#she was my mom's caretaker until then

[bumblingbabooshka]

[Tuvok & Janeway: Control, Distance, Duty & Connection.] Sources: St Voyager Transcripts / Mitski 'First Love Late Spring' / Disco Elysium

[dontthinkwebroketheglass]

Had a really funny moment earlier today where I was in my partner's bed wearing a maid costume (not even a dress or anything it was just straight up lingerie) and I texted them to come in and. They opened the door and saw me for like half a second before their mom called them into her room like "what's up with you why are you rushing around" 😭 thankfully I guess she could tell by the look on their face what was going on and she let them go pretty quickly 😅

[lesbiantabes]

One day im finally gonna learn how to draw, in the meantime i tried to make a comic about one of the múltiple scenarios of how yuko and aldry met

always wear a helmet kids!!

[whatsnewalycat]

SURRENDER

Part Two of Ruthless | Stepdad Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 6.2k+

Warnings: non-canon, Boston Joel, dub con, step-cest, sneaky sex, use of the word daddy in a sexual context, dad kink (that’s a thing right?), age gap, degradation, praise kink, avoidance, silent treatment, sneaking into bedroom at night, angst, collective grief, mentions of explosions and gunshots (nothing graphic), *it’s about the yearning*, hair pulling, no physical descriptions of reader aside from hair can be pulled, reader is 18-19, Joel being a bad dom and a bad caretaker, hot shower, food mention, mentions of religion, unethical D/s dynamics, dry humping, anal sex, physical restraint, face fucking, sub-space unlocked, dirty talk, dd/lg maybe i think, masochism, like a lick of fluff if u squint 

A/N: Heeeey buddy. As stated above, this is a second part to Ruthless. Big thanks to my love @frannyzooey for the help and hype, you're the best. Please be mindful of the warnings and tell me what cults you think exist in post-outbreak tlou.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

———

As the 19-year anniversary of Outbreak Day draws near, unrest festers in the streets of Boston.

Whenever August ticks over into September, residents of the QZ seem to divide into three distinct categories: people who want to forget, people who won’t let them forget, and people who are too young to remember. 

Born post-apocalypse, you fall into this third category. 

Which doesn’t mean the ripples of loss don’t touch you, contrary to what some may think. You still lost something. Everyone did. 

This fact is apparent when you take the scenic route home from your job posting at the distribution center. 

Rubble crunches under your shoes as you walk down the crowded sidewalk, passing by a message spray-painted over the battered brick building: WE’VE BEEN FORSAKEN. 

Graffitied sentiments like these pop up constantly this time of year. Overnight, almost. Your mom and Joel mostly blame Fireflies for the vandalism. The bombs, too. Apparently they stir shit up to make people uneasy, then recruit those who seem susceptible. That’s what your mom thinks, anyway. ‘Leveraging their grief against them,’ she says. 

You think it might be more than that, though. 

Yesterday you saw three separate arguments break out in the streets. When you were taking inventory of k-rations this morning, an explosion went off so close-by that boxes rattled off the shelves. It was the second bombing this week, and you don’t foresee it getting better until October. 

Sure, the Fireflies lay claim to the lion’s share of vandalism and destruction, but their activity is consistent year round. They are the baseline. But this? This is different. 

You attribute the excess chaos to this heavy, static feeling in the air. It clings to your skin and gets stuck under your nails like a thick cloud of invisible dust or spores. Microscopic particles embed themselves in the cracks and creases of each person inside the QZ, fertile ground for clusters of violence to sprout up at every turn. 

If you had to guess, you’d say this phenomenon probably spans the globe. All of you felt the loss of Outbreak Day, the whole human collective. Echoes of what humanity lost will likely still be heard a thousand years from now. 

Some people refuse to accept this. 

Like the guy a few strides ahead of you, who walks by an orange spray-painted message that reads REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOST and sneers, “Almost twenty goddamn years, fuckin’ let it go and move on.” 

You watch him. See his neck get all red as he mutters to himself and clenches his fists at his sides. He looks around like he expects someone to challenge him. Nobody does. 

This doesn’t seem to satisfy him. 

Further up the sidewalk, he encounters a memorial made up of candles and wilting flowers hugging the side of a residential building. He kicks it over and repeats his earlier sentiment, this time louder and directed towards the brick wall. 

“It’s been twenty fucking years, get the fuck over it already!” 

Of course, a passing spectator indulges him. 

“Hey—watch it, asshole!” 

The two men puff up their chests and start yelling back and forth, so you cut right down an alleyway to avoid the situation completely. 

When you arrive home, you find Joel at the dining room table, hunched over a map, holding a glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline. 

Neither of you say hello, but when you glance up while untying your gritty shoelaces, you catch him staring at you. 

A jolt of electricity shoots through you. 

He corrects himself, returning his eyes to the map as he takes a big swig from his glass. 

“Mom home?” 

“No.” 

Nodding, you rise to your feet and slip out of your shoes, squirming with the excitement that one syllable brings you. 

“When’s she gonna be home?” 

He doesn’t look at you. Just shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey, too engrossed in his project to spare you attention. 

For weeks, he’s been trying his hardest to pretend you don’t exist, which would be typical behavior if he didn’t fuck you dumb a few weeks ago. Sometimes you’re not even sure that what happened between you was real. 

But, then again, sometimes… sometimes you feel him staring at you when he doesn’t think you’ll notice. Sometimes he touches your waist as he passes by. Sometimes at night you hear him pacing the hall outside your bedroom, the faint squeak of the warped floorboards giving him away. 

When this happens, you stare at the door and will him to do it. Aching with something stronger than want, you pray for him to cross the threshold. But he never does. 

You exhale through slack lips and wrinkle your nose at the canned goods. 

“Hungry?”

He grunts in response, which is Joel for ‘I could eat.’

Tilting your head at the handwritten labels, you present the options, “Stew or… meat and beans?” 

Another grunt, roughly translating to ‘Both options are fucking terrible,’ a sentiment with which you wholeheartedly agree. You grab the stew and empty it into a saucepan on the gas stovetop. 

While it heats, you steal glances at Joel, noticing the rigidity in his demeanor. His set jaw and tense muscles. The deep creases in his furrowed brow. 

You’ve coexisted with him long enough to understand he’s not immune to the heady thrum of anguish in the air this time of year. Like you said, nobody is. 

Joel distinctly falls into the “people who want to forget” category of the forsaken, but carries whatever or whoever he lost on Outbreak Day like a ten thousand-pound weight on his broad shoulders. He white-knuckles his way through the season of chaos and mourning and tries to act like it doesn’t affect him, but it does. 

You can tell, not just from the way he holds the grief captive in his body, but also from the obvious indulgence in his favorite coping mechanism: planning. 

Joel is a meticulous planner. 

Between smuggling runs, he comes home after a long day of manual labor at some job site and unwinds by plotting logistics. Drinking, too, but he clearly has a favorite. 

Hours will go by while he pours over reference material, maps or blueprints, making addendums of any notable changes he and your mom discovered. After this, he deliberates. Joel could chew up weeks with this step. He plots out each possible route, taking into consideration all the penciled-in shortcuts and caches they’ve stashed within a 30-mile radius, then determines the most beneficial path for their next big adventure. 

Given FEDRA’s current paranoid state, with the increased patrols and surveillance and whatnot, your mom and Joel won’t be making a trip outside anytime soon. But still, he drinks and plots and winds himself up into a tight obsessive knot. 

You divvy up the simmering stew into two bowls, placing one next to his glass of bootleg booze while you take a seat across the table from him. He ignores your presence, just flicks his eyes around the map like it’s supposed to give him the answers. 

When you’re halfway done with your bowl, you gently prod him, “It’s gonna get cold.” 

Sitting up in his chair, he sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, then folds up the map and sets it aside. 

The two of you eat in silence. Each wordless second twists hot beneath your skin. Your mind wanders to the dig of his fingertips in your soft flesh. The sting of his flattened palm. The stretch of his thick cock. The things he said to you—fuck.  

You’re tempted to tell him to do it again. To tell him that you’re still abiding by his rules. That you don’t sneak out anymore. That you haven’t felt the sweet bliss of release for weeks because you don’t fucking come without his permission. 

Over and over, you rehearse it in your head. You imagine yourself telling him, ‘I’ve been so good for you and you haven’t even noticed.’

The sound of him clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts. 

He shifts in his seat a little, studying you, “You still seein’ that boy downstairs?” 

Your heart stutters. Heat floods your veins as you shake your head. 

“Why not?” 

All you can do is stare at him while trying to verbalize an answer. For weeks, you ached for his attention. And now that you have it? The words are stuck in your throat. 

You shrug, pushing your empty bowl away to lean your elbows on the table. When you look up at him again, he blinks. Waiting for a response. 

A rush of adrenaline makes the world around you buzz. 

“Why do you care?”

He clenches his jaw for a moment, then parts his lips to respond. 

The apartment door swings open. 

Both of you start at the intrusion. You jump to your feet to collect the dirty dishes while Joel turns to greet your mother. 

“It’s a fucking madhouse out there,” she grumbles, then pulls out the seat adjacent to him and starts telling him about her day. 

———

You step into the shower and hiss in reaction to the scalding hot water. 

The fact that it's warmed at all surprises you. Not an unwelcome surprise, even if it hurts a little. Most days the water comes out tepid at best, and you’d gladly accept a third-degree burn over a lukewarm shower. 

Besides, the sting feels right on your skin, as weird as that sounds. You relish the pain while washing yourself, thinking, ‘this is what I deserve for feeling this way.’ Hell fire, if the sidewalk preachers are right. If there is such a thing. If you’re not there already. 

Only once the water runs cold do you turn it off and go back to your room, leaving the door cracked open behind you. After putting on a big t-shirt and some underwear, you turn off the lights and climb into bed. 

For a while you stare at the water-stained ceiling and listen. You hear the roar of FEDRA’s armed vehicles patrolling the streets. Far away, gunshots ring out into the night. Some kid starts crying next door, then his mother lulls him back to sleep. 

Closing your eyes, you try to tune it all out and focus on the noises within this unit. Concentrate on the drip-drip-drip of the bathtub faucet. The ripping sound of your mom’s snores. 

Then, you hear it. 

A creak from the floorboards. Footsteps. 

Their bedroom door squeaking open. 

Everything goes silent long enough for you hold your breath and scream inside your head, please please please—

It starts again. One careful step, then another. 

His presence hovers there at the door for six restless seconds before he opens it and steps inside, closing it behind him. 

Your pounding heart squeezes your breath ragged. It comes out this shallow, shaky push and pull that broadcasts your consciousness. 

Still, you pretend. 

You keep your eyes pinned shut and listen to the advance of his footsteps to your bedside. 

Down by your feet, the mattress shifts under his weight. He doesn’t touch you for a while, only watches you, his gaze burning into your skin. 

Then, he murmurs, “I know you’re not sleepin’.” 

You blink your eyes open to look at him, in boxers and an undershirt, all hunched over at the foot of your bed. Always carrying that weight on his shoulders. The glow of the street lamp outside your bedroom window casts this perfect golden light on him that makes you kind of hate how good he looks. 

“What are you doing?” you ask in a whisper. 

Over the blanket, he rests his hand on your calf, then takes it back and shakes his head. 

You roll onto your side, swinging one leg over the blanket and tucking it between your thighs, a wordless plea for him to touch your hungry skin. Joel shifts further onto the bed, turning his body to stare down at you with a straight spine. His gaze drifts up your exposed skin, fingers twitching in his lap. 

This faltering self-discipline compels you. 

Joel is nothing if not self-disciplined. That much is true for all the forsaken, yourself included. 

Your working theory is that nobody wants after the world ends, they just need. Need to sleep, need to eat, need to fight. Anything to survive one more fucking day. It’s all any of you can ask for. 

So do you want him, or do you need him? 

And what about him? Joel fucking Miller, with his reinforced concrete walls and heavy heart. Was he ever capable of wanting? 

“Joel,” you reach out to touch him, beckoning him to meet you halfway. 

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand, then back to your face. He shakes his head, as if declining the offer, but you don’t retreat. You sit up and crawl across the bed to him. 

The column of his throat bobs, head rocking back as he watches you come to a stop. He almost lets you touch his cheek when you try again, but snatches your hand away before you can make contact. 

“Don’t,” he warns, the tone of his hushed voice deadly serious. 

He squeezes your fingers while you study his stonewalled expression, tilting your head at him, “Why did you ask me that earlier? If I’m still seeing Bert?”

“I was curious.” 

“Curious why?” 

His lips part, then close, gaze dropping to your mouth. 

Heat pulses through every inch of your body. You drop your voice to a breathy whisper. 

“Were you thinking about what you did to me?” 

Something flickers behind his eyes when they snap onto yours. It draws you in, urging you to scoot so close your knees butt-up against his jackknifed leg. 

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” you ask quietly, smirking a little when his stern face twitches, “You loved how it felt to make me surrender—” 

The dull throb of his tightening grip around your hand makes you gasp. A rumble slips from his chest, which could be read as a warning if you had an ounce of self-control left. If you didn’t need him to combust. 

You let your gaze drift from his burning gaze down the slope of his nose to his lips, “Do you think about it every time you see me, like I do with you? How fucking good it felt?” 

“It was wrong—” 

“Then why are you here?”

Your question comes out louder than you expected. It ricochets through the charged space between his body and yours, popping the bubble of awareness around you. 

All the little sounds you picked up on earlier seep back into the foreground. FEDRA patrolling. The whiz-pop of firecrackers going off maybe a block away. A faint murmur of conversation in the upstairs unit. 

He holds your stare, but doesn’t make a sound until a snore rips from your mom’s chest, signaling crisis averted. When he speaks, his words come out hushed and calm. 

“You need to be quiet. Understand?” 

The command liquifies your bones. 

You lick your lips and nod, “I understand.” 

“Good.” He studies you as if deep in thought, finally releasing your hand to pinch your chin and assert, “You know why I’m here. Stop pretendin’ you don’t.” 

It’s hard not to fall in line when he’s looking down at you like this, all hot-blooded and self-assured. Cocky, almost. But you try to push his buttons anyway. 

“I thought it was wrong.”  

“Don’t get cute with me. Yes or no?” 

Your pulse flutters. Tongue goes numb. All you can do is nod. 

He jostles your head a little, “Say it.” 

“Yes.” 

“Say yes please.” 

“Yes please.” 

He works his jaw back and forth, studying you, then tugs your shirt.

“Take this off.” 

While you pull the offending garment over your head and toss it aside, Joel moves further onto the mattress, leaning back against the wall. 

You follow him, swallowing the static buzzing in your throat as he ushers you onto his lap. The scrape of his rough hands on your waist may as well be a live wire crackling across your skin. He pulls you closer and closer until your belly presses into the worn cotton of his shirt. The heat between your legs settles on his stiff length. When he twitches against you, a heady electric current courses through your body and coaxes a whimper from your lips. 

It seems too intimate to look at him, so you cast your gaze downward. Your shaky hands lay flat against his chest, absorbing the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm. 

Being with him like this feels strange. Not strange how it sometimes is with a new partner, that clumsiness before you know how your bodies work together. 

It’s strange in a fucked up out-of-context sort of way. Of course, growing up around him never conditioned you to think of him like this. Joel fucking Miller, with his scarred-up knuckles and unending apathy. The only man who could make big brown eyes like that seem cold. 

All those years, you never considered him anything more than an obstacle. 

Even then, if there was some tiny shimmer of attraction lingering under your skin, a piece of you that wanted more from him, you never thought he could feel so solid and soft and alive. You never dreamed he could make you feel so fucking good.

“This stays between us,” he tells you, more of a command than a request. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

The tips of his fingers dig into your hips, and he purrs, “You’ve been good for me, haven’t you?”

You preen at the warm timbre of his voice, body arching into him as you breathe, “Yes.”

Under your touch, his muscles tense. He exhales hot against your cheek and guides your hips in a rocking motion, slow and steady, rubbing all those aching nerves hard against him. 

“You liked it, too. Didn’t you? How I fucked you last time?” 

A low-frequency hum throbs deep inside you, amplifying every sensation tenfold. You nod, rolling your hips faster, “I did, I liked it.”

“Yeah, you liked it? Or did you fucking love it?” he hisses, “Dirty little slut like you. Bet you loved getting fucked in the ass, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god, Joel—” 

“Tell me.”

“Yes yes yes I fucking loved it—” 

Too loud. 

He ceases all movement, locking you in place with a steel grip. All ten of his digits bury themselves in your skin. The exquisite pain makes you gasp. 

“Hush.”

You clamp down on your lips in an attempt to stifle yourself. Each heaving breath wiggles down to your core and back. 

“Look at me.” 

If you do, you’ll dissolve at the edges. You know it. You are sugar paper and he is a humid room and you are so incredibly fucked. 

Pinching your eyes shut harder, you shake your head and whisper, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“I’ll come if I do.” 

The confession makes him throb underneath you. He husks, “Do it, look at me.” 

You do. 

Even in the shadows you can make out his features, his parted lips and hooded gaze. The desire etched into his face as he stares at you, looking mystified in a way you’ve never seen before. Heat percolates beneath your skin, sending your heartbeat racing. 

His hips arch into you just so, then he pulls you in and pushes you back, rubbing your body against his, “Do you wanna come? Come for me just like this?” 

“Please—please,” you whine, feeling pleasure branch out from your middle as he slides you back and forth, “Please I wanna come for you it’s been so long—” 

“Will you be quiet?” 

Swallowing a moan, you nod frantically. 

His eyes flicker around your face and he breathes, “Go ahead.”

You’re not sure if it’s the flames in his eyes or the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in almost two months, but the second he gives you permission, the ecstasy you tried so hard to contain spills over the edges and floods your body. It pulses through you hot and hard and makes your mind go white. You have to clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle the guttural noises that try to escape. 

“That’s it,” he coos from far away, still grinding your twitching body against him, “There we go. That’s my good girl, hmm?” 

“Oh my god—” you whimper at the sharp aftershocks that shoot through you, “It feels so good, Joel, fuck—” 

“Do you wanna come again?” 

Nodding, you link your hands behind his neck and set yourself in motion, rubbing against him a little faster than his set rhythm. His eyelids flutter as he throws his head back, the muscles under his shirt going taught. Beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, he’s hard as a fucking rock. 

Releasing the tight grasp on your hips, he roams up your sensitive skin to your breasts and tests their weight before squeezing. It shoots through you, the pleasure and pain indistinguishable, just a throbbing rush of need. Your breathing comes in heaving gasps and you pinch your eyes shut again, tilting your head towards the ceiling as you once again find yourself struggling to keep quiet. 

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you. 

You snap them open and meet his. 

“Good girl.” 

And—god, the way he looks at you, his gaze hungry and wild. Fucking maddening. Simultaneously, you wish he would stop—the contact too intense, too intimate—and pray that it never fucking ends. 

Heat bubbles up inside you. You bury your fists in his hair and roll your hips faster, chasing the scorching need for more. 

He hisses and pushes back against your thrusts, murmuring, “That’s it, grind that pussy on me, make yourself feel good.” 

“Fuck—fuck yes, it feels so fucking good—” 

“I can feel how fucking wet you are, leakin’ all over me. You do love it, don’t you, baby?”

You start to tremble and nod, trying your hardest to whisper when you tell him, “Yes yes yes I do I fucking love it—I wanna come again, can I please come again, please please—” 

“Listen to you. So good, askin’ for permission.” He brings a hand to your face and brushes his knuckles against your cheek, “Such a quick learner.” 

“Joel—” 

“Do it. Make yourself come again.”

Something untethers inside you. Heartbeat pounding behind your ears, you work your body against him in jerky movements, each one more delicious than the last. His eyes burn into yours, all heavy-lidded and lust-blown in the darkness, watching your face twist up with pleasure as the hot gooey feeling between your legs stretches wider and wider, then overtakes you completely. 

You give in to it with a shattered breath, burying your face against his shoulder to muffle your moans. He holds you down, making sure you smother your cries in the damp cotton of his t-shirt as wave after electric wave washes over you. 

When your spasms start to peter out, and your rolling hips come to a stop, he releases his stronghold to pet your hair. Your heaving chests meld together, breath syncing up into a steady ebb and flow as he smooths his palm up and down your spine. 

For a moment, it’s just this. Just the soothing motion of him rubbing your back, calming your boneless body. Soft and quiet with everything else stripped away. 

Emotion swells in your chest and tingles up your throat, behind your eyes. You try to hide it, the fact that you’re crying, but it becomes obvious when a sob escapes you. 

Joel shifts a little, then tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. He searches your face and frowns, furrowing his brow. 

“I’m sorry,” you wipe your tears and cast your eyes downward, “I—I don’t know why this is happening, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.” 

“No—hey, no,” he assures you, “It’s fine.” 

You shake your head. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and when you do, he cups your cheek and holds your gaze, “It-it’s normal to feel… emotional. Really, it’s ok.” 

The warmth and sincerity of this—his touch, his eyes, his words—makes your heart stutter. It curls up inside you and sedates your jumpy nerves. 

You sniffle and nod, “Ok.” 

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he studies you, bringing his hands to your waist. The longer you stare at each other, the more all the subtle signs of his lust come back into focus. How his tongue peaks out to wet his lips when he looks at your mouth. The heavy thudding of his heart. His strained breath and throbbing cock. 

Your gaze drifts to his lips. A needy, aching desire simmers at the base of your spine. It seems wrong to kiss him. More sensual than sexual, rooted in something he will never have for you. But still, you wonder. 

You wonder how soft his plush lips would feel against yours. How he would taste. Whether or not he would use tongue, or teeth, or both. 

Your fingertips twitch hesitantly towards his mouth. He doesn’t pull away or admonish you, even though you give him ample time to protest. When you make contact, smoothing your touch over the pillow of his bottom lip, he murmurs against your fingers, “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m never gonna be, either, I wanna make that clear. That’s not what this is.”  

“I know you’re not my fucking boyfriend, Joel.” You scoff at the thought, “Boyfriend. I don’t want that. I don’t need a boyfriend. What I need…” you watch your touch drift from his mouth to his jawline, where you scrape your nails through his scruff, “What I need is someone to fuck the thoughts out of my head.” 

“Fuck the thoughts outta your head,” he repeats, almost a chuckle, “That’s what you need, huh?”

“That’s what you need, too. Isn’t it?” 

Something smolders behind his gaze as he searches your face. 

“You can use me, you know. Take whatever you need from me. Use me like a fuck toy, Joel, I fucking need it.” 

His whole body reacts to your request, muscles flexing taught as he clenches his jaw.

You bat your lashes at him and pull yourself close enough to feel his breath on yours when you ask, “Don’t you need a little fuck toy like me, daddy?” 

“You’re a sick girl, you know that?” 

“You like it.” 

Neither of you can deny the other’s accusation, resulting in a stand-off that tingles beneath your skin and makes your heart pound in your throat. 

Subconsciously, you rock your hips forward and suck in breath when his cock throbs against your clit. He pushes back, flooding your veins with fire, “Are you gonna keep quiet if I fuck you?” 

“Are you gonna shut me up if I can’t?” 

He lets out one single amused chuckle, then asks, “Are you really tryna test me right now?” 

Suppressing a smile, you shake your head. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Something in the way he says it blooms heat in your chest. His tone teasing, almost playful. 

He gives your ass a light smack, then tugs at your underwear, “Take these off.” 

You roll off him onto the mattress and slide them down your legs while he stands to strip naked. Seeing his cock makes your body hum. It stands at attention, bobbing a little when Joel catches you staring. 

Sidling up to the bed, he beckons you closer, so you follow his silent guidance and crawl over to him, wrapping your hand around his thick length. You glance up at him, licking your lips as you await further instructions. 

“Get it nice ‘n’ wet for me.”

Nodding, you bring your mouth to the head of his cock, exploring first with your tongue, licking up the salty dribbles of lust. You taste a hint of yourself on him too, arousal that soaked through his boxers and marked him yours. Temporarily, at least. At least for tonight, or at least for right now. 

A pleased rumble erupts from his chest when you wrap your lips around him and start to slide up and down his shaft. He feels solid and warm and fills your mouth completely. The first time he hits the back of your throat, you gag and pull off him, working him with your hands as you catch your breath. 

“Do it again.” 

You take him in your mouth, rutting up and down a few times before sitting up taller to drive him down your throat. He buries his fists in your hair and thrusts his hips forward, “There we go, that’s it—fuck, you’re so fucking good at that.” 

His praise sparks at your core. You whine around his cock and bob against his thrusts. It doesn’t matter that you can’t breathe. You don’t need oxygen, you just need this. The sting of his grip prodding your movements, the raw stretch of him fucking your airway, the wet squelch that fills the room. 

When he yanks your head back and unclogs your throat, you gasp for breath and stroke him with both hands, churning his slick length. Fire roars in his eyes when you look up at him. 

He grabs your chin and husks, “Say thank you.” 

“Thank you.”

He smacks your cheek and grabs your chin again, “Say thank you for fucking my face.” 

“Thank you for fucking my face, I fucking love it—”

“Say please can I have some more.” 

“Please can I have some more, daddy?” 

Stifling a groan, he crams it back in your drooling mouth, down your throat, snapping his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that make you gurgle with pleasure around him. Far away, you hear him panting, “Take it take it take it—”

The chorus makes your body tingle. You think about your mom sleeping in the other room, how there’s just a wall between her and this. How she could wake up at any moment and follow the muffled, hedonistic noises. How she would find Joel balls deep in your mouth and you giving him something she never could: control. 

This time when he pulls you off his cock, he uses his white-knuckle grip on your hair to make you flip over and turn around, ass in the air towards him. 

The head of him nudges up against the tight ring of your asshole. You hear a wet splat, then feel the heat of his spit trickling down between your cheeks. Your body clenches with anticipation as he smears it around. 

“Remember, you gotta relax,” he murmurs, releasing your hair to smooth a palm against your spine. 

You inhale a deep breath and exhale the tension from your muscles, letting your heart melt into the mattress. 

“Good girl,” he arches forward, breaching your entrance. 

The sharp sensation splits you open. It pulls a wanton moan from your lips that rings through the silent apartment like a siren. 

Yanking you up by your hair, Joel secures your back to his humid chest and clasps a hand over your mouth. Stars invade your field of vision as he drives his cock deeper and deeper, only stopping when he can’t go any further. You sob against his palm, so he pulls it down harder, muffling the noise until you stop. 

Everything goes silent and still, but you can’t even bring yourself to worry that you woke her. Not when all you can hear is your thudding heart and his ragged breath, coarse with what you assume is rage or lust or both. Not with his lightning rod cock vibrating hot up your middle. 

It doesn’t matter that she could walk in to find her common-law husband fucking your ass, or that this discovery would burn all your lives to the ground. All you care about is more. More stimulation, more attention, more Joel—more more more—

You try to move your hips in an attempt to create friction, but his vice grip renders you immobile. So you stay in place and try not to make noise as the flames lick at your insides. You squirm and ache and claw at his arms while he muffles your whimpers. 

Then your mom snores in the other room. 

He pulls his hand from your mouth and you gasp for air. 

Thinking you can get ahead of the inevitable scolding, you plead, “I’m sorry—” 

He drags his cock out of your body, then plunges it back inside, all the while hissing, “If you’re gonna be my little fuck toy—” 

“Holy fuck—”

“—You have to be fucking quiet. Do you understand?” 

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand, I’ll do better, I promise—please just fuck me, please please—”

You strangle a moan in your throat when he slips a hand between your legs and draws tedious circles on your clit. 

“Try ‘n’ breathe through it,” he coaches, “I’ll go slow for you this time, ok? Just remember, shut the fuck up and take deep breaths.” 

You suck in air until your chest is full, then release it, restricting its flow through a narrow space between your lips. You do it again. Tension begins to melt from your bones. It has a clarifying effect, allowing you to relish in the heat of his touch. You take another deep breath, only hitting a snag when Joel starts to rock his hips. 

It feels fucking unreal. Rough and raw, the steady drag of his cock fills you with static electricity over and over. 

“Oh fuck—”

“Shhh…”

Your inhale stutters, but you regain control on the exhale. Everything disappears except him. His heated skin sticking to yours. How fucking full he makes you feel with each thrust. The thick swell of pleasure that accumulates every time he flicks his wrist. You surrender to all of it, to Joel, entrusting him with everything except your breath. 

“That’s it, baby, let go.” 

“It feels ssso gooood,” you whisper, head rolling back onto his shoulder, “Nothing’s ever felt this good, holy shit—”

His lips tickle your ear as he purrs, “Such a good little fuck toy, aren’t you, baby?”

You gasp a little when the velvet of his tongue rolls against your pulse. Nodding, you reach back behind his neck to scrape your fingernails through his curls. He does it again, this time sealing his lips to suck on the sensitive skin. Your heart pounds thick and hot through your body. The edges peel back at the corner of your mind. You push back against his thrusts, panting out subdued whimpers as the fire in your belly begins to spread. 

“Do you wanna come?”

“I do, I wanna come—oh my god I wanna come, please make me come, daddy—”

His hand covers your mouth and holds you down so he can fuck you harder, stretching you out wide and filling you deep. He works your clit faster. The bed frame thumps against the wall in a frantic rhythm that matches the wet slap of his thrusts. Tears prick your eyes and heat swells beneath your skin, pressure building more and more until you think you can’t fucking take it anymore—

His palm smothers your moans as you fall apart, breaking into a million pieces and coming back together again with a choked sob. Joel buries his face in the crook of your neck and groans as his hips snap forward, then stutter to a stop. 

The two of you go slack propping each other up, too loose-limbed and lethargic to peel yourselves away at first. He makes the first move to separate, though, uncovering your mouth to brush the damp hair from your forehead, “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him instinctively, then second-guess yourself and look up to meet his eyes, “I mean, I don’t know. I think so.” 

He studies you, nodding. 

Hesitation buzzes in your chest when you contemplate whether or not to return his question. It seems unlikely he’d cooperate even if you wanted to know the answer.  So instead, you give him his out. 

“Is this goodnight, then?” 

“Suppose it is.” 

A flicker of something passes between your bodies as you stare at each other. It feels so hot to the touch that you chicken out, glancing away as you whisper, “Will you do something for me before you go?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Tuck me in?” 

The noise that comes out of him is half-grunt, half-chuckle. Joel for, ‘You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.’ But he obliges, pulling his soft cock from your body at a mercifully slow speed before allowing you to make yourself comfortable. He sorts out your blanket and drapes it over your body, then starts fishing his clothes off the floor. 

Tugging his shirt over his head, he asks, “Need anything else, princess?” 

You’re sure it’s a dig, but choose to ignore it as you snuggle into the covers and hint, “Don’t make me wait so long next time.” 

He sits down at the edge of your mattress and threads his legs through the boxers, “I’ll make you wait as long as you need to. What else?”

“Mmm. Goodnight kiss?”

“Goodnight kiss,” he scoffs to himself, then looks back over his shoulder at you, “Fine, then I’m goin’ to bed.” 

He turns to face you more directly, folding a knee onto the bed as he leans in and tilts your head to the side, pressing a gentle kiss into your cheek. Even though you wish he had kissed your lips, you close your eyes and savor the affection while you can. 

After murmuring goodnight, Joel leaves. He crawls back into bed with your mother while you memorize the sound of his retreating footsteps.

[pianokantzart]

YES! GOOD! I’m going to just going to analyze the whole dinner scene, because it’s one of my favorite parts of the movie. 

Mario and Luigi walk in, and immediately the whole room lights up to greet them. Despite everything that follows, one thing is clear: The Mario Brothers are happy to see their family, and the family is happy to see them. 

The whole family confirms that they watched their commercial. Everyone except their mom insists the commercial was a bad idea, but the fact that they all watched it speaks to the fact that there is no indifference regarding Mario and Luigi’s dream. They’re eager to see where this endeavor leads, even if they think it’s going to end in failure. 

The moment Mario and Luigi sit down at the table, their uncles begin laying into them like it’s open season on financially struggling plumbers. Just full blown, no-holds-barred roast mode on their nephews.

Mario is on the defensive, but he doesn’t get angry, he’s just trying to argue his side. Clearly this is typical behavior for Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur. They’re loud, overly honest, and obnoxiously confident in their opinions. Uncle Arthur, thankfully, has his wife to keep him in check. Uncle Tony, however, who is seated next to poor Luigi, is an absolute menace.

Luigi ignores all the teasing. He is only interested in getting food, but this is not an easy task. Tony’s verbal arguments are all directed at Mario, but Luigi is the one who gets prodded and shoved around, and that makes getting dinner next to impossible.

Luigi attempts to serve himself salad, attempts to ask for a roll, attempts to eat the mushrooms being put on his plate, and at every turn he’s either pushed away or talked over. He is clearly very soft spoken compared to the other men in his family, and never quite had the strength to stand up for himself... after all, everyone means well, they just lack self awareness. It isn’t worth the fight. 

Thankfully, Luigi’s mom comes to the rescue, and puts a bowl of soup in front of her boy. She’s the queen of the caretaker role, making sure all the loose ends are tied up and that everybody eats.

But on the flip side, it’s interesting to note that once the uncles start tearing into Mario, Mario’s Dad serves him up a plate of food. He may have just been serving the person next to him because that was the polite thing to do, but I have a theory...

I think that this wasn’t the first night that Mario and his uncles went at each other. I think Mario’s Dad read the room, and figured that if Mario was going to spend dinner playing defense, he should at least remember to eat while doing so.

It also speaks volumes that Mario’s Dad doesn’t voice his disapproval until Mario asks for his opinion. Before then he avoids the subject and lets everyone else do the talking, but so long as he’s being questioned directly, he can’t help but be honest.

“I think... you’re nuts. You don’t quit a steady job for some crazy dream.” This sounds like a voice of experience. Mario’s Dad has the figure of someone who has worked physical labor for a good portion of his life (look the size of those arms). He may have had dreams of his own when he was younger, but he had a wife and kids to worry about, and family took priority. 

Speaking of family taking priority: “... and the worst part? You’re bringing your brother down with you.” That settles it. The conversation has gone from a casual roast session to dead serious. The entire room falls quiet as Mario puts down his fork and storms off. 

“What’d I say?” Everybody at the table (except the niece, she’s long since checked out) gives Mario’s Dad different versions of the look™. Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur have the same “Jesus Christ bro, you didn’t have to go there” expression, and Luigi just looks hurt on Mario’s behalf. His Dad, however, is just confused.  

He didn’t get the gravity of what he said. His relationship with his own brothers– loudmouthed schmucks who call their own shots – is completely alien to what Luigi and Mario have. He probably knows Mario is protective of Luigi, but he doesn’t realize the depth of responsibility Mario feels for him. Anyone can see that Luigi is loyal to his brother, but Mario alone knows how loyal he is, and the implication that he’s betraying that loyalty is intensely painful. 

I doubt Uncle Arthur and Uncle Tony truly relate to Mario and Luigi’s relationship either, but they’ve probably teased Mario enough to understand one thing: bringing Luigi into it is a line you do not cross.

Conclusion:

There is a lot of love in the Mario family.

Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur are definitely the most insufferable of the bunch, but there is no malice in their teasing. While they are brash and overbearing, it’s all in good fun, and they get visibly uncomfortable when things go too far and someone actually ends up hurt. 

Luigi seems to take after his mother; kind, nonconfrontational, and happily invested in a supporting role. While his Mom cares for and assists the family, Luigi cares for and assists his brother, both emotionally and in his business ventures.

Mario, in the meantime, takes after his Dad, who appears to be the oldest of the three brothers. He doesn’t always think before speaking, but he isn’t constantly running his mouth like Arthur or Tony, and acts with the gravity of someone who bears a lot of responsibility. He doesn’t quite “get” his sons, but he knows enough to see that Luigi follows his brother everywhere, and Mario does not always think before jumping into things. Despite what Mario may believe, his Dad doesn’t see him as a “joke” so much as he sees him as an impulsive young man who doesn’t grasp the consequences of his actions. But Mario does understand the consequences of his actions, he just dreams big, and... thanks to Luigi... actually has the support he needs to pursue those dreams. 

[vampyrial]

Sugar

summary: cooking for someone is the sweetest expression of love.

pairing: mark grayson x gn!reader

content warnings: soft yan!reader, poisoning, gaslighting, caretaking, fluffy if you ignore that reader is a lil crazy

author’s note: I never posted this here but in honor of s2 of invincible, here’s this fic I wrote after s1 😵‍💫 my first mark fic

Mark remembered his mom making pancakes on the weekends. It was his favorite breakfast when he was a kid. There was less time for sit down breakfasts as he grew older and spent more time outside the house working, going to school or hanging out with William, it remained a nostalgic thing for him. The smell of butter, the sizzle of the batter hitting the hot pan, he hadn’t realized he missed it.

Not until he woke up to the clattering of pans downstairs. Debbie was out for the day already, busying herself with work. As of late, the house had become stifling and she felt ill at ease. Mark was mostly left to his own devices for food and Mark being Mark, mostly subsisted on take out.

You had slept over (in the guest room, per Debbie’s request) and woken up early to make breakfast. Into the dry ingredients, you added a vial of powder as white as flour. You sprinkled it all in, hand inside the bowl, careful not to let it spill anywhere. You mixed carefully. With a focus as complete as ever, batter dropped onto the pan, sizzling. 

“Making breakfast?” His voice almost made you jump. You thought you were used to him sneaking up on you.

“Good morning to you too, Mark” You smiled to yourself, not looking up at him. “And yes, I’m making you pancakes.”

You didn’t look up but you could tell he was surprised by the pause and the awkward shift of his silhouette.

“I didn't…I know I only eat out these days but I don’t need you to cook for me, I feel kind of like an asshole watching you cook for me in my own house” He mumbled, looking away.

“I know I don’t need to, I want to. I’d feel better if you didn’t eat pizza everyday for breakfast.” 

“It’s not everyday, just…most of the time” He was embarrassed you’d noticed. “Are you not gonna have some?” He changed the topic. 

“I had four bowls of captain crunch at 5am, I’m not exactly sure more sugar is a good idea for me right now.”

You flipped the pancakes onto a plate, sliced a pat of butter onto the top and poured the syrup. Mark, even in his quest to be somewhat gentlemanly, could not resist. The first bite of the buttery pancakes drenched in the syrup evoked strong feelings. Longing, gratitude and love. The yearning for an innocence abandoned and the feeling of being loved was so strong he could cry.

Mark, like most teenage boys, could eat. You silently kept cooking pancakes and he kept eating them. It was a lovely morning, the air was sweet and the sky was a vibrant blue. You spent the day in Mark’s room, in pajamas, tracing shapes over his skin with your fingertips as you watched a marathon of movies he liked. He eagerly explained every gag and bit of trivia. But as the sky began to darken with the day’s end, Mark’s energy declined.

He was sluggish and he felt a bit warm. When he insisted he was alright, you still stayed by his side. A comfort he was secretly grateful for. Even when Debbie came home, fatigued, you kindly asserted that you would stay up with Mark and watch over him. It was only right, Debbie already had enough to deal with and she fussed over Mark until the early hours. If there was anyone she could trust Mark to, it would be you, just while she got some sleep at least.

You wiped the sweat from Mark’s brow with a gentle hand. You brought him water and aspirin, you rubbed his tender muscles, you changed his sheets soaked by sweat. Mark felt like shit but knowing you were there, unperturbed by his frequent vomiting, was a comfort beyond words. You even slept in the same bed as him now, holding his hand, rubbing over it with your fingers. He felt like a kid again, cared for and safe.

Even though after more than a week, Debbie wanted to bring him to the hospital, you waved away her concerns. “Part of this might be coming from Mark’s emotional state after what happened, maybe we have grief to blame for this, in part. Mark doesn’t need a hospital, his symptoms aren’t worse than the stomach flu, he just needs to be cared for” you had said, so convincingly, so knowingly, that it made her hesitate. You only had his best interests at heart. Mark even spoke up and said he didn’t need to go to the hospital. He had been in the hospital so often, he was sick of it. Even the memory of the strong antiseptic smell brought a sense of dread. He would rather be with you, at home being touched by your familiar, healing, hands.

He loved you so much, and told you as much very often. When you were showering with him, washing him because he was too winded; your wet, warm skin carefully cleaning his, he murmured ‘I love you.’ He was vulnerable, tender, worn and tired but he was certain of one thing. He couldn’t live without your warmth. Everyone else counted on him, they needed something from him and if he failed to deliver he’d be letting them down. It’d be another fuck up to add to the roster and yet another time someone he loved would look at him like a loser. But with you, he felt the closest thing to unconditional love he had ever experienced from anyone besides his mom. You didn’t care who he decided to help or what he messed up, you would always accept him. Even if you weren’t always pleased with what he did, you never judged him harshly for his mistakes. For his wins or his fails, you loved him. Mark thought it was way more than he deserved and part of him really did regret his actions more in the face of your forgiveness. He did feel like such an asshole when he found comfort in your acceptance, when you consoled him as if he really deserved it. But fuck if he didn’t need it.

He obviously couldn’t rush off saving people like he had, so he stayed safely inside. His world was small and manageable. His body was whole, if aching and feverish. That was what you intended. For Mark to be safe. He was always putting himself in danger like it didn’t matter, running off to save the world like no one else. Sometimes he would come back intact and sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes he was a hair’s breadth away from death. But Mark didn’t want to stay put, you weren’t strong enough to protect him directly and you couldn’t order him to. What were you to do?

A bit of poison wouldn’t do him in, in fact, you were certain it wouldn’t even keep him down very long. But buying even this amount of time was a blessing. You wanted to keep him safe, keep him inside forever if that’s what it took but that wouldn’t work. For now, you were just buying a little time and some peace of mind. You tell yourself you were driven to this.

A few days later, Mark’s strength had recovered somewhat. You fed him soup and he kept all of it down. He was relieved to be recovering even though he would miss being babied by you and Debbie’s worries eased meaning you were safe from her suspicion. He went back to school, back to saving the world eventually. You waited until enough time passed. Until you could return things to how they should be.

The moment came six months later, the previous night you two had been out with William and Eve. He’d rushed off to the city with Eve while you were in the middle of eating at some greasy pizza joint. Your heart fluttered as you gazed at the empty space next to you in the booth. At least Eve was with him, though it was a poor consolation. They were fighting the same aliens they were overwhelmed by a few weeks ago. He came home in one piece, thankfully, but he had been fighting so much lately. Cecil asked so much of him, he’d been flying off to this and that attack. He was bound to be hurt again soon, even just that month there had been threats he’d barely escaped from. It was your misfortune to fall in love with a hero, it meant that he would never really be safe and neither would you.

You called Mark to sleep over at yours when he came back that night. Your mother worked late or sometimes, simply didn’t want to come home so the house was yours. The two of you watched mafia movies, argued about whether the godfather was overrated or not and ate an ungodly amount of popcorn. The following morning, you cooked a big breakfast, muffins, bacon, omelets. Pancakes. 

He ate so hungrily it hurt your heart. He truly did love your cooking. Even though Debbie had gradually started making dinner for him again months ago, he had really missed your cooking. It wasn’t that her’s wasn't delicious, it was just…there was something that made him warm inside about the idea that you should make something for him. That you thought about him, cared about him enough. That much effort wasn’t necessarily a given in a high school relationship. It was new and nice to be with someone who showed their love for him so frankly.

You watched him eat with such a sweet look on your face. You ate with him, an omelette and bacon, for the sake of appearance. Planned out in anticipation of Mark’s tastes and in the interest of keeping suspicion to a minimum, you added your remedy to both the muffins and the pancakes. The muffins had less of it, as you knew Mark would be likely to eat more pancakes than muffins but if he chose to forgo that for the opposite, he would still be made ill. You even had plans for the unlikely event that he chose to eat neither. But Mark wasn’t rude enough to pass up food made for him by someone he loves.

Shortly after breakfast, Mark was in the bathroom vomiting. It seemed far more likely that the pizza joint with the sticky seats and chain smoking cooks gave him food poisoning than anything having been wrong with your food. In his head, it didn’t even occur to him. When you helped him into bed, he felt grateful that he was with you. It was such a relief not to say that he was fine, not to have to be brave. Nobody cared for him as gently as you did. 

Your sheets and your pillows smelled like you. Mark felt weird smelling your things but it was nice to be surrounded by comfort. You washed him in your soap so he smelled like you too. He couldn’t have wanted you more in that moment, he wanted your skin against yours. He wanted your voice, the brush of your fingertips against his. When he was well, he wanted to be someone you would be proud to be with. To be that hero you deserve. When he was this sick, he still had that desire lingering somewhere in the background but he melted down into the barest of wants. And what remained was a need for you, an uncomplicated desire. He felt as if he’d dissolve into your mattress if he couldn’t feel you.

“I’m right here, Mark” You murmured, cleaning the sweat from his chest with a cloth. You have such gentle hands, your eyes stay on his to make sure you’re not hurting him. Under your loving attention, a few tears roll down Mark’s cheek. He can’t help it, you’re always there for him. Without you, who does he have to lean on like this? His mom was already a wreck, Eve had her own problems, William had no idea how to deal with something as big as what he went through — he doesn’t even know how to deal with it. He cannot live without you, who doesn’t understand what he went through but understands what he needs better than anyone.

“What’s the matter? Does something hurt?” You asked, panicked at his tears. Mark didn’t cry easily, you hadn’t meant to put him in so much pain he’d cry. You had added just enough, you always operated on that balance. Just enough pain, just enough sickness, just enough time.

“No, it’s just-” Mark’s voice was raw. “I’m glad I’m with you, that’s all.”

You softened. Hearing him say that made you melt into a puddle of sticky sweet syrup. It only strengthened your resolve and you were overcome with the need to keep him safe. And with the knowledge that if something happened to him, you would die. When the savage, gruesome fight happened, your stomach was in knots for days while you heard no news. Your heart squeezed painfully as if you were going to have a heart attack and it went on for days. When you slept to escape the constant anxiety, you had nightmares. You didn’t even go to school, you couldn’t get out of bed for anything other than checking whether or not he’d come home. For weeks you lived in hell, thinking you would lose him. And although he was alright that time, a piece of that moment lived in you every time he flew off toward danger. 

“I love you so much, Mark” You bowed your head and rested it against his chest, hearing his strong heart beating. You pressed a kiss there, along the contours of his chest, right over his heart.

“I love you too” He mumbled weakly. There couldn’t be anything sweeter than you.

Your love was falling over him like powdered sugar. These moments, without knowing it, he had come to need them. Being sick was the only time he was allowed to fully be human. No one needed or expected anything of him. Under your care, he could be briefly vulnerable. 

That was all you needed to ease that inkling of guilt that rose in the back of your mind. Who was protecting him like he protected everyone else? No one but you. It was why you had to resort to using underhanded methods, if everyone was trying to protect him, if they only cared — you wouldn’t need to. That was what you reasoned, anyway.

Mark needed you, anyone with eyes could see that. And you had no intention of abandoning him. Whatever you had to do, in your eyes it was all the desperation of a powerless human trying to save the man they love. It was romantic, even. You anticipated the moment where Mark might put two and two together. It made you anxious and you had practiced the speech you’d give him a thousand times. “I love you and I’m scared. I’m so scared for you. I always am." But you soothed yourself with the knowledge that Mark would understand, above anyone else, you’d earned the benefit of the doubt.

Because Mark knew what he needed, even if it was something he couldn’t have expressed on his own. Even if it was something that he shouldn’t. He was only human — even if he was half viltrumite — could he really deny your feelings and his own? No. Not when you were his saving grace. How could he not understand what you were trying to do when his sentiments were nearly the same?

You were watching Mark sleep, laying next to him, his arm around you. His skin was warm and his breaths were labored. You reassured yourself as you pulled the blanket up to his chest. You would take good care of him, he knew that. He had to, he had to know. He just had to.

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Episode 7

Thankfully, two comments last week spared me from believing that Anin had really left Pin without saying bye, but just like Pink Person Pin, I felt I was owed some babying for the mental anguish I had to suffer, and Blue Beauty Anin delivered.

Well, until the goodbyes started again!

Pin gifting Anin the pillowcase with the pink flowers and the blue "P" pulled on my heartstrings.

But I really felt all the emotions once Prik started tearing up when Anin said Pin wouldn't be saying bye.

BUT PIN WAS STANDING THERE WATCHING THE CAR LEAVE IN PINK AND A PURPLE SKIRT OF LINES WHICH IS THEIR COLORS COMBINED WITH ANIN'S LINE AND STRIPES THEME!

Before this series started, I thought Pin was going to fight this love and lose her color, but she proved this entire episode that she lives and breathes for her girl, so as much as her mom/aunt/caretaker stresses me out with her getting out her color, I trust my Pink Person!

Pin is not only solid in her color this episode, but solid in her love for Anin.

Even when she would momentarily lose her color due to something someone would say (like her mama constantly mentioning marriage),

Pin would bounce right back!

All these other girls wanna be a Pink Person *cough* Aon *cough*

And even though I wanted to believe this was a dream because THE AUDACITY, I'm glad these color-coded girls in love were handing everyone their marching orders and asses.

And in style too because when Pin told Kankuea she would never like him, she did it in a pink- and blue-striped top because Anin is always with her!

Even the older color-coded brother, who I've been told to trust, understood this week's mission.

Tell these people they ain't worthy of a princess!

There is only one person who is the right one for the loyal and royal Blue Beauty.

Who is her loyal Pink Person Pin!

And Pin consistently showed it in her floral pink and blue skirt!

By knitting Anin a scarf in her pink-lines skirt.

Wearing a pink and purple-lines skirt after graduation.

Wearing purple and a flannel skirt when she sat next to the guy she knows likes her but ignores all his advances.

AND DRIVING A BLUE CAR!

Because, once again, even when Pin's color fades a bit after not hearing from Anin.

She is still thinking of her with a blue-lines scarf tied around her neck.

And counting down the days until she can see her again on her color-code calendar.

I'm sorry I ever doubted you Pin. You're a real one.

Which is why you deserve those pearl earrings Anin gifted you with your and her initials on them because you always carry her with you.

It's also why she wrote you that amazing letter in the blue-lined box in a blue envelope, with a pink "P & A" seal, and the silver and gold pins on it WITH YOUR BUNNY!

And it's why she returns to you time and time again.

So as stressed as I know I'm going to be watching this love story unfold as the class dynamic start pushing down on the girls, both brothers married a Pink Person,

And, as they say, good things come in threes!

[jezabelle9299]

Caretaker S.R x fem!Reader

Reader is hired as a live-in caretaker for Diana. Describes when she accidentally flooded the apartment, but I kind of mess with canon and plot. Could kind of take place after prison other than that. Diana ships Reader and Spencer. Reader is a graduate student in an online program.

C-Ws: Diana slaps reader, descriptions of alzheimer's and schizophrenia, Spencer is not used to people trying to take care of him and thinks he'll scare away reader.

(I've worked in a memory care/assisted living facility, and have a few relatives with alzheimer's and schizophrenia. But this is based on my still somewhat limited experience. And I have no medical experience, mostly just hospitality and comfort based work)

You had finally gotten to the address the agency gave you, after waiting a short eternity in the Washington traffic. It was a live-in caretaker job of a woman with schizophrenia and alzheimer's, living also with her son who traveled often for work. Your contact at the agency said the son, Dr. Reid was very nice and was ok with your slightly more limited experience. You buzzed and after a little while the man you assumed to be Dr.Reid came to the door. 

“Hi, you must be Ms.Y/L/N from the agency, I’m so glad you’re here.” He looked both shocked and relieved, like he thought you wouldn’t actually show up. While you were trying not to notice (Or at least trying not to show) that you thought the doctor was particularly gorgeous. But he would not only functionally be your employer, but also a sort of roommate. Plus you really wanted this job, you were a little new to being a live in caretaker after working in assisted living facilities since high school. You were in a grad program now, one you were completing online that allowed you to have caretaking as your career. 

“I’m happy to be here! You must be Dr.Reid?” 

“I am, and this is my mother Diana Reid.” He gestured to the woman on the couch, who had yet to even look at you. I mean you were kind of invading her house, so you couldn’t blame her. But you were determined to make her like you, I mean this job is a huge opportunity, and as you were new to the city the live in position was a two-birds-one-stone situation.  

“Hi Ms. Reid, I’m Y/N, it’s lovely to meet you. Your son has told me so much about you.” You gave her a nervous wave as you walked in front of the couch, still attempting to give her space while being in her line of sight. 

“I’m sure he has. I don’t need a stranger hovering over me.” She then stormed into the adjoining room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Dr.Reid attempted to chase after her, finding the door locked from the inside and calling out to her. 

“Mom, please just meet her! You’ve chased off every other nurse from the agency!” he got no reply, and solemnly turned back towards you. He was exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and he looked utterly dejected. 

“I’m sorry to waste your time, I understand if you’d like to leave.”

“I’ll stay, unless you’d like me to leave.” confusion and hope clouded his expression, you weren’t giving up that easy.

“That was just a first meeting, I get that she doesn’t want me in her space, but she might warm up to me. Plus, one of the best ways for me to get to know her right now is through you.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much. Today is one of her worse days, she’s not usually like this I swear.” He looked elated at the fact you didn’t leave so you knew you were getting the job. He just needed the help too much, and you were determined to get this woman to like you. From what Dr.Reid had already told you over the phone, she seemed like a wonderful woman you’d actually really like to know. She just had to not hate you first. 

“It’s ok, just a bad day. I totally understand she’s upset. Why don’t you and I talk until she comes out?”

“Yes, here have a seat, and I’ll grab you some water.” He hurriedly cleared some books off the couch so you could sit, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water a few moments later. While he was gone you pulled your work notebook and some pens out so you could take some notes. 

“Thank you Dr. Reid, that’s really sweet.”

“Of course, and you can call me Spencer.” 

“Alright, really quick just like my experience and such, I’m sure the agency told you most of it. I’m a little new to being a live-in caretaker, but I have experience at a couple assisted living facilities. I’ve taken care of a few family members with schizophrenia as well as alzheimers so I have experience with that as well. I’m a graduate student so I’ll work on some classwork during times when your mother is resting but it’s all online so it shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

He nodded along patiently as you basically read him your resume, and then responded in kind. “That all sounds great, I travel as part of my work so I may be gone for a few days to a week at a time, but it should never be for too long, and as this is a live-in position I’ll leave a card you can use for anything you or my mother need while I’m gone.” 

“That’s very kind, thank you. So, could you run me through a regular day for your mother? Just all of it, the activities she likes, medications, food times, all that good stuff so I can be prepared, and not change her routine too much.” You bounced back and grabbed a pen to start taking notes to help you remember all of the information. 

“Absolutely, yeah. Does this mean that you’ll take the job?” He looked so full of hope at the sentiment.

“If you’re offering, then yes I’d love to. I can start whenever you’re ready.” He lit up and pulled you into a hug you were not at all prepared for. He smelled really good, which was only made more noticeable by the sharp inhale you took in surprise of the gesture.

“Oh. Hi.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say during the hug to cut the tension you were feeling. He clearly took this as discomfort and pulled away. 

“Sorry, I jus- Thank you. That is amazing, thank you so much.”

“Of course, I really need to thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to getting to know your mom.”

You talked about different logistics, as well as him giving you a short tour of the house before you had to leave, before Diana would re-emerge. You started the next day, with Spencer there to start to ease the transition in the morning. After he left you and Diana, confident that she was having a good day, he headed for work. 

Diana did not have a good day after getting some rest after lunch. She needed to take one more medication, but when she woke up, she didn’t remember you. At least not as you the person her son hired to take care of you, she thought that you were using her son to get information on her. She thought you were there to manipulate the both of them, so when you offered her medication she wouldn’t take it. 

You did all you could do, you waited. And then after a short window had passed you gave her a drink with her medication in it, which after she drank, she realized it was the medication. She called you a fascist, and then unfortunately, slapped you. This wasn’t the first time a confused elderly person had gotten physical with you, so you attempted to keep your professionalism in tact. She ran to the bedroom, and you sat against the wall, reading to her from a collection of poetry Spencer said she loved. 

When you went to check on her and she was safely asleep, you continued cleaning the mess from the previous day. A small flood spread through the apartment, damaging several books and leaving towels littered around the room after Spencer had collapsed from exhaustion about the time you finished unpacking for the night. Spencer came home about the same time, to towels freshly in the wash, and you attempting to start repairing the books. You had a friend who was a librarian, and between a phone call with her and extensive research on the internet you’d made some progress. Books were spread out around you, in various states of drying and re-drying. You only noticed when you heard the door shut that he had come home, not hearing the key turn in the lock like you thought you would. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, uh-what are you doing?” He was carrying a leather satchel that he was now setting on his desk, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. His brow cocked in confusion as he looked at you.

“Oh, I noticed the books that got damaged, and your mother is still resting so I thought I’d get started on the drying process. I promise I asked my friend, she’s a librarian so that I wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Wow, that is really sweet, thank you Y/N. I really appreciate it.” He was walking closer to where you were sitting on the floor in the living room, carefully avoiding the spread-out books. 

“How’s mom doing? Did the rest of the day go alright?” He turned on the lamp by the couch, before moving a few of the books to sit. You had just started talking about his mother’s day, when his expression completely changed. He noticed the small mark on your face, and sprang off the couch, moving to the floor near you. 

“What happened?” You didn’t realize what he was talking about immediately, looking down to see if something was wrong you hadn’t noticed. When he gestured toward his own cheek, you remembered. 

“Oh yeah, Diana woke up from her nap after lunch and she got a little confused. She thought I was someone else, and that I was trying to get information about her. She slapped me, but it’s really no big deal. She just got confused is all. 

“No. No, that most certainly is a big deal.” He said it firmly, like there was no room for argument. But you jumped to yours, and his mothers, defense. 

“It’s really not. It’s common when alzheimers or dementia patients wake up not knowing where they are. She didn’t mean anything by it, I read to her, through the door, that poetry collection you mentioned yesterday. I think she liked it, and she felt better after she took her meds, she at least got some more rest.”

“That’s great- but I don’t want you to feel trapped here. If something isn’t alright, you can tell me, and I would understand if you wanted to leave.” You nodded to let him know you understood, and then followed it up with leaning back against the front of the couch and a small smile.

“You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.” Your attempt to lighten the mood was not really helping. 

“No!-Believe me, that is not what I was saying. I really appreciate you helping my mom and I out, but I just want you to be here because you want to be.” 

“Well thank you, Spencer. But it’s really ok. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.” You made a small cross-your-heart motion to convey the truth of your sentiment. 

Now, why don’t you help me with these books, while I switch out laundry.” you pat him on the shoulder as you walked by. The first time the two of you had touched since the hug he thought had made you uncomfortable. His sweater was soft under your skin, his shoulders firm. But you kept walking, you were on the clock after all.

When you walked back you started gathering the restored books to put back, and tried to get back to work related conversation, or at least tangentially related to work. “Alright, towels are in the dryer, and I’m sorry I can’t quite figure out what your system is for these books. Could you point me in the direction of where these go?” You gestured to the small stack in your arms, and he immediately got up. 

“It’s a combination of the dewey decimal system, and a little bit moved around based on sentimentality, I can put these away. Thank you again for helping me dry them. I know it’s not really in your job description.” Ok has no one helped this man? He is very over appreciative of the little things, and he looks like he’s scared you’ll run away any second. It’s sweet, but my god. 

“I like to be helpful, and there was also a little selfish motivation. I was curious about your taste in books. I mean you have so many, I had to be a little nosey.” You kind of attempted to add a flirtatious tone, but you were still hoping this crush would go away. This was a job, and it would be nice if you didn’t get overly attached to him. Although it was a little late for that. 

“I don’t know if i’d call it nosey, it’s nice that you’re curious. What did you think?” He was looking between you and the floor, while blushing. Maybe he liked you too. Wouldn’t that be nice. 

“I mean I’m no profiler, but I can take a guess.” He had told you about his job and what it entailed as it required him to be gone for long periods of time. So you kept the flirty undertone, somewhat under the guise of silliness, as you two moved closer together, whether consciously or otherwise. 

“I think you read A LOT. Like more than I probably could in a lifetime, and since I know you don’t exactly have excesses of freetime, you have incredible reading comprehension. Speed reader maybe? And some were in a few different languages, so maybe a linguistics major in college? Could be your doctorate. Also the style of the books is contributing to the apartment both functionally and as a decoration. They’re as much comfort objects as they are entertainment. So if I had to guess, you were a shy kid who read a lot.”

“Alright, not bad at all. Although my doctorates are in mathematics, engineering, and chemistry. The languages are easier because I have an eidetic memory. I am a speed reader, as our subconscious minds can process significantly more than our conscious minds.” There was one part consciously left out. He couldn’t have forgotten, he told you so himself. But you couldn’t resist, you wanted to know him. More than accomplishments and accolades.

“And the last part?” He looked upset, and you regretted asking it. It must have really bothered him, really been over the line.

“Yes, I was a big reader as a kid. I was a prodigy so making friends wasn’t easy, and I’m sure you noticed I’m kind of- well- odd.” odd? I mean interesting, or extraordinary sure, but odd wasn’t the word you’d use. It felt so…negative.

“I don’t think you’re odd. The prodigy aspect makes sense though, especially since I know you have 3 doctorates instead of the 1 I assumed you had. Also, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of speaking from experience. I had more books than friends when I was little too.” You were sharing a small smile as you stood near the wooden shelves, until you heard the bedroom door open, and you stepped away from each other, gaining back the space you lost. 

“Hi Diana, did you sleep ok? Is there anything I can get you?” She gently shook her head, confused, but piecing it together as she woke up. 

“No, thank you. Spencer, who's your friend? Is she- is she your girlfriend?” She spoke in a hushed tone for the last part, like it was a fun secret between the 3 of you.” He looked like an embarrassed teenager, as he turned toward his mother. 

“No, mom. This is Y/N, she’s taking care of you, you guys spent the day together?” She started to understand, but kept giving Spencer a look like she didn’t quite believe him. 

After you cooked dinner, something Spencer also tried to convince you wasn’t necessary. Seems like he wasn’t used to being taken care of. You cleaned the kitchen, giving Spencer some time with his mom before you all resigned to bed. You didn’t cross paths again for a few days, with Spencer leaving before dawn for a case. 

When he returned a few days later, after many call and text updates on his mothers condition (that occasionally strayed to more personal topics of your life, but you wrote it off as him being polite)  he found you and his mom sitting on the couch, like the best of friends flipping through her scrapbook as she told you stories from Spencer's childhood. It was a good exercise to keep her mind sharp, as well as helping her feel more comfortable with you. 

“Hi Spencer, how was work?” He looked confused, and he was moving cautiously like he didn’t want to disturb the fleeting moment of happiness. His mother was happy, and the woman he had an ill-advised crush on were spending time together. In his home. It was perfect.

“It was good, it looks like you two had a good day?” His mother nodded her approval, and gestured for him to sit down.

“We did. Your mother read me some of her favorite books. And I didn’t know you could do magic! We were just looking through her wonderful scrapbook.” You directed the last part to Diana, wanting her to know how much you appreciated her trust. Spencer had the same embarrassed teenager look he did the previous day. 

“I’m glad you’re home Spencer, but it is late and I’m going to go get some rest.” His mother got up from the couch, and gave him a hug goodnight. Once she had disappeared back into the bedroom, you turned your attention back to Spencer. 

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge if you’re hungry by the way.” He still looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe you’d cook for him when he wasn’t even home. 

“Thank you, I have to finish a little bit more paperwork, but that sounds wonderful.” 

“It’s really no problem, I hope you like it. But before you start your paperwork, I’d like to request a magic trick.” He seemed perpetually confused. And he was. He couldn’t believe you, so happy, so sweet, and so kind. You wanted to see his dorky magic tricks and fix his books and talk to his mom. He knew you were being paid, but it wasn’t that much. Not enough for most people to go this far above and beyond. This was all you.

“You really want to see my magic?” 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen a magic trick in person, that’s really cool. And it’s a little easier to practice inside than the trapeze.” You both laughed, and his blush grew even deeper. He grabbed a set of cards from a prized spot on his bookshelf, part of the very small space not crowded with actual books.

He offered the cards, fanned out to you and asked you to pick one. You picked the ace of hearts. 

He pulled the 2 of diamonds, looking confident for maybe the first time since you met him. “Is this your card?” A part of you really wanted to lie. He looked so happy, but you just muttered a quiet no. He tried again, looking confused as to how he got it wrong the first time. This time he pulled the 6 of clubs 

“Is this your card?” You shook your head and he flipped through the deck, cards still facing down. Looking through as if something was missing, his brow furrowing as he did. You could see the moment realization struck, it was as if a cartoon lightbulb appeared over his head.

He leaned toward you and your breath hitched. Once your faces were so close you could’ve leaned forward and made contact, he pulled the correct card from your hair. And when he held it up for you, he smiled when you lit up. 

“Is this your card?” He spoke a lot quieter now, and he moved the little bit of hair that had fallen into your face during the trick back over your shoulder. When you thought you’d explode if he stayed this close without moving any closer, he did. His stubble grazed your face as he connected your lips. His were a little bit chapped, but they still felt soft the way he moved them. He sighed when he pulled away and you were worried you did something wrong. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so-so sorry.” 

“Why? I mean I know why the situation isn’t ideal, but why are you sorry?”

“Because you are currently relying on me not only for employment but for a place to stay, and I shouldn’t have just put that pressure on you. I lost control, and I’m so sorry. I understand if I made you uncomfortable.” He sat back down on the couch, but this time you followed him. You really liked him, even though you’d only known him a couple of days. 

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t feel pressured, and I didn’t kiss you back because I’m currently staying in your house. I kissed you back because I wanted to, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you hugged me when I accepted the job.” He finally looked back at you, with those big brown puppy dog eyes, and you grabbed his hand. 

“Really? Are you sure you want that?” 

“Certain. Spencer, I really like you. And if you like me too, then we can talk about how that would work logistically. We could figure something out. If you don’t want that or don’t feel the same way, we can forget about this. We never have to talk about it again, and we can just keep it professional.”

“No!” He rushed out, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture and started again. “I don’t want that, I do like you too. And I definitely want to figure this out.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. He liked you too. It felt so high school, but that made you want to either squeal with joy, or tackle him onto the couch. 

You settled on a cool neither, instead giving him a kiss on the nose as you got up from the couch. And he watched you, hesitantly letting your hand go, like he thought you said all that just to leave. 

“We are definitely having that conversation…tomorrow. You haven’t eaten and, cute as you may be, you look like you  haven’t slept in days. So we will finish this tomorrow, whenever you’re ready.” You pulled his plate from the fridge, placing it in the microwave so that he could eat something. He looked at you like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars. 

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Yes Dr. Hot stuff, I think you’re cute. I thought we just went over this?” He blushed even more at the doctor comment. You looked at each other until the timer snapped you out of it. You set the plate on the table and wished him a goodnight, as you moved to the guest bedroom. You couldn’t sleep, you were so excited. But you wanted him to be in the best possible headspace, this was a big decision. 

When Spencer finished his dinner and his paperwork he moved to the master bedroom, still buzzing with excitement. When he closed the door his mother stirred. She spoke quietly, still half asleep. 

“Spencer, you really should take Y/N out. I think she has a little crush on you. And you deserve someone who can take care of you.” Then she drifted back to sleep, but Spencer was still beaming. 

[mayghosts]

hii! can you do kate x pregnant!reader? thank you!!

Kate Martin: Soon-to-be-mom Headcannons

Summary: request :)

Warnings: pregnancy, birth ect.

AN: this gave me baby fever send help 😐

﹆ She was SO excited when you told her, big hugs, tears, more hugs, etc etc

﹅ Immediately in caretaker mode, will NOT let you: drive, lift anything, make your own food, clean, or put your shoes on

﹆ The day after you told her, she came home with a bunch of post- birth supplies and packed hospital bags for the both of you in preparation

﹅ Incredibly organised when it comes to appointments. She will not miss a single appointment, even if its just a online consultation

“Babe what is this?” Walking into the kitchen you were met with a big whiteboard calendar hanging on the wall. “Moning pretty girl! I got us a calendar so we can keep track of the baby stuff!!”

﹆ Will wake up with you if you have morning sickness and will hold your hair and rub your back

﹅ She will always say goodnight to the baby! She will lie on your chest and talk to the baby every night

﹆ The nursery was mainly designed by you, but Kate still managed to sneak little basketball decorations and basketball books in it

﹅ Took you on a HUGE shopping spree for maternity clothes that you feel cute it and paid for it all

﹆ Created a huge shared notes document with baby names and rankings that she changes daily

“Baby, which boy name do you like better? James or Ethan? I had James at the top yesterday but I kinda like Ethan a bit more today.”

﹅ Always feeding you and supplying you with the snacks your craving

﹆ Shes so gentle and kind with you, even when your hormones are raging and your irritable

﹅ Organises the most perfect baby shower for you as a surprise

﹆ Attends all of your expecting mothers classes with you and learns everything and anything to learn about babies

Walking into the livingroom you were met with a focused Kate Martin and a bag of diapers strewn across the living room. “Baby what are you doing up so early? And whats with the diapers?” Standing up she walked over to you, placing her hands under your bump, “What are YOU doing up so early? You and the baby need your beauty sleep!” She grinned up at you. “You aren't getting out of answering my question just because you’re cute, whats up with the diapers?” You giggled a bit at the scene behind her. “I am practicing for the baby! I am gonna be so fast at changing diapers by the time it comes! Its gonna pay off trust”

﹅ Holds your hand so tight on the way to the hospital, you guys get there so fast she broke at least ten traffic laws because she hates seeing you in pain

﹆ Stayed with you throughout the whole birth process and was supportive of all the decisions you made about the delivery

﹅ refuses to leave the hospital until you leave with her,

﹆ SO vigilant with visiting family members making sure they respect your boundaries and don't overwhelm you or the baby

﹅ Shes sending photos of the baby to EVERYONE she knows, she's so proud of her little baby

[dennisboobs]

i think some people watched a different version of frank shoots every member of the gang

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 16

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You sit in another hard plastic chair, this time in an office. You can still hear the chaos of the hospital wing out the walls, a constant reminder of why you’re there. You sit with your elbow on the armrest, your chin in your hand as you bite your fingertips.

The nurse, or nurse practitioner, you don’t know the difference, sits across from you, making notes about your last response. Her questions are pointless. She’s asking about your day, well, it’s obvious that’s not going well. And your hobbies. What do those matter? You don’t do anything so you don’t have an answer for that.

She smiles across at you as she clears her throat. The sort of smile dripping in pity. You get it a lot from the old ladies at the grocery store when they see you helping your mother.

“Have you ever had a period where you felt down? Not just for a week or two but, in fact, for many weeks and, perhaps, months?” She asks.

You don’t answer right away. You push your shoulder up and sit back, dropping your hand to your lap. You frown and look at the ceiling.

“Hm, I guess. Sometimes... yeah.”

All the time.

“Along with that, did you find you had no energy, had no interest in things, and overall had great difficulty functioning?”

Functioning? In what way? Going outside? Smiling? Feeling anything but heavy dread? Not crying until your eyes are raw? Having friends?

“Sure, but uh, I take care of my mom. I don’t have time... sometimes...I get tired.”

"Right,” she scribbles noisily with her pen, “Has this ever happened to you before?”

“Has what happened?” You make yourself look at her.

“These bouts of sadness?”

“My mom is sick. It makes me sad.”

“What about today? You said that you... lost track of time.”

“I’m... my mom... I didn’t sleep well... I don’t know.”

She hums and nods. She pauses as she reads over her folder and puts the pen down. She crosses her arms over the desk.

“It’s normal for caretakers to suffer from depression. You’re taking on a lot so there’s no need to be ashamed. You did so well being so honest today. Really. It makes it easier for us to help you,” she smiles again. What about any of this is happy? “I’m going to write you a prescription. Just a few doses for now, okay? To help you through. And we’ll schedule a follow-up with a psychiatrist.”

“A psychiatrist?” You utter, your eyes hot with tear. “I’m not crazy.”

“That’s not... crazy, we don’t speak like that. And you’re not. You’re hurting and you need relief. That’s all,” she explains, “so, the pills I’m going to send you off with. I want you to be very careful, okay? No alcohol. They’re going to make you drowsy so no driving either.”

“But... my mom doesn’t drive. She can’t.”

“It’s just for a few days. You might want to consider looking into some of the local services. You can find a home nurse to come help out if you qualify,” she gets up and goes to a cabinet against the wall, “I have some pamphlets. You can take them with you and I’ll have someone find you with some samples of the pills. That way, you don’t need to pay, alright?”

Your lips trembles and you bite it to keep it still. You nod and stand as you flick the wetness from your eyes, “can I go?”

“Sure, I’m sure your mom will be ready to see you soon,” she approaches you with a handful of glossy leaflets. “I’ll walk you out.”

You take the pamphlets and she follows you to the door. You step into the hall as she stays close, “Mr. Rogers,” she calls over your shoulder as Steve sits in the hall waiting, “she’s all good. Got her sorted.”

“Great, uh, well, good news,” he stands, rubbing his lowers back, “your mom’s awake.” He announces, “can finally get off this stiff chair.”

“See, that’s wonderful,” the nurse nudges your arm, “I’ll have the medications brought to her room. Have a good day, hon.”

You clutch the pamphlets and stare at Steve’s chest. He points you down the hall and walks beside you.

“Everything go okay? What was that she said about medication?”

“Pills.”

“Pills? For what?” He prompts as he leads you along the hallway.

“Depression.”

“Oh.”

You look down, “guess I might be. I don’t know.”

“You work really hard, sweetie. You’re not invincible,” he comforts and rubs your back. You wince at his unexpected touch, “all this stress...” he trails off and reaches for the pamphlets in your hands. You let him take one, “what’s this?”

He reads as he walks, unbothered by the nurses rushing by and the cleaners in their grey scrubs.

“Home nurse? Hm, that might be a good option,” he clucks, “or maybe... I wouldn’t mind helping out, you know? I know it’s early days but I think we’ve gotten really close.” He folds up the paper and hands it back, “me and your mom... us too, I think.”

You shrug and drag your soles on the floor. He reads the door number as you reach your mom’s room and he waves you in ahead of him. You keep your head down as you go past the curtain as he directs you from behind. You stand at the foot of the bed, too afraid to look up.

“I’m starving,” your mother snarls. She sounds like herself, just tired.

You peek up and your eyes round. She scowls at you as she lays tangled in tubes. You quiver in relief. She’s alive and she seems mostly okay.

“What’re you staring at?” She sneers, “I know I look like death. I feel like it too.”

“Holly,” Steve steps forward, “thank god.” He comes to her side, “we were so worried.”

“Heh,” she snorts.

“Really, when I found you...” he tries to block you out as he lowers his voice, “you never told me you weren’t supposed to drink.”

“Never bothered me much before,” she dismisses, “figured it was just a precaution.”

“Excuse me,” a voice comes from the doorway and you look over at a young man in blue scrubs. He says your name, “I have some samples for you.”

You turn and wave meekly, confirming your identity. He enters and hands you several boxes secured together with a thick elastic.

“Directives on the side,” he points to the folded paper also looped under the rubber band.

“Thanks,” you say and he leaves you just as quickly.

Your turn back to your mom as her eyes center on you. She looks horrible. Sickly. Worse than you’ve ever seen her.

“What’s all that then?” She scoffs.

You try to hide the boxes under your arm and shake your head.

“Typical. She’s gotta get her share of attention.”

“Holly,” Steve girds, disappointment harshening his tone, “she was sick with worry over you. The nurse gave her those to calm down.” He grips the bedrail until his knuckles pale, “she has depression, you know? All the stress--”

“Stress?” Your mom rolls her eyes, “I didn’t realise she was the sick one. She’s not depressed, she’s lazy.”

Silence. Stifling, suffocating silence. You lower your chin, “it’s... I probably won’t take any of it. I was just... in shock. I’m sure I’m fine.”

“But the nurse said--” Steve begins, “you’re going to at least try it. You never know, it could help. And if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

“Oh, don’t baby her. She’s grown,” your mom’s too out of it to filter her spite. You see the disgust in Steve’s expression as he looks at her.

“Holly, please, she’s your daughter.”

“I know who she is,” she snarls, “why are you taking her side anyway? She doesn’t need pills. It’s just another excuse.”

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, “I’m gonna chalk this up to whatever they’re pumping you full of. Holly, you’re not thinking straight. I know you would say all that to her.”

“Stop defending her. She’s not as innocent as she pretends.”

He shakes his head and glances over at you, “look, you just woke up, you’re out of it. I get it. Let’s just all calm down.”

“She’s a sniveling little brat,” she barks as she leans back. “This is all her fault. She knew I wasn’t supposed to drink. She didn’t stop me.”

Steve blanches and his eyes cling to you. You see the chagrin lined in his forehead. You look away in shame. You never wanted a witness to your mother’s wrath. That’s worse than facing her alone. It’s humiliating.

[storm-angel989]

Vox and Val don't know how to hold babies. They get handed their newborn to get some bonding in and they're all "ok what now? I just hold it? Where do I put my hands?" Until Auntie Velvette gets sick of their bullshit and physically rearranges them into a proper baby holding position because "you don't have to hold them out so far away from you, they're not contagious" and "anything they have, you're gonna catch real soon anyway"

Ok that's my contribution for today

Hi friend, 

Oh I love this idea! My biggest struggle with this one was “where do Vox and Velvette and Valentino get a baby?” (because there is no baby store, let's be real) so it took me a while to chew on what I think is an entertaining situation. I hope you enjoy it!

<3 Mandy

Valentino didn’t hold babies. Not in life. And certainly not in death. In fact, he didn’t think the idea of children had ever been discussed in his relationship with Vox and Velvette. And when his phone rang and Asmodeus' voice called him, Vox and Velvette to his restaurant in the lust ring, the last thing he was thinking about was kids. 

“What does Ozzy want with the three of us?” Velvette asked as she watched the rolling hills of fire pass by as they jumped from ring to ring. 

“Fuck if I know,” Valentino replied as he took a drink of wine. “Any idea, Voxxy?”

“No,” Vox replied without looking up from his phone.

Velvette sighed in annoyance. “Well you two fuckers are no help.”

Both ignored her. Several minutes later, the limo pulled up outside one of the biggest restaurants in all of hell. As soon as they stepped out of the limo, they were escorted back to Asmodeous’s office.

“Who's a sweet little baby? Yes you are, yes you are!” Asmodeous’s voice floated out from behind his office doors. 

“Huh, didn’t expect him to have a caretaker kink,” Vox muttered. “Hey, ow!” 

Valentino elbowed him, hard and gave him a writhing look. 

“We don’t judge,” he said sharply. “Especially not Oz.”

“Judge what? Huh?” Fizzeroi’s voice floated as the doors opened. “Come in, dumb little…”

“Alright, that’s enough Fizz, calm down, you’ll scare the baby,” Ozzy said firmly. “Come in you three.”

The V’s exchanged glances but stepped inside. Of all of the sighs they expected to greet him, Asmodeous holding a tiny pink blanket wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list. Hell, for that matter, it wasn’t even on the list.

“Congraduation’s Valentino, you’re a father,” Asmodeous said as he stood up.

Vox and Velvette stared at Valentino in disbelief.

“That isn’t possible,” Valentino argued. “I always use protection, I…”

Azmedous stood up and walked across the room.

“In nineteen seventy three you made a deposit to a sperm bank. Upon your arrival in hell, our agents were supposed to destroy every single source of your DNA on Earth. It appears someone fucked up I mean…uhn…” he looked down at the baby, “made a mistake. This little girl is a product of that. And with her mother in heaven, she’s yours.”

“Wait, her mom died? Who was she?” Valentino demanded, taking a step back away from Asmodeus. 

“She did. And went to heaven. But as you know, unbaptized babies?” Asmodeous made a slashing motion across his throat. “Not welcome upstairs.  And upon this little one’s arrival, I went myself and personally destroyed the rest of the vial. But there is no mistaking, she’s yours. And by the contract you signed, she’s your responsibility, just like any other child who falls who has parents in hell. And I know you want to honor your contract.”

Asmeodous’s normally lighthearted voice dropped to a dangerously low tone. The fire that surrounded him perked up, and even Fizzeroli jumped from his shoulders. 

“Give me,” Velvette said quickly, stepping forward. 

Asmodeous shot Valentino and Vox a look, but carefully handed her the tiny pink bundle. 

“We’ll take her,” she declared firmly. “Valentino will honor his contract. Do you have a diaper bag, or formula or anything?”

Instantly, Asmodeous relaxed. From beneath the desk, he pulled out a pink bag and dropped it at Valentino’s feet. 

“I put a sleep spell on her, so she should stay down the entire way home,” he told them. “But she’s going to be hungry when she wakes up. Formula is in the bag, along with diapers and a few extra things.” 

“Great,” Velvette said as she looked at the pink bag with distaste. “We’ll get a more stylish one in time, come on boys.” With those words, Velvette turned and walked confidently out the door. 

“Do you think they have any idea of what they’re doing?” Fizzeroli muttered as he watched the retreating figures. 

Asmodous shrugged. “We’ll check on it in a few days.  Make sure Valentino truly does uphold his end of the contract.”

Back in the limo, Velvette carefully cradled the newborn to her chest.

“There should be a carseat,” she declared. “Vox, get out your phone. Make a list of the things we’re going to need to keep this thing alive.”

Valentino and Vox stared at her.

“What? It’s either keep it alive, or Valentino breaks his contract and Asmodeus…”

“Yeah, no I get that,” Vox interrupted. “But we, I really never took you for the motherly type.”

“Oh fuck you, I’m motherly,” Velvette snapped. “Now get the phone out and start making a list.” 

By the time they arrived back at the penthouse, the spare bedroom had been transformed into a workable nursery.

“It’s basic, but I can do the design later,” Velvette told them as he looked around.

In her arms, the baby began to fuss as she opened her eyes. 

“She’s probably hungry,” Velvette said to them as she turned and walked out to the kitchen. “One of you, hold her while I make a bottle.” 

Both stared at her in confusion. 

“No, I’ll hurt her,” Valentino confessed finally. “She’s so tiny.”

“Yeah, no. How do I hold it? What do I do?” Vox asked.

Velvette rolled her eyes. “You, Vox, look it up. Valentino, it came from you. So you, sit down on the couch. Vox, take notes.”

Valentino obediently sat down on the couch. Carefully, Velvette placed the baby in his arms and Valentino held the child out at arms length. 

“No, no not like that. Closer. She isn’t a disease, you won’t catch anything from her,” Velvette admonished. “And if she gets sick, we’re all getting it anyway, so buckle up buttercup.”

Velvette watched as he slowly inched his arms closer. Annoyance flooded through her. 

“No, you know what? Unbutton your shirt,” she snapped as she snatched the baby back. 

“Fuck you, no,” Valentino retorted. “That has nothing…I’m not…no!”

“Actually, she’s right, it’s called skin to skin,” Vox interrupted as he looked up from his phone, “we should all probably do it. It helps…with their vitals and stuff. Body temperature and heartbeat regulation. Helps them thrive.”

“And I’m pretty sure if this thing dies, Asmodous will consider it a violation of your contract in some way and kill you as well,” Velvette added.

Hesitantly, Valenitno undid his jacket and unbuttoned his black shirt. Carefully, Velvette positioned his hand under the little girl and laid her against his chest. To his surprise, it felt good- natural, almost. Carefully, he leaned back and settled the child comfortably against him.

“Good. Now don’t be alarmed if she cried,” Velvette warned. “She’s got to be hungry.”

As quickly as she could, she hurried off into the kitchen. As quickly as she could, she mixed a bottle and brought it back to Valentino.

“Here, you feed her, Vox,” she directed. 

“Oh hell no, it ain’t my kid,” Vox protested. 

 “We’re in this together, right? Otherwise the empire crumbles,” Velvette said firmly. 

The look on Vox’s face told Velvette she had won. She watched as he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt. 

“Fine, I’m ready,” he said reluctantly.

 Carefully, Valentino handed the baby to Vox and Velvette adjusted his arms so the baby was in the correct position. She watched as he gently pressed the bottle to her lips and to Velvette’s relief, she instantly took to it. 

“She is kind of cute,” Vox admitted as she suckled frantically. “Are you hungry, little girl? She needs a name, right?” 

“Let’s call her Reader,” Valentino suggested. “It was…well, it doesn’t matter. I’m her dad, I get to name her, right Velvette?”

“Reader,” Velvette said slowly. “Yeah. I like it.” With a swish of her skirt, she turned away. “I’m going to make some design notes for the nursery. Yell for me when she’s done eating, she’ll need to be burped.”

“Great,” Vox muttered as he looked at Valentino. “That ones on you.”

“We’ll all be doing it,” Velvette yelled over her shoulders. “She’s a member of this family, we take care of each other. Period.”

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics that take place in a small town, rural area as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

🏡 I'll Fly Away by @juliusschmidt

(E, 122k, childhood friends) Harry and Louis grew up together in Lake County, Harry with his mom and stepdad in a tiny cottage on Edward’s Lake and Louis in his family’s farmhouse a few minutes down the road. But after high school, Louis stuck around and Harry did not

🏡 Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 113k, lighthouse) As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

🏡 Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule / @baroness-elsa

(T, 93k, magical realism) Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

🏡 Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds

(NR, 88k, historical) 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

🏡 ocean tides you home (series) by @justanothershadeofblue

(M, 88k, Eroda) Harry is a lonely and depressed popstar who sailed out of his hometown on Eroda years ago to chase his dreams. He comes back to the island only to find his shining childhood best friend Louis just as cold and dreary as the island they grew up on.

🏡 Into the Weeds by kair0sclerosis

(M, 87k, secrets) Following the whispered words of a stranger, Harry Styles finds himself in the small town of Peri Ridge. It’s a town nestled within overgrown forests, raging rivers, and ominous mountains- full of unkept secrets, the aura of freedom, and lost people seeking to be found.

🏡 (Take Me Home) Country Roads by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites

(E, 86k, Northern Exposure au) Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between.

🏡 Full Moon Dreaming by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(E, 43k, soulmates) Louis has given up hope of dreaming of a person, resigned to living a life devoid of that kind of all-consuming love for another and receiving the same in return. But when a new neighbour descends on Louis’ beloved Hanson Bay and moves into the other beach house, could all that be about to change?

🏡 The Things We Know To Be Wild by harryanthus_annuus / @harryanthus-annuus

(M, 39k, HTTYD au) Louis is a London zoologist sent by the University of Highlands and Islands to assess the safety of the island of Eroda as part of the Wonder Seekers Project for sustainable tourism.

🏡 Something About Liminal Spaces by @kingsofeverything

(E, 34k, age difference) Searching for inspiration for his latest book, and hoping distance will help heal his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson heads to the village of Piha on the west coast of New Zealand’s north island.

🏡 It's the Climb by @lululawrence

(NR, 25k, Hannah Montana au) Louis is a world famous punk rock singer with a stage name of William and Jay drags him back to Tennessee for the summer.

🏡 It's Coming on Christmas by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(G, 23k, girl direction) When Harry Styles gets a call from the caretaker of a bakery in a small town in Vermont, she jumps at the chance to get out of Boston and run her own shop.

🏡 Naked & Proud by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

(E, 18k, songwriter Louis) In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

🏡 Between the forest and the field by bluegreenish / @greenblueish

(E, 16k, meet cute) the one where Harry recently moved to a village and his shy dog picks Louis' dogs to play with at the dog park. A fluffy cottage core AU.

🏡 Won’t Let You Down by noellehenry / @noellehenry-original

(M, 15k, inheritance) In a matter of weeks, Harry’s world turns upside down. Suddenly he’s the owner of a farm and B&B, gets involved in illegal trading of unlabeled bottles and has to deal with his everlasting crush on his sister Gemma’s best friend, who has returned to Woodville…

🏡 You Tilted My Hand by @taggiecb

(G, 12k, photographer Harry) Harry Styles arrives in Avonlea, Prince Edward Island for his first day of a coveted and prestigious summer internship at the Avonlea Chronicle. He's quick to realise that he's out of place in the little band of journalists as he's an art major and they didn't choose Harry to be part of the team!

🏡 Babe, There's Something Lonesome About You by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey

(M, 8k, witch Louis) Louis is a hedge witch, who lives a lonely, solitary life. He's quite happy with his shop in Door County, selling New Age magics to the tourists. 

🏡 Warm Chilling by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(G, 7k, neighbors) Louis moves into a cosy cottage in the English countryside with his dog Clifford to look after his great-aunt's animals.

- Rare Pairs -

🏡 Grundy County Incidents (series) by @haztobegood

(T, 10k, Harry/Louis/Nick Grimshaw & Zayn/Liam & Niall/Greg James) 25 years, 7 friends, 3 relationships, 1 rural county

🏡 Something Good (And I Don't Just Mean Your Chips) by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships

(T, 9k, Harry/Nick Grimshaw) Nick's uncle's will left his seaside cottage, his fishing boat, and all the contents of both to Nick. Coming off the back of months of very poor life choices, a brand new start in a Yorkshire seaside village seems the last remaining option for Nick

[levi-venn]

"Tech...do we have parents?"

-Flashback scene between Cadet Crosshair & Tech from The First Toothpick-

“Technically,” Tech said, “Our father is Jango Fett since he supplied the DNA.”

“And our mom?” Crosshair asked.

“Hmm…I suppose she’s the pre-natal tank that preserved us during gestation.”

“What about Nala Se?” Crosshair asked. “She feeds us, tutors us, and she hums to Wrecker when he has trouble sleeping.”

“She is our caretaker.”

“In your book, the mom sang to the children.”

“What book?”

Crosshair pulled up Little House in the Big Field on his datapad.

Tech looked at the book, then looked at Crosshair. “We are clones, Crosshair,” he said, adjusting his brand new goggles that didn't quite fit his face yet. “We do not need parents like the children in that book. Our path is one of military efficiency. Those natborns are far more helpless than we ever were. They need nurturing to survive, we only need what is provided by this facility.”

“Oh,” Crosshair said, scrolling through the pages. He stopped at his favorite illustration, the little girl riding her father’s shoulders. They are both laughing.

“Does that make sense?” Tech asked.

“We’re clones,” Crosshair murmured. “We don’t need parents.”

“Crosshair...” Tech said.

Crosshair didn’t look up. The father in the book would do anything for his kids. He hunt puma, he built them toy forts, he gave them piggyback rides.

Tech leaned forward until he was in Crosshair’s vision. “We don't have parents. But we do have each other.”

Crosshair looked at his brother. Older than him, technically, but inseparable since birth. Crosshair liked to call them twins. Tech never corrected him. 

“I know, Tech.”

Tech leaned his head against Crosshair's shoulder. “These goggles make my eyes hurt. Will you read tonight?”

“What book?”

“Whatever you want.”

Crosshair held up Little House in the Big Field.

"Acceptable."

- Excerpt from Ch7 of "The First Toothpick" Read it on Tumblr or on Ao3

[florwal]

my mom had apr surgery in july and now she’s back on chemo again until february. she recently had to kick my abusive dad out because things got really bad but now we’re financially struggling. she needs a full time caretaker (me) but because of that i’m unable to work right now and i can’t afford to support myself, my mom, and my younger siblings. thankfully my grandparents have been letting us live with them but my mom has a lot of expensive medical things she needs to survive (prescriptions, ostomy bags, etc.) and i’m feeling really helpless right now. any donation or reblog would help out so much. my mom had a gofundme earlier this year but my dad literally took all of the money for himself so i set this new one up that goes straight to her.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for making my family eat my mother's terrible cooking?

I (32NB) currently live with my father (70M), mother (68F), and brother (36M). My brother is disabled and requires at least one full time caretaker. Up until recently, this was me. First, my mom and I were sharing the duty, but then my grandmother got sick and my mom left, leaving me working, going to school, and taking care of the house and my brother by myself most of the time. It's worth noting I'm also disabled (physically and mentally), I just lived on my own from 16-27 so I got used to dealing.

Now my father has moved in with us and is taking care of my brother which is a huge relief. My grandmother died and my mother is back and helping as well! As a result, and out of the severe damage all the previous work did to me physically and mentally, I have removed myself ENTIRELY from caretaking from my brother. I don't do SHIT anymore. I will occasionally make him a sandwich or something if I feel up to it. So this is where the assholery might come in.

My mom… cannot cook. She is terrible. I mean it. Whatever you're imagining: worse. I regularly impress one of my friends (just the one, I don't want to bad mouth her excessively) with tales of her horrifying abominations. Yesterday she cooked tilapia in MELTED. LIME. POPSICLES. because she thought it would give it a citrus flavor. She did not use other seasoning (no not even salt). We have lime and lemon juice in the fridge!!!

I used to cook at least half of the meals, and often would help mom with dinner when it wasn't something boxed, to avoid such… creativity (and because half the time when she cooked I couldn't stomach it). But now due to health issues (caused by illness caused by overworking), I'm buying my own food and cooking all my own meals regardless, so I have fully stopped cooking for the family because I can't eat what they eat and we can't afford to all eat what I eat. I am subjecting my poor family to lime popsicle tilapia. We are wasting food because she ruins it and then no one will eat it, at a time when eggs are like $8 a dozen. My dad cooks when mom's not here (he's GOOD) but when she is, he lets her.

AITA? Should I bite the bullet and start cooking for everyone again?

What are these acronyms?