#the encouragement we all need.................

[commanderfreddy]

susie's story (esp in ch4) is so deftly realised. so often you see the "character who thinks little of themself is encouraged to pursue their True Value" storyline unfold in a way that has the character redirected away from "unfitting" desires, like a physically weak character who wants to be physically strong learning to value their personality instead or whatever but susie. susie who is - mechanically, in her stats in the game - best suited to hitting things with an axe, who "doesn't look like she should be playing the piano", is encouraged to pursue a skill she doesn't have because an educator took the time to get to know her and realise what she has genuine passion for. and she's not automatically great at it! she has objectively bad spelling and grammar in her letter to alvin, it's not like she unlocked some secret hidden talent - storytelling and communicating and creative expression in general is something she cares a lot about and genuinely enjoys, but it's something she has to work for. there's a reason why the gerson fight is so long and gruelling. but through this hard work and better understanding of herself we see susie learn how to reject imposed frameworks that occlude her actual personality - she literally shatters the tapestry that tells her the one and only way her story can end, and in doing so prevents Kris from ever having the chance to think of her in that position, whatever it is. it's her story, and she's learning how to tell it.

AND all of this is done without for even a second implying she needs to be even the tiniest bit more feminine than her rough and rude masculine self. hell, from the way she and gerson mirror each other in their loud and abrasive laughs, her unapologetic butchness is presented as a trait that aligns her closer with him and from there with her truest self

[haedalkoo]

Korean sentences for Jikook's discharge live

Hello everyone! I'm beyond delighted to bring you this project that we've been working on to make sure us int-armys can share our love with Jikook during their discharge Weverse live. Here's a list of all the questions and encouragements you asked to be translated into Korean 💜💛

Please feel free to copy and paste these into Jikook's lives!

An inmense thank you to Slaav @slaaverin, Lore @goldenhickeyss, Holly, Kaye, Steph and Calico for all your work putting this project together. So much love has gone into it, you guys are the best💜

QUESTIONS

Do you know when you will do a second Season of Are you sure? 이게맞아 시즌2 언제 나올까요?

Are we getting "Are You Sure in Busan"? 이게맞아 IN BUSAN 기대해도 될까요?

Is there any specific location you would like to travel to for "Are You Sure?!"이게맞아를 촬영하기 위해 가고 싶은 곳이 있어요?

Could you tell us behind the scenes stories from "Are You Sure?!" ?이게맞아의 비하인드 이야기를 좀 알려주세요 ㅎ

Will Bam acompany you both in "Are You Sure?!" some day?밤이랑 함께 이게맞아를 촬영하라고 생각해 봤어요?

Do you have a favorite episode from "Are You Sure?!"이게맞아의 제일 좋아하는 에피소드가 혹시 있어요?

We cant wait for more seasons to come... until you are 50더 많은 시즌가 나왔으면 좋겠어~ 50세까지 이게맞아 해주세용

Can you share your funny military stories? I promise we won't run away!둘이 만든 재미있는 이야기를 좀 들려줘 우린 가지마라고 약속해 ㅋㅋ

What was your most memorable moment in military? 군에서 가장 잊혀지지 않는 추억이 뭐였어요?

How was your military life? 군생활 어땠어요?

What new things have you learned during this period? 군 동안 어떤 새로운 것들을 배웠나요?

Were there any difficulties you both had to endure in the military?군대에서 어떤 어려움에 대처했어요?

What songs did you sing together in the military? 둘이 함께 군대에서 어떤 노래를 불렀어요?

Did you make any new friends?새로운 친구를 사귀었어요?

Can you tell us how you felt in the last hours before discharge? 전역 바로 전 몇 시간 동안 어떤 기분이 있는지 말씀해 주시겠어요?

What was the buddy enlistment like? 동반입대 어땠어요? (did you argue?: 사웠어요? ㅎㅎ)

What surprising things did you learn about each other during military?군대에서 서로에 대해 새로운 걸 알게 되었어요?

Did you get more tattoos while you enlisted?입대 중에 다른 타투를 했어?

Jungkook, did you learn new recipes?정국이 새로운 레시피 배웠다?

Jimin, how was it to be the ace of Netpo? 넷포 에이스가 된 건 어땠어요 ㅎㅎ

Did you enjoy your time off in Japan before discharge?전역 전에 일본에서 간 휴가 즐겼어요?

Do you already have ideas for new songs? 신곡에 대한 아이디어가 이미 있어요?

Are you planning a collab? 지민이와 정국이의 콜라보를 기대해도 될까요?

What are you plans or new project after MS? 전역 후에 무슨 게획이나 프로젝트가 있어요?

Do you have any plans for a new unit dance cover? 다시 듀오 커버 댄스를 해보고 싶어요?

Do you have plans for a solo/duo tour? 솔로/듀오 투어 계획이 있어요

After military service, do you plan on having a vacation first? 전역 후에 휴가 가는 게획이 있어요?

Did you already decide what kind of haircut & color you want to get when your hair is long enough? 머리가 충분히 길 때 어떤 스타일과 머리새깔을 원할지 이미 결정했어요?

Do you already have new solo or unit projects in mind?새 솔로 또는 유닛 프로젝트를 계획이 벌써 있어요?

Outside of music, what are the other things you want to do now?노래빼고 가장 하고 싶은 건 뭔가요?

ENCOURAGEMENTS

We love you사랑해

We are always by your side 너희 곁에 항상 있을게요

We will always support you 항상 응원할게요

We are sure!! 이게 맞는다!

Congratulations on your discharge 전역 축하해요 💖

Thank you for AYS - it made us infinitely happy! 이게 맞아을 줘서 고마워요

We are so proud of you 너무 자랑스러워요

You both are so cool! 둘이 멋있다!

JM & JK we LOVE you SO MUCH! JM&JK 너무 사랑해 💜💛

I'm so happy to finally see you again! 드디어 다시 만나서 너무 너무 기쁘다 // 오랜만에 보게 되서 기쁘다

Please take all the rest you need, we love you no matter what: 편하게 쉬세요 무슨일이 있어도 우린 둘이를 사랑해요 // 무슨일이 있어도 아미는 지민이와 정국이가 사랑해

Thank you for being born: 태어나줘서 고마워요

Let`s walk the flowery path together: 같이 꽃길만 걷자

Let`s stay together forever: 영원히 함게합시다

We will be your strength: 우리는 너희의 힘이 될 거야

Live your life happily: 행복하게 살아줘

Don't get hurt and live happily 아파하지말고 행복하게 살아

Let's only live happily from now on: 이제 행복하게만 살아줘

Hope to see you both again soon! Please do more lives together! 곧 다시 만나자! 더 라이브 함께 해주세요!

JK, thank you for going Live in December! That was so healing! 정국아 12월 라이브 해서 고마워 정말 힐링이였어 💜

"Are You Sure?!" is incredible, special, healing, perfect! 이게 맞아 너무 훌륭하고 특별하고 힐링이하고 진짜 다 완벽해요

Thank you for giving us "Are You Sure?!" ! We really enjoyed it. Please make a season 2!이게 맞아을 줘서 감사합니다 ���즌 2가 나왔으면 좋겠습니다~

Looking forward to a future collaboration between you two! 둘이의 콜라보를 기대합니다! 💜

We have missed you both so much, it's so good to see your beautiful faces again: 너무 너무 보고 싶었어요 예쁜 얼굴을 다시 보게 되어 정말 기뻐요 💜

Thank you for returning back to us safely. 잘 갓다와서 고마워요

I love you both. Fighting: 둘이 사랑해 파이팅 💜💛

Jimin and Jungkook you are the perfect ace duo: 지민이와 정국이 완벽한 에이스 듀오이다

Your bond is so special to me: 두사람의 사이가 우리에겐 굉장히 소중해요 / 두사람의 사이가 우리한테 진짜 특별한 거예요

Thank you for being strong and completing your military service. We are so proud of you!: 전역 축하해요 아미들이 다 정말 자랑스러워하고 있어요

We'll love and support you till the very end 끝까지 사랑하고 응원할게요!

Jimin, I love Muse!: MUSE' 너무 좋다!

I'm glad you enlisted together. 동반입대 하게 되어 기뻐요

You’ll always be my favorite artists in the world - my forever singers: 항상 네 인생에서 가장 좋아하는 아티스트들이 될 거야 ❤️ 우리의 영원한 가수❤️

A Jimin and Jungkook Karaoke live would be so fun!: 같이 노래방 라이브를 했으면 너무 재미있을 거야

I'm so happy to hear your voices: 목소리를 들으니 정말 기쁘다 / 목소리를 들으니 정말 기쁩니다 (formal)

All translations are mine. I apologize for any mistakes, I truly tried my best! 🥹I hope our words can reach them.

[chxseversion]

PLEASE DON’T LEAVE||

Summary: just Oscar’s girlfriend posting multiple posts in one day begging him not to leave her (he’s going to media day and she’s got a cold at the hotel)

Warnings: flirty comments, Fake flirting in comments, Oscars girlfriend being crazy, pure silliness,

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

YourInstaName • posted 45 minutes ago

Liked by OscarPiastri and others

YourInstaName Back when he still loved me… now i just cough up my lungs and cry when i try to talk :(((

view all comments

User45 what?

LandoNorris god damn… and to think you two were so cute

✸ YourInstaName right? i don’t know where i went wrong

✸ LandoNorris i’ll yell at him for you

User46 if he actually broke up with her im taking her side

User47 she’s right. he’s wrong. end of story

Mclaren cope. we need him to do his job

HattieP he’s a idiot. I’LL DATE YOU!!!!

✸ OscarPiastri stop trying to date my girlfriend

User48 i just know she’s got some silly little reason behind this and it makes total sense. your in the wrong @OscarPiastri

✸ OscarPiastri please don’t encourage her

OscarPiastri i never stopped (slide 2 is me right now)

✸ YourInstaName YOU HATE ME!!!!

✸ OscarPiastri i could never hate you love

YourInstaName • posted 40 minutes ago

Liked by Mclaren and others

YourInstaName @Mclaren GIVE ME MY LOVER BOY BACK!!!!!

view all comments

User45 i’m still confused but the Oscar photos are legendary

Mclaren no! :|

HattieP it’s okay, i’ll look after you now

✸ YourInstaName my new fav Piastri (after Mama P)

✸ HattieP of course

User46 why do i feel like she has about 400 photos of him and now what’s an excuse to use them?

OscarPiastri when did you take the 2nd photo?

✸ YourInstaName the time i took the photo

User47 the 3rd slide is actually such a good shot

❤️ liked by original creator

User48 oh to say ‘Nah. YourName is my girlfriend’

✸ OscarPiastri she’s mine. back off

LandoNorris I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!

✸ YourInstaName i’m about to yell at you

✸ LandoNorris i no love this anymore

YourInstaName • posted 30 minutes ago

Liked by OscarPiastri and others

YourInstaName missing my lover boy. Times are hard without him and i deeply wish to have him back but we can’t always have what we want. I had to learn that the moment i lost him. My heart is deeply broken but at least i had the memories with him.

view all comments

OscarPiastri IM NOT DEAD!!!

✸ YourInstaName it’s almost like he’s still with us at times

✸ OscarPiastri i give up

LandoNorris your an icon

User45 the fact he mentioned the reason behind these in his interview and everyone laughed

Mclaren damn… well keep him then

User46 she’s so crazy she’s coping by imagining he’s dead

User47 R.I.P Oscar Piastri. you’ll be missed

❤️ liked by original creator

✸ YourInstaName he will be missed dearly :(

HattieP oh well come and let me love you now

✸ YourInstaName yay!

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Your phone started to ring through the hotel. A single cough was let out as you reached for it and saw ‘osc 🧡’ as the name and a small smile graced your face. The green phone was pressed and before greetings could even be said he started to talk.

“post something that’s crazy. Mclaren admin won’t let me go home and i really want to be home” He explained while whispering through the phone like he wasn’t meant to be speaking over the phone at this very minute in time. “Use whatever pics you want. Just post something with a very ‘you’ caption and don’t worry”

With his words he hung up, you staring at your phone in pure confusion but also thinking what you could post to get Mclaren to let him come home, the hotel that was dark yet comfy, a message popped up seconds later from him ‘love you pretty girl ❤️’.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

YourInstaName • Posted 20 minutes ago

Liked by OscarPiastri and others

YourInstaName I NEED THIS MAN BIBLICALLY. like everyday, any angel. Just NEED HIM.

view all comments

Mclaren you can have him back now as long as we can get you PR training?

✸ YourInstaName sure

User45 the fact that it was probably a trick to get him back but she’s speaking all out truths is crazy

User46 she knows what’s up

LandoNorris GET YOUR MAN BACK BESTIE!!!

✸ YourInstaName sometimes just gotta cause a little bit of chaos to get what you want (i want him)

HattieP EWWWWWW!!!!! THATS MY BROTHER!!!!!

✸ OscarPiastri should have told her to post these at the beginning then

User47 SPEAK THE TRUTH EVERYONE GIRLY

❤️ liked by original creator

OscarPiastri of course love. on my way

✸ YourInstaName ahhhh!!!! MY FINE AS MAN!!!!!

✸ ✸ User48 her freaking out over him is the same as the edits people create of him

✸ ✸ ✸ YourInstaName i know. i have 200 favourites on tiktok in a folder (no shame)

User49 she knows what she got and she’s gonna take it

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

A/N: thanks to those who made it through. the next post should have more of a plot line not just pure chaos cause i wanted to make it without a structured plot.

[lorasx]

trojans talking about dating and the topic comes to jean and they all start saying stuff like how he can get any girl or boy he wants he needs to start dating etc etc jean just waves it off and jeremy bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything. it’s not until it’s just the two of them when jeremy says “they’re right, you know. you can do it if you want. dating. anyone would be lucky to have you.” this is what he should do, right? encourage jean to do the things he never got to do before. he deserves everything best, he deserves some pretty girl or a nice guy who would look at him with stars in their eyes. so this is what jeremy should do no matter how the thought of jean with someone else makes him sick to his stomach or his heart feels as if it’s physically crumbling out of his ribcage. so he holds his hand to his chest to not let the pieces drop to the ground, and he risks a glance to jean. jean is too busy studying the smile on jeremy’s face that doesn’t reach his eyes to say anything, so jeremy hurries to fill the silence “sorry. it’s not my business. it’s just- im not the best person to talk to anyway. cat or laila would do so much better. it’s not like i know much about dates. or girls.” jean looks at him dead in the eye and says “you’ve never been on a date?” it’s the last thing jeremy expects jean to say, that wasn’t his point at all, jeremy was just trying to be a good friend. jeremy looks at him with wide eyes before he awkwardly laughs it away. of course he has never been on a date. who even would take him? he lets the conversation end there.

next day jean tells him to get ready and meet him outside. confused, jeremy obeys and finds jean by his bike.

“we are going somewhere?”

“anywhere you need to be instead?”

jeremy shakes his head and lets jean adjust his helmet. he tells himself the reason his heart is beating out of his chest is because he’s scared of the bike, right? so he lets himself cling to jean’s back as they ride, jean doesn’t seem to mind.

they spend the day on some edge of a cliff, watching the sunset. jean gives him sandwiches he made at home, his favorite. cheese and ham with tomatoes. no olives. never olives. jean knows that.

they talk for so long that the sun leaves her place to the moon and the stars shine so much brighter when they’re this close to the sky but jeremy cannot look away from how they reflect on jean’s eyes.

“i have no idea what brought this on, but thank you. truly. it was a beautiful day.”

jean just nods and they fall in to a comfortable silence. only as they’re leaving he says,

“now you can’t say you’ve never been on one.”

[jabbasyogainstructor]

I’m hoping that if Suzanne Collins writes another book, it might be from the viewpoint of Plutarch, or someone like him. His father was likely Hilarius Heavensbee, who was in the same year as Coriolanus Snow at the Academy. We saw plenty of students and staff there who clearly didn’t like the games, voicing their opposition in various degrees from extremely outspoken Sejanus to Professor Click, who didn’t say anything outright but who did treat reaping day as a time to get extremely drunk. Dean Highbottom definitely thought the games should end and was eternally angry they’d ever begun. Many students thought the games should end, especially after spending time with their mentees. The viewership of the Hunger Games was decling, because the people in the Capitol were refusing to watch. I wonder if the people in the Capitol were oppressed in a different way? We’re shown (in the majority of the viewpoints of Haymitch and Katniss) that the people of the Capitol are wealthy and super pampered. Then we’re shown the flipside of Snow’s childhood. Starving every bit as much as the people in the districts, some families resorting to cannibalism to stay alive. Coriolanus’s constant struggle to get enough food and Tigris having to sell her body to make ends meet. Yes, the people in the Capitol had all their physical needs met, but maybe the tradeoff was that they cannot protest against their government. Maybe one too many of them has disappeared that way. Much like Katniss’s prep team who lament not being able to go to her wedding, maybe that’s the only way they are allowed to express sadness and disappointment. Effie makes a reference to injustice at Katniss and Peeta returning for the quarter quell, and her eyes dart all around the room like someone is listening. Someone is and she knows it. She frequently tells Katniss or Peeta not to say anything treasonous on the train or in their training quarters because she is well aware that the spaces are bugged and if Katniss or Peeta are punished, she will be too. For the same reason, Haymitch is always drunk and unhelpful: if he says what he wants, the tributes are punished. He receives more punishment. If he does nothing, they die anyway: not a lot of incentive to mentor D12 tributes properly. Something must be going on in the Capitol that encourages the public behaviors shown to us.

In Mockingjay, Katniss’s squad was called squad 451. Like the book Fahrenheit 451°.

Plutarch Heaveansbee, the man who had a huge ass library, and libraries were considered RARE, named them after a book about censorship.

Plutarch is such an interesting character, the fact that he was trying to stop the games for at LEAST 25 years. And he was so devoted it makes you wonder why he even cared.

[crunchybeards]

I still do find it downright incredible in terms of the time that Look Outside came out and the current meme culture crossing paths the way that they do. And I'm specifically talking about Gen Z not fucking with jobs/ being employed like at all. Seriously the stars aligned for a game where you play as an unemployed 30 something year old who doomscrolls on social media whose only known hobby is gaming and eating shitty TV dinners whilst dodging rent to come out where that exact lifestyle is encouraged by Look Outside's demographic.

Like Sam is the ideal Gen Z icon, as of the current unemployment meme trend despite being well a 30 something year old dude. Being unemployed truly transcends all barriers, peace and love on planet earth.

[lorelune]

(michael kaiser x reader // minors dni // tw alcohol consumption)

the way how kaiser will make you ride his thigh in public.

like, private booth at the club, he's shifting you from fully on his lap to over one thigh, flipping up your party dress, so it's just the thin satin of your panties hovering above the fabric of his trousers. he cocks his head a little, one hand holding a drink you've been sharing (a smear of lip gloss on the rim) and coming up to your hip.

"get off."

"get off of... you?" you ask. seems weird. you're too tipsy to be coy.

"don't even think about it." he squeezes the softness of you hard. "get off. on my thigh."

"michael—" your head whips around. his teammates are mostly on the dance floor, but there's still a few of them around. ness is across the booth, eyeing you, like a hungry dog. isagi is watching out of the corner of his eye, too drunk to manage subtly.

he grabs your jaw, bringing his attention back to you. "i know you know how. be good now."

"there's people—"

"and you're mine." kaiser helps you, pushes down on your hips so that your core is flush to the heat of thigh. "don't mind them."

"that's—" it's not that simple. you're shyer than that, that most kaiser has ever done at the club his shoved his tongue down your throat and even that left you stumbling and out of sorts.

"you don't need to talk," he coos, setting his drink aside to bring your face into the croook of his neck. "not to them. you're welcome to make as much noise as you'd like if it's for me to hear."

"g-god," you stutter, squeezing your eyes shut. he pulls your hips again, this time grinding against him. he's so fucking— warm. scalding. you squeak and immediately fall into him, bracing against his shoulders.

he noses into your hair and inhales. "that's not my name."

you huff.

"it's not gonna take much, will it?" he keeps— fucking— grinding you on this thigh. you follow the motion without fulling meaning to. it does feel good. "you're easy for me, aren't you?"

"f-fuck off."

"later, later." he kisses your cheek. "once we're home, yeah?"

"c-couldn't this wait until then too?"

"no, no." he fully wraps his arms around your middle. "it's more fun like this."

"you're the worst, y-you know that?"

"that's," he says, all slick and smooth and infuriating, "not what you'll be saying when we come on my thigh, looking so pretty for me."

and as he encourages a roll of your hips, contact burning and so, so good— you hate that he's right.

[c0llisiion]

Virgin!MarkLee

W/C; 941

Virgin!MarkLee, who was slightly embarrassed to say that he was a virgin when he found out you had more experience.

VirginMarkLee, would get shy and all hard watching you undress but he couldn’t bring himself to ask you to have sex with him. Please. That would be pushing it since it's only been around 6 months since you guys started dating.

Virgin!MarkLee, who would often fantasize about your body and the way you would feel. Sometimes having wet dreams, which he would try covering up, but you knew.

Oh, you knew.

Virgin!MarkLee, who was getting confused by your sudden show of affection. Wearing tighter and tinier clothes around the house. Your hugs and kisses lingering. Hands running suggestively up his muscles while watching movies or even making suggestive comments.

But he seemed too naive to catch onto your advances. And it bummed you.

Virgin!marklee, whose eyes were wide as saucers when you asked if you could make out with him. Hoping to take small steps into full-blown sex.

He was hesitant at first. Mostly because he was worried he wouldn’t be good or he would chicken out, but he had been yearning to be closer to you for so long that he eventually agreed.

Virgin!marklee, who was a sweaty mess as you straddled his lap. His vision went hazy when he saw you on top of him. His hands stuck in the air, not knowing what to do or even say.

Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes raked up and down your body. God. You were so beautiful.

Virgin!marklee, who seemed very hesitant at first but when you started guiding his hands to hold your ass, he relaxed. It looked like he needed guidance and you were more than ready to give him that.

His breath hitched as you placed soft kisses around his lips. Your hands on his chest could feel his thumping heart and even could hear the beating. You smiled at his nervousness before gently placing your lips on top of his.

Virgin!marklee, who wasted no time in returning the kiss. His lips working tandem against yours. He was slowly relaxing and you could sense it.

Your hands traveled up his body and held onto the back of his neck, pulling him closer, creating a possible moment where you could slip your tongue inside his mouth.

Virgin!marklee, who was starting to get excited. His cock already throbbing against his lounge shorts and creating a large bulge. His hands involuntarily squeezed your ass when he felt your tongue run over his bottom lip, making you gasp.

“Oh my god…!” he said pulling away and worriedly, like he hurt you.

“Was that too much? Did I overstep?”

Ugh. You loved it when your little Markie acted all flustered and cute.

You grin at his reaction and lean forward to capture his lips again. This time, taking full advantage and pushing your tongue in.

Virgin!marklee, whose eyes once again went wide as he felt your tongue against his. A strangled groan or a noise rumbled through his chest.

“Keep doing that… and we may do something else too…” you murmured against his lips before going back in. Hands pulling at his black locks making him groan into your mouth.

Virgin!marklee, who got more bolder at your encouragement, started running his hands up your body. Cupping your waist before hesitantly reaching the hem of your crop top. Not sure if—

“Just do it… Don't be shy…” you knew he would hesitate at every point so you made sure you gave him all the encouragement.

With that, he lifted your shirt and his eyes were blessed by your gorgeous and perfect tits.

Virgin!marklee, who audibly groaned at the sight in front of him. His hips shamelessly bucked up as his eyes ran all over your chest. Shaky fingers reach up to cup the mounds.

You sigh and arch against his touch. Placing your hands over his as your hips carefully rolled over his crotch. The large bulge rubbing against your clothed lips.

Virgin!marklee, whose breathing sped up as he felt you grinding on his bulge. His cock straining against the fabric, twitching at your movements.

He cursed under his breath and threw his head back against the couch. Hands involuntarily squeezing your tits.

Breathy groans escaped his lips and you could see the perspiration forming on his forehead.

You grinned wickedly at his state and started advancing. Your hips rolled faster and bounced slowly on the mound, giving his cock the well-deserved attention.

Virgin!marklee, who whined pathetically as he watched you grind against his crotch. Tears filled up in his eyes as the stimulation was starting to get to him.

“F-fuck.. ngh…” he cursed and whimpered. His stomach caved each time you would properly sit on the bulge and move your hips. Thighs and voice trembling as he got closer and closer to reaching his orgasm.

How pathetic. You thought to yourself. You barely even started and he was already close.

His hands desperately gripped onto your waist. “P-please…please.. s-stop… I'm gonna…” he made a poor attempt at making you stop but little did he know, it made you want more.

You leaned forward and started kissing his neck. Leaving wet hickeys while your hips moved at their own pace.

Virgin!marklee, whose eyes were squeezed shut as he tried not to cum prematurely. But dear god. The way your body felt against his. He just couldn’t control himself.

Virgin!marklee, whose hair was all disheveled. All disoriented and sweaty, let out the loudest moan as he came all over his shorts. The red material now a deep crimson, seeped his milky white cum.

A/N: RAAHHHHH RAHHHHHH GRRRRRRR i have been yearning for these kinda men. Please. My next posts are gonne be like this only. Dw. 🥰 TY FOR READINGGG

[robynahaley]

Adding to this by having to consider the absurdity of things that compensate lower prices with advertisements. All these media subscription services like Amazon Prime or YouTube that keep hiking up prices, but simultaneously implement lower paid tiers with mandatory ads. Like, hey it’s okay if you can’t pay $25 a month, we’re offering a $18 a month just for you! You just have to watch some ads along with it. Because capitalism is especially predatory to the poor, which is absurd when you think about it.

It is actually bonkers how much America tries to squeeze money out of the people that have the least of it, often times to companies’ own detriment and loss. Can’t afford the more expensive option, want the free version? That means you and your data become the payment. They shove ads at you to see how they can extract the money you should be saving by not purchasing the other options. Rather than a system that encourages you to save so that you can afford the higher prices you’re encouraged to use your expendable income (or let’s face it, they don’t care if you can afford it or not, that’s why credit exists) to purchase what’s in the ads. Maybe you spend outside your means eventually and can no longer afford the service at all. You can’t afford anything that matters any more. Maybe you invest in these purchases because they’re so much more achievable than ever affording something you may actually need, like health insurance or a house. This is what we get when we have an economy predicated on stock holders and infinite growth.

Now we’re also looking at the absurdity of AI, and how we’re seeing talk (and advertisements) about great it is, it will replace workers and save companies so much money by having to pay less humans. After paying less humans they can go forth with AI and figure out more ways to sell more things to humans. Humans that do not have work and therefore do not have money to spend. Is this their big plan? Have they actually thought it through? Maybe they think they get to take from the bourgeoisie then, selling to an ever shrinking market. But then we come back to what capitalism sits on the back of, exploiting the middle and lower class. If you replace all of them with AI, then no amount of ads are going to help any more. You’ve hunted your game to extinction.

Something so profoundly fucked up between the inverse ratio of shrinking middle class and ever increasing aggression of advertisement

[mercurycft]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 — 𝐋𝐖

## the bubble universe - leah x reader !!

guyyyys! i am feeeeding you all of the fluffy goodness of the bubble universe!! and i am absolutely loving writing this so bloody much! how have you all been!? lmk how you’re all feeling about my new stuff and the BU! i hope you all love this one as much as i do! love always - RGx

find THE BUBBLE UNIVERSE — here

early pregnancy - the first trimester, hints about fears of miscarriage, anxiety language, fluffy loved up ness, leah being the best partner ever, morning sickness and ultrasounds, angst if you squint haaard, some technical language about scans and pregnancy tracking. not proof read because again, fuck that.

6k words.

“we’re fully booked this week,” the receptionist on the other end of the line says gently. “but we can fit you in next tuesday. we’ll want to run a few blood tests first before we look at scans.”

a week. 

you hang up with shaking hands and a strange tightness in your chest. it’s not panic exactly, just that familiar, coiled kind of hope. the kind that still knows how to brace. leah’s still brushing her teeth when you  find her, sleep-creased and messy-haired. you lean against the bathroom doorway and wait until she sees your face in the mirror.

“they can’t see us for a week,” you say softly.

she spits toothpaste into the sink, rinses, turns. “okay,” she says, and wraps her arms around your waist like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “so we wait.”

the days between the ‘official’ positive and the clinic appointment are tender in ways you didn’t expect. leah treats your body like it’s made of glass now. a good kind; expensive, delicate, museum-worthy. she reads every label on every food item in the fridge. she stops drinking caffeinated coffee, even though you tell her she doesn’t need to. every morning, she pours you both tea and says “cheers” like it’s still fun.

you try not to overthink. try not to look at the toilet paper every time you pee. try not to google every ache or twinge. but sometimes you cry for no reason, and sometimes for good reason, like the night you dropped a full tub of blueberries on the floor and just sat there in the middle of the kitchen, hands in your lap, trying not to fall apart.

when leah found you there she didn’t laugh, didn’t fuss. just crouched beside you and helped pick up every single one. “that’s our baby’s vitamin C gone,” she whispered, joking, and kissed the tip of your nose. you laughed together, a little broken, and then cried again.

when the appointment finally arrives, it feels too big. like a checkpoint in a video game. like a door you have to knock on with both hands.

it’s raining. leah insists on driving even though you could’ve taken a cab. she says it’s about control. you don’t ask questions.

the clinic feels smaller than you remember. less sterile. more.. waiting. there are other couples in the chairs. quiet conversations. someone holding a tiny pair of socks in her lap. when they call your name, leah squeezes your hand and stands first.

they take your blood. they ask about symptoms- nausea? fatigue? any spotting?  and leah answers half of them for you, like she already knows everything. the nurse smiles. she tells you the hcg levels look “very encouraging.” 

then she says it:

“you’re probably around three, maybe three and a half weeks. it’s very early. too early to scan, we won’t see much yet, and we don’t want to cause unnecessary stress.”

you nod. you feel small.

“we’ll bring you back in at six weeks for a scan, we’ll maybe even be able to see baby’s heartbeat.” she says with a smile, it reads genuine, but you can’t help the nerves that stir in your ribs. “it’s important that you rest between now and then. no heavy lifting, no high-impact exercise. stay hydrated, take your prenatal vitamins daily, and try to limit stress where you can.”

then the part you were expecting, but still hate hearing:

“we recommend waiting until the twelve-week mark before telling anyone outside your very inner circle. early pregnancy is… fragile. we just want to give this the best possible chance.”

you nod again. you feel leah’s hand press against the small of your back, grounding you.

in the car afterwards, it takes you a while to speak. the rain dots the windows gently, a rhythm like static. leah rests her forehead on the steering wheel and exhales.

“three weeks,” she says finally. “jesus. that’s.. so tiny.”

you let out a breath. “i know.” she turns to you. eyes soft.

“but it’s there.”

you nod. “yeah. it’s there.”

she cups your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. “we’ve got to protect it now.”

and you know she means all of it — your body, your heart, the tiny new life waiting somewhere inside you to be believed in.

for weeks, nearing months, you don’t tell anyone. just like the doctor suggested. 

not yet, at least. 

not because you’re hiding it, but because it feels like a secret the universe whispered just to you. something still forming, still blooming in the dark. 

it belongs to the two of you. 

leah keeps a list of names in her notes app. you’re not allowed to see it. you write little letters to no one in your journal. sometimes you fall asleep with your hand on your belly, even though there’s nothing to feel yet.

you’re not showing. not at all. but leah still tugs your shirt down gently when it rides up, like she’s shielding something.

she takes a picture of your stomach in week four. kisses it after.

“in case we forget how small you started,” she whispers, not to you, to your stomach.

you know you won’t forget. you don’t think you ever could.

you start noticing the shift around the end of week four, not that you’re counting (you definitely are.). it’s nothing major, not like the movies where someone throws up into a bin dramatically and knows instantly, it’s more like your body is turning the volume up on itself, bit by bit. 

food starts to smell different. leah’s aftershave, the one you usually love, makes your stomach twist if she sprays too much. you’re exhausted in a way that feels bone-deep.

“you’re growing a whole organ,” leah says one night when you apologise for dozing off halfway through a film. she doesn’t look annoyed, just kind of awed by it. “like… your body’s making a new body part. the placenta. that’s mental.”

you blink at her. “did you google that?”

she shrugs, but her ears go a little pink. 

“maybe.” and she does more than google. she orders two books and downloads an app that tells her how big the baby is each week along with  little facts about the growth, she reads them out loud when you’re half-asleep and screenshots bits she wants to talk about later. 

she’s taking it seriously. more seriously than you expected, if you’re honest. not in a rigid or panicky way, just like she’s trying to learn the shape of this with you.

she still kisses your belly every night before bed, despite the lack of bump, lack of evidence there is even a human growing inside you. sometimes you laugh and tell her she’s being ridiculous, but you don’t mean it. not even a little. it’s becoming your favourite part of the day.

as the fifth week draws to an end, the nausea starts properly.

you don’t throw up exactly, not every day, anyway. but it’s there, constantly, like a low hum in the back of your throat. toast helps. sometimes ice water with lemon. sometimes laying down in a dark room while leah rubs your back in slow circles until your breathing evens out.

“i feel useless,” she says one night, crouched on the bathroom floor beside you. your forehead’s pressed against the cold porcelain of the bathtub, your eyes watery.

“you’re not,” you mumble. “you’re- you’re here.”

she brushes hair from your face, careful and soft. “i just hate seeing you like this.”

you reach for her hand and squeeze.“you’re doing everything right.”

she makes you soup. it’s too salty but you eat it anyway.

she buys ginger chews. you spit one out immediately.

she gets sea sickness bands, the elastic kind with the little pressure bead. they actually help. she doesn’t say i told you so.

you fall asleep in the middle of a conversation and she just pulls the blanket up over you and finishes your sentence to the empty room.

you cry at a dog food commercial and she doesn’t even blink. just grabs the tissues and climbs into bed beside you like it’s all normal now.

you haven’t told anyone yet, just as discussed. 

but there’s a shift in how you exist in the world, its small, but it’s there. like you’re holding a glowing ember behind your ribs and everything feels a little warmer for it. you catch yourself with your hand on your stomach in the middle of the grocery store. leah orders decaf at brunch without even looking at the menu. 

when her mum calls, leah presses her phone tight to her ear like she’s afraid something might spill out of her mouth if she relaxes too much.

“do you think they’ll be excited?” you ask one night, curled into her on the sofa.

“my mum?” leah pauses. “yeah. i think she might cry. dad definitely will,” 

“what about your brother?”

she laughs softly. “he’ll probably make some rude joke and then go out and buy a full arsenal baby kit the same day.”

“that’s kind of sweet.”

“it is,” she agrees, and then, after a pause: “you don’t have to tell anyone until you’re ready. not even our families. not even mine.”

“it’s not just about me, le, this is our news.” you say, looking at here through your tired yes. she doesn’t reply, but you know what she’s thinking. you both want to. soon. scared it will eat you up if you don’t. 

but still you don’t, not even your parents. not until that six-week scan, not until someone confirms that this flicker inside you is really doing what it’s meant to do. but the want is there. it bubbles up in you sometimes, surprising and bright. 

you want to see her mum’s face. you want to hear her brother’s jokes. you want this tiny, invisible thing to be something other people believe in, too.

you fall asleep with your head on leah’s chest and her fingers drawing slow circles against your shoulder blade. she’s humming, something low and wordless, and it makes your chest ache a little.

six weeks arrives quiet and early, folded into a tuesday morning like it’s nothing special. but it is. 

you wake up before the alarm, stomach already fluttering with nerves and nausea that you try to keep at bay with deep breaths and sips of water.

leah moves around the house quietly, content, soft-footed and serious. her voice is low, even when she’s just asking if you want toast. you nod and manage a bite before giving up, the nausea still curled somewhere behind your ribs.

“you don’t have to be nervous,” she says, slipping into the space beside you on the bed, balancing the plate on her knee.

you give her a look. “yes i do.”

she pauses, takes a deep breath. “yeah. okay. me too.”

the car ride is quiet. your fingers twitch against your thighs until she reaches over and laces them with hers, like she doesn’t even have to look. the city rolls past in grey and green, the roads slick from an early rain. everything feels sharper. heavier. like the world knows what you’re carrying.

you check in, fill out a few forms with hands that shake just enough to smudge your signature. and then they call your name again, his time for the scan.

the room is dim. clinical, but not cold. leah stands beside the bed, eyes trained on the monitor before anything even begins. the nurse is kind. her name is carla. she explains every step, even the ones you already know.

before the scan starts, leah gently clears her throat and asks, “would it be okay if i film for a minute? just to get our reaction? just on my phone? so we have it. to watch later.”

carla smiles warmly. “of course. just keep it respectful, and try not to interfere with the equipment.”

you squeeze leah’s hand, grateful. your heart is pounding, nerves twisting in your stomach.

“we’re going to do a transvaginal scan today — it’s clearer this early on. nothing to worry about. you might feel a bit of pressure,” carla continues.

you nod, biting your lip.

the cold wand presses gently, and the screen flickers to life in grayscale and static and then, 

“okay,” carla says softly. “let’s see what we’ve got.”

leah lifts her phone carefully and starts recording, her lens catching the flicker of light on the screen despite the dim room, but mostly it focuses on you: one hand tucked behind your head and the other holding leah’s just in the frame, the wide eyes, the breath caught in your throat, the tears that come unbidden.

it takes a second. one heartbeat. two.

and then: a tiny, flickering light in the middle of a grainy blob.

“is that?” leah whispers.

carla smiles. “that’s the heartbeat.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. it stutters a little, catches halfway in your throat, and then comes out wet. tears spill down your cheeks before you can stop them. you blink hard.

leah keeps filming, voice soft, “it’s real. we’re really doing this.”

carla taps a few buttons. “baby’s measuring right on track. six weeks, one day. strong little heartbeat. 118 bpm. everything looks perfect.”

you keep watching the screen, the flicker, the pulse — the little life inside you.

leah lowers her phone and wipes a tear from your cheek, her own eyes shining.

“you okay?” she asks.

you nod, overwhelmed. “are you okay?”

“no,” she says, laughing through a sob. “but in a good way.”

as the scan continues, carla poking and prodding around to do her checks, you find yourself asking questions quietly, “so, i know it’s early but is it possible to know the due date, roughly? and will we need more appointments soon?”

carla glances at the measurements on the screen and smiles gently. “based on today, you’re about six weeks along, so your due date would be around late november, but we always take that as an estimate at this stage.”

you nod along to her words as she taps the keyboard and pulls up some notes. “you’ll definitely need another scan around 10 to 12 weeks, that’s when we get a clearer picture and check on development. in the meantime, you’ll have regular blood tests and check-ins to monitor everything.”

she leans in, voice soft but serious. “early pregnancies from IVF can sometimes need extra monitoring, so it’s important to take care of yourself and come to all your appointments. but for now, everything looks very good.”

you nod, heart racing but comforted by her calm. leah squeezes your hand, her eyes on you.

at the end of the scan, she prints out a strip of little photos for you. a blurry, smudged, grey-and-white miracle that doesn’t look like anything but means everything. 

leah carries it out of the clinic like it’s worth a million pounds. back at the car, you’re both a mess of giddy-nerves. chatting absentmindedly with eyes glued to your new prized-possession. the pair of you stare at the pictures for a while, before you prop up your phone and snap a series of pictures. you and leah on either side of the middle console, the strip of pictures held between you - smiles beaming. 

“it’s real,” she says once, so quiet you almost miss it. you turn your head to look at her. she’s staring at the print like it’s magic.

“we saw it,” you whisper. she leans in and kisses you, slow and certain, which ends in a fit of giggles and tears. 

then, you hit seven weeks.

it passes without much fanfare, no new appointments, no major changes, just steady and private unfolding. 

you wake up to leah curled around you, her hand resting soft and flat over your stomach. it’s barely grown, actually not at all, but she touches it like she’s memorising it already. like she’s grounding herself to the fact that something’s there.

you’re still keeping everything quiet. it’s become a kind of game between you, pretending nothing’s changed when people check in, dodging questions about nights out and dinner plans and why you haven’t been seen at the pub lately. but inside your little home, it’s all you talk about.

you find yourself looking at the fridge more often now. the scan pictures are still up, soft and fuzzy, like little grayscale ghosts. but they’re already worn at the corners from how often you handle them. 

sometimes you catch leah just standing there, arms crossed, staring at them like they might shift or change if she watches closely enough.

you start writing things down. small notes in your phone about how you feel each day. about the wave of nausea that hit in the middle of brushing your teeth, the dream you had where the baby had leah’s exact smile, the smell of toast suddenly making you gag. it helps. to make it real on paper.

leah’s been reading. not obsessively, she knows how overwhelming it can get, but every now and then, you catch her scrolling quietly through articles on her phone and when you ask her what she’s found, she tells you softly, “you’re doing everything right.”

at eight weeks, the nausea peaks. 

your body feels like it’s in revolt some days. food aversions come out of nowhere, one morning you cry because your favourite cereal suddenly tastes like metal. leah doesn’t flinch. she kisses your forehead and brings you toast and a banana instead.

“you okay?” she asks, brushing your hair out of your face as you sit slumped on the bathroom floor once more. 

“not even a little,” you whisper, and she smiles, pulling you gently into her arms. “but we’re doing it.”

the fatigue is worse now too. afternoons blur into evenings without you realising, and sometimes you nap so deeply it’s like falling through water. but leah never makes you feel guilty. she just tucks a blanket over you and lies beside you, turning up the tv or reading aloud from whatever book she’s into, her voice steady and soft like waves against sand.

some nights, when you’re both still awake and the house is quiet, she talks to your stomach. not in a big way. not like a movie. just these soft, half-silly, half-sincere whispers; telling stories, sharing thoughts, asking questions like the baby could already hear her.

and it’s in those little moments, the in-between ones, that you realise: this is what growing looks like. slow. sacred. and full of love.

nine weeks arrives like breath on glass; close enough to see, not quite close enough to touch.

the days feel quieter now, though your body is louder than ever. nausea still clings to your mornings, sometimes your nights too. 

your emotions ride in strange, wild arcs. you cry at the sound of a baby laughing on the telly, then again when the post doesn’t come on time. you feel both ridiculous and entirely valid all at once.

leah doesn’t flinch. not once. she’s gentle with you, patient in ways that make your throat ache. she’s learned the exact right way to tie your hair back when you’re slumped over the sink. how to hold your hand when you’re just done for the day. how to make you laugh when you can’t see anything but grey.

she starts calling you “mama” sometimes, under her breath, like she’s talking to the baby but too sacred to say out loud just yet.

one night, at the end of week nine, you’re lying tangled together on the sofa, the telly flickering forgotten in the background, your head on her shoulder. she’s got one hand curled over your belly and the other resting on your thigh, and you can feel the rhythm of her breathing, steady and soft beneath your cheek.

“i keep thinking about what they’ll be,” she says. “like, what if they’re wild like you, or quiet like me? what if they’re both? what if they hate football?”

you laugh, exhausted but warm. “we’ll love them anyway. probably still make them wear a little arsenal kit though.”

she kisses your forehead and murmurs, “obviously.”

by ten weeks, there’s a quiet shift.

the nausea begins to fade, just enough to function. you’re still tired all the time, but some mornings are brighter now, you wake up without that heavy weight in your chest, without the dizzy ache behind your eyes.

you both know the next appointment is getting close. the 12-week mark hovers just ahead, a checkpoint you’ve been inching toward with cautious hope. it’s all still private, still tucked into the corners of your flat, the notes app on your phone, the soft drawer beside your bed where you’ve started to collect small, hopeful things. a book about names, a pair of tiny socks leah found and couldn’t leave behind.

your body feels different now, too. not obviously, not to anyone else but you know. you feel bloated constantly, so your jeans don’t quite button right anymore. your chest is sore in a way that makes even brushing your arm against it feel like punishment. and your stomach.. it’s still mostly soft, the same shape it always was, but there’s a new kind of weight to it. like your body’s holding a secret.

leah notices, of course. she always does.

“stand still,” she says one night, pulling you gently into the light of the bedroom lamp.

you’re wearing one of her t-shirts, oversized and stretched slightly at the middle now. she runs her palms over your stomach carefully, reverently, like she’s reading braille on your skin.

“turn to the side.”

you roll your eyes, but you do it. she crouches a little, squinting, then grins.

“there’s something there. tiny, but definitely something.”

“it’s probably just bloating,” you mumble, embarrassed.

she shakes her head, standing again. “nah. that’s our baby. starting to show off.”

you let her hold you like that for a while, her hands soft over your hips, your back tucked against her chest. you feel silly for how emotional it makes you — but she doesn’t tease. she never teases.

instead, she murmurs into your hair, “you’re doing such a good job.”

you spend more time in your little nest of a flat now. part of it is the exhaustion, ten weeks of growing a human has you completely undone by 3pm most days. but part of it is choice. safety. you’re still not ready to be in the outside yet,  the  world feels too big, too full of questions you’re not prepared to answer.

so you stay in. wrapped in soft blankets, living in oversized jumpers, binge-watching crime documentaries you’ve both seen before. leah makes a new habit of placing her hand over your stomach while you sit curled into her, like she’s trying to catch the baby doing something early.

“you think they can hear us yet?” she asks one morning, voice low and quiet.

you shake your head. “not for a few more weeks.”

“shame. i’d want them to know my voice.”

“they will,” you say, resting your hand over hers. “they’ll know it inside and out.”

you’re lying on the sofa, half-asleep on leah’s chest, the telly playing some old rerun neither of you are watching. her fingers are tracing lazy shapes over the curve of your stomach through your jumper.

"they're about the size of a strawberry now," you murmur, eyes still closed.

“all snug and round in there, floating about like a little bubble.”

you smile before you can stop yourself, the word ‘bubble’ fizzing quietly in your chest. it’s silly, but it fits. it fits the way your world’s shifted around this new centre. it fits the way you’ve started speaking in we instead of i. bubble feels like a word that holds wonder without pressure. soft edges. a bit of magic.

"bubble," you repeat, letting it settle on your tongue absentmindedly. 

leah leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “little bubble,” 

after that, it sticks. bubble becomes the quiet name passed between you in sleepy morning whispers and warm belly rubs, in phone notes and food cravings. you start talking about “bubble’s room,” “bubble’s heartbeat,” “what bubble might be dreaming about.”

and somehow, bubble makes you feel less afraid. less like it’s unknown, more like excitement. 

week eleven is a blur, less of a milestone.

like the baby, like bubble, is curled up somewhere deeper than before, almost unreachable.

your symptoms haven’t disappeared, but they’ve shifted. morphed into something gentler. you’re still tired all the time, still weepy over weird things;  a charity advert, a kid’s drawing in the post office window, the sound of leah humming in the shower, but it feels more like… endurance now. like you’re running a long, steady race with your body instead of trying to survive it.

but it’s still hard to believe there’s a tiny person growing inside you.

“a person with a spine,” you whisper once, reading from the pregnancy app, your thumb grazing the little cartoon fruit illustration. “and fingers.”

leah’s lying beside you, arm tossed across your middle. “bubble’s got fingers?”

you nod, handing her your phone. “and toes.”

she holds it like it’s a sacred text, then presses her cheek against your bump. “well done, bubble. keep going.”

the lead-up to the 12-week scan has a strange weight to it. like you’ve been holding your breath since day fourteen, and now someone’s telling you: soon, you can exhale.

you get a call from the clinic on wednesday morning, polite, clipped tones, confirming your scan for the following week, walking you through what to expect.

“bring water,” the doctor says over the phone. “a full bladder helps us get a clearer picture.”

you hang up and relay the instructions to leah while she butters toast, explaining the details you had retained about meeting your midwife and things. she doesn’t respond right away, just quietly flips the kettle on.

“you okay?” you ask, watching her.

she nods too quickly. then pauses. then shrugs. “yeah. just, it’s a big one, isn’t it? twelve weeks.”

you move to her side, press your hand to her back. “yeah.”

“i keep thinking about what they’ll see,” she says, quieter now. “like, if bubble’s okay. if their heart’s still beating.”

you nod, stomach turning in that too-familiar way. “me too.”

she leans her forehead against yours, eyes shut. “i didn’t think i could be this scared and this happy at the same time.”

you let out a breath against her cheek. “same.”

you spend the rest of the week preparing in little ways, folding laundry, printing off your appointment letter, standing at the fridge and staring at the scan photo like it might offer you clues.

leah puts together a list in her notes app titled questions for the Scan (aka don’t forget to ask these). you peek over her shoulder and read things like:

still measuring okay?

any signs we should watch for??

can we hear the heartbeat again??

is bubble okay in there????

will they let us keep another print?

you don’t say anything. you just kiss her shoulder and whisper, “we’re gonna be okay.”

the night before the appointment, you both lie in bed and watch old football highlights on her laptop, the volume low. her hand rests over your bump. it’s almost second nature now.

"i want bubble to love football," she says dreamily. "but not like… feel pressured to."

you smile, eyes already heavy. “they can love it. or dance. or, like, insects.”

“bubble the entomologist,” she says, half-laughing. “we’ll support it.”

“big word for you,” you laugh, no matter what the scan shows, no matter how big the world starts to feel again tomorrow. right now, in this room, bubble is safe. and so are you.

the morning of the 12-week scan begins with soft light filtering in through the bedroom window. 

your alarm goes off just after half six, but you’re already awake, lying still in bed with one hand on your stomach. the duvet is warm, leah pressed up behind you, arm slung across your waist, breath slow against the back of your neck.

you stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to name the feeling swelling in your chest. it’s not quite fear, not quite excitement, just a kind of knowing. you’re about to see them again. bubble.

leah shifts as the alarm buzzes again, groaning softly before leaning up on one elbow. “today,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

you nod, turning to face her. her eyes are puffy, hair a bit wild, but she’s grinning.

“you okay?” she asks, brushing her fingers over your cheek.

you nod again, but the breath you let out is shaky. she kisses your forehead and climbs out of bed, already mumbling something about toast and tea.

an hour later, you’re in the car, appointment letter folded neatly in your lap, leah’s hand resting on your thigh as she drives. the roads are quiet, mid-morning haze making everything feel softer. 

the nerves don’t really hit until you pull into the clinic parking lot and see the familiar sign. you sit in the car for a second, staring at the entrance.

“it’s gonna be okay,” leah says gently. 

“we’ve made it this far.”

you nod, but you still reach for her hand when you step out of the car.

you’ve been in this room before, weeks ago, when everything still felt delicate, when the screen showed more potential than shape. but now, it’s different. the lights are dim again, the air quiet, soft beeping from machines blending with the low hum of anticipation thrumming beneath your skin.

leah’s next to you, perched on the small chair by your side, thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. she hasn’t let go of you since you walked in.

emily, today’s ultrasound tech, is all calm confidence and easy smiles. 

“you ready?” she asks, gel already in hand.

you nod, your shirt already tucked up beneath your chest, jeans slightly unbuttoned. 

the gel is cold. you flinch and laugh at the same time. leah squeezes your hand.

emily glances at the two of you. “if all goes well today, you’ll be able to see so much more than before. baby’s usually moving around quite a bit at this stage.”

“moving?” you ask, already breathless.

“yep. they’ve got limbs now,” she grins. “might even wave if we’re lucky.”

the machine whirs. the screen flickers.

and then,  there.

you can’t speak for a second. it’s too much. a real little person. head, arms, legs curled in just slightly, spine arched like a comma. nothing like the blur from before. they’re bigger now, somehow both tiny and huge.

you gasp softly, covering your mouth. leah shifts in her seat, leaning forward, eyes wide. “oh, wow…”

your own eyes are already wet. emily makes a few gentle adjustments, tapping keys, taking measurements. “heartbeat’s strong. looks beautiful.”

you glance at leah, and she’s staring not at the screen, but at you. watching the way you’ve gone completely still. the way your jaw trembles.

“do you want to know your estimated due date?” emily asks gently.

you nod.

“going off baby’s measurements today, i’d place you right around november 25th.”

leah breathes a quiet, amazed little laugh. “a scorpio baby.”

“or sagittarius,” you murmur back, still dazed.

emily turns the screen slightly and clicks a few more buttons. “we’ll print some pictures for you, of course. and based on how everything looks, you’ll be booked in for the next big scan around 20 weeks.”

you swallow thickly. “and everything looks okay?”

“it looks really good,” emily says without hesitation. “healthy. active. right where they should be.”

you nod, lips pressed together hard, trying not to cry too much. it’s all bubbling up. relief, joy, disbelief. you don’t think you’ve ever loved something you couldn’t touch quite this much before.

leah runs her fingers along your wrist, her voice low. “sorry, can i ask you something?”

emily pauses, waiting.

“we haven’t told anyone yet,” leah says softly. “we’ve been waiting. we just didn’t want to.. rush it. but now..” she trails off, looking at you. “do you think it’s okay to start telling people?”

emily’s expression softens. “a lot of people choose this milestone, 12 weeks, as the safe point. risks drop, baby’s developing well. of course there are no absolutes, but from what we’re seeing today? it’s looking really promising. if it feels right to you, then yes. now’s a good time.”

you feel something in your chest unclench. a long-held breath, finally exhaled. leah leans down, presses her lips to your temple.

“you hear that?” she whispers.

you nod, unable to speak.

after, you’re introduced to claire, your midwife going forward,and she feels like the kind of person you could talk to about anything. 

she’s older, warm-eyed, a cardigan over her scrubs. she pulls her chair close to the desk and opens a folder with your name on the front, already scribbled with dates and initials.

“you’re both doing so well,” she says after flipping through the paperwork. “and baby looks healthy. we’ll go over diet, appointments, what to expect next. but honestly, the most important thing you can do right now is keep looking after yourself. one day at a time.”

you and leah exchange a quiet smile.

after a friendly discussion, claire jots down your next appointment, circles the 20-week mark in pen. “we’ll see you again for the anatomy scan around this time, usually between 18 and 21. maybe before that for a few check-ins.”

she hands you a packet, more leaflets than you can count, and a little slip with her personal work number. “you’ve got me now,” she says. “any time you need something. seriously.” 

you tuck it all into your bag like it’s treasure.

the car feels warm from the little bit of sun, the windows slightly cracked, scan pictures clutched in leah’s hand like they’re sacred. neither of you are in a rush to drive yet, just sitting in that stillness. hearts full, the engine off, world outside blurred and quiet.

leah taps the corner of the photo strip against her thigh. “they look like a little gummy bear,” she says, grinning.

“a really cute gummy bear,” you reply, still dazed, leaning your head back against the seat. “with stumpy legs and a big head.”

“bubble the gummy bear,” she muses. “trademark pending.”

you laugh, then wipe at your eyes again, even though the tears aren’t really sad ones. just full ones. bright and aching and everything all at once.

there’s a pause. the kind that feels like breathing space. then leah says, softly, “we’re in the second trimester now, aren’t we?”

you blink at her. “are we?”

“almost,” she nods, lifting her phone and pulling up a pregnancy tracker app she’s secretly had downloaded for weeks. she tilts the screen toward you. “says here week 13 marks the start. and we’re basically there.”

“oh my god,” you breathe.

“i know.”

there’s a silence then, big and gentle, before leah speaks again.

“i think.. i want to tell people.”

you turn to look at her. she’s already watching you.

“you think?” you whisper.

“i do,” she says, voice catching slightly. “i know we’ve been so careful. so scared to jinx it. but bubble’s measuring perfectly, your body’s doing exactly what it needs to, and..  god, i just want everyone to know how proud i am of you. of this. of bubble.”

your eyes sting all over again. you blink fast. “you’re gonna make me cry again.”

“you’ve been crying all day.”

“you’ve been crying all day.”

“okay,” she laughs, breathless and warm. “we’ve both been crying all day.”

you both sit there for another minute, just letting it wash over you. the day, the words, the tiny gummy bear bubble inside you that has suddenly made the world feel huge and sharp and entirely new.

leah turns in her seat to face you properly, hand curling over yours on the middle console. her voice is quieter this time. steadier.

“now,” she says, smiling through it, “we have some news to tell some very important people.”

and your heart stutters in the best way possible. because you do, and you’re ready. 

[bewitched-hours]

Yan!Forsaken | Pizzaburger x Reader

Thanks to @brain4stew for suggesting this-

Reader's pronouns shall be She/They~

Ah, an ex-hacker and the pizza man, you sure know how to pick... Whatever the fuck you got yourself into-

Ever since you joined this purgatory, Elliot and 007n7 seemed to have a bit of a... Situation with you...

It was clear Elliot hadn't liked 007 but 7 was trying to make the other more comfortable.

And you? You were stuck in the middle of it trying to help 007 get closer to Elliot and unknowingly lighting a flame between them that burned for each other and you, surprisingly.

At first you were proud of yourself, thinking you helped them get closer with 007 awkwardly dancing around his insecurities while you and Elliot helped him work on himself. And Elliot would awkwardly talk about his own insecurities with you and 007 trying to help him.

In return, you had a survivalist and a support always with you during rounds. At first you thought it was normal to team up but Shedletsky eventually informed you it was rare for any of them to team up during rounds unless there was a plan....

Which you never had...

All that led to the situation you were in now, with 007 having his arms wrapped around you and you sitting on his lap while reading a book with Elliot and quietly discussing the unrealistic tropes you encountered.

It was all just for some silly fun, a bonding activity for late 'nights' where you couldn't sleep and the two just so happened to be nearby and ready to help. You were all in your underwear but whatever your relationship was, they didn't treat it as anything special.

... Safe for the occasional flinching or twitching when you made any sudden moves in their grip-

But tonight the curiosity had you just a little antsy. And they didn't fail to notice. They may not have wanted to bring it up in respect of your privacy but you needed to bring it up before this question ate you up from the inside.

"What... Are we...? L-like- What do we call this relationship??" The words hesitantly slipped from your mouth, making them both go silent and take a moment to look at each other before turning back to you with a shared nod.

007n7 carefully turned you around to face them. "We were kinda hoping to start a relationship with you..? Like a polycule?" Elliot spoke up, getting your face as rosy as their own.

You were already surprised one of them would be in love with you but BOTH? And even suggesting a polycule? This wasn't a dream, was it??

You shortly began counting your fingers, much to the amusement of both men in your bed. It was a bit embarrassing but you figure it was worth the check before nodding with a relieved sigh.

"Okay- yeah- Yeah! I'd love to!" You stammered a bit, watching their faces soften at your words before taking turns spoiling you with kisses. Your increasingly reddening face and lack of protest(because let's be honest, why would you) only seemed to encourage them further, although they made sure to ask for consent before even postitioning themselves against you like a sandwich, showing you with love marks and praise from the front and back and enjoying the adorable noises you made.

That night, you let them see a side of you that they never expected from someone as sweet as you...

Not that they're complaining though

Honestly I was tempted but told myself I'd wait for an actual smut request before I dip my toes into full descriptions of... Well- smut-

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[bees-library3]

Learning to Breathe Again

Summary: Daryl and you have to cross a freezing river to escape a herd. You get pulled under, and he has to fight to bring you back.

Warnings/Tags: hypothermia, drowning, descriptions of performing CPR, near-death experience, trauma, HEAVY angst, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season ten, no use of y/n

Word count: 1k words

A/N: I warned y’all that I like writing angst in my introduction post, and I delivered. Also, this is my first time writing in almost five years, and I'm still getting into the groove of things. Don't say anything if it's ass lmao. I promise that I will get better as I keep writing. Thank you @b1eedthefreak for being so sweet and encouraging me to post this. I would’ve been way too nervous on my own. Sorry for this being fucking depressing.

As the herd was closing in, the couple approached the river, and Daryl knew what you guys had to do. He understood that you were not a strong swimmer, and he was reasonably concerned, but you had no choice. The two of you needed to cross before it was too late.

“Baby, we gotta cross.”

Your facial expression immediately turned into one of panic, and Daryl instinctively grabbed your hand. He could tell that you were afraid of crossing, but there was no other option.

“We ain't have a choice. They're closin' in and I ain't losin' you to the dead. You trust me, yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and focused on his eyes. The fear was written all over your face, and you were trying your damndest not to shut down. You knew that you couldn't swim well and the idea of having to travel through the river had you scared shitless.

“I trust you, but I'm fuckin' terrified.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know. We have to move now, though. Just keep holdin' my hand.”

Daryl was speaking softly to keep his girl calm, but his tone held a sense of urgency. The walkers were getting closer, and it was only a matter of time before they reached the pair.

Not bothering to wait for your response, he kept holding your hand and pulled you into the river. The icy sting of the freezing water hit you guys fast, and it was a cold that could be felt in your bones. Both of your bodies were shivering, and it was so frigid that it was almost painful. He could tell that you were still nervous, so he continued offering gentle reassurances.

“You're doin' so good, baby. We're almost there. Just keep goin'.”

You had made it halfway across the river before the unexpected happened, and you were pulled under. Daryl tried to maintain his tight hold on your hand, but his grip faltered. You were submerged in the water, and he no longer had eyes on you. Ignoring the heavy chill, he took a deep breath and dove into the water. He could hardly see, but he felt around until his hand brushed against the fabric of your shirt.

He grabbed on and pulled you to him. His girl felt heavier, and it was taking all of his strength to get you both to the surface. Finally, Daryl was able to get his head above water, and he lifted you to allow you to get some air. You were coughing and gasping, but you kept slipping under. He fought hard to keep his hold on you, but he was quickly losing strength.

“Fuck. Baby, c'mon.”

Daryl continued to tug you up every time that you disappeared beneath the water, and he was moving the two of you the entire time. His vision started to go black around the edges, but he pushed on. After what felt like forever, you finally reached the riverbank. He hauled both of you onto land. He coughed and tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, but he couldn't let himself fall asleep. Not yet.

After taking a few seconds to steady himself, he realized that you were eerily quiet, and he looked over at you. You were completely still, and Daryl felt the weight of dread build in his chest. He quickly sat up and moved over to you.

“No, no, no. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

There was no response, and he panicked. Reaching over, he frantically shook your shoulder and waited for a reaction. Your face remained slack, and he saw that your chest was unmoving. Your lips had also taken on a bluish tint. Quickly, he moved you flat on your back and checked your pulse. There was nothing.

He had never performed CPR before, but he had seen it done. With shaking hands, he interlaced his fingers and pressed his palms against the center of your chest. He wasn't even sure if he was doing it correctly, but he was putting all of his remaining energy into the rhythmic chest compressions. The forest was quiet, save for the sound of Daryl's ragged breaths and his soft muttering.

“Breathe, baby. C'mon. Don't you fuckin' do this to me.

He was rambling, but he had never felt fear like this before. Daryl Dixon had fought walkers, experienced his fair share of loss, and been tortured. Nothing compared to the terror and adrenaline filling his body as his hands thudded against his baby's chest. The audible cracking of your ribs made him feel sick to his stomach, but he couldn't afford to quit now.

“I need you, baby. Please breathe. You gotta take a breath.”

At some point, he had started crying, and he could feel the hot tears as they ran down his face. His muscles were strained, and his whole body was shaking from the cold. Daryl was a stubborn motherfucker and he had no intensions of stopping. Continuing to press down on your chest, he remembered that he also needed to breathe for you.

Pausing compressions, he tipped your head back and made sure that your airway was clear. He then put his lips over yours and gave two quick breaths. Your chest rose slightly, but it was obvious that it was only because of Daryl's actions. His body was trembling, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering, but he refused to stop. Placing his hands back on your chest, he began chest compressions again and kept begging you to stay.

“Baby, you need to take a breath. Please, sweetheart. Just one.”

He gave you another round of rescue breaths and waited for something to happen. After what felt like hours, but was likely only a minute, you finally started coughing. As the water spilled from your mouth, Daryl quickly rolled you onto your side and gently rubbed your back. He was still sobbing and shaking, but it was out of relief.

“There's my girl. You're okay, baby. Just breathe. I got you.”

[polymerfan]

The reason polyester (PE) is used for so many things is because the ingredients to make it are waste products of crude oil cracking. In fact, there was so much of this waste product that polyethylene was seen as somewhat of a miracle when its creation was discovered. (Yes, it was an accident, haha) Polypropylene (PP) also comes from this process.

When oil comes out of the ground, it needs refining before it can be used for things like gasoline or natural gas. Below is a diagram showing the refinery of petroleum and what the byproducts are used for.

Due to the oil and gas industry, there is a LOT of this waste product. That is why PE and PP are so incredibly cheap- MUCH cheaper than more reusable, recyclable, and/or sustainable alternatives, like glass, metal, natural fibers, etc. You can make a LOT more money if you bottle your soda with PP or make clothes out of PE.

So, the best solution, imo, to minimising plastic pollution is not recycling, or making plastics illegal. It is RENEWABLE ENERGY SOURCES.

If we all powered our cars with electricity from wind, solar, or hydro, we would have less need for oil- therefore minimising the amount of product that can be turned into plastics. This would make plastics more expensive due to scarcity, and would (hopefully) encourage companies to return to using infinitely recyclable metal and glass. (By the way, PE is the number one made plastic in the WORLD. PP is second place.)

Sorry this is off topic but i wanted to chip in!

The closest experience I've ever had to discovering "the vitamin" was buying a 100% wool outfit and wearing it in the winter.

Not only was I not freezing anymore, I was not sweating and overheating either. The horrible sensory nightmare of winter clothes disappeared.

In particular, I bought a pair of wool pants. They were a thrifted pair of fancy dress pants like you would wear at an important office job, and they were easily the most comfortable pair of winter-appropriate pants i'd ever worn. I wore them Every Single Day.

From that point on I realized a lot of my clothes were making me feel bad, and the common thread was polyester. Especially polyester blends.

It's a trap because the polyester clothes are the ones that always feel sooooo silky soft when they are in the store, whereas cotton, linen and wool can feel comparatively rough and scratchy. But when actually wearing them for hours throughout the day, it's the natural fibers that feel more comfortable.

Maybe the secret to sensory comfort is not about the presence of softness, but the absence of overloading sensations. Or maybe the sensory stress and agony is not triggered by texture of the fabric, but by how it breathes and regulates temperature.

Then there's the problem of clothing life span: polyester blends, no matter how soft they seem at first, become rough and scratchy and covered in hard, itchy pills after wearing them 10 or 20 times, whether or not they have been tumble-dried or even washed at all. (I tested it!) Linen and cotton become softer and more comfy the more you wear them, polyester but ESPECIALLY polyester blends become a constant stressor. Polyester blend t-shirts I used to love for their softness now feel bristly and irritating.

So now I'm trying to change my wardrobe to as many natural fibers as possible, and the more natural fiber clothes i have the more I realize that the plastic fibers stress me out. It's so easy to overheat or freeze in them and they're always degrading and becoming less comfortable and it sucks.

[kabr0ztrousers]

I love your writing, it’s insanely hot and especially well spaced <3

I was reading one of your portal fics earlier, and I was wondering if you’d write something about how f!reader gets some anal training for her new job as a portal hole - bonus points if it’s by a hot, older female executive from the company that operates the portals.

Kabr0z Writes Episode 142: Creadle & Crabnuts Industries

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: portals; knotting; implied feral; public sex; oral sex; exhibition; dubcon; physical discomfort;

A/N: More portals! I managed my time a little better today, so I hope you folks enjoy it!

###########################################

You shouldn’t complain. You really shouldn’t. Getting a job at all in this economy was enough of a nightmare, and from the contents of the manilla envelope you’d been sent, this was a pretty well paid one. There was only really one problem with it.

Nobody’s told you what the hell you’re actually going to be doing. You'd been given an interview, if you could call it that, but all that happened there was a portal opened in your lucky undies and you got thoroughly fucked by... Well, you're not sure what it was, but it was something. What it certainly wasn't was any kind of interview you'd had before. This time, you made sure to wear different pants on the train. Sure, your lucky undies were actually proving lucky, but you could do without getting fucked in public again, at least off the clock. Who knows? That could be what the job is.

The office, such as it was, was a squat warehouse a couple of miles out of London. The door opened for you and you stepped in, a middle-aged woman in a grey suit waiting for you. She looked you up and down, motioning for you to turn around.

You did so, feeling her gaze on you. You wore heels and a knee-length skirt, along with some underwear you didn't mind losing or getting ruined. You had a feeling you weren't going to need them in a few minutes, the room already smelled of sex and you weren't twenty paces into the building.

She tapped a clipboard thoughtfully "Marvellous, we definitely chose the right subject. My notes indicate you received the Mk. 1 device, then after it had activated for the first time, you kept it. Even planned on wearing it to a job interview? Excellent. Come with me"

She never left you space to answer, and she sure wasn't listening now as she stepped down the hallway, still speaking "You'll be assigned to product testing, same sort of thing as you've already been doing with the Mk. 1, but with a little more scientific rigour, and a little less public transportation. Of course, what you get up to off the clock is your decision and we do encourage... Extracurricular activities. Today, we want to try something a little different." She stopped next to a door "In there is a device much like the one you're familiar with, plus a couple of tweaks. We want you to take them, put them on, then do... Whatever, really. Get yourself a coffee or something. We'll be monitoring you remotely."

You stepped into the room, an envelope sat on a table. You opened it, and withdrew a pair of pink, frilly knickers. They were light, soft, stretchy, precisely what you want out of underwear. Though how the woman had described them, you knew what they really were. You slipped off the knickers you'd come in wearing, putting them in your bag before pulling on the suspicious pair from the envelope. All the while, feeling the gaze of the woman who you presumed was your new boss. You turned to her as she took out a tablet and tapped it

"Good, telemetry is coming through. Enjoy your morning. You'll know when the test starts. Come back when it's done, and we can debrief"

She escorted you from the building, waving you off as you stepped back into the morning sun.

What the hell was that? You shrugged. You probably don't want to go out of walking distance to the... Let's say offices. You checked your phone. A café? Maybe. Should be relatively quiet round this time of morning, and in the worst case, they'll have a bathroom you can hide in. You nodded to yourself and set off.

You were right. The café was pretty empty, just a few bored-looking baristas wiping down various machines after the morning rush, sweeping up discarded pieces of sugar packet wrapper. You got your order, a medium Americano and sat down near the bathrooms.

She wasn't lying. You knew when the test started. A familiar warmth spread over the fabric under your skirt. It dissipated as always, but you could tell you were exposed, vulnerable.

Who- or what-ever it was on the other side of the portal clearly didn't believe in pacing themselves. A wide, flat tongue started lapping at you. It was manic. So fast it made you yelp, taking long licks of the outside of your nethers. You felt it skimming the outer lips, hitting your clit on every long stroke, just to do it again a moment later. You bit your lip, legs crossing on their own. That didn't impede the tongue, it might have even encouraged it. You could feel your breath coming in rags. The baristas were doing their best to ignore you, but in an otherwise empty café it was tough. You could feel their gaze as you screwed your eyes shut, the taste of your own blood filling your mouth as you but down harder. You tried not to cry out as you came. A whine still escaped.

The tongue pulled away. Your cunt was still twitching, your pulse throbbing in your engorged clit. A warmth spread across your ass. Just for a moment. Then it was gone. You could feel a draft across your asscheeks. You were being pressed through the portal by your own weight, just a little. Just enough that you could feel the rim of the portal on your ass cheeks as your exposed behind was being transmitted to who knows where.

You sat in anticipation, still tender and sensitive from the oral servicing you'd just received. You didn't have to wait long. Movement came on both of your holes. Something slimy on your asshole, something using your natural lubricant at your cunt. They thrust rapidly, randomly, hoping to find a hole to take them as they spread hot, spurting fluids over you. You abandoned hope of being able to finish the coffee in front of you, every thrust shaking your hands a little, every near-miss making you gasp.

Your ass was first. The cock hammered its way in, jerking and thrusting, no slower now than it was before only now it was inside you. You tried to mask the yelp as it penetrated with a cough, but the looks on the staff's faces didn't look convinced. It was relentless, the thrusts seemingly gaining in power and ferocity as they went on. You bit down hard on your lip, digging your nails into your palms.

You couldn't help yourself when the other cock found its mark. A basal, creaking groan escaped you as your drooling, deprived cunt swallowed the cock whole, welcoming it in. The whole length of it pumped in and out, rubbing against the one in your ass. You couldn't stop yourself shaking. You staggered to your feet, trying to stumble out of the café before you were thrown out. Your legs wobbled, unsteady with the twin cocks using you as they pleased. Setting one in front of the other was tough, hauling yourself along towards the door required a herculean effort to not trip over yourself.

The bell rang above the door as you opened it, guiding yourself around the side of the building before leaning against the wall.

Just in time. You felt a bulbous knot press into your asshole. You cried out in pain as it stretched you open, forcing its way in before you tightened behind it. The cock in your cunt did similar, driving in a thick, rock-hard growth, locking itself inside before it started to spill its seed.

You felt them filling you. Thick, hot cum painting your insides, sticking to you, washing into you. You could almost smell it, musky and tangy, pulsing into you from both directions at once. You slid down the wall, head back, eyes staring at the blue sky above, hands laying limp by your sides.

You don't know how long it was before they pulled out, but the blue sky had turned to grey and the first drops of rain were landing on you. The knots plopped out, the portals disengaging, and cum oozing from your gaping, winking holes.

You couldn't move. Sure you were expected back soon, but you figured a few more minutes wouldn't hurt.

[andy-15-07]

Hey, could i maybe request a pedro pascal x new actor reader both acting for a movie or smth and the writers try to make the reader to nude or Sexual scenes but she doesnt want to and pedro is defending and kinda orotecting her from their pressure and mean Treatment?

Under His Wing

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1390 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The first rays of dawn had barely crested the mountains when you arrived on the sprawling backlot in Albuquerque. You’d been up since 4 a.m., butterflies fluttering in your stomach, excitement tempered by nerves. This was your first major role: playing the lead in a gritty thriller, opposite none other than Pedro Pascal. You’d admired his work for years,his intensity, his warmth, his uncanny ability to make every character feel so real.

You shook off the chill morning air as you stepped into the production office, clutching your script binder. The place buzzed with activity,assistants hauling coffee trays, costume designers measuring extras, grips lugging lighting rigs. You threaded your way to your trailer, heart pounding.

Inside, the door swung open. “Y/N! Morning.” Pedro stood in the doorway, dressed in comfortable sweats, hair tousled. He offered a steaming cup of tea. “I thought you might want this.”

You exhaled in relief. “You’re a lifesaver.” You took the cup, inhaling the herbal warmth. “Thank you.”

He grinned, leaning against the door frame. “First day jitters?”

“More like first big-league jitters.” You flipped open your binder. “I’ve read my lines a hundred times, but… I don’t know. Feels surreal.”

Pedro’s expression softened. He stepped forward, gently closing the binder. “Y/N, you were born for this. Trust yourself.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “And I’ve seen your audition tape. You killed it.”

A flush of gratitude warmed your cheeks. “Thanks… It means a lot coming from you.”

Before you could say more, the producers’ assistant peeked in. “Y/N, Mr. Reynolds wants to see you and Pedro in the conference room,he’s got some script updates.”

You and Pedro exchanged a glance. “Let’s do it,” he said, offering his arm.

–––

The conference room was bright and fluorescent, a long table lined with colorful binders and half-drunk lattes. At the head sat Michael Reynolds, the film’s head writer, a man in his fifties with wire-rim glasses and a perpetually impatient air. Next to him was Tanya Alvarez, the associate producer,sharp suit, sharper tongue.

Reynolds cleared his throat. “Morning. Thanks for coming early. We’ve been reviewing the script and… we have some changes.” He shuffled papers. “In the third act, we want to heighten the stakes. Y/N, your character’s capture should feel more… visceral. We’re thinking a nude interrogation scene.”

Your chest tightened. Nude. Interrogation. You glanced at Pedro. His warm gaze met yours, steady and encouraging.

Reynolds continued, oblivious to your tension. “Yes. Just for a moment,you’re stripped down, lights harsh, the villain interrogates you, slaps you, forces you to reveal secrets. We feel it amplifies vulnerability.”

You swallowed, voice catching. “I,I’m not comfortable doing full nudity. Is there a way to suggest it without… actual nudity?”

Tanya clicked her pen. “Honestly, the studio expects realism. Audiences are desensitized. They want grit. It’s what's trending.”

Pedro intervened gently. “Michael, Tanya, we can convey vulnerability without having Y/N completely nude. Suggestive lighting, strategic coverage,it can be just as powerful.”

Reynolds frowned. “Pedro, with all due respect, we hired Y/N for her commitment to authenticity. We need every moment to land.”

You glanced at Pedro, whose brow had firmed. “I agree with Pedro,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “I want to do justice to the character, but full nudity isn’t something I’m ready for.”

Tanya’s lips thinned. “Are you refusing the role?”

Your throat clenched. “No. I just want to negotiate the scene.”

Reynolds pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re on a tight schedule. If you can’t do it… we might have to recast.”

Pedro stood, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not trying to be difficult. But Y/N is our lead,she deserves respect, not threats. We find a creative solution.”

Tanya exchanged a look with Reynolds. “He’s protective.”

Pedro’s voice was quiet but resolute. “I’m protective because I care about good art and good people. We’ll discuss how to film the scene with utmost respect.”

Reynolds huffed. “Fine. We’ll talk. But understand, the studio wants the intensity.”

You nodded, heart pounding. “Thank you.”

Pedro offered you a supportive smile as you left the room. Once outside, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He draped an arm around you. “Always. You should never feel pressured to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your eyes dampened. “I’m terrified they’ll replace me.”

He tilted your chin up. “Not on my watch.” He kissed your temple. “Let’s find a compromise.”

–––

By midday, you were back on set, framed in a stark interrogation room set,blank walls, a single hanging bulb, a steel chair. The camera stood by, crew bustling. Michael Reynolds approached, script in hand.

“I’ve rewritten the scene,” he announced. “We’ll use close-ups,suggestive framing. Y/N, you’ll wear a tight tank and high-waisted shorts. Lights will simulate nudity.”

Your shoulders sagged. “That’s… workable.”

Pedro clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Thank you for understanding.”

Reynolds nodded curtly. “Let’s roll.”

–––

“Action!”

Your character was already bound to a chair, looking bruised and defiant. The villain loomed, voice low and taunting. You struggled, voice trembling, tears brimming. The harsh light cast shadows over your collarbones and the curve of your waist, the tank soaked and clinging.

Pedro, as your ally-turned-traitor, entered the frame. He stood in the doorway, hands raised in mock surrender. His eyes locked onto yours,searing, full of conflict.

Your performance poured out: breaths ragged, tears trembling, voice hoarse. The villain grabbed your tank’s hem, yanked it down to your waist, and you gasped,strategic coverage exactly as planned. The camera cut to a close-up of your face, eyes wide, lips parted. Your vulnerability was palpable.

Pedro moved forward, hand on your shoulder, voice trembling. “Y/N,stop.”

You looked at him, stunned, voice cracking. “Why, Pedro?”

He shook his head, pulsing with emotion. “Because I believed you.”

Michael Reynolds watched the monitor, brow furrowed, but you and Pedro carried the tension, the rawness. On the monitor, the scene felt electric.

“Cut!” called the director.

You slid off the chair, knees unsteady. Pedro caught you, wrapping you in his arms. “You were incredible,” he murmured in your hair.

You exhaled, letting his warmth anchor you. “That was… intense.”

Pedro pulled back, brushing sweat from your forehead. “You held your ground, and you nailed it.”

Reynolds approached, clearing his throat. “That… was really powerful. Thank you both.”

Tanya lingered, eyes flicking between you and Pedro. “Well done.”

As the crew reset, Pedro guided you aside. “Hey,” he said quietly, “you okay?”

You leaned against him. “I am now.”

He kissed the top of your head. “We’ll face every challenge together.”

–––

Later that evening, the two of you walked through the deserted backlot, the sun sinking behind the mock city skyline. The hum of set lights buzzed overhead. Pedro carried two bottled waters.

You took one, sipping gratefully. “I can’t believe how nervous I was.”

He smiled, blue eyes soft. “And now?”

“Now I feel… proud. And safe.”

He stopped walking, turning toward you. “Good. Because you deserve to feel safe,always.” He tucked a hand into yours, thumb swiping gently.

You glanced up at him. “Thank you for having my back.”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “I told you,I’m protective.” He lowered his voice. “Of you.”

Your pulse quickened. “You’re going to make me blush.”

He winked. “Consider it part of the job description.”

You laughed, the sound echoing over the silent streets. He drew you close, warmth radiating. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do you think we could… find time tomorrow night, after wrap, to… celebrate? Maybe dinner, just us?”

Your heart tugged. “I’d love that.”

He grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “It’s a date.”

You rested your head on his shoulder as you resumed walking. The lot stretched out like a dreamscape,empty storefronts, silent streets, the promise of tomorrow’s scenes.

In that moment, beneath the soft glow of the setting sun, you felt truly seen, truly protected. Pedro’s hand in yours was more than a gesture,it was a promise that whatever pressures lay ahead, you wouldn’t face them alone.

And as you crossed the lot toward your trailers, you knew this was only the beginning,of your career, of your partnership, of a bond that would weather every script rewrite, every demanding producer, and every challenge that came your way. Together.

[dontshootmespence]

Tell Me I'm Not Second Best

Pairing: Non-enhanced Bob x Reader

Summary: After losing your husband, Henry, your first love, due to unforeseen circumstances, you start dating Bob. It’s only been eight months, but you’ve fallen fast and so has he. One night, while packing for a trip, you say your late husband’s name, which triggers Bob.

Author’s Note: I feel like Bob is always in need of some degree of reassurance.

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, relationship trauma, unprotected p in v, sad, grief-laden sex.

Word Count: 2334

----

When you walk into the bedroom, you see Bob hunched over the suitcase, examining its contents to ensure you have everything for your short stay house-sitting for your parents. “Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yea,” he says, proudly showing you what he’s packed. “I think I’ve got everything, but you might want to make sure.”

As you pad over to the side of the bed, you can already tell that he’s forgotten something. “Socks. You need socks.”

“That’s right, I think most of mine are in the laundry. I’ll go get them.” 

When he comes back, you’re checking things for what feels like the fiftieth time to make sure you don’t forget anything. “You want me to bring that cucumber body wash you like?” he asks as he comes back down the hallway to your bedroom. 

“My mom has some, Henry,” you reply. “So no worries.”

Turning to face him, you can see that something is wrong, his face drawn in surprise and then it clicks. “Oh my god, I just called you Henry, didn’t I?”

Bob tried to mask his feelings, but the hurt was written all over his face. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” you said again. 

“It’s okay, sometimes the wrong name just spills out. I know that,” he says, turning toward the staircase. “I’m just gonna go downstairs and take care of the carry-ons, because we have to get going within the hour.” 

You reached out to get him to stop. Repeating over and over again how sorry you were.

“It’s fine, d-don’t worry about it,” Bob said curtly. When your hand touched his shoulder, he shook it off. It’s fine!” The room fell silent and thick with uncertainty.

When he turned to face you, he saw the tears in your eyes. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he said, frustrated with himself. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Your lips quivered and a tear ran down your cheek. “I’m really sorry,” you breathed.

Bob shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Why I’m all touchy. I think it’s just the stress of packing and making sure everything goes according to plan, but that doesn’t excuse me snapping. I’m sorry.”

Just days ago, you’d visited his grave alone. “He’s on your mind. I understand. It’s my own issues. Not anything to do with you.”

You reached out and grabbed his forearm. “You can talk to me, you know?”

“I know,” he responded, lips quivering with the restraint of holding everything inside. “I just…Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“I just don’t want you to get upset, when I ask it.” Bob glanced down at his twiddling thumbs, a nervous tick he’d had ever since he was a kid. You rubbed small circles into the flesh of his forearm, encouraging him to say what was on his mind. He steadied himself, swallowing hard. “Do you…do you love me…the same way you love him?” His voice tapered off, ashamed that he allowed himself to voice his concerns. “I won’t call him your ex. He’s not. And that’s a disservice to him, but-”

Bob took a deep steadying breath in through his nose. “I didn’t want to ask. Because it’s an unfair question. I’m just tired and being stupid.” 

Immediately, you reassured him. “You’re not being stupid. I want you to get it out. To talk to me. Trust me.”

A tear fell from his eye and onto the collar of his gray t-shirt. “I just feel insecure sometimes, you know? I know it’s not fair to you. I just see how you talk about him and I know you’re still going through the grieving process. I know you loved him so much.” He wiped at his nose and continued. “S-so much. And I don’t wanna take that away from you. But I see it sometimes and it just makes me feel less than. It’s such a selfish thing to think, I know, but-”

“It’s not selfish, baby.”

The pitch of his voice rises as the floodgates let loose, tears streaming down his face. “I know it comes from my own relationship trauma and not feeling good enough and it’s so unfair to put that on you, but I can’t help it sometimes.” He bit his bottom lip to stop the quivering. “I just keep thinking that if that drunk driver hadn’t been drunk that night that you’d still be together.”

He began crying so hard his nose began to run. Covering his face in shame, he said, “You’re everything to me. You’re my world, and I’m so afraid that I can’t do what he could. That I can’t make you feel how he felt. And it kills me inside.” He sniffed hard, attempting to stop the tide of emotions that threatened to overtake him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to get upset.” His voice shook with unbridled sadness. “I feel like I can’t compete with him.”

“You don’t need to,” you cried, tears falling to the floor.

Nodding, Bob said. “I know logically that I don’t, but my brain…my stupid brain.”

He crouched down to the floor with his head in his hands. “You have this perfect memory of him and I feel like I’m never gonna measure up. Because he was your soulmate, and I’m just the guy that fills the gaps.”

You fell to your knees beside him and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. “You do not fill the gaps. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you having helped me through it. You’re everything to me, Bob.”

He couldn’t maintain your gaze. “I hear how everyone talks about him. I understand it, but sometimes I feel like your friends and family look at me like I’m an imposter trying to take his place. Like I did something wrong. Just because I love you.” He let out another steady breath.

Crawling closer to him, you spoke, “You did nothing wrong. And no one thinks that, I promise.” You swept a strand of messy brown hair out of his eyes. “Henry and I were best friends, and if you believe in soulmates, maybe we were that too, but we had our problems. Our relationship wasn’t perfect.”

Bob sniffled. “I know. I just feel like I don’t want to say anything negative or let you know how I feel because it would be minimizing your grief and I don’t want to do that. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes,” he said, a sob catching in his throat, “I feel like I just want to be held and reassured that you feel the way you do, but I feel like that’s taking away from you keeping his memory alive and that’s what’s important. So I pretend like it’s fine when it’s not. I’m really hurting lately.”

As his head fell against your shoulder, he cried, “I need you to reassure me that I’m not second best. That I’m not a placeholder. That you love me the same way you love him.”

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you grabbed his hands and pulled him up with you. You cradled him in your arms and let him sob for moment, but now that he’d let his feelings be known, he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, clutching your shoulder, his head nuzzled into the side of your neck. “I’m just being pathetic and dumping all of this on you. I’m gonna clean myself up and we can just forget-”

“No,” you insisted. “Will you sit down with me? I need you to listen to me.”

Nodding, he followed you to the couch. “I won’t lie to you. It still hurts on occasion. He was a big part of my life, but now you are. I don’t want you to be like him, I want you to be you. Because I love you, for all that you are, here and now.”

Bob’s eyes found yours. “I know. I think I just put him on a pedestal - compared myself.”

“I understand,” you said softly, grabbing his hand in yours. “But I need you to understand that I love you. Not because you’re him, but because you’re you. You’re my Bob. The man who helped me grieve. The man who held me while I cried. The man who brought me groceries when I physically couldn’t get out of bed to take care of myself. I love you.”

Bob collapsed against your shoulder in relief. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I love you so much. I’m sorry for dropping everything on you all of a sudden.”

“It’s okay.”

As the tears subsided, he talked himself through his feelings. “I know love isn’t this ethereal thing that just happens. You make it work. And we’ve worked at it together. My brain just doesn’t want to cooperate sometimes. Thank you for reminding me.” The last of his tears cascaded down his cheeks. “If it’s not too much trouble, can you keep reminding me?” He asked earnestly.

“Every day,” you said softly, bringing your tear-stained lips to his.

He sighed into your mouth as you kissed him. Chuckling softly, he grasped your chin in his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t kiss me right now, I’m a mess. My face is gross.”

“I don’t care,” you said, peppering his face with kiss after kiss.

Bob reached out to the table near the couch. “Can you hand me that box of tissues?” He blew his nose and placed the tissue on the wooden surface. “Thank you again for letting me get it out. I think I need to make more appointments with my therapist.”

“That’s okay,” you replied, a sad smile ghosting your lips. “We’ll work on it together. And you’ll work on it with her.”

Scooting yourself closer to him, you pulled his face to yours and kissed him like he was home. Slowly, languidly, you showed him just how much you loved him. When you climbed into his lap, he stopped you. “What are you doing?”

“I’m showing you how much I love you,” you sighed into his mouth.

Bob swallowed. “You don’t have to prove anything. Not like this. That’s not what I was after.”

You slid your hand around the back of his neck. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

As your mouth found his again, he moaned, hands flying to your sides in an attempt to anchor himself. His fingertips brushed the skin at the small of your back and you arched into him before reaching down to the hem of his pants. “This okay?” You asked.

“Yea,” he sighed. “ I just want to make sure this isn’t because you feel like you need to, or that it’s out of pity. I know that sounds stupid.”

You assured him that wasn’t the case. “Just wanna be close, quiet, with you.”

Your hand palmed over his cock as you bent down to kiss his shoulder, his collarbone, the side of his neck. “I love you,” you said, your breath hitting the shell of his ear and making his breath hitch. You sucked at the pulse point just below his ear that drove him crazy.

“Make the hickeys obvious,” he laughed softly. “So people know that I’m yours.”

“You are mine. Forever.”

Bob sniffled. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

Resting your head against his, you reveled in each other’s breath, just allowing yourselves to be in the moment. As your hand rested above his heart, you felt it slow and steady into normalcy before grinding your hips against his, lazily pulling your core over his clothed erection. With clumsy hands, you pulled his zipper down and released him from his boxers and jeans. “Mine,” you breathed. 

Kissing him, you maneuvered his cock to your entrance, slowly pulling it back and forth across the wetness that gathered there. As he slipped inside you, you both groaned, hands flying to each other’s bodies, needing the feel of each other. Bob mumbled “I love yous” against your skin as you began moving up and down on his cock, slowly at first but then with increasing vigor. “I love you, baby,” you whined.

You felt a tear slip onto your chest. 

“You crying?”

“Happy tears this time,” Bob replied. “I promise.”

The room quickly filled with hitched breaths and strangled groans. His hands flattened against your spine, pulling you in close so you were skin to skin. “Fffuck, baby,” he sighed. “Need you.”

“You have me,” you said as you swallowed his moan. 

His hand found the dip between your shoulder blades, where he traced slow circles while his mouth found your chest. “Are you close?” He asked.

“Almost, baby, just hold out a little longer.”

You picked up the pace, wanting to feel him come with you, needing that connection. “I never want you to forget how much I love you.” 

Bob groaned, his lips sliding over your skin. “I won’t forget again. I promise.”

The coil in your stomach tightened and you could see in his eyes that he was right there, at the precipice, just waiting for you. “Come with me, baby,” he said, his voice muffled by your neck. “Come with me.”

As you fell over the edge, you both cried out, grasping onto each other as if your lives depended on it. You slowed your pace, milking him dry as his lips found yours. Unable to hold yourselves up any longer, you collapsed back into the couch. “Thank you,” he said, kissing the underside of your chin. 

For a moment, you laid there in each other’s arms, heavy breaths subsiding into steady ones. “D-Do you think next time you go to visit his grave, I could come with you?” 

You nodded, removing yourself from him and coming to rest at his side. 

“I feel like it’s something I’ve been putting off, but I don’t want to anymore. He’s a part of you and a part of us.”