#you're like 'do you think that will ever happen to us

[voidgoatazzy]

Yknow what actually i have thoughts on this

A non exhaustive list of ways magic can screw up a user with overuse

[Plain text: A non exhaustive list of ways magic can screw up a user with overuse]

ELECTRICITY

Due to the nature of the nervous system and brain being a series of electrical signals to certain parts of the body, its more than like your character will have muscle spasms or tics as they approach their limit. Overusing by too far could lead to seizures, brain/nervous system damage, so on.

The obvious option of lightning scars/electricity burns.

NATURE

Plant life growing over/in the body- for example, roots growing in the circulatory system in the hands or feet or even reaching the heart, until the body's natural magic breaks it down- which may be hard when you barely have any magic reserves left.

Plants in your surroundings being... aggressive or avoidant. Plants attacking you that normally should not, because your burnt out aura is so fucking nasty to them + you're abusing the magic of nature.

WATER

Dehydration! Really. Really bad dehydration. Something water and fire would actually share! The human body is roughly 70% water last i checked, so what happens when you run out of MANA to go off of? It starts to use YOU instead as the fuel.

Potential aqua/hydrophobia (these are different things), until the body regulates itself or your character receives treatment. Or the opposite, where you cant LEAVE water or stop drinking it until you feel better, which could be hard depending on the setting

FIRE

Again dehydration! Being surrounded by fire at all times will dry you out eventually. This could lead to heatstroke/sickness in fire users especially, because of the added heat factor.

Burns, obviously! The only question is what gets effected? Fire breath affecting the throat/lungs, making it difficult to eat or drink or even breath. The hands, making any further casting or even regular usage of the hands painful. The list goes on.

Either running so hot you're steaming and burning others, or being so out of fire that you're almost FREEZING. For the latter, the magic that is killing you from overuse is also the only thing keeping you warm now. No choice but to use it until a: someone sets a fire, or b: another pyromancer takes over for you.

NECROMANCY **AND** HEALING

You are recreating life, or reshaping the remains of it. It only makes sense that this comes at the cost of some of your own life. Healers and necromancers have a higher death rate than most casters, due to their magic taking such an epic toll on their bodies that, even once they retire, they will feel the effects forever.

Speaking of: chronic pain and health issues. OP brought up healers being affected by the injuries of those they heal if they push it, but. I think of it like scurvy? Yeah you're taking on their wounds in exchange for giving them some of your own life. But you're also giving up what holds you together. Hypermobility as the body begins to give itself away, your very connective tissue and even SOUL wearing away. Necromancers who dislocate harshly as they give what pieces them together to their work, or have increasingly poor bone density and shit like that. Healers who have scars and pains that they cant remember ever getting.

AIR

Struggling to breathe and fainting from lack of oxygenated blood to the brain.

Your skin is so dried and cracked that you can't be touched or you start bleeding, or it feels like lemon juice any time you do heavy work.

If your ability/magic involves any form of flying, taking so many falls that you get various (sometimes very serious) injuries. Broken bones, concussions, the works.

Your magic starts to throw you around as you lose control of it. Strong dust devils whipping up fallen weapons and rubble to basically throw back at you, as if you weren't already fucked up.

You start becoming less... tangible. The air is taking you with it now.

METAL

Your armor, if you wear any, beginning to.. merge with you. Your blood, depending on your race, is FILLED with iron, after all. After a certain point, if you dont stop fighting, its all you'll ever be able to do. A living weapon or shield. A warforged of the worst kind.

Speaking of iron in the blood, blood problems! Screwing up your circulation and passing out OR WORSE during a fight! Wounds getting way worse than they could ever get naturally because of the blood magic!

AND THERE IS SO MUCH MORE!! AUGH.

I loveee fantasy settings doing magical exhaustion:

burnt out pyromancers emitting steam and smoke

tired cryomancers shivering with visible foggy breath

weary necromancers looking ill and hearing voices

frazzled healers receiving the same cuts, bruises, and injuries of their patients

[smitethestate]

So in terms of what we need to look out for first with the new Trump presidency, I think the first threat to a huge number of people is going to be mass deportation efforts.

One thing to consider about Trump and Project 2025 is that Trump's first priorities will be himself, his money, his power, and his ego. He doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself. He doesn't care about Project 2025. So what comes first will be about his image and what the people who can bribe him the most want.

Immigration is a huge thing with him, tied up in his ego and his racism. All immigrants, even those who have gained US citizenship, are at risk.

If you are an immigrant or have loved ones who are, look up organizations like the Immigrant Defense Project. Find immigrant defense lawyers in your area. Know your rights and which of them will be stripped when he invokes the Alien Enemies Act on 1798. The ACLU and other human rights orgs will be fighting him every step of the way, but prepare for anything. He will be giving ICE a lot more power. He says he won't tag in the military for this but don't believe a word he says, ever.

For the rest of us, if you're looking to help, you can join or revive local groups that work to alert people to ICE arrests and move to intervene. Forming crowds around arrest vehicles has worked many times to stop arrests from happening. That rules.

If you can't or don't want to join an org, get in touch with your immigrant neighbors, coworkers, etc. Start chatting with them, let them know you want them to stay and you're available to help. We must be in community with our migrant neighbors to effectively help them.

Start thinking about what you're willing to do. All the way to do you have an attic or other hidden space in your home where you can hide people? Are you willing and prepared to be arrested? Defying the government puts you at risk of imprisonment, and you need to be prepared for what that means, both in a practical sense and mentally/emotionally.

Speak with your partners, roommates, friends, and comrades about this. Know who is at the most risk to be arrested and what they will likely experience in prison. For example, BIPOC and disabled people are at a much higher risk when dealing with police and ICE agents. Under no circumstances would I recommend trans women/transfemme folks risk jail or prison time. Be prepared to risk sustaining psychological trauma. Draw and maintain the boundaries you need around any activism, resistance, or revolutionary activity.

I'll go more in depth on what migrants have to expect during the first 100 days of the second Trump term in a later post.

Please add more ideas and resources below if you have them, or make your own post and alert me so I can boost.

[fluffylino]

pussy agenda with minho

-contains mature themes

this man has to have his hands on you regardless of where y'all are.

subtle touches turn into full on outrageous groping.

you walk into the kitchen, intrigued by the dish he's busily cooking up for the two of y'all. he glances at you, blinking slowly and then rapidly.

"c'mere" and the tone he uses makes you think he needs your help to cut a few vegetables or stir the boiling hotpot. so you prance to him.

letting out a silent gasp when he sits on his haunches. pressing his lips over your covered crotch. and he stands back up, a satiated smile on his face.

"thank you, baby" and he feeds you a small chunk of stir fried chicken before pretending like nothing happened.

when i tell you he doesn't care if you don't shave, i mean it.

he doesn't care one bit.

"every one has hair down there. its natural, lets all die naturally!" is what he says.

"minho!" you can't help but laugh, smacking him.

"nothing is ever going to stop me from eating this goddamn pussy..." nudging you with his shoulder. his hand creeping over the waistband of your shorts.

"...infact i want to spread you open and fuck my tongue into your tight little cun-"

"we're in public! p-public!"

slapping your hand over his mouth. shutting him up before he can finish his downright filthy comment. he raises an eyebrow, swirling his tongue across your palm while his hand sneaks past your waistband.

you're happy its all under the table but its both nerve wracking. the pads of his fingers rubbing over your already wet cunt and the dirty whispers in your ear.

likes to backhug you randomly. his hands squeezing your ass. you're used to it but for some reason you aren't quite used to the way he trails his fingers up your thigh.

cupping your mound and manhandling you to bend over any surface. its all playful and you giggle until he nudges your panties to the side. sliding a digit against your folds.

"always so eager to have me" chuckling in your ear. his front pressed up into your backside.

"pretty cunt. all mine to touch and play with, am i right, baby?"

it works. turning you on and getting you wet in mere seconds. then he walks off, nonchalantly. sticking his fingers in his mouth and leaving you hanging.

don't worry, he just loves to hear you whine about how much of a dick he is.

give him ten minutes max and he'll eat you out like a man starved.

slurping, licking and sucking with pure need. its the same enthusiam everytime.

eating you out is part of his weekly routine. has to do it more than 2 times in a week or he throws a tantrum.

loves loves LOVES when you're compliant and encourage him to touch you.

like when he's driving. placing his hand on your upper thigh. smirks at the way your thighs part automatically, and he takes the chance to play with your kitty.

"can i kiss you on the lips?" minho whispers, and your heart melts. you smile as you pucker your lips, leaning in to kiss him but you jerk up in shock.

his head already between your legs. pulling your underwear down with his teeth. and before you can even process whats happening, his tongue slips between your folds.

hot breath fanning over your pussy. his nose bumping into your clit while he breathes in a deep breath. eyes fluttering and moaning unbashedly at your scent.

you're not even wet, he just loves how you smell in general.

"god, i love you so much. i love your beautiful, soft, warm cunt"

LOVES LEGIT LOVES when you sit on his face.

ESPECIALLY after he gets back home from dance practice. sweating and out of breath yet so ready to be suffocated by your weight on top of him.

"thats it, kitten. fuck yourself on my tongue. don't stop till i say so."

.

.

.

in conclusion, he gets pussydrunk so easily but refuses to acknowledge it.

[yan-randomfandom]

yandere viktor with an innocent and naive reader but with magical abilities, where the reader knows how to use simple magic like conjuring plants or controlling water... ((the reader only knows the basics of magic, since no one taught it and this magic would be the only one so far who knows how to do it, and the reader was a little scared of being in a rush or being studied like a lab rat because she has magic, but she confided her secret to Viktor...)) Why do you do that?

Y!Viktor x GN!Mage!Reader

a/n: posting this before act 2 omg, i think i need a rewatch — btw this one only has very light yandere undertones,, ..erm

🫧 ;

"Psst. Hey, want to know a secret?"

Viktor blinked. His eyes followed the moving reflection on the iridescent river. Your figure was mirrored in the water, an unreadable expression on your face.

... He looked up, alarmed. Were you talking to him? Viktor didn't even know you.

You met his amber eyes. For whatever reason, on the edge of the cliff just above the water, you folded your legs against your chest and buried half your face in your arms.

"Well?" you pushed, voice muffled.

His mouth opened, then closed. Viktor nodded wordlessly instead.

" ... Promise me you won't tell anyone."

Without a moment's hesitation, the young boy nodded again.

He watched as you stood up and jumped steadily into the river, splashing him and his mechanical boat. A low, frustrated groan escaped him as water seeped into his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," you said as he tried to wipe the water from his face. "Let me get that for you."

Suddenly, Viktor felt his weight gradually become less unpleasant—almost refreshing, even, as if the water slid across and away from his skin and clothes.

That's when he saw it.

A small blob of water, floating in the air. It moved carefully like it was fragile.

Then came another, and another. Small specks came together until it formed one single bubble.

Abruptly, it dropped in the river. Like nothing ever happened. Viktor's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Cool, right?" you grinned. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his jaw gaping. One of your hands was lifted, fingers poised in a manner of delicacy.

"You," Viktor finally spoke, stammering, his breathing ragged. "You did that? Was that... magic?"

You chuckled, settling yourself beside him. He turned to you, scooting over to make room, and met your steady gaze. “I think so. But I was serious when I said never, ever tell anyone.”

He shook his head, utterly appalled. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"I wish—"

“This is not funny,” he snarled, his demeanor shifting completely, catching you off guard. “If you’re just here to get a reaction out of me, I’d advise you and your friends to leave. Please.”

You frowned, standing up with your fists clenched. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m so sorry! And I don’t… even have friends.”

Viktor searched your face.

There's nothing to suggest a lie. He's observant, and he quietly prides himself over it, but this is one of the few cases where he genuinely starts to doubt his judgment.

"But," you sighed, turning away. "I'll leave if that's what you want. Apologies."

...

"... Wait."

— 🌱

The leaves of the seedling barely moved.

"Aw," you chuckled, dropping your arm to your side. Who knew conjuring plant powers could be so draining? "Well, I tried. Let's take a break!"

He let out a choked noise, pausing his writing. "We barely started! How is it that whenever you get to try something new and amazing, you avoid it?”

...

You didn't respond immediately.

Viktor put down his notebook, looking back at you, who was blankly staring at him.

"I guess I'm... scared?" you said, tilting your head. To his surprise, you gently grabbed his hand, running your thumb across his palm.

His face warmed. He physically couldn't say or do anything.

"You're the only one who knows about this, Vik," you muttered, your eyes fixed on his rough skin. "I sprung this on you when we were kids, which is kind of hilarious, by the way, but I had a reason. In my mind, you were the only one who would understand."

He thought so, too.

Viktor couldn’t stop himself from slipping his fingers between yours. It was a good thing you weren’t looking at him—otherwise, you might’ve seen how red his face had become.

"And you told me no one will believe me," he said, and while the memory was of you giving him a serious warning, his tone was filled with nothing but endearment.

"I still stand by that," you laughed, pulling your hand away from his, much to his disappointment. You still hadn't glance at his face. He mentally scolded himself for almost hoping you would see his expression. "Especially with our age now. They'll just think you're crazy."

"I understand," he chuckled, turning away. "About that break... you want to go to our usual?"

A smile curled on your lips. "Yes, please!"

— 💌

Viktor said he has a surprise for you.

Admittedly, you're feeling extremely anxious. He grew up to become a researcher, an inventor—facts that don’t surprise you.

As his best friend, a person able to do magic, while absolutely shitty at it, you know he sees you as someone with massive potential. Literally. No one else in Piltover or Zaun is known to do this. Maybe in a hundred years—who knows? You didn't even have a proper education.

...

Viktor cleared his throat. "I've been offered a position in the University of Piltover."

You froze. The letter in his fingers bore the university’s wax seal in the center, bold and unmistakable.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, your eyes darting between him and the letter. “Holy shit!”

Jumping over to Viktor, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. The biggest, most triumphant smile tugged at your lips. He staggered a little, but you were too wrapped up in your happiness to notice.

"Language," he laughed, hugging you back.

You snickered. "I'm so proud of you! Words can't even begin to express how happy I am for you!"

Pulling back, your hands still rested on his shoulders. Your smile relaxed ever so slightly as your eyes gazed into his softer ones.

"I knew you could do it," you exhaled.

A small pause.

Viktor had a look. Oh, shit. What’s that smirk for?

"...You're not done," you accused, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted the letter in his hand. "I have not accepted yet."

Now, your brows knitted together in utter confusion.

"... Why not—?"

"I said I won't be going unless they let me bring a plus one."

You smile faltered, denial crossing your face. He noticed it. Did he just say what you thought you heard him say?

"Are you saying...?" Your expression shifted into disbelief; you didn't quite understand his point.

"I want you to come with me," Viktor said, grabbing your hand and placing the letter in your palm. "To Piltover."

Oh, no. You didn't mean to.

The letter slipped from your hand as you panicked and pulled away.

Viktor felt overwhelmingly worried. He thought you'd be happier about the news.

Then, he looked around.

It had rained just before he decided to share the news. Some raindrops were still fresh, glistening from the downpour.

And around your figure, small droplets rose into the air. You were emotional.

"Viktor. You're not giving me to them, are you...?"

Defeated. That's how your voice sounded.

"Of course not," he hushed, pushing you onto a chair. "Never. Please calm down. Let me explain."

You obliged, sitting down. He sat beside you.

"I'm sorry," you spoke first, meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. Heck, I trust you more than anyone. The thought of going up there... it just makes me anxious."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. He turned his head. "However, I promise you, I won’t let them take you away from me. You’ll be solely under my care. But I do know someone who’s willing to help us."

Viktor. So compassionate and filled with empathy. You admired him for those very reasons, not just for his brilliance. His presence feels like a whole other world to you—someone who could help you understand your abilities. Perhaps the only chance you have to truly learn who, or what you are.

"I'll be a burden."

"No. Of course not. I want you by my side."

You hesitated. Despite your family being clueless about your ability, they were still the people you cared for. You still had a life in the undercity.

"And if I refuse...?"

Viktor took a moment to respond. The thought of leaving you hurt his heart.

"You... I believe you don't have much of a choice."

You couldn't explain why, but you found it in yourself to wholeheartedly believe him.

— 💜

zamn

critique is welcome btw

[sleepyangelkami]

INDISPOSED d.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 2.1K

DEAN WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you always seem to feel more than upset when you're sick. luckily for you, dean's always by your side when you fall ill, no matter the time.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - sick!reader, illness symptoms, flu, dizziness, aches, reader's a little emotional, eating?, crying, mention of reader's lonely past, non-sexual nudity, kinda crybaby!reader, (1) use of y/n, slightly ooc dean, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

there's seemingly a tell tale sign of when you're feeling extra poorly, and that's the feeling of water beginning to pool in your waterline.

you couldn't help the dramatics that would take over your body, much less when you find dean sitting in your bedroom, assuring you that it was alright that he'd come home early from his hunt. "you shouldn't have to leave sam alone 'cause of me." you were a sniffling mess at your desk, for two reasons, one being that you were upset and the second being that your nose was so stuffed you could hardly breathe.

"sammy's fine to figure out the rest of this one, baby." dean was sitting on your bed, girly covers and throw pillows surrounding him. "and i don't have to do anything, i'm choosing to be here." dean's voice was all low and soft, the voice he used when you were upset which was seemingly more often than you'd thought.

you heard him shuffle across the room to where you sat on a brown, tattered chair.

he crouched down so he was eye level with you. "come on, sweetheart, you know you're just upset 'cause you feel all sick." his hand was gently tracing your thigh, soothing you from your sniffles. "think you just need to lay down, yeah?"

you mumbled something that he didn't quite catch with a nod.

he waited momentarily but you hadn't made any decision to move. "y/n." your eyes snapped up to meet his. "come lay down."

"okay." was your sheepish response.

dean didn't often call you by your name, he cast it away with all the lovely nicknames he'd picked out for you personally. nobody was baby but his car, until he'd met you. it came so easily, that soft way of loving.

when dean had you finally beneath the blankets, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, half-comforting and half-trying to gauge your temperature.

"where are you going?" your hand reached out for his lower arm.

dean turned down to look at you, a smile softly reaching his lips. "just getting your medication, baby, i'll be back, don't worry." and this time, the kiss pressed against your forehead was purely because he felt like it.

dean was well aware of your inability to take care of yourself. now, he was in no way calling you a nuisance, he just wished you cared for yourself as much as he did. with that being said, he did always love being able to care for you, it was a way that was so different than having to take care of sam his whole life. perhaps it was because this, he wasn't obliged to do, it wasn't expected of him.

he loved taking care of you but if anything were to happen to him... he'd like to know you could take care of yourself, too.

when dean returned to the bedroom, you were passed out asleep against the sheets. the man couldn't help but stop in his tracks.

you were a chatty person, awfully bubbly at times. and dean loved that about you, listening to you babble on about something and when he didn't catch a word he'd ask you to repeat what you said, it was always funny watching as the gears turned in your head, trying to remember.

sometimes you swore you talked so much that you tuned yourself out.

dean didn't though, he listened to every word that spilled from your lips.

but you were chatty with everyone you were close to. god forbid you ever went on a road trip with he and sam.

but with him you could be quiet at times, you still got shy and nervous around him which always made him coo, there was something sweet at the fact you could be so different behind closed doors, so yourself.

and seeing you like this, your lips drew into a pout and pink staining your ill cheeks, well it was rather nice, he thought.

he hated to be so evil as he was to wake you.

"sweetheart." the mere whisper of the name as his hands came down to soothe your arms was enough to have your eyelids peeling open. "sweetheart, c'mon, you gotta take your medicine."

a half-whine fell from your lips as he sat you up against the bed, sitting too so that you could lean yourself against him. dean was suddenly aware of how much hotter your body had gotten. he hadn't been gone long, just a trip to the kitchen to get you a glass of water and the medication he needed, though it'd taken him a while to find it. he had a bad habit of leaving things in strange places and forgetting about it.

he handed you off the capsules and then the glass of water.

"how're you feeling, honey?" the back of his palm pressed against your right cheek then slightly down your top, to your chest. he was like a concerned mother. "you're really hot."

"thanks." you quipped, leaning your hot forehead against his arm and sipping the water he'd given you.

he rolled his eyes at your remark, obviously taking your sickness more seriously than you were. "'m serious, you can't have blankets."

"dean!"

"no."

"dean, 'm cold." you nuzzled yourself further into dean's warm body, a dark grey hoodie coated his form along with black sweatpants, not his usual attire.

"you're not cold." he took your face between his two hands. "you're sick." pressing a kiss against the tip of your nose. you fought the words 'sap' to come from the back of your scratchy throat. "you can have the blankets but i have to take this off, then." you felt him gently pull at the shirt you'd stolen from him, clad on your body.

"deal." you mumbled, feeling a wave of dizziness hit you.

to make matters worse, you shook your head, thinking it would rid of the dizziness.

"hey, don't do that." he steadied your head before taking the glass out from your hands and placing it on the bedside dresser.

you felt his hands on your shirt, slowly pulling it from your frame. you helped by putting your arms in he air, allowing him to pull it off your body and toss it somewhere on the ground.

"want the tv on?" you nodded your head silently as the man rose from his place on the bed, reaching the tv stand where he picked up the remote and switched it on.

aimlessly, you uttered, "my legs hurt." while sliding back under the pretty covers.

he was busy fidgeting with the buttons on the remote. he never did know how to work your tv properly. "'s just cause your sick, it'll go away, baby."

you huffed at his response, laying your head on the pillows while you pulled the blanket close to you. you were cold but it was that sickly cold where you couldn't tell if it was really a chill or perhaps you were so warm that you felt cold, which didn't make a whole pile of sense.

when dean finally climbed back into the bed, your body practically collapsed on top of him.

he laid with an arm behind his neck and the other trailing shapes across your bare back, you lay with your head on his chest, listening to the low tv along with the thumping of his heart.

"are you okay?" you mumbled, voice slick with tiredness. the sickness was weird like that, hitting you suddenly, leaving just as immediately.

dean could have cooed at you. even while you were wrapped up in blankets, sick as a small hospital, you managed to ask him if he was okay.

It was another reason why he liked taking care of you. you took care of each other. "i'm okay."

another hushed mumble. "promise?"

"i promise." he answered honestly, fingers against your skin, moving up and down your back. "get some sleep, 'kay?"

a yawn passed your lips. "okay."

they said sleep was the best medicine, that it cured everything that was curable. well, you weren't sure anyone had said it to you but you just knew that it was said.

you had to beg to differ.

by dinnertime, your temperature was running hot.

earlier was the kind of sick that you could stomach, this was the kind of sick that had you flushed against the headboard of your bed, hands running down your face as you felt your head pound against the back of your eyes.

you could hear dean walk back into the room and you felt guilt soar through your veins.

you knew you were being... difficult to say the least. but you couldn't help it, hot tears gathering at your waterline all over again.

the mattress dipped as dean nudged your arm and you looked up at him with glossy eyes before looking down at the sandwich sitting on a plate in his hands.

"know you said you're not hungry but can you try eat some f'me? 's jam." his tone was all soft and his voice was all quiet. by now, he'd turned off the tv and closed the curtains, noticing how the light had been affecting your eyes. the only light on now was the little lamp sitting on your bedside table so you could actually see your surroundings.

you nodded hesitantly and took the sandwich from him.

dean noticed things about you like nobody else. he very early on found out that you loved jam sandwiches, you loved raspberry jam but you had an awful distaste for strawberry jam so from there on, he never bought strawberry jam on the offhand occurence that you may accidentally use it without looking at the label and get your jam sandwich ruined.

you were halfway through said sandwich when you placed it back on the plate, begging to tear up.

dean immediately took notice of it, taking the plate from you. "wh's wrong, baby? too much?"

you shook your head, sniffling. even the act of shaking your head had you clutching it soon after.

dean tutted, moving your hand away so he could soothe your forehead with a kiss and a gentle movement of his thumb. "poor girl." you heard him mutter under his breath, his brows strewn together in sympathy.

looking up at him, you had those glassy eyes that made his stomach feel almost as nauseous as yours. he didn't have to ask what was troubling you for you answered, anyway, to the silent question behind his eyes. "you're so nice to me."

his heart shattered a little.

it was no supirse that you didn't grow up with much comfort surrounding you and that only got worse as you began to get older. some days, you didn't think you'd ever get the comfort that your body ached for. and then dean winchester walked in, and his one and only goal was to take care of you, was to care for you, was to love you.

so you couldn't help tearing up a little from time to time when you think about the strawberry jam he gave up just for you.

"oh, baby. you're my sweet girl." he pulled you closer to him, putting your forehead against his chest so you could lean your weight on him. "'course 'm nice to you."

he helped you sit on his lap, fully discarding the place wherever his hands could push it to.

then his hands found your body, roaming it with this gentleness yet assertion. you'd put his shirt back on a while ago and discarded the blankets, which he was thankful for. he needed to break your temperature.

you weren't due medication for another two hours and you'd taken all the painkillers you could.

right now, all he could offer was himself.

and that was enough for you.

your arms tightened around his shoulders as you sniffled, tears breaking down your cheeks with a defeated sigh. "hate bein' sick." you uttered, sadness evident in your voice.

"i know, angel, i know." he gently rocked you in his lap, not enough to make your head dizzy but enough to bring you back to the moment, to remind you he was there.

and you stayed like that for seemingly a long time, melting into one another's embrace as if it were the most entertaining thing in the world.

you pressed your flush cheek against the hoodie covering his bare shoulder. the tears eventually dried up and all that was left was your frustrated sighs and mumbles.

"'s okay, sweetheart." he pressed a final kiss to your flushed face. "it'll pass."

and he was by your side as soon as it did.

main masterlist/dean's masterlist

[itsa-me-lily]

God I love this au, it's feeding me so good today. The last one with the part about only one bedroom has me thinking about a sick reader, the gross kind of sick where you're sweaty and wheezy and snotty, and the fact that if it were anyone else Simon would be quarantining them. But because it's his spouse, he wakes up to you nasally wheezing and mouth breathing while sprawled across him, and all he can think about is when you're due for your next round of medicine and if he needs to buy more tissues.

Sometimes love comes coated in mucus, and is reciprocated with an artificial cherry taste. Also do the guinea pigs have names and what do they look like?

I'm dying. This is the first ever ask I've ever gotten (that I recall) and I'm going to pass away. Also "sometimes love comes coated in mucus, and is reciprocated with an artificial cherry taste" that is such a good line, I'm apologizing in advance if I steal it.

Also warning for content of being sick, this is based off my last bout of plague.

Also Also Here's the Masterlist

Bedsharing in general does not happen at first. (Now I want to percolate an idea about sharing the bed for the first time). You're way to use to having your own bed that sharing with someone means you're not sleeping easily and I think Simon would rather sleep with the guinea pigs in their cage than have another human being that close to him when he sleeps. (This was also not something he initially thought about when being told a spouse was to be picked)

So what's the solution? Obviously bunk beds! Kind of, sorta...okay not really but the look on Simon's face when you had suggested getting bunk beds had been entertaining. Who knew so much indignation could come through a medical mask. Really his eyebrows did so much talking.

With the dream of bunkbeds dashed, the next best solution was either two twin beds crammed into the bedroom with a bedside's worth of space between them, or a pull out couch. You managed to find a couch same day that didn't terribly clash with the artwork you have yet to hang up.

You two actually manage to come up with a schedule for who slept where. Obviously you'd get the bed when Simon was deployed, made no sense for you not to. And when he was home the bed was all his unless he was having a night that he knew he wasn't going to trust a deadbolt to keep monsters at bay. Then he made himself comfortable, TV playing low until he managed a few hours in the early morning before you try to leave a silently as you can for work.

(Funny thing, even if you aren't sharing a bed traditionally, you both most certainly have your own sides, along with bed stands that told two different stories)

The first time you get sick is when Simon is technically deployed. Well actually, the day he returns is the day you spike a 101.8 fever and work forces you to go home so you don't become a walking petri dish and expose the college kids that come into your office.

Once you're home you appease the little beasts demanding some sort of vegetal boon, change into the rattiest clothes you have, and then huddle under a staggering amount of blankets that have made their home on your bed. (Simon may have side eyed them when you first set them out, but you've seen the mountain he creates under them, you knew the magic of weighted blankets)

Sleep isn't peaceful, you hadn't broken out the Nyquil quite yet, but you do manage to drift off for a few hours. And then the coughing starts. It's the kind that's a bitch to deal with, dry and pushing your ribs to the limit with how often they can expand and contract. By the time Simon comes home you've steamed yourself twice, taken only a smidge over the recommended amount of cough suppressant, and slathered yourself with Vic's Vaporub. All in all, you were properly miserable.

You're in the kitchen, staring into the abyss of your over-steeping tea as if it will magically make you feel better if you only sell your soul to it, really a tempting offer, when the wheeks of the pigs announce that another person they know has arrived.

If Simon wasn't clued in that something was off at seeing you home before the end of your work day, the pungent smell of menthol would have been a dead give away. You're still communing with your tea when he knocks against the wall, pulling you out of the deal for your soul to meet him with bleary eyes and a flushed face.

You croak out a greeting that makes Simon wince in sympathy, though that's about all he really does. Simon doesn't really do pleasantries and doting probably wouldn't be the first word people use to describe him, so with your brain function reduced by an overflow of mucus and fever, the kitchen was rather silent.

Until you started coughing, face buried into the crook of your elbow to try to keep your contagion to a minimum and back bowing to nearly double you over. That drives Simon to action, coming to try to keep you up incase you collapse, grabbing your free arm.

When you feel him touch you, you try to pull away, shaking your head and finally finishing your bout, gasping a little as you try to daunting task of breathing and speaking to dissuade him from getting close lest he catches what you have. He clearly wasn't persuaded, hands clenching and unclenching like he simply wanted to pick you up and put you...somewhere.

How exactly Simon Riley would take care of you, he didn't know but he'd be damned sure to at least try. He'd been left to fend for himself while sick before and he didn't like the idea of you going through that. When it was clear that he wasn't going to just leave you to your suffering you relented enough to try to reach a compromise; if he'd be alright watching the pigs while you were sick that would be more useful than a nursemaid while you camped out on the couch.

That...that was something Simon could do. He'd watched how you took care of the boys, surely this was something he could do. And then his brain caught up to the rest of what you had said. There was no way he was going to let you sleep on some pull out couch, as nice as it was. Being Sick meant sleeping in a proper bed, on a mattress that didn't spend it's days folded up.

You tried to insist it was alright but he wouldn't listen to a word of it. Instead he practically herded you back to the bedroom, ignoring your murmurs of your abandoned hot beverage. He didn't lift you to plop you onto the bed itself but it was a near thing. He had to bribe you with the promise of a proper cup of tea for you to even lay your head on your pillow, eyes already heavy with the need for sleep. By the time he had actually made a cup you were out for the count, nasally mucus filled snores letting him know you hadn't perished in the time it took him.

The next few days were filled with mucus, the attempted escape of your lungs via coughing fits, and more Vics than the human body should be exposed to. And the entire time you insisted that you could fend for yourself. Simon didn't push to play nurse, but your tissues never ran out, a dose of medication was always ready on your bedside, and a warm cup of tea stood waiting for you after each nap, like a solider committed to his guard.

Edit;

I'm going to make a separate post for the guinea pigs, because honestly I'm torn on if they're based on my guinea pigs I used to have, or guinea pigs I'd want to have in the future

[piastrisun]

unexpected confession.

pairings: lando norris + fem reader.

summary: as the elevator stalls, so does your composure. lando’s sudden, earnest words turn the trapped moment into a delicate dance between panic and possibility.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 1k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: lando’s birthday!!! a bit short but i hope y’all like it. <3 no use of y/n or any names at all.

you and lando are standing in the elevator, the air uncomfortably still, and the space around you both feels too small. the elevator’s hum seems louder now, echoing in the confined space. the flickering light above does little to calm the rising tension between you two, as your body instinctively shifts to press against the corner.

you’ve never thought much about how close you are to each other—how every small movement feels amplified in this moment. it's as if your very proximity makes the silence heavier. your mind races, trying to distract itself from the fact that you're alone in an elevator, stuck for what feels like forever. it should be mundane, but with lando here, everything suddenly feels too intense.

and then, he breaks the stillness, his voice barely above a whisper but loud enough to shake you out of your thoughts. "i don’t want to die without telling you this."

your heart skips a beat, and a chill runs down your spine. the sudden panic floods you, and you whip your head to face him, your eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. “what?! what are you talking about? are we—are we dying?”

his face goes pale as he stammers, looking more flustered than you've ever seen him. his hands hover over the elevator buttons as though he can fix the situation with the press of a few keys. “no! no, of course not… well, i mean, i don’t think so. but listen, it’s important.” he avoids your gaze, the nervous energy practically crackling between you.

you let out a shaky, almost panicked laugh, trying to control the rapid beat of your heart. “lando, this is not the time for dramatic confessions! you’re freaking me out!”

he shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dart around the elevator. you can tell he’s struggling to keep it together, his body stiff with the weight of whatever he's about to say. “i love you. i always have. and i’m sorry for not saying it sooner.”

you freeze, your body going rigid. the words land with such weight that you can’t process them fast enough. your jaw falls open, and your mouth feels dry as you blink a few times, as if trying to clear the fog in your brain. "wait, what? you love me? you’ve… always loved me?" you can’t quite wrap your mind around it, your voice coming out in a whisper, disbelief taking over. your hands tremble, and your heart is pounding so hard you swear he can hear it. "are you—are you serious right now? do you think we’re going to die in this elevator?"

“no! no, i don’t think we’re dying! i mean, not right now.” lando sighs dramatically, dropping his shoulders in exasperation as he leans back against the elevator wall, seemingly giving up on fixing anything. “but… look, i just needed to say it, okay? i didn’t want to leave with it unsaid. so, if we do die, well… at least you know.”

his words hang in the air like a strange confession, one that doesn't quite make sense given the circumstances. but even then, a knot of warmth stirs in your chest, a strange mix of emotions you’re not ready to confront.

you step back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as if trying to shield yourself from what’s happening. you narrow your eyes at him, your lips curling into a teasing frown. “so, this is your plan? we get stuck in an elevator for five minutes and suddenly you’ve decided to unload your feelings?”

he groans, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. he slumps against the wall, letting out a breath like he's trying to deflate from the awkwardness. “this wasn’t exactly the moment i planned, okay? but i’ve been holding it in for years, and if you do kill me with that glare, at least i’ll go knowing i said it.”

you bite back a smile, your eyes narrowing in mock judgment. you raise an eyebrow as you lean toward him. “glare? i’m just trying to process this. you’ve have fancied me all this time, and you never said anything?”

his shoulders tense, and he rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as if searching for some way to escape. “i wasn’t sure if you felt the same. i thought maybe you’d think i was, i don’t know, creepy or something.” his voice cracks slightly, a nervous chuckle escaping him. he looks down at his shoes, his embarrassment clear. “but now here we are. stuck in this tiny box together, one awkward cough away from the end of our lives…”

you can’t help but laugh, the sound light and a little shaky as you step forward, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “well, lucky for you, i don’t think you’re creepy. and maybe… just maybe… i’ve had a few feelings too.”

his eyes widen, his mouth slightly agape, disbelief written all over his face. his voice falters for a moment, but it’s full of hope. “wait, what?!”

you laugh softly, the playful edge to your voice not masking the sudden warmth in your chest. "you think i’m just going to throw myself at you after you drop that bomb? i’m not that easy, lando."

his eyes light up, his expression shifting from surprise to sheer delight. he takes a step closer, his grin impossibly wide as he leans in, his voice filled with teasing excitement. “oh, really? because if we do get stuck here a little longer, i can think of a few ways to pass the time…” his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, mischievous and full of playful challenge.

you roll your eyes dramatically, trying to maintain some semblance of control over your emotions, but the smile you can’t hide betrays you. "you’re unbelievable."

lando shrugs, his grin growing even wider as he leans back, arms crossing in mock defense. his eyes dance with a mix of humor and genuine affection. "i do try."

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part6

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: pregnancy symptoms

previous - next

You're sure it’s all coming to an end.

This is how things will wrap up. You didn’t expect to experience these days like this. You hoped for a nice pregnancy, one full of flowers—no, not flowers, they wouldn’t do. You’d imagined a cozy, cushioned, perfectly comfortable pregnancy.

You were sure you could handle anything that came your way. There was nothing you couldn’t accomplish. At least, that’s what you believed.

But today, you’re convinced the world is ending.

Everything, everyone feels like an enemy. It’s not that you think the world revolves around you, but you’re pretty certain that everything in it holds a grudge against you.

It’s the moment where your life seems to be unraveling, every piece of familiarity breaking apart. As if every sense you have has turned against you, you stand in a moment that should be ordinary, but instead, it feels as though the universe has designed a unique form of torment just for you: an assault by smells.

At first, it starts small. A faint, floral scent wafts in on a gentle breeze. You take a breath and recoil—suddenly aware that every scent you’d barely noticed before has escalated to the level of catastrophe. And this assault feels custom-made for you.

It’s not just annoying; it’s tragic. The life-wrecking kind. As if the whole world conspired to make you sense every odor within a fifty-kilometer radius. Maybe you’re exaggerating, but with good reason. Even the air itself feels like it’s joined a scheme to turn your life into a living hell.

“Is this really how it’s going to end?” you wonder, brows knit in frustration and disbelief. “Not with some grand, heroic moment, but because of the lovely scents of spring flowers and who knows what else?”

You tug the collar of your shirt over your nose, hoping for some relief, but it’s no use. The smell is still there, ruthless and unavoidable. Every little thing—each faint whiff of grass, distant barbecue smoke, even that fresh ocean breeze—seems to assault you from every angle.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to step outside again. Ever. What if this is your reality now? The girl who can’t even stand a pleasant spring breeze.

Before going to bed, you’d hoped today would be a good day. With the cooler weather, you figured you’d finally be able to sit on the balcony and enjoy the day. But the moment you woke up, you knew that was never going to happen.

You didn’t wake up normally. It was more like waking up in a storm. Your hair a tangled mess, all those stupid smells already churning your stomach. For a moment—a brief, ridiculous moment—you thought the smell was coming from you, and you ran for a long shower, hoping to wash off whatever it was that haunted you. But even in the shower, every scent seemed so overpowering—you honestly thought you might die right there.

You barely remember dressing and making it out of your room. You didn’t even have time to dry your hair. Even though the warmth of the air was no real threat, you normally liked taking time to do your hair. But today, you hated it. Just like you hated everything and everyone else.

Your parents had already left for work, but the lingering scent of their perfume filled the house. Not like a fading scent, either, more like they’d moved in. They might as well have been living with you now…

Just one more thing to hate.

And the worst part? Even if you threw up, the nausea wouldn’t subside. It was killing you from the inside, torturing you. Almost as if it were enjoying watching you suffer.

Of course, you hated that, too—classic.

You can’t deny that stepping out onto the balcony brought a bit of relief. The only smell that didn’t bother you was the salty sea breeze. But even if the sea and salt provided some comfort, those damn blades of grass. The green monsters.

You hated every single one of them—every blade of grass on the planet.

This world reeked. You definitely needed to move to a different planet.

Your phone lights up with notifications, and you glance at it, rolling your eyes at the useless updates. You hate the sound they make, but you’re too lazy to turn off the notifications.

The first video on Instagram has you widening your eyes.

You really might die.

Right on the screen are juicy cherries and strawberries. Right there, in front of you. You want to lean in and take a bite. Just seeing them makes it feel as if their scent is reaching you, and for once, you don’t hate it. For a fleeting moment, you think the world might be a good place again.

It doesn’t take long before you’re in the kitchen, searching every possible spot for fruit. You scour the fridge, praying there’s just one, but there’s nothing.

If you don’t eat a cherry or a strawberry right now, you know you won’t make it. And the fruits staring back at you from your phone screen aren’t helping.

Your pregnancy has been…unique. You’ve turned against the things you once loved. You used to be a banana fanatic, but now even seeing one makes you queasy. The smell alone is enough to make you throw up. You could catch the scent of a banana even from the other side of an open field.

Thank goodness your family finally understood and stopped buying them. You didn’t want to see or smell them.

Chocolate was a different story. You used to love dark chocolate, but now it was a love-hate relationship. Some days, the smell was unbearable, and others, you felt like you couldn’t get out of bed without it. Milk chocolate was fine. A classic. You always loved it. But white chocolate…that was your sworn enemy. You hated the greasy feel it left in your mouth; it didn’t even taste like real chocolate.

Disheartened by the lack of cherries or strawberries in the house, you leaned against the counter, your gaze fixed on the screen. They looked so inviting. Juicy, fresh, bright red—they were calling your name. They were crying out for you. They wanted you.

You couldn’t hold back—

You tried to calm yourself. You could ask your family to pick some up on their way home. But waiting until evening felt impossible. It wasn’t just that you needed the fruits; the fruits needed you.

Besides—it wasn’t you, it was the baby. Right?

Without thinking twice, you dialed JJ’s number. You didn’t have many friends. JJ wasn’t really a friend either, but they knew you were pregnant. And since they’d brought you ice cream the other day, you thought maybe—just maybe—they’d do this too.

If they didn’t, well, you’d just hate them.

They whined at first, like a baby. And you hated them for that. You’d asked politely. In your way, but still polite. But the call ended in a minor argument, and you hung up on them.

Yet about twenty minutes later, as you lounged on the balcony watching a video, you noticed a blonde figure approaching your house from afar, a smile creeping onto your lips.

You still hated him. But if there were strawberries or cherries in that bag he were carrying—well, let’s be honest, you’d still hate him, but just a little bit less.

“Don’t get too excited,” JJ said, climbing up the steps to your porch with a cardboard bag in hand. You quickly closed your laptop and nudged it aside.

You could’ve hugged him, but that would’ve been too much. And unnecessary.

As you got up and walked over, he looked at you with a smug grin. His hair was tousled from the wind. He looked a bit…tired, but still the same, with that empty look in his eyes—the one that always made him seem a bit clueless.

As you pulled the bag toward you and peeked inside, your eyes sparkled at the sight.

He’d gotten you the fruits you wanted. He practically glowed before you. You could almost hear them calling, “Mommy!” or “Eat us!”

As you gazed at the berries, you heard JJ muttering, “It’s for the baby, not you. And do you have any idea how expensive these were? The guy ripped me off! Told me they were organic and pesticide-free—these better taste good, or I’m going back to give him a taste of my punch.”

Honestly, you couldn’t care less about what he were saying. Even if you wanted to listen, your eyes and mind kept drifting to the fruit. JJ, noticing this, just smiled as you slipped a strawberry from the bag.

Before you could even get the strawberry to your mouth, JJ’s hand shot out, grabbing yours. You turned a questioning look on him, but he was staring at you in horror.

“Don’t eat that, dude! Are you crazy?” he practically shouted.

“Let me eat it! What is wrong with you?” You tried to pull your hand away, but JJ let the bag drop to the floor, using his free hand to pry the strawberry from yours.

“Wash it first, will you? You’ll make yourself sick.” You made another grab for the berry, but he jerked back, hiding it behind him. Was he playing some kind of sick game? You could just about strangle him.

When he still wouldn’t give it up, you lunged for the bag on the floor, but JJ was faster, snatching it up and holding it out of reach. “You’re acting like you wash every berry you eat! Give it here; one berry won’t hurt me.”

JJ only smirked, raising the strawberry to his own mouth. You stared in disbelief, seriously considering murder as he bit into your strawberry. He had a special way of making even a good deed annoying.

You watched as he took a bite, juice dribbling down his chin. That should have been you. That strawberry was yours.

“Look, I get it, you think I’m crazy. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one eating it, and I’m definitely not pregnant, so if anyone’s getting sick, it’s just me, not some baby. Now, once you wash these, I won’t say a word,” he said with a sarcastic eye-roll.

Did he… did he just… gently parent you?

While he finished the rest of the strawberry, he nodded toward the kitchen. You took a deep breath, reluctantly heading inside, leaving the door open behind you. You heard JJ following, his footsteps close behind, and ducked into the kitchen as quickly as possible.

He let out a low whistle, glancing around at the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here. Get me a bowl. I don’t trust you with that, either.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed a big bowl from the cabinet, handing it to him. He accepted it with a smug grin, eyes fixed on you. “Your hair’s wet.”

Was he stupid, or just messing with you?

“Yeah, and?” Did he think you didn’t know? You’d left it wet on purpose. Besides, drying it would’ve taken extra effort.

Setting the paper bag on the counter, JJ gave you another pointed look. “Idiot.”

Was it even possible to spend time with JJ and not roll your eyes?

Absolutely not.

That guy had a sixth sense for irritating you. So what if your hair was wet? It wasn’t the end of the world.

You hopped up onto the kitchen island, quietly watching as JJ washed the berries with exaggerated care. His back was to you.

As annoying as he was, you knew you probably owed him a thank you for going out of his way like this. Not many people would’ve done it, and if you’d asked anyone else, they would’ve asked too many questions. And then, somehow, everyone would know.

When JJ finally came over with the bowl of freshly rinsed fruit, a draft blew in from outside, bringing a horrible smell with it.. It was as if the air itself was rotting.

“What is that smell?” JJ looked around, half-thinking maybe it was him.

“What smell?” He was giving you a look, probably convinced you were imagining things. He’d just showered, put on fresh clothes, so he was certain it wasn’t him.

Watching you pinch your nose, JJ started sniffing around. You looked ready to bolt, but you clutched that bowl of strawberries like your life depended on it. Wherever you were going, they were coming with you.

“It reeks, JJ! Don’t you smell it?” You took your hand from your nose just long enough to give his a quick flick, making him wince. You hadn’t even hit him that hard.

“Are you crazy? There’s no smell—it’s the air freshener. You’re seriously losing it.” Your eyes widened as you realized where the stench was coming from. No way were you staying here a minute longer.

That air freshener—that evil little device—was getting tossed tonight. The second your parents got home. You weren’t about to suffer with that scent for another second.

You leapt down from the counter, sidestepping JJ and covering your nose as you rushed for the door. “Not going to die in there today.”

As you darted outside, you could hear him laughing behind you, and your brows furrowed. Was he actually finding this funny?

“Dying? Seriously? It’s just an air freshener—it’s not like it’ll kill you!”

Oh, it was going to meet its end in his mouth if he kept this up.

You dropped into the big armchair on the veranda, finally popping a strawberry into your mouth.

The taste was indescribable. Pure sweetness and flavor exploded as soon as you bit down, almost overwhelming. You actually closed your eyes, a satisfied sigh escaping you as you sank back, like you’d just tasted a little slice of paradise.

“You good?”

You opened your eyes, finding JJ grinning at you as he sat down in the chair next to yours. You smiled back, nodding.

“Thanks,” you said, popping another strawberry in, and JJ’s smile widened as he nodded, murmuring, “You’re welcome.”

Not going to lie, you wanted to keep every last one for yourself. But since he’d gotten them for you, it felt wrong not to share. You held the bowl toward him, and he took a cherry, tossing it in his mouth.

“You know what just hit me?” JJ looking at you with a glint in his eye as he munched on the cherry. You set the bowl between you on the armrest, curling up in the seat comfortably. “The air out here stinks.”

While JJ just looked at you, his brows raised. He paused for a moment, sniffed the air, and then shook his head. “Honestly—not trying to mess with you, even if I do enjoy annoying you. But there really is nothing. It doesn’t smell like anything.”

He looked at you seriously as he leaned back and took a bite of a strawberry.

Even though you stared at him like he was an alien, he just kept looking at you. You searched his face for some sign of judgment or that classic “you’re crazy” look, but nothing. Just seriousness.

“I hate these pregnancy symptoms. They ruin everything.” You leaned back, refusing to let go of the bowl. But when you heard sounds beside you, you looked up.

You watched as JJ pulled his phone from his pocket, and you popped a cherry in your mouth. Just as you thought he was bored with you and about to ignore you, you heard him start reading: “It says here: Eat smart. Leave your windows open. Sniff the good stuff. Distract your nose. Chew on a piece of gum or suck on a hard candy…blah blah blah. Show me the conclusion here—yep; Unfortunately, there’s no way to train your nose not to be super sensitive while your hormones are surging. This is one of those mom-to-be experiences you’ll have to wait out until the later months.” With a deep sigh, he tossed the phone aside.

Did he just… no. You weren’t even going to think about that. Not now, not ever. He actually just… no. Stop.

Eat a strawberry. Yes. Strawberry.

“To summarize, that’s all nonsense. I’m sure there’s a fix. Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath, shoved a couple more strawberries into your mouth, and nodded. You weren’t going to stress about it. Of course, it would go away.

“Calm down, Strawberry Monster. They’re all yours.”

Feeling an odd pang, you looked down at your hand. Slowly, you put an untouched strawberry back in the bowl, sitting up and chewing the berries in your mouth as you brought a hand to cover it. JJ was watching you with that—idiotic expression. He really needed to stop looking at you like that.

You just… felt weird. In a way you’d never felt around him. Almost like—like… embarrassment.

You hated it. You hated this feeling. Who did JJ Maybank think he was to make you—feel embarrassed?

He… he couldn’t. It didn’t even make sense to feel that way. You didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Just—ugh.

“What did you do today?”

What did you just say? No, you didn’t. You didn’t actually ask him about his day, right? This was just a dream. Yes, a daydream. That’s all.

JJ looked at you in surprise, like you’d thrown him off, and you hated yourself for that moment of panic. Was there never a time you could actually think clearly?

Out of all the ways to switch the subject, out of all the things you could tease him about, you asked him about his day? Like you were close? Like friends who ask each other how their days went?

Why don’t you send a good morning text while you’re at it? You’re such an idiot.

JJ glanced at you in shock, fidgeting with his hands as he pursed his lips. He pulled his hand away from the bowl and set it in his lap, looking away thoughtfully. Then he turned back to you.

“Stayed home,” he said, lifting his hand to scratch his neck. Things had suddenly gotten so awkward. Had either of you ever asked this kind of casual question before? “Well, my dad’s place. I left the house this morning. Surfed for a bit; the weather’s getting colder. Feels like the last few days of the season. You should try it—before it’s too late, I mean. Took a shower, stopped by John B’s place. Was there most of the day. Then you called.”

Besides the strange awkwardness of the question itself, you listened carefully, actually a little surprised he answered. You expected him to tease you for it.

You nodded to show you were paying attention. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. John B and his other idiot friends—did they see that you’d called? Did they talk about you? Did they know you were pregnant?

No. He would’ve told you if they did. You didn’t want to admit it, but you trusted him. He wouldn’t tell.

“You said’ JJ, please, please bring me strawberries. I’m begging you.’ And, because I’m a hero, I immediately grabbed the strawberries—” JJ barely managed to shield himself as a pillow you tossed at him hit him square in the face, and he let out a pained groan as you laughed.

You hadn’t begged him. He was exaggerating, as usual. You didn’t.

“You’re rude.” JJ took the pillow and set it in his lap, grabbing a cherry and biting into it. “You’re liar.” You chuckled as juice from the cherry ran down his white shirt. “And an idiot.”

As he looked at his shirt in dismay, he tossed the rest of the cherry in his mouth. “Oh, shit.”

As you both sat in silence, you handed him a napkin from the table, but there was no saving that cherry-stained shirt. It was a goner. A small part of you felt guilty, knowing it was sort of your fault. Hormones were a nightmare. Getting upset over a shirt was stupid. But you felt bad anyway.

“Want me to lend you a shirt?” You didn’t really care what he said. You were going to grab one anyway. You just asked to make him feel like he’d made the decision. He was still grumbling as you stood up. You grabbed a strawberry as you turned to go. You could hear him calling after you, but you didn’t look back.

“It’s really not necessary. Hey!” Whatever he said, it didn’t matter. Your hormones were all over the place, and you’d rather just give him a shirt than obsess over that stain for days.

In your room, you stopped to look through your closet, pausing when you saw certain shirts. It felt like the universe was playing a joke on you. There was Rafe’s shirt. And not just his—the one JJ had given you on that day at the beach was in there too.

Caught up in the memories, you took a deep breath. Without a second thought, you grabbed Rafe’s shirt and shoved it to the back of the closet. He didn’t belong in your life anymore. He’d chosen that, and you’d accepted it.

You didn’t want to see him. You’d gone out of your way to avoid certain places just because you knew he might be there. You weren’t sure if you were more scared of bursting into tears or slapping him if you saw him. You just didn’t want to see him.

You were afraid of people noticing your stomach. It was barely showing, still small enough that no one else would see, but you knew it was there. And you didn’t want anyone else to know. You were scared. You weren’t ready to tell anyone, so you kept to yourself.

You stayed home, knowing no one could see you here. But lying around all day had gotten boring. Your chest ached with growth, and your back was screaming. You needed something to distract you, anything to focus on. But instead, you let your fear keep you stuck here. And you couldn’t stand it.

Thinking of JJ waiting for you downstairs, you pulled yourself together and glanced at your closet. You could give him his shirt, but—your hand went to your own white T-shirt instead. For reasons you didn’t quite understand, you chose that over JJ’s sky-blue, detailed tee.

Shutting the closet, you pushed memories away, focusing on what lay ahead. Your future. Your small family. You and your tiny baby.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t get hung up on the past.

Straightening the shirt in your hands, you stepped out onto the veranda. JJ was out there, taking in the massive front lawn. Probably imagining he could play golf on it—it was that big. His attention turned to you as you came outside, his gaze settling on the shirt in your hands. Realizing you were about to make him wear it, he took a deep breath as he watched you settle into the big chair beside him.

When you handed him the shirt, there was a quiet understanding between you. Without a word, he took it, stood up, and, without hesitation, took off his own shirt.

So—he was undressing in front of you.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen a guy shirtless before, but it still felt...weird. You’d seen him like this hundreds of times—hanging out on the beach, at parties, surfing, or just swimming with you.

But this felt different. He wasn’t doing it for fun or the beach. He was changing clothes. And you felt like some creep, like you were spying on him.

You couldn’t remember ever looking at him this closely. His skin was smooth like porcelain, and he looked like he’d been drawn to perfection. But his shoulders were the most noticeable feature. His V-line was just barely visible above his low-riding short—

You were startled out of it when his shirt smacked into your face. “Stop staring, creep.” JJ chuckled as he put on the shirt you gave him.

You hated him for that. But, honestly, you deserved it. You’d been staring. And you hated that even more.

You knew JJ would keep teasing you, as always. Soon enough, he got a call from John B about something “urgent” and said he had to go. You didn’t stop him.

The rest of the day, you ate all the strawberries and cherries JJ had brought over. The day was so dull you thought you might pass out from boredom. You even tried to sleep just to pass the time.

Hours later, you were stretched out on the couch, arm draped over your forehead, letting out a deep sigh. You’d tossed the automatic air freshener out in the yard earlier, so the house finally smelled right.

The door opened, and you didn’t need to guess who it was—it could only be your parents. Your mom set her bag by the door and approached you with that concerned “mom look.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted with a soft smile. Too exhausted from battling weird smells all day, you barely opened your eyes. As her footsteps came closer, she sat beside you, stroking your hair.

She’d finally come to terms with the fact that you were keeping this baby. She was being kinder, warmer to you, and you were grateful for it. With your hormones already wreaking havoc, you couldn’t handle your family being harsh on you. And, honestly, you couldn’t blame them. If your own daughter had gotten pregnant, you’d probably react the same way. “How was your day?”

Turning to face her, you let out another dramatic sigh. Your mom was the only person you could let yourself be a little dramatic around. She’d even started indulging your mood swings. “It was awful. The air...smelled wrong. Like I was breathing in something sour and flowery at the same time. I wanted some fresh air, but everything outside felt too much. The neighbors’ lawns smelled like they were on fire. I even threw out that air freshener because it was practically a health hazard!”

Your dad, standing by the door listening to the conversation, exchanged a knowing look with your mom. That silent parent communication—they didn’t need words to be on the same page. They probably chalked it all up to pregnancy hormones. But to you, the world really did feel like a sensory assault.

He came over and sat on the edge of the couch, giving you that serious look he used when he really wanted to listen.

When he gently said your name, it caught your attention. Sitting up a bit, you looked over at him, and he took a deep breath. He seemed ready for a serious talk, but your mom beat him to it. “Have you...thought about taking a tour of the island, love? Maybe it’d do you some good.” You shook your head, rejecting the idea right away.

Not anytime soon, anyway.

You’d barely managed to go to the hospital, and only on the condition that it was on the mainland. The last thing you wanted was for people on the island to find out you were pregnant. The thought of anyone gossiping about you made your stomach churn, so no. You weren’t doing it.

“Couldn’t you just try?” Your mom’s voice softened. She knew what was going on, understood how you were feeling, but it bothered her to see you isolating yourself when your bump wasn’t even showing yet.

It hurt her to see you wearing yourself down like this. She already felt like she’d failed as a mom for not protecting you, and seeing you holed up inside just twisted the knife.

“I don’t want to. I’m...happy here at home. I’m not going outside.”

Your parents weren’t oblivious. They knew exactly what was going on. They shared another look, and your mom let out a deep breath, still stroking your hair.

Your dad, sensing he should step in, spoke calmly, saying your name again. He stood and leaned against the table in front of you. “Your mom and I...we know this is a tough time for you.” He glanced at your mom, who nodded, eyes full of tender concern. “We don’t want you feeling trapped.”

His words didn’t quite make sense. It was like he was speaking another language, and as you failed to understand his point, your mom straightened up and explained, “What your dad means is…” You sat up, looking between them both. “If staying here is too hard, we’re open to other options. Maybe somewhere quieter, where people don’t know you.”

You blinked, feeling a spark of surprise and maybe a little hope. Were you hearing this right? “You mean...move?”

A place where no one would judge you, where you could tell people you were pregnant without a second thought?

And they’d do this, just for you?

Your dad nodded, his voice steady and reassuring, his face calm with a soft smile. “If it’d make you feel better. Yes.”

Your mom smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, her face lighting up. She didn’t want to see her daughter feeling trapped. She’d rather you be happy somewhere else than miserable here. “We could find you a place. And even though your dad and I might not be able to leave because of his work, I could come see you whenever you needed, love.”

Watching the warm look they shared, a tangle of emotions filled you. The idea of changing things for something better felt comforting. You knew your parents had their work, friends, and lives here—roots in this town. But even so, they were willing to shift everything if it meant you could have a fresh start.

But then the reality of it hit you. Your dad’s work was here; your mom had built a life in this town. They couldn’t always be there. You’d have to face some things alone.

You pushed that thought aside and looked back at your dad. His face held that unwavering, supportive expression you’d grown up with. “If a new start is what you want, we’ll find a way. It could be short-term or long-term, whatever you need.”

Your mom reached out, holding your hand, her eyes full of encouragement. She only wanted what was best for you. They could find you a home and make sure you had everything you needed. “We want you to know you’re not alone, love. We may have made mistakes at first, but we’re here now, ready to support you however we can. We’ll be right here.”

You nodded, moved by the weight of their support. Your heart felt like it would break from gratitude. You almost wanted to cry right there. You felt like you could hug them forever. Moving to a place where no one knew your life, away from judgment and rumors, felt...right—a fresh start for you and the baby.

But as you imagined this new life, you realized that, even with their support, you’d be walking this road mostly on your own. They wouldn’t always be there. You’d told yourself you could do this alone, but the thought of being without them was still daunting. What if you needed them?

“Thank you… to both of you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. There weren’t enough words to fully express your thanks for their decision to stand by your side. “I’ll think about it. I really will…”

Your dad reaches out to take your hand, giving you that reassuring smile. With your mom and dad standing behind you, you feel a strength you haven’t felt in a long time. “Whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”

Your mom nods, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “And if you change your mind, we’ll start packing those boxes,” she whispers, giving you a little wink, trying to bring a smile to your face. And for the first time in days, you find yourself truly looking at the future with a real sense of hope. This was real…

[korrasera]

Like I said, this is a good example. When you're arrogant you tend to think you know everything despite being uninformed about the topic you're talking about. People who are like this also tend to either react really poorly or retreat into their talking points when called on it.

As an example, aside from the fact that Israel isn't a vassal state just being obvious on its face, you can also look at that talking point up there about Biden sending smaller amounts to bypass Congress, which is just straight up not what happened.

It's because people like the above don't understand what the congressional bypass is or how it works.

The US sends aid to Israel every year. Period. We've done it since the country was founded. The power to send that aid, in the form of military sales, is invested in the office of the US president. Congress has a 15 day period to review such sales before they go through. If Congress wants to block the sale, they can pass a joint resolution to do so, but no Congress ever has.

In the case of what Biden did, he didn't choose smaller amounts to bypass Congress, he used a waiver that's also part of his powers to send aid in situations where it's deemed a special case, something Biden did to provide aid to both Israel and Ukraine. If he'd sent smaller amounts of aid he wouldn't have needed the waiver at all because Congress wouldn't even get a chance to review it.

So, as you can see:

These arguments try to convince you of is that Biden is some sort of genocidal cowboy that's bypassing the checks and balances meant to keep deals like this from moving forward. That's not just propaganda, it's not just false, it also demonstrates that the person making the argument doesn't know anything they're talking about.

Also, this aid is the aid that was delayed, by years, by Biden, as a political poker chip.

Oh, sorry Bibi, we approved the aid but you know it's just going to take forever and also why don't you listen to all of the military advisors we sent over telling you that you should stay the hell out of Gaza?

As an example, the last time that I know of where the US did something even remotely like this was when Reagan banned the sale of cluster munitions to Israel because the Israeli government had been using them to strike civilian targets. And apparently even Reagan had a limit.

Is the US complicit in Israel's genocide? Absolutely. Unfortunately, it's just part of being an American. We've been fighting constantly to tear out the authoritarian warmongering parts of our society and this is as far as we've gotten.

Is the US a fascist genocidal state? No, not literally and not figuratively. We are very much a people working to build a better tomorrow, built on unthinkable bloodshed and crimes against humanity.

We have not yet won that fight, but it is absolutely going in our direction, and the work the Biden administration has put in to oppose Netanyahu's government is a sign that it's gotten better. His administration is the first one that's taken meaningful steps to rehabilitate our foreign policy towards Israel.

It really sucks that all of that progress is going to be lost when Trump takes power, but we've been knocked down by setbacks before. We're not done fighting.

Don't listen to propaganda. Don't let people tell you it's hopeless. They're just scared and looking for you to be scared with them.

Be brave instead. Fight.

We tried to warn you, and you wouldn’t listen to us over the sound of your own self-righteousness. You must be so proud of yourselves.

[aventurineswife]

(Original Idea)

@smokess

It’s been a few weeks since you first arrived in the Devildom. You’ve already made your way through a few of the rougher patches: learning the magic laws, getting used to demon food, and navigating the maze that is the House of Lamentation. But there are still moments when things catch you completely off guard, and today happens to be one of them.

You’ve just been called to the dining room for breakfast, but as you walk in, your thoughts are still buzzing from yesterday’s events. You’re trying to put together how you ended up in this bizarre world full of demons with their own customs, traditions, and... strange ways of doing things.

As you sit down, the brothers—Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmo, and Beel—are already seated, along with Diavolo and Barbatos, who were visiting from the palace. The atmosphere is relaxed, almost too relaxed. They’re chatting, mostly about the latest human technology (Mammon is in a heated debate with Levi over the newest video game release) and general happenings in the Devildom.

But then, as you reach for your plate, your body betrays you.

You start sneezing, repeatedly. It’s not that unusual for you—back on Earth, you’ve had bad allergies before, especially in the spring. But here? You didn’t realize that it was possible for pollen from another dimension to mess with your system.

"Huh, bless you, I suppose." Lucifer comments, his tone a bit dry. He raises an eyebrow as you snatch a napkin and try to muffle another series of sneezes.

"Are you okay?" Beel asks, his voice sincere, though it’s impossible to ignore that he's already eyeing the plate of food in front of you, the steam rising from it. He’s always hungry, always concerned about food, and while you’re trying to focus on the allergy attack, his concern doesn’t help.

"I-I think it’s just my allergies," you manage to choke out between sneezes, your hand scrambling to find something to wipe your nose with.

Barbatos, ever the composed butler, immediately gets up and makes his way over to you with a tray of what looks like...some kind of odd, green liquid in a cup.

"Please drink this, MC. It should help soothe your reaction. We have a lot of unique flora in the Devildom, and they can affect humans in different ways."

You eye the drink with a mixture of suspicion and gratitude. At this point, you don’t really have any other choice.

“What... what’s in this?” you ask, sniffing it carefully.

“It’s a blend of herbs from the underworld,” Barbatos says with a calm smile. “Completely harmless. It should help with your symptoms. But you might want to avoid consuming anything too exotic until your body gets used to the local flora.”

You take a cautious sip. Surprisingly, the liquid doesn’t taste too bad, and within moments, your sneezing fits subside.

"Thanks, Barbatos," you say, giving him a grateful smile, but you're still mentally processing the fact that you might have to get used to demon herbs now.

“So, MC,” Diavolo begins, his voice loud and friendly as always, his large frame leaning toward you with genuine interest, “I wanted to ask, what kind of... ‘treatments’ do humans undergo back home?”

The question catches you off guard. You look around, noticing the brothers are now all paying attention—Diavolo's curiosity seems to have sparked a sudden group interest.

“Treatments?” you ask, hoping you understand the question right.

“You know, for things like... well, if you get sick, or need vaccinations?” Diavolo gestures, his enthusiasm barely contained. “It’s always interesting to hear how humans take care of themselves!”

You blink, processing the concept of vaccines. You realize that in the Devildom, none of these demons are likely familiar with things like flu shots or allergy medication... or even common human ailments like cold and flu. It’s a foreign concept here.

“Uh, well, humans get vaccinated—shots, you know, to prevent diseases? We also go to the doctor for stuff like fevers or injuries.” you say slowly, unsure if they understand what you're saying.

The room goes quiet. Then, unexpectedly, Mammon snickers.

"Wait, so ya all just get stuck with needles?" he asks, looking at you with wide, alarmed eyes. "Why would ya let someone do that to ya? Sounds like torture!"

You let out a small laugh, trying to explain it in a way they'd understand. "It’s for our protection. Without vaccines, we could get really sick from things we can easily avoid."

The demons all exchange looks of utter confusion. Satan looks thoughtful, though, his hand resting under his chin. “That’s... fascinating. So you just... accept being injected with something? No magical potions or healing spells?”

“Nope,” you answer, shaking your head. “Just medicine and stuff we get from the Earth. No magic involved.”

Diavolo claps his hands together in an amused gesture. “How strange! I wonder if that would work in the Devildom... Barbatos, what do you think?”

Barbatos, ever the pragmatic butler, raises an eyebrow. “I’m not entirely sure, My Lord. But I believe it would require a rather significant amount of effort. Perhaps we should stick to what we know works.”

You chuckle nervously, trying not to feel too alien. It’s weird being the only one who understands what vaccines even are, let alone periods, or allergies...

The conversation shifts after a while to other aspects of human life, which you’re not exactly prepared for. After some time, the talk turns to... well, other human customs—especially biological ones.

"So... do humans have... um... I don't know how to say this," Asmo starts, clearly not sure how to word it delicately. "Do humans, uh, have... ‘monthly’... discomforts?”

You freeze mid-bite, the word monthly hanging in the air like an uncomfortable weight. You’ve always been pretty private about your cycle, especially now that you’re in a room full of demons who probably know nothing about it.

“I, uh... it’s called a period,” you mutter, hoping the subject won’t get too awkward.

"A period?" Satan asks, leaning forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "Like... punctuation?"

“No!” you exclaim, mortified. "I mean... it’s a human thing. A... biological process." You sigh, trying to explain without sounding too embarrassed. "It’s a monthly occurrence where... my body, um, prepares for something it doesn’t need. So, it... uh... sheds the lining in the uterus."

The demons stare at you blankly. Even Lucifer, usually composed, looks momentarily baffled.

“And that... happens to you... every month?” Levi asks, horrified. “How do you... I mean, that sounds awful!”

You nod. "It can be uncomfortable. It’s like a... natural part of being human."

Barbatos, ever the tactful one, steps in smoothly, his voice calm. “It seems humans have a great deal to manage in their biology. Fascinating.”

“Right? And we’re just expected to deal with it,” you add, still feeling embarrassed but relieved that they’re not asking too many more questions.

Later, the conversation veers into a discussion about where you came from, your homeland, and your nationality. It’s a tricky subject, especially since most of these demons have never even heard of your country, let alone your hometown.

“So, you’re from Earth, right?” Lucifer asks, tapping his fingers on the table, as if contemplating the situation. “But Earth is so vast. How do you classify your people?”

You pause, unsure how to approach it. “Well, there are countries, and people belong to different nations. I come from a country called...”

The name of your country seems to hang in the air, but as you mention it, the demons exchange confused looks. They’ve never heard of it.

“Wait, so what’s that country like?” Mammon asks, genuinely curious. “What’s ya... currency? What’s the most popular food?”

You try your best to explain, but each question leads to another, and soon you realize how very, very different Earth is from the Devildom.

But as weird and overwhelming as this all is, you realize that these moments of confusion and surprise are part of what makes your time here so unique. The demons may not understand everything about you, but they're clearly invested in learning—whether it’s how to handle your allergies or what a "period" is.

And really, at the end of the day, it's that curiosity and willingness to understand each other that makes the Devildom feel a little more like home every day.

[gothamite-rambler]

If Odysseus was luckily bestowed demigod status after he died

And knowing he could easily take on Poseidon, Odysseus took the time to mess with him even more. After all, he was related to Hermes, the god of mischief. No one stopped Odysseus because he was kind of warranted this after the insanity he went through to get home.

Poseidon, Hades, Ares, Odysseus, Zeus, and Hera were having brunch together. Hera brought over another stack of pancakes for the group.

Hera: Ody, enjoy the brunch, but is Penelope not joining us today?

Odysseus: She's exhausted from last night, but she does love your cooking.

Hera: And I love her and you because you're a good man who doesn’t cheat on his wife.

Hera glared at Zeus before sitting down next to him.

Poseidon (scoffing): You act like he’s a hero.

Zeus: Not this again.

Odysseus: Let him whine again; he's still hurt that I wounded him with his own weapon.

Odysseus smirked, relishing the chaos he was stirring.

Poseidon (frustrated): At night, I can still feel the trident in my chest, puncturing my organs.

Odysseus (mocking tone): Oh boo freaking hoo. I made more use of it than you ever did, fucking idiot.

Poseidon (defensive): Hey, I’ve done serious damage to mortals, taken down fleets, made men fear me, and used the water as my body to do all of that! I am tough as steel! One human man was never an issue to me!

Odysseus (smirking): All I remember is you begging me to stop while I stabbed you with your own weapon. Then you thought you won our battle by making me a monster like you. I wanted to get home, you got upset because I didn't kill the son that from my new knowledge you never visited. Whatever makes you happy though.

Poseidon: You've heard legends about my strength and power!

Odysseus (after finishing his tea): Then I saw that you are powerful and have small penis energy and had to one up a human man. You know, like bitches do.

Poseidon (angry): I could dropkick your ass right now I don't care if other people are here! I don't give a fuck!

Odysseus (grinning): I can definitely beat your ass now as well. Want to test that theory?

Ares (intervening, amused): Uncle Poseidon, stop before he uses someone else's godly weapon on you.

Odysseus (snickering): You think he'd cry this time?

Poseidon (shouting): Okay, why is he here?!

Ares (nonchalant): Hey, leave my great-nephew alone. I invited him over for brunch.

Poseidon (exasperated): He’s not welcome here! I want him out of this brunch now!

Ares took a quick sip from his tea cup then placed it back down on the saucer. He was a God of War, but not lacking in good taste when it came to tea.

Ares (maintaining his composure): Those who want him to stay, raise your hands.

Ares, Hades, Zeus, and even Hera raised their hands causing Poseidon to shake with rage as the tides outside matched his enraged energy.

Ares (with a satisfied grin): You've been outvoted, unc. Sit down and eat your pancakes. You can fight him afterwards.

Odysseus chuckled, snatching a pancake off Poseidon's plate. The God of the Tides stood up and stomped out of the room in frustration.

Poseidon: I will be waiting outside!

With that, he left in a huff, the rage causing the tides outside to churn wildly for a few moments.

Odysseus (chuckling, mischievous): I'm glad that you welcomed me and my family to Olympus. This has been a fun time so far.

Zeus (pleased): Yeah, we all enjoy your company, and it's only been a year so far.

Hades (with a bemused expression): Honestly, anyone who makes either of my brothers this mad is always hilarious to me. Poseidon has a serious grudge against you, and it's been a long time since that last happened.

Zeus (shaking his head, incredulous): I can't imagine being that petty and holding a grudge for so long.

Ares (rolling his eyes): Dad, even I know that's a lie.

[hydrobunny]

everyone thinks that they know us

tags: confessions, getting together, friends to lovers

a/n: written from the idea made by the amazing @yangx2isawhore :3

--------------------

it's exactly 11:34pm when the ringing of your phone wakes you up.

jolting up from your bed, you blearily glare at your phone screen. the contact name of SHIDOU‼️ burns into your eyes.

you hang up.

a second later, it rings again.

"what."

"y/n!" as always, shidou's voice is just a little too loud for it to be acceptable. "how mad would you be if i killed rin right now?"

you pause. you look at the time. you consider the probability of him telling the truth.

"pretty mad."

"great!" and you can hear the grin in shidou's voice as he recites out an address. "you can come save him then."

although you were the one that had tried so hard to befriend rin itoshi, you were pretty certain that you hadn't signed up for whatever the hell this was.

you pull up at the address at a sharp 12:02 am, annoyance already settling in underneath your eyes.

the address is a mansion (why would you ever expect anything else), and the recognizable bass of party music blasts through the windows. at least a dozen different colored sports cars (you consider how much one would sell for) are parked outside of it.

you debate turning around. unfortunately, you think shidou might actually be serious about killing your best friend.

best friend. how did you get to this point? friend. didn't matter that you might have been in love with him- rin could never see you as anything more.

you knock on the door.

a man you might be able to recognize if you cared enough answers. his dual-colored eyes flit over you with interest.

"hey there, pretty," he says, and his voice is slurring with the unmistakeable touch of alcohol. "don't think you're on the invite list, but i can make an exception."

you scowl. "no thank you. shidou called me to come?"

he cocks his head. "what could someone like you possibly have anything to do with that psycho?"

"he-"

the psycho in question slams into two-eye's side, whooping. "took you long enough!"

you sigh.

shidou ryusei grins at you, positively buzzing with energy. the smell of cheap (why cheap? genuinely, why did he buy cheap alcohol?) beer lingers around his face.

"did you kill rin yet?"

the grin immediately wipes itself from his face. "getting there."

he whirls around, a warm hand latching around your own- and then he's pulling you through the hallways of this too-big house.

the music hasn't stopped for a second since you've got here. in many of the rooms, you can spot groups of vaguely recognizable people, all of them in various states of buzzed-to-plastered.

you wonder how professional athletes weren't any better than the frat boys that threw weekend parties. (well, the age range was pretty much the same)

"where are we?" you manage to shout into shidou's ear, as he pulls you further away from the heart of the party.

"sae's house!" he yells back.

"what?"

the two of you slam into another room- shidou shuts the door with too much force - and the music fades away into background noise.

rin's head snaps up at your entrance.

"rinrin!" shidou crows. "brought you another babysitter!"

rin stares at you with genuine confusion. his eyes are hazed over, his cheeks a light red. "what? y/n?" a red solo cup, ominously empty, sits by his hand.

"yes, yes," shidou replies, pushing you forward. "the only person who can somehow tolerate your presence is here!"

you slip out of shidou's grip. "what the hell is happening?"

he rolls his obnoxiously bright eyes at your question. "little itoshi's weirdly drunk and incoherent. which means big itoshi has to pretend like he cares. which means i can't force big itoshi to drink an enormous amount of alcohol! so now you have to watch this idiot!"

"i am not drunk," rin snarls towards shidou. "and i don't need a babysitter."

he attempts to get up from the counter he's perched on, and immediately wobbles. you debate whether it would be worth laughing.

before you can make a decision, another side door opens.

and sae itoshi meets your gaze with bored indifference.

"what- you!"

he raises an eyebrow. you're not sure how you got into this situation.

you wonder how you're supposed to react to meeting the one and only brother you've heard rin talk so much about.

some inner part of you immediately doesn't like him. the other part immediately notices how similar they look, and curse their sheer attractiveness.

either way, sae loses the little interest he had in you immediately, turning towards shidou. "is this-" he waves a hand towards you. "her?

shidou nods furiously. "junior is perfectly cared for now. now let's get out of here!"

rin glares at all three of you.

sae sighs. for someone who's supposed to be the host, he doesn't look thrilled at the prospect of socializing.

the elder itoshi turns his attention onto the younger. "you're fine with her?"

rin's eyes narrow further. he doesn't respond.

shidou takes that as his cue. his hands place themselves on sae's shoulders. "good talk, everyone!"

and with another slammed door, you are left alone with rin. it's more than a little awkward.

you open your mouth- he shoots you a glare. you can take a hint. (even if it breaks your heart.)

out of a bored curiosity, and maybe a little spite, you start opening cabinets. they're mostly empty (you wonder what kind of life sae lives).

rin's gaze follows you the entire way. it's intense enough to give you goosebumps.

eventually, you come across a pot of gold- a wine bottle, its cork untapped. there's a ribbon attached to its neck; you spy the JFU logo placed on top.

"he won't mind, right?" you ask.

silence follows.

you open the bottle. if you're going to be stuck here anyways, why let it go to waste?

surprisingly, it's rin that talks first. "why'd you come?" he mumbles out, stumbling over a syllable.

you shrug, taking another mouthful of the wine. (it's good. too good. damn rich people.) "shidou said he was gonna kill you."

“shidou has your number? you responded? why'd you care?" he blurts out in a tsunami of words. immediately after, he looks away with reddening ears.

you eye him with slowly growing amusement. there's a buzzing in your stomach that's slowly stripping your self control away. "yes. and yes. and because we're friends."

rin tch's, still refusing to meet your eyes. you think he'll keep talking, but he doesn't.

so you take another swig of the wine bottle. maybe rin can be the one to reach out for once.

but- like always- you're the first to crack. after a possible fifteen minutes of brooding silence, you sigh.

"what's going on with sae?"

rin's gaze snaps to your face. "what about him?"

you raise your brows. (you think you meant to raise only one. you can't really tell.) "i thought he didn't fuck with you."

rin's face scrunches at your words. "what?"

you groan, sliding down from your perch onto the floor. "you know? i thought- well, he looks like he cares."

he stands up. "he doesn't."

"sure."

he stares at you with a complicated expression, and then makes his way over to you. you blink up at him.

"i don't like you talking to him," rin says, seemingly more lucid than before.

"wasn't really my choice." you shoot him a smile, raising a hand. he lifts you up to standing with it.

from how close you now are, the two of you are almost touching. if you weren't as delirious on wine as you are now, this would be much more distressing.

even now, it takes all of your will to maintain eye contact with him.

"you don't like me talking to him?" you mumble out.

rin tilts his head. "no."

"can i ask why you came here then? or why you got plastered off cheap booze?"

he opens his mouth, then stops. and then- "you're not doing much better."

you clear your throat. more than the wine, it's rin who's clouding your thoughts. his faint cologne- so much more evident at this distance- intoxicates you.

"that didn't answer my question."

his eyes narrow. "i felt like it."

you frown. "what situation are you in that made you want to get drunk with shidou?"

and his eyes flicker down. to your lips.

"what do you think?"

you stumble; rin's hand places itself in the small of your back. signature itoshi teal burns.

you're both drunk. you're in his brother's house. and yet-

and yet, you're both here, and rin itoshi is leaning down into you.

his lips meet yours desperately, his breath catching over and over again. your hands tangle into his hair- he groans wordlessly.

you separate with a gasp.

"are you- what?" you manage, face ablaze.

rin looks just as disheveled. "y/n."

"rin."

he steps back, eyes roving from wall to wall. "fuck. fuck, im sorry. i thought-"

that's not the right words you wanted to hear. you step forward, the wine bottle long forgotten behind.

"you thought right," you blurt.

rin stares at you. a flush sits over his face.

"i thought you wanted to just be friends. that- that you didn't want me." you say.

surprise, and horror, flicks in his eyes. "what?"

you cough out a laugh. "not very smart off the field, are you?"

rin's mouth opens and closes, much like a fish. you think he's going to speak-

he closes the gap between you two, and his lips meet yours again.

between gasps, he mumbles a "i could never not want you." into your form.

and you sigh out your own declaration of love

somewhere in the house, a door slams. someone whoops in exhilaration.

but in this room, it's just you and rin. alcohol tinges both of your breaths. you're both drunk on something bigger.

[caught-tumbling]

I've been hospitalized and I've worked in mental health so I have some suggestions

1) You will see things that you don't understand. That's ok. As long as the behavior isn't harmful its fine. Unusual sentence structure, unusual requests, unusual movements, unusual associations, etc are just how some people function. So if you don't understand why someone is doing something try to just take it in stride, try not to laugh, stare, or look disgusted. When I was hospitalized a patient had a compulsion (I think) to shout their full name whenever someone said their first name, then they always looked embarrassed. So the best staff members just pretended it didn't happen which didn't stop the behavior but at least the patient was more at ease because they weren't being shamed.

2) People in psych wards often have a very dark sense of humor. Gallows humor gets us through. People will casually throw out the most upsetting and traumatic anecdotes as "funny" stories. You don't have to laugh along, just don't be too surprised. One benefit to being in a psych ward is a level of understanding most people don't have outside. People can drop a joke about the most horrifying shit they've survived and no one freaks out, they just laugh and share something equally messed up. That dark comradery was a weirdly healing part of my recovery. Sometimes as a staff member you'll have to intervene if people start looking uncomfortable but in general you just gotta shrug and move on.

3) Compassion, compassion, compassion. The difference between a good stay and a bad stay is compassion. Treat every patient as if they were a loved one. My worst stay the staff treated us like dangerous cattle. They didn't speak to us except to give orders, they ignored people in pain and distress, they refused every request just because they could. My best stay the staff ate with us, they played card games with us, they offered a hand to hold when someone was scared, they treated us like human beings. Just sitting with someone for a while can be huge.

4) Please report things. PLEASE REPORT THINGS. If a patient is harassing another patient, report it. If a patient is harassing an employee, report it. If a coworker is being cruel or neglectful towards patients, report it. If your reports do nothing then escalate it. I've reported patients, nurses, doctors, teams, even organizations both as a patient and as a professional. I've called the police. I've gotten people fired. You will need to do that sometimes. It sucks and is a little nerve wracking but you need to advocate for people's safety. The reports I made as a professional were taken way more seriously than the reports I made as a patient. The system is set up to dismiss patients so employees need to be more proactive. Please be an advocate. Some of the people you'll work with don't have any support outside the hospital, those are the most vulnerable people you'll probably ever meet and you won't always know who's in that group.

5) Talk to the patients. Avoid phrases like "I understand what you're going through" and use phrases like "I know this is hard" or "I'm here to help." If someone is having a hallucination or delusion that's upsetting sometimes it's better to work with the delusion than to deny it completely. If someone is worried there's bugs in their food just saying "no, that's ridiculous" won't help. But saying "I'll check to make sure there's no bugs" can help immensely. Some people will be scared of you due to anxiety, medical trauma, other trauma, or paranoia. You can't always change their mind. But you can show signs that you are a safe person. Little stuff like getting them an extra blanket, asking how they're doing, including them in their treatment plans, etc are vital but overlooked.

Help Me Train Nurses About Psych Stuff

I do a presentation at our hospital aimed demystifying mental illness and the people who live with it. The talk is for medical-surgical nurses, so specifically staff that does NOT work psych who feel ignorant about treating that population. A lot of the people I'm talking to are also young and still developing the foundation of their nursing practice.

If you've ever been in the hospital as a psych patient (or a psych patient navigating the medical system in general), what would you want the hospital staff to know based on your experiences? What advice or insight would you give?

I'd especially love anything about positive experiences, things that helped you, what someone did that improved the situation, stuff like that. In addition to saying what not to do, I'd love to give staff actionable things they CAN do instead.

[junedenim]

catch some z's

he's lovedrunk.

warnings: smut, blowie, angst, fluff, ambiguity, you get the picture

word count: 4.6k

He’s bored. It's not a major affliction, it just sort of happens at these kinds of things. Parties fall into two categories boring and too drunk to remember. He doesn't want to get drunk so he's bored. Everyone else seems drunk. He knew he had come to this party too early. It's only 10 o'clock and he's been here for 2 hours and he's ready to go home. But everyone else is just getting started. In fact, half the people planning to attend this party have yet to arrive. So, he guesses that's why he's staying. Within that half, there's you. That kind of thing just happens too.

Your relationship has been a fuzzy one. Alex used to date your best friend but now they are just friends. He's also friends with your friend's wife. Everyone just kind of knows each other. It's all very incestuous. But you've always been friends. You're witty, sharp like a whip, and have a laugh so contagious he's gotten stomach aches from it. He also might be in love with you but that part is a little fuzzy too.

He sits and waits at the bar, still nursing just one drink. He knows not to go too heavy on the alcohol like last time. He's been too sloppy with his liquor lately. Somehow, you're never drunk. He's seen you down enough liquor to make a person fall over but you stand the same: hand-on-hip with a slight curve of your spine. It's enough to get him to break a sweat.

He's been stuck daydreaming for too long he thinks he might have fallen asleep. He leans against the bar and debates whether it's worth staying. He knows you'll come here with someone else because you always do. He wonders if you're ever alone. There's also someone on your arm and someone in your bed.

Sometimes, it's him. He's okay with the "sometimes" part of things. It works for people like him, the comers-and-goers of the world. But within that "sometimes" you're together, you like to play these games. Bring another man along, show up late to the party, pretend he doesn't exist. He knows you do all this to get a rise out of him, in more ways than one, but his impatience is at the max. Alcohol would make it more tolerable but he wants to be fully aware tonight.

A warmth spreads across the back of his neck and there you are with your hand on your hip, that curve in your spine, and Michael on your arm. Michael is fine. He's a horrible drunk but one of the more manageable men in your life. He'll pass out on the bar soon enough and you can pawn him off to one of your other friends to take home.

He knows all this because of the glint in your eye. He's only turned around, his vision not even properly focusing on taking everything in, but that spark shines through. You're smiling and it's both conniving and lustful. He wants to take a bite out of you sometimes, to have you lodged in his throat.

"Hiya, sailor!" You salute him, having a big joke out of you. That'll make it tougher. When you're in this joking mood, you have him play court jester for you, mock him all night, tease and toy with him before you finally give in. He doesn't know if he can work for all that tonight. He feels tired and there's a pounding in his head. It's light but he won't make it past midnight. He can tell by your smirk that you're in it for the long haul and you're ready to drag him through it.

Alex finds it best to just play along. The quicker he gives, the quicker you'll give. He bows his head. "How are you doing, ma'am?"

You play your swooning act, a soft gasp, and give him your hand. He places a soft kiss on the back of it, giving it the featherlight touch that he knows leaves you aching for more. He wants you to ache. "We had a long journey from Rex."

His head lifts slowly, trying to keep track of all your slight movements like the way your eyebrow quirks as you wait for a response from him. You know how to handle your prey. You're a master of it. "You've been out already?" He raises himself up completely, leaning back against the bar.

He's thankful for the way Michael sways, already lost in the sauce. Any sober person would question these slow movements, this dance you do with one another, every position calculated. Each of your response times inch on for years. There's an extended period of time—one long enough to be classified as an eternity—before you give a slight nod of your head. "Rex Club, Bridge—enough for Michael to be drunk."

"Michael's drunk," Alex notes like this is new information. Michael looks like he might need a chair but you kept him pinned at your side like your puppy. Alex takes a sip from his drink to wash you down.

He waits for your quip, the one that will make him feel foolish. But your eyes begin to wander and he's panicked he's lost your interest. You tug at Michael's hand like you're trying to keep him awake. "Can I have that?" You point to his half-empty glass, sitting in his hand. Zig-zag.

"Yeah." The glass looks better in your hands, somehow turned into fine china. The liquor slips easily down your throat and the glass is suddenly empty, sitting on the bar beside him. Your head roams around the room like you're looking for someone else to prey on. At one point, he would have begged for you to stay but he's too tired to make a fool of himself. Another drink doesn't sound bad so he orders another of his and one for you. That makes you stay. Alcohol is always key to getting your attention.

"You didn't ask me what I want?" You play coy, biting your lip, letting go of Michael's hand to place your hands on your hips. He's got you, he knows it now. You've let go of Michael, now you just need to rid of him, pawn him off to Matt or something.

He shrugs. "I know what you like." You'll take anything, you're flexible that way, and you're a dipsomaniac, at least in practice.

You hum and tilt your head like you don't quite believe this but he knows this to be the truth. He knows that you know this. Your hair flows down with the movement of your head, your neck is exposed and just like that, you've knocked him back. You know each other so clearly, so knowledgable in the movements that'll make the other snap. His control has broken and he's been reduced to a puddle just by the sight of the slope of your neck. How sweet it is.

"Should we get Michael a seat?" He asks. The man's eyes are half-shut and he hasn't said a single thing this whole time. Alex wonders if he's hooked on anything else but at least he isn't doing his drunken rambling routine yet.

You look over Michael with an admiring gaze. Alex doesn't understand Michael. He's a normal guy who can sometimes make you laugh and sometimes make you want to kill him. He's not exciting and he can be rather tiresome. Alex knows, in some sense, Michael is a project for you. He's a toy for you to play around with for this month. But shouldn't these projects be more interesting than Michael? There's nothing admirable about Michael. He's miserable to look at. (He's handsome but Alex is steadfast in the belief no one is worthy of you, not even himself, not that he wants to be. He's content with whatever this is because this is fun. Michael is not fun).

"Michael and I will grab us a table. You'll bring over the drinks?" You're playful and, to him, it's hurtful. He thinks you should know he's tired, that this was a long week and he can't do this hours-long dance with you. Now, you're just being cruel. You walk away, swaying in your hips and his eyes are on your ass. He waits and waits and waits for those drinks.

He sets them down at the small table, the one up against one of the walls. Michael has gained an awareness of his surroundings and spots the two glasses sitting before him. "Where's mine?"

Alex chuckles at the man's slurring. Michael is a punching bag to him. But then you're looking at him and with a smirk you say, "Al, go get Michael a drink."

He swears to himself this is it. He'll grab Michael a drink and grab your hand and go home and fuck you because this is all tiring. You once said you like a man in charge so he's going to do that and he does do that and you yelped and yelled at him to sit down. So, he sits down. "You can be so extreme," you say with an eye roll.

He's baffled by this. "I'm extreme?" He doesn't understand how you aren't aware of the extreme torture he is suffering from. "What about you?"

You scoff and sip your drink, smiling into the glass. "You like to make scenes."

Alex laughs. It's a falsehood of a story to consider him to be capable of making scenes. He has always been the quiet mouse sitting in the corner. He's been known to occasionally come out of his shell but compared to you. There's no competition. "You don't know me very well."

You bite your lip and lean back in your chair. Michael is chugging his drink. "I know you perfectly."

He concedes, "Yeah." It's the truth. You've always had this irregular responsive relationship. One look and each of you knows, like the stare you give one another as Michael burps. Hidden peals of laughter slipped under the "pleasantries" you exchange.

You cross your legs. His eyes travel down the exposed skin. A thigh to kiss, a knee to caress, shoes to scatter across the halls of his house. During one of the first go-arounds you two had, you kicked his shin. He swears the bruise is still there.

"You make me laugh, Al," you randomly say. He considers this to be a calculated move. Your right leg, the one crossed over the left, swings back and forth, knocking against the leg of the table and his leg. His view of you is obstructed by the glass sitting in front of your lips like you could kiss it at any point. He's always wanted to be a cold liquor-filled glass.

He'll play with the cat. "Why's that?" He leans back in his chair, wraps his hands around his glass, sitting his arm on the table. He crosses his leg—right over the left—knocking his boot-covered foot against your strappy heels. If he could smoke in here, he'd lit a cigarette now. He knows how that gets you going.

You shake your head at him. And then, you're blushing. It shocks him how much he's overtaken you. It shoots pleasure through him and puts a feather in his cap. He'll boast about this to whoever cares to listen. You lift your head back up and push your hair back, uncovering those rosy cheeks. "You really know how to do a girl in."

"Do a girl?" It's his way of prompting Let's get the fuck away for Michael and fuck. But it's cheesy and sloppy and has you turning your face away, looking around the room again. Not a good sign.

"Is anyone else here?" The question makes him wince. Why should you give a fuck about anyone else when he's here? He's here, exposed, and he made you blush just a minute, who else here has made you blush? Certainly not Michael.

He shrugs and downs most of his drink. Michael's glass is empty and he's rising out of his chair to go get another. "You get the next one, Mike?"

Michael, with no awareness of time, money, words, or you, nods his head. "Yeah. I got you. I got all of you." He leaves and it's a relief.

Alex inches closer to you while you're looking away. He thinks about reaching out but that isn't part of the game. "When are we leaving?" It could be too much, too quick. Sometimes you like it hot and cold but that's not important to Alex right now. He's tired. And horny. Really fucking horny.

You cock your head back like you're trying to evaluate him. "We? Leaving?" You click your tongue. "No. Not now." He'll take his time. Alex knows he sometimes has to wine and dine you. Another drink will lighten things up and maybe induce Michael into alcohol poisoning so he can leave for good.

Michael comes back with more drinks. You all sit in a silent circle. Your eyes are off looking at the rest of the party, looking for someone better to devour. Alex is looking at you, trying to will your eyes toward him through his stare or magical powers or whatever. Michael is looking at his drink. Michael likes his drink very much.

"When are you going to look at me?" Alex finally asks. Wizardry wasn't doing much so maybe words will work.

Your head turns back. You look at him, really look at him, dissecting him for your science fair project. Your gaze is puzzling at first, trapped in a landmine. You brush your hair behind your ear twice and lean back in your chair again. A smirk reemerges across your face. "I'm looking at you now aren't I? Do I need to watch you all the time?"

Alex nods. "I'd like you to."

You adjust yourself. He's made you frazzled. How pleased he is. "Okay." It's like you've accepted your fate, surrendered yourself, not to him, never to him, but to wherever the night leads. For him, this is preferably his house and preferably right now.

"Go?" He points his thumb behind him to the exit. You look sold with the smirk burying itself deeper on your face and your feet both firmly placed on the ground. It excites him to an extreme degree.

You tilt your head to the side and he's ready to stand and sweep you away for the rest of the night. Your smile grows wider. "Michael, we're going to Al's." His smile fades and his head drops back with a groan. You stand and grab Michael as you're unsure if he can stand on his own two feet.

Alex grunts as he stands and doesn't bother helping with Michael. "You hate me," he says, sipping the rest of his drink. He puts his suit jacket back on and waits for you and Michael, who is leaning against your back, slumped in sleep how Alex wishes to be.

You pinch Alex's side, the first touch all night. He squirms away from it but he's desperate for your hand on him again. You possess a touch that makes a man unfold. "You're very cute when I work you up."

"Why don't you let me work you up?" Code for Please let me into your panties right now.

You begin to walk toward the exit. You sigh and pull Michael to your side, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his head slightly perked up as he relearns how to walk. "I have to take care of Michael," you say. Michael can take care of himself. Michael has a hundred other people at the party who would have taken care of him. But you enjoy working Alex up, you told him this. When his hair gets all messy from his hands running through it so much, that's your favourite part of him. The unraveling and the unraveled.

The air feels late as you walk toward Alex's place. He chases the alleviation of a cigarette, placing it between his lips and dangling it there. Michael is saying something about Canada but his ears feel too muffled to listen. You stand between Alex and Michael, your arm around the latter and the side of your hip knocking into the former. You're testing him, he knows this.

"Michael, would you like to go home?" Alex asks at a red traffic light. A taxi rounds the corner and Alex hopes to shove him into it.

Michael babbles something on your shoulder before looking at Alex. He chuckles. "No, we're going to your place, remember? Silly guy."

You cackle with Michael, making fun of Alex, who puts up with all this because his house is just a block away but these cars keep getting in the way of crossing the street. Michael stands up straight, brushing off his shoulders like there's dust there or something. He starts trying to touch his toes. The traffic light is still red. "Are you having a good time?" You ask.

He thinks about spitting to show his disgust. He turns his head to you and smiles with such a falsehood that it gets you giggling again. You tap his shoulder and leave your hand there, commanding attention. "When are you going to kiss me?" You ask.

Alex laughs. "If this traffic light ever turns green." That and Michael getting hit by a car. Alex truly does like Michael.

You giggle. "You have many rules." Your body seems closer.

"I do?" He questions, a smirk appearing as your face draws closer. "I think you're projecting."

"Mhmm," you agree but words are so far away and your lips are so close to his. Kissing passes the time quickly. He is looped into you and refuses to take his hands off of you. You pull away but Alex's hand remains in contact with your arm. You look behind you. "Michael, the light's green." And then, you're crossing the street and Alex has to remember what walking is. Your skin's touch burned into the palm of his hand and he finds himself having to catch up.

Michael races into the house the second Alex opens the door. He lets you enter first and locks the door after himself. Michael is sitting at the kitchen table and you’re moving through his cabinets. His boots stop clicking at the archway into the kitchen. You turn your head toward him, your hair spilling down your back. “Where’s your alcohol?”

“You finished it off.” He rubs his right eye. He’s getting a headache. Maybe this is a prolonged hangover. He wants to sit down but he can’t sit at the same table as Michael, he might have a stroke if he does that. He takes his suit jacket off and folds it over his arm. He unbuttons the top two ones of his shirt. It feels so fucking hot.

You turn around with a frown. Your hands go to your hips. Your head tilts to the left. “Michael needs his bottle.” Like he's a baby or something and not a grown man. This would be more fun if Alex was drunker. He's just tired.

Alex rubs his hand over his face, trying to scrub away his headache, the exhaustion, and this sweat. "There's some stuff in the fridge. I'm gonna go change." He turns his back and hears you mutter, "Okay," before he moves into the bedroom. He can hear you snap open a bottle and Michael is doing some shouting but it's largely muffled to him.

Alex takes his shoes off. He pushes his trousers off and pulls his button-up over and ends up facedown on his bed. His head aches and his back feels sharp. He debates going to sleep. He knows you can manage to let yourself out, you've done it before. 

The door creaks open and you come in and sit on the bed. Your hands make their way through his hair and for a moment he thinks he's imagining this pleasure. He feels a gentle release of his tension as your healing hand sweeps through his hair, their cold touch on his scalp. "My poor old baby."

Alex muffles a chuckle into his pillow and turns his head to look up at you. "I'm not that bad."

You openly giggle. "I don't know. You're suffocating yourself in your pillow."

Your hand continues to move its way through and his eyes flutter momentarily, almost eroding his exhaustion. "Where'd Michael go?" He's either dead on the couch or you let him out because not a peep can be heard. That whining has finally gone away, maybe that's why he feels better.

You sigh. You remove your hand from his head, using them to remove your shoes. "He's getting more alcohol."

"Ah," Alex says. Michael is like a fly Alex is simply unable to get rid of. It's rather frustrating but he's pretty sure that's the reason why you keep him around. Because he bugs the hell out of Alex. But Alex actually does like Michael.

His eyes have been closed for too long. You're somehow in your bra and underwear, sitting on the side of the bed with your arms crossed. Your returning touch snaps him out of it. Your hand skims through his hair. "Go to sleep," you whisper.

"You're almost naked and you want me to sleep." For people who have slept together so much, Alex can only think of two times you've actually slept together (one was his birthday, and the other was that blizzard last December). That's where the chink in your relationship lies but we won't concern ourselves with that today.

"Why? You want head to relieve your head." You're playful and wonderful and he's pathetic and weird and he loves you so fucking much and you know this and you love this and maybe even part of you loves him but he can't be sure of anything just that you feel good and he makes you feel good and maybe that's all it has to be (but wouldn't it be great for it to be more).

He flips onto his back. "If you insist." And he insists. He insists so much. He'd beg at this point but he's just so tired. He hates feeling this way like he'd give up parts of himself just to please you. But your hands are playing with the waistband of his underwear and all of that feels pointless.

"Oh, how you flatter me," you gush. You bring your legs up onto the bed and sit on your knees. You overpower him, hovering above. One hand moves up and grazes over his stomach, the other deepens into his underwear. He better flatter you, fully erect with all of him—his heart, his soul, his dick—sitting in your hands.

Tingles overtake him. Your mouth covers him and your tongue washes over the head like windshield wipers. He's jelly in your hands, complete mush. You take him deeper. He hits the back of you, unable to go any further. It's all too much but he can't turn this feeling away. The moaning, groaning, grunting, and whimpering that escapes his lips. 

You take your lips off of him and sit up so your eyes meet his. Your hand continues to move up and down. You smile, just slightly, no words. In there, he sees the love. He sticks his tongue out and you giggle and stick yours out. He puts his away while you leave yours out and return to his cock. He's back to feeling overwhelmed and you're quick, wanting to get this done before Michael is back. That doesn't ruin the feeling. It's actually kind of exciting like when you're a teenager and you're scared your parents are going to catch you. It's this newfound excitement, the kind he seems to find on every corner he passes with you.

He thinks about being brutal with you. It's something you've done before in these vignettes of quickies. The fast, rough nature of forcefully moving himself into your mouth. But he doesn't want this soft nature to leave. The one that you set the tone with when you walked into his bedroom and combed your hands through his hair. The kind that makes him feel warm inside, not from the sweat or liquor, but a much rarer feeling.

Instead, he reaches down and pushes the shadow of your hair back, just so it's out of your way. You laugh with him in your mouth. He's not sure why but it has him tensing his muscles, a desperation in the vibrations. You move him further and quicker and his heart is beating in his ears. 

Then, you sit up, rubbing him with your hand, finishing him off onto his stomach. He's left with his toes curling and his eyes closing. It's all too much. He wants to take you in handfuls. A moment passes. You stand and return with a tissue, rubbing him off of himself. You tuck him away back into his underwear.

You're still in your bra and panties. He reaches up and fixes a strap sliding off your shoulder. You reach your hand behind yourself, approaching the snap. He shakes his head. "Stay like that. I just like to look at you sometimes."

You're blushing again. Your hands fall onto his thighs. "Your head better?" Deflection. For someone who commands such a spotlight, you shrug away any attention, at least that is mixed with affection.

He reaches out and places his hand on your thigh—his right, your left. "Yeah." It'd be nice to stay like this for a while.

"What will we do when Michael gets back?" Oh, right. Him.

Alex says, "Lock the door."

You laugh and you tell him so, "You make me laugh." You lay down and tuck your head onto him. "Was that okay? Me moving?" You don't usually ask for permission, especially from him, especially when you're like this—next to naked and alone together. His arm curls around you, keeping you close because that's when everything feels good.

He feels sleepy. "Yeah." Everything is okay with him, everything that involves you like this is okay. His eyelids flutter and he feels bad for not doing anything for you but he's tired and he's taken care of you plenty of times before.

The front door shuts. Alex groans. You laugh. Michael whistles. "I'll make him leave."

Alex shakes his head. "You're going to make a drunk Michael leave?” A drunk Michael is the worst human being on Earth. Alex seriously does like Michael.

You stand up. Your hand finds his and tugs on it. He sleepily sits up but you've already left the room, moving out into the living room, still, only in your bra and panties. Alex thinks about putting his clothes back on but it's Michael and he doesn't care if Michael knows you've just given him head. Actually, it feels him with glee for Michael to know that. Besides, Michael is too drunk to recall anything anyway.

Michael has poured three glasses of brandy. "It'll help you digest dinner!" He exclaims. Alex doesn't think any of you had dinner unless you count all this liquor. Alex joins you and Michael on the couch and sips on his glass of brandy.

You put your hand on Alex's thigh. Michael leaves about an hour later. You and Alex are very drunk by the time he leaves. He doesn't remember the rest of the night. But you're in his bed when he wakes up. You're both hungover. He shouldn't drink so much.

*

a/n: i had fun writing this. i think it's written a little differently than my other stuff but maybe that's just me thinking i sound like hemingway. (currently reading the sun also rises). thanks!

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I’m so excited because I got out of class early and I had time to make sure this ask was ready to go

Let me know if this doesn’t quite make sense, and I’ll try to clarify, but:

—

Jeff seeing/knowing his s/o died in a fight, but seeing them alive and well two years later, obvious they had been alive those two years, but they have no memory of him or any of the time they spent with Jeff. Bonus sad points if they were married or had some sort of matching thing so s/o KNOWS something was up with the two of them, but they don’t remember.

—

Feel free to use this prompt for anyone else you wanna write for :D

I hope you enjoy! This got super extremely long because I was feeling inspired ^^' I hope you're fine with the direction I took this in :)

It destroyed him. Watching you die that day was the most difficult thing he's ever had to cope with in his entire life, and he still struggles to cope with it some days even two years later. He's spent so long mourning your loss, that when he sees you walking around one day he thinks it must be a hallucination or someone that just looks far too similar to you, and he continues on his way. At least, until he hears that incredibly familiar laugh he first fell in love with all those years ago, and he's whipping back around, eyes locked on you as you converse with the unfamiliar person at your side. His feet move immediately, pushing him forward, but at the same time, you happen to drop something. He picks it up for you and hands it to you, and his eyes land on the ring decorating your finger, the one that matches the one on his hand, the custom-made promise rings the two of you had. You accept the item you dropped without complaint, your eyes also noticing the ring on his finger, but before he can say anything you just thank him and walk away.

He's so shocked by it that he just stands there for what feels like hours, before making a beeline back to the mansion. With Slender and BEN's investigative assistance, Jeff learns you didn't die that day, and he also learns that you have no memories of your time before then. You're still in the Underworld, still wandering around and joyful as ever, but you have no memory of him at all, and that thought alone is destroying Jeff all over again. The years you'd spent together, your promises of being together forever, all of your plans for the future, vanished. He finds himself entering an existential state of limbo in the coming weeks, not sure if he should try to find you and reconnect, or if he should just let you carry on your new life as you presently are. In the end, he decides to let you go. With all of his trauma and issues, with all of the struggles you both experienced gone from your memory, he feels as though it would be unfair to force you to learn how to love him and care for him again. You, however, have a completely different plan than Jeff.

It was eating you alive, the ring he was wearing on his finger, the familiarity in his eyes, the disappointment at your swift exit. You had to learn who he was, and how he was connected to you, you finally had a clue to your life before your amnesia and you weren't going to let it pass. It wasn't hard for you to track him down, with how well known he is in the Underworld and the fact that everyone knows he works for Slender, but you also spent time waiting and wondering what you should do. Eventually, you decided on it; you were just going to have to force him to talk to you. So, there you stood, anxiously on the front porch of a mansion that seemed far too familiar for you having no memory of it, and upon the door opening, a group of faces greeting you that were also far too familiar. Slender calls Jeff down and tells him he has a guest waiting outside, and when he comes out to see you, he feels his world halting once again. You both sit on the front porch in silence for quite a while, but you break the ice first, asking him who he is, and why he has your ring. You have a feeling you already know the answer, and when he looks at you in misery, tears flooding his eyes, you know you were right, without him even having to confirm it verbally.

Jeff explains it all to you, everything. How you met, when you started dating, what your relationship was like, all of your plans for the future together, the significance of the rings he had made for you, and most importantly, the day he thought you died. It's a shock to you, of course it is, but bits and pieces of things he says, you can catch small glimpses of them in your lost memories. A night under the stars, mornings spent waking up together, an exchanging of rings. You can catch small glimpses of him, but it feels so far away. It is, however, enough for you to believe him. It feels right, sitting beside him on the steps. It feels warm, and comforting, like you belong there beside him, and when you shyly move your leg to press against his it feels so oddly familiar and correct that you find yourself being moved to tears. He tells you he didn't want to trouble you, didn't want to make you have to deal with his fucked up life and issues all over again, he thought it would be cruel, and you can only smile at him through the tears.

You tell him you have a feeling the you that he knew would be upset at him for even insisting that, and he laughs, saying that you're probably right. Neither of you makes a move to leave, to end your reminiscing as he continues telling you stories, and both of you are okay with that. It's you who finally asks the question weighing on both of you. If you can try again. If you can try from the beginning, try to love him again and become a part of his life again. He smiles a smile that has your heart racing and cheeks growing warm, and lifts your hand, saying he gave you this ring along with a promise to stay by your side for the rest of your life, no matter what. He kisses the ring on your finger, and the brush of his lips makes you long for more. He agrees easily to start over, saying he'll never give up on you, but he can't help the chuckle that follows as he simply requests that you not disappear again, and there on that front porch you make your second eternal promise to each other, that this time you'll protect each other, and stay together no matter what. A promise you both successfully keep, to the end of your lives.

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in; but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your shirt's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carved a whole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.