye and leaving him with no choice but to nod along. Art walked over and joined him, careful to leave a few feet of space in between them. Patrick’s brow furrowed slightly at this, but he quickly wiped the expression away. Art was mollified. He knows something is wrong with me. 

Face card, no cash, no credit

"Yeah me neither," He said, because it was true. It was crazy. "It's weird that your face isn't the first thing I see every morning."

Patrick laughed and grinned, raising his eyebrows. 

“Oh yeah? Whose face are you seeing instead?”

Art felt himself turn pink again under Patrick’s gaze.

“Um, no, I, I haven’t really, um, slept with, or I guess I should say, um, hooked up, since–”

“Dude, that’s not what I meant,” Patrick interrupted, laughing in that easy, lighthearted, Patrick way–much to Art’s horror. “I meant if you have a roommate or anything, but I’m all for hearing about my little Artie’s romantic conquests.”

“I don’t have one,” Art whispered, studying his hands under the heat of Patrick’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Don’t have what? A roommate or a romantic conquest?”

“Both. They never gave me a roommate at the beginning of the year and I haven’t… had sex at all,” Art replied in a tone that he fought to keep cool and casual, daring to look up and meet Patrick’s gaze. Clearly, he was slightly shocked, but there was something relaxed and assured about that shock. Something relieved. 

“Dude, no way you haven’t gotten laid at least once this year. Girls aren’t throwing themselves at you from every direction?”

Art felt his face turn warm again and Patrick grinned. 

“Aw, don’t go all shy on me, Donaldson. You know girls love a pretty face like yours. And you’re tall and you’ve got muscles and you’re smart and actually, like, sweet. What’s not for them to like?”

Yes God, don’t speak, you said it

Art flushed again, and this time, he could tell by the quirk in his eyebrow that Patrick noticed.

“No, Patrick. I’ve had plenty of offers, trust me.” Calm, cool, collected. Calm, cool, collected.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you take them?” 

Look at you

“Not interested.” Calm, cool, collected. Definitive. 

Patrick’s lip curled a tiny bit and narrowed his eyes in a way that made Art feel like a petri dish under a microscope. 

“Sure you aren’t.”

Art was hot, hot, hot, all over. His mind was a jumbled mess of half-baked excuses and wild stories that he could use to distract Patrick and, god, Patrick, Patrick and his face and his eyes and his hair and his hands and–

“That’s it, Donaldson. You’re thinking too loudly. Relax. It’s just me.”

Art smiled weakly.  That was the problem. It was just him.

Patrick’s eyes lit up. 

“Hey, let me tell you about this insane hookup I had a couple weeks back,” Patrick grinned, flopping back on Art’s bed.

Art flopped back with him, staring at the ceiling and praying to God that he would make it through this alive. Sure, he’d listened to Patrick’s sex stories in extensive detail countless times, but that was before. 

Skip the application, interview 

“So we were on a date at this new restaurant in New York. Shit, I can’t remember the name, but it was so fucking good, Artie. Had these sweet potato fries–I know you love those– that almost made me orgasm before we even got back to my hotel room, I swear. Anyway, we get back to the hotel and get in the elevator, and he–”

Art felt his heart freeze in his chest. 

“He?” He squeaked out, pushing himself upright. 

Patrick looked at him like a deer in headlights. Helpless, Art watched, for the first and what he hoped was the last time in his life, Patrick’s walls go up before his very eyes. He sat up so that he was sitting face to face with Art, so close that they could feel each other breathing. 

“No, Patrick, Patrick, I’m-I’m not homophobic or anything I swear, I just…didn’t know.”

Art could barely breathe. Could barely think. Could barely anything. 

Patrick’s face relaxed a little, but Art could tell he was still nervous.

“Well, that’s me. I’m bisexual. Bring out the rainbow flags” Patrick cracked a small smile. 

“What made you realize it?” Art whispered, daring to look at him. 

He looked shaken, a little relieved, and, suddenly, a little… embarrassed? 

Sweet like Maribou 

Patrick was silent, and bowed his head down to his lap. This caught Art off guard. Patrick was never like this. 

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to,” Art quickly reassured him. His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest and run away. He knew it was now or never. Knew now that Patrick wouldn’t judge him for what he was about to say because he was the exact same way. 

Still, he felt like he was going to throw up when he said, “It’s just… I think I might like guys too.”

It was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Patrick looked up, meeting Art’s eyes with an overwhelming cocktail of emotions in his own. 

He took a deep breath, then mirrored Art’s question from a minute ago. 

“What made you realize it?” 

Art felt the same way that he did when he was strapped into the drop tower at the amusement park near his childhood home, waiting for his seat to plummet down, down, taking his stomach and his breath along with it. 

“You.” He whispered. 

“Art,” Patrick breathed raggedly, eyes now wild and alive and searching Art’s for any sign of deception. “Art, I swear to fucking God, if this is some sick, fucking, joke because now you know I’m bisexual-”

“Patrick. I mean it.”

Maybe it was his tone, quiet and firm. Maybe it was the crack in his voice. But there was a shift in Patrick’s gaze that told Art that he knew he was telling the truth. 

“Patrick, I can’t be around you normally anymore, I-”

A slow, cocky, smile, spread on Patrick’s face. 

“Oh yeah?”

Art squirmed under his gaze. 

“Yeah,” He continued, voice breathy and quiet. “I don’t really know when this started, or why it started, but you’re just so pretty, you know, your face and everything. and it just makes me so mad because I can’t look away, and when you talk, I feel like you’re hypnotizing me or something because it’s all I can focus on, no matter how stupid whatever you’re saying is, and when you touch me, fuck, Patrick, when you touch me, I feel like I’m on fire. “

Look at you 

Art was breathing heavily. Patrick was grinning like he’d just won a billion dollars and slowly, hesitantly, reached out and cupped Art’s jaw. His eyes went wide and he let out the tiniest, most pathetic, little whimper at the contact that Patrick would be playing on repeat in his head every night for the rest of his life. 

“Seems like you have some pretty big feelings, honey.”

Art turned tomato red at the pet name and Patrick’s cheshire cat grin only grew wider. 

“What are you gonna do about them?”

Art’s body went on autopilot and he leaned in and pressed his lips to Patrick’s.

Give me a call if you ever get lonely 

They were kissing. What Art had imagined every day for the past few weeks (months, honestly) was finally happening. 

And god was it better than any half-formed horny fantasy he could conjure up in the middle of Econ 101.  Now Patrick was really everywhere, his hands moving from his jaw to smooth up and down his torso, his curls brushing Art’s forehead, his strong thighs pressing against Art’s, and, best of all, his lips on Art’s. Art wanted, no, needed, more. 

To Art’s dismay, Patrick pulled back after a few seconds with a concerned look on your face.

“You didn't move a muscle. What’s wrong?”

Now it was Art’s turn to be the deer in headlights. He felt so good that he could barely even process what Patrick just said. Patrick seemed to realize this and laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe how fucking lucky he was.

“Aww, I’ve barely kissed you and you’ve already gone dumb, huh?”

In any other circumstance, Art would be embarrassed. Instead, he nodded.

“Fuck, Patrick, need you so bad, please,” Art whined, too far gone to care about how ridiculous he knew he looked and sounded. 

Who was Patrick to deny such a pretty beggar?

Torturously slowly and languidly, Patrick pressed his lips back to Art’s. It was probably the most delicate Patrick’s ever been, Art vaguely thought as Patrick’s hands smoothed up and down his waist and they gasped into each other’s mouths. Now Patrick’s fingers were knotted in his hair, and he slipped his tongue into Art’s mouth and tugged on his curls gently at the same time. Art moaned, his brain short-circuiting. 

“I know. It feels good, doesn’t it, Artie?” Patrick pulled away to breathlessly whisper against Art’s lips, laughing quietly when Art only whined in response.

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Patrick pushed Art backwards, not breaking the kiss, so that they were both laying down, slotting his hips between Art’s.

They both groaned at the contact, a breathless ‘fucking shit’ slipping out of Patrick as their clothed crotches pressed together. 

“Please, Patrick,” Art gasped, closing his eyes and pressing his hips into Patrick’s desperately, hands clawing at his back. He barely even knew what he was asking for.

“You feel so good, Art,” Patrick moaned as he pulled away from Art’s mouth to kiss along his jaw. “So good for me.”

Art let out a sound like he was a girl in a bad porn video.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Patrick laughed weakly, his voice shot. “Always knew you’d be into that shit.”

His smugness was short lived as Art, trance seemingly broken, pushed up against him and flipped them over so that now he was on top.

“Shut up, Patrick,” Art whispered, grinding his hips into Patrick’s with increasing fervor, soft pants and whines escaping his lips.

“Fuck, Art, you’re so–” he broke off in a groan as Art bit his lip gently–” needy. Me kissing you wasn’t enough, huh? Just had to get on top and take what you need from me, didn’t you? You’re such a slut, Art.”

Say what you want, and I’ll keep it a secret

Art gasped at the word, moaning as his neck dropped into the crevice between Patrick’s neck and shoulder. 

“I’m–I’m not a slut.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are you grinding on your best friend, fuck, like you’re one?”

“I’m–” 

Art broke off in a moan so loud Patrick was sure people in England could hear it, sticky whiteness shooting out and making a mess of his boxers. 

“There we go, Artie. That’s it. Let it all out.” Patrick murmured as he rubbed his back up and down as he shuddered and whined, cheeks pink and lips parted in pleasure. 

Art looked straight out of a renaissance painting, all messy curls, pouty, swollen lips, big, glassy eyes, and flushed cheeks. It was that very thought that sent Patrick over the edge, a quiet groan leaving him as he too made a mess of his boxers.

“Well.” Patrick was first to speak after a few minutes of silence aside from their labored breathing. “I learned a lot today.”

Art turned pink again and Patrick laughed, ruffling his hair.

“I wanna shower. I always shower after…sex,” Art muttered. “I’m all–”

“Can I come with?”

You get the key to my heart, and I need it

[sleepdeprivedblond]

Hero waking up at Villain's lair

Remaining awake for more than a few minutes was becoming harder and harder. You would have thought that it would be getting easier, that the drug given would lessen in strength and leave room for consciousness. But it was not the case.

Hero was not aware of where she was. Perhaps she was sprawled on a random ground, or tied in a wet basement. Time could plan anything. Sometimes, she caught herself praying to a God she didn’t believe in to wake up in a nice comfy bed, tucked in warm covers and surrounded by her caring friends. But she was no such dreamer, not in the long term.

So all she could do was wait. Wait as she felt her thoughts drifting away, spending every barely-awake moment hoping it would stop.

And then, finally, light pierced her eyelids and stayed there, pushing her toward awareness. When she finally managed to pry her eyes open, she couldn’t see what surrounded her right away. Everything was blurry, she felt like she had been hit by a train at full force. Hero didn’t know where pain came from, she just knew that it was there and stabbing at her constantly. But where from?

Prying her eyes open was one thing, understanding where she was was another. 

Hero tried to move but she felt her weak body betraying her once again, silently threatening to pull her under like it was an easy thing to do when it was not supposed to be.

With a sigh, she decided to worry about it later. The most important thing she had to do was figure out where she was.

The ground was not as uncomfortable as it should have been and, when she turned her head - thank the Gods she could move her neck - she saw that she was actually laying on a cloth sprawled underneath her shivering body. Why was it shivering?

-You took your time.

Hero’s brain didn’t register whose voice had echoed next to her but, when it did, she had to resist the urge to try to get up again.

It was Villain. 

No matter how hard Hero tried to remember what had happened and how she could have ended up in such a place next to her nemesis, she couldn’t remember. It felt like her memories were stuck in a vault in her own mind, like straining against the lock was exhausting her to the point of panting in the silence.

-Where am I?

Her voice sounded so weak she wanted to punch herself. Villain didn’t leave her enough time to try to move her fist.

-Relax, you’re with me.

-Is that really supposed to help me relax?

-That’s not my problem.

Hero sighed. It was always the same with Villain, every statement was turned into a question. She turned her head toward the origin of the voice and noticed her old friend.

Her sworn enemy was leaning against the far wall, looking down on her. Which meant that, even though Hero was not laying on the cold ground, she was still on the floor.

Great.

-What happened?

-You got injured.

As if it wanted to prove Villain’s words, Hero suddenly felt her side bursting into an unbearable fire. She groaned and managed to palm her wound, feeling the rough textile that was hugging her tightly. Bandages.

-How? She managed through gritted teeth.

-Is that all that matters to you?

Hero didn’t need to look at Villain to know what she meant by her question.

Her enemy had rescued her and taken care of her wound. Surely, she would remember bandaging it herself. If Villain had not been the one doing it, then it had been one of her henchmen. But it could not have been done by itself. Someone had done this for her, with the intention to keep her alive.

-If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so earlier. You wouldn’t have taken the time to help me heal, would you?

-That’s debatable. Maybe I need you for something.

-You wish I was that useful. We both know I’m not.

-Why so convinced?

Hero sighed again and decided not to meet Villain’s again. She knew that her old friend wanted to play a game she hated. And she was too exhausted to get in it.

-When will you let me go?

-Oh, so you think you can stand and walk, then?

Hero was about to prove Villain wrong when her enemy was suddenly by her side. She felt strong hands applying pressure to her rib-cage, keeping her on the ground. She grinned, a little too out of it to realize she shouldn't.

-Are you that scared for me? She teased.

-Right. Like I ever was.

Hero decided not to remind Villain about those times when they were little, when she was the cautious one. She felt lucky enough not to have been left to rot wherever she had been hurt.

-I want to leave, though.

-Are you listening to yourself? Have you any idea how long you stayed unconscious?

-Whose fault?

-Yours!

-No, yours!

It felt like they were bickering children. Hero took a deep breath, aware that Villain would not calm down first. She had to get down by herself. It had always been this way.

-What did you give me?

-What?

-I said: what did you give me? What drug?

-What makes you assume-

-I just know.

Nobody stays asleep for so long. Hero knew that much. She also knew that Villain would rather watch her sleeping than listen to her complaining. Villain finally sighed and looked away, her palms retracting from Hero’s rib-cage.

-It wasn’t that much.

-Alright, what was it?

-Morphine.

-Morphine got me in this state?

-You were worse when I found you.

-Right.

Hero winced when she observed the needle still sinking into her skin. Her arm was almost limp, like the rest of her body. If she wanted to leave any time soon, she had to get the drug out of her. She had to convince Villain to remove it at all.

-If I stop the morphine from going into you, Villain said, reading in her mind like always, you will feel pain. A lot of pain.

-I know. Please do.

-Very bad idea.

-Did I stutter?

Villain sighed but said nothing. She did all the necessary preparations under Hero’s critical eye, from cleaning around the red skin where the needle sank to putting latex gloves on. She removed the accessory, still under Hero’s unmoving gaze, confirming that she had been the one to go all this way in order to keep her alive.

-Don’t ask. Villain said, apparently reading in her mind fully.

-I wasn’t about to.

They both knew it was a lie. They both knew Villain would rather die than answer. They both knew Hero couldn’t bear whatever answer her old friend would give her.

-Try to move as little as possible. Standing is still a big step.

-I will do whatever I want. Hero answered as coldly as she could.

-Alright.

Just when Hero thought she had finally won, that Villain would finally leave and that she would have the opportunity to escape whatever place this way, she felt something tugging at her ankle.

She looked down and realized that she was strapped to the ground. And Villain was actually tightening the straps. She was on a table without any feet, like the thing had been made especially for this kind of situation. To heal someone who didn’t want to be taken care of.

She immediately started to fight back, the pain in her side hissing at her. She let out a strangled yelp when she suddenly felt it, morphine not coating her nerve endings anymore.

-I told you. Villain said as she reached the door, leaving tied Hero behind. You still need to rest.

The pain was too much, the restraints were, too. Hero sank in the dark again.

[weirdero]

Something something about how Severances repeatedly highlights the theme of corporate women having no authority over themselves and this is powerfully shown throughout the series by their clothing. At this company these women at their absolute best and highest capabilities are nothing more than performative test dolls dressed in cute little outfits.

Their bodily autonomy is pushed to its absolute limits, a constant assault. In Helly’s case that fuck ass camping trip I will never get over and her outies video message all the way back in season one. Both reduced her to nothing but a tool. A cheap trick, a vessel for someone else’s choices. In Helena’s head Helly at her brightest, at her absolute best, and most useful, is just a tool.

In Gemma’s case. oh my god. Oh my god. Her innies are subjected to a suffering so sick and twisted that the only measure of endurance is how long they can comply and submit.

They are pushing this woman to her fucking limit trying to like break this woman down. and I mean she has broken down before. This woman has attempted to break someone’s bones, and we get to see her hit a man straight on the head with a chair. I can just imagine how awful those first months were. She’s probably spent days crying, screaming, biting, fighting for her life just to then wake up the next day, presented with a new little outfit. Her spirit can’t break it won’t because her love for Mark won’t allow her that. But she’s definitely has gotten close. Doesn’t matter anyways since Lumon won’t allow her that either. Has to finish what was started even though she doesn’t understand what she’s a part of she has to stay

Just like in the dentist’s office when she has to open her mouth. There are no breaks.

Or like when she writes Christmas letters, she has to finish them all with her left hand, even though she’s clearly right handed. It doesn’t matter how long it takes her to finish them anyways since every day is Christmas anyways.

She has to get on that plane. She has to go to a workout class (or some other athletic activity I’m assuming rn). She has to wake up every morning and put on her outfit of the day, the only thing giving her a small hint of what kind of day she’ll have. She has to wear those clothes.

Helly has to wear Helena’s fucking clothes.

Not like any of it matters anyways this pain they are subjected to this torture isn’t meant for them it has nothing to do with them. It’s all for kier.

It’s exploitative, it’s controlling, it’s assault, it’s evil, and it’s real. Helly and her emotions are real. Gemma and her innies are real. Abuse of power and exploitation (especially towards women) in the workplace is real.

Anyways. LOVE THIS SHOW! AND LOVE HELLY AND GEMMA. Stop pitting women against each otherrr FREEDOM FOR BOTH MY GIRLS!!!!. Also this TikTok is what inspired this rant I saw it and was like OHHHH SHIT.

[chenouttachen]

i'm ending my episode 3 rewatch with some alanjeff feels (who's surprised). alan and jeff are set up as soulmates from the very beginning and this episode is such a perfect example of why they work.

there aren't any romantic feelings yet, not really. alan is perplexed and intrigued by jeff, and jeff has definitely seen some life changing visions, but romance hasn't entered the picture. it's here though that they begin to see each other as equals.

not once but twice in this episode alan is able to have open, honest conversations with jeff that he seems reluctant to have with anyone else. and this is, in part, due to jeff's work ethic and presence.

the first conversation takes place long after the garage is closed for the day - alan is working late because he's stressed about money and jeff is working late because he's, well, jeff. but jeff is able to tell immediately that alan is frazzled. having thought he's alone in the garage, alan has let his guard down, his emotions showing plain on his face and jeff is quick to pick up on this.

at first alan is embarrassed to be called out. he works very hard to present a calm and competent front to the rest of x-hunter and takes his role as leader very seriously. he's honest with his team, lets them know there's some trouble with red racing and sponsorships but he never lets them see how much it's truly weighing on him. and here's this kid who's been working at the garage for a week and can see right through him. it would be so easy for him to laugh it off or walk away, but he doesn't. and jeff, for his part, does shovel noodles into his mouth as if doing that can take the words back. he too could leave at any moment, but he stays.

instead, jeff chooses to speak to alan as an adult. in his short time at x-hunter he's already read the older man enough to know that he values his team's independence and freedom in the industry. alan is surprised by jeff's knowledge of sponsorship deals but doesn't shut him down or say he's got it covered. he listens to what jeff has to say and finds himself in agreement, affirming that jeff has read him correctly.

and then alan continues to let himself be vulnerable. he voices his anxiety that he isn't enough, that he alone can't keep x-hunter afloat. he wonders whether sending babe back to tony is the right thing to do, not because he thinks it would make them happy, but because it might ensure that babe has a stable family. and jeff takes a moment here. he could choose to agree and walk away, but instead he too lets himself be vulnerable, just for a moment. as an audience, we don't know what jeff has faced, but we (and alan) do know what babe has been through, and we know it's a terrible idea to send him back. when jeff tells alan that family isn't always the safest place to be, we sympathise with babe and his story, but jeff's words are heavy. his expression is carefully controlled but there's enough weight to his words that alan picks up on it. he wonders how this boy knows this, why he speaks from experience, how someone so young could speak with so much authority. but he doesn't question jeff, doesn't push. and jeff rewards him with clumsy but genuine comfort. he reasures alan that x-hunter are with him because they want to be, because they trust in alan and his care for them. as an outsider, jeff senses the warmth and connection of this team, this family, and although he doesn't yet see a place for himself there, he too trusts in alan. and alan is warmed by this, settled. there's something about jeff that makes him feel safe and seen.

and jeff continues to see alan at his most vulnerable. the next moment is after his conversation with dean, when guilt and regret are eating him up after shutting down the young racer.

once again, jeff cares. he senses the emotion rolling off of alan and checks to make sure he's... okay? but jeff has caught him in one of his less than stellar moments but alan is not initially prepared to be seen. he snaps at first, a defense mechanism and jeff is quick to look away. but he isn't scared of alan, and he doesn't leave. he just looks back at his work and lets alan come to him.

when alan does return to his side, no longer irate, but lost in thought, jeff continues their previous conversations about money. he doesn't question him about dean, doesn't focus on what's obviously a sore spot; he makes sure to centre on something with a clear solution. jeff doesn't beat around the bush. he's blunt and to the point, telling alan that he needs to use his brain and get his shit together. and once again, alan rolls with this. he's invested in the conversation, doesn't treat jeff like a child, and listens intently. he even lets himself get a little sulky, lets jeff see another side to him. when jeff offers him a plausible solution, a way forward, he does so by guiding alan gently. he doesn't tell him outright what to do, doesn't force alan into anything. but jeff knows how much alan cares about his team, about how much he wants to be the one to save them, and he lets alan reach the final conclusion himself. and when he does, alan is ecstatic, responding with physical affection that he cannot contain. we don't know what jeff sees when alan kisses his head, but by the way he leaves swiftly, it's safe to assume his vision hinted at their future relationship.

there's an inherent power imbalance built into their relationship: alan is far older than jeff and his boss, but both of these conversations set them up to be equals. jeff never treats alan as his boss; he's blunt with him, isn't afraid to tell him when he's wrong, and navigates the work space as he wants to. and, for the most part, alan doesn't treat jeff like a child. aside from the nicknames, alan speaks to him as he would anyone else. yes, alan is a natural caregiver and his instincts tell him to take care of jeff, but he never pushes that on him. even before their romance blossoms, alan finds that he can let himself be vulnerable with jeff and be comforted without feeling guilty. and, for the first time since charlie, jeff has someone that he can (slowly) be himself with.

they have a long way to go, but alan and jeff are building the foundations of their relationship with tentative but sturdy bricks.

[weaverofink]

when u name urself after ur fictional crush but your entire friend group also knows the reference

[icantdothistodaybruh]

yea sooooo I may have or may have not watched and instantly rewatched all kuro musicals in existence in a spawn of one week and now have roughly 40 screenshots to redraw from

I think I might be insane or something