#still weird that you only have the options of a day or a week

[overly-assertive-riddle]

[hana-bobo-finch]

jørgan clan my beloved. you guys are so messed up

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][aged up][mdni][friends][little bit of crack][missionary][loss of v-card][tiny tags][bickering][breeding kink if you narrow your eyes][porn with plot]

"I've watched enough porn to know how to do it, dumbass."

"Yeah? And I don't trust you near my coochie. You crushed a Pepsi can with your finger today."

"Don't say 'coochie'."

"What then? Pussy?" You scoff.

"Vagina."

And you lower the Cosmopolitan magazine, your expression bored and upper lip curled in distaste as you watch Mark, reclined on his bed as he absentmindedly tosses a paper ball into the air, catching it with ease, only to throw it back up.

The motion is repetitive, boring to watch but you can't deny the appeal of watching that little muscle in his forearm twitch beneath his skin.

"I'll call my genitalia whatever I want, thank you very much. And you shouldn't mimic porn." You state. "A lot of that stuff isn't real and pardon me, but I want an actual orgasm when I lose my virginity."

Mark let's out a snort of laughter, perching up and resting his weight in his elbows, the edge of his sweater raising the tiniest bit and you catch a peek of a neat, dark little happy trail that disappears beneath the fabric of his clothing.

"I can guarantee an orgasm." Mark boasts. "I'll bet anything."

"If I don't cum, I want you to grow a full bush and then, wear cycling shorts for a week."

Your wager has Mark's lips pursing, chocolate pools moving towards the ceiling as he weighs his options. "Oddly specific but okay." Mark shrugs. "And if you cum, anytime I learn a sex trick, I get to try it on you. Unless you get into a relationship but," he snorts, "let's be realistic."

The insult has you flinging the magazine across the bedroom, hitting Mark in the face with the spine and he winces, although, you know it's more out of habit than from actual feeling.

"It's so weird." He mumbles. "I don't feel your abuse anymore."

Mark's grin is cocky.

"Oh, Marky," you coo, lifting yourself from his desk chair and you cradle his face in your hands, an action that's so familiarly condescending but Mark can't help but lean into your warm palms, "you're only unaffected by the physical abuse. I can still hurt you self-esteem."

Mark's eyes narrow at you. "Try it." There's a challenge in his voice that you just can't ignore. Especially when he's looking at you like that. Brown eyes trained intensely on you, black strands tousled ever so slightly from the long day he's had.

"You have feminine hands." And you swear, the way his expression falls is an aphrodisiac in of itself before you straighten up.

"It's easy to hurt your ego, Marky." You hum. "Heroes get a lot of hate if they do something wrong. But lucky for you, you have years of experience."

"Yeah," Mark hums, "no one's a bigger dick than you."

"It's so weird that you're losing your virginity on your parents' anniversary." You hum quietly, carefully traveling along the sides of Mark's bedroom, attaching the LED light strips along the cornish.

"Don't make it weird." Mark grumbles, stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fuzzy robe as he towel dries his hair, messy strands poking in every direction and he watches you with amusement. "Their anniversary is like, the only time when they travel far enough that I can't hear them. So.... It's the only night I can do it."

"They probably don't want you to hear them fucking." You hum, almost absentmindedly and when Mark gags, you let out a laugh and your foot slips from the backrest of his desk chair, and you slip.

But instead of meeting the carpeted floor in an unceremonious crash, you instead crash into Mark's chest, his arms wrapped around your midsection and your knees tucked up. And he dips his head low, head tilted.

"You okay?"

And if your pussy didn't have a heartbeat before, it does now. The way he looks down at you, his expression so soft, brows creased in concern and his lips. So soft and inviting, the scent of mint lingering in the air and you nod your head.

"Mhm," you mutter quietly, "I'm okay."

Mark sets you on your feet, before examining where you had stuck the lights and he nods his head, a grin cocking at his lips.

"Yeah, this is a mood setter."

"Can I open my eyes now?" Mark grumbles, arms folded over his chest but his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones and you let out a hum.

"Go ahead." You mumble and he allows his eyes to open and drink in the sight of you.

Freshly showered, steam still rising from your skin and in his T-shirt. The faded Batman shirt ends just below your crotch, your ankle socks aren't even matching and your hair's tied into a bun that looks so half-assed.

You look nervous. Eyes lowered to the carpet and Mark reaches forward, large hands bracketing your hips and his thumbs brush over the trimming of your panties. And he pulls you to stand between his thighs, his head tips back and his chin comes up to rest on your sternum as he stares up at you.

"We don't have—" "I want to." You interrupt him, your hands raising to rest on either side of his neck, thumbs brushing along his jawline. "I want to." You repeat quietly, looking down at Mark.

The plan is to lose your virginities before the gap year is over. Because you'd both much rather make a mistake with each other than with strangers.

"Move your hand."

Mark lets out a snicker of laughter, your thighs tossed over his and his tip notched at your entrance, and he can barely think.

Not when he knows how tightly you felt around his fingers, sucking him in with such a neediness, not when he saw the way your brows knitted into the prettiest little pinched expression when his tongue lapped against your clit just right.

"I looked at the logistics of it and it's not gonna fit."

You state, and those pretty brown eyes roll at your words, before Mark slaps your hand away, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he taps it against your clit. Just to watch the way your stomach caves in with an unsteady breath.

"It'll fit." Mark reassures. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

And you let out a laugh, your body slumped against the mattress and you snort.

"No you're n—nahh..."

Mark watches the way your head tips back when he pushes his tip past the ring of muscle, and he watches the way your eyes shut, brows knitting into a pinch.

"You little... Fuck.."

You breathe out, your expression a little pouty frown and Mark moves a strand of hair out of your face, leaning forward and as he presses a kiss to your forehead, he pushes another inch inside.

And as you gasp, his lips press against yours, and Mark swallows each moan and groan of pain, his forearm supporting his weight while his other hand grips your hip, thumb brushing over the protruding bone of your hip and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

"You're so warm..." Mark murmurs into the kiss, but he keeps his hips still, slotted between your thighs and he feels your gummy walls pulsing around him, trying to get used to the intrusion. And Mark lifts his head, kissing the apples of your cheeks.

"So I'm big, huh?"

He teases and watching as your pained expression gives way to an annoyed expression, eyes bored and brows furrowed.

"Just fuck me already."

You grumble.

And Mark pulls out, until just the rosy tip of his cock is poked into your sopping cunt, before he slowly pushes back into you.

The stretch burns, and you can feel the way your nails dig into your palms and you take a deep breath. His hips are pressed against yours, and you can feel that painful pinch behind your navel.

"Are you inside yet?" You question, peeking up at Mark through your lashes, enough to watch the way that dorkish grin spread across his face as he readjusts his position, leaning forward and shifting himself to rest more comfortably.

"Ha-ha, very funny." He rolls his eyes, his voice just a tad breathy and his hands move, thumbs moving your pussy lips out of the way, spreading them so he can see the pinkish flesh that swallows him whole.

"Mark!" You hiss, swatting away his hands, and covering your folds from his view. "What are you doing?"

"They do it in porn!" He defends, moving his hands to rest on your hips instead as his hips slowly begin to roll against you, the soft strands of his happy trail tickles your neglected and swollen clit, and you take a shaky breath.

"Those people are ass naked." You deadpan. "You've never even seen my feet."

With one hand, Mark shifts the covers and lets out a bark of laughter at the sight of your socks, still on your feet. And he reaches back for your ankle, lifting your leg and he places a soft kiss on the inside of your foot, causing your walls to flutter around him.

His kiss is warm through the cotton, a lingering show of affection as his hips thrust, cock nudging your insides to his shape. And he lowers your foot.

"Put your foot on my chest. I wanna try something." Mark hums quietly, resting your sock covered foot on his chest. And you let out a snort.

"My pussy isn't a skate park. You can't try things you've never done." You huff, but you comply, keeping your foot against his brawny chest, even as Mark shifts you into position, straddling your one thigh and resting your foot on his chest.

And when he moves, your foot slides off his chest, instead, resting beside him. And a snicker slips past your lips at the frustrated expression on his face.

"Please participate." Mark grumbles, moving your foot, and resting your leg over his shoulder, ignoring the way a laugh ruptures from your lips.

Kiss-swollen and pouty lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Bro said 'please par—'... Shit..."

Your eyes roll back in your head when the divot of Mark's tip presses against your cervix, pressing a sloppy, slick kiss against the plug as he grinds into you, leaning forward and pressing his lips against the curve of your jaw.

Mark isn't even fucking you anymore.

He's slowly rutting into you, pressing adorning kisses to the side of your face, sucking marks into the supple skin of your neck while he slowly fucks an orgasm out of you.

Kissing you deeply, his hand grasping the fat of your hip while the other massages the plumpness of your thigh, pressing a warm kiss against your calf before going back to swallowing your honeyed moans.

"... shit, you're gonna make me come..." You breathe out, your nails dragging lines down the expanse of his muscular and slightly damp back, the pain and pleasure mixing into a delicious concoction that has Mark burying his face into your neck.

Inhaling the scent of you.

"Mhm.... 's okay, baby, come for me..."

His voice is husky, a low timbre that makes your stomach knot and you whine when you feel that wave of ecstasy crash over you, waves breaking on the jagged rocks of your being and you're lashes flutter, tears brimming on your lower lashline because you're just so... Full.

Mark perches up, wiping the teardrops from your cheeks and he looks down at your hazy and flushed expression. His gaze lingering on your lips, wet and rosy, and before he even registers, your hand is on his face.

"Stop making such heavy eye contact." You whine. "You're gonna make me catch feelings."

And a laugh tumbles from his lips.

"You know, I have your entire future in my hands right now." Mark states quietly and when you hum, quietly mumbling a 'how do you mean', he simply presses a kiss against your pulse.

"I could fuck a baby into you right now." Mark breathes out.

"And you'd thank me for it."

[humanjarvis]

alternative medicine

synopsis: after a tough mission, you stop by zayne’s house for a checkup. but caleb thinks you should’ve come to him.

tags: condescending jealous dom caleb, stubborn reader but justified, friendly zayne cameo, caleb’s got a weird scent thing, bickering, massage, groping, cockwarming, riding (forced), non pip-squeak pet names (baby & princess), manhandling, biting, marking, boob slapping, hair pulling, rough…not sex?

pairing: caleb x fem reader/mc

word count: 2.2k 

a/n: yall didn’t think i could still write dom caleb did u. maybe i can’t and this sucks. anyway i have turned the wholesome caleb text above into a monstrosity. if ur partner ever gets jealous when u go to the doctor irl u should ditch them immediately 

The blare of a car horn outside your bedroom window rouses you from a deep sleep. 

Late morning sunlight greets you as you blink your eyes open, surveying the mess you’d left your room in when you’d flopped into bed last night. Clothes, gear, and bags strewn all over the floor…yesterday’s mission had really taken a lot out of you.

And when you try to sit up on the mattress, you find it took even more than you thought.

Because your body hurts. Stiffness and soreness in every muscle, to the point where every movement has your limbs screaming in pain. Even your worst period cramps couldn’t compare to the army of cells trying to tear themselves apart in your body right now.

You’d really overdone it.

Staring at the ceiling, trying not to breathe too hard in case that hurts, too, you rack your brain for options. 

Back to sleep? Back to sleep would be good. Would be great, if you didn’t have plans with Caleb tonight. And flaking out this late would only make him worry. 

Power through it? Maybe. But as you try to rise again, a sharp burn in your abdomen has you gasping and crashing back down. Maybe not.

Medicine? The sensible choice. But you’d been so busy with work lately that you hadn’t been to the pharmacy in ages, and everything you had that might have helped you was expired. 

Lucky for you, you have friends in high places.

“Ow,” you groan, wincing at the sudden pressure on your neck. “Yes, it hurts when you touch there.”

“As I warned you it might,” Zayne replies smartly. “Who was it that requested this exam, again?”

“Sorry,” you grumble, lips tugging into a deep frown. “You’re using your free time to see me, I know. I’ll be quiet.”

Your friend in a high place was off work today, you’d learned when you texted him earlier. And while you’d been more than happy to leave him in peace and let him enjoy his day, when he’d learned of your condition, he’d all but insisted you come over for treatment. 

So with gritted teeth, protesting limbs, and a quick stop to a nearby coffee shop, you’d made the short trip to his neighborhood. When you’d sucked up the pain and knocked on his door,  he’d welcomed you with open arms, especially when he saw the milk tea you’d brought as compensation. 

“You don’t work for the rest of the week, correct?” Zayne asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“Nope. We had it so rough yesterday, Jenna gave everyone a long weekend. I’m free to writhe around in agony ‘til Monday,” you answer, grimacing as he checks your forearms. 

“No need. You have a moderate case of overexertion—which might feel agonizing, but it’s nothing simple painkillers can’t fix,” he decides, stepping away to rummage through a cabinet. 

“Here, take these,” he says, holding out a familiar bottle of medicine. “One pill every six hours until the pain stops. You can keep them for future use, but let me know when you’re feeling better.” 

“Thanks, Dr. Zayne,” you sing, sliding down from his bar stool to give him a friendly hug. As his large hand pats your back, you breathe in his scent: clean and light, with a hint of jasmine. “What would I do without you?”

As you swing open your apartment door and flick on the main light, a hulking figure startles you much less than it should.

Freshly showered and in his nightclothes, Caleb is already inside, flipping through a book as he lounges on your armchair. An hour early, but what did you expect, coming from him?

“Hello to you, too,” you greet him wryly. “Of course you can come in. Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“Well, this is my second home. Would be my first, if you’d let me sleep on the couch,” he quips, a boyish grin lighting up his face as he reaches you in four long strides. “Sorry for bein’ so early, pip-squeak. I just couldn’t wait to see you.” 

“Mm, I missed you too,” you admit, standing on your tiptoes to give him a chaste peck. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day—I’m just so tired,” you whine, falling into him dramatically.

A half-second after he catches you, Caleb falters. “Did you go to a cafe today?” he asks hesitantly. “You smell different.”

“…No?” you blink slowly, staring up at him in confusion. “I got some milk tea earlier, but I only went through the drive-thru. What do I smell like?”

“Like jasmine,” he frowns, scanning you with slightly narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, that. I said I was tired, right? It’s because of my mission yesterday. I could barely move when I woke up, so I went to see Zayne earlier. You know he loves jasmine stuff—his house smells like it a little, too. Anyway, he gave me some medicine for the soreness. I’ll probably take some before we go to bed,” you explain, fishing the pill bottle out of your purse and rattling it in the air. 

“His house?” Caleb asks, voice strained with alarm.

“What?”

“You saw Zayne, but not at his office. You went to his house for medicine?”

“Uh, yeah,” you shrug simply, leaving his embrace to stand up straight. “He was off today.”

On Caleb’s face is a mix of disbelief, betrayal, and envy. But you, too busy fiddling with the pill bottle, are too distracted to notice. 

When you look up again, his only emotion is cool, confident resolve.

“Alright then, pip-squeak,” he cheers with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “We gonna watch the movie, or would you rather mess with that bottle all night?”

Your movie night starts off slow, normal, with all the whispered jokes and casual touches of the ones before. 

So when Caleb puts more pressure where his hand rests on your shoulder, you think nothing of it, at first.

But when that hand starts groping and squeezing, fondling your soft flesh under the thin fabric of your shirt, you swivel your head and eye him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Just givin’ you a massage, pip-squeak,” he grins, his murmur barely audible over the gunfire on screen. “You’re still sore, right? Let me help you out.”

Unconvinced, you scrutinize him until his innocent smile dissolves your willpower. “Okay,” you say warily, turning back to face the screen as large hands caress your body. “Thank you. But don’t distract me—this is the good part.”

***

The whole third act of the movie passes, but Caleb never stops. Your shoulders, arms, stomach, hips—every part of you he can reach, pliant under his eager touch. 

And you can’t focus. 

It’s when his wandering hands greedily squeeze the fat of your breasts that you pause the movie with a choked gasp.

“You don’t have to…I’m not sore there,” you chide, cheeks flaming from embarrassment and something more.

“Hm? Is it not helping? With the way you gasped just now, I’d think it felt really good,” he mocks, leaning in to tease you up close.

“It’s not bad. You’re just…being thorough,” you grumble, retreating from his advance.

“More thorough than Zayne was earlier, I hope,” he shoots back bitterly, and it all clicks into place.

Scoffing, you turn to face him fully, making his hands fall to your sides. “You can’t be serious. Of all the things to be jealous of—”

“I’m jealous that my girlfriend would go to another guy’s house for help when she has me on speed dial.” 

“Oh my god, Caleb, you’re not a doctor! I would’ve called you if I needed a ride home or something, not if I needed medical help.” 

“When was the last time you saw a doctor just because you were sore?” he lifts a brow, slowing his movements on your body. “I can help you just like this. You’re feelin’ better since I started, right? I can tell you are. You’re less tense, and you don’t wince when you move anymore. That’s me. Not him.”

He’s not wrong. Since he started his massage, your muscles had relaxed almost miraculously, as if his hands were the antidote to your pain. 

You won’t tell him that, of course. Pride and all.

“I’d be perfectly fine with Zayne’s painkillers,” you snap haughtily. “I don’t need you for everything, you know.”

At that, Caleb freezes entirely. 

But only for a moment.

“Is that so?” he asks lowly, breath fanning the shell of your ear. There’s a threat in his voice. A promise. Things never ended well when he took that tone with you. 

“Wait,” you try to backtrack, nervously bracing your hands against his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that, I-I just—”

Before you can plead your case, Caleb hauls you up and into his lap, molding your back to his front with an iron grip.

“I know exactly what you meant, pip-squeak,” he whispers in your ear. “But I thought you’d be tired of me provin’ you wrong by now.”

As you squirm helplessly in his hold, his hands return to your chest, pulling your shirt up to pluck and grope your tender skin. It’s hardly a massage anymore, with how rough he’s being—rolling your nipples under skilled fingers, tugging them until they ache with pleasure. When he cups one breast with merciless ownership, making your flesh spill out between his fingers, you moan and wriggle in his lap, reigniting the burn in your thighs. 

“Still hurts?” Caleb asks, laying his head on your shoulder tauntingly. 

“N-no, it feels g—”

He cuts you off. “It does, huh?” he pouts with feigned pity. “Poor baby, still so tight…don’t worry, I’ll loosen you up.”

Before you can react, he lifts you slightly to free his hard length from his sweats. Under your skirt, his hand pinches the fat of your ass hard before he slides your soaked panties to the side. 

And then slowly, steadily, Caleb lowers you down on his waiting cock, inch by devastating inch. 

Your mixed gasps fill the room as you adjust to the feel of each other—you suction his length, he savors your warmth.

“This better, princess?” he grits out, one hand still fondling your breast while the other grips your hip.

“Caleb,” you groan, annoyance and arousal blending together. 

He coos in response, pressing a gloating kiss to your hair. “Aw, it is? I know it is.” 

Chuckling breathily behind you, he slaps the flesh of your breast with a reverberating smack, and you squeal as your skin ripples. “He didn’t help you like this, right? I hope he didn’t,” he jeers. “Otherwise, I’ll have to pay him a visit.” 

Hissing at the lingering sting on your chest, you stomp his foot with your smaller one. “You are so childish! It wasn’t like that.” 

“You’re melting around me, baby,” he ignores you, shifting his hips to press deeper into you. “You don’t need those pills, you don’t need him—not while I’m here. I’m the first one you tell. First one you cry to. No one else. Isn’t that right?”

Mewling at the new angle, you shake your head wildly, bringing an arm up to tug at his hair. 

Huffing out a laugh, Caleb sinks his teeth into your neck in warning, sucking harshly before lapping at the mark. “No?” he asks, grinding your hips into his so roughly that stars cloud your vision. 

“When you're hungry, you call Caleb. When you're thirsty, you call Caleb. When you're happy you call Caleb, when you're sad you call Caleb. And when you’re sick, you still. Call. Caleb,” he finishes, punctuating his last command with three punishing thrusts into you. “Say yes.”

Stubborn as ever, you deny him, still squirming in his grasp. But when he bounces you on top of him, forcing your aching thighs and ass against his swollen base in slick, lewd slaps, you lose the dignity you had left. “Yes!” you squeal in submission, digging your nails into his thighs to ground yourself. “Y-yes, I’ll come to you when I need something. Always. I should’ve this time, I’m sorry.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, it’s like the tension in the room evaporates. 

Sighing contentedly, Caleb wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest to lay a kiss on your temple. “I know you are. But it’s okay now, right? Lesson learned for next time.”

“Next time,” you agree dazedly, eyelids drooping as his length still pulses inside you.

“Now, why don’t you pass me the remote? We have a movie to finish.”

The movie ended an hour ago.

But Caleb was far too satisfied watching you doze off on his cock to ruin the moment. 

Now, slipping out of your heat with gentle precision, he gathers your sleeping form in his arms, cradling your head to his chest.

You smell like him now. Good.

Carrying you to your bedroom, he lays you down and slips a loose t-shirt over your head before pulling the covers to your chin.

For a moment, he watches you, a serene smile gracing his lips in the moonlight. 

And then, he dips a hand into his pocket, fishing out the stolen pill bottle and dropping it in the trash.

[comicaurora]

Hi! I remember you saying at some point (I think, on the podcast?) that just realizing you have ADHD helped you to deal with it because you found some practices and techniques to help it, even without medication - or something along these lines, do I remember correctly?

Can you tell, which techniques? I seem to be somewhat resistant to medication (tried all options we get in the country I'm in, and improvement is very minimal), so I'm interested what else can be done there just to make it manageable

Caveat that every ADHD person is different so what works for me might not work for you, but this is what I've found helpful:

Break up Executive Dysfunction and fight Time Blindness by SETTING TIMERS. I have a fitbit, and on days I can feel my brain being restless and uncooperative, I set a ten minute timer on it. When it runs out, I set another one, and so on. It buzzes on my wrist, so it's hard to ignore, but it's not gamebreakingly distracting so it doesn't ruin my mood if I'm on a work roll. A brief, tangible reminder that time is passing can help me snap out of a break period or, if I'm working, give me a feel for my rate of progress. I can also use that reminder to take stock of if I need to eat food, get up and stretch, or lie on the floor for a bit to reset.

Take SMALL, LATERAL BITES OF PROGRESS. If you're having a hard time working on something, feel out what else you might be able to make headway on. Maybe you've got some writing notes you could jot down to build on later. Maybe there's a tiny item on the day's to-do list you could cross off quickly. Maybe there's a text or an email you've been meaning to fire off, or you've got a mild itch to doodle something in a sketchbook. Any progress is better than no progress, and even if you're just on your phone on the couch, you can get a lot of good work done just jotting down thoughts in the notes app. The lateral element is also very important; if you're fixating too hard on the ONE thing you're SUPPOSED to do, you can trap yourself in a spiral of how it's what you're SUPPOSED to be working on but it feels IMPOSSIBLE. Literally let yourself do anything else. Don't trap yourself with "it's either doing your responsibility or it's NOTHING." Your work is not a plate of broccoli you're not allowed to leave the table without eating. Give yourself permission to un-imprison yourself.

Related, If there are external factors on the responsibility - like an outside deadline or a team of people you're working with waiting on your stuff - don't be afraid to let them know where you're at, or if you're uncertain you can make the deadline as stated, even if you think your "brain is not working" reason isn't good enough to justify the delay. Most people are extremely chill about it, and some of them will even offer to help or make it easier for you in some way. "Struggling with deadline" is not an ADHD-only experience. It is one of the most relatable human experiences, and basically everyone will be inclined to help you out.

ANY PROGRESS IS BETTER THAN NO PROGRESS. LARGE projects can feel extremely overwhelming because you know you can throw everything you've got at them for a day or even a week and it still won't be finished, and if you've got that shadow looming over you, you might sink into a malaise of "I can't finish it and that means I can't even bring myself to start it." The best way to fight that is to make ANY progress in ANY direction. Every large project can be broken down into bite-sized chunks. Anything feels overwhelming if you see it as an unassailable monolith. Work you do now is work you don't have to do later.

CHECKLISTS. It's hard to hold a large list of things that need your attention all in your head at once. It is unbelievable how helpful it is to just write them down somewhere obvious, and when you're done with something, CHECK IT OFF. Don't erase it, leave it visible that you FINISHED it.

Tell your anxiety to CALL YOU BACK. This one's weird, but when I'm stuck stressing over something, I've found it legitimately works to pull up my schedule and pencil in "worry about <thing>" for a specific date and time. My brain registers that SOMETHING has been resolved and nothing has been outright dismissed or ignored, so it settles down. When the time rolls around, the source of the anxiety is still there, but the feeling of anxiety itself has been drained out of it.

On a related note, this might not be an ADHD thing, but I've found it's very useful to Avoid Anxiety And Guilt Spirals by HOLDING COMPULSIONS AT ARMS' LENGTH. I picked this up from some readings on OCD, which is in the category of "I don't seem to HAVE this to a diagnosable degree, but some of the structures were at one point familiar to me." It's good to be aware that, if your brain keeps circling back to any given thought that distresses you, that is structurally an obsession, and if in reflexive response you have a desire to do a specific thing to mitigate that feeling, that is structurally a compulsion. This includes things like "I bet my friends think I'm annoying - I should message them something fun and casual to see if they still like me." Or "I'm worried about the state of the world - I should check the news so no new horribleness blindsides me." The compulsion might contain a sensible thing to do; checking in on your friends is good, keeping up with world events is smart. But done AS a compulsion, it reinforces the anxiety cycle. Even when it results in something neutral or positive, it only confirms that this innocuous thing is your only lifeline over a yawning abyss of terror and stress, because if this time it was fine, it must be because THIS time your vigilance Saved You. So you'd better do it next time, too, because there WILL be a next time, and you might not be so lucky twice, right? The way to stop this cycle is to weaken it over time by, when the obsession pops up (a random reminder of a stressor, an old fear) and the compulsion is prompted, do not do it, no matter how reasonable it seems. Hold the compulsion at arms' length, becoming aware of what the obsession wants you to do and why. Similarly, sit with the awareness of the obsession. You are having an unpleasant thought, but having a thought does not make it inherently meaningful in any way. It doesn't mean you're actually in any danger, any more than you were before you had the thought. It's discomfiting because it removes the salve of the compulsion from the sting of the obsession, but in the medium to long term, it withers the cycle at the root and makes the entire process loosen its grip. Then you can do things like talk to your friends and check the news without it being underlaid with the sting of panic and desperation; they are, after all, neutral activities with typically beneficial consequences, not lifelines over the abyss. It might startle you when, months later, an intrusive thought pops up that used to send you spiralling into misery for hours or days, but now it feels irrelevant - even absurd - and easy to disregard. It really does work, and it's surprising how many things you can untangle this way.

Avoid boredom time prison by HARNESSING HYPERFIXATIONS. My most controversial take, but I think if your brain is desperately hungry to do This One Cool Thing Today, it's a good idea to let it. Even if that means you spend the whole day drawing fanart or bingewatching a show or baking croissants instead of Getting Work Done, the benefits you reap from just letting your brain tap into the rare Infinite Dopamine Opportunity usually outweigh any and all work slowdowns that result from taking the impromptu day off. When your brain works in the ADHD way, your enthusiasm is a vital fuel to keep it running. You need to have energy and joy in your life, energy and joy to spare and spend on things that may not be inherently energizing. If you have the option to spend a day doing something ridiculously fun, fill up that tank and reap the productivity benefits for the next week straight.

[bloomseishiro]

in which rin listens to your voice texts whenever he misses you ₊˚ෆ⊹.ᐟ

As much as he struggles to admit it, Rin misses you quite a lot when he’s out of the country for a game.

It grows exceedingly harder when he has multiple away games back-to-back, making it near impossible to coordinate even a simple video call that lasts longer than two minutes when he’s gone. The only way he survives is by listening to your voice memos over and over again.

He makes sure to save each one you send, no matter how silly or trivial the topic at hand is (which, in all honesty, most of them were).

Like yesterday, you were telling him about how you made eggs for breakfast and one yolk was darker than the other. Completely useless and mundane information, but when it comes from your mouth, Rin treats it like it’s a lecture from Socrates. Groundbreaking and reverent.

Even just hearing your laugh makes his bad days brighter. The only thing that could make it even better is if he heard it in person. But seeing as you’re halfway across the globe, it doesn’t seem like that’s much of an option. 

Rin sighs. Only three more days until he returns to Japan and gets to see you, but for now, he has to throw his focus into soccer. 

It’s in the early afternoon when he receives a call from you—meaning it’s well past midnight over in Kamakura. 

Confused and slightly concerned that you’re awake at these hours, Rin pauses the video footage he’s currently reviewing before his one-on-one meeting and answers your call. 

“Hello?” he answers.

“Hey, Rinnie! I miss you sooo much,” you whine, and he can only picture the little pout on your face. 

Rin takes a sip of water to hide his smile. “I miss you, too. Why are you still awake?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Well, after analyzing your schedule and carefully noting what times you usually text me,” Rin snorts at your admission, “I’ve come to a conclusion that this is probably the best time to catch you. So I stayed awake.”

A chuckle escapes him at your antics. “Thoughtful.”

“I know,” you chirp. “I just wanted to hear your voice on a call for longer than one minute.”

Rin nods though you can’t see him. “It’s been hard to coordinate. Still, you should prioritize your rest.”

“I’ll sleep after we talk!” 

“Okay,” he says softly. Because as selfish as it is, he’s missed you too. And if this is the only time you can catch each other, he’s glad you’re awake to do it. “I have a meeting in—”

“Twenty minutes,” you finished knowingly.

He blinks.

“Told you I analyzed your schedule,” you say proudly. 

“You realize that’d be insanely weird. If it weren’t you.”

“Yeah.”

Rin rolls his eyes at your unapologetic tone, smiling despite himself. “I was saying my meeting’s soon, but until then, I’m all yours.”

He silently glances at the paused footage he really should be studying, but he pushes the thought away. If you could sacrifice some sleep, he’s willing to put up with getting an earful from his manager. 

“Tell me about your day,” you say. “I miss hearing your voice.” 

“There’s not much to say since you already know my entire routine anyway,” he says dryly.

You laugh in surprise and Rin feels lighter at the simple sound.

“Tell me about yours instead. Did you have eggs for breakfast again? Was another yolk darker?”

“My yolks were the same color this time,” you giggle. “Breakfast was great. Work, however… Horrible. It was really stressful this week. I just wish you were here right now to give me a hug.”

Rin frowns, upset that he can’t be there when you need him. “What if you take the rest of the week off and come here for the weekend?”

You hum to yourself, deep in thought. “You make a tempting proposal,” you praise. “I do need a break after everything that happened. And I do want to see your game this weekend…”

“Then come. I’ll book your flight.” 

“What will I tell my work?”

“You’re sick and have a fever and a migraine?”

You laugh at his suggestion, but Rin really is serious. Half-serious, at least. You deserve time off to relax and destress. Plus, it’s not like you have to worry about staying at work for money with him around.

Only a minute passes by before you relent. “I guess a few days won’t hurt,” you relent. “When’s the soonest flight?”

“I’ll set one up for tomorrow,” he says. Then, further clarifies, “As in, ten hours or so from now. So you can have time to get enough sleep and pack.”

“How thoughtful,” you playfully swoon. “So I can hug you in person tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he says. And that means Rin no longer has to re-listen to all your voice memos tomorrow. Instead, he can hear your voice in person. His favorite thing.

A loud yawn draws him away from his thoughts and his brows furrow in concern.

“You should sleep now.” 

“But you have five more minutes until your meeting,” you murmur, voice muffled from tiredness.

“Stalker,” he mocks gently. 

You’re too tired to even protest.

“Sleep,” he says once more. “I’ll see you soon enough.” 

“Mhm,” you mumble. Rin hears shuffling and static from your line. Likely you burying yourself in your blankets. He smiles to himself, wishing he could join. “Goodnight, baby. ’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

And Rin has to say, getting grilled by his manager is definitely worth the call with you.

[mommyslittlebird]

Puppy’s Adoption Day

Whoops this is almost 2k words 😅

It had been a rough week for Wanda. There was no doubt about it. But, finally, her now ex boyfriend had moved all his stuff out of there and this whole nightmare was finally over.

It was her first weekend as a single woman, and she decided she was long overdue for a self care day. She started the morning at a coffee shop and got lunch with her best friend. She even took a little shopping trip to get herself a new outfit for the club that night.

But still, all her efforts to lift her own spirits fell flat. She sighed. She knew it would take time, but god she wanted to feel alive again.

She walked aimlessly along the sidewalk of the small shopping center. When she finally landed in front of the pet store, she figured she might as well look around. They had a wonderful program called the “Toy Fairy Program” in which a donor purchases a toy and donates some money, and they get to give it to a puppy visiting from a local shelter in return. Who wasn’t uplifted by playing with a puppy?

She carefully picked out a toy: a stuffed rabbit/teddy bear looking creature with a soft squeaker in the middle. It was simply adorable. When the volunteer asked which puppy she wanted to give the toy to, she looked over each of the options.

That’s when she saw you.

You were the littlest of the bunch: a small Jack Russell Terrier mix. You sat in the back of your cage, but she could see your fear was tinted with curiosity. When you lifted your head to look at her, one of your ears was bent weird, protruding awkwardly from the side of your head.

She pointed to you. “I’ll take this little darling.”

The volunteer carried you out of the cage, setting you down in a turf enclosure with Wanda. She knelt down on the ground while you pushed against the back fence.

“Hey, buddy,” she cooed gently. “You don’t have to be scared. I just wanna give you a toy. See? Look.” She set the toy down on the ground in front of her, pressing into it to activate the squeaker.

She watched your eyes widen at the noise. Finally, you curiously approached her, cautiously pressing your front paw into the toy. It squeaked again. You smiled, huffing like you were trying not to laugh. You pressed it again, chuckling this time.

“Is that funny, baby?” She asked, like she was talking to a small child. She reached out and squeaked the toy a few times in succession.

You laughed, taking it into your mouth to try and mimic the noise. The attempt only made you laugh harder. You set it down in front of Wanda, pouncing on it with both of your front paws.

She picked it up and squeaked it again and again until you were laughing so hard you’d fallen over onto your back, paws kicking aimlessly in the air. She had never seen anything quite like it: the pure innocent joy of a little puppy enjoying their first squeaky toy. You were belly laughing and your big eyes were squinted, but still sparkling up at her.

When the volunteer came back to usher you out of the pen and back into your cage, she wanted to protest. But she couldn’t. She didn’t need a puppy right now.

“Thank you for my toy, miss,” you said before picking it back up and reluctantly heading back to your cage. You curled up with your toy in your arms, resting your head on the plush material. She smiled softly before finally leaving the store.

Over the next few days, she couldn’t get her mind off of you. She had tried to go to the club, spend time with her friends, read, watch television, anything to get her out of her slump. But nothing had successfully made her feel as alive as the few minutes she spent with you. She thought of your laugh, your smile, the way your little ears flopped around. It would be so easy to go back to the store and bring you home. She wouldn’t even need to get all the new things for you. Her friend Natasha had hybrids. She would have a cage, a leash, food bowls, everything she needed. Sure Wanda was a busy woman. She had to go to work several hours a day. But leaving you alone in the house would be so much better than leaving you in that cage for 23+ hours a day.

No. She didn’t need a puppy. Besides, you were so cute, someone had probably already taken you home. You probably already had a happy life without her. Maybe she would just go check. The pet store was on her way home anyway.

But when she stepped into the pet store and saw there was another hybrid in the cage she saw you in, she couldn’t bring herself to feel relief.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can I help you out with anything today?”

She was torn from her thoughts by the same volunteer worker that she’d seen the day she met you. She stammered. “No. No sorry, I was just… looking for the little jack russell that was here a few days ago.”

“Oh, sorry,” the worker sighed regretfully. “The puppies from last week were sent back to the pound this morning. We’ve got all new ones this week. I can show you some of the new ones if you’d like. We just got this precious group of pomeranian hybrids if you wanted to-”

“The pound?!” Wanda gasped. She had thought you’d been adopted, and gone home with a nice family. She could hardly cope with that thought, much less you rotting away in a pound.

The worker was taken aback. “Uh… yeah. The one on Wabash Ave. We get all the puppies from there.”

Wanda searched up the address on her phone. She was in her car headed in your direction before she could even fully process her decision.

The worker at the pound brought her back to see you, curled up in a small cage close to the ground. You were crying, curled up against the back wall, facing away from her. She got down on her knees so she could see you better. “What’s wrong sweetheart?”

You didn’t turn to face her, too upset from how the rest of your day had gone. You didn’t want to talk to anyone ever again. “The mean man tooked my squeaky toy away…” you cried in a quiet voice.

Wanda frowned. “Oh no, baby. I’m so sorry. I bet it was a very beautiful toy.”

“It was!” you cried. “The most prettiest lady gaved it to me. She was so nice and she made me laughed and I loveded her!”

“Oh angel…” Wanda smiled. She reached her hand through the bar of the cage and rubbed your back. “I loved being with you too.”

You finally turned around, lifting your head to face her. She watched as the realization slowly came over your face. Your tail slowly started to wag, clanging against the metal of your cage. You crawled towards the front to the cage, wrapping your paws around the bars and looking up at her with hopeful eyes. “You camed back for me?”

“I did, baby,” she cooed, scratching you under the chin. “I should’ve never left in the first place.” She turned to the worker, who bent over and unlocked the door.

You hesitantly crawled out towards her. She pulled you into her lap and wiped away your tears. “Are you gonna take me home with you?”

She nodded. “Yeah, baby. I’m gonna take you home with me. We’re gonna go get you clothes, and a bed, and all the squeaky toys in the world.”

You rubbed yourself against her, wrapping yourself around her waist. “For real life?”

She giggled. “For real life.”

She picked you up, squaring away everything with the worker and filling out all the paperwork to take you home. You were a very excited, squirmy puppy when she tried to buckle you into the car. She made a mental note that you would need a harness from the pet store.

You seemed to always want her to be carrying you. She had a hard time even getting you into the cart at the pet store. Luckily, with lots of scratches, kisses, and reassurance, she was able to get you settled enough to get the shopping done.

All of her previous notions of using Natasha second hand stuff went out the window the second she saw your wide eyes try to take in all the accessories. You deserved all the new things that she picked out, special for you. You got to pick out your leash and harness, a nice new bed, your favorite collar, and, of course, plenty of toys, including a new version of the squeaky toy she’d bought when she first met you. How could she even dream of cutting corners when you curled up in the bed, still in the cart, wrapped around your stuffie. You were too precious.

Getting you home was less difficult, as you were now too tired to squirm. She rubbed your cheek as you fell asleep in your seat. “Sweet baby. All tuckered out after such an exciting day.”

She gathered you up in her arms to bring you inside. Tomorrow you would need to sniff every corner of the house to find your favorite, learn how bad the traction is between your paws and the hardwood, and rub yourself up against every fabric surface you could find. But for tonight, you were content to let Wanda carry you upstairs and lay you down in bed.

“This has been the bestest day of my whole entire life,” you yawned sleepily, nuzzling her chest. “And you're my favoritest person in the whole entire universe.”

Wanda smiled. There was something so innocent about your freely given love and devotion to a woman you’d just met. Then again, she couldn’t deny that she was also feeling an irrationally strong connection to you too. “That’s wild because you’re my favoritest puppy in the universe,” she giggled, tapping your nose.

You sneezed, making her giggle even harder. “I love you, miss… what do I call you again?”

She cradled you under her chin. “You can just call me your mama.”

“I love you, miss mama. Goodnight.”

She giggled. “Goodnight my little sugarplum. I love you too.”

Puppy collection

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!

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[luveline]

hey love! first of all: i have to admit i started watching criminal minds for the first time earlier this year only bc of your spencer fics! can we get more stripper!reader and spencer? love your writing!!!

thank you!! It’s a slow routine. You begin in a crouch in your underwear, just like at the club. Chest to your knees, arms twisted with the backs of your hands touching. But, unlike at the club, this underwear is comfortable. There’s nobody watching, and you won’t make any tips. You don’t have a pole nor a stage. 

You run through the routine but forgo any pole tricks. You stretch for long, slow minutes, dancing from one space to another. The music in your head isn’t anything you’d play at home, but it works to keep time. You end on your knees again. 

It’s not fun. 

You stretch toward your phone and pick it up. Spencer’s texted you twice in the ten minutes you weren’t on it. 

Hi gorgeous, the first begins, do you want to sleep over? I can make you dinner. 

The second, Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever called you gorgeous before, is that weird? Please come over and pretend I didn’t say that if it was weird

A third pops up while you’re reading. Can I come get you? 

You text him back with pleasure. He’s the only guy in your life who talks to you just to talk, without thinking he could fuck you if he says enough right things, even though he has fucked you. Hi babe you can call me anything it’s not weird, I’ll come over! Not working this week, maybe I can stay two days(?) let me know so I can pack enough clothes 

You can stay all week, if you want to. I miss you 

You imagine him holding his phone, his cheeks pink with blush. 

I miss you too, you text back. 

Just bring what you want to and we can work it out later

Working it out later could mean anything with Spencer. He’s silly enough to try and put you in his clothes, and generous enough to take you shopping if it saves the time it takes to drive you home. 

You’ve packed a bag of clothes and shower things when your phone rings. Spencer’s contact photo covers the whole screen, the two of you together with your face cut out, his smile wide. You were both a teeny bit tipsy. 

“Hello?” you answer, bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Hi!” He sounds nervous. “I’m outside. Am I gonna get towed?” 

“Not if you stay in the car. I’m on my way down right now.” 

“Okay, see you in a second,” he says. 

He never looks comfortable behind a steering wheel. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t sell his car, maybe because it’s dirt cheap to maintain. He never seems happy to be driving is all. 

He smiles when you approach his door, which is better. He rolls down the window. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. You bend at the knees to see him better. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I had a weird feeling about you, like you weren’t alright.” 

You lean down further. “I’m okay.” 

He grins. You’re waiting for a kiss he doesn’t give, finding yourself a subject for his staring, completely still as his gaze follows around your face. He makes no move to kiss you, and for a moment insecurity blossoms. 

“Well, you look okay. Are you getting in? It’s cold,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side.

“No help with my bags?” you ask, closing the door when he tries to open it. “Kidding.” 

You round the hood and climb inside. Then Spencer kisses you, polite but emphatic, one on your lips and another just under your jaw as he squeezes your shoulder. You feed into them lovingly.

“Maybe you can stay at my place forever? That way I can stop missing you all the time,” he says, pulling away slowly. 

“And when the mystery is gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t want mystery with you.” 

Spencer takes your bag from your lap and shoves it into the back seat. You drop the smaller one on your shoes. 

“Do you wanna get pizza or something?” he asks. 

You hold your jaw where he’d kissed you. “Sure,” you say, tingles of his kiss lingering under your hand. 

“Or Chinese? What do you want?” 

You want more kisses, but you love that he always gives you options. “Pizza for sure. Curly fries, too. Hold my hand?” 

Spencer takes it with gusto over the gearstick, and whatever felt like it was missing earlier fills itself in. “Wait,” you say softly, before he can take the car out of park, “just…” You grab his side and drag him toward you for a hug. Holding hands wasn’t gonna be enough —Spencer doesn’t know it yet, but you love him, love how safe he makes you feel, love how fun he makes your life. You can be yourself with him, no matter who that really is.

Spencer holds you, his hand across your shoulder blade rubbing soft lines. 

[screambirdscreaming]

So a fun little update on this is that it was actually an unresolved asthma attack. No thanks to my brain for the clear and helpful signals to figure THAT out.

Man. For reasons I don't know I've been riding the edge of frustrated and overstimulated for like... over a week now and it's making me feel like a kid in the worst way. Like everyone is interacting with me Wrong and it's making me petty and spiteful in ways that I hate but struggle to tamp down and I can't express what the problem is and if I try I sound incredibly whiny and demanding of other people's behavior. And I don't know *why* so I can't find the root cause and undo it. I'm just stuck feeling incredibly sick of everyone's shit but ESPECIALLY mine.

[kieranalicante]

As a person who wears hearing aids I really want to clear some mistakes that appears while writing deaf!clint :) (idk if that sentence makes any sense lol)

1. You can sleep with hearing aid, it's not that uncomfortable as you read in those fics. You can sleep comfortable because everything depends how your head is lying on a pillow. You can press your ear to the pillow and still sleep — but only if that weird noise doesn't bother you bc if it does, it can be uncomfortable. People (including me) don't sleep with them just because it is not Eco friendly. Like if you have hearing aid with batteries, you have to buy more of them bc usually batteries rest for a week when you turn off them at night and turn on at day. And if you have hearing aid that you have to charge — they last for only 21 hours and then you have to charge them. The best option is just charging hearing aid at night.

2. Technically there is no hearing aids for adults that have a fun color BUT if you have a small ear you can use the child one (well, you have to change the program and the child aid doesn't have that many options but it is a possibility). Also you can buy stickers for hearing aids to make them more unique :D

3. There is a lot of companies that makes hearing aids but the most popular are Phonak and Oticon. I have the Phonak one and I'm very happy with it.

4. They're fucking EXPENSIVE. In Poland one hearing aid is for like 6000 polish zloty (that's my mom's salary lol) but the goverment helps people with buying them so i didn't have pay 12000 polish zloty. I paid only like 2000 polish zloty for two? And my hearing aid ISN'T like the best quality — the best one is like for 12000 polish zloty for one hearing aid!!!!

5. There are two kinds of the part you out directly in your ear — one of them is totally build up and with the other one you can feel the wind in your ear (I have to admit that I almost cried when i felt the wind in my ears for the first time lol)

6. I've talked with other deaf people and we all agreed that when you are used to hearing aid, not wearing it can make you anxious. Like I wish I was joking but I'm not.

7. Fucking wind. Like when the day is very windy you don't hear anything bc of the wind.

8. If you are born deaf (just like me for example) there is a high possibility that for some people your voice will sound weird. Maybe bc your voice can be a little bit higher? Idk tbh.

9. Yes, we can meet ableism. There are people that think that they can be ableists bc they don't see the hearing aids.

I think that's all. Hope that helps!!!

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter three

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

tw: slight body issues in this chapter.

wc: 3.2k

-

The wedding was in a week and you found yourself out shopping with the triplets trying to find Chris a tie that would match your dress, which was just a simple, deep red, slim fitting, sleeveless dress. It was sexy and flattering, but nowhere near enough to draw attention from the bride or bridal party.

You had been shopping for a while, mostly goofing off, but now you guys had made it to Men’s Warehouse and were actually looking for what you needed. You carried around a swatch of your dress color so you could find something as close as possible, holding it up to every dark red tie you found, but nothing was to your liking just yet.

“How about this one?” Chris asks, holding another one up, and you walk over and hold up your swatch, shaking your head. “Too bright,” you say, to which he groans.

“We’ve looked at like twenty different ties, one of these has to match,” he complains, putting the tie back.

“The perfect match is out there, I know it is. We just have to keep looking,” you tell him, still perusing the array of options throughout the store.

Matt and Nick followed behind you guys, chit chatting with each other while you and Chris bickered over whether or not the reds matched, which they obviously didn’t.

“Haven’t you ever seen those pictures on the internet?” You ask Chris.

He raises an eyebrow, looking down at you. “Very descriptive, I definitely have,” he replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. “You know, the ones where girls ask their boyfriend if they can tell the difference between two really similar nail polishes? Most of them can’t tell the difference, but women can! So when you say that these ties are ‘close enough’, they’re just not. It has to be perfect, these pictures are going to be around forever, and as much as I wish you weren’t in the pictures, I at least want to make sure we look good.”

“Stop comparing me to a boyfriend, dude, it’s getting weird,” Chris shudders at the thought and you just shake your head, knowing that he wasn’t listening to a damn thing you were saying and is just trying to rush through this store. “How about this one?”

Chris holds up a tie for you to look at, and you hold your swatch up to it, instantly beaming up at him. “It’s perfect!” You tell him, bouncing on your toes in excitement. “See? Don’t you see how well that matches?”

He looks down at the two colors pressed together and reluctantly nods. “Yeah, that looks pretty good,” he agrees.

“Great!” You smile, grabbing the tie from his hands. “Now we buy this and we’re all done.”

Chris lets out a sigh of relief and turns to his brothers, ready to be done conversing with you for the time being. He makes eye contact with Matt who smiles at him and mouths the words ‘help me’ while pointing towards your frame that happily skipped up to the register.

Matt laughed and patted Chris on the shoulder. “You agreed to it,” he tells him.

Back at the triplets house, you’re all crowded in Nick’s room, your dress laid out on his bed and Chris’s suit laid right next to it. “You put yours on first,” you tell him.

You wanted to see how you guys looked together before the actual day of the wedding, so you decided to try everything on now that you guys were both home and had corresponding outfits. You had brought your dress over earlier before you went shopping so that it was ready for you when you guys got back home.

Chris picks up his suit from the bed and walks into Nick’s bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

“How are you handling being Chris’s girlfriend?” Nick asks curiously, waggling his eyebrows at you.

You just laugh. “It’s not that bad, we just take pictures together every so often, but it’s just pictures. As much as I hate it I just have to remind myself that he’s giving me a date to a wedding so I don’t have to hear everyone asking me why I don’t have a boyfriend. A couple pictures in return for a night of silence sounds like a win to me.”

Nick and Matt chuckle, still shocked that you guys agreed to help each other in such an intimate way, considering your history.

“Why do I have a feeling you guys are going to fall in love?” Nick teases, but you just scoff at him.

“Yeah, right. I’d rather date you,” you smirk at Nick and make a kissy face towards him, leaning in like you were going to kiss him.

Nick cringes and puts his hand in your face, pushing you away as you guys hear the door open, Chris walking out in his suit, his tie in his hand.

“I, uh, don’t know how to tie this,” he says shyly, holding it out, clearly embarrassed.

You look around at his brothers and see them both looking just as clueless as Chris did. “Seriously?” You ask them.

“Our mom or dad always did it for school dances,” Matt tells you. “Never really worn a tie other than that.”

You huff and stand up off the bed, walking over to Chris, snatching the new tie out of his hands. “You guys are helpless,” you mumble, starting to situate the tie around his neck.

“‘M not helpless,” Chris says lowly, his voice slightly pouty.

“Oh, of course not,” you reply, looking up at him. “You’re just a twenty one year old boy that doesn’t know how to tie a tie, or fill out forms, or make a restaurant reservation…” you trail off.

“The fuck? I made a reservation for you and Matt tomorrow,” he argues.

“Tomorrow?” Matt whips his head around to look at his brother.

“Yeah?” Chris responds, looking at Matt over your head. “I told you I’d book it and then let you know when it was.”

“You didn’t think to ask first? Chris, I have plans,” Matt groans.

Chris’s eyes widen. “What fucking plans?! You never go anywhere.”

“I have an actual date tomorrow, I can’t make that. You should’ve told me when it was first or asked when I was free,” Matt tells him, finality clear in his voice.

“Kid, I had to put fucking a deposit down for this place, it’s non refundable. You need to go. Just reschedule your date.” Chris tells him.

Matt shakes his head, looking at Chris seriously. “No, dude, I’m not rescheduling. You should’ve asked.”

Chris groans and throws his head back, currently hating his life. You finish up with the tie and reach up to brush off Chris’s shoulders, then swipe your hands down his arms quickly before backing away. “Done,” you tell him, admiring your work. “You know, you could just suck it up and grab dinner with me. I’m not the worst person to be around.”

Chris turns around and goes back in the mirror to look at himself, shrugging a bit. “I’d prefer not to, but I also don’t want to lose my deposit.” He walks back out of the bathroom and past you, going to sit on the bed. “Alright, try your dress on now so I can take this off.”

You nod and grab your dress before walking into the bathroom, shutting the door after you. You slip off all of your clothes and step into your dress, pulling the straps over your shoulders. It fits well, and when you bought the dress a couple of months ago, you fell in love with it and the way it looked on your body, but now as you stare in the mirror, pulling the sides tight against your waist as the zipper was still down in the back, you couldn’t help but focus on all the imperfections staring back at you in the mirror. It almost makes you fully take the dress off and call it a day, figuring you’ll just put it on the day of the wedding and suck it up, but you would feel too bad making Chris get dressed up just to back out.

You’ve never explicitly told any of the triplets about any of your insecurities, just threw a few self deprecating comments out there like people normally do, and for the most part you were a confident person, but everyone had their days, and today was just one of those days.

You reach back and try to pull the zipper up, but you’re only able to zip it about halfway up on your own, so you slip back into your happy demeanor before you open the door and walk out, smiling at the three boys staring back at you. “Can one of you zip me up?” You ask.

Chris stands up from the bed and walks towards you. You’re shocked to see him volunteering without being coerced into it, but say nothing, afraid to startle him back to his senses. You just turn around and move your hair off your back, pulling it over your shoulder and he reaches out, grabbing the zipper and pulling it all the way up. “Good,” he tells you, and you turn back around to face him again.

“How do I look?” You ask the room, smiling wide and putting your hands on your hips dramatically. Chris moves out of the way so his brothers can see you, but keeps his eyes on your body.

“The same as you always look,” he retorts bluntly.

“You look hot,” Nick nods his head enthusiastically in approval.

“What Nick said,” Matt says in agreement. “I’m kind of sad I can’t make it now.”

You giggle at Matt’s words, feeling your ears heat up a little bit. You didn’t necessarily have a crush on Matt, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was attractive and his words did have a little bit of an effect on you.

“Thanks, guys. Come here, Chris, I want to look at us in the mirror.” You tell him and walk back into the bathroom where he follows you.

You both stand in the mirror together, looking at your outfits. You scrunch your eyebrows together and brush your hands over your dress, trying to pull it in a couple different directions to make it look more flattering on your body.

“What are you doing?” Chris asks you, watching you through the mirror as you play with your dress.

“Trying to fix the dress,” you mumble, sucking in a little bit as you turn to the side to stare at your reflection from another angle. “I think I gained a little weight and I just.. don’t really like how this is looking.”

Chris turns to look at you instead of your reflection, seeing how distraught you actually looked by the sight of your body in the dress.

“There’s nothing to fix, the dress is fine.” Chris is clearly uncomfortable at the way you’re speaking, but has no idea how to manage the situation. It was bad enough that he wasn’t good at dealing with other peoples’ emotions, but you two also weren’t close, so his urge to run away was even stronger than normal.

“It’s not the dress, I just…” your voice falters, eyes still glued to your body in the mirror. “I look bad.”

“Stop it,” he tells you, reaching out to turn your body towards his. You turn and look up to meet his eyes, your own starting to well with tears. “Why are you crying?”

You sniffle and shrug your shoulders, unable to speak in fear of your voice giving out on you.

He reaches behind himself and shuts the door, blocking his two brothers from earshot of you guys. “Why are you crying?” He asks you again, more firm this time.

You look down at the ground, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m just upset at how I look,” you tell him, voice high pitched and squeaky. “I really liked this dress when I got it but… I don’t know how I feel now.”

Chris sighs and reaches forward, placing a finger under your chin so he could tilt up your head. “Stop crying,” he tells you. “You look really good in that dress. Your body is incredible and you know it, that’s why you always walk around my house in your little booty shorts and a sports bra, isn’t it?”

You cough out a laugh and reach up to wipe a couple tears that fell down your cheek. “Not really, I’m just really comfortable around you guys. Even you wouldn’t think to comment on my body. You’re dumb but you’re not that dumb.”

Chris rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head. “Well, I’m commenting on it and I’m telling you that you look fine. Girls would kill to look like you. Once you do your hair and your makeup and shave your legs or whatever girls do you’ll feel way better about how you look. So, sort yourself out, change back into your clothes and go cuddle with my brothers or whatever weird shit you do with them.”

You smile and nod, the tears subsiding almost completely as he speaks. “Okay,” you mutter. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chris replies. “Seriously. Ever. I don’t ever want anyone knowing I… comforted you.”

You giggle at his words and watch as he turns to leave the bathroom before you try and stop him.

“Wait, Chris,” you touch his shoulder and he turns around, looking at you confusedly. “I need you to unzip me.”

“Oh,” Chris starts, moving his feet to come back to you. You turn around and place your hands over your breasts to hold the dress in place once it’s unzipped and he reaches up to unzip it down to your lower back, the small spaghetti straps falling off of your shoulders as he does so. “There you go.”

You turn back around to face him, still holding the dress. His eyes couldn’t help but wander, taking one last look at your body, so close to being completely naked in front of him. All you had to do was let go and the dress would fall to the floor-

“I said thanks,” you say loudly and Chris clears his throat, looking back up to your eyes. He doesn’t respond, just leaves the bathroom and shuts the door, not even speaking to his brothers before he leaves Nick’s room and heads towards his own.

You turn back to the mirror and drop the dress, staring at yourself a few minutes longer, and the more you stand there, the more you feel your mood shifting, and what started as a judgmental and negative stare slowly turns into you checking yourself out, posing for yourself almost completely naked apart from your underwear. You hum to yourself and send a wink towards your reflection before getting dressed again, walking into Nick’s room.

Right now you wore sweatpants and a loose crop top with the collar cut out so it hung off your shoulders, but you strutted over to Nick’s dresser where you had some clothes you had left and he had so graciously washed for you, digging out a pair of old Nike pros and a sports bra, turning around and smirking at the boys that watched you from the bed, eyes wide.

“What… happened in there?” Nick asks, scared for the answer.

You just giggle and rip your shirt over your shoulders in front of both boys, causing Matt to gasp and cover his eyes with his fingers, though he might’ve kept a small slit between his pointer and middle finger, who knows, whereas Nick’s eyes just got even wider, his eyes trailing over your body as you pulled the sports bra over your head, changing your bottom half next until you were fully changed, letting Matt know he was okay to look.

“I know you’re my best friend but I am still only a man,” Matt tells you, not so subtly checking you out, which only boosted your confidence more. Maybe you were searching for validation in the wrong people, but fuck it you needed it right now and if Matt and god forbid Chris were going to be the men that made you feel like they were going to melt at the sight of you then so be it.

“It’s like window shopping,” you tell Matt with a grin. “You can admire but you can’t touch.”

Matt couldn’t help his cheeks turning slightly darker at your words. “Sure…” he replies, definitely not sure.

“Anyway,” you start, clapping your hands together. “You guys hungry? I’m in the mood to cook.”

-

You had scrounged up what you could in the triplets’ kitchen and ended up cooking them some basic pasta, throwing all the boys’ portions onto a plate along with your own, putting everything on the table, calling Matt and Nick to the table who sat on their couch waiting patiently for dinner to be ready.

“I’m gonna get your brother,” you tell them with a smile before skipping towards the stairs, heading down them quickly. “Chris?” You call, standing in his doorframe.

He glances up at you quickly then back down at his phone before he rips his head back up, doing a double take, eyes scanning over the new outfit that had adorned your body. “Uh,” he drawls, looking up to meet your gaze. “Can I help you?”

You smile and place one foot on top of the other, your front knee buckled slightly, hands placed on the doorframe as you stared back at him where he lay on his bed. “I made dinner. You coming?”

Chris thinks about it for a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.” He tells you, looking back down at his phone.

You huff and walk over to him until you’re standing next to his bed, reaching down to grab his phone and pull it behind your back. “Already made you a plate.” You tell him.

Chris furrows his eyebrows and sits up on the bed, quickly getting frustrated with you. “Stop fucking doing that shit every time your spoiled ass doesn’t get what you want. Give me my fucking phone.” He says aggressively, voice a tad louder than it normally is.

“Not until you come have dinner with us. I don’t want your food going to waste,” you pout, both hands now securely locked behind your back, phone held sideways between them. “Don’t be so rude, it’s fucking annoying.”

Chris scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m rude? You’re just coming in my room and snatching shit out of my hands like a fucking toddler, that seems pretty rude to me.”

You take a tiny step closer to Chris, jutting out your bottom lip. “Please?” You beg.

He’s still for a moment, and at first when his body starts to move, your first thought is that he’s giving in and standing up to go have dinner with you and his brothers, but you’re quickly proven wrong when he stands up and grabs your bicep, flipping your body around. You squeal at the sudden movement, stumbling over your own to feet as he spins you.

What you definitely didn’t expect was him facing you towards the bed and grabbing your hands that were still behind your back with one hand, his other hand taking his phone and shoving it in his pocket. He pushes you down on the bed aggressively, your feet still on the floor but your body bent over with your chest pressed into the mattress, leaning over your back until his mouth was next to your ear, making sure you heard the words that were about to fall from his lips.

“Watch your fucking attitude around me before I fucking make you.”

He aggressively shoves your arms, pushing you into the bed roughly as he lets go of you, glaring your way as he starts to walk out of his room, eventually turning his head and exiting, stomping up the stairs.

You use your now free hands to push yourself up until you’re standing straight again, then use them to reach up to your bun that almost completely fell out, grabbing the hair tie and ripping it out.

It took you a moment to process what had happened, but you thought back to it and how it made you feel, and most importantly the newfound throbbing between your legs. You stand there in silence, arms dropped to your sides, until you let out a quiet and confused,

“What the fuck?”

-

a/n: the tension is buildinggggg yall feel it??

taglist

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[littlespoonevan]

Hi Ciara ☺️ I’ve been following you for years and years, pretty sure it was you that got me into skam back in the day and 911 more recently. So thanks for that 😄 Are you taking fic prompts by any chance? Because I saw a prompt in the wild that I would LOVE to see your take on (no pressure ofc!). The prompt is simple: either buck or Eddie brings up the topic of them getting together, like “have you ever thought of us being together?” And they have a frank, honest discussion about it. I love a good miscommunication and/or pining moment but I so rarely see this instead and I think it fits so well. I read another fic with this prompt and loved it, it’s called at the kitchen table by iphigenias. But that one was set during bucktaylor so I’d also love to see a similar premise but set post bucktommy! Anyway sorry for the very long ask luv u

ahh omg first of all, you sent this to me so long ago and i'm so sorry i'm only getting to it now!!! the good news is, 8b made this specific prompt very easy to imagine in a canon setting asdkjfh. also i looooove the idea of situations where the characters know how they feel and they're not quite ready to take the leap but just knowing is enough to make them feel all ✨✨✨ inside so that is what this is lol

this is set in some nebulous time post-8x15 when eddie is home and everything is fine and peaceful ❤️ i really hope it lives up to what you wanted :')

-

Buck passes Eddie another beer before climbing over his legs where they’re propped up on the coffee table to reach his own seat in the other corner of the couch.

“Thanks, man,” Eddie says and Buck hums in acknowledgment, slouching deeper into the couch cushion and picking up the remote to unpause the TV.

It’s a quiet Friday after an even quieter week and Buck is grateful for it. Especially after the turmoil of this past month. But Bobby’s safe and Eddie and Chris are home and Eddie hasn’t brought up kicking Buck out of his house yet so he intends to savour this night for all its worth.

“Hey, you never told me what happened with Tommy in the end.”

Eddie doesn’t even look at him when he says it, voice nonchalant and eyes trained on the movie they’re watching, but Buck still chokes on his beer.

“Um, what?”

Eddie casts him a sidelong glance. “Things seemed pretty awkward at that call yesterday.”

Ah. The call. The one that required air support. And of course, there was no one else at Harbour they could’ve possibly sent. Because the universe hates Buck.

Their greeting had been politely stilted until Eddie had appeared at Buck’s side and touched the spot between his shoulder blades to let him know they were ready to leave and then Tommy had made the same face he’d made in Eddie’s kitchen two months ago. Buck had almost swallowed his own tongue in an attempt not to snap back – not least of all because Eddie still doesn’t know what Tommy had said.

He knows they slept together. Knows Buck hasn’t called Tommy since. But that’s it.

“Oh it’s just-” Buck waves a hand, taking another pull of his beer to buy some time. “We had a…disagreement last time we spoke.”

Now, Eddie pauses the TV, feet dropping off the coffee table so he can turn more towards Buck. “When he stayed over.”

Buck cringes. Eddie has never really shared his opinion on Buck taking Tommy back here but it has to be weird, right? They were in Eddie’s room. At least it wasn’t his bed.

“Yeah. He just said something and it’s…” He shakes his head, not bothering to finish the sentence and hoping Eddie will let it drop.

He doesn’t, obviously.

“What’d he say?”

For a moment, Buck weighs his options. The odds of Eddie letting this go if he keeps being evasive are slim. But likewise, he can’t think of a good enough lie to satisfy Eddie’s curiosity. Dropping his head against the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling, he finally says, “He said something about you. And it pissed me off.”

“About me?”

He can hear the confusion in Eddie’s voice but he doesn’t dare raise his head to see what his face is doing.

“He um, implied that- that you were competition. For him. And that he was more willing to get back together now that you were gone.”

Eddie doesn’t answer right away and the silence stretches so long Buck has no choice but to look at him. He doesn’t look angry, at least. If anything, he looks like he’s working through a particularly difficult puzzle in his head.

Eventually, he asks, “When you say ‘implied’…?”

Buck clears his throat. “Uh, I believe his exact words were, ‘Now that the competition’s out of the way.’”

Eddie opens his mouth only to close it again a beat later and Buck finally lets the anxiety gnawing at his insides consume him.

“I told him it was stupid, obviously. And that it made no sense because you were straight. And-”

“Did he think I had feelings for you or that you had feelings for me?” Eddie interrupts.

Buck frowns. In the aftermath, he’d only ever really thought about what Tommy was insinuating about him, not Eddie. “Um, the second one? Or- b-both, I guess? But it doesn’t matter, I told him-”

“It’s okay, Buck. You don’t have to convince me of anything.” Eddie’s voice is gentle when he cuts in, too much of a soft place to land that Buck can’t help the way the frustration deflates out of him.

“I know, sorry. Just- he and I haven’t really spoken since then, so…”

The room quiets around them again but Eddie doesn’t press play on the movie. Buck plays with the label on his bottle and tries desperately to ignore the weird tension in the air until-

“Have you ever thought about it?”

Buck snaps his head up, finding Eddie watching him with an inscrutable expression. “Thought about what?”

“Us. Being together.”

For a second, Buck has the horrible, churning feeling that he’s somehow been caught out – that Eddie has unravelled the thread he’s kept so tightly wound in his head with just three simple words – but then he scrambles. “Wh- But- I mean, you’re straight and-”

“What if I wasn’t?”

The words pull Buck up short and his brain short-circuits long enough that all he can manage is a dumbfounded, “What.”

“What if I wasn’t?” Eddie repeats, voice still so, so soft. “If that’s your only argument against it-”

“Is this you coming out to me?” Buck cuts in and Eddie lets out a quiet laugh.

“No. Not really. Just- take that out of the equation. Have you thought about it before?”

“Have you?” Buck asks but it sure as hell sounds like Eddie has and-

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he echoes, throat constricting. “Whe- when is sometimes?”

Eddie shrugs and Buck feels slightly hysterical at how calm he’s being about all of this. Why is he being so calm about all of this?

“A few years ago when I was having a hard time. Back when I was working at dispatch.”

Buck remembers it. Remembers Christopher on the phone telling him he could hear yelling from Eddie’s room. Remembers breaking Eddie’s door down and that one sickening, horrifying moment where he thought Eddie was dead.

“You were taking Chris to school and making us dinner and helping me clean the house and sitting with me after therapy and we weren’t together but sometimes it felt like we were.”

For the first time since the conversation started, Eddie looks away, glancing down at the beer still in his hand. And even though it feels like his vision is swimming, Buck still sees the ghost of a smile on Eddie’s face before he continues.

“I loved you so much for it, y’know, because I really don’t think I would’ve made it through those months without you. And- I don’t know. Sometimes it felt…comforting, I guess. To think that you were my partner outside of work too.”

The words, “I am,” rise up inside his throat so fast Buck nearly bites clean through the inside of his cheek to stop them from tripping out of him. And it’s just-

He doesn’t know what to say.

He doesn’t know how to process what Eddie’s admitting to. Is he even admitting to anything? He’s admitting he took comfort in Buck’s presence, sure, but that’s not him saying he’s in love with Buck and- and it’s different. Because Buck likes men. So for him to entertain it would…would really fucking hurt, actually. And Buck is so tired of being hurt-

“So, back to my earlier question. Have you ever thought about it?”

Eddie is looking at him with wide, patient eyes. And it’s a look so full of understanding and fondness Buck can feel his throat constricting again and…

“Tommy and Maddie kind of made me think about it.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Maddie’s involved now?”

“I told her what Tommy said.”

“And what did she think?”

Buck lets out a reluctant huff and looks anywhere but Eddie’s face. “That it wouldn’t be so crazy.”

Eddie hums but doesn’t say anymore.

“So I guess I thought about why they would think that,” Buck continues, squeezing the bottle in his hand so tightly he’s afraid it actually might shatter. “And I- I get it. I think.”

It’s the understatement of the century. Because maybe he’s never let himself delve too deep into the thought but it’s only because he knows what he’d find if he did. And he can’t allow that. Can’t do anything that would risk him losing Eddie permanently. He’s too important. Buck is happy with the pieces of him that he’s allowed to have. He doesn’t need all of him, he can survive on this alone.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, finally meeting Eddie’s gaze and swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’re important to each other.”

For the first time since the conversation started, Eddie’s calm composure falls away and his face splits into a devastating smile. “Yeah, we are.”

He imagines it, then. His fingers catching in Eddie’s collar, reeling him in for a kiss. He almost thinks Eddie would kiss him back. He doesn’t actually do it because everything feels a little bit too precarious right now but-

But.

“So we’ve both thought about it,” Eddie says, voice betraying nothing even if he’s still smiling.

“Guess so,” Buck croaks in reply.

Eddie’s flicker all over his face and Buck doesn’t know what he finds there but his expression softens and he says, “We don’t have to think about it right now.”

The words come out quietly, a tentative reprieve that has all the air rushing out of Buck’s lungs.

Because this feels like the precipice of something and Buck isn’t sure if he’s ready to take the leap yet but maybe he doesn’t have to. Because maybe Eddie will wait and maybe Buck won’t look for another place to rent and he can take Chris to school again and make them all dinner and it can feel like they’re…

Partners.

He wants it so much it scares the shit out of him. He’s never even let himself imagine Eddie might want it too.

For now, he lets himself sit with the idea of maybe.

Maybe he loves Eddie. Maybe Eddie loves him back.

Maybe there was never any competition to begin with.

“Okay,” he whispers, trying for a smile that matches Eddie’s own.

Eddie ducks his head in response, the faintest pink colouring his cheeks as he picks up the remote and presses play on the movie Buck has no intention of watching anymore.

Their eyes meet once more before skittering away and Buck breathes out a laugh.

Partners. Maybe.

-

[saturlvrs]

Rainy Day In

Description: A rainy day is best with your husband; besides lying around, there are other things to do. Venus enjoys days in ;)

tags: stormy day smut, male whimpering?, husband worship, loving relationship, consensual, comfort smut

Bo Chow X OC!!

(1.5k words)

It was a rainy day in Clarksdale. Most stores and restaurants would remain open, but a storm was headed this way. Business owners were upset they weren't receiving any profit for now, but Venus was happy. Not for the destruction the storm would bring, but instead the time she’d get to spend with her husband. She’d finally get some time with Bo for the first time in a few weeks. 

She loved her husband dearly, but the amount of time he worked in a week was insane. Everyone knew Bo was a hard worker; his wife saw it most. He’d be so exhausted by the end of the week that he'd be struggling to open on weekdays. Venus was glad he had a chance to relax. She’d make sure of it, and burnout wasn’t an option.  

Rain was pelted onto the Chows’ windows when Venus awoke. As she slowly opened her eyes, she realized there was no sun outside. Even from behind the curtains, she could see dark grey clouds that decorated the sky. ‘Right the storm,’ she thought as she looked next to her. It was weird having her husband asleep, lying next to her at this time. Bo would already be up and out of the door. It was nice seeing how peaceful he looked when asleep. She watched as Bo’s chest rose as he took deep breaths. He had a slight snore but wasn’t too loud to wake Venus. She slept through everything.

Venus brushed his tornado of hair out of his face. Her touch was ever so gentle, not to wake him. As she pulled her hand away, Bo flinched, his eyes open. He turned to look over at his wife, feeling that something was wrong. “Baby?” his groggy voice interrupted the silence in the room. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the tiredness out of them. 

“Go back to sleep, I was just tryna move your hair,” Venus whispered, cuddling into his side. Bo immediately wrapped his arm around her. His body heat warmed her up as she continued to lean into him. She lay her head on his chest, listening to his heart beating. His heart was pounding fast, making Venus sit up.

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes shook with concern 

Bo tiredly responded, “You scared me, thought something happened to you.” 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up,” Venus apologized as she lay back down next to him. Even though tired, Bo still tried to protect her. She planted a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s fine,” he yawns. “I’m already up, don’t matter now,” Bo tried to get up, but Venus kept him down. In a swift motion, Venus was now on top of Bo, sitting on top of her shirtless husband. Bo’s hands comfortably rubbing up and down Venus’s sides, feeling along her curves. “Baby, don’t you think it's  early to be jumping bones?” Bo chuckled softly, looking up at his wife. Bo thanked God every day for his wife. 

Bo raises his hand to her face, pulling down for a kiss. As their lips interlocked, Venus began creating friction below her. Bo noticed, breaking from the kiss. “Baby?” Bo paused, looking down and back up, “You tryna jump my bones?” He asked as a joke, but Venus nodded back. She leaned down to Bo’s ear, whispering, “Let me help you go back to sleep, promise”. There was no point in whispering since they were the only two in the room, but she did like giving Bo goosebumps. 

Bo looked up at her in amazement, but that amazement turned into worry. “You don’t have to, it’s early.” He tried lifting her off of him, “I’ll just go back to sleep, don’t worry.” 

Venus didn’t budge, sitting still. “Baby, I want to, can I just help you?” She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to convince him to let go. Silence was now upon them as Bo stared up at his wife. She had a look of excitement in her eyes and a loving smile. Bo couldn’t say no to that face. With a fake sigh, Bo agreed, “Fine,” he smiled, “Help me go back to sleep as you say.” 

That was the green light she needed. Sparing a few more seconds gazing into Bo’s eyes, Venus kissed him. Their lips moved in a synchronized manner, never letting go. Bo took the initiative to begin with, lightly swirling his tongue around hers. A quiet moan was heard from Venus as Bo's kisses began to trail along her neck. Venus stops him, pulling back, “What’s wrong? I hurt you?” he asked, concerned

Venus lets out a chuckle, “No, baby, I just want this to be for you.” She leans down to his neck and begins to kiss down. “Let me take care of you”. 

That’s all it takes for Bo to let go. 

All Bo can feel is a plush feeling of lips kissing down his body. Her lips reached all over his abdomen, even taking a nibble on his nipples, which made Bo jolt. She apologized with a smile before making her way down to Bo’s underwear. She admires her husband before pulling down his underwear. 

Bo let out a moan when his cock hit the cold air of the room. Venus smiles before she plays with his tip. Her thumb runs along the slit, watching the precum trickle down. A hungry grin is evident on her face as she looks up at her husband. Bo’s eyes are closed as a low moan comes out of his mouth. 

“Bo?” he doesn’t respond, “Bo? I want you to watch me”. She curled her fingers around him, watching how his skin moved with every stroke — exposing the head of his cock. Bo gave out a sharp inhale. Sensitive, just how Venus liked. 

Venus then paused for a second, looking up at her husband. Bo’s eyes were now open, watching her every move. In his mind, he was begging for her to keep touching him. “You want me to keep goin’?” She teased as her hand caressed his waist. 

Bo nodded desperately to keep her touch. “Please,” he responded weakly. Venus nodded as she gave him one last kiss before moving off his lap. She moved to the bottom to get a better taste. Moving closer, she realized it’s been so long since she’s done this. Better make it worth it. 

With no warning, she places his tip in her mouth. She begins to suckle down his length. She couldn’t reach the base without choking, which pulled her back. Bo was releasing quiet words that Venus couldn’t quite hear. The rest of his length was held with her hand as she continued to devour him. Saliva now was a part of Bo’s cock, glistening with love. Venus felt good watching her husband fall apart in front of her. It felt like a reward as she was finally able to get him to relax. 

Bo’s once quiet moans turn into guttural moans. He rolls his hips as his hands claw for something to grab onto. It felt like a warm heat engulfed him; he couldn’t get enough. Bo lifted his head in pleasure, “Venus..” he whimpered for more.

Venus didn’t respond, just continuing to suck along his cock. Bo began to wildly move his hips in pleasure. Felt like he was going to erupt all over her. 

A chuckle came from the edge of the bed as Venus watched him turn into a mess. Did she look like that? 

“Fuck… Venus,” he grunted out as his hand lightly touched her head. He pushed her head down to take more of him. A choking sound could be heard as she deepthroated his cock. Mounds of saliva filled the sides of her mouth and began to leak out. 

Bo carefully grabs her head and begins moving faster, “You can take it,” to which he receives a slew of hums from Venus. She was having the time of her life, pleasing her husband, which was all she wanted to do at that moment. 

Bo began to tense up and feel a certain pressure in his abdomen. He tried moving Venus off of him, but she didn’t move. She was going to make him cum. 

His head turned to the ceiling as he moaned in pleasure — every part of his body trembled. “Venus,” he hissed, still holding her head as she moved independently. “I’m-” he couldn’t even finish before his body jerked with an orgasm. 

Venus looked up, seeing Bo’s eyes tightly shut as he came. Not even a second later, he came with a grunt, thick and white, spilling all in her mouth. Some dripped from the sides of her mouth. She made sure to clean it all off, even licking clean her fingers that had some left on them. Her husband panted heavily as he came off his high. 

His abdomen finally untensed, and he finally opened his eyes. Bo’s vision was a bit blurry, but he still managed to speak, “That was amazing,” he paused, “Thank you, baby.” 

Venus got up from the edge of the bed and crawled her way back up. “I told you I’d take care of you.” Bo nodded, feeling taken care of. “I believe you.” 

He exhaustedly pulled her into a kiss, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you more.” 

The end

Uhm, that was my first time writing smut.. I feel like I did okay, I think, hopefully :)  This is going to be the start of a series between Bo Chow and my OC. This is my first time writing on here, hope you liked it!!. 

[glowettee]

✧ if i’m so dramatic, why am i always right? ✧

✦ intuition vs gaslighting ✦

hi lovelies, it’s mindy 🌷🕯 i’ve been off tumblr for a few days, things have just been really overwhelming lately, and i needed a little breather. but writing always brings me back to myself. it’s my favorite kind of comfort. the glowettee x pll series has seriously been such a joy to create… every post, every idea, every digital piece for my gumroad has been healing in its own way. this next post is something close to my heart. it’s about gaslighting... something i’ve experienced a lot, especially from people i thought i could trust. it’s such a common thing, but so many of us don’t realize it’s happening until way later. i used to second-guess my intuition constantly because people convinced me i was being “too much.” but every time… my gut was right. so i wanted to write this to help you tell the difference between real intuition and someone twisting it. if you’ve ever felt that quiet confusion or started to doubt yourself after talking to someone, this post is for you. i hope it brings clarity. and softness. and maybe even a little validation if you’ve been there too. - mindy 🤍🩰

sometimes i wonder if girls like us were born with a sixth sense or if we just got so used to being hurt that our bodies evolved. hyper-awareness as a survival trait. intuition as our most sharpened weapon. people love to call it being “dramatic,” but let’s be honest... i was right every time.

𓆩♡𓆪

❝ if you’re so emotional, how come your instincts always come true? ❞ they never have an answer to that, do they?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ the 'dramatic' girl dilemma

there’s a reason why every group chat has a girl they secretly call “too much.” the one who always has a weird feeling. the one who picks up on tone shifts and changes in energy and tiny inconsistencies like it’s her full-time job. she’s the one who says, “this doesn’t feel right,” and gets labeled a buzzkill. the killjoy. the overthinker.

but i’ll let you in on something i had to learn the hard way: they only call you dramatic when they don’t want you to notice what’s really happening.

girls like us don’t get the luxury of being chill. we’re watching. always. we had to learn to be. we’re the first ones to feel the shift in a friend group dynamic. we clock the fake laugh. the silence in the hallway. the DM left on read. and when we bring it up? “you’re imagining things.”

they say "you're too sensitive" like it's a flaw. like feeling deeply makes you unreliable. but being sensitive never meant being wrong. it just meant you felt the betrayal before it became undeniable.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ trauma turned my gut into a siren

there’s something about growing up being ignored, bullied, overlooked, or manipulated that turns your whole nervous system into a radar. suddenly, you’re the girl who notices everything.

like, i still remember being 14 and realizing that one of my friends always laughed at my jokes in front of boys, but never when it was just us. or how she'd call me pretty but then immediately ask if i was wearing makeup. subtle stuff. stuff that sounds dumb when you say it out loud. stuff that makes people go, “you’re reading too much into it.”

but i wasn’t. i never was. that’s the exhausting part.

emotional intelligence feels like a superpower until it starts to drain you. like being psychic, but without the option to turn it off. you don’t just read the room, you analyze it, archive it, cross-reference it with past data.

i used to hate this part of myself. now i know it kept me alive.

you’re not paranoid. you’re perceptive. there’s a difference.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ you knew, even when it didn’t make sense

sometimes your body knows things before your brain catches up. your heart races before he lies. your stomach drops before the betrayal hits. you get that pit-in-your-stomach feeling and then brush it off, until the truth slaps you a week later.

trust me, i’ve been there. i once had a gut feeling that a friend was turning people against me... but there was no proof. just a weird energy. until one day, someone accidentally sent me a screenshot that wasn’t meant for me. and suddenly the feeling made sense.

they call it “bad vibes.” i call it early intel.

start decoding the patterns:

the too-long pause before answering your question

the “i didn’t mean it like that” when you call it out

the subtle digs framed as compliments

the way people say your name when they think you’re not listening

you noticed for a reason. trust the noticing.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ what gaslighting actually feels like

gaslighting doesn’t always sound like “you’re crazy.” sometimes it sounds like “you’re overreacting,” or “you always assume the worst,” or “why do you make everything a problem?”

but the worst kind of gaslighting is the kind you do to yourself. when you feel the red flags and immediately shut yourself down. when your first instinct is right, but your second thought is “i’m just being dramatic.” that’s emotional self-betrayal. it hurts. a lot.

i once told a guy that something felt off, he’d been cold, weird, distant. he said i was insecure. i said sorry. two weeks later, i found out he’d been seeing someone else the whole time. lesson learned: don’t apologize for what your body already knows.

you can’t logic your way out of a feeling that was never lying to you in the first place.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ intuitive doesn’t mean irrational

“dramatic” is just a word they use to discredit girls who are too emotionally accurate to manipulate.

your feelings are data. emotions are not the opposite of intelligence, they’re the early warning system. they tell you what’s not being said. they tell you what the energy in the room is doing. they tell you the truth before the truth shows its face.

what if you’re not “too much,” what if you’re just always one step ahead?

what if the real problem isn’t that you feel too deeply, but that you feel accurately, and that makes people uncomfortable?

i’m reclaiming the word dramatic. to be dramatic is to see danger before it arrives. to feel something shift before it collapses. to be emotionally clairvoyant. and i think that’s beautiful.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ how to protect your knowing

your intuition deserves protection. here’s how i keep mine sacred:

✧ journal your gut feelings ~ even if they don’t make sense yet. time-stamp them. track patterns. ✧ make a screenshots folder ~ for receipts, subtle shifts, digital clues. memory gaslights too. ✧ create a ‘weird vibes’ note in your phone ~ no explanation needed. if something feels off, log it. ✧ meditate or walk after intense conversations ~ let your body process what your mind can’t yet. ✧ check in with your inner child ~ would 13-year-old you trust this person? she knows. always.

𓆩 ritual for the emotionally haunted 𓆪 › write down a time you were right, but told you were wrong › throw it away, or rip it up › whisper “i trust myself now.” › repeat every time the world tries to confuse you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ you weren’t crazy, you were correct, and ahead

they’ll tell you you’re crazy until the moment you’re proven right. they’ll call you dramatic until the danger becomes undeniable. they’ll gaslight you until the truth surfaces, and then pretend they never doubted you at all.

the girls who trust themselves become the women no one can lie to. so feel everything. sense everything. believe yourself.

being dramatic is how you survived the world they tried to confuse you in.

and if you’re always the first to notice the danger, maybe it’s not a flaw. maybe it’s your gift. maybe it’s what will save you.

✧ love always, mindy

[targaryenfelikayt]

before. |Boys from horror|

characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Art the clown. wc: 2, 758 summary: what happened a couple of hours before you were kidnapped. tags/warnings: suspense, slow burn, road trip, hurt/comfort, weird romance. note: my magical ladies, you can read this part separately, but I recommend dedicating time to Bo and Vincent to develop these men a little better🍓

Bo Sinclair.

Night had fallen thick over the abandoned town. No passing cars broke the silence, no obnoxious commercials or drunken laughter, only crickets and the wind chasing dust through the streets. A creak echoed from the guest room: the girl had woken up, stifled by the heat. Bo had warned them earlier, when setting up the sleeping arrangements, that the windows didn’t have mosquito screens. Still, it was better than spending the night cramming into a car. An ordinary SUV wasn’t built for three people to rest in.

She carefully rose from the bed, stepping around her friend and then the guy, nearly stumbling in an attempt not to step on anyone’s arm or leg. With a quiet sigh, she slipped out and gently closed the door behind her.

Downstairs, the lights were still on. A radio station played a week’s worth of state-wide news in the background. Under the lull of crime reports, she wandered off to find a pitcher of water.

“You can’t sleep?”

The voice came from the terrace.

Bo Sinclair had been there the whole time, quietly watching her movements, a glass of chilled lemonade in hand. Watching the droplets slide down his large hand, she swallowed involuntarily.

“I could have slept just fine, if it weren’t for the heat.”

“Told you,” he said, getting up from the bench and stepping into the kitchen. “I don’t take guests often. Go ahead and sit, I’ll get everything.”

She let out a quiet laugh and dropped into the offered chair. Outside it was much cooler.

“Knew it’d come in handy,” he said, draping a blanket over her shoulders before sitting down across from her.

“That’s very courteous of you. Thank you. I must’ve said that word a dozen times already, but really, Bo, if it weren’t for your help, I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

Hiding a crooked smirk behind his glass, Bo simply waved her off, what kind of man would he be if he left people in a situation like that?

And the lemonade was good. There was something spicy in the taste, something elusive that made you want more.

And the night… so dark… and the sky… so full of stars…

“You can sleep,” came his velvet voice, cutting through the haze. “I’ll keep watch over your dreams.”

With a single motion, Bo crossed the terrace and lifted her into his arms.

And she remembered what the grown-ups always said: Never take anything from strangers’ hands.

Even if they’re terribly charming.

Vincent Sinclair.

If anything could go wrong, it would, Murphy’s Law in full effect. The local bus that had been making runs for years? Broke down. The replacement? Out of state on a private charter. No friends going that way. No friends of friends either. And there are no other transport options on the horizon. Only one couple with an old pickup truck seemed resigned to making the trip by themselves and kindly offered to take the girl along.

“Rough day?” the older man asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

Modern youth lived under constant stress yet seemed completely unprepared for sudden changes. Understandable. These kinds of surprises left no energy for anything else.

“The week has been rough,” she replied with a smile, resting her hands on the sides of her white sundress. “I thought maybe bad luck wouldn’t follow me into the next town.”

Flashing lights of a road barrier and a detour sign appeared up ahead.

“Looks like it’s not done with you yet,” the woman said with an optimistic smile, right before the first pothole stole it away.

“Or maybe it’ll be a couple hours of bad luck,” her husband replied dryly.

The girl accepted her fate. There was nothing more she could do. At least she had decent company, it was best not to ask for too much or tempt fortune to take it away.

The first half of the trip passed under a soundtrack of old country songs and hopeful chatter. The second half, however, was marked by a worsening road and an increasing urge to cry.

The driver muttered something about needing gas, just as a rusted “Welcome” sign peeked out from behind wild vegetation.

“Didn’t think this town still existed. We’ll stop in, fuel up, see what’s what.”

“Is that really necessary?” his wife asked, frowning. This would mean another delay.

“We’re running on fumes. And if we hit a traffic jam? No, sorry, this old man isn’t risking it when we’ve got a chance to fill up.”

The girl glanced out the window. No signs of civilization, only sparse woods flashing past. She would’ve kept daydreaming, lost in her own thoughts, if not for the woman’s sudden comment:

“Sweetheart, you look just like an actress I used to love, back in my day. In that dress, I mean.”

Lester Sinclair.

Hitting a wild boar early in the morning on a deserted road? Sounds like a challenge and the girl accepts it. The impact rattles her vision, and the screech of brakes still echoes in her ears. Staggering, she got out of the car, surprised she didn’t end up in a ditch. The animal lies on its back, its side punctured and bleeding, but still alive.

What if she takes it to a vet? No, the nearest town is who knows how far, there’s no time.

Maybe she could give it first aid? Damn, it’s a wild animal, injured and disoriented. That makes it dangerous.

She runs through every option in her head, but none involves putting the poor boar down. She just can’t bring herself to slit its throat, even if it ends its suffering.

Suddenly, a truck appears ahead, flashing its high beams. She waves it down, and soon a man steps out.

“What happened, missy? Not watching the road?” the redneck greets her with a grin, ignoring the situation in front of him.

“Very funny. Can you do anything?”

He glances between his dog, the girl, and the boar before replying:

“Well, nothing much to do but butcher the pig and move on.”

She groans and leans against the bumper, unwilling to accept it. Lester tries to console her, saying it’s just his job, nothing unusual, it was an accident. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a person.

“You know what you need right now?”

“A shot of moonshine?” she replies with a smirk, sliding back into her car.

“No,” he scratches his head, “well, maybe that too. But I meant dog therapy. Rub her belly while I take care of this.”

Without asking, he shoves his four-legged friend into her car and gets to work. The dog snuggles against her hands, climbing into her lap. At least someone’s having a good day.

The redneck taps on the window. When she rolls it down, a shaggy face greets her.

“You’re good to go, ma’am. Though your headlight’s busted. I’d drive to the nearest town just in case. If you turn right in a couple miles, you’ll hit Ambrose.”

“God, I don’t even know how to thank you.”

She offers him a ten, but he refuses outright. So, she discreetly slips the bill into the dog’s collar and opens the door for her, giving her a heartfelt squeeze goodbye.

“Oh, and one more thing” he leans down to the open window, “tell Bo, the guy who owns the workshop, I’ll be there in an hour or so. Tell him to wait up.”

“Uh, sure.”

It’s not like she could say no to a small favor. All she had to do was deliver a message, and Ambrose was already on her way.

Jason Voorhees.

Yes, she admits the place was eerily quiet, even for somewhere infamous for its terrifying, unexplainable events. Yes, some psycho in a mask had nearly caught her last time, though for some reason, he let her go. And yes, coming back here alone was a stupid, reckless decision, she had a hundred "yes" raced through her mind as her feet carried her toward the lake.

There were always dark tales about it. They said a boy drowned there many years ago, and his mother, unable to cope with her grief or perhaps through something more powerful, created an immortal being. That’s what the old folks used to say, though over time the story turned into a legend. She’d even told it around a campfire herself during her first visit. But coming face to face with a man in a hockey mask had wiped the smile right off her face.

Later, of course, she calmed down and told herself it could’ve been a copycat. There were plenty of idiots like that these days, and places like Crystal Lake attracted them like bees to honey.

So why was she here again?

Even though she didn’t fully know. She wanted to believe she’d find the answer here, but where to start and what exactly she was even looking for remained unclear. The forest called to her, its smells drawing her off the dirt road and deeper inside.

Jason had already noticed the girl returning to his domain. He’d let her go once, not that it mattered much. No one ever came back here after surviving. That was rare. Voorhees didn’t usually miss, and the old reliable machete helped make sure of that.

“Hey!” the girl cupped her hands around her mouth, “Anyone here?”

A minute passed. Then another. Nothing. Not a twig snapped under a heavy footstep.

“Right. Who were you expecting, Jason Voorhees?” she muttered under her breath.

But the man heard her. A small, involuntary smile twisted the lips behind his mask. She was closer to the truth than she knew.

Michael Myers.

Halloween was the kind of day when kids and adults alike could dress up, have fun, and play a different role. Though the girl didn’t share the general excitement or her friend’s enthusiasm, she still agreed to spend the holiday together. Her parents never let her collect much candy as a child, so now she indulged her need for that festive spirit as an adult.

Her friend was running embarrassingly late, despite setting the meeting time herself. The girl decided to call her. A couple of rings later, she heard loud curses and an echo, meaning the call was on the speaker in the car.

“Sorry, I’m on my way. I didn’t realize the city would go full-on insane tonight, literally.”

“What, drunk teens throwing themselves in front of your car?”

A soft laugh came from the other end, followed by a more serious, “No.”

“I just wasn’t ready for the overwhelming number of costumes. Maniacs, murderers, every kind of unsocialized citizen our beautiful country has to offer. By the way, what are you wearing?”

She was about to mention her fairy costume but stopped herself. That would ruin the surprise she’d worked so hard on those wings alone were a struggle! They even itched at her shoulder blades, right where they attached to her dress. Her mom had suggested magnets, but no, wire seemed like a better choice, it didn’t stick out when she moved.

“You’ll see me before all those ‘citizens’ do.”

“Ooh,” her friend teased, “intriguing. I’ve seen like five Michael Myers already, and they all look like knockoffs from some cheap Chinese website.”

“Even that deserves some praise.”

Suddenly, loud screeching brakes came through the phone, followed by fresh swearing, this time not aimed at her.

“Hey, you still there? Speaking of the devil, someone just wandered into the road, like he thought he was invisible. And you know what? He didn’t even flinch at my yelling. Just stared at me with those dead eyes.”

“Well, you did say people weren’t trying very hard. Sounds like this imitator’s really committed to the role.”

The girls laughed it off. No way there were some weirdos going to ruin the holiday. Not on All Hallows’ Eve.

Thomas Hewitt.

Oh, lovely Texas! Everyone had said the air was different here, and they were right. The air truly was different, tinged with dust, and completely devoid of moisture, but it was worth it. The girl drove mile after mile, estimating how much longer the road stretched ahead. Her back had gone numb a couple of hours ago, and her legs had cramped more than once. She might’ve kept going if she hadn’t noticed how strangely the car’s engine was acting. Of course, the heat was taking its toll on a vehicle meant for city driving. With no distilled water or any kind of coolant in the trunk, the only sensible option was to turn into the nearest roadside store.

She spotted a run-down but stereotypically Texan gas station. Leaving her car under a flimsy awning held up more by faith than structure, she stepped inside. The only other person was an elderly woman, who didn’t seem to be handling the midday heat too well. Distracted by the bell over the door, the woman dropped the sack of grain she’d been carrying.

“Sorry, let me help you,” the girl said quickly, stepping behind the counter to lift the heavy burlap bag onto her back.

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to…”

“It’s alright, just show me where it goes.”

The old woman pointed toward a trailer near a broken-down gas pump. A few other sacks were already there, so the girl made quick work of it and wiped the sweat from her brow.

“I feel bad making a customer carry my grain,” the woman said.

“Better me than you,” the girl waved it off. “I actually came to get some water for my engine.”

The old woman smiled and walked to a shelf stocked with automotive supplies. It was a wonder any of it was still within its expiration date, judging by the surroundings, customers were rare here.

“Not afraid to leave your car unattended?” the woman called from behind the counter as she rang up the purchase.

��Nope.” The girl pulled aside her shirt, revealing a pistol holstered at her hip. “I’m no good with moving targets, but I shoot clays regularly. If anything does come up, I won’t miss.”

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes, and her already sweet smile turned even more syrupy.

“Oh, honey, you'd be just perfect for my son. The ideal daughter-in-law.”

The girl smiled politely as she took the jug. Old age sure had its quirks.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Take care.”

“Be safe, sweetheart.”

As she started up the engine again, she noticed the woman watching her from the window. No, she wasn’t ready for marriage, let alone getting stuck in a place like this.

Art the Clown.

The art of pantomime required not just discipline but a keen eye for detail, so fine it could vanish in the blink of an eye. That clown putting on a whole show inside the diner looked oddly familiar. Yes, she’d seen him before, maybe last Halloween, passing a party shop filled with holiday decor. Dozens of those places popped up all over the city before the holiday. And who’s to say it was even him?

Her attention drifted to her coffee mug as she stirred in the sugar. Without looking up, she reached for the creamer, only to touch something soft. A white glove.

The clown was sitting right in front of her, beaming with the most charming and frankly, most unsettling smile. He held out both hands, lifting them alternately, as if weighing options.

“You want me to choose?” she asked uncertainly.

He nodded enthusiastically.

A man at the next table chimed in, amused, “Looks like we’ve got a magic trick that needs an assistant.”

There were plenty of attractive women around, each with equally attractive company, but what could she do? The sooner she picked, the sooner she could get back to watching instead of participating.

She looked at both fists once more and pointed to the left.

“Yes, I’m sure. Open it.”

But the hand was empty. The clown didn’t seem disappointed though, he leaned forward and, with a swift movement, pulled a flower from behind her ear.

“Thanks,” she said, managing a more awkward smile as she accepted the gift.

Meanwhile, he flipped over the napkin holder to reveal a stash of single-serve creamers. His gloved hands applauded her performance, and others in dinner joined in. With one last grin, he handed her a small note, then vanished out the door in the blink of an eye.

“Art always loves his assistants.”