#so i didn’t go to the dr until i was too sick to go to school at all. and luckily had a good dr who did a blood test

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

skipping class for the first time in my life bc my professor has covid and he sent out an email saying we’re having class and he’s asymptomatic and will wear a mask per cdc guidelines even tho he’s past the 5 day required isolation period. like. great whatevs but have you actually tested negative

update: the answer was no he had not

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[a-small-safe-place]

New Addition

Platonic!Yandere Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham w/ Child!Reader

You knocked on the door of the large house Hannibal had picked out for him and Will to live in. It was out of the way from the town, so it was odd to receive a knock. Luckily, it was Will that answered rather than Hannibal. The other kids in town said the men who lived in this house liked to kidnap badly behaving girls and boys and eat them up like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. But this man didn’t seem scary. He seemed nice as he scolded their dogs for running out of the house.

“Hello, mister, I’m selling chocolate-covered pretzel sticks for my school and wanted to see if you would like to buy one?” You asked, trying to sound confident but sounding shaky instead. He didn’t seem to mind; he seemed happy you were there. “I happen to love chocolate-covered pretzels, but my husband thinks they are too simple to be a good treat. Let’s see what flavors you have.” He begins looking through the flavors you brought when his husband, Hannibal, silently walks up behind the other man. “Who is this?” He asks Will.

“Oh, this is… uh…” You stop him and introduce yourself and again explain why you are there. “This is quite a ways away from the town; surely you did not walk all the way here.” Hannibal questions. “No, sir, I rode my bike. I knew there were a few houses out this way, and I was determined to visit.”

Your determination pleases Hannibal but slightly concerns him. You’re an innocent child. You can’t be out riding your bike on these secluded roads. Will quits digging in the pretzel box, “I have to go get dog food anyway; I could bring you back to town. We will take the whole box of your pretzels since you came all this way out here.” Hannibal seems mildly annoyed by this. You remember that Will said Hannibal thinks they are too simple. Will leaves you alone with Hannibal to grab some cash. “Would you like to step inside? You’ll get sick out there.” Hannibal asks. You gratefully step in. “Your home is pretty.” You observe, earning a soft approving smile from Hannibal.

“Thank you, not many people your age appreciate style. Though you don’t seem like many people your age.” After he finishes talking, you try to stay quiet, and finally, Will returns, giving you the money for your entire box of pretzels. “Now I’m heading into town; would you like a ride?” Will offers. “Yes, please.” You tell him.

The ride back is quiet until he begins to talk. “Most kids avoid our house for their fundraisers. Do you know why?” You glance nervously, “I think it’s just too far.” It’s an obvious lie. “You don’t have to worry about being polite. I know there’s probably a crazy rumor about Hannibal and me.” You stay silent, but the silence is too loud to handle, “All the kids think you and Dr. Lecter like to kidnap and girls and boys and eat them up like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.”

“Well, maybe that’s why I needed all those sweet pretzels, so Dr. Lecter and I could finish building our cottage made of candy.” He seems a little sad at the revelation of this rumor. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.” He smiles and says, “Don’t worry about it. You could make it up to me by telling me how this rumor got started.”

“One of the boys that graduated high school last year told his little brother that he broke into your home on a dare and found human meat in the freezer, but he couldn’t go to the police because he was trespassing and he was high.” You finish explaining. Will smiles a bit, but it has a nervous edge this time, “Do you think we eat bad girls and boys?” You think about it, “no, because you had a bunch of times where you could have killed and eaten me.”

“Are you a bad kid?” Will asks teasingly. “I don’t know. I get in trouble sometimes. My house is in town away, in a trailer park.” Will knew which trailer park. It was “the bad part of town” he knew because he saw the crime statistics for that area and the number of times the cops are called out there. He had seen them the few times he and Hannibal helped with the local law. Hannibal had gotten close with the town’s political figures, and Will had basically been made into an honorary detective with the law enforcement. This town was corrupt to its core, but it was away from the prying eyes of the FBI, and it’s the only place Hannibal and Will could agree on geographically. Will’s only stipulation was that there were good places to fish.

Eventually, you make it to the trailer. Will waits until you make it inside. He cannot help but think about Abigail. He could have had a potential family with Hannibal if things had gone correctly. He was happy with Hannibal and the dogs, but something about you made him want more.

Weeks pass, and he does not bring the topic up to Hannibal. Little did he know Hannibal had been keeping an extra close eye on you. He did it under the guise of getting more pretzels for Will and then special ordering one of the unique flavors that you did not have so he could come back around to "check on the order." Will finds this all out when you see him in the store and give him the order Hannibal had placed.

"That kid from the other day gave me the order you placed," Will says placing the box on the table. "I thought you hated junk food."

"I do; they were a surprise for you. You seem to have taken a liking to the child." Hannibal observes. "They're a good kid. They kind of remind me of Abigail." The room becomes silent for a second too long. Hannibal hates it when Will brings up Abigail. "You seem to like the kid too. You went out of your way to find them to order the pretzels when there were plenty of easier options to order from." Hannibal knows he has been caught.

"They're a well-behaved child, very polite. Like Abigail." Hannibal says somewhat pointedly. "Have you thought about us expanding our family? Not with another dog, but with a human?" Hannibal asks before Will has time to respond to the first statement.

"I hadn't, and then that kid came knocking at the door, and since then, it is all I can think about. But I don't want any kid. Our kid from the trailer park seems to be the best fit; it has to be them." Will explains, hoping that Hannibal will understand.

"Then so be it; they will be our child for us to protect," Hannibal says as if this is a normal conversation.

As the two men begin to work on a plan to add you to their family, their fatherly love for you grows more into fatherly obsession. You're their kid; no one gets to hurt you. Once you're safe and comfortable in their home, no one but them will get to be around you until they know you love them just as much. Hannibal wastes no time putting your room together with all of your favorite things. They were going to make your room the same way it is in the trailer until Hannibal saw the state of your room and became disgusted by the idea of that kind of room being in his expensive house.

Will tries to make a plan to make your transition to their house easier. He finds all kinds of games and activities you are sure to love, even the ones that Hannibal is convinced are bad for your growing brain.

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Eight: You’re the Best Part

summary: you head to vail for thanksgiving and things maybe don’t quite go as planned.

warnings: sick mention, r and steve; reminder that r does have a family for the sake of the fake marriage plot; mother has passed, parent loss talk.

modern day! rich! fake husband! steve harrington x afab! reader.

masterlist

——

Your plans to happily return the favor for Steve when he gets home don’t quite pan out the way you want them to.

Why?

Well, it seems the world has its own plans. And those plans apparently don’t involve getting your mouth on the man and learning what your name sounds like coming from his lips while he’s falling apart for you.

What’s the saying again? You make plans, and the big guy upstairs laughs? Yeah—that one.

It’s around three when Steve appears at the entryway to the penthouse. Pale in the face, coughing up a storm, sweat lining his brow. He’s out of it; a simple, cursory glance tells you that much. That and the fact when Charlie rushes over to greet him, Steve barely brushes his hand over the puppy’s head, and instead seeks out the comfort of you.

His hulking form stops at the edge of the couch, shoes kicked haphazardly onto the floor as he lowers himself down. Rests his head in your lap and groans his defeat, ringed hand curling around the span of your thigh, hugging you closer. Were this any other day in the exciting newness of your relationship, you would sigh and dreamily run your fingers through his hair. But as your fingers brush along his brow, you find he’s hot there.

Burning hot. Feverish in a way that has you tugging at his shoulder until he can look up at you. Dark circles shadow his under eyes. His skin seems paler than usual, too. Exhaling, you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb trailing over the curve of his jaw. Smile down at him as he leans into the touch, eyes closing. The same hand then turns over and presses against his forehead and confirms that, yes, Steve is definitely sick. Unfortunately enough, right before the holiday, too.

“I’m calling your doctor—”

“No, no, no,” Steve groans, turning his head into your stomach, where he ends up coughing into your hoodie, apologizing for doing so. “I just want to sleep.”

“After I call the doctor,” you tell him, fingers carding through his hair. “You’re burning up, Steve. I knew you felt warm this morning.”

“Please,” he mumbles, “no doctor.”

——

Dr. Murray Bauman is an…interesting man, to say the least. When you call, after effectively getting Steve to lay down in bed, he sounds like he’s in the middle of a war zone. And you wonder briefly if you can hear angry voices in the distance.

He asks you a multitude of questions, the first being who the hell you are calling for Steve Harrington, but when you tell him you’re his wife, he only awkwardly laughs, stating he didn’t know Steve had finally settled down, before regaling you a story about Steve from when he’d been a younger boy.

“He’ll be here in a half hour, he said,” you tell Steve, before reaching for his phone and holding it in front of his face. It unlocks and you immediately search for Hailey’s number in his contacts. You hadn’t met her yet. Well, except for the brief greeting at your wedding. But you’d heard enough to know she’s kind and your husband couldn’t do half of what he does without her. She picks up on the first ring and greets you. “Hello, Hailey?”

“This is her,” she says. A hint of uncertainty creeps down the line. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mrs. Harrington—”

Steve, who suddenly realizes what you’re doing, reaches out to grab at your hand dangling limply at your side. Tries to tug you closer, but you raise a hand in warning. “Wait, wait, wait—”

“Mrs. Harrington! It’s been a while. Is everything okay?”

“Actually,” you say, rubbing at Steve’s shoulder, grinning to yourself as he huffs a bit but otherwise leans into your affection, “I’m calling because Steve’s going to need to cancel the rest of his meetings for today. Maybe the next couple of days, actually.”

“I told him he sounded like shit.” She pauses, chuckling nervously. “Sorry—didn’t mean to say that. He just sounded terrible, so I suggested he go home early. Thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem.” You wait a moment and then, “Thanks for the flowers, by the way. Steve mentioned you had them sent.”

“Oh, no. That was all Mr. Harrington,” she says, and your chest flutters with the notion of her words. “I just helped pick them out. Okay—so I’ve gone ahead and canceled all his meetings through the holiday and the week after.”

“You’re wonderful, Hailey. Thank you! And I hope you enjoy the holiday,” you say truthfully, settling down onto the bed beside Steve, rubbing his back through another lovely coughing fit. “We’ll talk soon.”

The line goes dead. You place the phone down onto the bedside table beside your husband and help slide his glasses off of his face for good measure. As his eyes meet yours, you want to lean down and wrap your arms around him. He looks younger than his years, more boyish somehow, the tiredness in his eyes alluding to just how sick he actually is. You hope Dr. Bauman hurries, if only so he can get some much needed rest.

“Canceled my meetings, huh?” He asks between the rumbly heaves of his chest.

“Think of it as an extended vacation.”

“Forced,” Steve emphasizes, rolling over so you can allow him into the circle of your arms. His head rests on your chest, the blankets you draped over him high up on his shoulders. “You shouldn’t even be in here; you’re going to get sick.”

“Pretty sure what we did earlier will get me sick anyway. That and the fact I’ve shared a bed with you for a bit now.” Your fingers card through his hair, your other palm rubbing up and down the achy muscles of his back. “Plus, what better way to test our vows? In sickness and in health, right?”

You step out of the room when Dr. Bauman arrives and immediately starts taking your husband’s vitals, wanting to give him a little privacy. Charlie bounds over to you in the kitchen as you search for something to throw together for dinner. You hadn’t really planned on eating home with Thanksgiving being so close, and the two of you about to spend a few days at Mrs. Harrington’s home. But now that you stare at an empty fridge, you realize maybe a little forethought might have saved you from the bare shelves you’re greeted with upon opening.

Pushing it shut, you pluck your phone from your pocket, scrolling through a list of nearby restaurants when you hear your name being called from down the hall. Dr. Bauman is tossing his stethoscope and other equipment into a black bag as you knock on the doorframe, his eyes tipping up to greet yours.

“It’s the flu,” he says, tapping away at an iPad resting on his forearm. “I already sent his prescription out to be filled. Lots of rest. No work. Lots of fluids. Limited shenanigans…of the, uh, newlywed kind. Maybe a warm shower to clear up some of the shit that’s rattling around in your chest.”

Steve rolls his eyes and Murray claps him on the shoulder. You definitely don’t understand their relationship. “I also ordered you a script for a preemptive antiviral,” Murray says to you, hoisting his bag up and over his shoulder. “You know my number, obviously. I’ll be around should you need me.”

“But you highly suggest I don’t,” Steve grouses from the bed.

“You get it, kid,” the older man says, petting Charlie as he bounces into the bedroom, wanting to see what all the fuss is about. “You’ll get a text when your prescriptions are ready. But other than that, I think you’re all good to go. Take care.”

Just as quickly as the man arrives, he’s gone, leaving you alone with your husband once more. “Told you that you needed to slow down,” you tell him, climbing back into bed and resuming your prior position. Steve’s head against your chest, his arms looped around your waist, wanting to simply be close to another person when every inch of him aches with fever. “Want me to make you anything? Tea? Soup. Well…we don’t really have food. I didn’t get groceries because of Thanksgiving.”

“Just wanna lay here,” he grumbles against your sweater, “…but I wouldn’t mind soup later.”

“Then I’ll order you some, handsome.” You chuckle, fingers running through his hair, listening to his sighing breath as he edges closer and closer to sleep. “Definitely not how I pictured our afternoon.”

“Rain check?” he asks, and you know then he’s really sick, as he spent the earlier half of the afternoon texting you about how he couldn’t wait to get home and resume what you both started in your kitchen.

“I’m holding you to it, Harrington,” you laugh, rubbing at the right muscles at the base of his spine. Hot breath spills from his lips, warming you through the material of your shirt. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

He doesn’t even argue.

An hour later, you’re in the middle of watching some silly dating show on Netflix when your little sister, Caroline, tries to FaceTime. Steve’s still sprawling out against your chest, but rises up onto his elbows and tells you to pick it up. To which you question if he’s sure. A moment later, he shifts so his back is against the headboard of the bed and hits the answer call button, watching the younger girl’s face light up on the other line.

“Hey, sissy,” she says brightly, then peers further at the screen and sees Steve there. “And brother-in-law.”

“Hey!” You smile warmly.

“Are you two sleeping?”

“No, no,” you reassure her. “Steve’s got the flu, so we’re laying low for the day. What are you up to?”

“Just sitting around,” she says, nearly dropping her phone as she maneuvers around Gram’s kitchen. “Dad’s with Gram. You know how it is.”

“How’s he doing?” You frown, biting at your bottom lip. Doesn’t matter how long Mom has been gone, the holidays are always hard on him. “Do you need me to come home?”

“No. No.” She tugs her hair over her shoulder, strings of her hoodie curled around her fingertips. She’s so cute and you miss her so much that you wish you could smack kisses to both her cheeks. “We’re okay. Eddie stopped by yesterday with Uncle Wayne. And then I just realized how much I missed you.”

“I miss you too, sweetie,” you sigh, breaking off into a watery laugh. Steve reaches over across your lap and curls your palm in his. “But I’ll see you next month, right? Gonna bring this guy with me too. Hope that’s okay?”

“Mmmm,” she considers, head tilting to the side. “Not sure about him yet.”

Steve points a thumb at himself, earning a laugh from your little sister. “Guess I’ll have to return the gifts I got for my little sister.”

“You got me gifts?”

He shrugs. “Depends. Am I invited?”

“Fine. Fine,” she giggles airily, beaming so bright your own cheeks hurt. “How’s Charlie?”

Charlie, at the mere mention of his name, hops up onto the bed. Despite the fact he knows he’s not supposed to. You both haven’t really made it a habit of letting him sleep with you two; especially not when you’re still getting used to using your own bedroom as storage space for your clothes and things, and sharing his.

Referring to it as yours.

As of late, you’ve started placing your things in Steve’s bathroom. In one of his drawers. A robe in his closet. Slippers near his bedside. Your books on his bedside table. Neither of you had said anything about it. It just felt like the natural progression of things.

“Hi, Charlie!” Caroline enthuses, earning a loud yip from the puppy. Steve’s hand rubs over his floppy head, drawing your gaze to his sleep-addled features. “Hey, sissy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come visit soon?”

You glance at Steve in question, who merely says, “It’s your home.”

At that, you want so badly to lean over and kiss him. To thank him silently, to reveal those feelings that keep growing stronger for him every day through touch. In the only tangible way you know how exactly to express the inner workings of your heart.

“Any time, sweetie. Tell me when and I’ll book you a flight to come visit, okay?”

Her smile grows wider, and you can’t help but think about how she looks just like your mother. How your little sister is growing so fast. Things are changing. In your life, your career, your marriage, your family.

“Are you okay?” Caroline asks, brows furrowing high on her forehead.

“You’re just so beautiful,” you tell her honestly, sniffling, “you look just like Mom.”

“Nooo don’t do the water works. I’m going to vom—”

“You’re just—”

“I love you,” she says, shifting onto her elbows at the kitchen table she’s sitting at.

And she never says that. Always so buried in her phone. Making her TikTok videos. Texting her friends. Scrolling social media sites. Your heart soars with her words. Chest aches and burns with the feelings that rise up because of them.

“I love you too.”

The three of you spend a good chunk of the afternoon simply talking. Asking Caroline questions about school, you and Steve about work and your studies. Caroline even goes so far as to ask Steve ice breaker questions and riddles, and he’s terrible at them, feigning that it’s his sickness making it hard for him to answer any correctly.

After a while, your father’s tired face appears in the phone camera, alerting you he’s just spent the better part of the afternoon tending to cooking dinner. Gram is overjoyed not only to see you, but gawks over the fact that, even while sick, your husband is handsome as ever.

Steve leans into you bashfully at that, and you tousle the strands of his hair, and Gram thinks because she’s older she can casually blurt out, “The look he’s giving you right now is the same look your grandfather gave me the night we ended up—”

“You know what? I need to go pick up Steve’s medicine from the pharmacy and probably go and grab us some dinner,” you tell them, shoulder bumping into Steve’s, “I love you all so much. We’ll see you soon!”

It’s a chorus of goodbyes. A barrage of I love yous. A plethora of see you soons. Steve glows with the onslaught of affection. Tops of his cheeks stain bright under their well wishes, his lips tugging into a broad smile. The phone screen goes black and you toss it onto the bedside table, shifting onto your side beside Steve.

“They’re pretty great.”

“They’re…” A lot. Overbearing. Ridiculous (Gram mostly). But you catch the hopefulness on his face. Picture your husband, younger in age, alone in a crowded room wanting, searching, vying for someone to notice him. “They’re your family too now, you know?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is an endless coughing fit. His mouth presses into his elbow, your fingers running soothing lines up and down his bicep, waiting until it passes to clamber out of the bed and snatch your phone from the bedside table.

“I’m going to run to the pharmacy. You should try and get in the shower like Dr. Murray suggested.”

“I might need your help for that.”

Heat curls low in your belly. “I’m going to blame the mucus in your head for that one, lover boy. Get in the shower, I’ll run out quickly, and then we can spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing. Because those were the doctor’s orders. No work.”

“My whole body hurts,” he grumbles, leaning into your frame as you rush around to his side of the bed and help him along the way to the master bathroom. “I couldn’t work even if I wanted to.”

Steve watches from the edge of the bathtub as you shuffle about, gathering things as you go. A towel on the outside of the shower cubicle. New soap. His fluffiest robe. He’s about to open his mouth to speak, but you’re tucking a thermometer in his mouth, watching his mouth downturn into a pout.

A moment later, it beeps.

“One hundred and one,” you murmur, placing the device back in its proper holder. He groans, leaning into your abdomen, your arm curling around his shoulders to keep him close. “Bet you’re feeling all kinds of achy right now. I’ll be right back, okay? And then I’m here for whatever you need.”

——

When you return, Steve’s already propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows. The box of tissues beside him looks freshly opened, his nose a bright red that has your stomach dipping for him. He’s foregone his usual sleeping routine of wearing no shirt. Instead, he wears a hoodie with some sports logo you're unfamiliar with on, hips covered in the bedspread.

On one hand, you have his soup. In the other, the medicine he’s meant to take for the next few days. He accepts both greedily. As greedily as one who looks very much ghostly at this point can, normally tan skin pale, eyes heavy lidded.

“What are you watching there, handsome?” you ask, remaining near his hip, taking the garbage from him once he’s taken out his things.

“Some show where these people bake and you have to guess if the items are cake or not.” He’s so stuffy now, and you can’t help but giggle at the change in his voice. “You can’t make fun of your husband when he’s sick.”

“Is that a rule?”

“It was one of our vows, actually,” he says, glancing about the bedside table momentarily.

“Must have forgotten that one. Need something?” you ask, combing your fingers through his hair.

He leans into the touch. “Some water, please?”

You make your way over to the bedroom door, fingers curling around the frame, just as he speaks again, “Oh, and some more tissues?”

The box felt mostly full, but you toss him a smile over your shoulder all the same, fondness welling in your chest for the man.

“Can you fluff my pillows, baby?”

At that, you whirl back around, brows arching. “Yeah?”

He grins as you lean over him, chest nearly brushing his face, smacking both sides of said pillows. “Maybe tuck me in while you’re at it?”

Now you’re snorting, but reaching down around his waist to start pushing fabric into place near his hips, drawing back when he stops you in your movements. “Is that not good?”

“I’m just messing with you, honey.”

You shove him. Hard.

“Hey! I’m sick.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass, Mr. Harrington.”

“But you love it, Mrs. Harrington.”

And you’re speechless.

Because he’s right, and there’s nothing you can say to refute that fact at this point.

A fact that becomes more and more clear every day.

——

All in all, you really do both get the opportunity to work out those in sickness and in health vows. Because about twenty four hours into Steve being sick, you start to feel run down, and about twelve hours after that, the two of you spend the better part of five days sleeping and holding one another in bed, watching mindless reality television shows, and coaxing Charlie to join you both so he can curl up near your feet and keep a watchful eye on you both.

Eddie calls on the first day you’re both down for the count. Checks in to see if you need anything, offers to drop off food, and pick up anything you might need from the grocery store. Hopper ends up sending food up to the penthouse, cooked by Joyce herself, and joined by some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

On day two, Robin and Nancy stop in, keeping a far distance, but end up cleaning around the house since you hadn’t really had a chance to before your own fever and body aches kicked in.

After that, your friends and family alternate until you’re both back on the mend. And it’s not long before Steve has a healthy glow back in his face and you can breathe through your nose once more.

The day before Thanksgiving, you both pack up your things in suitcases and send off Charlie to go stay with Joyce and Hopper for the duration of your trip. The kids, El and Will, are overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with the puppy and promise to keep him safe and feed him all the treats if he’s well behaved.

Sighing a hum of relief, you slam your passenger side door shut, wincing as Steve slams the trunk closed before joining you within. He thumps against the headrest, left hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over the center console you lace his fingers through yours. You beam up at him, heat crawling along flesh, and give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready to go, Harrington?”

He puts the car into gear, and you’re off.

——

Mrs. Harrington’s second home is beautiful. More than you could ever imagine. After a five hour flight and a short drive from the airport to the front gates, you’re greeted by a worker who allows Steve to pass in the rental car, weaving up cobblestone roads through an endless sea of trees in what feels like the middle of nowhere Vail, Colorado.

The home is gorgeous. Nestled in the middle of lush greenery is a luxurious mansion adorned with endless rustic charm. Glowing lights spill from the giant windows, illuminating the wrap-around stone patio that compliments the blend of timeless stone and timber exterior of the pale walls boasting of the multiple floors within the home. From where you’re standing you can see the garden off to the right side of the home and the pond trickling amidst her blooms.

“This is how all the good scary movies start…” you say, leaning your head back to take in the towering home standing before you. “Giant home in the middle of nowhere.”

“Is that so?” He’s laughing, sides shaking with it as he grips your suitcase and tugs it after him. “Come on, honey. No one is about to hop out of the woods.”

“How do you know?” Your brow arches high on your forehead, breaking off into a snort he rolls his eyes at.

“Come on.” He tugs you along beside him, your shoulders bumping at the proximity. “My mom can hardly wait another minute to see us if her dozens of texts were any indication.”

He’s not wrong.

She’s there in a flurry of movement to greet you, patting you both on the backs of your heads, overjoyed that you’re both feeling better.

The inside is just as magnificent. Vaulted ceilings, white walls with wooden decor. A burning fireplace in the middle of one of the largest living rooms you’ve ever seen, attached to a kitchen that looks the size of your old apartment. She walks you through the rest of the home, revealing room after room of generational wealth. Old money that runs in Steve’s blood—a fact you often forget, because he’s never been one for the lavish or lofty.

It dawns on you that this is what he’s used to. Holidays in the Hamptons, vacation homes in Vail and on tropical islands, cars that cost a salary.

Noting your stupor, Steve curls an arm around your shoulder, back of his hand on your forehead. “Still feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” you reassure him with a smile, jolting as Mrs. Harrington whirls on you both and catches the two of you in the middle of a private moment.

“Well aren’t you two just lovely. I’m really so happy you could make it.” She claps her hands excitedly. “You’re the first ones here. I’ll show you to your room. I’m sorry it’s across from mine, I just figured with Cami, Theo and the kids, you two would want a little peace and quiet.”

And absolutely no privacy, you think, taking in the short distance between your bedroom and Mrs. Harrington’s. And it’s not like you’d anticipated anything happening, but you couldn’t help but to wonder if something might have. The room is lovely. A king sized bed with cream colored sheets. Various sandy colored decorations. Plants hanging in the bedroom window. A dresser that you easily slide your things into, and the adjoining bathroom just next to the room. Up above a sparking chandelier dangles, shards that look like mirrors cutting yours and Steve’s forms into dozens of miniature versions of yourselves that you stare back at.

She gives you a moment to unpack and destress, and you’re barely aware of the bedroom door clicking shut before Steve’s crawling over your form on the bed. You hum into his lips as they claim yours, days of doing nothing but sleeping, making your insides burn, craving more. Always more of him these days. A sigh falls from your parted lips as he pastes endless kisses to your neck. Until you’re writhing beneath him, cheeks burning up, fingers clutching at his biceps.

“Not in your mother’s home,” you giggle, breathless and giddy from his attention. “I’m serious, Steve. I'm still trying to make a good impression.”

He flops over onto his side, hair freshly cut and beard freshly shaven. He’s perfect. The slope of his nose, the curve of those cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. Your forehead leans into his, fingers trailing over the thin sweater covering his abdomen, before trailing beneath, roaming over sinewy muscle. The divots and indentations from hours spent in the gym, the patch of hair that slips down past his belt, always teasing—tempting.

“We’re in my mother’s house,” he reminds you as your fingers trail lower, toying with the too expensive buckle on his belt, eyes following the path of your touch, “isn’t that what you said? Plus, if I remember correctly, you’re not one to keep quiet.”

“I changed my mind. I can be so quiet,” you argue frostily, earning a chuckle from the man. “Like a little church mouse.”

“As much as I would love to test that theory, I think that’s the doorbell.”

Theobald and Cami.

You groan, burying your face into his shoulder.

——

You’ve decided on a silky burgundy dress for Thanksgiving dinner. Long sleeves glide over your arms, the deep neckline drawing Steve’s gaze from where he sits on the edge of the bed fastening his cufflinks with his diamond encrusted initial in the center.

He looks handsome as ever. A pair of dark pants, his suit jacket, a pop of burgundy on his necktie that matches what you’ve worn. He’s gotten a haircut, his hair no longer falling around his jaw. Instead it’s a bit shorter, coiffed perfectly on his head, and that hair along his jawline has been shaved once more, leaving him fresh faced and glowy after his shower.

Exhaling deeply, you run your fingers over the fabric, turning to and fro, taking in your image in the mirror, making sure the fit is immaculate, before turning to face him.

“Good?”

“Perfect,” he whispers a little breathlessly, crossing the room to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. He holds out a hand and you clasp it, allowing him to lead you to the bedroom door. “Shall we?”

Your nose wrinkles. “We shall.”

Despite the face dinner is taking place at Mrs. Harrington’s home, she hired a full wait staff for the evening, along with a private chef. The dining room—though you thought it more akin to a dining hall—is decked to the nines with all the finest offerings. She’s gone for the vintage plates and freshly polished silverware. Wine glasses sparkle all around the table, illuminated by the candles down the center of the velvet runner.

Cami’s familiar head of curls lifts first as you enter, her hands that were moving to fix the lapels of her son’s suit jacket moving to draw you in for a hug as she rushes over to greet you and Steve in the entryway.

“Oh we are so happy to hear you two are doing better,” she gushes, patting Steve affectionately on the cheek. Like he’s a puppy like Charlie—like a child. You catch the wince as she pinches the skin there and gives it a wiggle, and then moves to grab your hand like this isn’t only the third time you’ve seen her in the five months you’ve been married to her family member. “Let me introduce you to my two little babies. They’d been with the au pair the night of your wedding. This right here is Harriet, and here is Holden.”

Twins. Harriet and Holden Harrington are twins, and they look absolutely nothing like their father and that fact alone has your lips twitching up in laughter. Because the sweet little ones sitting across from you with eyes that remind you so much of Steve’s are red headed and just as freckly as their mom is. Adorable, in a way that has your insides melting, reaching out to Steve to grasp onto something as you bend down and finally greet them both.

“Hi,” you whisper, telling them your name. “I’m your cousin Steve’s wife. It’s so nice to meet you! How old are you two?”

“We’re seven,” Harriet says demurely, her little nose turning upward just the slightest as she adds, “almost eight.”

Cami giggles brightly. “And nearly ripped my a—”

“Cami, dear,” Theobald interjects, appearing in the doorway with a bottle of wine that looks older than you are. He’s swaying a bit on his feet, the glass of whiskey in his free hand alerting to what he’s gotten up to before you came down for dinner. “Well, hello there. We were wondering when you two would come out to join us.”

“It’s been a long week,” Steve reminds him, curling an arm around your waist. “My wife and I were sick.”

“That’s right,” his cousin says, glancing down at the label on the bottle, uninterested. “What a misfortune that was. Canceled all your meetings that week, but don’t worry—I took care of things.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, leading you to your chair, and the tautness in his muscles alerts you this is not a good thing Theo has done. He slides forward as you sit down and presses a kiss to the side of your head before joining on your right. “Sweetheart, would you mind passing me that bottle?”

“Why don’t we open the vintage?” Theobald suggests, holding aloft his latest discovery from the wine cellar you’d passed on your short tour around the premises of the Mrs. Harrington’s home.

The room settles into an uncomfortable silence. Minus that of the children’s chatter and their father’s requests for them to behave like ‘civilized human beings and not like wild animals at the dinner table.’ At which you sink further into your chair, grateful for the weight of Steve’s left hand on your thigh.

Mrs. Harrington has already made herself comfortable at the head of the table by the time the wait staff comes around to declare the menu offerings for the evening. A four course meal, with ample options to choose from. Everyone orders and the salads are brought out for the first course, when the room starts to shift.

Or rather, Theobald starts to shift. “So, I’m really glad to see the two of you thriving. So happily in love, aren’t they?”

“They’re just lovely,” Mrs. Harrington agrees from where she sits beside her son, cupping his jaw lovingly. “She loves my son so well.”

Your heart aches at her words, at the honesty behind them. She truly, undoubtedly believes that you love her son. And maybe you’re starting to. You’re not sure. In the past, you’ve never really thought much on the topic of love. Had never had time for relationships, always buried in schoolwork, trying to stay afloat, get ahead. Love had always been a maybe. A someday. Not a necessity. Not something you’d ever base your happiness off of. But all around you you’d seen people giddy with it. Your own parents, Robin and Nancy, Eddie and the way he felt about Chrissy.

You knew you were fond of Steve. Knew you loved him like you did Robin. Like you did Eddie. The way you loved Charlie. And yet—and yet there’s a whisper in the back of your mind. A tendril or something new growing. Unnamed still, but with the humble beginnings of something special. Something waiting to be tended to, lured into the light, encouraged.

“How is everything going with school, dear?” Mrs. Harrington asks you, and Theobald’s face twitches from where he sits beside you.

“Oh—it’s great,” you tell her, swallowing your sip of wine. “Clinicals are going well. I’m on my fall break right now. Just a few more months and I’ll be a veterinarian.”

“Doctor Harrington,” Steve says, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss against the back of your knuckles. “So proud of you, honey. She works harder than anyone I know. Runs a business, takes care of Charlie and me.”

“You know, it’s a wonder how you’re affording it,” Theo mutters, drawing the gaze of everyone at the dinner table. At the curious stares, he adds, “Well, the typical cost of veterinary school is somewhere in the hundreds of thousands. And that’s not including what you may have incurred from your undergraduate studies.”

“I’ve worked very hard to stay ahead on my payments,” you splutter out, the lettuce you’d just placed on your tongue turning to acid.

“I’m sure you have,” he says, sounding a little smug. “I, for one, would like to say how happy we are that you’re here. I know the holidays must be hard for you.”

“I—uh, yes.” At Steve’s confusion, you murmur, “We lost my mother this time of year. She’d been sick for a long time.”

He knows that much. Knows she passed, doesn’t know what from. Doesn’t know that your father struggled for years after. That he became a shadow of the person he was for a time—choked off by the grief. That you had to step in and grow up far before you ever should have had to to help raise your little sister. That you watched as the man you loved lost everything he had, and nearly lost the home he loved his wife in for so many years, the home he’d raised his children in, the home he’d wanted to one day have his grandchildren run through the halls of, grow old in, make memories to last a lifetime in.

“I’m also happy to hear your father’s home is no longer in foreclosure.”

Your fork clangs onto the plate at that. “What are you—”

“Seems your father was able to make up for all his missed payments, late fees, and those pesky attorney’s fees. Where might he have gotten all of that money?”

“Theobald,” Cami hisses, leaning over her wine glass to look at you with a pitying stare. “I’m sorry, sweetie. My husband must have over served himself. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“It just seems…interesting, you know?” Theo continues against her wishes, eying you curiously.

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but you jump in before he can. “And what might be so interesting, Mr. Harrington?”

“Initially, I’m going to be honest in saying that I thought you married because you were pregnant. I figured my dear cousin had tried to cover up his mistakes with a shotgun wedding and raise his littlest Harrington as his fortunate heir. But seeing as you are not, I may have hired a private investigator to look into who Steve married.”

“You what?” Steve and his mother balk, anger lining their gazes.

There’s an awkward silence that descends over the room. It’s made more uncomfortable when the wait staff comes in to clear the salad plates and sets down entrees in front of those sitting at the table. Harriet and Holden are chatting amongst themselves, Cami there to help tuck napkins in their collars. Your eyes wander their way, nose sniffling sharply to keep your unshed tears at bay.

Because Theobald Harrington will not see you cry today.

So you’ll beat him to it. You’ll play along with his vicious game.

“Yes, when my mother died my father struggled. I have a little sister, and she was so young at the time. We’ve never been particularly wealthy, so you imagine going from two incomes to one was hard,” you begin, carving at your food hastily. Steve’s hand brushes along the back of your wrist, but you continue, “Bills started piling up. Medical bills are expensive, and it’s not like we had money just laying around by the bucketful like you might. So, yes, he struggled to stay afloat. And I helped him, but a waitress salary at the time could only go so far. Should I continue?”

Theobald leans his chin onto his hand, elbow on the table despite his aunt’s protests. “Humor me.”

“I started my business and have sent him money to pay down what he owes. And yes, the home came out of foreclosure.” You slam your fork down onto the plate below. “No, I’m not pregnant. And if you want me to admit I married Steve for money or something, because that’s what it sounds like you’re insinuating, you’re wrong; I married him because I love him. A word I’m not quite sure you know the meaning of, because you haven’t been a good family member to Steve, and certainly haven’t been one to me either.”

You turn your head to Mrs. Harrington, hot embarrassment burning behind your eyes. “May I be excused for a moment, please? I’m suddenly not feeling very well.”

She nods, eyes a little misty, voice hoarse. “Yes, my dearie.”

The chair beneath you groans, sweaty palm slipping out of Steve’s hand, before your napkin is thrown onto your empty plate. Cami mutters a silent apology, the children stare, Steve stares ahead, jaw tense, and Theo only grins into his wine glass. Smug as ever.

And it’s then, and only then, as you slip into your bedroom that you allow the tears to fall. Because for months you’ve been trying to fit a mold, to be that woman for Steve, to walk in this world as seamlessly as he does.

But you don’t belong, and Theo’s only made that clearer.

——

Steve knows you. Knows beneath that stubborn exterior, the way you’re always flippant and easy to brush things off with a joke, you have a soft heart. He knows you would prefer to divert to humor before accepting an uncomfortability of conflict. Knows you default to protect yourself, because you’ve been doing so for so long. That you’ve built walls around yourself, even if you don’t realize; walls he can see dismantling every day he’s gotten to know you.

Sure, you’ve been romantic for only a short while now, but five months of marriage — of being your friend first — has lent to a deeper understanding. A love that he’s not felt before, growing deeper every day.

So as he watches as you excuse yourself in a blur of tears and choked words, he knows to wait a minute before slamming his napkin down on the table and following you. He knocks first as he approaches your shared bedroom door. Speaks your name into the open space when you don’t answer at first, only to find you curled on your side in bed, holding a pillow flush against your chest.

His first thought is how much he wants to wrap you up in his arms and kiss your sullen face until it lights up with his favorite smile once more. That same smile he thinks is his kryptonite, always brightening your features and effectively robbing him of air. And you don’t even know the power you hold. But he halts near your hip, backside hitting the plus mattress, palm around the dip of your waist. He feels the shake of your sides, the effort of your tears you’re trying to smother in the pillow.

It cleaves his heart right down the middle. Two halves slowly flutter to the bottom of his stomach, lungs tight in his chest like a vice. The last time he saw you cry, it had been just as terrible. You hurt over his actions, eyes red, lids puffy. To think seeing you like this now would be any less heartbreaking is a mistake on his part. Because his heart breaks for what yours does, body slowly sidling up behind yours, your back against his chest, his fingers gradually walking up and down your arm, quiet as your tears start to subside, your breathing evening out.

“Thank you, Steve,” you sniffle after some time has passed with you in his arms.

He exhales deeply as you shift on the bed, turning to face him, wiping at your mascara smudged cheeks. You’re still the prettiest girl in the world, he thinks, without a doubt. Thumbs the corner of your eye where a little dark smudge has started to form, collecting the tear that spills out the corner of your eye.

“Cami started yelling at him when I left, if that makes you feel better,” he says, chest aching when you shake with laughter, burrowing your head into the curve of his shoulder where it meets his chest. Where you’ve always been meant to fit, he realizes. “Said he’s sleeping in the guest bedroom down the hall, and that she’ll stay with the kids. She loves you, you know? She’s a little…intense but she loves you.”

“I’m glad someone does.”

“Hey…” He pushes back a bit to tilt your head up, eyes locking on yours. “My mother loves you too. And I…you’re my wife. You're just as much a Harrington as anyone else at that dinner table, okay?”

“Steve, I don’t belong, and you know that.”

The sound that escapes you is a pitiful thing. A mix between a sob and a moan, more tears spilling down your cheeks when he leans down and presses his lips to yours. Softly, at first, but it quickly grows deeper, his desire to keep you there with him pounding in his blood. Screaming into the space that you belong, you belong, you belong.

“You do belong,” he says, his breath a mere pant against your trembling lips, “you belong with me, okay? That’s all that matters. He’s jealous. He’s jealous because of years of hatred that have started long before I married you and will continue because he’s unhappy. And because he’s unhappy he’s made it his goal to make everyone around him unhappy too.”

He brushes the tears beneath your eyes. Kisses the tracks with the lightest of touches against your face. Nudges your nose until all that remains is that bright, beaming smile. “You’re a Harrington. We’re a team, okay? It’s not a conventional marriage, sure, but you have me. Okay? I’m here for you; it’s okay to let me be here for you.”

He exhales deeply as you sink further into him. Bodies tangling like they’ve done so for years as opposed to weeks. A hand comes up to brush along the back of your head, your fingers splaying in the bunched fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

The name is a jolt to his heart. Saccharine sweet and liquid hot in his bloodstream. The arm wound around your waist draws you closer, tighter to him. He wishes he could be closer, wants to memorize every detail of your form, the depths of your eyes, wants to memorize the sounds you make when you fall asleep, the way his name sounds on your lips in utter bliss like that afternoon in the kitchen. He wants it all. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he knows.

“He’s not wrong though,” you say after some time. Softly, so softly.

“About?”

“I did marry you for money.”

At that, his lip twitches. “Well, I married you for a company and a title.”

Unconventional. Irresponsible. But as the months slip on by, he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would take thousands of moments like these over and over again. You, in his arms. You, chest to chest, nose to nose, forehead to forehead. Two people wound together and tied together by a contract, now lost in the unfamiliar something more growing.

“I think it ended up being a good business deal, though,” you tell him, eyes boring into his. Like this, he feels raw. Exposed like a nerve. But he’s unafraid. Welcomes it. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” he wholeheartedly agrees, sliding a palm along the contours of your cheek. Relishes in the feeling of you sinking further into the mattress, sleep starting to peek in at the corner or your eyes. “And another thing, you know you could have come to me about your family, right? I didn’t realize that’s what you were doing with your dog walking business.”

“Steve, you’ve already done too much. I’m not asking you for more. Plus, things are okay now. He’s doing well, Caroline is well—I’ve got it handled.”

And, in a way, he knows you have for a long time now. Wonders if you’ve ever just allowed yourself a moment of respite. Of not worrying how the next bill would get paid, wondering if your family would be okay, all while grieving the loss of someone so important. It pains him to think of it, chest heaving with a weight so great it’s nearly suffocating.

But it’s almost like you know, fingers slipping along his chest, pausing at the space against his sternum where his heart pounds loudly in his ears. “Just let me have this and I’m happy. This—you, us, whatever this is.”

“You just…you never should have had to grow up so fast,” he says sadly, wishing he could have been there, would have met you sooner—he’s not even sure. He just knows he grieves for the young girl who felt like she had the world resting on her shoulders. “You’re…probably one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. But you have me now, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot,” you tell him sincerely.

He swallows the knot forming in his throat and smiles to himself as you lift his left hand and trace your thumb over the wedding band there idly. A silence settles over the room, comfort found in roaming hands, in gentle brushes of lips, of soft sighs as either pulls away to catch a breath.

And later, as the moon rises high over an inky sky, and he’s holding you close in his arms, both of you in pajamas and ready for bed, he brushes an open kiss to your shoulder blade. Whispers, “Tell me about her, will you? She’s important to you, so she’s important to me.”

The two of you lay for hours. Talking amongst your sheets and pillows. Wound together tight. Interlocking fingers and legs. You begin to paint a picture in his mind of the woman who meant the world to you and more. A woman with joy and love in her heart, a lyrical laugh, a bright smile he can only imagine mirrors yours. Someone he knows had a part in growing you into the woman laying beside him. A person he’s proud of, is fond of, finds himself…falling for.

Love, maybe?

An abstract to him for so. A lofty ideal he thought always meant for others, never him. His own family had been lacking it, his parent’s marriage scarred and soiled by years of lies and infidelity. But he wonders if it’s there. If the capacity of love exists within him, and maybe it only has been seeking the right person.

“She would have really liked you, you know?” you tell him after some time, fingers crawling along the divots of his abdomen, his skin breaking out into gooseflesh.

He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” you say reassuringly, peeking up through your lashes to gaze up at him. “It’s hard not to.”

Those eyes—your eyes—will never not render him a little speechless.

He’ll get lost in them over and over again and never tire. But there’s comfort in it.

Even now, as you lean over and shut the bedside lamp. As you crawl over his chest and tug his glasses free from his face and press your lips to his. As you slump down into his chest, head over his sternum, arms around his waist.

Something like love blooms behind his ribcage.

It should be scary, but as he watches your back rise and fall in your sleep, he realizes it isn’t.

——

please like/ reblog/ interact if you enjoyed! i love hearing from and talking to you all. next chapter is…one you’ve probably all been waiting for. 😏

[1-800-cr33py]

PUSH ME TO THE EDGE

Ghostface x AFAB!Reader

Content Warning: Dub-Con, p in v, outside sex, Ghostface, heavy-ish nsfw, Ghostie is a prick he gets double warnings.

NSFW BELOW <3

Autumn, one of the most bearable seasons within the accursed Entity’s realm, or realms in all actuality. The crisp air, colorful leaves, hazy skies. It would be picturesque if not given everyone’s..circumstances. Especially your’s. Poor little thing.

“ Smile songbird! C’mon won’t you give the camera that award winning smile?” Danny all but cackled, his arm raised with that goddamn camera flashing with every still he took; he returned his attention to you, a squirming mess of wetness and need posed prettily in his lap, legs spread as he almost brought you to the edge once again. This sick cycle was maddening, torturous and fuck did you love it. You loved aching for him, needing him to bring you the simplest of things you could’ve easily brought yourself had he not spoiled you rotten.

“ I said fucking smile. “ Danny deadpanned, his tone flat, low.

Threatening.

A whine erupted from your throat as he retracted his fingers from your sopping cunt to force your chin upward, your wetness staining your cheeks as you gave the weakest smile one could muster, your lover shaking your head as he continued his degrading ramblings into the camera. You were far too dazed to care, simply nodding along with the occasional whine as his hand returned to its spot between your thighs. Your hips jerked as he lay a heavy handed spank onto your clit, Danny cackled, shoving his face into the nape of your neck, your were sure his stubble would leave some kind of mark by the end of this. Danny would leave you like this if he so wished, hell, maybe he’d fuck your throat until you couldn’t talk for the next few trials, or maybe he’d just rub one out, leaving his cum staining your face and an order to not clean it up. You’d do it, anything to keep him appeased, entertained. He brought you to heaven so many time despite being a creature from the deepest depths below Hell itself. A hand chosen by the Entity, graced and cursed alike with her favor and now here you were, a simple toy for him to play with in his downtime.

“ Get out of the pretty head songbird, I ain’t done with that pretty ass yet. “ Danny mused, his fingers a torturous pace by now, your orgasm ebbing away. A guttural whine of need left your mouth, this game had been going on for how long now? Hours? Days? Weeks? Time was such a fickle thing and he seemed to have enough of it to continue this. You could feel his hardness through the rough material of his pants, feel his sharp thrusts against your back every time you moaned his name.

He wanted you just as much if not more.

Danny smiled against your neck, the flush skin littered with hickies and bites alike, though his hand didn’t return to your cunt, instead he lay the cold tips of his fingers against your clit, soft circles leaving your already trembling legs twitching. He cooed sweet nothings, how this was the only way you’d be cumming tonight, his sweet, obedient little girl.

His songbird

The circles turned into slaps, ever the sadist Danny was.

“ Oh dove don’t tell you you thought I was fucking bluffing? “ that earned an especially hard slap, lurking forward as you cried. Fat tears slipping down your face. Oh you sweet thing, always so plaint and ready for anything he throws your way.

So needy, so sweet. It’s a shame really it is. Such a sweet dove doesn’t deserve to be treated this way, but you wanted this. Wanted him. Now here you were, going through this endless cycle of need as the leaves and twigs dug into the back of your thighs. The cool air leaving your already sensitive and bitten nipples pebbled. Your wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the ground below. The scent of sex, Danny, so heavy and thick in the air one could cut it with a dull knife. Yes. Yes this is what you wanted, The excitement, the depravement, oh gods above this is what you’ve dreamed about. Your dull life now filled with as much excitement as one could need. Now all you need to do is hold it. Hold it and he won’t spank your ass purple. Don’t be disobedient now dove, you’ve come so far haven’t you? You want to be good for Danny right? Want to be his good girl, his best girl? Then hold it. Don’t even think about cumming until he give you permission, and even them

Beg.

[btsficsandsuch]

Hey ,hope you are doing okay. I wanted to request a taehyung × reader where she gets hurt or something when he was on tour but she tries to hide it from her but he finds out eventually. angsty with happy ending

Here you go. I hope you like it!!

I’m Alway Worried About You

This is not how you planned your Tuesday night going. Thankfully the emergency room wasn’t too packed and they were able to get you seen pretty quickly. “Okay Y/N. It seems you have a bad case of pneumonia. Everything will be okay and you’ll make a full recovery but we do want to keep you for the next 24 hours to give you some breathing treatments and make sure it doesn’t get any worse.”, the doctor advises you. You simply nod your head in agreement and watch as we walks out the door.

“You should really call Taehyung and let him know what’s going on.”, your best friend speaks up. “No I can’t do that. He’s on tour and he’ll freak out. He’ll be on the next plane back.”, you say shanking your head. She laughs, “And that would be a bad thing why? It’s obvious he loves you.” “I know he does but he’s already given up so much for me. I don’t want him to get in trouble. Plus the doctor said I’ll be fine so there’s no reason he ever has to find out about this.”, you reply. After convincing your friend that you’d be okay and didn’t need her to spend the night you said goodbye and settled in for the night.

The following morning you woke up extremely tired and with a massive headache. When the doctor told you that you’d be getting breathing treatments you didn’t think he meant every hour. You just finished yet another treatment when your phone started vibrating on the table next to you. Checking the screen you saw Taehyungs name flashing. You’d already ignored two of his calls so you knew if you did it a third time he’d have someone looking for you so you had no choice but to answer.

“Hello”

“There you are Y/N! I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry Tae. I was in the shower.”

“It’s okay. How are you? I miss you so much!”

“Aww babe I miss you too! How much longer until you get back?”

“Umm like two weeks.”

“Oh that’s not too ba-“

You’re cut off before you can finish. “Here you go Miss. These are your discharge papers. The dr will be in shortly to give your lungs one final listen.”, the nurse says before turning and walking away. You’re glad they weren’t currently checking your blood pressure because the machine definitely would’ve blown up. You were praying Taehyung didn’t hear that but before you even continue he asks,

“Discharge papers and doctor? Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine Tae. It was in the drama I’m watching on tv. The female lead was in the hospital.”, you said hoping he buys the lie.

“Alright. Well I have to get going. I’ll talk to you later. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Tae. Be safe! Tell the boys I say hi.”

After the call ended you let out a long sigh thankful that he didn’t ask any more questions. The doctor came in shortly after and checked your breathing. He said you still sounded a little sick but much better than yesterday. He gave you a prescription for an inhaler to use if you felt like your breathing was getting worse and signed off on your discharge. Your best friend was waiting in the lobby to take you home.

The next couple weeks went by fast. Every day you felt a little stronger and you only had to use the inhaler twice. Today was an exciting day because Taehyung was finally coming home after being gone for the last couple months. As soon as he walked in the door you ran and jumped into his arms, “I missed you so much Tae.” He spun you around the living room before giving you a kiss, “I missed you too Y/N.”

After spending some time catching up you both realize that you’re starving and decide to check out a new restaurant that just opened up. The meal was great. Taehyung told you all about the tour. He showed you all of the pictures and videos he took. You couldn’t stop the smile that was on your face. As the two of you made your way back home you held his hand close, just happy that he was finally there. You both walked from the car over to the elevator ready to get upstairs and cuddle and watch the newest drama everyone keeps talking about. You went to press the button on the elevator when you noticed a big yellow sign taped to the doors ‘Out Of Service. Please Take the Stairs. Sorry For The Inconvenience’.

Taehyung scoffs next to you, “For how much we pay to live here you’d think they could keep everything in working order.” You nod in agreement but have no choice but to take the stairs. Luckily your apartment is only on the fifth floor but it’s still quite a few stairs to take. With each staircase it gets harder and harder to breathe. Taehyung notices, “Are you okay Y/? We can take a break.” You shake your head, “No this is just a reminder that I have to start working out more.” The two of you continue up and finally reach your floor. You never thought you’d be so happy to see the tacky green carpet of the hallway leading to your apartment.

Now it seems that with each step your lungs are getting weaker and weaker. Sure you’re not the most physically fit person but you’ve never been this exhausted before. Then you remembered how the doctor told you that your lungs could be weaker for the next couple months as they fully recover from the pneumonia and that’s why he gave you the inhaler. You had stuffed the inhaler in the back of your nightstand drawer thinking you’d never need it again and wanted to make sure Taehyung never found it.

“Y/N are you sure you’re okay? You don’t look that good.”, he says pushing open the door to your apartment. You try to respond but realize you don’t have enough breath in your lungs to speak. You start to panic and begin pointing at your chest. “What’s wrong? Do I need to call for an ambulance? Y/N, try to breathe.”, he says clearly upset. Still unable to speak you start briskly walking back to your bedroom, Taehyung following close behind. Once you get to your nightstand you start pulling out item after item throwing them on the floor until you get to what you’re looking for. The navy blue inhaler. Quickly you follow the directions and push down inhaling the medicine and holding your breath. You Wait 10 seconds and do it again. After another 10 seconds you take one more inhale. Closing your eyes you sit on the bed and wait for the medicine to take effect.

Thankfully it only takes a couple minutes for the medicine to start working and slowly you can feel your lungs taking in more air. When you finally open your eyes you search for Taehyung and see him standing in front of you with wide eyes. “Y/N, what’s going on? We’ve been together for five years and you never told me you had asthma and I’ve never seen you use an inhaler.”, he asks with hints of fear and anger in his voice.

Taking another deep breath you grab his hand and pull him next to you. You decide it’s best to come clean. “I don’t have asthma. A few weeks ago I was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. They gave me this inhaler but I didn’t think I’d need it so I didn’t bring it and I’ve been feeling much better but I think taking all of those stairs overworked my lungs. I’m sorry if I scared you.”, you said unable to look at him. “Of course you scared me Y/N. I thought you were dying. Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital? That’s not fair to keep something like that from me.”, he said trying but failing to hide the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry Tae. The doctor said I was going to be fine. If it was something serious I would’ve called you. I just didn’t want you to worry about me.”, you said squeezing his hand.

Taehyung lifted your chin so you were looking at him, “Y/N, I’m always worried about you when I’m not with you. I worry if you’re safe, if you’re healthy, if you’re happy, if you’re eating and sleeping well. Just like you’re always worried about me. If something happens and I’m not here I need to know about it. Even if it’s a paper cut you got while opening the mail. Even if I’m on the other side of the world. Promise me if something ever happens again you will call me, no matter what.” You nod and kiss his cheek, “I promise. I’m sorry.”

He gives you a big boxy smile, “Good. Now let’s clean up and then meet me on the couch. We’ve got a whole drama to binge watch in one night so we better get started.” You laugh and begin placing things back in the drawer except for the blue inhaler you can’t seem to find anywhere. Panic sets in until you see Taehyung in the living room holding the inhaler and talking on the phone. You bite your lip trying to hide the smile that forms as you hear him say, “Yes the prescription is for Mrs.Y/N Kim. I was wondering what would be needed to be able to get enough of these inhalers to put one in every room of the house and to have one on me at all times.” You laugh at his concern. You know they’d never give you enough to do that but for the time being you’ll let him have this moment and you feel your heart swell at how much he loves and cares about you.

[forever-rogue]

Hi!! I've seen you account recently and I was thinking maybe you could write eddie munson x reader when the reader is always so guffy and childish. So reader is sick like have really bad fever and is weary weak, almost fainted because of that and Eddie take kare of them and maybe lullaby them to sleep by singing them and rocking them please

Also English isn't my mother language so please forgive me for any mistakes love you

Feel free to ignore me if you want to byee

AN | No, but Eddie would take such good care of you 🥺🥰

Warnings | sick!reader

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You knew that something was off as soon as you woke up that morning. Your head was pounding, you felt fatigued despite the fact that you’d gotten plenty of sleep, and your throat was taking on a dry, scratchy feeling. 

You’d experienced enough life and were definitely smart enough to put the pieces together. The conclusion to which, naturally, was that you were getting sick and coming down with…something. 

Once you were up and had taken a shower, you walked back into the bedroom you shared with Eddie and found him still sound asleep since he started at his job later than you did. Every fiber of your being yearned to crawl into bed with him and let him hold you…but you also didn’t like to succumb to something so simple. Besides that, if you were getting sick, you didn’t want to be around Eddie too much and potentially get him sick as well. Although by this point, you were sure that he’d probably already be exposed to whatever you had.

It was with a heavy heart and tired bones that you got dressed, made coffee, and headed out the door to work. In an effort to keep everyone else safe, you’d already decided that you were going to lock yourself into your office and keep to yourself. 

Hopefully this wouldn’t turn into anything too bad.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Making it through the work day had been a challenge and a half. It had, realistically speaking, ended about an hour before you were actually off, when you’d managed to fall asleep at your desk. You were thankful for closing the door; it would have been an awkward situation to explain. Your head had been on the desk and you had been drooling…needless to say you were out of it.

You probably should have called and asked your husband for a ride, but you hated the idea of bothering him, so you sucked it up and got yourself home. As soon as you walked in and dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes, you made your way over to the couch and collapsed onto it. A groan escaped your lips at the feeling of your sore body hitting the soft fabric. You grabbed the blanket at the end of the couch and pulled it over you, cuddled up as you gave in and took another nap. Your body was desperately craving it and you were too tired to fight it.

It wasn’t until Eddie came home that you awoke again, and not until you felt his soft touch on your shoulder. Your heavy eyes opened slowly as you found him looking back at you with a look of concern. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” he didn’t miss a beat and you silently cursed how observant he managed to be. You tried to shake your head and reassure him that you were fine but…definitely fell flat. Your throat was dry and scratchy and sound barely came out as you looked at him pathetically, “aww, baby. You’re sick, aren’t you?”

“No,” you croaked out, fooling either of you. Eddie huffed as crouched down and held the back of his hand to forehead. The corners of his mouth tugged into a frown, “I just need some rest.”

“Baby-”

“Really,” you insisted, “‘m fine.”

“You have a fever,” he raised his eyebrows as you fervently shook your head, only making the pounding worse. 

“Are you a doctor now?" There was a pretty pout on your lips that Eddie wanted to kiss sway. You tugged up the blanket so it was covering your face. He chuckled fondly as he brushed your hair out of your face.

"Yes," he cheesed happily, "Dr. Concerned Husband. Now let me take care of you, stubborn thing."

"I can handle myself," your defenses were slowly coming down. Maybe it was Eddie's puppy dog eyes or the ache in your bones; probably a combination of the two. 

"I know you can," he promised softly, "but I don't want you to have to. I've got you."

You looked at him, attempting to be strong, but once you saw those big, brown eyes, you couldn't handle it anymore. The tears started to pearl up and rolled your cheeks as your lip trembled and you sniffled. Eddie silently wrapped his arms around you, holding onto you gently and rubbing your back in soothing circles. You burrowed your face into his chest, long beyond thinking about getting him sick; he clearly didn’t care and you knew that you’d take care of him if the roles were to reverse. A few small, pathetic sounds escaped your lips “‘m sorry for being such a baby. I just feel so shitty.”

“That’s not you being a baby, baby,” he peppered kisses to the side of your head, “that is you have a normal reaction to not feeling well.”

“I just wanna go to bed and sleep,” you pouted at him and he nodded in acknowledgment, silently commiserating with you. 

“I know baby,” he promised, stroking his thumb over the apple of your cheek, “but have you eaten today? Maybe a nice hot shower or bath would help.”

“I ate some yogurt this morning,” you already knew that Eddie was going into full blown mother hen mode, “but I wasn’t feeling good at all, so I didn’t eat anything else.”

“I think you should eat something,” he chided softly, “even if it's just some broth, yeah? Something simple and lots of water.”

“Then maybe a bath?” the idea of soaking your tired, aching bones into a tub of hot water and soft bubbles sounded magical. Eddie nodded softly as you relaxed slightly; if you were being honest, just his mere presence was already making you feel better, “will you join me?”

“As if I’d miss that opportunity,” he teased, brushing his fingers along your jaw. You started to laugh, but it was quickly turned into a coughing fit, “oh honey. You are going to rest here, in a warm little nest, while I go and make some soup. After that it’ll be a bath and then - and  you’re not going to work tomorrow.”

“Eddie.”

“Princess,” he took your face in hands and you could see the love that was etched into his features, “I’m going to take care of you and that’s not up for debate. Yes?”

“Yes,” you promised softly, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You want me to undress you?” there was a small bit of amusement in his voice as you held your arms and offered him a sheepish little expression, “yeah, you do. Alright, pretty girl, let me help you.”

Eddie’s movements were gentle and tender as he slowly took off your sweater and bra, before following suit with your jeans, underwear and socks. You half expected him to make a comment about the current situation, but tonight he didn’t. Instead he studied you with reverent affection, “don’t - I look horrid probably.”

“On the contrary,” he made it clear that there was no room for argument, “you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You always are - but now, into the tub and do not argue with me.”

“Fine,” you huffed playfully as he held out his hand to help steady you as you stepped into the tub. An unstoppable sigh of relief at the feeling of the warmth and the lavender smell of the bubbles escaped your lips as you eased your body into the tub. Once you were all settled and engulfed in the water, you closed your eyes, “this feels like heaven.”

“Well, this is certainly my idea of heaven,” his smile was beaming as you peeked one eye at him, “but right now I just want to make you feel better.”

“Join me.”

“Don’t you want me to wash your hair? And your body?” he raised an eyebrow in amusement as you shook your head, “never heard you turn that down before. That’s how I know you’re really not doing well.”

“Just wan’ you,” you were ready to plead with this man if you had to, “please, my love? Pretty please with all the cherries on top?”

“You don’t have to beg,” your husband stood up and whisked his shirt, revealing his pale, inked torso - which you shamelessly marveled at - before practically kicking off his jeans. You laughed softly, stopping yourself before it turned into another coughing spell, “you can have whatever you want.”

“Well, I want you,” you scooted over to the other side of the tub so he could get in. Eddie gently lowered himself into the water, grimacing slightly at how hot you liked the water. He made a sound of content as his legs bracketed yours, “hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back, holding his hand out to you, “you really gonna stay at the other end of the tub?”

“No,” you shrugged, “but didn’t want to assume you wanted me right in your space.”

“I always want you in my space,” he scoffed, “that’s never anything you have to doubt.”

You let him tenderly pull you over, settling on his thighs as you sat back and leaned against his chest. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist as you sighed wistfully. Eddie pressed a row of soft kisses to your shoulder, and you turned your face to kiss his cheek. 

“This feels nice,” you were already feeling sleepy again as your eyes started to flutter close, “I’m sorry in advance if I fall asleep for a few minutes.”

“I’m not,” you really, really loved this stubborn, strong-willed man, “you need your rest and you’re going to get it. No if, ands, or buts.”

“Yes sir,” you reached for his hand and laced your fingers together, smiling when you felt him give your hand a squeeze. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Come on baby,” your eyes opened slowly at the sound of his voice as you looked up at him. He was already dressed in clean pajamas, holding out a warm towel for you, “let's get you to bed sleepyhead.”

“I bet you warmed that towel, huh?” you stood up slowly, immediately swallowed by the towel that Eddie wrapped around your body. Just as you suspected, it was extra warm and fluffy, “you did! What an amazing husband you are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink as you made sure your entire body was covered, “whatever you say sweetheart.”

He steered you towards the bedroom before pulling back the covers, “bed has never looked so good before.”

“Stay there for one moment,” he was out of the room and running back downstairs before you could even say anything. You saw down on the edge of the bed, already fatigued by the simple act of getting out of the bath. Within a few moments you heard him run back up, breathless by the time he re-entered the bedroom, but grinning nonetheless. He held up your clean, warmed pajamas with a small sound of triumph, “ta-da. All ready for you, baby.”

Without you even needing to say a word, he came over to help dress you, his movement slow and methodical. Once he was done, you were thoroughly warm and sleepy, smiling at him like a fool, “thank you, my love. You are so wonderful.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he tossed the towel to the side, a worry for later, before starting to tuck you in, “now you can get some rest.”

“Only if you get in with me.”

“That was my plan,” he pulled the covers up and made sure you were bundled, “I’m just going to get us some water, okay?”

“My hero!”

“Very funny,” he pecked your forehead, “I’ll be back in a moment, baby.”

“I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he shot you a wink before reluctantly leaving you, even if it was just for a few moments. 

Eddie tidied up the kitchen for just a moment before getting plenty of water and going back up the stairs. By the time he made it back into the bedroom, you were already asleep and snoring softly. He was glad - you needed and deserved the rest. He set the water down on the nightstand by your side of the bed, making sure to put some medicine there as well.

He brushed the away the few locks of hair that were in your face before kissing your cheek. You made a small sound but didn’t stir otherwise; he was almost positive that a small smile was tugging up the corner of your mouth.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered, turning off the light before walking to his side of the bed. He crawled into bed next to you, delicately as possible so he wouldn’t disturb you, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”

[bingoboingobongo]

wrong

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Angst

Summary: Simon’s finally home, so you should be happy right? Wrong.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: anxiety, stress, tbh probably signs of depression too, pasta consuption (sorry ppl who r gluten free), explicit language

A/N: bruh. um. barely beta-read we die like men. yes i said i would be back by january yes i lied. definitely 100% not inspired by real life. tl;dr i hate mock trial, all the guys at my school are boring or annoying, and i’m on the verge. enjoy :)

It felt wrong to say, like really wrong, like going against every single thing you knew to be right and good with the world wrong, but Simon was really hurting you right now. Part of the reason why it felt so wrong to say was because it wasn’t even Simon’s fault. It wasn’t anything that he was or wasn’t doing that was hurting you, and there wasn’t anything he could or couldn’t do to make you feel better.

You felt terrible, even though you should’ve been feeling amazing, even though you should’ve been feeling ecstatic that after so long of being away on duty, he was finally back home, back in your bed, back in your arms. You felt guilty. You felt guilty because he was here and you should be happy and you should have been cherishing him and spending as much time as you could with him, and for some reason you couldn’t. 

There was something hanging over your head, some insufferable, suffocating, terrifying cloud of stress and anxiety following you around that made you want to burst into tears at any second, and you didn’t even know why. You just felt bad. And Simon didn’t deserve that, not after everything he had been through, all the horrors he had seen. He deserved someone happy, someone who could cheer him up and smile with him, not someone who couldn’t even figure out what was making them feel like this.

It was horrible, how every time you saw him sleeping or washing the dishes or reading a book, your stomach twisted and the lump in your throat grew, how even just the sight of him made you feel so guilty for feeling bad around him, which of course just only made you feel worse, and therefore more guilty.

It was exhausting, and you wanted nothing more than to break down and cry and let it all out, but you couldn’t. Simon didn’t deserve to have to deal with that, he didn’t deserve to have to help you figure out what was making you feel like this when you didn’t even know how to tackle it on your own.

And even though you hated to admit it, you were secretly counting down the days until he left for duty again. Until you had another chance to put yourself back together and finally greet him with a sincere smile and a warm hug like you should’ve been able to do when he first came back. You just needed a chance to sort yourself out, a second chance.

Which is why when he said he had important news to tell you tonight, a tiny part of you lit up with excitement, shamefully praying that maybe, just maybe, he had to go back to whatever classified base he had spent the last five months at. And it made you sick that you were thinking that, that you wanted him gone so badly, but you couldn’t help it. It was so exhausting to smile at him and nod along to his conversations and act like you didn’t want to just drop off the face of the earth.

And now here he was, wearing a way-too-small ‘kiss the cook’ apron you had gotten him as a gag gift, standing in front of the stove while something that smelled way to good to be shitty Chinese takeout — your normal meal for when he told you he had to leave again — and you couldn’t help the way your stomach dropped when he turned around with one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen him wear on his face.

If he noticed the faint terror on your face, he didn’t mention it, instead taking your bag off of you and ushering you to the dining table, where he placed a delicious smelling plate of pasta in front of you and urged you to try it. Putting on a smile, you reached for your fork, but time seemed to slow down as you tried to take a bite out of the pasta. You felt like some invisible force was squeezing down on you, slowing your movements as it pressured you to put on a happy face for Simon. When you finally took a bite, you didn’t taste anything. You knew it wasn’t the food itself; it smelled delicious and it looked like it’d taste like heaven, but the dread bubbling in your stomach was all-consuming.

But Simon needed this, and you knew he needed this, so you closed your eyes and tossed your head back like it was the most delicious thing you had ever had. You groaned, “This… this is delicious, Simon. How did you make it?”

You tried to be happy at how relieved he looked at what you said, but instead it just made you feel more guilty. You watched as his hand reached for the back of his neck, something he always did whenever you complimented him, and his lips moved around in some slurry of words. You couldn’t hear anything, or at least your brain wasn’t processing it. You were too focused on making it seem like you were absorbing every single thing he said, like everything was fine.

At a certain point he sat down across from you, and you watched him fold a napkin neatly over his lap as he got ready to eat.

“What was that news you wanted to tell me about?” You asked, surprising yourself. 

“Oh right,” Simon said, before quickly taking a bite of food. You tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped as his next sentence — although garbled and unclear due to the food he was eating — left his mouth. You had just heard him wrong, right? Yes, that had to be it. It was just your ears playing tricks on you, nothing more. Right?

“Um,” you said, swallowing, “what did you say?” You tried to put on a good face when you said that, a face that said ‘I’m so happy’ and not ‘I think this may send me over the edge,’ but by the way Simon’s chewing stopped abruptly you could tell you failed.

You watched as he swallowed slowly, setting down his fork and wiping his mouth neatly before continuing. “I said… I said I won’t have to leave for another four months.”

There was no hiding it now. As soon as the words left his mouth you felt a wave of emotion crash over you, and before you knew it you were crying. You felt embarrassed. Although it was blurred by tears, you could see Simon’s face just a few feet away from you. He was sitting quietly still, a complete opposite to your shaking, sobbing, body.

You could hear him call out your name, which just made you cry even harder. You didn’t know why you were doing this, you wanted so badly to stop, to just shut up, to not embarrass yourself any further, but you couldn’t. It was like you didn’t have control over your body anymore. You felt like your body was being tossed around by the cruel waves of emotion. You didn’t know how to do anything but cry. It was washing over you and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. You could feel the cold air burn your lungs as you tried to gasp for some sort of breath, but nothing helped.

For a moment, you thought you were better, but then you felt Simon’s hand on your back and you were drowning again. The way your cries grew louder and the sobs racked through your body harder when he wrapped his arms around you made you feel terrible, but you couldn’t do anything to stop it. So many emotions were battering your body: shame, exhaustion, dismay, embarrassment, love, fear.

At a certain point though, your cries began to quiet down. You became aware of Simon’s hand stroking the back of your head and the strong cocoon he had wrapped you in. Your heart rate began to slow down, and the only evidence that you had been crying was the still damp tracks down your cheeks and the erratic hiccups that jolted through your body.

You felt Simon’s chest rise like he was going to say something, and a spark of anxiety raced through your body again. You didn’t want to talk about this. You wanted to pretend this never happened. You wanted to grab your things and leave. You wanted to come back the next morning with two coffees — one black, just like he likes it, and one with way so much cream and sugar it’s almost inedible just because you know it pisses him off — and start talking about how he has to watch James Gunn’s Suicide Squad because it’s so much better than the one with Jared Leto. 

But instead of asking if you wanted to talk about it or if you were okay or some other anxiety-inducing conversation starter that would only lead to more tears and confusion, all he said was “Do you wanna go to sleep?”

And for a moment you didn’t say anything, but then you slowly nodded your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist as he picked you up. He didn’t say anything as he brought you to your bedroom or when he helped you change into your pajamas or when he pulled the covers over you and pulled you close to his chest. And yet, even though he was a man typically shrouded in mystery and confusion, you could tell by how tight he was holding you that he was telling you something, even if it wasn’t out loud.

He was telling you that it would be okay, that he knew you could get through this, and that even if it wasn’t he would be there with you. And it wouldn’t be suffocating anymore and you wouldn’t have to feel like you had to hide things from him, you could just be, and he would be there for you. And that was all you needed as you drifted off to sleep.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for quitting the way I did and talking to my former boss?

Many years ago I got my first job in my field when I was just out of high school at a local business. It was owned by a person who was a master of the trade and I learned a lot working for them. I really loved the job, but as it went on and we got into the busy season, things went downhill. We took on too many clients and were constantly behind, and the boss was reasonably very stressed, as were we all. I tried to express at meetings that I thought the only solution was to take on less clients, but of course it was more complex than that and the boss didn’t agree.

There were many situations where I did what the boss told me and was latter reprimanded because they didn’t think their order through and something went wrong. There were many more times I tried my very best at something and still couldn’t please them. I don’t want to be too detailed, but basically there was a week where half the staff were out sick and I was left to manage all of their responsibilities while the boss and senior staff worked on the biggest ticket project. I was really proud of myself for how I handled things that week, but all I got from the boss were critiques.

I was young and put too much stake in their approval, and one day in the middle of the busy season I quit in a fit of pique. The boss was blindsided and asked for an exit interview where I told them the truth about why I was leaving as politely as I could. Then I served my two weeks and left. I’m glad I did it, but I know there were kinder ways to do it, and I really mourned the loss.

Now I’m established in the industry with my own business and I go to a lot of conferences and expos. I did what was best at the time, but it means I can’t really talk or do business with my former boss because of the baggage. Unfortunately, they also go to these things. So far when we run into each other we ignore each other, but last time a friend introduced me to my old boss. The boss said “yeah, I know anon. They used to work for me.” And we looked at each other with an awful dead-eyed stare until the other people in the group picked up on the shame and we all made excuses to leave. The friend immediately guessed that this was the owner of the first industry job I ever had. I’ve realized that other people I’ve worked for who have seen my resume might also put it together even though I obviously never tell anyone what happened. I would never, ever badmouth this person to anyone. Only those who were close to me at the time know why I quit and how. They are truly an expert and I have great respect and admiration for them professionally. But every time I run into them at a conference I seriously consider moving somewhere no one has ever heard of them.

(This only happens like once a year max but it still eats me up inside.)

TL;DR: I had a job with someone I really respect but who made work intolerable and told them why when I quit. Now I occasionally run into them at professional conferences and it sucks. AITA for quitting and for ignoring them when we do meet?

What are these acronyms?

[crucifiedramblings]

Fool Me Once — Dr. Gregory House x F!Reader (Part I)

Hello! This is my first Gregory House fic, I've been truly obsessed with this old man recently. No warnings for this chapter (edit: mention of pill abuse), but I will list full work warnings below.

Word Count: 789

Content Warnings: Angst, implied/referenced drug use & addiction, eventual smut, swearing, graphic depictions of medical gore

Next Part: N/A

            

The pills hadn’t been in House’s system for a few days— he would have to rebuild his Vicodin tolerance again. Nothing like a “V-Break” to get the same hazy punch as before— the name could use some work, though. House lazily looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes, his head dipping to the side to look at his own vitals on the small monitor to the right of his bedside.

            You had only been on House’s diagnostic team for a few days when he collapsed in the middle of a briefing. His toxicity screen showed a spike in narcotic levels, and you flushed his system while he was out. He argued that it was doing more harm than good, but you replaced the chemical with comfort medications until he had clean blood. Once it ran clear, and he was no longer dying— you practically spoon-fed his Vicodin right to him. 

            Maybe it was the sympathy— no, empathy— of being a former addict. Maybe it was the fact that you hated seeing House detoxing. Maybe it was because you knew how sick he must have felt. Whatever it was— it triumphed over any nobility you held as a doctor as you placed three white pills into House’s shaking hands with a reassuring smile. 

            House looked at you with an almost frazzled gaze, dry-swallowing the pills as if you were going to snatch them away if he took too long. You sat on a stool by House’s side, holding a small styrofoam cup’s straw to his lips. He gratefully sipped, a soft whistling coming from the lid as House greedily gulped down the frigid water. He gave you a nod, as if to say ‘thank you’ without the words ever leaving his mouth. You only nodded in response.

            House asked for your name, a raspy request given between sips and wheezes. You gave it to him, although skeptical he didn’t know the name of the newest hire on his team— House was a very thorough man in his decisions. He gave you a lazy grin, giggling to himself and eventually drifting off. At least the pills did what you hoped, giving House some much-needed rest. He looked so much more peaceful like that— no longer sporting a leaping forehead vein, teeth no longer bared— he looked at ease. Like he wasn’t in any pain.

            After several torturous hours— the ones that bled into days, which crashed down into weeks— House was cleared to return to work . . . although he technically never left, and was sure to remind everyone of such knowledge. He walked circles around his bed with a newfound vigor, having just replenished his fix for the morning. House’s limp was barely noticeable when he first dosed, and you were consistent in tracking how his decreased mobility affected his mood by the end of the day. 

            The truth was, you were used to House— but you were not accustomed to sober House— the version of himself that he hid away until he could take time off work. The persona that House barely allowed to see the light of day if unnecessary. The facade that reminded House too much of his father in a certain light. 

            You didn’t blame him— you used to be the same way— although he didn’t know that much from your file. He treated you like some brown-nosing geek, saving his life to look good in front of the new boss. House didn’t understand why someone would fight so hard to save him, and then hand him the pills that almost killed him in the same breath. You didn’t quite understand it either— maybe it was the words Wilson muttered by House’s bedside when he was still in a perpetual coma.

“I can’t lose you yet— fight it.” 

            Maybe it was the pang of hurt you felt at the sight of him when he awoke— dripping with sweat, pale, scratching at his own intravenous drip to make himself feel something other than the pounding of his head and the bile in his belly. Whatever it was— the semblance spoke to you well enough to place his own killer into his discolored palms. 

            It was worth it, the way House’s gaze lit up— he angled his head to the ceiling tiles and hastily, shakily swallowed the pills without any consideration. You almost took pity on him— that was, until he commented on your bust in your top. You smacked him with his own file, grateful to have the version of House you had come to know up and running again— regardless of how annoying that version may be. Your help remained unspoken, but in the following weeks, some distant glances and singled-out tasks would bring any tension to a head. 

[pix3lplays]

How about Dr. Xeno and Stanley Snyder S/O after being freed from her petrification is starting to feel off, throwing up and feeling more exhausted then she did before, they think that maybe she had gotten some sort of sickness but, surprise, she actually is pregnant!

It confuses them until they remember that they had spent the night before being petrified with their S/O.

Wow this is literally right up my alley, let’s Do It, thanks for the request!! Don’t hesitate to request again if you have any more hehe >:)

Tw! Reader is pregnant

-Dr. Xeno and Stanley Snyder accidentally getting their s/o pregnant-

Dr. Xeno: Dr. Xeno is a smart, smart man. I think he’d have his suspicions that you were pregnant with his baby, but I also think he’s the type of man who would be in complete denial. He tries to push it away, tells you you’re just a little sick and the discomfort will pass. But he knows. Deep down he knows that you’re pregnant, and that he’s definitely the father. But he’s not ready for that responsibility, he’ll probably even be in denial while you’re showing, all the way up until the baby is born. He’s the type of man who genuinely doesn’t see how the baby is his responsibility. He means…it’s your fault for not being on a pill, right? It’s…quite a battle to get him to take responsibility and raise his child. He’s very much: that happened in the old world, I have too many responsibilities in this new world to raise a child- But you know he’s just scared. Scared to be a father. Scared to be part of a family. He has it in his head that he’s not meant to be a father, or part of a loving family. So he pushes you and your child away, focuses on his work. It’s a little…heartbreaking. As a father, Xeno is distant and on the surface almost indifferent to his child. But I believe deep down he does actually care for his baby, even if he doesn’t really show it most of the time. He is strict, and he expects them to be on his level when they’re older. It’s a lot of pressure that they grow up with, and honestly they probably don’t really see him as a Dad so much as just…an adult they live with. I think there will be a lot of distance between them, even with you stepping in and trying your best to help them bond. It’s…an unfortunate reality. Does Xeno regret getting you pregnant? Probably. But sometimes he sees how happy you are with your child and then his carelessness doesn’t seem so fatal anymore.

Stanley Snyder: Stanley’s no idiot. He remembers what happened before the petrification. And he knows that that’s his baby causing you to feel so sick. Unlike Dr. Xeno, Stanley’s right there beside you, even before he tells you he thinks you’re pregnant. Once you start showing, and his theory is confirmed, he takes responsibility for his recklessness. He lets you know that he’s not going Anywhere, and that he’s going to stay right beside you and raise that baby. He even takes the initiative in a lot of areas. For example, you notice he smokes less around you, if at all, and he doesn’t hesitate to check in on you often, just to make sure you’re doing okay. Stanley, to me, doesn’t actually seem like a man who would want kids…but he’s the one who knocked you up, so you better Believe he’s taking responsibility for that. As a father Stanley is extremely loyal to his kid. He’s determined to be there for his child, and you’d never guess that he was hesitant to be a father. I can imagine him teaching them how to fight when they get older, in the hopes they’ll never have to use the skills he teaches them. He’s a pretty proud papa when his kid turns out more like you than him. He doesn’t want his kid to be like him. He is a violent, dangerous man. He actually got mad and even raised his voice the first time his kid said they wanted to be like him when they grew up. “NEVER say that again,” he had said, and he didn’t mean to frighten his kid but they ran to you with tears in their big eyes. He genuinely apologized afterwards. To you, and to his kid. And he did his best to explain why he got upset, in a way a kid could understand. But all in all, Stanley’s a decent dad. A little strict, a little scary at times, and he does relapse back into his smoking habits once his kid is a little older, but honestly they really trust and respect their dad, so they can see past his flaws.

[slaymitchabernathy]

champagne problems

“Who is Lucy Gray?”

Soarynn’s question pulls Coriolanus from the newspaper he’s currently reading at the dining room table and he fails to hide the look of surprise from washing over his face.

Soarynn stands across from him on the other side of the mahogany furniture, hands on her hips as she expectantly looks at him. Coriolanus swallows, there’s no way she knows about Lucy Gray, not after that demented District girl was practically erased from Capitol history. Unless Soarynn somehow found the one tape Dr. Gaul kept for her own sick and twisted pleasure…no, she couldn’t have.

Coriolanus offers her a small smile, to calm her, to calm him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about darling,” he says, reaching for his cup of coffee.

His normally polite and doting girlfriend scoffs and roll her eyes, not buying into his lie for a second, “Do you think I’m an idiot Coriolanus? Did you think you could keep something like this from me?”

If Soarynn knows about Lucy Gray then that means she could know about Sejanus too. Coriolanus can see his perfect world crumbling around him. All his hard work gone, down the drain.

He’d come back to the Capitol after his little Peacekeeper stint a new man with a new persona. He was no longer some wide-eyed school boy who hoped to find some goodness in his heart. No, he was past that. He threw himself into his studies and it paid off well. He was offered an internship as a Game Maker and made quite the name for himself despite his young age.

During his second year at the University was when he met Soarynn. She was everything he was looking for. Kind, smart, polite, stunning and above all, born and raised in the Capitol. They made quite the attractive couple and with her by his side, everything was lining up for him.

Until now.

Coriolanus calms himself, he needs to find out what she knows without telling her what he knows. “Soarynn, I don’t know who told you about this…Lucy Gray girl but I can assure you that sh—“

“Oh don’t try to play it off,” Soarynn snaps, not allowing him to finish his sentence, “Festus mentioned your time as a Peacekeeper and when I said how unfair it was that out of all the Districts to be sent to, you got sent to Twelve, he started going on and on about how you were some…some mentor to some girl from Twelve.”

Festus Creed was about to be the fourth body Coriolanus buried once he was done dealing with Soarynn and her little temper tantrum. Leave it to him to be loose lipped at the worst time.

Coriolanus rubbed his temples, she didn’t know everything, which was good. She only knew as much as Festus knew and that wasn’t a lot. Only what he saw in person, on television, at the zoo and in the arena.

No big deal.

“My mentorship is something that I don’t wish to talk about Soarynn. There’s a reason no one talks about it so why don’t you drop it before you say something you’ll regret,” he suggests, giving her a stern look. Normally, she’d back down but this is a fight that’s got her fired up from the looks of it.

“So she was your Tribute?”

He nods, “She was my Tribute.”

“And she won? She won the Games?”

“She did. And I won the Plinth Prize.”

Soarynn shakes her head, “But then you got sent to Twelve.” She says this as if he’s been caught red handed. He feigns a look of innocence, “There is no such crime for being sent to serve the great country of Panem darling. I simply went where I was assigned before I was called back home.”

Soarynn tilts her head and for a moment, he knows he’s won. “So you didn’t go look for Lucy Gray once you got there?” Well, he didn’t have much else to do once he got there but he nods his head, “She disappeared soon after I arrived, some say the Mayor and his daughter had something to do with it. Others say she ran away up North.”

There, he didn’t even fully lie. Maybe he is newly improved.

Soarynn strides over to where he’s sitting and he prepares himself for the apology, the begging, the tears. Soarynn’s always been rather submissive and she’s always the first to apologize.

She’s got something clutched in her small fist and she slams it on the table, keeping her hand over it and keeping it from his view.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispers, pulling her hand away and revealing what she’s left on the table.

Her earring.

Lucy Gray’s earring.

He’s fucked. He knows that much. Damn him for being so sentimental. If he knew where this earring would land him then he would’ve left it in those godforsaken woods.

Coriolanus swallows and stares at the piece of jewelry before him. It looks so cheap compared to the jewelry he’s bought Soarynn. All her jewelry is made of gold and precious jewels. This earring looks like a child made it. But he kept it. And that must mean something. It clearly means something to Soarynn who’s fuming at the moment.

“This was before I met you.”

He can’t even stop those words from leaving his mouth but he wishes they never did when he sees how much they’ve hurt Soarynn. She gives him a glare, “That doesn’t matter and you know it. We both agreed to be honest with each other. You knew about my past relationships but when I asked about yours I was shut down. I should’ve known it from the start, should’ve…should’ve known that you’d be hung up on some District whore.”

Coriolanus is on his feet in seconds, his chair scraping across the hard wood floor and his large hand wrapping around Soarynn’s neck. He stares down at her, his breathing heavy and fueled with a sudden anger.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about anything because I just knew you’d react like some spoiled child. Yes, I was Lucy Gray’s mentor. Yes, I fell for her smiles and her silly little songs. And yes, she probably was some whore who lived by her charms but it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day now does it?”

His face is inches away from Soarynn’s and they’re both mad, both hurting for different reasons.

Soarynn has tears in her eyes and he doesn’t know if it’s from how he’s treating her or how long he’s kept this all a secret from her.

“You’re not the man I fell in love with Coriolanus.”

Those words break him in more way than one.

His grip on her neck disappears and he takes a step back, letting out a cold, bitter laugh, “I think Lucy Gray probably thought the same thing before she left.”

He’s done it now. A single tear falls down her face before she turns on her heel and storms out of the room. Coriolanus is quick to follow her, call after her. Her heels click against the hardwood floor and her light colored dress flows behind her as she makes her way to the front doors.

“Soarynn.”

“Don’t. I know what I needed to know now.”

Coriolanus scoffs, “And what is that pray tell?”

Soarynn turns around and there’s nothing but anger in her eyes as she looks up at him, “That you, Coriolanus Snow are an arrogant man who thinks himself to be above others. Who is desperate for love in any shape or form but in the end never gets it. And one day, you’re going to let your obsession for power get the best of you and today might be a small taste of that. How your obsession with some girl from District Twelve will cost you everything you’ve ever worked for.”

Soarynn slaps him across the face and he lets her. Frozen by her words. He watches her leave, listens to the doors slam behind her. Two girls gone.

One for the money. Two for the show.

He never was ready so he watched them go.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[chrisevansonly]

Sick Baby Duck (Little Duck AU🐥💛)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Wife Reader (Momma E) x Arlie Mae

Summary: After waiting it out for the day to see if Arlie would get better, but when she doesn’t it’s time for a trip to the hospital so your little duck

Warnings: a bit of angst, mentions of hospitals and sickness, sad Arlie, worried momma and Chris

a/n: happy Monday everyone, I hope to get to fics out today since it’s my one day off from classes, so stay tuned for that! Things are very weird for me right now and I kind of feel like ass but it’s fine! I also feel like this sucks and my writing it bad again LOL 

Word Count: 1,416

 Arlie’s been sick a handful of times so you and Chris are no stranger to the common cold or flu that would spread throughout your household, but this was something you had yet to experience as parents. Arlie had been coughing all day but as time went on it turned into something very nasty and unmanageable, she was running a high fever, and if she wasn’t sleeping, she was in the worst discomfort and pain you’d ever seen her in. She was down for a nap once again after taking some more medicine, both you and Chris sat in the living room trying to figure out your next plan and what to do with your little sick baby

“I think we should go to the hospital, she’s not getting better and it’s really worrying me”

You nodded

“I think that’s smart, I’ll pack a bag with a few things, and we can go”

“No, you’re not coming”

The urge to smack Chris was strong when he decided to say that, but you crossed your arms and sent a glare his way

“Excuse me?”

“You’re pregnant, heavily might I add, and going into a building with lot of sick people is not a good idea”

You shook your head 

“I love you Chris, but I am not staying here while you leave and take our daughter to the emergency room. Not a fucking chance. So, I’m gonna go pack the bag, and bring a few masks with me, and that’s final.” 

Getting up from the couch you heard the sigh he let out, knowing he wouldn’t argue with you too much, you decided to pack a few things and change into a comfier outfit than what you had on. Chris was only looking out for you, and you knew that, but there was no way in hell you were going to sit at home and wait around while Arlie was headed to the emergency room.

-

Despite getting to go to the hospital, Chris made you wait in the car which caused another argument but in the end you decided to give up and wait for them there, he was supposed to call you when they were being seen by a doctor so you could come in, but he sent you photos of him and Arlie cuddled up in the waiting room with a fuzzy blanket over the two of them. Arlie’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. It was only about 45 minutes until Chris called you, putting two masks on you quickly exited the car and found your way through the waiting room and over to the nurse standing with Chris and Arlie

“m-momma hold pwease”

You frowned at the sadness in her voice before reaching out to take her into your arms 

“I’ve got you baby, we’ll get you feeling better”

The sounds of her coughs and the stuffiness in her nose made your heart break, little whimpers escaping her ever few minutes. You were so thankful it didn’t take long to get in to see a doctor, and it ended up being Arlie’s regular paediatrician Dr.Charlie

“Well, this is a surprise, hi guys, what’s going on?”

Chris looked at you before sitting up straighter in his chair 

“Arlie’s been getting sick the past few days, and today it’s gotten worse, she has a pretty nasty sounding cough, and I’ve noticed her struggling to breathe sometimes, that with a fever that will not go away, the only time I feel like she isn’t uncomfortable is when she’s asleep”

Dr. Charlie frowned nodding her head as she looked at Arlie who was resting against your shoulder, making a few notes before grabbing her stethoscope 

“Alright, well that does worry be so what I am going to do is listen to her chest and her lungs to see if I can figure out the reason behind what’s got her feeling so icky”

You nodded and sat Arlie up which she wasn’t too happy about, a pout on her face 

“Hi Arlie, can I listen to your chest sweet girl?”

She nodded and Dr. Charlie began to take a listen, getting Arlie to take deep breaths if she could, listening intently before going through a routine check-up, a few coughing fits had her doctor frowning 

“Alright, well her fever is certainly high but luckily enough I can administer some medication to bring that down a bit, I’d recommend giving her a lukewarm bath when you get home, I know it’s late, but it will help.”

You nodded, Chris placing his hand on your knee, squeezing it for some comfort

“I think she has an upper respiratory infection mixed with a sinus infection, so I am going to send you home with some pretty heavy medication for her because I don’t want this to get any worse, it’s pretty severe as it is now, but I also don’t think we need to keep her here overnight”

“Okay, thank you do much Dr. Charlie, we really appreciate it”

She sent you a small smile 

“Of course, now I will say with you being far along with your pregnancy, and your due date coming up soon, you shouldn’t be as involved when she’s this sick, we just can’t risk anything with the baby”

Even though you knew she was going to suggest that it still broke your heart, and you couldn’t help the tears that lined the bottom of your eyes 

“I understand...”

Dr. Charlie sent you a sad smile before Chris got up to take Arlie from you, pulling his mask down for a moment to press a quick kiss to your forehead. You collected the medication from Arlie’s doctor before taking a few more notes from her and leaving the hospital, it wasn’t the most amazing news in the world, but you were more than happy to have a solution to get your baby feeling better. 

-

Chris could tell you were in a bad mood once he put Arlie down to bed after her bath and a few doses of her new medicine, you were all pouty in bed rubbing some oil on your very large belly, a nightly routine that Chris often loved to watch you complete 

“Baby?”

You looked up at him 

“Hmm?” 

“I know you’re upset with the news from the doctor, but I hope you know it’s only to keep you safe and keep the little man healthy…I hate seeing you so down”

You shrugged moving to get your cream, but Chris beat you to it before applying it to your legs, massaging the tensions out of your calves and then down to your feet, even if you were frustrated you couldn’t help the happy sighs that left your lips as his knuckles pushed into your heel 

“I just feel helpless, I know she’ll be okay because she has you to take care of her, but I have never sat out like this…”

He hummed in response 

“I know, but my mom and your mom are coming over in the morning to help out and you can still be around her baby, you just need to wear a mask to keep you and the monkey safe, okay?” 

“Okay”

Chris leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, a goofy smile on his face when you both pulled back 

“How about you lay on your side, and I’ll give you a back massage to make you feel better honey?”

You pretended to think about it for a second 

“I mean I can’t say no to that…”

His laugh filled the room for a few seconds before you got comfy, and he started to work on all the sore spots that littered your upper and lower back. The news from tonight wasn’t the news any parents would love to receive but you knew Arlie had the best dad in the world and Chris would be the best nurse for her, not to mention the loving support of both your mother-in-law and your own mother. You couldn’t help but feel a little helpless at the fact that you were told to stay away from your baby girl so you wouldn’t get sick, but you knew deep down with the due date of your baby boy coming up, you and Chris didn’t want to risk a thing. So, if you had to settle for watching Arlie get better at a bit of a distance, you’d do just that, no matter how hard it would be. 

[trashnotfound]

The writers have such a good way to really give wyldfyre some major backstory here, explain why she acts the way she does, but also why she was so defiant on being a ninja! And basically becoming a part of the family. We know from her that she has witnessed many dragons pass from the wasting sickness. To the point where heatwave is the only one she had left.

she is so scared of witnessing the people and things she loves suffer, of experiencing great loss and grief, she was too scared to become a ninja. She didn’t want to join the family. Not because she’s selfish, not because she’s doesn’t care for them, But because she’s afraid to be apart of a something again. She finally decided maybe it was worth it, she really bonded with Kai, she saw him as her family (I don’t think she’d know what a dad is ??) then he gets ripped away from her as quickly as he came. She didn’t even get to say goodbye, she witnessed it with her own eyes and couldn’t go anything to stop it.

It could be a really good learning arc for her, that loss is apart of life, it hurts ( she probably didn’t have the usual talk all kids hear when their first pet dies, because she wasn’t raised by humans. And from zanes experience with grief. I don’t think robot’s completely understand it until it happens. So she probably wants taught it) But that shouldn’t stop you from loving people, that shouldn’t stop you from being apart of something, of being loved. Loss is the reason you love those people so much, because eventually you won’t be able tell them anymore, so you do it as much as you can now. Not hide away from that feeling, don’t push it down.

*this next part is spoilers for pt 2 s2 of dr*

It could also play really well into her having her love interest (bf, because rn I refuse to believe this is the wyldfyre who is getting one 😭 ) she’s gonna be scared of getting close to him, of the feelings she’s experiencing.

Maybe he helps her with he grief of loosing Kai, so they bond quiet well, but she doesn’t want to do anything about her feeling for him because she doesn’t want to get hurt again. Nya could help her, talk her through what she’s feeling. Tell her about how Kai and her lost their parents really young, she found love really young, and they faced many challenges together in their relationship. No matter how hard it was for nya and jay to love eachother they always did. Because love IS worth it. Platonic or romantic. Hopefully Wyldfyre will realise these, want to be a family, want to love people. she will learn to embrace the hurt and the pain it brings.

Wow this felt like s rant but I have so many ideas for this, they can’t hint to wyldfyre angst and not do anything with it!! I really really hope they pull something like this off. It would be so good for her as a character.

[bradshawsbaby]

Only You

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: Based on this Anon request! I also included some dialogue from my headcanon, Rooster As A Father (Pt. 1) towards the end.

Warnings: Angst related to difficulty getting pregnant, mentions of menstruation, ovulation, and pregnancy, general fluff. Gets NSFW (18+) due to the Bradshaws’ lovemaking.

You didn’t understand.

For so much of your life, you’d heard countless women complain about how hard it was to avoid getting pregnant. You never thought it would be so difficult to actually get pregnant.

You and Bradley had gotten married in February, and the both of you had known from the beginning that you wanted to try to start a family right away. And yet, months later, still nothing.

It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. You and your husband couldn’t keep your hands off each other most of the time. With all the lovemaking going on in your home, you’d been sure that you would end up pregnant sooner rather than later. After a couple months of negative pregnancy tests, however, you decided to get more serious about charting your cycles and tracking your ovulation. You’d heard that some women’s windows of fertility were very narrow, so maybe you and Bradley had just been missing the mark each time.

So, for the past few months, you’d been charting and tracking like it was a full-time job. Except for the times when Bradley had to travel for work, you made sure that the two of you were always having sex during the days when you were supposed to be your most fertile.

Yet still…nothing.

Growing worried, you’d spoken to your doctor, hoping she would have some advice to offer to assuage your fears. Instead, her words had only caused you more stress.

“It’s not uncommon for women to have a harder time getting pregnant, especially the first time,” Dr. Russo told you. “Most people have this false idea that it’s the easiest thing in the world to get pregnant, but the truth is that the conditions have to be just right. I know you’ve been charting and tracking, and that’s good, but don’t be surprised if it still takes a few months.”

“Is there some chance that I could be—I mean, that I’ll never—you know?” you asked, squeezing your hands in your lap and biting down roughly on your lower lip to hold back the tears that threatened to spill forth. It was your greatest fear and one you hadn’t even been able to utter out loud.

Dr. Russo offered a comforting, empathetic smile. “Don’t make yourself sick worrying about that. It’s still early. We don’t generally start testing for fertility issues until after a year of trying with no success.”

A year? You had to keep trying and being disappointed with no other answers for at least a year?

Bradley had the patience of a saint as you struggled to come to terms with the difficulties you were having. He was constantly reassuring you, reminding you how much he loved you, telling you that he just knew it was going to happen for the two of you. He was always optimistic, but you knew it weighed heavily on him, too. He wanted to be a father just as badly as you wanted to be a mother, and part of him started to become concerned that maybe he was the one with the problem.

“Dr. Russo really said that we have to wait at least a year?” he asked one night as you were lying in his arms in bed, sniffling softly after receiving another negative test result.

You just nodded, resting your cheek against his chest and clinging to him.

“We’re not going to need it, honey,” Bradley murmured softly, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your hair. He sounded more confident than you felt. “By next year, we’re going to have a baby. I just know it.”

Bradley’s confidence was the only thing that held you together every time a cruel little negative sign glared back at you from the countless pregnancy tests you took. You’d come to grow used to them over the past couple months, and less tears were shed than there had been in the beginning. But it was still hard. It was always hard.

Which was why when you stepped into the bathroom this morning and spotted the blood staining your underwear, you hadn’t been able to hold it together.

You didn’t understand.

It wasn’t fair.

You and Bradley wanted this more than anything.

Why was it so hard?

You were barely able to grab a pad and clean yourself up, your hands were trembling so much. And as you stood at the sink, washing your shaking hands, your knees suddenly buckled and you fell to the floor from the force of your sobs.

Curling up on the cold tile floor, you pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your face in them, locking your arms around your legs and weeping harder than you had in a long time. Your heart was broken. You felt like you had tried everything, tried to do everything right, and nothing was working. What did you do wrong? What were you doing wrong? Would this ever happen for you?

Bradley had the day off from work and had gone out earlier for a morning run and to swing by your favorite cafe to pick up coffee and bagels. As soon as he arrived back at the apartment and heard your sobs coming from the bathroom, however, he dropped everything in the kitchen and rushed to be by your side.

“Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” he asked, managing to keep his voice calm despite the obvious worry marking his gaze. He immediately dropped down to his knees beside you, wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you into his lap as he settled himself on the floor, his back resting against the bathtub.

Unable to speak without choking on your tears, you lifted a hand and pointed a trembling finger at the package of pads you’d left sitting on the counter. Taking a shuddering breath, you buried your face in your husband’s neck, your tears staining the collar of his sweaty T-shirt.

Bradley immediately understood your meaning and wrapped you tighter in his arms, stroking your hair with one hand and rubbing soothing circles on your back with the other. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I know. I know, shh,” he murmured gently, pressing his lips against your forehead and brushing soft kisses there. “Shh, I’m here. I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking you back and forth and holding you close as you cried.

Once you finally calmed down somewhat, Bradley lifted you into his arms and carried you back to your bedroom, settling you down on top of the comforter and then laying down beside you.

“I hate it when you cry,” he told you sadly, pulling you closer to him and brushing away a few stubborn tears that were crystallizing on your cheeks. “It kills me to see you this upset, honey.”

You sniffled softly in response, wiping at your damp cheeks and lifting your shining eyes to look up at your husband. “I just—I thought that maybe this time—but I guess that’s stupid, right? Why would this time be any different?”

“It’s not stupid, baby,” Bradley said quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “It’s going to happen. I know it is. I’m just sorry I haven’t been able to give you a baby sooner,” he added, stroking your cheek with gentle fingers.

“You’re sorry?” you asked, eyes widening slightly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I know how badly you want to start a family,” you murmured, chin wobbling once again as more tears started to fall.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bradley said softly, kissing each of your wet cheeks. “We both want to start a family. And we’re both in this together,” he told you, lifting your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. You could feel the coolness of his wedding band pressing against your skin. “You don’t ever have to apologize to me, baby.”

“I just—I don’t understand,” you admitted, your voice small and sad, which broke Bradley’s heart. “I’ve been trying so hard to track everything and chart exactly when I’m going to be ovulating and I thought that by now—”

“I think you should stop doing that,” Bradley said suddenly, holding your hand close to his chest and looking intently into your eyes.

“What?” you asked in surprise, your pulse stuttering in your veins for a few seconds.

“I think you should stop worrying about all the charting and the tracking,” Bradley repeated, putting more emphasis on his words this time. “I can see how stressed it’s making you, and I hate it,” he admitted, his thumb tenderly caressing the top of your cheekbone as he held your face in his hand. “Making love shouldn’t be a job or a chore, honey. It should be something we do because we want to, because we love each other. And I love you so much. I don’t need a chart or a calendar to tell me when to prove that to you,” he finished, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to your lips.

You bit your lower lip, feeling suddenly ashamed. Your husband was right. Making love had always been so deeply personal and intimate between the two of you. It was the time when the two of you became one, when words were no longer needed, or even possible, and you expressed your love in a million little ways that couldn’t be shared through words alone. But over the past couple months, you had turned it into more of an act of labor than an act of love. You’d been so stressed and tense and worried that you hadn’t even been able to fully enjoy it, which meant that Bradley couldn’t have been enjoying it either. He just wanted you to be happy. You wanted the same for him. That’s what love was.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You didn’t even care that he was still sweaty and sticky from his morning run. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, nothing to apologize for, right?” Bradley told you lovingly, brushing your hair back from your face. “We’re going to throw those charts out the window, and just focus on you and me, okay? You and me.”

“You and me,” you nodded in agreement, soaking in the comfort your husband provided as the two of you lay there together in comfortable silence, holding one another tightly.

Over the course of the next week, Bradley helped you get rid of everything you’d been using to chart your cycles and track your ovulation. You threw out the notebooks and logs you’d been using, and you deleted all the apps off your phone. It was a little hard to let go at first, but with Bradley’s support and encouragement, you were able to do so without looking back.

Despite getting rid of all that had become a stumbling block in your intimacy with your husband, however, you and Bradley hadn’t made love since doing so. Your period this month had been a rough one, and you’d been struggling with cramps and emotional mood swings all week. None of it was exactly a recipe for romance.

Thankfully, your period had finally ended the day before, and you were starting to feel like yourself again as you stood over the stove, preparing dinner for when Bradley returned home from work. It was going to be a fairly simple meal of sauteed vegetables, rice, and chicken since that’s what you had the energy for tonight.

So focused were you on what you were doing that you didn’t even hear the front door to your apartment open, nor did you know Bradley had walked into the kitchen until he suddenly had his arms wrapped around you from behind, kissing your jaw affectionately.

“I didn’t even hear you come in!” you gasped in surprise, setting your spatula down on the counter and turning your head slightly to catch his eyes.

“What can I say? The Navy teaches us how to be stealthy,” Bradley chuckled, dropping a kiss on your lips and nuzzling his cheek against yours as he glanced down at the food on the stove. “Smells delicious, honey.”

“It should be ready soon,” you told him, lifting the spatula once more to stir the vegetables around in the pan.

Bradley nodded in response. He didn’t say anything else, but he also didn’t make any move to let go of you or go take a shower, like he usually did when he came home from work.

“It might be a little easier for me to work if I didn’t have a 6’1 aviator clinging to me,” you teased with a smile, tilting your head once more to look at him.

Bradley smiled in response, but still didn’t say anything, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you as if he were a man dying of thirst. Your stomach suddenly knotted and your mouth went dry at the sight of the raw, naked need in his gaze. Lowering his head, he began to pepper your neck and jawline with kisses, his breath warm against your increasingly flushed skin.

“Bradley,” you sighed softly, tipping your head back so that it was resting against his shoulder. Your eyes fluttered closed as his large hands gripped at your waist more tightly, his fingers kneading your skin through the light fabric of the T-shirt dress you’d thrown on earlier after taking a shower.

Your husband’s lips began to take a fervent path down your neck and across your shoulder, his mouth practically burning your skin through your clothes as his kisses stoked a fire of desire deep inside you. You dropped the spatula down onto the counter with a clatter as his hands reached up and lightly cupped your breasts, squeezing tenderly even as he began to nip and nibble at the delicate skin of your throat with his teeth.

“Honey,” you moaned, your toes curling with a need that clearly matched his own. It felt like it had been so long since the two of you had been like this, spontaneously showing your desire for each other in the middle of the kitchen instead of carefully mapping out exactly when the best times to have sex were.

You could feel rather than see your husband smiling against your neck in response, sucking on the skin lightly as he slowly moved his hands downward, one hand lifting the hem of your dress, while the other slid inside the waistband of your panties. You let out a shuddering breath as his fingers began gently exploring, one calloused digit running deftly up and down your slit, which was quickly growing slick with want.

You’re not sure what possessed you to think it, let alone say it out loud, but all of a sudden you blurted out, “I’m not ovulating today!”

Bradley’s movements stilled immediately, his lips pulling away from your neck and his hand sliding out from between your legs. You felt your cheeks growing hot in shame and embarrassment as he slowly turned you around to face him, his hands on your hips.

“Honey…” he began, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I just meant—I just didn’t want you to think—I probably won’t get pregnant if we—”

“I don’t care about that, remember?” Bradley asked softly, reaching up to cup your face in his hands, lifting your head so that you had no choice but to look up at him. “I just want you, baby. Only you. All the other stuff? It’ll happen when it’s meant to. I know it will. But right now, I just want you. Not for any other reason than I just want to make love to my beautiful wife.”

Tears springing to your eyes, you nodded your head slowly and stood on your tiptoes to press a slow kiss to your husband’s lips, your arms sliding around his shoulders as your fingers trailed upward to glide through his hair.

Kissing you back in a tame manner that belied the desperate hunger he felt burning deep inside, Bradley reached behind you and quickly turned off the heat on the stove, not feeling much in the mood for anything besides you at the moment. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you closer to his chest, his kiss intensifying as his tongue brushed against your lips, begging for entrance to your sweet mouth.

You obliged him immediately, his tongue moving in tandem with yours as you devoured each other in a rush of need and desire. Neither of you broke the contact as Bradley began pulling you away from the stove, agilely moving backwards towards the living room and taking you with him.

Your hands were all over each other, his groping at your butt through the thin fabric of your dress and yours tugging helplessly at the black T-shirt he’d worn home from work, the one that always looked so good on him and never failed to set your senses in a tizzy.

When his legs finally hit the back of the couch, Bradley finally stopped, his hands moving upward to bury themselves in your hair as he continued to kiss you soundly, your lips already feeling swollen and swore from his ministrations, though you’d be damned if you wanted him to stop.

The two of you finally broke away from one another, panting for air, when it seemed as though your lungs would give out if you waited another second longer. Bradley’s eyes were dark and swirling with desire as he gazed at you, and you knew the same expression must have been on your face as you drank in the sight of him. Without words, you began undressing each other, Bradley pulling your dress over your head as you reached to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Soon enough, your bra and panties, and his T-shirt and boxers, had joined the growing collection of clothes littering the living room floor.

Naked and unable to hide an inch of yourselves from each other, you each reached out without hesitation, Bradley’s hands gliding down your back as your hands slid up his chest, taking in his hard, muscular form.

“My sweet girl,” Bradley whispered against your ear, his arousal evident as he pressed against your thigh. “I need you so badly,” he groaned, his fingers tightening their grip on your skin. He pulled back to look into your eyes, resting his forehead against yours as he waited on your signal to make another move.

“I need you, too,” you whispered, kissing him tenderly.

Nodding slowly, Bradley brushed a kiss against your forehead, then lowered himself down onto the couch, sitting in front of you and then holding out his hands for you so that you could move forward, your legs straddling his thighs as you stood over him.

“Baby, this is all up to you,” Bradley told you, his hands reaching out to stroke your thighs, then slowly gliding upwards to grasp at your waist. “It’s whatever you need. You set the pace, honey, and I’ll follow you.”

Your husband’s words, delivered in that husky voice of his that always deepened when he was overcome with need for you, turned you on more than anything and had you practically dripping as you squeezed your thighs together and gazed down at him. Nodding, you leaned forward and climbed onto the couch, your knees pressing into the soft fabric as you straddled Bradley’s lap, your smooth skin brushing against the fuzz of the hair on his legs as you met his gaze and hovered over his hard length.

“Help me?” you asked quietly, resting your hands on his shoulders and not breaking eye contact with him.

Swallowing deeply, Bradley nodded, holding his base steady with one hand as he wrapped his other hand around your waist, carefully guiding you towards his tip.

Letting out a soft sigh of pleasure, you slowly rubbed yourself against the tip of his penis, which was already red and swollen in anticipation. You bit down on your lower lip as you moved your hips back and forth slowly, feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with each second that ticked by.

“Baby,” Bradley groaned out, trailing kisses along the tops of your breasts as you moved against him, slowly beginning to lower yourself down. You took him inch by tantalizingly slow inch, soft gasps and moans escaping your mouth as he began to stretch you, especially from this angle.

“That’s it, honey,” Bradley whispered encouragingly, rubbing your thigh gently as he felt you trembling around him, continuing to lower yourself down until he was all the way inside you and you were resting fully on his lap. “That’s it. That’s my beautiful baby.”

You just stayed like that for a while, neither of you moving as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, the heat from both your bodies causing sweat to bead and drip down your skin. As you broke away for air, Bradley spotted one lone bead of sweat trailing down between your breasts and leaned forward to lick it away, his lips then moving to latch onto your breasts, kissing and nibbling at them with tender attention.

Your hair cascaded down your back as your head tilted backwards, your fingers digging into your husband’s shoulders as you let out a soft mewl of approval. Taking a deep breath, you carefully lifted yourself up slightly and began to roll your hips, your movements slow and gentle as you began to ride Bradley in earnest.

Bradley let out a gasp of pleasure at your sudden movement, his arm coming to wrap around your waist as he guided you, following your pace just as he had promised. “That’s it, honey. It feels so good. You feel so good,” he praised you, his breath catching in his throat as you picked up the pace just a tiny fraction, your thighs squeezing him tightly as your hips bucked against his.

Clinging to Bradley, you found your moans and gasps getting louder as wave after wave of pleasure began coursing through you. He had let you set the pace, had let you move as fast or as slow as you needed, and now he was meeting you thrust for thrust, rolling his hips in tandem with yours and causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure as his thickness penetrated you deeper and deeper with each stroke, massaging your walls and knocking at the perfect angle against your G-spot.

“Can I touch you here, baby?” Bradley asked in a hoarse whisper, his thumb hovering above your clit as he looked up at you. He was so sweet, your husband, always wanting to make sure that everything was so good for you, especially now when you’d been feeling so low.

“Y-yes,” you panted, nodding your head as you kissed him quickly. “Please,” you begged, letting out a sharp cry when his calloused finger brushed against that sensitive bundle of nerves. You felt your thighs trembling as he began to rub you, whispering to you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you.

As you continued to roll your hips and bounce up and down slowly, soaking in every moment, you suddenly felt something breaking open inside you. It had been so long since you had allowed yourself to just enjoy this time with your husband—to enjoy loving him and being loved by him. It felt like it had been forever since the two of you had made love without tension coiling in your back and the fear of another negative pregnancy test hovering at the forefront of your mind.

You didn’t feel any of those things right now. For the first time in a long time, your body was relaxed and you felt nothing but pleasure and the love for your husband that had always marked the time you spent in each other’s arms. As the two of you made love on your couch on a random Monday evening, you felt your mind, heart, and body healing in a way you had so desperately needed.

Clinging more tightly to Bradley, you felt the tears beginning to roll down your cheeks like raindrops, crashing down on your husband’s shoulders as your body melded to his.

“Baby,” Bradley called to you, his voice now laced with concern instead of desire. “Baby, look at me,” he said, reaching up to cup your cheeks in his hands. “We can stop. Do you want to stop?”

“No,” you told him firmly, shaking your head as you looked at him, the smallest hint of a smile curving your lips. “No, please. I’m okay. They’re happy tears,” you explained, resting your hands on the back of his neck and laying your forehead against his. “I love you so much. I just want you. Only you,” you murmured, echoing his words from before.

Holding the back of your head in his hand, Bradley brought your mouth down against his, kissing you deeply as the two of you continued to rock your bodies together in a smooth rhythm, the pleasure cresting until you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer.

“Honey,” you gasped, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around you and held you close to his body.

You didn’t need to say anything else for Bradley to know what you meant. “I know, baby. Me, too. Just let go,” he coaxed, stroking your back softly.

When you finally reached your climax, it wasn’t with a loud cry or a scream of pleasure. Instead, it was with a soft gasp, so soft that only your husband could hear it as you reclined against his chest, your legs continuing to shake as you remained straddled across his lap.

“There you go, honey,” Bradley murmured, his lips brushing against the top of your head as he held you through it. “There you go. Oh, honey.”

You continued to rest atop your husband until he came, too, finishing inside you with a soft groan of your name. “Love you,” he mumbled in exhaustion, kissing you with greedy lips as you both sat tangled up in each other’s arms.

“I love you, too,” you told him, gently caressing his cheek.

Still buried deep inside you, Bradley lifted you up off the couch and carried you to the bathroom, where the two of you took a hot shower together before collapsing into bed, dinner long forgotten.

As you lay beside the man who you had pledged your entire life to, more in love with him than ever before, you reached out and gently stroked his skin, snuggling closer to him in bed. “Whatever happens, Bradley, no matter what, it’s always going to be you and me,” you whispered. “Always.”

“Always, honey,” Bradley nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and me.”

A couple months later, you and Bradley were cuddled up on the couch, your Christmas tree glowing in the corner of the living room as you watched It’s A Wonderful Life, one of your favorite movies. You’d been filled with eager anticipation all day, and the moment was finally here.

“I want my baby to look like you,” Mary told George Bailey, beaming up at her husband as she revealed that she was carrying their first child.

“You know,” you said at that moment, popping a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth in an attempt to mask your jittery nerves. “I have to agree with Mary on that one.”

“What do you mean?” Bradley asked, brushing some of your hair behind your ear and looking down at you curiously.

“I want my baby to look like you, too,” you told him, your eyes meeting his as you leaned back against his chest.

“Your…your b-baby?” Bradley stuttered, his eyes widening in shock. You almost laughed at how adorably dumbfounded he looked. “Honey, does that mean you’re…?”

“I’m pregnant,” you nodded, tears suddenly springing to your eyes.

Bradley was quiet for a moment before letting out a loud whoop of joy, wrapping his arms around you tightly and lifting you up off the couch, swinging you around. “Best early Christmas present ever,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you tenderly. “I knew it was going to happen, baby, I knew it!”

“Looks like now it’s you and me and Baby B,” you beamed, your smile even wider than Mary Bailey’s.

Bradley smiled down at you, tears shining in his own eyes. “Always, baby. Always.”

[anemoiashifts]

permashifting & sv!c!dal ideation & early shiftok.

im so fucking scared to post this. tw.

ive been in the shifting community for four/five years now & most of my time was watching quietly from the sidelines up until last july when i made my shiftok account. i want to preface this by saying these are my experiences & observations & ive always been pretty firm on my stance. ive spoke about this (i think) twice on tiktok & will now give some updated insight. i don’t expect everything to agree with me but please don’t jump down my throat for saying what im going to. i respect you, please respect me. cool? yes? okay !!

there are similarities between sv!c!dal ideation & permashifting & im so so sick of people hardly taking about it. what re-sparked this interest in the topic was i saw someone make a video on their views towards the topic & i do resonate with their points heavily. this was the only video ive ever seen of anyone making a video like this minus myself & it’s been long overdue.

to clarify, im not against permashifting completely im against how permashifting is spoken about & how it’s promoted. it’s wayyy too casual & ive seen a lot of triggering things in my comment sections / confession submissions. i used to get about five of these or so (ppl saying they wanted to unalive themselves) a week when i was actively doing them but they’ve since kinda died down. if, me, an account with (at the time) ~15,000 tiktok followers were seeing this, i cannot imagine the kind of messages those 100,000 followers shiftokers were getting.

another thing that i haven’t spoke about too much is the sv!c!de notes id receive. i got about two or three of them. ignoring the overstepping of boundaries & oversharing, my heart goes out to those who submitted those. i think shifting came at a time when everyone was bored & cooped up inside & shiftokers could’ve unknowingly preyed upon people’s loneliness & vulnerability. i remember people could say things like “im k!11!ng myself tonight so I’ll wake up in my dr” & the fact that was even a thing is so beyond horrific. im gonna put some confessions ive gotten in the past just to show you what i was seeing daily at one point. scroll a ways down if you don’t want to to see. sorry ! idk how to blur it but would if i found out how to.

i wanta take a sec to call out all the adult shifters who neglected to speak about this.

i hear people say “but if they didn’t discover shifting they wouldn’t still be here” or “it buys people more time”. i get it. really, i do & i don’t think that’s a bad thing. what i do think the bad thing really is, is the adult shifting creators who enable the kind of talk & push that shifting is this other option without telling people to take care of themselves in this reality. the mental well-being & safety of people should always be put first, especially with spaces involving a lot of children when most of the information comes from the mouths of adults. shifting was popularized by tiktok at the height of c0v!d & everyone was arguably at their lowest. i think the timing in which shifting was introduced helped shiftok get popular at the time (along with harry potter trending, of course) & a lot of ppl saw it as a trend to latch onto & leech off of to grow a platform. i think some people totally — probably unintentionally — took advantage of peoples desperation for an escape for profit. that’s what I’ve felt with some former / earlier shifting creators, anyways. that’s why shiftokers are seen as these figures that were/are looked up to so heavily because they’ve gotten something that people with destructive situations are so desperate for & i think that’s really diabolical & sad.

this post isn’t to shit on shiftokers completely, not the modern shiftokers anyway. i have some really cool mutuals who genuinely post insightful content. i think tiktok has gotten a little better with some bumps every now & then but it’s not as bad as 2020.

i don’t think shiftokers are doing this intentionally. & who knows ? maybe they’re are afraid their audience will get upset or off put or they’ll lose support but the longer we put the conversation off the more people’s mental health will worsen. whatever the reason may be, keeping numbers up or getting “canceled” isn’t worth it at the risk of lives of children. it’s long overdue.

then the idea of escapism comes in. escapism isn’t bad. arguably, most things we do are escapism; reading, scrolling on tumblr. its how we look & obsess & look at that escapism. that’s when it becomes unhealthy. the consept of shifting as an escape from something like depression can exacerbate those feelings of because people do struggle to actually shift. that state of “waiting” to shift can be extremely difficult if you’re not struggling mentally, so if you’re struggling mentally on top of trying to shift without success? also throwing being a minor onto that.

anyways this post was all over the place because i could talk about this for hours. i have no idea if this will ever have a place on tiktok or if I’ll even end up posting this to tumblr. this was very ramble-y but a very important ramble imo. i tried to organize & keep this short to the best of my ability. feel free to agree, disagree but these are my poorly organized thoughts.

a little reminder to enjoy the journey & process of shifting rather then hyper focusing on “the end” of it. take a break if you find you self only thinking about shifting and not doing stuff you gotta do here or if your making yourself sick over it. it isn’t the end of the world if you don’t shift. i believe everyone is here for a reason & i can promise you everything will work out in the end.

to those who resonate with mental health struggles & shifting, my heart goes out to you & only with you the best. be gentle with yourself — that goes for all of you.