#i'd really like to stop sneezing now

[eirenical]

Woke up in the middle of the night because I was sneezing and sniffling so much I couldn't breathe. FOUR HOURS LATER, I'm still awake and it's time to get up. TT^TT

Went downstairs, took out the garbage, felt so shaky and clammy by the time I got back in that I took my temperature and (FUN!) am now running a low grade fever.

Worth noting: I DID take allergy meds in the middle of the night and though they don't seem to be entirely working (BECAUSE I'M STILL SNEEZING AND SNIFFLING WTF... though not as badly, I'll admit), sometimes they leave me feeling weirdly floaty and weak. Also it's been MUGGY AF outside since last night and the clamminess could well be because the humidity is like 100%.

I probably do not NEED to do a covid test. And UGH I don't want to have to schlep back downstairs to do it... but I probably should. OTZ

So that's MY day in a nutshell. OTZ

[nostalgia-tblr]

If I could do Fics With A Plot I'd probably attempt An AU Where Lauffey Dies And Odin Goes "Oh Hey, Frost Dudes, I Had Your Heir All Along :D He's Urs Now :D" Except Because This Is A Shit Plan It Does Not Go At All Well. Because it does bother me. Because I worry too much about fictional monarchies having the 'wrong' rules. D:

[inkskinned]

100,000 dollars is not a lot of money.

it is also a lot more money than i will ever have. my student loans make up half of that - they're coming back, i'm told, like we all bounced back recently. the other day while paying for gas to go to work, i overdrew my account without knowing it.

i sat in the car and looked at the charge and tried to do the math. where the fuck is the money even going? i don't live extravagantly. i live in a hole in the ground, in an apartment the size of a sneeze; covered in ants. yes, i wanted to live close to a population center. maybe that's my fault. i've downloaded the apps and i've spoken to the experts and i've cut back on excess. i can't help the pharmacy bills or the medical debt.

i have a good, well-paying job. when i googled it to see if i was getting a fair salary, i found out i'd be making "upper middle class" money. which doesn't make sense - is "upper middle class" now just "able to afford a one-bedroom without a roommate". when i was younger, upper-middle meant a nice big house and a backyard and vacations and not flinching about eating at a resturant.

i was talking to my friend who is a realtor. he said 100,000 dollars is extremely cheap for housing. he's not wrong. 100,000 dollars would change my life. 100,000 dollars also won't really buy you anything. it could get you out of debt, potentially, if you were lucky and had a certain amount of scholarships to tack onto your degree. you could pay off the car and then have enough left over for "spending" money. how fucking amazing. one vacation, maybe two if you're thrifty. and then - like magic - the money would evaporate into nothing. people would sigh and tell you see, you should have put it into savings! like "upper middle class" people can't afford to value "actually living" over squirrelling wealth. you should spend your life only in scarcity. like that is what made the rich people all their real "actually a lot of money".

100,000 dollars would literally set me free. it also would just set me back to "earning normally" instead of paying down debt into infinity. god, do you know how many of us just want that? that our first thought is we could stop scrambling and just be free of debt if we won the lottery? that we don't even necessarily need to stop working - we just wouldn't have to worry about failing or falling?

and. at the same time. 100,000 dollars is next to fucking nothing.

[noxtivagus]

GOOD MORNING going out w my family today ehe 🫶🏼

[yuri-is-online]

Hi! Congratulations on getting more followers! You totally deserve it:)

Can I ask for prompt 5 with Floyd, Idia and Leona?

Thank you<3

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

（＾ワ＾） thank you annon, your words mean a lot. Of course you can! how did i know Floyd was gonna get this prompt

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, miscommunication and jealousy but everything ends happy. Check out the rest of the event requests here.

Floyd

Floyd unceremoniously dumps you off his in a secluded corner of the gymnasium hallway.   “Shrimpy…" he whines, yanking on the hem of the used gym shirt you are wearing as he uses his other arm to cage you against the wall "where did you get that shirt?” “From the laundry basket in your room this morning?”  He had stolen your blazer a few days ago to as a joke so you had impulsively decided to pay him back by snatching something of his. He's always whining about wanting you to wear is clothes anyway, why is he so upset? “It’s yours isn’t it?” “Nah.” Floyd's lips purse in displeasure.  “Nah, that's Jade’s not mine.  If ya look, he has his name written in stupid little letters on the tag.”  Oh.  OH.  Well, now you just feel stupid and fix your eyes firmly on his shoes. How could you be so stupid? Of course, some of Jade's clothes would be in the room's ONE laundry basket. Hell, you aren't actually sure Floyd uses the hamper now that you think about it. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for the teasing as you look up prepared to apologize, only to completely lose your train of thought at the sight of Floyd yanking his jersey over his head. “FLOYD!”

“Huh?  What’s wrong lil shrimpy?" A very sharp grin emerges from the cloth, though he doesn't bother to take his arms out of the shirt just yet. "I'm on the bench aaaaaaaany way ‘s not like I need it.” “You’ll be cold!” It's the wrong argument to make when he practically has you pinned to the wall. “No I won’t,” he giggles, good mood blown back to life by the flames of your embarrassment “and if you’re that worried just stay here and squeeze me.”

Idia

"You're seriously too unaware for your own good." Idia mutters, wrapping himself further into Jack's jacket as you try to hide yourself in his hoodie. The outline of his hair flickers a gentle pink as the two of you try your best to avoid looking at each other.

"He was just worried about me being cold because I wouldn't stop sneezing during class." Idia's sweatshirt smells surprisingly nice, and once you get the courage to look up at your boyfriend he doesn't look bad in the regular uniform jacket either. Though you have to admit, he is at his cutest when he is comfortable and he definitely is not right now.

"We aren't in the same classes so I miss out on time limited quests like that, huh." He mutters, reaching up to fidget with his headphones while you wonder if touching him would spook him too much. "It's almost like everyone forgets we're together."

"I'd never let them do that!" You decide to risk it, wrapping your arms around Idia's torso in a loose embrace he can escape if he needs to. It forces him to really look you over, taking in the full sight of you in his hoodie and a deep, deep breath.

It makes his hair explode into a beautiful hot pink display.

"On second thought take it off." He squeaks, jumping back from your hug and burying his face in his hands.

"Idia-"

"Quick, I can't handle this much agrro!"

Leona

There is an angel at rest in the furthest corner of the NRC library. Their head is firmly smashed against a text book, leaving a clear dent in their cheek that is threatening to turn into a series of paper cuts. Anyone would look at them and be drawn in...

Which was precisely the problem. Someone had forgotten they had a much more comfortable place to nap and a much more comfortable partner than a stack of old books, and hadn't gone looking for him, forcing Leona to do some work for once. And good thing he decided to go on patrol too, some small brained herbivore had decided to try and push in on his territory. As if sensing his presence, you stir in your sleep slightly and Leona suppresses a smile. Barely.

"Oy." Leona bats the offending jacket off from around your shoulders, resisting the urge to turn it to sand, reminding himself that would be petty and beneath him.

Exactly where that jacket was right now.

"Leona?" You murmur sleepily, trying to resist the temptation to rub your eyes. His heart clenches painfully in denial of how cute you are.

"What are you some sort of cub? Making me come looking for you like this." His insults make you smile for some reason as you reach to shove your books back into your bag blissfully unaware of the jealousy storming behind them.

"Let's go take a nap," you hum, well aware those are some of Leona's favorite words "I had a really nice dream about you, wanna actually wake up in your arms next time." Well now, Leona certainly isn't going to argue with that.

[boydepartment]

enhypen texts + scenario - when you ask them to call

a/n: i am procrastinating on eng 102 hw. that’s not due until sunday but STILL. i just don’t wanna do it rn 🫶

warnings: cursing

MASTERLIST

jungwon-

when jungwon finally called and you answered you perked up...

"hey my baby! are you feeling any better? i know this cold has been messing with you..." his voice sounded worried. you sneezed and hummed softly. "i've been trying to get better so i can see you again, i dont wanna get you sick or anything!" you whined, you missed him dearly but you could not get him sick. especially with a comeback around the corner. "do you want to play a game or something? that always cheers you up!" you smiled at jungwon's kindness, "i'd really love that."

heeseung-

when heeseung answered he set his phone up his phone at his desk so you could see him...

"hey my favorite person! i missed you..." heeseung mumbled as he clicked away at the computer. "i thought i asked you to stop playing league!" you teased him, joking of course. he started giggling and pushed up his glasses. "after this game, i'm in the middle and leaving would make me a shitty friend!" he was focused. you really didn't mind when he played games while you called him. you got to see the eye candy in front of you, and you got to listen to him talk to himself, cursing under his breath. so safe to say you were not complaining <3

jay-

when you finally got a call it felt like a breath of fresh air to you...

"i am so stressed right now..." you leaned you head down on you pillow, you resorted to studying in bed. "i know my love, do you want to teach me what youre learning? i heard that can help..." he suggested, jay's voice was soft. you smiled to yourself, "i think that will help, but can you tell me about your day first?" "of course darling..."

jake-

when jake finally answered you, you kicked your feet a little, not that he needed to know that...

"hiiiiii!" jake said, in his usual cheery tone, he was always happy to hear your voice, so you didnt answer, you hummed. "y/nnnnnnn!!!!! i want to hear your voice please!" he started acting overdramatic, whining, being loud, the whole thing. you started to laugh and snort. "that works for me too, your laugh is my second favorite noise!" your brows furrowed, "what the hell is your favorite?" "YOUR VOICE ITSELF?????" jake sounded offended, "I AM NOT SOME PERV? I DONT KNOW WHY PEOPLE THINK THAT!" you started laughing again, jake never failing to making your mood lighter.

sunghoon-

you did not think sunghoon was actually sprinting, so when you answered the face time call and saw the phone looking like it was being thrown, you started laughing.

"AH! I AM FINALLY IN MY HOTEL ROOM!" you heard his door shut and saw him flop on the bed, "hi my love!" you were still giggling, "you didn't have to run!" "i did have to run! i missed you! and you missed me!" sunghoon spoke like it was the most simple thing on earth. "i love you." you spoke softly, sunghoon put his face in the blanket. mumbling out a weak, "i love you too."

sunoo-

"NOW WHY ON EARTH ARE YOU HIDING YOUR EMOTIONS FROM ME?!"

you jumped back from your phone, sunoo was LOUD. "i didnt want you to think i was clingy!" you cringed out. sunoo let out an appalled noise. "y/n l/n i love you more than anything in the world! do not be afraid to say you miss me! in fact i miss you ALL the time!" you heard him huff at the end, solidifying his statement in a very sunoo way. he never failed to make you smile. "okay okay! i miss you everyday too! now talk to me please!" you said in between laughs. "THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!"

riki-

you read over his lasts texts trying to comprehend them until he called you

"you okay? you seemed mad." riki spoke, you head him rustle around a bit so you assumed that he was in bed, you were too. "no, i am just really tired of human interaction right now." riki chuckled slightly, "that's ironic." "shut up i thought we already established you are something else." you spoke quickly and defensively, this made him laugh and accidentally drop his phone. "FUCK!" you started laughing, "what the hell just happened!?" you didn't know this, but the fact riki made you laugh by purposely dropping his phone made his heart warm. you also didn't need to know that risking shattering his phone was on purpose either just to hear you laugh again. "I ACCIDENTALLY DROPPED MY PHONE AND I CANT FIND IT BECAUSE IT IS DARK IN MY ROOM!"

[strawb3rrystar]

Spider gang x sick!reader

Down with a sickness

Pairing: Miles Morales, Gwen Stacy, Miguel O'Hara, Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhnakar x GN! Sick! Reader

Warnings: Mentions common cold symptoms, nothing too serious, some light petty arguments

☆ - (Jaanu = Beloved)

Word count: 600

Miles Morales

"Hey, I brought you some soup." You hear Miles' voice, coming through your window.

"Did mama Rio make it?" You ask groggily, lifting your head from under the covers.

"No... she was hung up with work." Miles sits in an empty space on your bed. "But, I'm sure it'll still make you feel better."

"No, go away. I don't want it." You pull the covers back over your head.

"Come on, hermosa. It'll make you feel better-"

"What's the point of eating if it's not made by your mother, Miles?" You reply, slightly muffled by the comforter.

"Listen, I'm sure my dad's cooking will suffice." He pats your leg, prompting you to sit up.

"Miles, respectively. Have you ever tasted your dad's cooking?" You cross your arms.

"Yes, but-"

"So, you would have to agree that his cooking cannot compare to mama Rio's." You tilt your head knowingly.

Miles sighs, smiling lightly. "I would, but can't you just put up with it. For me?"

"Fine, fine. Hand it over." You roll your eyes, making grabby hands.

"But... just know you owe me cuddles now." You grin.

Gwen Stacy

"Sweetie, please?" Gwen pleads, holding the thermometer. You shake your head, refusing like a child.

"(Name) you're literally sweating because of your fever." She sighs.

"I don't need that." You huff.

"You asked me to take care of you. This is me taking care of you." Gwen states as she pins your tired, sick self to the bed. "Now, we will stay like this until you take the thermometer."

"Fine, fine." You open your mouth for her. She places the thermometer on your tongue, giving your forehead a kiss.

"Thank you, Sunshine."

Miguel O'Hara

"Achoo!" Your sneeze echoed through the lab.

"Princesa, I told you to stay home." Your husband's voice follows shortly after.

"No, I'm fine." You reply, but sneeze again.

"It's okay, just go home and rest." Miguel pats your shoulder.

"No one else knows how to do my job. So, I have to do it." You mumble.

Miguel sighs, grabbing your chin and lifting it to meet his gaze. "Princesa, I know how to do your job. I'm the one who trained you."

"Oh... right." You awkwardly laugh. "Well then, I'll be going, now.

Hobie Brown

"Hobie, didn't I tell you not to come over?" You ask, blowing your nose for the billionth time.

"Well, yeah. But I thought I'd come over anyway." He shrugs, closing your window.

You sigh, pulling your covers back over your shoulders "I don't have the energy to hang out with you today."

"That's fine." He plops down on your bed "We can just sit in silence until you feel better."

"Hobie, I love you. But, I don't want you to get sick," You sniffle.

"Eh, I don't mind. If I do get sick, I'll get to spend all day with my lovely partner." He replies.

"I thought you didn't like labels?" You raise an eyebrow at him.

"Mhm, but remember what you said to Miguel last week?"

"Stupid rules are meant to be broken stupidly? Yeah, and he nearly threw me out the window for it!" You grumble, making Hobie chuckle.

Pavitr Prabhnakar

"Pav, stop it." You chuckle, squirming around a little. "You're going to get sick too."

"I'm... aware." He replies between kisses.

"Do you really have nothing else to do besides attack me with kisses?" You ask.

"Nope, there's nothing I'd rather do than kiss you." Pavitr smiles, kissing your forehead.

"But, what about your job? You know, that's kinda important." You remarked.

"Nothing's more important than you, Jaanu." He kisses your lips again.

"Alright, fine. Just don't blame me if you get sick." You mumble against his lips.

Star's Notes -> Some of them are lackluster, but whatever

(Thank you, sweet anon, for requesting!)

Taglist -> @1-danid, @stupidsublime, @saolaced, @cyber-l0ve | Join the taglist

[rustedhearts]

Pretty Boy (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!fem reader)

summary: a look into the mind of our favorite brooding boxer; steve has a hard time opening up to you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the steve collection ♡ ♡ the king of the ring ♡

warnings: mention of nightmares, trauma talk!: mention of childhood + domestic abuse, steve has some deep-rooted insecurity, angst, hurt/comfort, allusion to smut at the end + soft steve :(

a/n: told from steve’s pov! in writing his pov, I tried to mimic his voice, the writing may seem a little unsophisticated at times. Steve struggles to find words sometimes.

seattle, washington june 1990

When Libby sleeps, she looks like an angel.

Somehow, she always dozes off facing me. Her lashes flutter for a few moments, and then they still. Her lip quivers, her nose twitches, and then they stop. When she searches for me in her sleep, I let her take my hand. She never remembers in the morning, and I allow myself this moment of secrecy. A moment of affection I don't have to pretend to dislike.

And when Libby sleeps, she never has nightmares. She wakes in the morning, well-rested and bright-eyed.

She knows nothing of mine.

It was easier to hide them when we slept apart, and though I'd rather die than be apart from her even in sleep, sometimes I wish for an empty bed to kick and scream at when I wake at midnight for the fourth time this week with the sound of my father's voice in the room. It's fucking stupid, how much the fucker lives in my head. The day I walked out of his house, I swore I'd never think of him again—but I have yet to escape him.

So, when Libby wakes—and I've just spent the last few hours trying to lull myself back to sleep—I take comfort in her voice. It's ridiculous, really, how easily it soothes me.

"Good morning, Stevie," she cooed this morning, stirring in my arms and searching blindly for my head.

Her hand—small, scented of the remnants of her indescribable perfume: like vanilla but not quite, something sweet and flowery but not so much that I have to sneeze, but whatever it was made my chest feel tight every time—skated across the back of my head.

The first time she did that, brushed the hair at the back of my head down with her palm, feathered her fingers through it, I think I shivered. Nobody's ever done that. Before Libby, I never wanted anyone to touch my hair. It was something my mother never did, and now I didn't know how to bear it. But now, I never want Libby to stop. How fucking stupid is that?

So much so, that when she took her hand away, I wanted to reach out and snatch it back, place it back into my hair and let her pet me like a puppy. But I ignored the lurch in my stomach, let her use her hand to rub at her eyes and hide a yawn. Had I taken her hand back, would she have liked it? Would it have been overbearing, too possessive?

"Morning, angel."

Libby hummed—a squeaky pip of a sound—and flopped onto her back. Her hair moved with her, fanning across the pillow like a mane. This position drew her eyes back a little, made them a little wider. Every day, I find new things about her to love. And every day, I find new things I worry will be taken away.

"What's on the agenda today, handsome?" Her voice was always so soft. I'm no good at describing voices, using pretty words to compare them to shit—but Libby's voice sounded like cotton. Fluffy, soft, gentle.

I brought my hand to her face, pressing it against her cheek. I noticed that every time I do that, hold her face and caress it, she softened a little. Her eyes got this little twinkle, like she was seeing a kitten in a storefront.

"Same shit. Training, maybe a late lunch if Big doesn't ride my ass." I hated to admit it. I hated telling her that she was stuck with me all day again, though she swore she doesn't mind it.

But I always saw the way she crumbled a little.

"Oh, okay," she chirped, and a smile came to her face a moment later.

Before I could say anything else, she slipped from my arms. Freed of the crisp confines of the white hotel sheets, she padded toward the bathroom in nothing but her silky nightgown. It was the same one she used to wear back home—orange, covered in flowers, lace around the straps and along her breasts.

It reminded me of days spent rotting in my apartment: hovering behind her while she flipped pancakes on the stove, lounging on the sofa while she flittered and spun around the room listening to Donna Summer on my record player, watching each other's eyes in the afternoon light when we were just waking up. Now, the straps were wearing thin and the lace was starting to tear, but if I bought her a new one, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't remind me of home.

"Do you think," Libby mumbled around her toothbrush, words sudsing with white foam, "we'll have time to see the Pike Place Market?"

I knew the answer. I knew we wouldn't. But Libby spat toothpaste into the sink and rinsed her mouth with minty wash, and she pulled her hair away from her face to rub cream across her cheeks; she readied herself for a day she'd spend confined in a sweaty, musty gym, reading a book she'd read dozens of times before. She did so much for me. I felt like I didn't do enough for her.

"Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can try," I told her.

The radiant smile I received in response made the lie worth it.

♡ ♡

At least not everything was a lie.

We had time for lunch: a small bistro just down the street from the gym. Training was rough today—Big had been on my ass like fly on shit ever since the incident in Boston. I was training harder, longer, at a frequency that I knew upset Libby. By the afternoon, all the glowing brightness to her face had disappeared, and morphed into something bitter and drawn.

Ketchup splattered with every smack of her French fry in the glob on her plate, and I huffed as speckles appeared on my hand again.

“Libby.” It always came out of my mouth a little too harsh. I never meant to yell when I did.

Libby huffed, dropping the french fry into the ketchup. She reached for her Pepsi, sipping from the striped straw with glossy lips. I watched them close around the end of it and immediately missed the feel of them against me, though I’d just kissed her on the way here. When she set the glass down, I took her hand and brought it to my mouth. Her chin dropped to her other palm, elbow thunking on the table.

A sharp sigh left me before I could stop it, our intertwined hands resting beside the plates. “What’s wrong now?”

Libby’s eyes moved from the window to her picked-at plate. “Nothing.”

‘Nothing’ always meant ‘everything.’ Libby was a notorious pouter—something I usually adored about her. Until she pouted in retaliation for the fact that I couldn’t read her mind. I much preferred the pout that came from too little attention, or when she wanted something without asking for it—that pout was soft an old d doe-eyed, usually followed by a sweet kiss to the cheek. This pout was sour and came followed by huffing and eye rolling.

“Libby,” I sighed, crumpling my napkin in my fist and tossing it onto the table.

Her arms crossed, and the predictable eye roll followed suit. I scowled at the sight of it. Libby, usually sickeningly sweet, had an attitude on her that I dreaded the appearance of.

My fist landed on the table with a noisy bang, rattling the cutlery and causing Libby to flinch. A part of me shriveled when she did that. My chest tightened like a compressed air bag. An apology collected on the tip of my tongue. But would an apology make me look like weak? You lack conviction, Steven. No one’s going to take you seriously, pretty boy. You look like a little pussy. There was my father’s voice again, ringing in my head. I ran my hand through the front of my hair to mess it up. Pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy.

“Fuck,” shot from my mouth before I could swallow it, “just…I can’t read your damn mind, Libby.”

I didn't want her to be upset. I didn't want her to pout and roll her eyes and be sour all day—I wanted to see her smile and giggle and blush at the way I teased her. I wanted to have a nice day.

"It's nothing, Steve," she sighed, pulling away from the table to rest back against her side of the booth.

Libby looked off toward the window to her left, and an image of our first date suddenly flashed in my mind. The glimmering sheen of grease on every slice of pizza, the low jazz on the jukebox, the stench of beer on her pretty dress, the way her lips tasted under the streetlight on the way home—like Libby. There was no other way to describe it. She had a taste of her own—like fresh bakery and the sugary coating on a sour gummy worm, but also like artificial strawberry and Coca Cola. I never got tired of that taste in my mouth.

She was upset with me, but later, she wouldn’t be. She always got upset with me, but she always forgave me. At the end of the day, we loved each other. Wasn’t that enough?

I plucked her hand up again when it touched the table, bringing it to my mouth. My lips grazed her knuckles, thumb pressing into the ring on her middle finger that she wore every day. It was old and needed to be cleaned, but it reminded her of home. Like the silk nightgown she wore to bed, it was a piece of home she wasn’t ready to trade in for something new.

“Come on, let’s go to that…that market place.”

Libby’s head whipped from the window, eyes wide as they settled on me. I could see the bitter resolve melting like sugar in water—delight overwhelmed her face. “Really?”

Big and Mikey would frantically call the hotel in search of me, and when they’d find me later, I’d get another lecture about how important this fight was for my career, how I couldn’t ‘fuck around’ anymore. Have some responsibility, pretty boy. You gonna be somebody’s bitch your whole life? Fuckin' pussy. Pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy.

“Yeah, angel. Grab your stuff, come on.”

♡ ♡

The 'market' reeked of fish.

But Libby walked around, paper cup of gelato in hand, licking spoonfuls as she wandered from stands of fish to tables of beaded jewelry, eagerly soaking in the chaotic sounds and scents of the market. My sunglasses did little to combat the thumping in my temples, but I did my best to grit my teeth and endure the overwhelming stimulations. I knew when she found the corner of leather-bound books and handmade bookmarks that we'd be there a while.

When she began to protest the appearance of my wallet and the stack of cash headed the merchant's way, I pinched her lips between my fingers and kissed the tip of her nose. Her arms found their way around my stomach, cheek pressed to my back, and as the merchant wrapped her new books and journal in paper, she just held me. Even against all the nautical stenches and earth shattering noises that amplified the pain in my head, I could've stood there all day just to feel her arms around me. When Libby hugged me, she really hugged me. With all her strength, a pressure both comforting and soothing. She made sure I knew she was there.

"I need to get this fuckin' fish smell off me," I grumbled on the way into the hotel room, kicking the door shut behind us.

Libby flopped on the neatly-made, discarding her purse to the side before scrambling to unfold the paper around her books. She'd sit and admire them for hours if she could, cooing about the 'craftsmanship' of the leather and its 'embossment,' fawning over the color they chose to stain it with. She once spent forty-five minutes in an aisle of pens to find the perfect one, and came away with a regular old black ballpoint that she claimed 'had the perfect run.'

I never understood what Libby was talking about, but fuck did I love her.

"Okay. Wanna order some room serv—"

The phone on the nightstand shrilled, and Libby rolled onto her side to pluck it from the cradle. "Hello? Oh, hi, Mom!"

I inched toward the bathroom, hand still on the doorknob. Libby took her new journal in her hand and grinned, running her fingers over the spine. Her mouth moved like a motor, gushing over the hours spent in the market. I pushed the bathroom door open and glanced over just once more in time to see her nose scrunch with a giggle. She caught my eyes in the sliver of the door before it shut and grinned.

I thought about that smile the whole time in the shower. I ached at the image of it behind my eyes. I listened as closely as I could over the patter of the water to catch every giggle that I could.

Dripping across the tiles, I ruffled a towel through my hair and avoided looking into the mirror as I approached the sink. Libby's bag of makeup sat on its side atop the marble. I fingered through the tubes and compacts until I found a familiar tube of lotion. I plucked it out, sniffed the cap, and paused. Pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy. One day, Libby put too much in her palms, and swiped them over mine to share the creamy mixture. The scent lingered for hours, left my hands soft and smelling like Libby. Dad would've kicked my ass for something like that. I tossed the lotion back and yanked open the door.

"Steve! We have neighbors!"

Libby skittered toward the window, running along the length of the glass to draw the drapes shut. I shrugged, bending toward the luggage to rifle through my clothes. "Free show for them."

Libby shook her head, sliding back onto the bed, lounging on her stomach. Despite her temporary irritation with me, I could see her head tipping and her eyes wandering in the corner of my eye as I pulled a t-shirt over my head and sweatpants over my hips. I shuffled toward the bed, coming to a stop with my neglected hard-on placed in front of her.

"You gotta pay the toll though," I told her, cupping my hand under her chin to give it a squeeze.

Libby giggled, shoving my hand away. "You're so gross."

I pouted. "Thought you liked my dick in your mouth, baby."

She shot to her knees on the bed, jaw dropping. "Steve." A laugh rattled my name.

I curled a finger toward me, reaching for her arm when she didn't move fast enough. "C'mere, want a kiss."

Libby's smile smoothed. "Wait, I gotta tell you something. My mom called, she said..."

She captured her lip between her teeth and dropped her eyes toward my chest. Every alarm in my head started ringing. Did someone get hurt? Did they tell her to come home? Did they tell her to leave me?

"What?"

Libby pushed up on her knees, bringing her hands to my shoulders. They rubbed and squeezed, kneading and massaging in the way they only do when she's nervous to tell me something.

"She said she bumped into your mom at the store."

My eyes couldn't move from her face, pinched with worry. She rubbed harder, trailing her hands up the sides of my neck to cup my face.

"Steve?"

My mother. Blonde hair wound up, green eyes, silver watch, the stench of red wine, the sharp snap of a pill case. She stopped calling me Steve at nine years old. Steven came with a venom spit like pills pinging across the tile of the bathroom floor. Vomit in the toilet. My mother was much heavier than I thought she’d be. She begged me not to tell dad. Her green eyes wore a purple ring for a week when he found out.

“My mother,” I echoed.

Libby nodded. The image of her in front of me blurred, like she was standing behind frosted glass. “I just…thought you’d want to know. I know you don’t…talk to them, or about them. But I just—Steve?”

Libby smelled like all the good things in life. Her hands were soft and warm and so much smaller than mine, and I always wanted them on me. But right now, it was getting hard to breathe. Her hands were strangling me. My defenses were rattled. I was twelve years old covering my ears in my closet, screaming into a baseball jersey.

I shoved at Libby's hands, tearing them away from me. She sank down to her heels again, but the image of her in my periphery became a blob when I began to pace. The room no longer smelled like all things good and Libby—it smelled like that house. That god awful fucking house in Indiana. When I felt like dying, the world always smelled like that house.

"Steve? Hey, just...talk to me, baby, please." That cottony voice tickled my ears, but it couldn't penetrate the fog.

I paused in front of the mini bar. The little bottles of liquor enticed me. My mother's poison was wine and pills. My father's was whiskey. Sober or drunk, they were always the same.

"Steve?"

When I got a little tipsy, I started to hear their words coming out of my own mouth. Don't be such a fuckin' pussy. What are you good for? Pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy.

I couldn't be around Libby right now. I didn't want her to see me like this. I turned to make for the door, but she was on me—scurrying from the bed and tripping over her bare feet to place her hands on my chest.

"Hey, hey, baby, please. Y-you're scaring me, I...what can I do?"

I kept my eyes above her head, on the exit in sight. One look into those eyes and I'd sink to my knees, spill all my secrets. I couldn't look weak in front of her. Pretty boy. She'd never see me as anything but some whiney little puppy, something broken to be fixed. I didn't need anyone to fix me. I didn't need anyone to help me. Pretty boy. I was doing just fine on my own. I'm not weak. I'm not weak.

"Do you want to talk about i—"

"—no."

Libby's hands felt so heavy on my chest. "Steve," she sighed, but there was an edge to it, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

I knew the moment I looked at her that whatever face I was making pierced her with hurt. Her eyes welled in the way they do only when I make her cry. I wish I didn't do that.

"I don't need your fuckin' help." I said it too mean. I always do.

My fists were buzzing with the telltale thrum of restlessness. They needed to feel impact, they needed to hit. I could only take so many before I started needing to make some myself. Getting hit didn't feel nearly as good as hitting back. In boxing, I got to do both.

"Why are you acting like this? Steve, just...talk to me, please. I'm begging you—"

Oh god. "Oh, God, Libby, what the fuck? Don't—don't do that!"

The room seemed to be shaking. The way it used to shake when Dad started hitting and I knew I could hit back, I envisioned all the ways I should hit back, but my arms were limp. The way it used to shake when I tried to clean Mom up once Dad's car left the driveway, but she screamed until I thought my ears would bleed.

"Do what? Steve, please, I'm just trying to help you—"

The image of her standing in the middle of the hotel room sliced through me, but the words were already shooting out of me. The edges of the room were already turning black. I couldn't stop the rattling in my chest.

"—well stop! I don't want your help—I don't need your help, Elizabeth."

For a while, all I heard were the huffs of my own breath. I'd never seen Libby so motionless, not even in her sleep. She twitched, her eyes roamed behind her eyelids, her feet kicked beneath the covers. Now, she did nothing but blink and breathe, and stare at me.

"I won't love half a man, Steve."

My chest moved with such force under each breath that I could see every rise and fall beneath my nose. Libby's nostrils flared. Her eyes welled with tears.

"That's what you are. Look at you, Steve—you're hiding. All this time, you've been hiding this other part of you. And I can't...I can't just...wait around forever until you figure it out on your own. You're not on your own. We're partners, Steve, you and me. But you never talk to me."

A sour taste arrived in my mouth. I hadn't thrown up since I got food poisoning in eighth grade. Right now, I was coming close. I didn't know what to say, or how to say it. How could I make this better? How could I fix it? Would she leave me now?

"You think about that," she insisted, pointing a polished finger my way.

The bathroom door slammed closed, the muffled rummage of drawers and cabinets opening following suit. The rumble of water filling the tub came after. I found the edge of the bed with slow steps, desperate for some sort of softness. The brightness of the room brought the pain back to my eyes. My own voice, screaming at an octave I now became embarrassed of, made my head feel swollen and tender. I flinched when the water sloshed on the other side of the door.

"Steve?"

The room was so quiet. I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep. Not until I felt something soft beneath my cheek, and something small rocking my shoulder. The brightness had dimmed to a purplish light, beaconing over my feet at the end of the bed. Libby smelled freshly cleaned, like hotel soap and her face cream. Her lips left a minty imprint on my cheek.

"You okay? I can get your medicine if your head hurts—"

The pain had simmered to a dull ache. All I wanted was her in my arms. I found her in the darkness, wrapping my hand around her arm and giving it a pull until she flopped onto the other side of me. I yanked her against me like she'd been gone for years. It was selfish, I know. But all I needed was her. I hoped she understood that I was sorry.

"Just want you."

Libby pressed her nose to my throat. It felt like an icicle. "Okay."

I never understood how she could forgive me that easy. I'm still trying to forgive myself for half the shit I did to her.

"I don't like talking about them. They're...they're shit excuses for parents."

Libby rubbed her nose against my throat. I let my eyes sink closed, chin resting atop her head. "It's just me, Stevie. And no matter what you tell me, it's never gonna change how I feel about you. Alright?"

I'd never believe that. "Okay. And I'll...I'll tell you all about it, just..."

"At your own pace."

I nodded, pressing my hand to her back to bring her closer. I wasn't sure she could get any closer. "Yeah, at my own pace."

Libby latched her mouth onto my throat. A grunt stirred my cock in my pants. Her hands slid along my sides, still sporting bruises from the last match, and I fell to my back. Her weight pressed down on me, knees bookended on either side of my torso. Her hair tickled my cheeks as her mouth dampened my neck. Her ass fit perfectly in my palms, enough to squeeze and slap. She jerked against me when my hand came down in even the gentlest pat.

"Let me take care of you," tickled my throat.

I nodded, cock aching and straining against the thin cloth of my sweatpants. She knew just where to fix me—where to wrap her hand and squeeze.

"I'm sorry, angel," I gasped, stuttering around the firm glide of her hand up my shaft.

Libby kissed across my jaw. "I know. Just let me take care of you, Steve."

I could do that. I could be taken care of. In her hands, I was safe.

♡ ♡

[eitaababe]

SOMEBODY ELSE !

— chapter 9. jealousy.

a/n — first text is in neteyam's pov!

series masterlist. | previous / next

written portion below. —

You walked to the cafe to find Ao'nung, slightly nervous about what he wanted to talk about.

You looked down at your feet, slightly regretting not bringing a coat to your class. You chided yourself on not keeping yourself warm in fear you'd get sick again, and in the midst of your thoughts, a voice snapped you out of it.

"Y/n!"

Turning around to see Ao'nung, you smiled and stopped, letting him catch up to you. "Where's your coat?"

"Don't have one."

"This is why you get colds, you know." He teased, taking off his coat to give to you.

"You really don't have to—"

"Just shut up," He cut you off, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "As much as I loved blowing all my money on your tea and croissants, I'd rather not deal with a sick y/n. She was pretty hostile."

"Whatever," you rolled your eyes, your hand reaching up to lightly pinch his nose. "No sneezing today?"

"I took allergy pills." he grinned down at you, the two of you walking aimlessly around, in no rush to get to the cafe.

"So, what'd you wanna talk about?"

"Uhm, yeah," he paused, looking away from you and biting the inside of his cheek. "I really like you, y/n. You're sweet, and you're always so great to me, and I love being around you, so I was just wondering if you wanted to be like, my girlfriend. Or whatever." He mumbled the last part, you faintly hearing the words.

You'd stopped walking by now, standing in an empty alleyway. "Ao'nung, I really like you," you started, taking notice of the pink dusting his cheeks. "But I just don't think I'm ready for that."

His eyes met yours, and he nodded in an understanding matter. "Is it— is it Neteyam? Do you like him, or whatever?"

"He's my ex."

"Wow, okay, big detail you left out there," he joked, and you rolled your eyes at his ability to still joke at a time like this. "When did you guys break up?"

"Like, two months ago," you sighed, resting your head on his shoulder. "I like you Ao'nung, seriously. And you're a great guy, but I'm sorry, the last thing I wanna do is get into a relationship when I'm not ready and not completely over someone."

"Hey, don't even worry about it," he smiled, his thumb rubbing over your arm comfortingly. "Neteyam's a good guy, and you're around him like all the time, I get it. Just know I'll be here, okay? As a friend or— whatever we are."

You laughed, thanking him before you guys continued on your way to the cafe, his arm still around you.

Oddly enough, Neteyam was the last thing on your mind right now, until you actually entered the cafe. He was there, sitting at the booth with his arm around Violet, both their hair wet, presumably coming back from the beach.

Ao'nung glanced over and saw them, and you two both turned away to the other side of the cafe before Neteyam could spot you, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your stomach.

FUN FACTS !

— violet saw y/n and ao'nung together in the cafe and told neteyam stuff about her and ao'nungs relationship

— while violet was telling neteyam about ao'nung, ao'nung told y/n about how violet was

— lo'ak's still trying to get a date with tsireya

—

taglist #1 / closed ! @n7ytiri @ilovejakesullysdick @possysblog @love-chx @stars4deku @evphology @afro-hispwriter @ydsm-29 @tsireyasgf @goldeneywa @doulcha @krazy-kattzz @fucksnow @squid4 @blairrrrrr @neteyamforlife @dreamtogether2000 @444lyra @ambria @cawi00 @calums-betch @burntoutraven @powowowy @fadingpalacebonkpsychic @elegantkidfansoul @kolsmikaelson @mirikusashes @yukichan67 @goodiesinthecloset21 @netemoon @littlethingsinlife @coconut-dreamz @anm3mi @jjkclub @il0veheartz @liyahsocorro @nao-cchi @drugs-for-memes @zendayaswrld101 @grierpilots @misscaller06 @lightskinloak @mommyneytiri @inluvwithneteyam @halibanana @iheartamajiki @ipoopedmypants47 @neigesprincess @lookiiheh @ghostjoohoney

[instarsandcrime]

Ambrosia to Go

@here-for-the-sick-fics Hi hello! I broke rather early, so thanks for the request! I'm not sure if it's what you had in mind, but I liked the challenge and I like Huskerdust! So! Here! You go! Enjoy!

Part 1

--

As the local bartender, Husk was very aware of what made the Hazbin Hotel tick. And unfortunately, that did not stop with how they handled illness.

Charlie was not one to hide it, but she would play it down and throw endless hours into her work until she collapsed. A rumor had started around the hotel that their bartender had thrown a blanket around her shoulders when she passed out at the counter. And he'll keep saying 'no, that didn't happen' until he's blue in the face because well, no one was there to prove it, were they?

As far as he can tell, he knows Alastor can get sick. Sort of. Kind of. A sniff here, a cough there. Even if, by rare chance that an overlord gets sick, he can hide those little details-- and hide them well. It would take only God themself to even catch him sneezing more than once.

When Lucifer gets hit, he gets hit hard. Denying it is somehow his go-to strategy even when the slightest cold knocks him down. Last time he'd seen the king sick he'd been working on some pretty important documents and, by the end of one of his many fits, he'd sneezed so hard that he breathed fire through the entire stack.

Niffty doesn't get sick. She's never gotten sick once since they started working together. He knows this. She knows this. It's incredibly unsettling and he'd rather not talk about it.

And today, he’s unfortunately left with...

"Angel Dust." Husk raised a bushy brow, "I'm cuttin' you off. You look like you're gonna pass out any second now."

And there sat the demon of the hour, famous porn star beloved by millions, plastered out of his mind and clutching a glass of what he calls his 'medical ambrosia'.

"Lissen! Lissen. Iii..." Angel's nose scrunched, and quickly covered it with a tissue-- which Husk nudged slightly to the left for accuracy's sake. "Hep'shhh! HET'shhhiieww. Ugh, gross."

The owlcat winced, fighting back the guilt he'd stuffed down for hours now. "Ange, I--"

"Shaddup!" Four accusatory fingers pointed, "If I had a cold I'd have it! And if I had your previous cold I'd say shhhhhaddup! Because you're-- snffff! you're a real nice guy, y'know that?"

"But--"

"Shhhhhhh!" Angel squinted, "All...all four of ya shut yer traps. You were worth it and don't you forget it. 'Kay?"

That speech was way too sincere. Oh God above he has to care again, doesn't he? Rolling his eyes with a groan, Husk swept the half empty shooter from the swaying patron’s grip.

"Hey! What gives?!"

Wordlessly he tossed Angel’s ambrosia down the drain, jumpstarting the closing time routine.

"Don't be like that Whiskers! We were just...g-gettin'...g-gettin' intehh...hih!" Angel hitched, fanning himself desperately before--

"HEP'shhhh!" He pitched forward, caught by a tissue in helping paws. The bartender sighed– then repressed a shiver when the sickly spider blew messily into cheap paper.

"Yer lucky you're cute." Husk grumbled.

"Whassat?"

"Nothin'." Tossing the soaked through tissue in the wastebasket, he snaked an arm around Angel Dust's waist. "C'mon sickie, let's get you to bed."

As he pulled Angel off the stool, it took a few seconds for his mind to buffer before sobering up a little and– here we go. Right on cue.

"Y'know this’s just allergies, right?"

"Mmmhm." Husk nodded mechanically, inching up one velvet step at a time.

"An' really, when ya think about it-- snff! Niffty's been slackin', y'know?"

"Sure." Second floor.

"I mean, missin' an hour of cleanin' today and for whuhh- what? Fightin' more roaches?"

"A shame, really." Third floor, second door on the right.

"And I...I-I..." Angel wobbled, breath hitching. Without even glancing Husk held a claw up to the spider’s nose. "Snff! Ugh. Thags."

"Shut up." Husk swore as they stumbled into the room. Purple fluorescent lights rained down on a plush bed, vanity close by. Thankfully with tissues, because he knew what was coming next. 

"Id's cold id here, isn't it?"

"Yup." Husk grunted, leaning to grab a piece while balancing Angel with the other arm. "Pretty-- ugh-- chilly."

"I mbean geez! Sub-- snff! someone should really turn up the thermos-staahhh-hheh-hihhHIHH'ATSHHHHH!" Angel pitched forward again, and Husk spread his wings to keep balance, pressing a cloth to his face before he could get sprayed. "Guh..."

"Gesundheit." Husk deadpanned. The finger under the nose trick can only work so well when it literally and figuratively backfires a few seconds later. "Alright, let's lay you down before--..." 

He tugged, but his patient wasn't moving. He was busy staring into the mirror. 

"Angel?" A paw squeezed his bicep.

"...I can't wear the robe."

"What?"

"I can’t wear the robe. He's gonna kill me." Angel Dust repeated, turning pale. "I-I…we have this scene tomorrow with this sexy lingerie bathrobe lookin' thing and-- and I look like a wreck. I sound like a wreck. When I get sick I get messy and I'm gonna sneeze all over the stubid thi’g--"

"Angel--"

"And thed Val's gudda see how gross I mbade it--"

"Hey, hey, easy." Gently guiding Angel to the bed, he mourned at the way his fluffy frame shook. “Let’s sit you down before you fall down, okay? We'll take this one step at a time. And I won’t drop you, promise."

"...I-I kndow." The patient shot him a shaky smile. Shivering and unsteady, Husk tucked the tissue box beside him and draped the comforter over his shoulders.

"Okay." He took four gloved hands in one of his own, other reaching to help Angel Dust wipe his eyes. Then moved to his nose. "Blow."

"Wh-- I cad't let you do that! It's disgustig--!"

"Good to know, ‘cause we've done this all night."

"We have?! Oh, Husgk..."

"Trust me, I've cleaned up worse at the bar."

Pink cheeks glowing red, Angel rid himself of the muck as quickly as possible-- relieved sigh quickly replaced with panic.

"It's alright." Husk kneaded patterns on the other's thigh, glancing a knowing look. "Like I said, I'm not gonna drop ya."

Understanding, Angel scooped the tissue up and pressed it to his nose. "Et'SHHHH'iiew! ep'shhhh! Ghuhh..." With another honking blow he tossed the wadded ball on the desk, flopping face first into the pillowy mattress. Husk's eyes traveled everywhere but to his partner...in...crime? Ugh. Still not sure. Instead his attention lay on Fat Nuggets while he waited, little menace snoring softly in the corner.

"...I'm gross." Angel Dust rasped, muffled through satin and lace.

"I can see that." 

"Forget what just happened. I was actin’ stupid, freakin’ out over nothin’."

"Nah." Claws threaded through tangled hair, "Fuck your boss. You should sneeze in his face."

Angel Dust snorted. Husk smirked. "Yeah. Really make 'im squirm. He wants messy fluids right?"

Slowly moving to lean against the headboard, the spider brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he stared. Pupils shrunk to pinpricks like he was at the climax of a horror movie.

"...What? I'm right." A pointed ear flicked irritably.

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Shut up. Did you just make a sex pun?"

Husk blinked in surprise, forgetting himself. And only smirked wider.

Alright, new plan.

"Me? Do somethin' like that? C'mon Legs, you're grasping. All I'm sayin' is ya gotta take a few tissues and get real passionate with 'em."

"Hhhhholy shhhhit."

"Then stuff 'em in his chest fluff or something. He can use 'em as padding."

"Are you real?" Angel gasped teasingly.

"What? You said you were gross. If he's not lettin' you call in, you might as well snee--"

"Hp'shhhh! HT'SHHHH'hhoo! Unh..."

"Yeah. Like that."

Pausing to let his patient give a gurgling blow, the tail end of a miserable groan broke into a soft giggle. Giggle breaking into another hitching mess until--

"Hih'TSCHHH! HTCH'shhhiew! H-hih-hhhHHITSCHHHH!"

"Alright, alright, that's enough excitement for one night." Husk quickly got to work, grabbing the required fluffy sweater and pajama pants. Ignoring the disappointed pout between pulling the top over Angel's stomach with a satisfied tug.

"Aw Husk–snfff! Really? Pants? I don't wannaaaa."

"Yes, pants. I thought you said you were cold."

"But they're such a paiiinnnn."

"Do you wanna get more sick?"

"...No."

"Then I'll go back to my room so you can slip those on."

A single step and--

"Wait!" Angel blurted.

A pause filled the room, save for a few coughs dragged out by the sudden burst.

"...Need something?"

"I, uh. I'm not ready."

"Christ Ange, are you still drunk? Jus’ put on your pants one leg at a time–"

"No! What?! No! I don’t want you to leave!" An aching voice broke. Tired eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly feeling rather small, he forced his gaze down to his gloves, peeling them off one by one as he spoke. "I…I-I know it's late, so you can always say no. I just…I don't wanna be alone right now."

Another pause. “...Please.”

A sharp sigh immediately cut any creeping tension, listening to a winged back thump against the wall. "I get it. Bein’ sick is…a lot. You don't need to write me an essay. And I don't pick favorite customers, but I gotta admit. I'll keep the bar open all night if it means I get to talk to Anthony again. Just once, that’s all I need."

[sharkgirldick]

Chum in the water

This isn't really stuff I'm into, but I got inspired to write this for a friend who is into it all.

TW noncon, TW somno, TW drugging

It was a good night. We had gotten food, played some games, and shot the shit for a few hours. It wasn't quite night, but the sun was setting and, suddenly, your allergies were kicking up. You're not from around my neck of the woods, after all, and it was pollen season.

I told you to hang tight, I had some allergy medicine. When I went into my bathroom, I was gone for a little too long. You wondered if I maybe had to go while I was up? Either way, you scrolled your phone and sneezed until I re-entered the room. I offered you two small, unmarked pink pills. We already had sodas, and you reached for yours. When you asked what the pills were I simply responded with "Benadryl." Off brand, of course, which is why they had no markings.

I informed you that it might make you a bit sleepy. Since the night was wearing on, you had no problem with that. We moved to my room. I had graciously offered you my bed. I said that I'd crash on the couch and would hang out with you until the pills made you too sleepy. It wasn't long, maybe twenty minutes, before a wave of lethargy hit you. I smiled and said good night as your eyes forced themselves shut. You don't remember seeing me leave...

For what seems like hours you float in your sleep, feeling odd and warm. You're cozy, but it also feels like there's a draft. You can't quite put the feeling into words, but you'd say it was nice. Then, almost like an old TV, you faded back into wakefulness. Not fully, of course. You might have even said you were still dreaming.

The first thing you noticed was the weight. It felt like you were being pressed against the bed. When your eyes flickered open, you saw me on top of you, sweat glistening in the moonlight leaking through the window. I was focused on something, and breathing heavily. That's when your gaze wandered lazily down, and you saw where we were connected. You wanted to tell me to stop, or to get off of you, but you still weren't fully sure if this was a dream, and it felt nice at least.

You moved to prop yourself up, and my hand pressed hard against your chest. "Don't get up, pretty thing. You're too sleepy to move, aren't you?" My eyes are locked into yours now. You slump back into the bed, and can vaguely tell that my hand is groping your breasts now. Involuntarily, you let out a soft whimper as I press against a sweet spot. "Good pet. I knew you would like it." A those words, you fall back to sleep.

More time passes in that trance-like state that the "Benadryl" has put you in. You're almost certain that you're moving the entire time, and when you come-to a second time, you find that you're face-down in the bed, your head turned to the side so you can breathe. You can feel more of your body now, and I'm still inside of you. I'm pumping hard and fast, grunting with effort as I slam into you. As you vocally stir, I grab your hair and lift you up. For a brief second you're wide awake, fear and arousal swirling in your subconscious. Then your drug-addled consciousness adjusts, and you're back to being impossibly drowsy.

I lean down, pressing deeper into you, and growl into your ear, "God, you're such a good fuck. I want to get you pregnant. I want to knock you up and you never even remember it was me. Take it. Take it, take it, take it." I press deep into you, my body shuddering. You can't help but pathetically whine in my grip and my load pulses into you. I let go of your hair, and you fall face first into the pillow. I slowly slide out of you, my hands still squeezing your ass. That's the last sensation you remember before falling back to sleep.

The next morning, you wake with a start. You shoot up and toss the blanket off. You're fully dressed, and completely clean. Cautiously, you close and lock my bedroom door and examine yourself in the mirror. You're not sore, and there's no lube or cum leaking out of you. God, was is really just a dream? You could have sworn...

You leave my room and slowly, quietly, make your way to the living room. I'm splayed out on the couch, snoring loudly. I certainly look like I was asleep all night. While you stand there, I stir, which makes you jump.

I blink up at you. "Hey. You're up early. Or... What time is it?" I reach for my phone and check the time. You realize you never even bothered. "Damn, it's already 10? We went to bed at like 8. Well..." I grin up at you. "I went to couch at 8 and you went into a Benadryl coma." You almost want to be mad, but you can feel your cheeks flush instead. "...? What's up? You look embarrassed. Oh! I know." You look at me, wide eyed. "The meds made you have a sex dream. Makes me have one almost every time." Your reaction only makes me laugh. "Knew it! Well. I hope it was good. Let's get breakfast."

And, with that, we have a very normal morning. We eat and shoot the shit, talking about what we're going to do today. You can't help but feel embarrassed that you had such a vivid dream about your friend that you're not even interested in. You can't believe how much it turned you on... Not that you could ever tell me that. I acted like nothing even happened, and you assumed that was exactly the case. After all, I had never shown any interest in you sexually. We'd barely even touched, except for times like this morning where I leaned in to show you something on my phone. And, well... When I rubbed your stomach for seemingly no reason this morning. But that didn't mean anything... Right?

[misc-obeyme]

do u think they have a swear jar but instead of swears its for stuff like "jesus" or "bless you" or "god dammit". does it hurt them like a pinch when i say these things. could i run mammon down saying jesus over and over again much to his agony. much to ponder

Well, anon, personally I love the idea that it's MC's swear jar. Like the demons don't say stuff like that because it causes them actual pain, so the only one putting money in the swear jar is MC. Can you imagine a little jar full of Grimm because MC can't stop saying "bless you?" That's hilarious.

I say fuck the most so I think I'd be okay, but then again I've been known to say god dammit when I'm frustrated. I'll also yell Jesus if something scares me. I don't know why, it's a very specific circumstance. Like if someone was to jump scare me, that's what I yell. I don't really use it much in other scenarios so I'm not sure what that's about.

But now I'm just imagining Mammon deliberately scaring me to get me to say it so I have to put more Grimm in the jar, even though it causes him pain to hear it. Just because you know he's taking all that Grimm for himself. Let's be real, Lucifer is probably the one who set up the jar, but Mammon is gonna steal everything out of it whenever it gets full.

Just imagine a really polite MC going broke because they can't stop saying "bless you." Mammon is just over here fake sneezing all day lol. MC has to train themselves not to say "bless you" when he's faking it. It takes a while because it's just an automatic reaction, you know?

I think Mammon would endure a surprising amount of pain if it meant he was going to get a bunch of Grimm out of it. And if it's just like being pinched, it's probably not too bad. Though perhaps the effects are more compounded if you do it all in a row like that. Then you might end up with Mammon begging you to stop.

And if any of the brothers complain about it, you can just remind them that it's not as bad as "stay."

[imreadydollparts]

Phoebe and the BunchEms

Have you heard of BunchEms? These little plastic balls covered in hooks like Velcro that you stick together to make shapes and stuff?

The first I heard of them was when I came across posts about getting BunchEms out of little kids' hair...

That is horrifying.

Now, I am someone that is Good at detangling and retexturing synthetic doll hair. I saw an American Girl Julie on shopgoodwill.com with BunchEms in her hair and got curious.

Are they really THAT hard to get out of hair, or were the people doing it just not that great at detangling?

I'll spare you the suspense and say that yes, they really are that horrible. I think it would be more humane to just cut the child's hair and let it grow out again rather than make them sit through an attempt at removing The Devil's Dingleberries.

I didn't win the auction for Julie but was talking to my doll friends and said that if I ever happened to find BunchEms and a doll I didn't care about at Goodwill at the same time, I'd grab them so I could experience this hell for myself.

Enter Phoebe.

This is a Battat Our Generation (Target's version of American Girl) Phoebe. You can't really see her before-hair well, but it wasn't in too bad of condition. It was matted in a couple spots, very dirty, and had grass stuck in it.

I do wish I'd cleaned and detangled her before I did this. The dirtiness had everyone in the house sneezing.

But wow was that exciting. I enjoyed being the destroyer instead of the fixer for once. That was fun.

Removing them again was not. That was the opposite of fun.

It took me about a month because I had to stop for a medical emergency and was only able to work on her again last week. Since I'm going through a series of surgeries I've had a lot of non-productive time. I just finished her hair up today.

The BunchEms were very difficult to remove. It took a lot of careful, slow, agonizing combing and brushing, picking and pulling, some ripping and tearing, to get the hair free from each little ball's many, multidirectional teeth.

What's worse is that as I would work on the balls nearer the ends of her hair, the ones closer to her face got tighter and tighter into her hairline.

They were pushing against her skin at this point.

I'd get some hair free, put it to the side, and discover it had reattached to different BunchEms on that side.

It was tedious. If Phoebe were a real girl, she'd be in agony from all of the pulling and combing and how tightly the BunchEms were pulling up into her hair.

I did eventually get them all out again. She lost a ton of hair. Battat OG dolls are rooted with the locked loop method, which means that if ONE loop pulls free, then they can all pull free in sequence. A lot of her hair loss was full plugs coming out of her scalp, and a lot of it was breakage. The hair that was left was a mess.

It wasn't tangled at all and was rather soft, though. I guess if you were desperate, a BunchEming could help emulate the texture of 4c hair? There has to be a better way to give a doll 4c hair than this self-torture, though.

A good bath, shampooing, three conditionings, and straightenings later and...

I had to cut out a few inches (I am bad at cutting shh), and her hair still has a lot more texture than it's supposed to.

I do not ever want to do that again.

She's going back to Goodwill to see if someone else wants to adopt her, and the BunchEms are going in the trash because they're full of doll hair and that's kind of gross.

[spicyhare]

Quick little thing with my OCs, Avery and Casper. This is my first time writing snz, and I wrote this with... urgency, so the writing could probably be better... I just wanted to get this out, hah.

I've never been so embarrassed to post anything in my life, don't look at me... 😵‍💫

---

“Alright, sweetheart. Hold still, okay?”

“Wait, what are you going to d-”

Before I could protest, Avery took my face in one large hand, tilting my head up. I gazed at him, my brows furrowed.

“Ah- What are you doing?” I tried again, eyes watering. The angle of my head only served to increase the itchiness of my nose, which I was certain must be flushed with irritation. I cursed myself; I was so excited for a walk in the park with Avery that I'd neglected to take my allergy medication, again.

“I'm going to help you sneeze, of course.”

“He’s going to what?!” My mind screamed, heat like wildfire spreading across my cheeks. I reached up with both hands, wordlessly grabbing Avery's arm as my tummy filled with butterflies, but he did not move… and with him holding my jaw, I was unable to look away.

Lifting his other hand, he revealed a vibrant bluejay feather, twirling it a few times before my eyes. My blush burned hotter as I looked desperately into his face, finding nothing but impish amusement there. He was teasing me with this!

“How interesting… you have the same look in your eyes, right now, that you get when I'm about to tickle you.”

I gasped, tightening my grip on his arm.

“A-Avery, wait-!”

He chuckled, unceremoniously positioning the feather under my nose. Then, he gently swiped it back and forth beneath my twitching nostrils, the silky tendrils fiendishly tickling my agitated skin.

“Ah, wait! Don't- do- ahhggggh-” I whimpered, squirming.

“Easy, now… I'm not going to stop, okay? Don't worry, I won't torment you… Just sneeze when you're ready, I'll keep tickling until you can.”

“A-Avery– hnk! – wh-what if I sneeze on y-ou?” I was trembling, now. Nobody had ever… assisted me in this way, before, and Avery clearly knew my feelings about it were hardly mundane. The urge to hide my flushed face from him was immense, but he did not seem keen to let me go.

He offered a small, almost sympathetic smile. “I’m pretty fast, you know; I can probably get out of the way in time. That said, though… I'm not the type of fellow to worry over a little snot.”

I felt my blush spread to my ears and down my neck. Avery noticed; his grin turned sly.

“Oh… That really did something for you, didn't it? I might be a gentleman, but I'm certainly not squeamish… Especially when it comes to you.”

I was helplessly tongue-tied. Avery continued to gently tickle my nose with the feather, tracing it along my septum, then around each sensitive nostril. He then positioned it such that the tip slightly entered my left nostril, wiggled it a bit, then repeated the same motion on the right.

“Eehhh…” My eyes welled with tears again as the itching sensation began to spread upwards, quickly growing in strength. I felt my chest beginning to heave involuntarily as I neared the point of no return, my breath hitching as my hands scrambled for an anchor, latching onto the front of Avery's shirt.

“Ehh.. ahh..”

“That's it… tickle, tickle, tickle…” He teased gently, his pace quickening a bit as he flicked the soft tip of the feather all around my nose. I tried to hold back, but I couldn't; with him holding my head up, much to my horror, I was going to sneeze into Avery's face.

In one swift motion, he dropped the feather and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket – of course he had one of those – catching my powerful release.

“HEAKyoo-!” I sneezed into the soft fabric.

“Oooh, that was a big one. Do you have any more?”

As if on command, I was seized by a few stuttering breaths, and then sneezed again into Avery's hand.

“HEAkyew-!”

And then, finally, a third.

“HEEAAchoo-!!”

“Hehe… gesundheit! Now, don't you feel better?”

I sniffled as he pinched the handkerchief closed, dabbing gently at my nose a few times, before folding it neatly and tucking it back into his pocket.

Finally free, I turned my head away as I reeled with embarrassment. Though I couldn't admit it, he was right; I was awash in endorphins and relief… so much, that I couldn't hide a smile as I responded:

“Oh, shove it, you cheeky cloud.”

[stormyweaver]

Birthday Blues || H/azbin H/otel, V/ox

Did you really think I'd be able to stay away for long? HAH. Anyway this is lowkey a kind of 'it makes me feel better' drabble thingie. So anyway yes, hopefully ya' like it! Also yes Pap/ermint is the name of Vox's assistant and I feel like this is a horrible error to be occurring but lol

Vox sniffled - a pathetically plugged, bunged up sound that crackled with static - before promptly blowing his vents clear. Well, as clear as they could get all things considered. He was so sufficiently blocked up, congested to the point that he could barely speak without sounding like someone had surrounded his audio processing units with cotton. It was almost painful, but for the moment it mainly bordered on uncomfortable and infuriatingly inconvenient. “Haaaappy Birthdaaaay to youuuu~!!!”

His left eye twitched as he heard the sounds of a kazoos and party poppers going off. Gaze flitting back to the screen he’d been watching previously, it narrowed as the scene lay out before him: multiple of his associates gathered in the lunchroom, surrounding a table where behind the crowding bodies, an elder demon sat at the very edge. There was a cake in front of her - nothing extravagant, likely home-made judging from the mis-matched candles and frankly shoddy frosting flowers. Everyone was all smiles, including the sinner's gummy, wrinkled lips. Vox’s own upper lip curled slightly. An office birthday party. How… ghastly.

He’d gotten the request months in advance from Papermint, who seemed to be quaking more than usual when presenting it to Vox. Technically he would have been within his rights to deny the extension on their lunches, but… he’d been busy at the time, and it didn’t raise any real concerns so he’d signed just to get the other back to working on IMPORTANT matters. 

Now, he was sorely regretting not filing it into the trash bin. … Okay, not really. It was a birthday party - who didn’t like birthdays? It was one of the few moments where those in Hell could actually forget about the fact that they were actually damned for all eternity. A chance to celebrate something. Vox had even attended a few gatherings himself, in the past. Back when…

Nope. Not opening that can of fucking worms. Not any time soon.

A round of clapping brought Vox’s waning attention back up towards the screen, and his left eye began to dilate as he spotted a familiar face on the monitor. Velvette!? Seriously? Why would SHE even want to be seen with such lowly… wait, that was her employee, wasn’t it? One of her tailors. A bloody fantastic one, to use her own phrasing. He thought she didn’t like old people, though. Fossils, or something along those lines. But - he supposed there was no bias to be had when it came to doing a good job.

It made sense, and softened the feeling of betrayal just a smidge. Still didn’t stop his temple from throbbing in irritation, though.

Sniffling again, Vox plucked a tissue from the side of his desk and tended to a leaking vent. It wasn’t like he’d even wanted to attend their little bitch-ass party anyway. He had better things to do. Not like he’d been told to attend in the request. Tch. Stupid underlings… stupid fucking granny tailor… stupid… STUPID... … He needed a smoke. The cigarette was dangling from his lips, thumb barely brushing against the tip when Vox’s breath caught. “Hhh… f-huuugck– hHHRRZZSCHHH’HUE!!” The sneeze was harsh, jerking Vox forward as his razor sharp teeth snapped the cigarette in half. Spatting out the remaining piece, he clutched the side of his head as his shoulders shakily rose and fell. “Ahh- hahh..! hHZNGT’SHUE! Hh’IZZSCHh! hhheh’Ī̧̠͂̚Ȋ̡̧͇̙̟̦̗̣͚̫̜͙̲͔̞̩̜̻̙͉̻̻̉̎̔͗̌̓̒ͦͤ̔̀͂͘͘̕͘͠Ž̖́͋̕͠Z̶̢̢̯̟̬͉̞̩̬͈̰̭̀̂͊ͯ̓ͣ̐͑͊ͭ̊͂͑͛̏͘S̠̺Hhiew!!”

Fuck’s sake. Fuck’s SAKE. 

Growling in frustration, Vox tossed the rest of the packet into his drawer, then thrust his upper half onto the desk in a huff.  Fuck birthday parties. And fuck being sick.

[strayheartless]

genesis is sick seph and angeal are taking care of him

There is a severe temptation to Rag on Genesis and make this crack, but I Im too much of a sucker for Angst and Hurt/comfort😅. I have accepted my role really, and I love it. Never come to me for Crack, I always just make it sad.

SO!!!

CW for: vague descriptions of vomiting, discussions of childhood sickness, discussions of experimental poisoning/ testing.

Angeal stares at the steam rising from the cettle as it boils. He's exhausted and if he's honest with himself he's terrified. This doesn't happen to them, they don't get sick! And even on the odd ocassions they do, it is never like this.

when Genesis had complained of a headache the afternoon before, Angeal had rolled his eyes at the man and sparingly suggested he rest his eyes from reading. when the complaints of it getting worse hadn't stopped he'd snapped at Gen to go lay down in a dark room if its so bad. Only to be shocked when Genesis had swayed like a stick of bamboo the wind unon standing up.

Gen had gone quiet after that, Lying on his own office couch with the lights off and not moving. By the end of the day, when Sephiroth had swung by both of their officed to collect them for dinner, Genesis had developed a cough... and then the cough got worse.

... and worse.

When Gena was little, Angeal remembered he was sick a lot. Flu, Scarlet fever, colds, migraines, it didn't really matter what it was Genesis seemed to get it. Usually he'd just complain and sneeze and be obnoxious. But other times ha remembered his mother being called for when Gen wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't speak or move much except to cry or struggle to breath.

Now felt like one of those times.

They had been up all night with him, taking turns to whip his brow and sooth him through the endless coughing fits, vomiting and barly cognazent concious moments. Sephiroth had Tied up his own hair and then Gena's when the stress started getting too much, and angeal had winced when Genesis had whimpered at the preasure on his scalp... But it was better that then trying to sponge sick out of his hair.

After twelve hours of pure torture for everyone involved, Gena's fever broke and he gained a little bit more licidity. Now it was just making sure he made a full recovery.

Angeal made up a two cups of coffee and placed a clean rag over the bowl of Chicken noodle soup he'd warmed. He doubted Genesis would be able to keep all of it sown, but they at least needed to try. Placing it all on a tray he trecked back to the bedroom.

"How are we looking?" He asked upon entering. Sephiroth was sat in the squishy reading chair that usually sat in the Corner of Gena's room, looking only maginally less tired than Angeal felt. The man was used to insomnia.

"he woke up for only a minute or two. I managed to get him to drink some water," Seph whispered back, taking the cup that was handed to him.

Angeal sighed and sat on the end of the bed. "I never thought I'd say this but i think I need to hear him being dramatic,"

Sephiroth hummed and looked back at Genesis on the bed. He didn't look peaceful exactly, there was too much sweat and signs of distress about his person for that, but he he no longer seened to be in active discomfort and stress. angeal watched Seph scan his eyes over their lovers face and body, taking note of everything he could.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, placing a hant on Sephiroths thigh and squeezing.

Sephiroth twitched his nose slightly, a little stress tell they'd long ago realised he was considering variables that he didn't like. It was upsetting how often those variables were the truth.

"I'm thinking, we may need to pay a visit to Hollander once he is not in danger any more" Angeal blinked at him.

"You think Hollander did this to him?" he asked, with a note of scepticism to his voice. "Seph, babe, I know you have reason to mistrust scientists, but this is Hollander we're talking about here. He's not Hojo, he doesn't do things like this!"

"No? Angeal, consider for a second. Genesis goes down to the lab for a pre mission check up" Sephiroth bracketted the words with air quotes, and Angeal would have snorted at how very Zack the gesture was had he not started to feel sick himself. Sephiroth continues.

"And when he comes back from the lab he complains that he has a headache; something he has not complained of since he was a third, I know because I checked -"

"you accessed his medical records? seph tha-"

"Hush. complains of a headache and then all of a sudden the mission is cancled due to prioritising and Genesis does not even have the time to feel angered at any kind of usually percieved slight against his skill before he's going down - in a single afternoon Angeal- with a severe fever, sickness, apparent chest infection and the worst migraine he has had since he wat fourteen."

Layed out as plainly as Sephiroth had put it, it did seem awfully convenient that Genesis had not been sent away as this was developing. in fact Angeal could track Sephiroths logic almost perfectly with little room to suggest conicidence. But this was Hollander .The man was a bastard, that Angeal would fully admit, but he had never purposfully poisoned them before, not in the ways Hojo had done to Sephiroth.

"Could you two discuss the conspiricy of my death a little quieter please?" came a rough voice from behind him, and when he turned to follow Sephs redirected gaze he saw Genesis attempting to pull himself up into a sitting position.

He got up to help, but was flapped at irately when he went to support Gena's back.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly, and Genesis sighed.

"Like I went round for round with the Midgar Zolom and then decided to train with Sephiroth as a masocistic treat to myself," Sephiroth snorted as he moved to Gens other side, sitting on the bed with him and pulling the red head to lean against his sweater clad side.

Gen leaned into it with a comfroted hum, reaching for Angeal who came easily. winding his ams around the both of them and placing his chin on Gen's head.

"If you wanted to fight me like this, i would have been bored by your sloppyness." Sephiroth pokes fun and Genesis squawks indignintly. Angeal chuckled.

"So mean!" Gena weakly punches Sephiroth in the thigh. "I could have very well died!"

Angeal sobered a bit, and from the shit in Sephiroths posture, so did he.

"yes, you could have," he murmered and Genesis' anger Deflated. He coughed into his fist as he relaxed against them, and when his breath caught, the two sat him up straighter so that he could breath better as he Coughed harder.

"S-sorry" he weezed.

"It's fine love," Ageal whispered handing him the glass of water. Gen Gulped it down and sat back again.

"I have not missed being this ill." he commented. "Reminds me of of the time I had scarlet fever, though I confess I don't actually remember a lot of the experience. mostly the pain,"

They sat there for a while in silence, Seph playing with the promise ring on Gena's left hand while Angeal combed out some of the knots out from his hair. after about half an hour, Genesis spoke; his breath rattling in his chest a little.

"Do you truely think Hollander did this to me?" he asked, not looking at either of them.

"I do," was all Sephiroth gave him, and Angeal sensed that Genesis din't know what to do with that information. what were you supposed to say when the man in charge of you medically was suspected of trying to kill you?

There was nothing anyone could say that could ever make that okay.

"I made you soup, if you're up for eating?" he offered instead and Genesis seemed to welcome the distraction, making grabby hands at him, like a child, as he reached for the still warm bowl.

As Angeal and Sephiroth watched him eat, they glanced at each other, a silent agreement being made. It this was Hollander -and Gods above did Angeal hope it wasn't - Then they would do everything in their power to hunt that man down and end him before he had the chance to make Genesis suffer further.