#and agonize over every sentence

[pitch-pearl-void]

Hi, Hey, Hello!! Couple of questions here,

1. What was Phantom wearing in 'A Little Taste'? (This is for fanart purposes. Was it his suit? A modified version of his suit? Casual clothing?)

2. Would u like to see the sketch ver of the fanart? idk when i'll finish it (or if it will even be done this century) but if it gets done, it'll probably b posted on ao3 - Which leads to the final question,

3. Would u mind if I gifted the fanart to u on ao3??

Thank u in advance, love ur prose(lovely, well-balanced blend of characters' thought and action!!) and have a nice day~

Oh. My gosh................

YES

YES OF COURSE

All the above!

Wait no no I can't just squirrel about, answer time!

1. He was wearing ratty, casual clothing because my poor boy is homeless. Perfect target for the GiW. Unlike Sam who comes from a wealthy vampire family, or Vlad who has been running a business empire for centuries, Phantom was a runaway when he was turned. His resources are limited, consisting of mainly shelters and the occasional theft.

(If I were to give this AU more attention, part of the plot would include him developing a father/son relationship with Mr. Lancer over time, but that's a whole separate thing xD)

2. I LOVE SKETCHES

I have a friend on discord who mostly shares sketches because adhd won't let them finish projects, and trust me, I EAT THAT SHIT UP

3) Mind? Mind?? Who would mind that?! I'd love an ao3 gift! Fanart of a fic is such a high compliment oh my god gdjjfnfjc

(And now that I'm out of questions to answer I'm reduced to being shy and flustered again hdidjjff thank you so much for the compliments at the end! I'm just bjjfkfkfkc)

[soutsuji]

There's an English class on Golden Age detective fiction being offered next semester but the prerequisite for it is the intro to literary study class required for all English majors (which I haven't taken because I'm in a hard STEM major and don't have much time for electives, which means that I have to be really picky with my electives and only go for stuff I like AND doesn't have an awful workload) and also even if I did have that prereq, I wouldn't be able to take the class because it's at the same time as one of my major reqs. And also I'll be in two labs next semester and one of them is pure hell so like I literally don't have the time to take more than 13 credit hours (as tempting as it is to keep up my streak of taking 17-18 every semester even though it's been like really pretty bad for my social life and hobbies). Sigh. (Pressing my hand wistfully against the glass) maybe someday they'll offer the class again

[glassfullofsass]

Queen of the Rodeo - A Ronance AU

Playlist

Nancy Wheeler grew up in the saddle. She's spent more time on horseback than on her own two feet, and she's loved every second.

But on the other side of forty, it's getting harder to ignore what it's cost her.

She'd done her time as rodeo queen like her mother before her, but unlike Karen, Nancy hadn't married up and settled down when her year was done. Instead, when it was time, she passed the crown on to the inimitable Erica Sinclar, and kept competing.

She'd had a good run, too, winning more breakaways than she scratched and constantly breaking her own records on the barrel races. But then her roping partner Barb had taken a bad fall and quit the arena all together, leaving Nancy to face the circuit alone.

Since then, Nancy's been the only rider on Coach Hopper's roster, and the old sheriff has been hinting at his own retirement for a while. Even his lady, the legendary Joyce Byers, idol of every cowgirl west of the Mississippi, had given up rodeos younger than Nancy was now, though she even still worked hard as a rancher.

Joyce certainly hadn't started riding roughstock at thirty like Nancy did, seizing an open slot at a back country rodeo that didn't care too much about propriety. And since then, Nancy’d driven two or three states over any time the WPRA could pull together enough competitors.

Nancy doesn't regret it, even when it hurts, even when she loses.

But it's starting to hurt more often than it doesn't, and she's losing more often than she wins these days. Plus, Barb isn't the only friend Nancy's run off; she burned a lot of bridges and broke a few hearts to earn her place at the top. She still loves the rodeo like nothing else, but it's getting to be lonely.

It’s also a long way down. She's not sure the Harringtons will keep her on as a ranch hand if she's not bringing prizes to their stables, and if she has to leave behind ranching on top of leaving the rodeo…

Something has to give soon, though. Nancy can read the writing on the wall: she's slowing down and even though it's only in milliseconds, it makes a difference on the breakaway.

If Nancy could let go and trust that she'd land on her feet, maybe she could get out of her own way. She's pushed away friends, family, and lovers, but if she'd risk being vulnerable just enough, she could still reconnect with a community – and one woman in particular – that still loves her.

Robin Buckley's parents made a number of decisions about her life that were supposedly for her safety. The wisest was, probably, never letting her near a horse.

So, though she grew up out in ranch country, surrounded by brush and cowboys, Robin's never so much as given a colt a sugar cube, let alone ridden a full grown mare or – heaven forbid – a stallion.

That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate a good rodeo. Or the riders, anyway.

But being an admirer – particularly of a woman's sport – doesn't pay the bills. 

Nor does an associate's degree in Spanish, as it turns out. So much for her late nights at the community college.

Once upon a time, Robin had bigger dreams. And it's not impossible to still chase them. Steve'd offered to take her, to load up his truck with their bags and just drive until they got somewhere. 

Robin knows she could do something, if she was somewhere. But that means leaving, and as much as Robin once thought she had to, it doesn't feel as necessary as it once did. And it’s a little more frightening, the idea of starting over, now that she’s no longer young and restless.

She has a place here now. She has regulars at the diner, and regulars at the bar, and Steve.

And yeah, sue her. She has some unresolved heartbreak courtesy of the local rodeo queen emeritus. It's been more than a few years since she and Nancy had anything between them, but messy and flash-paper quick as it was, Robin still carries a torch for her.

Hell, Robin has carried a torch for Nancy since they were both thirteen, and Robin wheedled her aunt into taking her to the rodeo for the very first time.

Nancy had been glorious, all red bows and silver thread, lightening quick around the barrels in a perfect clover leaf, strong and steady on a beautiful gray horse that thundered around the pen, kicking dust in its wake.

It's not like Robin had been naïve, going into things. Nancy wasn't the first cowgirl Robin had hooked up with, and she'd known she was hardly Nancy's first partner either. So Robin knew what she was getting with Nancy, the night she'd looked Robin over with those deep brown eyes and smiled honey-sweet.

She knew it wouldn't last, and that was fine.

Until it wasn't, because it did last. Longer than Robin expected, long enough that she forgot to hold back. Long enough that she forgot why she shouldn't fall in love.

She'd gotten burnt pretty bad, for that mistake.

Still, it had been years. Robin had moved on, had other partners, other relationships, had even been in love again.

Her breath still catches when she sees Nancy, and she's learned to live with it. She's just not sure she could live without it.

If she could find the resolve, Robin might find fulfillment elsewhere, where her ear for languages might be appreciated as more than a party trick and she wouldn't be dependent on tips to keep her lights on. But if she'd take a chance and risk her heart one more time, she'd find that the cowgirl of her dreams might be ready for a change of pace, too.

[littlelamy]

party fun

pairing: bsf!rafe x vixen!reader

The low hum of conversation and music fills the air, laughter echoing off the walls as you try to keep up with the man in front of you, who’s telling some story you barely register. Your eyes keep wandering, scanning the room—until you see him. Rafe stands across the room, his gaze unwavering, intense, zeroed in on you with a focus that makes your pulse skip a beat. He doesn’t look away, and the longer he stares, the more you feel a mix of excitement and a hint of nervousness settle over you.

Just then, your companion reaches out to touch your arm, chuckling as he leans in closer, but before he finishes his sentence, you feel a firm hand clasp around your wrist. You turn, heart racing, to find Rafe standing right there, closer than you thought, his expression hard.

“Fuck off dude. She's with me,” he says, his voice low and clipped, eyes fixed on the guy next to you. Rafe’s tone leaves no room for argument, and within seconds, the man mumbles something, backing away with a quick nod. Your heart pounds as Rafe’s hand stays wrapped around your wrist, his grip both protective and possessive. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he pulls you gently but firmly through the crowd, leading you down a hallway to an empty bathroom, his jaw tight, eyes blazing.

Without a word, he closes the door behind him, his fingers still laced with yours as he turns to face you. His breathing is heavy, and there’s an unmistakable fire in his gaze.

“Rafe…” you start, but he cuts you off, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. He’s watching you like he’s seeing you for the first time, his eyes filled with that intensity you can’t resist.

“Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me?” he murmurs, his voice rough and strained. “Watching you out there with him… seeing him so fucking close to you…” He shakes his head, as though he’s trying to rein in his own emotions, but there’s a small, dangerous smirk on his lips. “God, Vixen, you’re gonna drive me fucking crazy.”

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s deep and consuming, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you close. The kiss is possessive, almost desperate, and it takes your breath away, your hands automatically reaching up to grip his shoulders as he holds you there, pouring everything he feels into the way his mouth moves against yours.

You let out a quiet moan against his lips, feeling his hold on you tighten as he pulls you even closer. He lifts you onto the counter with ease, standing between your legs, his hands on either side of your waist as his mouth explores yours with a passion that makes your heart race. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, his voice low and intense, eyes dark as they search yours. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Rafe,” you whisper, and a slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers tracing a slow line down your arm, sending a shiver through you. “That’s what I thought.” His gaze drops, his thumb grazing over your collarbone, the barest hint of a smirk as he watches your reaction.

Your breathing is ragged, your pulse racing, and he notices every little movement, every shift, the way your body reacts to his touch. His hand slides down, fingers brushing over your skin with a deliberate slowness that leaves you breathless.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “So fucking perfect. All… mine.” There’s a possessive edge to his words that makes your heart skip, a thrill rushing through you as he kisses the side of your neck, his lips trailing down to your shoulder with agonizing slowness.

You can barely breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he moves his mouth along your skin. “Daddy…” The name comes out as a soft moan, and he pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Say it again,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for question. His hands move up, cupping your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that leaves you feeling bare, exposed. “I want to fucking hear it.”

“Daddy,” you whisper, and he grins, that smirk of his returning as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s slower this time, savoring, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re all I want,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands tracing over your sides, fingers skimming the fabric of your top in a way that makes your skin tingle, every nerve alive under his touch. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to be here.” His hands slide lower, gripping your waist firmly, possessively, and he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Only me. You got that?”

“Yes,” you manage, your voice barely a breath as he watches you, his gaze softening just slightly, a mix of emotions flickering in his eyes.

“Good,” he murmurs, his hands moving up your back, holding you close as he kisses you again, deep and slow. His touch, the way his hands move over your skin, leaves you dizzy, overwhelmed, every thought fading away until there’s only him, his hands, his mouth, his breath mingling with yours.

The kiss deepens, his hands tracing over your body in a way that makes your breath hitch, and you feel his fingers slide over your chest, moving with a deliberate slowness that leaves you wanting more. You let out a soft moan, unable to hold it back, and he pulls back just slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he watches you.

“More?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, unable to look away, your voice barely a whisper as you nod. He grins, that smug, possessive smile, and his lips are on yours again, his hands moving over your body with a gentleness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes.

“Say you’re mine, Vixen,” he whispers, his mouth against yours, his voice barely above a murmur. “I want to fucking hear you say it.”

“I’m yours, Rafe,” you reply, your voice shaking with the weight of it, and he lets out a low growl, his grip on you tightening as he kisses you harder, deeper, as if he’s pouring every bit of emotion into it, every unspoken word, every feeling he can’t put into words.

And in that moment, there’s nothing else—just you, him, and the overwhelming need that leaves you breathless, wanting him more than anything else.

Rafe’s hands are on you again, relentless in their exploration, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of your skin. The way his fingers trail over your waist, down your sides, makes your pulse race, each touch sending shivers that start deep within you. He’s leaning in, his breath hot against your neck, lips brushing lightly over your skin as he hums in approval.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough, eyes dark and intent as he looks down at you, his fingers still gently grazing the fabric of your top. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls the material up slightly, just enough to expose the curve of your tits. His gaze flickers down, a satisfied smile curling on his lips.

“I can’t get enough of you, Vixen,” he growls, his voice thick with desire. His fingers trace a delicate line along the edge of your top, then slide to where the fabric gathers, pulling it tighter in his hands, teasing. The motion sends a spike of electricity through your body, your breath catching in your throat as his touch lingers just a little too long, sending waves of heat coursing through you.

“Rafe…” Your voice cracks, breathless from the way his hands are making you feel—he’s not gentle, but there’s a tenderness in the way he moves with you, as if each touch is a claim, a promise.

He meets your eyes again, and there’s that fire in his gaze, the same fire that makes your heart beat erratically, makes your body ache for more. His hands find the curve of your waist, fingers curling in, pulling you toward him, pressing you against him with a force that feels both protective and possessive.

“You want this?” he asks, his voice low and husky, as he slides his hands up, finding the soft curve of your chest. He pauses there, his thumb brushing over your nipples, slow and deliberate, a silent question hanging in the air between you.

Your body reacts before you can think, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, every nerve alight with the sensation of him, of his touch. The way his hands move, gentle but firm, makes your mind go blank. You nod, just once, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming need for him.

Rafe’s lips curl into a small, satisfied grin as his fingers press with a subtle insistence, his touch shifting, teasing, sending sharp waves of heat rushing through you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa

[strngegirl]

a/n: wrote this because the other thing im working on doesn't seem to be going so well and i need a break from it. (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`) just an idea i had, so not very good.

cw: unestablished relationship, gn reader, you and gojo are coworkers in an office, you give him a disinterested handjob and he's really into it, gojo is kind of a pathetic loser and kind of a pervert, not proofread.

!! nsfw !!

"Do you want to give me a handy?"

That's the first sentence that left your coworker's mouth when he plopped down on the seat next to yours.

It was only you and the insufferable Gojo Satoru left in the office, both unfortunately having overtime. Your head was aching from the amount of workload you have to do, and now it ached even more when he just said the weirdest shit you've ever heard in your whole life.

You swivel your chair to look at him, exasperation written all over your face once you take in his rare serious face.

"A handy?" You blink slowly. "A handy."

"A handjob, yes. I'm asking you for a handjob." He says, and again, his voice lacks the usual playfulness. He's serious about this. He's talking about this like it's a business proposal.

Satoru didn't know what washed over him either. He just thought you looked so good like that, all tired and fatigued and hardworking and then the more he thinks about it the harder his dick gets. He's not beating the weirdo allegations. And then he decided to shoot his shot for whatever reason.

When you continue to stare at him with the same expression, he starts to get a little nervous. Maybe he should retreat.

Ready to exude his charm and play it off, a nod came from you and that stops him in his tracks. Now it's him being the shocked one. He wasn't expecting you to actually agree, considering he's well aware of how much you find him irritating.

"O-oh, seriously?" His voice comes out a little quiet as he stares at you dumbfounded, watching you turn back to your computer. You nod again.

Feeling like he's in a fever dream, he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out almost too quickly as he scoots a little closer to you, eyes wide and eager. He thought you were gonna give your full attention to him but no, you start typing on your keyboard again. Now that makes him feel a little embarrassed. He's almost tempted to push his boner back into his pants before one of your hands reaches out and blindly searches for his cock. He stiffens when you finally find it, gripping it firmly for a few seconds before you slowly start to jerk him off.

Satoru literally doesn't know what's happening, but the fact you're continuing to jerk him off even as you refocus back on work is oddly hot. The sight of it almost makes him cum on the spot even if you've barely started. God, that's pathetic.

You, on the other hand, are still a bit confused about this whole situation. At first, you lowkey wanted to tell him off and report him to HR tomorrow, but at some point through your mental debate, you just thought, 'why not'. Maybe work really is driving you insane.

At first, it was a little awkward. You have one hand on your keyboard, one hand on some cock and a guy next to you, whimpering. Soon it turns into white noise for you as you completely immerse yourself back into work, forgetting what you're doing. Your hand on Satoru's cock is just moving on its own, having gotten the rhythm and moves itself up and down on his aching length at an agonizing pace. But somehow, Satoru really likes it. Like, really.

He leans back in the chair, his chest heaves up and down as he watches your hand slowly stroke his cock while your attention is entirely elsewhere. It's been barely ten minutes, and you've hardly sped up, but Satoru already feels like he's about to cum. His hips buck up into your hand a few times, muttering soft curses as his face grow pinker every second your hand is on him.

"Fuck." You suddenly say, your hand unintentionally tightening around his dick and that was his breaking point. He lets out a breathy moan as cum spurt out of his tip in thick, white globs, coating your hand entirely. You flinch at his orgasm, wide eyes flying towards him then you remember that you were giving him a handjob.

Slowly, you pull your hand away from him and subconsciously wipe away his sperm on his thigh. He doesn't really argue about it, though.

It was a little awkward after he finished, and you're about to stand up to go wash your hands but Satoru suddenly grabs onto your arm, still panting like a bitch in heat.

"That was-" he gulps. "Good. Can we- I don't know, do this again? Like, you can do whatever you want but like, also jerk me off at the same time."

He's running his words through his dick first right now. You gave him the most mind shattering orgasm through that alone and he feels like it unlocked something inside of him.

"...I mean, okay, I guess." You shrug. "But can you pay for my lunch-"

"Yes. Yes I will."

"Okay."

[chocosvt]

HER | teaser.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader teaser word count: 1.4k actual word count: 140k (yes, u read that correctly) genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings for the full fic: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: as i descend to one knee and cup my hands together at your mercy, i offer a tidbit to the wonwoo fic i have finally completed after two years (lol). i know i ALWAYS say this, but i truly wasn't expecting the fic to be THIS FUCKING LONG! thankfully, i planned it well and although i lost momentum countless times (nervously side eyes the approximate & several 5 month breaks i took in between), my dedication to seeing the characters through & "completing" their growth was smth that i could not leave behind!

not having posted a fic for two years is prob a little much :0 so hopefully the length of this makes up for it (?) usually my writing is just teehee silly little romance agonizing slowburn surface level dilemmas of the self BUT THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK!

so read it if you want! don't read it if you don't want!

hearts & flowers, xoxoxo (me :*)

UPDATE: read the first part here!

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed—a very short, disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

✧✎ a/n: tada!

this is the introductory scene! i think i've read it so many times that i could probably recite it from memory at this point ;_; anyway! as i mentioned, i know that it's been a hot minute since i last uploaded any scenarios. but one way or another this monster is getting posted! i did NOT have this lurking on my poor tired macbook causing it to overheat and sputter and spew FOR NOTHING!!

i swear that i don't plan for my works to get this goddamn long. before i hardly planned at all. maybe now i plan too much? i guess i have yet to find a happy medium!! but again, i do hope the size of the fic makes up for all that missed time :_( life has been ruff. but this fic was there as a handy distraction mechanism (when i prob should have been facing reality fhwejfhwk) so i guess it's been a double-edged sword!

also just want to preface that the reader goes by an alias throughout the fic. i'm not sure if this is like... a very huge or popular concept nowadays? so if it hits your reading ear a bit weird at first i apologize! but i swear it has purpose!! *chekhovs rule* *winkwink*

ANYWAY! no more rambling!

i'm pondering the idea of adding a taglist for those who are interested, just as i did with honey boy :3 so if that tickles ur fancy then feel free to each out!

BUT PLZ HEED THE FOLLOWING:

the fic in its entirety will be split across 6 parts

the word count of each part ranges from 22-24k!

i do not YET have a set posting schedule, simply bc i am unsure of how long it will take ppl to get through each part

(so that would be smth i'd have to gauge afterward)

REVISIT THE WARNINGS!!

i will not be flagging mature/nsfw/triggering scenes throughout the fic as the fic itself already has a heavy nature to it

so pls read the warnings!

if there's any additional questions i encourage u to swing by :3

*deep breath*

THANK YOU!!!!!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

"I won't let anyone hurt you, you're safe with me" I imagine this as Sebastian saying it to Reader. But the thought of the reader saying it to Sebastian after he wakes from a night terror (in this scenario, they have escaped Urbanshade) is very sweet to me

True to their word, they got you out.

You and Sebastian were finally free from Urbanshade's horrors.

Innovation Inc. managed to extract enough data from all the loose assets you've given to him to formulate an escape plan.

Thank god you have connections to the labs, otherwise you would have been just as doomed as any other EXR-P.

But you were more relieved that Sebastian didn't have to stay trapped in that place anymore. He didn't have to move from place to place and fight to survive constantly.

Even better?

There was actually a way for him to become human again.

Urbanshade deemed him too far gone in his mutation to reverse the countless painful surgical processes they put him through....but they were nothing but liars who didn't see the point of investing in the resources needed.

They could have done it all along.

Innovation, on the other hand, got every bit of data on the experiments that they needed, going right to work on him as soon as you both arrived to the labs.

Obviously, he resisted at first...as all the trauma he experienced from before didn't go away instantly.

He was afraid of another surgery, being touched and injected with foreign substances and restrained. Not to mention the heavily potent anesthesia he needed since he's developed such a strong immunity to it.

But you convinced him that if he hoped to become human--he needed this.

It took a week or two, with him being in and out of the operating room and you trying to pass the time by chatting with your colleagues about exposing Urbanshade's secrets to the world..but eventually they did it.

They gave him legs again. HIs ear fins were now back to being human ears--and anything else that made him look like an anglerfish was removed and replaced with stitched flesh. His third arm was amputated but preserved for future study.

Somehow, they even got his size to shrink. No longer was he a gigantic beast, but instead an actual human-sized person who got to sleep on the bed beside you.

The only things left of his previous self were some of his sharp teeth (which he didn't mind keeping) and his skin still bearing a somewhat light blue tint to it, although it was not as pale.

It was incredible.

He cried the first time he saw himself.

He felt..human, again. And you were happy for him.

Although...

While he was getting better physically, no amount of surgeries would be able to get rid of the emotional pain Urbanshade and the criminal justice system had put him through.

From getting an unjust sentence for something he didn't even do to screaming in horror at his monstrous reflection for the first time...all of those events still like to replay in his mind.

Not to mention he conditioned himself into never letting his guard down for any reason.

He'd wake up if he heard somebody so much as cough in the next room or squeak their shoes a little too loudly.

While the hardest part was over, it was still going to be a long and agonizing recovery process for him.

Tonight, however, Sebastian was sound asleep, whereas you were sitting at the nearby desk, pencil scratching at the notebook in your hand. You were just trying to brainstorm ways to get Painter and Eyefestation out and away from the Blacksite.

Of course those two were nothing short of a nuisance during your many runs to escape with the Crystal...but Sebastian considered them friends, as they were the only ones who could communicate with him and never tried eating him. So you did feel a little bad for leaving them behind.

You were sure Eyefestation was put out of her misery, knowing that she couldn't swim very far up due to the pressure changes in the ocean--plus she wasn't willing to let go of her vendetta against humans.

Innovation could very easily turn her into a normal shark again who could still speak telepathically...but they couldn't cure her hatred.

For all you know, she could want to kill Sebastian now simply because he was (mostly) back to being human.

Painter, on the other hand, could have escaped with you if you had more time. He deserved a better life besides wasting away mining robux and being tethered to the IDS. He always talked about Sebastian's promise to get him out, too, so you wondered if he felt betrayed and lied to...

Until you recently learned that Innovation figured out a way to communicate with him and help throw more dirt on Urbanshade via an encrypted channel. So there was a chance his AI could be transferred over to this facility if his physical body was destroyed.

That gave you hope to see him again.

But until then, they told you to look after Sebastian, and that was fine by you. He was all you cared about right now.

"GAH!"

Snapping your head over, you could see the man jolt upright all of the sudden, eyes wide as he clutched at his chest, breathing hard. You noticed the sweat dampening the front of his shirt, and closed your book. "Seb?"

"Shit. I was...am I...a-am I still...?" He mumbled to himself, bringing a trembling hand to his forehead, before he squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't be there..please, please, please, god.."

To his relief, he felt nothing but the tiny bumps that formed a stitch beneath his black bangs. But even so, his fingers kept grazing over his skin and ears, wanting to be certain those things weren't there anymore.

"It's okay. You're still at Innovation. My buddies got rid of them."

Feeling the mattress dip, Sebastian looked to see you sitting on the bed, too. You looked concerned, but not overly worried--as this has become a rather normal occurrence ever since he finished those rounds of surgeries.

"I know that, but..I've had them for a long time." He lightly scoffed, trying to calm himself down, but you could tell he was still shaking and very overwhelmed by his nightmare, tears stinging his eyes. "I..I-I can't just...forget about it like it never happened, you know. Like those bastards didn't.....gh.."

He got choked up, and you opened your arms to him, waiting to see if he was willing to accept your offer. Being a giant anglerfish, he never wanted anybody to touch him, and you understood perfectly why.

So for him to curl up into your embrace was a bit of a surprise, but you held him closely; not too tightly so he was uncomfortable, of course. "I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me." You consoled, feeling him rest his head on your shoulder, sniffling quietly.

A few tears dampened your sleeve, but you didn't mind them.

It made you realize that he probably took his humanity for granted--now there was no longer a huge size difference between you two.

Ever since escaping the blacksite, he's become a bit more attached to you, wanting to constantly be near you. Even back then, he's been friendlier to you than most expendables.

He'd never outright say your presence comforts him. But you could tell through the small gestures and "exceptions" he makes for you that you're the only good thing to enter his life at Urbanshade.

"You're okay, Seb. We're both okay now."

"Y-Yeah, I know..I know.." He muttered, slowly trying to wriggle out of the hug, to which you let him go and allowed him to sit up. "Sorry you gotta put up with me being like this. Thought I would've been over it by now.."

Despite his words, he was still physically shaken up, the nightmares not so easily leaving his mind.

"There's no rush to "get over" any of this." You frowned a little, putting your hand on top of his as a comforting gesture. "I sure as hell haven't. Every time I think I can get some sleep, I find myself getting chased by those stupid mutant fish over and over again.."

Sebastian just scoffed. "You think being chased by one is bad? Try becoming one and having to live through-"

But he stopped himself after seeing the look on your face, as well as you removing your hand and getting up. "Sorry. I'll..get you some water-"

"No. Don't leave. Please."

You blinked in surprise as he grabbed at the hem of your shirt with lightning speed, although when he realized you were staring...he quickly let go and coughed awkwardly into his fist.

"I know I'm not the only one who went through some messed up shit. I don't know how you dealt with it."

"What?"

"..dying over and over again. I would've gone fucking insane if I had to live through that."

"Well, I almost did...but it was worth it. Because we're both free now." You offered him a reassuring smile. "And technically Painter, too. We'll have to talk to him sometime."

"Yeah? Think he'd wanna chat with me after I basically lied to him?" He muttered, sounding uncertain. "I promised him that we would get out. And he could paint all the landscapes he wanted to."

"My colleagues are still figuring out how to unhook him from the IDS without further corrupting him, but they're making good progress. He'll be on his own little computer in here in no time."

"That's good. I just hope he can forgive me. I really only asked him to stall.."

"I'm sure he'd understand, Seb." With a sigh, you picked up your book. "He knows we're safe and he's giving Innovation whatever they need. So I wouldn't worry."

Sebastian simply nodded, looking to his hands--specifically to the ring imprint that was still on one of his fingers, frowning a little as he stared at it.

Even though his humanity was restored, he had already been declared dead a long time. Everyone he knew and loved was convinced that he was a guilty man who deserved execution. It didn't matter if they caught the actual criminal or not.

He just couldn't return to normal life after all he's been through. After all he's seen.

No.

But he could start over with you.

It was funny to think that you were once an expendable prisoner he glossed over, assuming you just wanted to buy his wares and march onwards to your next death--to which he'd laugh in your face and show you the document you already had memorized.

Now, you were the only person he could trust. The only person he was willing to be vulnerable around.

Because you helped free him.

You were the reason he was able to become human again.

[mmso-notlikethat]

everyone kept saying I'm mean so I had to write a part 2, you all won :(

part1, both parts also on ao3

Buck woke up to a pounding headache and the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. He groaned, shifting against his pillows, only to realize he was practically undressed. His shirt was missing, his jeans were gone, and he was left in just his boxers.

“Ugh, what the—” he mumbled, forcing himself upright.

The room spun briefly, and he grabbed his bedside table for balance. That’s when he noticed the water bottle and pills sitting there, placed neatly like a quiet afterthought.

For a moment, he just stared at them, his foggy brain trying to piece together how they’d gotten there. He didn’t remember setting them out. Hell, he didn’t even remember getting to bed. The last thing he could recall clearly was...

He frowned, rubbing his temples as flashes of the night before began to surface: leaning heavily on someone, their arm steady around his waist; tripping on the stairs and being caught with ease. A voice—low, familiar, and maddeningly calm—had murmured something to him. What was it?

He glanced down at himself again, his bare chest and boxers making his face flush hot with embarrassment. His jeans. Someone had taken off his jeans.

“Jake,” he muttered, the name foreign and strange on his tongue.

He rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut, as more disjointed images floated to the surface. He could see himself sitting at the bar, laughing at his own stupid jokes, talking too much, sharing too much. There was something about pancakes—no, syrup. He had been slurring about syrup. And then there were hands, steady hands, pulling a blanket over him.

And then: "I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan."

The words came back to him in a sharp, gut-punching jolt, as clear as if someone had just whispered them into his ear.

Buck sat bolt upright, the headache momentarily forgotten. His heart thudded painfully as the weight of that one sentence crashed over him.

“No,” he said aloud, shaking his head as though it would physically dislodge the thought. “No way. That’s insane.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as if the ground might give way. His gaze flicked back to the water bottle and pills on the bedside table, and a sick sort of certainty began to creep in.

The pieces were starting to fit now, sliding into place with an agonizing clarity.

He’d recognized the voice, hadn’t he? Not in the moment, but now that he was sober, it felt impossible to mistake. The calm demeanor, the way "Jake" had held him, carried him, the way he’d spoken with quiet humor and careful distance.

And then there was the way he’d said his name.

Not "Buck." Not "buddy" or "man" like a stranger might. He’d said Evan.

“No,” Buck whispered again, his voice trembling. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small room like it might burn off the sickening realization building in his chest. “No way. It can’t—he wouldn’t—”

But the more he tried to shove it down, the clearer it became. It wasn’t just the voice or the name. It was the water and the pills, the fact that someone had taken off his jeans and tucked him in. The way "Jake" had been there, steady and unshakable, even when Buck had been at his absolute worst.

Only one person would have done all that.

Only one person would have cared enough.

“That bastard,” Buck said, his voice breaking on a shaky laugh. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like it might stop the sting that was creeping into them.

It had to be him. Tommy.

And if it was... if it really had been Tommy... then what the hell had he been doing there?

Buck shuffled to his kitchen, shirtless and still groggy, to make coffee. The loft was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made it impossible to ignore his own thoughts. Every creak of the floorboards and hum of the coffee pot seemed louder, sharper, pressing on him like the silence was mocking him.

He stared at the coffee pot as it brewed, drumming his fingers on the counter. “No way,” he muttered again, though this time it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

But the more he replayed the night in his mind, the harder it was to deny. It wasn’t just the familiarity of the voice—it was the details. The way "Jake" had carried him up the stairs, tucked him in, and left water and pills by the bed, all without a single complaint. Even the way he’d spoken, low and calm, with that quiet humor in his tone—it wasn’t the way a stranger would treat him. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t indifferent.

“That bastard,” Buck muttered again, his head throbbing and his chest tightening. He ran a hand through his hair, his pacing growing more erratic in the small space. “Why wouldn’t he just—” His voice caught, the question hanging in the air, unfinished.

And then it hit him, sharp and sudden, like a gut punch.

Because Tommy left.

Eddie had gone to Texas, chasing a fresh start for himself and Christopher. Maddie had her own family now, her own life to focus on. And Tommy... Tommy had looked him in the eyes and told him he wasn’t the last.

Buck let out a bitter laugh, his hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. “Not the last, huh? Guess you were right.”

The words came out shakier than he wanted them to, his throat tightening with the weight of it all. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to stop, but they kept coming—Tommy’s steady hands catching him as he stumbled on the stairs, his calm voice murmuring reassurances Buck couldn’t quite make out, the way he’d tugged off his jeans with quiet care, like Buck was something fragile.

And then, the words that lingered in his mind like a bruise: “I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan.”

Buck opened his eyes, staring down at his empty hands like they might somehow hold the answers he couldn’t find.

Tommy had left to protect himself. That much was clear now. But why had he come back? Why show up, take care of him, and leave all over again? What kind of person did that?

Buck’s jaw clenched, anger flaring briefly before it was swallowed by something heavier, something that felt a lot like grief.

“Damn it, Tommy,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this?”

The coffee pot beeped, startling him out of his spiral. He grabbed the mug with trembling hands, taking a sip that burned his tongue but didn’t dull the ache in his chest.

The loft was still quiet, but now the silence felt unbearable.

---

"He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.”

Tommy huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you’re not so easy yourself, Evan.” He said it aloud, as though Buck was standing right there, the sarcasm softening into something raw and defeated. “But you’re... God, you’re everything.”

He’d thought helping Buck home would be enough—a small act of care to make sure he was okay. But it hadn’t been enough. Not even close.

“Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy sighed, wiping his hands on a rag. He wasn’t good at walking away—not really. It wasn’t something he’d practiced or perfected. In truth, Tommy had always been the one left behind. The one who’d watched people walk out of his life, one after another, leaving him to pick up the pieces of himself they’d shattered on their way out.

Maybe that was why he’d left Buck first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care—God, he cared too much. That was the problem. He’d looked at Buck, at all the messy, beautiful hope in him, and thought: This is going to break me. He’d seen the writing on the wall and decided that this time, for once, he’d be the one to leave.

It hadn’t made it any easier. Leaving Buck had felt like cutting off a part of himself, like walking away from something he wasn’t sure he’d ever find again. But at the time, it had felt like survival.

But with Buck, it was different.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the moment he walked away. Every memory of Buck—the way he laughed too loud, the way he threw himself into everything with reckless abandon, the way he looked at Tommy like he was worth something—kept creeping back in, no matter how hard Tommy tried to shut them out.

And then, last night.

Tommy hadn’t planned on seeing Buck again. He’d been out running an errand, a late-night excuse to get out of his empty house and clear his head, when he spotted him through the hazy glass of the bar. At first, he thought he’d imagined it—just another trick his mind was playing on him.

But then he saw Buck stumble, his head lolling forward as he waved a nearly empty glass around. Even from outside, Tommy could hear the slur in Buck’s voice, the faint, muffled sound of his laughter as he leaned too heavily against the bar.

Tommy’s instinct had been to walk away. To pretend he hadn’t seen him, to let someone else deal with it. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Except that it was.

Because it wasn’t just someone in there; it was Evan. And no matter how much distance Tommy tried to put between them, that had never stopped mattering.

So he’d gone inside, telling himself he’d just make sure Buck got home safe and then leave again. No lingering, no conversations. No giving himself room to feel the pull he knew he’d never be able to resist.

But Buck had made that impossible.

Tommy could still hear him in his head, the drunken, rambling way he talked about him—not knowing who he was talking to, not knowing Tommy was right there. “He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.” The words had been funny at the time, but now they just felt like a punch to the gut.

And then Buck had said it—those five small words that Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since. “Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face, staring blankly at the engine in front of him. He’d thought hearing Buck’s voice again would help. That it would give him some kind of closure, make him feel like he’d done the right thing by leaving.

Instead, it had unraveled him completely.

He stood there for a moment, the rag dangling uselessly in his hand, his mind spinning in circles.

Tommy had always thought he’d be good at leaving. But now, for the first time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it again

---

It didn’t take Buck long to find Tommy. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone looking—anger, maybe, or closure. Probably both.

The garage door was open, the faint sound of an old rock song playing. Tommy was leaning over the engine, his broad shoulders taut, his hands steady as they adjusted something Buck didn’t care to figure out.

“You don’t even look like a Jake.”

Tommy froze. His shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on the wrench. Slowly, he set it down, straightening and turning to face Buck. His expression was calm—too calm—but his eyes betrayed him.

“Evan.”

Hearing his name made Buck’s chest ache. It wasn’t the anger he’d expected to feel—it was something messier. He crossed his arms, but it did nothing to steady him. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Tommy sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buck snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe why you couldn’t just tell me it was you? Why you came back at all? Why you think you get to show up, play the hero, and then disappear all over again?”

Tommy’s gaze dropped to the concrete floor for a moment before he looked back up. “You were drunk. You didn’t need me making it more complicated.”

“Complicated?” Buck’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “That’s what you’re calling this? You didn’t do it because I was drunk. You did it because you’re a goddamn coward.”

Tommy flinched, and for a second, Buck thought he might argue. But instead, he just nodded.

“You’re right,” Tommy said softly.

The admission threw Buck off balance, his anger faltering. He blinked at him, unsure what to do with the raw honesty in Tommy’s voice. “That’s it?” he demanded. “You’re just gonna admit it and think that makes it okay?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “No, Ev-Buck. I don’t think it’s okay. I know it’s not okay.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think I could stay, and I didn’t know how to leave without breaking both of us.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy. You managed to do both,” Buck shot back, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. “You broke me when you left, and now you’re breaking me all over again.”

Tommy’s face twisted, his carefully constructed calm cracking under the force of Buck’s pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry I left, and I’m sorry I came back. I just—” He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I could handle seeing you again. I thought maybe... maybe I could fix something.”

“Fix what?” Buck demanded, stepping closer. “You can’t just patch this up like one of your damn engines, Tommy. You can’t just...” His voice broke, and he shook his head, looking away. “You can’t just leave and then show up like this. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” Tommy said quietly. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not after seeing you like that.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Buck muttered, wiping at his face.

“No, it’s not,” Tommy admitted. He hesitated, his voice softening. “But it’s the truth.”

Buck stared at him, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself together. “You don’t get to do this to me, Tommy. You don’t get to show up and remind me that you cared—because you did care, right?”

“I never stopped,” Tommy said, his voice steady but full of regret.

“Then why wasn’t I enough?” Buck’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Tommy stepped back, the question hitting him like a blow. “You were,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You are. But I didn’t think I could be enough for you. And I didn’t want to hurt myself—and you by staying and proving myself right.”

“You hurt me... us, anyway,” Buck said, his tone flat but laced with exhaustion.

They stood there in the heavy silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Buck’s chest felt hollow, like he’d poured out every piece of himself and there was nothing left. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and shook his head.

“I don’t know if this can be fixed,” Buck said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But I think... I think I need you to figure out what you want before you come back again.”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” he said quietly.

Buck hesitated, the ache in his chest screaming at him to leave before he broke down completely. He turned toward the door but stopped just before stepping out.

“If you ever figure yourself out...” His voice was steady this time, but there was something fragile underneath it. “Maybe call me. Maybe I’ll pick up.”

Tommy didn’t respond, but his eyes were on Buck as he left, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

---

Back in his loft, Buck stared at the bottle of water on his bedside table. He didn’t throw it out. Instead, he placed it back carefully, like it was something worth keeping.

Across town, Tommy sat with his phone in his hand, a message typed but unsent. It read simply: "Hey."

He didn’t send it. But he didn’t delete it either.

Part3

[anantaru]

— taking care of his wounds

including xiao, scaramouche, diluc, childe x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & angst, crack, mentions of blood, sweet n cute

— xiao

"you do not have to do this."

"but i want to!"

deep down inside, it was imperatively embarrassing for xiao to have you mend his wounds and scratches— especially considering the fact that you were seeing him this way for once, a shelter of vulnerability and weakness, as he always seem to put it.

a good for nothing who cannot even be strong enough to defend himself, let alone the person he fell in love with.

keep in mind, you were very much aware of your boyfriend and his cruel views on himself, precisely the hurting words chosen by him, which he would insult himself with on a daily basis.

as punishment? one can only guess or say that much, but there was a translucent underlining that only a handful of people were able to take a grasp on.

"and you‘re my boyfriend xiao." that happiness in your voice, he couldn't get enough of it. but you always add the right words into the mix, catching a bolstering blush on xiao‘s handsome face the sweet moment he picks up your chosen name for him.

'boyfriend' was he worthy of such a name? he shivered, it took all his self control to not run off from this vulnerable moment.

"i‘m also worried." and you sigh so sweetly against him, melting your skilled fingers into his flesh and filling all the cold emptiness within his heart. "i don't want you to worry." his voice almost breaks in midst his sentencing but it's low, his words mumbled, "you could find someone better than me."

it's a graven fear the man held for what felt like an eternity. to see you leave one day due to his weaknesses.

because every time he experiences you taking care of him, yes, xiao does turn embarrassed— his eyes twinkling open wild, but he feels that static, as if he could actually reach the heavens behind the sky.

he suddenly hisses when you began to wrap a small cloth around a bigger wound on his hand, sneakily sealing your lips over his roughened up knuckles to kiss each and every one of them.

"there will never be someone better than you, xiao."

— scaramouche

"how childish."

scaramouche's face was mounted in a discomforting tinge while he gazed at the cute, little, not to mention pink, band aids covering the majority of his face and chest. "shut up."

you shake your head, laughing at your boyfriend's bright, assessing eyes while he hopelessly attempted to wholly conceal the agonizing pain bound within his facial features, keeping them in check with a hard look, brows criss crossed and squeezed together, "you're using too many of those."

"i wouldn't have to if there weren't that many scratches all over you."

but above and beyond, there it was; a crucial, meaningful expression that sneakily slipped past his own eyes— your current state, when you lock away the smallest amount of warm tears glinting nervously, finishing it with a soft smile, not wanting to make scaramouche feel even worse.

what confused you, and, frankly, scared you in the first place was the severe rarity of this situation— it was uncommon for him to get this beat up, this littered up with scratches and bumps, you can still remember the mere seconds earlier, when he showed up in front of your door step— dirty clothes ruptured and ripped, his bottom lip popped open and blood sliding down his chin, eyes low lidded, barely any life behind them.

by all means, scaramouche was doing better now, with the help of you and your quick responses doing wonders. needless to say did he too, catch a glimpse of your distress when you suddenly had stopped mending his wounds.

"hey." he pokes your left cheek, once, twice— "hey," and his comforting, warm voice ever so softly slips past your ears.

"i'll be okay, besides, i will take it as an insult if you think that is enough to end me."

and judging by the hitch of your breath, scaramouche felt a rambling burn deep inside, at nothing but that distraught look on your person. He opens his eyes wide, steady as glass, before sloping his head towards you, a faint, transient smile lightening his bruised face when you lean in to kiss his lips, tenderly, but compelling enough to lift the worry off your shoulders.

— diluc

patience— and the adequate plenitude of pressure were the very two notions you had channeled tonight, with your trembling hands slowly dapping the blood off diluc‘s injuries.

you truly cannot remember the last time he had shown any signs of recklessness in his usual behavior when it came to fending of intruders, so whatever must‘ve happened today had to be of graven importance or a powerful enemy catching him off guard.

"thank you." he suddenly speaks, but averts his eyes, and although his voice was raspy and chill, diluc managed to quickly snap you out of your stinging thoughts. you move to his face, tilting his chin up to catch an ideal view on the main bruises around his left cheek, allowing you to tackle those as well, "for doing this i mean."

at his words, you stop your hand, smiling serenely, almost angelic.

"you don't have to thank me for this."

"—but, do you want to tell me about what happened?"

diluc's face twitches when you retorted back to brush a splotch of dried blood from his jaw— you noticed how his lip was busted open, this thought again, of someone hurting the love of your life, it compared to sharp needles jabbing at your skin, over and over until drilled in its entirety.

but he didn't, diluc would never tell you about anything dangerous, not even when he showed up to your home, looking like that. "i rather not." there it was, that brave smile he'd manage to put on whenever he found himself in a situation like that, regardless, worry gnawed away at you, your gaze piercing through him like a freezing blast of ice.

"yet worry not." all of his attention was on you as he slants close to take your cheeks in his roughened palms, feeling them shake against your skin awakened a murky, dull feeling where you wanted to just cry in his arms, "i'd never let someone hurt you."

sigh, deep down, you wonder if diluc will ever comprehend that seeing him like that was already hurting you, was already pulling the hot air off your seized throat and clenching your heart with dread, feeling as if you could not breathe.

instead, you smile kindly at him, foreheads resting against each other, overcome by a dark sense of silence.

— childe

"hah! you should see the other guy!"

excessive boasting upon boasting, your sweet childe was out here acting like he had just experienced the best day in his entire life— a certain smile, brighter than ever witnessed before, if it wasn‘t for his black eye and bloody nose breaking the illusion he attempted to portray.

however, in contrast, childe found it exceedingly cute and appealing whenever you were severely worried and concerned about him— as is someone was ever able to greatly harm nor scratch the overenthusiastic harbinger. "you really shouldn‘t be this reckless sometimes."

you sigh deeply, then shake your head, mending the bigger wounds with a wet cloth first so they were clean and ready to be wrapped up.

but, important side note, you being brightly concerned for him made his heart flutter unexpectedly and childe suddenly expels a large wave of pride, "but you love it when i'm reckless."

"i do not."

"you don't?!" his smirk fades.

"i want you to be save." you kiss the corner of his mouth, and a vast deal of weariness sweeps over you, claiming your energy with it when you remember that this wasn't possible.

ajax was a harbinger after all.

his voice, now thick of seriousness, greets you closely, "don't worry about me." he speaks so idly, listlessly and without a care in the world, as if he doesn't care about his own wellbeing. and it left a bitterness littering on the tip of your tongue.

"because as long as you have everything in your life, i too will be fulfilled." with that, childe kisses you, all around passionate, needful and telling. on the assumption that he longed to show you his determination to protect you in a different way than solely using his own choice of words.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[headlinxr]

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ─── 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

SYNOPSIS  !   You're a new nun at the church, and Father Hee Seung can't help but want to sin every time he sees you. You're like the Virgin Mary to him, but instead of seeking to help him, you want to destroy him.

GENRE. non idol!, au, priest x nun, forbidden relationship.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The silence of the church was dense and profound, a stillness so palpable that it seemed to envelop everything, like a velvet cloak that absorbed even the last of the whispers. The walls, old and worn by centuries of prayers, breathed in time with forgotten supplications, as if the entire temple were alive, pulsing with the memory of the sacrifices that had forged it. Father Hee Seung, wrapped in the cassock that fell over his body with the same seriousness with which he had embraced his vocation, was at the back of the sacristy, trapped in a sea of files and papers that seemed to whisper stories of lives and deaths intertwined with eternity. The dust covering each page was a testament to the years that had faded away, leaving no trace but the ink that slowly slid across the paper, like the inexorable passage of time, which, like water, erodes even the hardest rocks. Each page that passed through his hands was a reminder of the heavy burden of his existence: A monotonous routine that, despite being his choice, was beginning to feel like an endless sentence. The task before him was nothing more than a mundane act, a repetition of empty gestures that reminded him of the insignificance of his being in the face of the divine grandeur to which he had dedicated himself. Each of those papers, frayed by time, seemed to him a metaphor for his own soul, cracked, wrinkled, and exhausted by years of sacrifices and renunciations.

Fatigue enveloped him in silence, a subtle yet relentless force that sometimes threatened to consume him. He was not unfamiliar with the shadows that lurked in his spirit, those that emerged in moments of solitude, when the brilliance of faith, so bright and warm on clear days, dimmed like a lighthouse extinguished by fog. In those moments, the struggle against doubts became titanic, like a river eroding stones over time, and the agonizing question assailed him: How could the life he had chosen to serve God sometimes turn into a prison of endless silences and unsustainable sacrifices? The eternal peace he had sought, did it truly deserve the high price of his torn soul? These questions swirled in his mind, and as he moved the pen over the papers, like an automatic act of faith, he couldn't help but let the ink, black as the uncertainty of his being, become the only possible comfort. It was as if his existence, reduced to those simple gestures of recording names and dates, was the only way to find an echo in the vast void of his own sacrifice. Hee Seung felt trapped at the crossroads between duty and despair, between devotion and the silent rebellion of his being.

Despite everything, faith was his only salvation. It was the anchor that kept him steady, even when his soul was crumbling into pieces. The light of faith, although sometimes flickering, never went out completely. Despite the fatigue, he knew he had to follow the path he had chosen, like Christ at Golgotha, who, with each step under the weight of his cross, showed salvation in sacrifice. Hee Seung understood that her destiny was to bear her own cross, no matter how heavy, and that in that suffering she found her redemption. Just as the shadows dissipate at dawn, his faith promised him that, after the darkness, there would always be a glow. But even in that sanctuary of peace, where the scent of incense floated in the air like a reminder of the closeness of the divine, the desire to escape rose like a specter. Sometimes, the desire to flee, to leave behind the endless hours of service, the repeated prayers, the empty and solitary days, would overwhelm him. Did he not deserve to rest, for a moment, from the weight of his weary soul? But his faith, firm and solid, was greater than any human impulse. Devotion, though worn, always drew him back, like the magnet that keeps the faithful attached to the altar.

It was then, like a whisper among the shadows, that a soft voice broke the deafening silence of the sacristy. The voice slipped through the folds of the air, like a celestial song resonating with the sweetness of angelic choirs. Hee Seung turned slowly, not immediately recognizing whether the voice came from his consciousness or from a tangible being. And there, at the threshold of the light filtering through the stained glass windows, your figure appeared, one of the new nuns who had joined the community. Your presence seemed to overflow everything he had known until then, as if the very celestial light had taken human form. Your eyes, deep and serene, reflected the diffused light that passed through the colored glass, as if Christ himself had decided to illuminate with his eternal gaze. Hee Seung, accustomed to the stillness and austerity of convent life, felt overwhelmed by the softness and delicacy of the young woman. The vision of you, almost ethereal, appeared to him as a being from another world, as if purity itself had taken flesh before him.

It was as if the Virgin Mary, with her immaculate grace, had descended from the heavens to walk among men, and Hee Seung, upon beholding you, recognized in you a vision that transcended the limits of reason. Each of your movements, delicate and serene, seemed imbued with a peace that transcended human understanding. You were not simply another nun; to Hee Seung, you were a manifestation of the divine, an incarnation of the pure light he had worshipped in the scriptures, but now presented before him with an almost unbearable proximity. Your white habit fell over your figure with the softness of a celestial cloud, and on your face, so serene, Hee Seung saw the promise of redemption, of a purity that seemed brought directly from the celestial realm, like a gift offered on earth.

Hee Seung's heart skipped a beat. His faith, which had been a rock and refuge, shattered for an instant at the sight of you. In that instant, the stillness of his being transformed into a whirlwind of emotions, something he could neither comprehend nor control. The temptation, disguised as light, had infiltrated his soul, challenging everything he had built. How could it be possible that, in such a sacred place, purity itself became an object of desire? The Virgin Mary had been for him an unattainable symbol, a beacon of eternal grace that guided the faithful towards salvation. But you, so close, so real, represented that same purity, and yet, the desire to approach you, to touch you, felt like a transgression. The priest, caught between his faith and his own impulses, realized that his struggle was not just against the temptation of the body, but against the fragility of his humanity.

—Father Hee Seung… Do you need help?— Your voice pulled him out of his reverie.

He blinked, forcing himself to lower his gaze, as if he could extinguish the fire that had ignited in his chest. The sweetness of your voice, serene and filled with a divine stillness, seemed to challenge his very faith, as if God were testing him. In that brief moment of suspended silence, Hee Seung understood that his devotion, although solid, might not be enough to withstand the test of his humanity. The temptation had come, not as a dark shadow, but as a blinding light, so pure and so dangerous that it threatened to consume him.

—No, sister, I'm fine— he replied hastily, caught between courtesy and an irrepressible desire to flee. He averted his gaze to the disordered papers, but the pounding of his heart was so intense that he feared you might perceive it.

When you bent down slightly to pick up a folder that had fallen to the floor, Hee Seung felt a pang of guilt pierce through him like a thorn from Christ's crown. That closeness felt like a profane act, a subtle betrayal of his sacred vows. Your beauty, so delicate and radiant, evoked in him the representations of the Virgin Mary; however, the holiness of that thought was overshadowed by an earthly longing that filled him with terror.

—Excuse me, I must... I must take my leave— he stammered, leaving the room with hurried steps, like a penitent fleeing from a temptation too great to resist.

In the following days, Hee Seung couldn't help but look for you with his eyes. Although he sought refuge in his duties, every time he saw you in the cloister, in the chapel, or tending to the garden, his heart would fill with a mix of awe and torment. It was as if the divine light he longed for in his prayers now reflected in that woman, but in a way that made him teeter between spiritual fervor and human desire.

—It's a sin to look at a sister in Christ like that— he reproached himself as he gripped the rosary in his hands with such force that the wooden knots dug into his skin. However, his attempts to distance himself were in vain. Like a wandering pilgrim in the desert, he found in you an oasis that irresistibly attracted him, even knowing that drinking from it could condemn him.

What ultimately unleashed his anguish was the growing closeness between you and Father Jay, another priest from the church. Jay, always charismatic and affable, engaged her in conversations full of laughter and camaraderie. From a distance, Hee Seung watched them, feeling how envy, a sin he thought he had overcome, seized his soul like a shadow stretching as evening fell.

—If the love of Christ is infinite, why does my heart insist on reserving a portion for her?— he pondered in his moments of reflection. He felt like Peter stumbling over the waters, unable to keep his gaze fixed on the Lord. Every time he set his eyes on you, it was another step towards the abyss of his own weakness.

One day, while he watched you pray in the dim light of the chapel, he compared you to the Virgin Mary again, but this time, the weight of guilt felt like a hammer striking his conscience. —The Virgin is an intercessor, not an object of desire— he reproached himself, but he couldn't quell the overwhelming force of his feelings. You had become the personification of a spiritual dilemma: The most demanding test of his faith and also a revelation of the abyss of his fragility.

Finally, determined to confront his emotions, he went to the confessional, not in search of an immediate absolution, but to face the internal battle he could no longer ignore. As the words flowed from his lips like a held-back tear, he understood that his struggle was not only against his heart but also against the very essence of his vocation. The faith that had been his rock was wavering, but it also invited him to immerse himself in the unfathomable mystery of love: A love that, like the cross, could be both redemption and burden.

—Father, I have sinned— he murmured with a tremor in his voice that betrayed his shame. —My heart has been occupied by thoughts that dishonor my vocation. I have felt impure desires towards... Towards a sister of our community—

The silence behind the lattice seemed to stretch longer than necessary, as if the priest on the other side were processing the words with a mix of surprise and curiosity. Finally, a deep and familiar voice broke the silence:

—Go on, brother. Tell me, which sister are you talking about?— asked Father Jay, with a tone that, although firm, had an almost imperceptible hint of sarcasm.

Hee Seung felt a shiver run down her spine upon recognizing Jay's voice. He had naively hoped that it would be another priest who would hear his confession, someone who didn't know the context of his torment. He swallowed hard and continued with difficulty:

—It's... It's Sister (y/n). Since she arrived at our church, I haven't been able to help but look at her with... With thoughts that embarrass me. I have tried to fight against them, but the more I struggle, the more this attraction consumes me. I feel like I am betraying my calling and dishonoring God—

An unexpected sound filtered through the lattice: A brief, contained, but unmistakable laugh. Hee Seung's eyes widened suddenly, his face flushing with disbelief and humiliation.

—Oh, brother!— Jay exclaimed, stifling laughter. —You too have fallen under the spell of the sweet sister. But let me tell you something, something that might surprise you—

Hee Seung felt a knot form in his stomach, but remained silent, unable to interrupt what was to come. Jay, with a tone that mixed cynicism and confidence, continued:

—Brother, I must admit that I have already shared very... Close with Sister (y/n). In this very church, under these same sacred roofs. Does it surprise you? Does it scandalize you? You shouldn't. After all, we are human, not angels—

Jay's words struck Hee Seung like lightning in the midst of a storm. It was as if the very structure of his faith was shaking before that revelation. Confessions should not be profaned with mockery or the cynicism of those who trivialize the sacred.

—How can you talk like that?— Hee Seung replied, unable to contain himself. —This is blasphemy! We have sworn to serve God, to renounce the temptations of the world. And you...? Have you betrayed that?—

Jay sighed, as if speaking to an innocent child.

—Brother, sin and virtue are two sides of the same coin. We strive for perfection, but our humanity always drags us into the mud. If we don't understand our weaknesses, how can we help others overcome theirs? The sister (y/n)… She is a woman, like any other, and I am a man. Neither more nor less—

Hee Seung abruptly got up from the confessional, unable to stay another second in that space tainted by irreverence. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he left the chapel, feeling torn between anger, sadness, and a profound spiritual disorientation. The figure of Father Jay had lost all authority in his eyes, and the image of you now appeared to him as an even more unfathomable enigma.

In the solitude of his cell, Hee Seung fell to his knees, seeking solace in a prayer that never came. The weight of the confession and Jay's words were a burden that sank him deeper and deeper. —God, enlighten me— he pleaded, but the echo of his prayer only returned a crushing silence. He had learned that not all the walls of the church were sacred and that even in consecrated hearts, corruption could nest.

Father Hee Seung bowed his forehead over an old missal, the yellowed pages of the book imbued with the fragrance of incense from years past. His trembling fingers toyed with the beads of the rosary, like a castaway clinging to the remnants of a shipwreck. The candle on the table cast shadows that danced erratically on the walls, drawing shapes that seemed at times like guardian angels, at other times like mocking demons. His prayer was an erratic whisper, words that dissolved like grains of sand between his dry lips.

A discreet knock on the door broke the stillness of the moment, a sound so faint it seemed more like a whisper of the wind than a real interruption. But before he could react, the door creaked open, and the sound of the hinges filled the space like an echo in an empty cathedral.

On the threshold, enveloped in the soft halo of light filtering in from the hallway, you appeared. Your habit, cinched with an almost virginal simplicity, reflected the candlelight, but your eyes shone with a brilliance that seemed to contradict their modest appearance. There was in your gaze a disconcerting mix of devotion and defiance, a fire that seemed to have been ignited by a purpose higher than mere obedience.

—Father Hee Seung— you said, your voice sweet but firm, like a bell calling to mass. —Excuse my intrusion at this hour, but I couldn't wait any longer—

The priest stood up immediately, his cassock brushing the floor with a nervous whisper.

—Sister (y/n)…— he murmured, his voice laden with a mix of surprise and alarm. —This is not right. You shouldn't be here—

You closed the door with a deliberate movement, your hands moving with the serenity of someone who knows there is no turning back. You advanced towards him, your steps light as the flight of a dove, but your presence weighed in the room like a chalice filled to the brim.

—Father, I cannot ignore what I have seen in your eyes these days— you said, your voice enveloping the words with a delicacy that disarmed any resistance. —You have looked at me as someone searching for something beyond what the world can offer—

Hee Seung felt the heat rise up her neck, a blush that burned like a glowing ember.

—Me... I don't know what you're talking about, sister— he stammered, his voice broken as if the very air refused to cooperate —If I looked, it was... just distraction, nothing more—

You smiled then, and that smile was like the light filtering through the stained glass of a chapel at dawn, soft yet penetrating.

—Distraction...— You repeated, almost as if the word caused him tenderness. —Father, my arrival here has not been by chance. I have been sent to fulfill a divine purpose. I have come to relieve the forsaken hearts of this church. And yours, father... His soul, tormented and burdened with chains, is one that I must free—

Your words were like an echo from Genesis, where the voice of God separates light from darkness. But in this case, the two seemed to intertwine, and Hee Seung felt her spiritual strength crumble like the Tower of Babel amidst the chaos.

—Sister, what you're saying is... It's blasphemy— he tried to retort, although his voice lacked the firmness needed to convince her, or to convince himself.

You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, until both your breaths merged in the air thick with incense and something more.

—Blasphemy would be ignoring the voice that led me here— you replied —The Virgin is not only a symbol of purity; she is also a refuge for the lost, for those who have forgotten the way. If her eyes seek me, is it not my duty to be an instrument of her redemption?—

Your hand, delicate as an olive branch, rose to brush against Hee Seung's face. The contact was light, barely a touch, but within it there was a magnetic force that made him close his eyes, like someone who fears looking directly at the sun for fear of burning.

—Father, allow me to be the flame that illuminates your darkness— you whispered. —If your faith has led you to this trial, let me be the answer that reconciles you with yourself—

The silence that followed was dense, laden with possibilities and contradictions. Then, as if an invisible thread were pulling him, Hee Seung leaned his face towards yours. The kiss that followed was an act of surrender and rebellion, a wordless prayer ascending to the heavens while defying earthly rules. It was like the clash of two opposing worlds, where the divine and the human met in a moment overflowing with meaning.

When they parted, the candle on the table extinguished with a faint whisper, as if even the flame recognized that its light was insufficient to illuminate what had just occurred.

You looked at him with a serenity that contrasted with the turmoil in the priest's heart.

—This is just the beginning, Father— you said —Our path will be difficult, but divine grace always finds a way to guide us—

Hee Seung fell to his knees as you walked away towards the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt, desire, and a question he couldn't answer: Was this an act of redemption, or the first step towards his downfall?

In front of the crucifix hanging on the wall, he whispered a prayer: —My God, if there is still hope for my soul... Show me the way—

But the silence that followed was neither condemnation nor absolution, just an abyss in which the struggle between flesh and spirit continued, incessantly, like a battle that would never be fully resolved.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Rescued from a Paper

Paring: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you are frustrated and overwhelmed with your paper, your boyfriend comes over (almost as if his spidey senses were attuned to you). At first, jokingly, Peter offers to do it for you (he’s brilliant, and he’d actually do it for you). But all jokes aside, he rubs your head and gently coaxes you to take a break from your computer. Although you resist, he ultimately wins.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Fluff, mild language, talks of stress due to assignments, suggestive flirting, and awful but cute chemistry puns

Note: I had the worst time writing a 30-page paper for this semester. My brain is a bit fried at the moment and I tried to edit this as best as possible. So, to everyone finishing up projects, presentations, and papers before the holiday break, this is for you (everyone really) :)

Navigation

The blinking cursor on the screen taunts you, its rhythmic pulse mocking your every attempt to continue writing. You curse under your breath, your frustration at its peak. You’ve been sitting at your desk for hours now; the only time you left your room was for coffee. Your eyes are red from staring at research articles to support your hypothesis. Typing sentences of analysis for your cited evidence and deleting them just as quickly as they came. 

But no matter what you do, the words don’t come. 

Your deadline is a week away. 

A week? Manageable. 

But coupled with studying for finals and a part-time job? Agonizing.

You sigh, wanting nothing more but to tell your professor to eat shit. But you couldn't. Well, you could, but that probably wouldn't go over very nicely.

Despite all your best efforts, the mountain of work before you feels overwhelming. You've got about 10,000 more words to write, then you have to circle back and do the abstract. 

You glance outside your window, greeted with darkness. You lean back in your chair, letting your shoulders slump, wishing for some kind of relief.

“This is hopeless.” You mutter, throwing your crumpled notes in the trash. 

You fought the urge to cry or commit a crime. Either one would work at this point. Or both.

"Hey, pretty girl," a familiar voice called out, and your body instantly relaxed. "It’s your handsome, handsome boyfriend. Your mom said I could come up."

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Peter’s voice and walked toward the door with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

Dressed in comfortable sweats, his brown hair a fluffy mess, his cheeks flushed a bit from the cold, and his glasses slightly crooked on his nose. 

"Hi, Pete," you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though your heart was already racing. "You’re looking extra nerdy tonight."

“Well, thanks.” Peter smiled, his eyes lazily scanning over you. “I thought it was perfect for spending the night with my amazing, smart, undoubtedly beautiful and stressed-out girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “If you keep talking about how amazing I am, I’ll have to give you an A+,” you teased.

“Now I really have to live up to my perfect boyfriend status.” Peter winked, stepping into your room, his eyes quickly scanning the pile of textbooks and papers strewn across your desk. “Still stuck on that paper, huh?”

"Yeah, it sucks the life out of me," you muttered, running a hand roughly through your hair, “I’ve been stuck on the same paragraph for the last hour.”

You sit back down at your desk again, glaring at your computer as if it has insulted your entire bloodline. But Peter bought it for you and added the stickers himself. It was perfect. Just like your Peter. While your professor was like a spawn from the depths of hell, who added 5 pages to the requirements the week before it was due.

Peter chuckled, the sound of his voice like a soothing balm to your weary mind. "I see. Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure you could write a paper on the properties of your stressed brain and still get an A." He walked up to your desk, giving you a cocky little grin. “I mean, I could totally do it for you, y’know. I’m pretty good with words, my fingers, my tongue and my ability to ramble on endlessly about, well, everything?”

You blush and roll your eyes, amused despite yourself. "Really? You think you could just write it for me?"

Peter shrugged, leaning against your desk, the cocky grin still on his face. “Oh, absolutely. I could take this whole thing and turn it into a masterpiece. I’m Peter Parker after all, baby. You could just sit back and relax, while I do all the heavy lifting, which is easy for the guy with certain cool abilites. You could even, y'know, take a break,” he added.

You laughed, but it was more of a tired chuckle than anything truly amused. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, trying to focus on your laptop again. “You don’t even know the topic, Pete.”

“True.” He pretended to think about it for a second. “But it could be something about molecules or atoms?” He gave you a sly smile. “I mean, I’m practically a walking periodic table. And if chemists do it on the table periodically, we can too.”

Your cheeks flushed at his implication. “You’re such a dog.”

Peter grinned, a little glint in his eye as he took a step closer. "Well, if you are about to combust, let’s just say I’m the perfect solution. After all, I’m all about bonding chemistry, especially with you," he said, winking.

You snorted, despite your frustration, your cheeks flushing from both the playful flirtation and the weight of the work still looming over you. "Stop it," you said, unable to keep the smile off your face. “You’re so corny.”

Peter leaned closer, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, and his smile softened. “I can’t help it. You bring out the best in me,” he said, before adding, “and the worst, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, there was no hiding the grin that tugged at your lips. "You’re gonna distract me with your terrible puns. But I’m behind. If I stop now, I won’t get it done.” 

Peter’s smile faded into something softer as he gently rubbed your head, his hand moving in slow circles on your scalp. 

You fold faster than a lawn chair for this man as your eyes close, a protest dying on your lips.

“I get it, sweet girl. I do. But you’ve been working that pretty little ass off for hours, and you’re only going to make yourself more frustrated if you keep going like this. I’m not saying you can’t finish it because that would be a lie. I am never not in awe of you. But just take a break.” He paused, watching you with those warm, brown eyes. “Let me help you relax for just a little bit. Then, you’ll have the energy to kill this paper.���

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though your resistance was weakening. “I don’t need a break.”

Peter’s hand moved to your shoulder, his warm fingers easing the knots with praticed ease. He knew every spot to hit to make you melt. “A quick break will help you, baby.” You were all but purring.

You hesitated for a moment, but when your eyes locked with Peter’s warm, brown eyes, you were a goner.

“Okay, Pete,” you mumbled, giving in. “Fine. I’ll take a break. But only for a little bit.”

Peter grinned, victorious, and without hesitation, dragging you to your bed. “I knew you’d see things my way, baby,” he said, his voice full of smug satisfaction. “Now, let’s get you properly relaxed. In more ways than one.”

As soon as your head hit the pillow, you sighed in relifef. You looked up at Peter, who was taking off his jacket, revealing the softest sweater. You needed him. 

Peter crawled up beside you, grinning down at you like a prey in his trap. “I promise, I won’t let you do any more work until you’re feeling like yourself again. Then, we can tackle that paper together. Not a moment sooner.”

You laughed. "Yeah, right," you teased, rolling your eyes. “Sure, and then we’ll write a paper about quantum physics and why it’s best enjoyed with cookies.”

“Ah!” Peter gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Quantum physics and cookies? Now that’s a bond I can get behind. Who needs regular chemistry when we’ve got this kind of reaction?”

You snorted, your frustration finally melting away with Peter's playful jokes and gentle teasing. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and then finally, your lips.

“See?” he whispered against your lips. “Much better.”

Then, without warning, he starts peppering you with soft, quick kisses all over your face, making you laugh despite yourself.

“Peter!” you exclaim, trying to push him away, but his hands hold you gently in place, the kisses relentless and warm.

He pulls back just long enough to look at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “You need to smile more, you know? Seeing my girl happy always makes me happy.”

A warmth spreads through your chest. And just like that you are reminded that you are the luckiest girl ever.

Peter’s grin widens at your smile, and he leans in again, this time planting a soft, sweet kiss on your lips. You melt as his tongue slips into your mouth.

And for the first time all night, you feel light. Peter Parker was your solace.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, pulling away just slightly. “And neither is your paper. So how about we just focus on this for a while? Just you and me.”

Peter rubs your back as you relax into him, your world shifting from stress to calm in the span of a few minutes. His voice is soft as he whispers jokingly, “Just relax for me, okay? Let me be your hero.”

“You always are.” You smile and pull him closer, letting the weight of the paper slip away for a little while longer.

Thank you so much for reading. My professor did, in fact, add five pages to the requirements for the paper a week before it was due, so this was totally self-indulgent.

But I hope you enjoyed this :)

Much love x

- Maeve

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 1 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions

do you think it took Rio a long time to choose her revenge dress? did she agonize over every detail? I picture her process like, okay I need an outfit that says fuck you (threatening) but also fuck you (horny) and fuck me (very horny) and then circle all the way back to FUCK YOU THOUGH (VERY threatening)

as to why Rio goes from super soft to *that* - I see it as the equivalent of the TV trope where someone almost dies and their loved one is very concerned, but as soon as there's no danger they slap them around the head and call them a fucking idiot. this is Rio's WELCOME HOME, CHEATER moment (Agatha has been kiiiind of been cheating death, lbr)

this is the best way rio could choose to approach agatha too, and not only because it lets her express all that pent up anger. what would be the alternative? sit Agatha down and have a honest chat? Rio knows her too well, she knows it would be simply too much. Agatha *is* more comfortable with big bombastic scenes, with violence that is a lot like foreplay. Rio is looking out for her right now, she is making it as easier for Agatha as she can, while also not letting her get away with her bullshit any longer.

one little sentence, so many ways to read it

only physically. she's not letting you in. not anymore. you'll have to save her from herself kicking and screaming. dear god she's actually honestly crying. this is a WHOLE fucking deal. and it's also the first time she sees Rio while knowing WHO rio is. she's feeling all the feelings

girls. GIRLS. how am I supposed to take decent screenshots if you keep flinging each other at walls. keep STILL! (look at the furniture btw, isn't it a bit curved? I think they're still using a fisheye lens. reality is still shifting. almost as if we're in the presence of an otherworldly being)

oh the metaphor of it. sometimes you just have to reach out and connect, even if you get hurt in the process.

BECAUSE SHE'S BEEN SHIELDING FOR SO LONG TO HIDE FROM PAIN. OH MY GOD. did a 2000s emo kid write this

every other MCU fight wishes it were this perfect storm of hot and emotionally devastating

Rio cannot physically kill Agatha, it's not allowed, she's only the collector. So what is she trying to do, exactly? Has Agatha really been cheating death for so long that Rio has no choice but to bring her in? Or is she not here to collect at all and this is just her way to get back at her ex (and possibly win her back)? I adore both options, they're tragic in different ways.

time to bullshit! time to bolt! time to get to that escape route! this is what Agatha does best. anything but face the truth

funny how agatha usually has no problem looking undignified. it's almost like this is not the point at all. so let's review: wanda has stripped agatha of the powers that have been keeping her hidden from rio. rio comes over to confront her - and not kill her, she wouldn't be allowed anyway. she does it in a way that agatha would find less scary than having a mature convo. still, agatha has to face things she's been escaping for so long and it's simply too horrifying, too overwhelming. the fact that she's joking around so much (while her future conversations with rio will be sad, soft, dramatic) tells you just how scared and how miserable she is. She's begging rio to stop, because even fighting and flirting, which is their comfort zone, is proving too much. And what does rio do? She listens and goes away. only temporary, she won't let her off the hook now that she has found her. but she's still willing to go at Agatha's pace.

aubrey plaza I would die for your evil little face

can I just say that agatha trying to flirt right now is devastating? she is at the end of her rope. she does NOT want rio to stay, doesn't trust herself around her in so many ways. but she knows how much rio wants her and just... she tries to manipulate her with flirting. it's a desperate gamble, completely undignified, completely in character for agatha. she offers herself to rio, but only physically. when what they had was infinitely more than that, it was beautiful, it was sacred.

and rio... forgives her. she laughs another one of her little soft laughs and lowers the blade. plaza is so good here, the way she says "okay, agatha," is a perfect blend of resentment and tenderness. she knows agatha better than anyone ever had or ever will. she knows why she does everything she does. and she follows her lead. one last time.

agatha's relief. she's trembling, deflated but still on her guard. she looks completely traumatized. the masterpiece that this scene is: you feel smart when you realize that they're flirting rather than fighting. when it finally dawns on you the real weight of their encounter... it's too late.

"by the way there's a bunch of scary witches after you and I totally want them to kill you, that's why I'm telling you exactly who they are and when they're coming"

agatha tries with all her might to believe that rio is heartless. because anger is easier than sadness.

we're leaning, we're leaning, we're leaning!

rio licking agatha's wound to heal it perfectly encapsulates her feelings: anger, horniness, and infinite tenderness. what a power move. rio was the one in control this whole scene, and it wrecked agatha.

"te veo" (I'm gonna go scream in a pillow)

she's gone, honey, she's gone. breathe.

Billy walking on the two of them having sex would have been less awkward than this

she was a BIT preoccupied, kid

and episode 1 is in the bag!

next stop: IT'S LILIA TIME

go to episode 2 part 1

[luna-azzurra]

Do you have any advice for writing a fight scene? No weapons or anything, and one is a werewolf?

Thanks! xxx

sure!!!!:)

The environment is a huge part of any fight. Where the battle takes place can affect the mood and pace of the fight. If it's a forest at night, the atmosphere might be thick with tension, the shadows playing tricks on the human’s mind. Every snap of a twig could be nerve-wracking. In contrast, if it’s an abandoned warehouse or alleyway, there could be crumbling debris or walls that the werewolf could crash through with ease. Consider how the space constrains or opens up possibilities. Does the human have room to run, or are they trapped, back against the wall?

One of the most important elements of this fight is the clear imbalance between the human and the werewolf. The werewolf, being a supernatural creature, should feel like a force of nature, faster, and stronger than anything a human can easily contend with. Its movements are instinctive and powerful, maybe even graceful in their brutality. The human, on the other hand, needs to rely on their wits, speed, and survival instincts. They know they can’t overpower the werewolf, so they’re constantly looking for ways to outmaneuver it, maybe trying to use their surroundings to gain some advantage, like ducking behind obstacles or luring the werewolf into a trap.

To make the fight feel visceral, focus on the physical sensations and the toll the fight takes on both characters. For the human, every punch or kick should feel like a gamble, maybe they manage to land a blow, but it’s like striking a wall of muscle. Each missed hit could leave them open to devastating retaliation. The werewolf, meanwhile, is likely much more durable. Its claws tear through the air with deadly precision, and each swipe could mean serious injury for the human. Describe the impact of each hit. Does the werewolf's claw barely miss, ripping through the fabric of the human's shirt, leaving them gasping with adrenaline? Or does the human manage to dodge just in time, but only because they’re running on sheer instinct? Let the reader feel the weight of the werewolf’s power, how the ground shakes when it charges or how its growl reverberates in the air, sending shivers down the human’s spine.

What is the human feeling during this fight? Fear, obviously, but maybe also determination, rage, or despair. Do they think this is the end, or are they fighting for someone or something they care about? Maybe they’re not just trying to survive, maybe they’re protecting someone or trying to escape with crucial information. On the other side, consider the werewolf’s emotional state. Is it in control, methodical and cruel, or has the beast taken over, making it savage and unpredictable? If the werewolf is toying with the human, letting them think they can escape only to pull them back in, that can create an agonizing tension. Or maybe the werewolf is in a blind rage, reckless and wild, which could give the human a small opening, perhaps the only one, to escape or gain the upper hand.

What does the fight feel like? The smell of the werewolf’s fur, matted with dirt and sweat, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the sound of claws scraping across concrete or bark. What does the human hear? The werewolf’s breathing, the snarl rumbling deep in its throat, the snap of bone as it crushes something in its jaws? Describe how the human’s body responds to fear—the pounding heart, the shaking hands, the burn in their muscles as they keep running or dodging. The fight should feel exhausting, both physically and mentally.

Fight scenes need to be fast-paced, but not rushed. Keep the sentences tight and impactful. Short, sharp sentences can reflect the speed and danger of the fight, while longer ones might slow the action down in moments of brief respite, like when the human is catching their breath or assessing their next move. You don’t want to bog the reader down with too much detail at once, but you also don’t want the fight to end too quickly. Build up the tension, let the human get close to being caught, cornered, or even injured, then find a way to narrowly escape, only for the danger to come back twice as strong.

Every punch, kick, dodge, or claw swipe should have consequences. If the human lands a blow, how does the werewolf react? Does it shrug it off, or does it get angry, its aggression intensifying? Similarly, when the werewolf lands a hit, don’t be afraid to let the human suffer. Maybe they get clawed across the arm, and now they’re bleeding, one arm practically useless. Injuries should affect how they fight going forward, slower, more desperate, limping, or gasping for air. Let the reader see the human struggling, on the verge of giving up, but somehow pushing through. End the fight with a definitive moment, a final, brutal blow, a clever escape, or a narrow victory. Maybe the werewolf’s strength falters for just a second, giving the human a chance to escape, or perhaps the human collapses in exhaustion, moments before what they think will be their end.

[infi8ity]

nsfw. | MDI.

∞

THE ORIGINAL PLAN FOR YOUR ONE-HOUR LUNCH BREAK WAS AS FOLLOWS— surprise toji at his tattoo parlor with chinese takeout, spend and enjoy time with your husband as you both eat said takeout and make it back to work before 2 pm.

you hadn’t even made it to step two when the plan quickly became— toji making you cum as many times as you could bear before 2 pm. it was 1:25 now. by this time, you had orgasmed twice.

but toji was ever determined to make it a third.

that's how you ended up in his back office at “cursed ink tattoo shop” on his peeling black leather sofa spread ass up; face down over the arm of the couch getting fucked stupid.

clothing and undergarments lay strewn haphazardly across the room, a testament to the fervor of the past few rounds. toji’s dominating presence was accentuated by the sheen of sweat glistening on his powerful form, each drop reflecting the dim light.

he held your hands firmly behind your back, his grip unyielding as he pressed them down, deepening the curve of your arch. with his free hand, he braced himself against the back of the sofa, his muscles tensed to maintain his balance and control.

with every thrust into you, you could feel your abused walls tightening around him. the pain was intense but the pleasure was far fucking greater.

“i can't quite--," your husband tenses in between his powerful strokes. "hear you, woman. speak up."

he knew what he was doing. when he fucked you like this— like a madman— you were always lost for words. the way he rammed his thickness into you at such a force, your only response was the loud lewd moans escaping your lips.

this doesn't suffice for toji.

with a deliberate, firm release of your wrists, his hand slides around to grasp your chin, his grip intense as he forces you to meet his gaze. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours, drawing your face closer to his until you’re mere breaths apart, a deep hunger in his navy eyes.

"should i stop? is that what you want? for me to stop fucking you?"

though his words are threatening, his pacing does not falter. he continues to pound his thick length into your soaking cunt.

"huh?" he growls, awaiting your response.

you choke on your moans. you felt unable to form a coherent sentence, thus furiously shaking your head in protest. "n-no. fuck- augh,"

"then let me fucking hear you, baby," he whispers in your ear. his hypnotizing tone sends shivers down your spine down to the pool between your legs. "wanna hear you scream my name mrs. fushiguro."

he loosens his grip on your chin and guides your forearms to rest on the arm of the sofa. pressing his body against your back, you can feel the slickness of sweat causing your bodies to cling together.

he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

toji drastically slows his pace; allowing you to catch your breath and regain your composure. albeit further delaying your orgasm. you whine in complaint.

he gently shushes you, wrapping his muscular bicep around your barred throat. his touch is firm yet tender, applying just enough pressure to hold you in place while eliciting a soft, controlled choke.

he teasingly pulls out, thrusting himself agonizing slowly— back in. bottoming out, he asks, "whose dick is this?"

"mine." you sputter.

"thats right.” he drags his tip along the folds of your cunt. “whose pussy is this?"

"yours. all yours."

his hips connect with your ass. the force rocking you forward, a moan catching in your throat.

"good girl." he praises. he thumbs his fingers between your nipples. pinching and twisting softly. "who fucks you like this?"

"just you toji. only you baby. please, feels so good i'm gonna cum. was having a bad day, i need it.”

your responses seem to please him, as he speeds up his pace. he abandons his assault on your nipples and finds purchase on your clit. tracing circles against your bud.

"aww, my poor wife was having a bad day at work? maybe after i let you cum this third time, it'll get better." he drawls.

he wasn’t lying; work had built up a pent-up tension deep within you. If there was any way to release the stress weighing on your shoulders, toji was the perfect remedy.

as if reading your thoughts, he quickens his movements. your walls suck him in deeper, tightening well around him. his groans like music to your ears. "you feel so good y/n. you're so beautiful like this. 'm gonna nut from the sight of you. "

the praise gives you a boost of confidence as you were unable to differentiate what felt better? the pressure of him pinching and massaging your clit or the feeling of him massaging your guts and hitting all the right spots.

you rotate your hips around him, almost as if you were fucking him right back, and toji moans with you. you chant his name like a broken record. you can't help yourself. It's the only thing you can think of. him. him. him.

his arm tightens against your throat in response to you clenching around his length. your pussy pulsates, your orgasm nearing its release as he hits that one spot- over and over and—

in sync, you cry out as you cream around his dick; feeling toji’s hot loads shooting inside of you. your juices flowing together, coating your walls and spilling out of you as toji removes himself.

the room was filled with the sounds of panting as the two of you fought to catch your breath.

toji is the first to move. he presses soft kisses against your lips before he opts a glance at his wristwatch and stands.

“well then mrs fushiguro, it's one thirty-seven." he remarks, casually sauntering around the room in search of your scattered clothing. "i’d say we have fifteen minutes to fix you up, get some food in your stomach— Lords knows you’ve had enough of me in there,” you snort. “and on the way to work before two.”

he pads in front of you, in all his six foot two perfectly muscled glory. he was no longer erect, but that hadn't diminished his length in the slightest. he motions for you to take your clothing.

“wait,” you begin. he quirks a brow. “you made me cum three times. least i can do is give you one more so that we’re even. yeah?”

“you sure? ain't you hungry?” he asks, cupping your hands against his face. his thumb swiping across your parted lips. you captured his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue against his finger. looking up at him beneath your lashes, you suck softly.

he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop and groans. "hungry for something else that's for sure." you reply, eyeing his growing erection.

you grin lustfully as he runs his fingers through your hair, eventually grasping a fistful.

"fucking hell," he says under his breath; tossing your clothes to the side. "do your worst woman."

∞

© infi8ity. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[shawnxstyles]

personal 3

DATE: JANUARY 8, 2023

summary: as you begin to build your confidence, you try to learn some things on your own to surprise harry. you know, just as a little thank you. meanwhile, harry finally starts to think your unspoken arrangement is a little too personal.

request: yes!!

words: 6k

warnings: SMUT (m-receiving [hand-job, oral], dirty talk), language, and loads of overthinking! (will probably have angst in the next part!)

note: PLEASE tell me how you guys feel about this!! comment/reblog/send me a message! PREVIOUS PART.

bestfriendrry x inexperienced!reader

—

It’s barely been a few days since you last saw Harry in person, and quite frankly, you’ve never noticed how much time has passed until now. Until your mind was constantly occupied with thoughts of his hands on your body and his sweet, cocky words in your ear. You wanted to be sick of it, wanted it to be done and through. But your brain just could not let go of his touch. You must have released too many hormones during all that touching because time has never felt so prolonged and stretched. You have gone weeks without seeing Harry before, and although you’ve missed him in the past, you’ve never connected every little thing to him. Certain words and objects somehow prime your memory directly to Harry. Even thinking of your doll collection back at home sends shivers down your spine. He has seriously ruined you, and you hate that you don’t hate it.

After the last time with Harry, you swore it was the last time. You didn’t say it out loud but in your head. You knew that if you explicitly told Harry that that was the last time that it would be the last time and he would never touch you again. No, not unless you asked, not unless you begged. Which he would enjoy too much. What you found out was that you don’t have enough self-discipline to tell yourself no. So, it only makes sense that you’re still agonizing over his touch and how rough yet soft his hands are.

God, why are you thinking of his hands right now?

Your laptop is resting on your legs, warming you up as you try to finish your mid-term paper. At first, your fingers were flying around your keyboard, typing your ass off to submit it. But now you’re barely halfway through and you can’t even comprehend the last sentence you wrote because you keep thinking about Harry. Somehow, you managed to connect some Shakespeare poetry analysis to Harry.

Come on, how does that even happen without conscious effort?

No matter how many times you want to call up Harry and simply ask him for another “lesson” you can’t. It just feels too selfish to you now. He may have willingly offered because he felt bad for you, but now, you feel bad for him because he has to teach you. Maybe if you guys had a set time for all this you would feel less guilty. A schedule, just like your lectures! Then it would be like a real class.

You would never skip.

But you do recall the last thought that you had when you were with him. Would it really be so bad to learn the giving side of sex? Isn’t that the main reason why Harry is teaching you? Firstly, he wants you to understand your own body, which you feel pretty confident with after his sweet praises and words. Oh, and you won’t forget how he made you stare at yourself (or really him) in a full-body length mirror the first time. Yeah, that definitely still gives you chills. And a newly-found level of self-esteem, which is why you feel confident enough in your decision.

You’re going to do a bit of research on your end of the deal. A deal that is unspoken, so therefore, has non-existent rules. You and Harry never specified if you could pleasure him, but you would be getting the experience you needed, so what is the harm? It is in the unspoken rules. So, you’re going to surprise him with what you’ve learned.

After you finish your paper, of course.

Ugh.

–

Watching a variety of porn videos was extremely weird because you were watching them for a different reason than what they are made for.

Your eyes were straining at your laptop screen as you carefully inspected all the women’s actions. Sometimes, they would unbutton the man’s pants, sometimes they wouldn’t, but they always sank to their knees with their eyes on him. The women spit on their hands and stroke gently, or they would just put their mouth straight on him. It caused you to blink and swallow in fear because what if you didn’t like it? What if it tasted so horrible that you’ll never want to suck another man off in your life? What if your lack of blow-jobs is the reason you don’t have a boyfriend? Or why you don’t have a future husband in the running?

This is why you cannot be left alone.

From all the women you observed, they all had seductive expressions and alluring features that you were almost positive you did not possess. They had the most perfect bodies and that effortlessly flowing hair and cute little moans and they knew exactly what to do. It may not be the best thing to base anything off of, but you couldn’t help but feel a little insecure. Watching the videos gave you a little more knowledge, but also made you feel a little more self-conscious about your appearance. What if Harry didn’t even find you attractive? He definitely doesn’t want some girl mindlessly messing with his dick, especially when it’s not erect (which you have learned in health class in high school thankfully). All those words of reassurement and praise, were they just for the moment? Just to make you feel good and that’s it? Did he mean any of it? You couldn’t even manipulate yourself to an answer.

God, sometimes, you just wish that he would reach out to you. Wouldn’t that make everything so much easier? You would never say no if he just texted you first. But why would he do that? He’s doing you the favor, so you would have to be the one to text him. Fuck, how did he go from your best friend to your best friend that you’re obsessing over because he’s really good at sexual things? Maybe he hypnotized you in that mirror.

–

Harry thinks he might just die. Not from school or work, but from you. Out of all his friendships in his lifetime, even his relationships, he has never been thinking about a person so damn much.

He’s been friends with you for many, many years, and Harry has never once thought of you in a sexual manner. Or even in a romantic way. When you two were growing up, he definitely noticed you having some changes through your teenage years as teenagers do. But even then he always knew you were just friends. And that’s all it will ever be, so he never saw through that wall. Men are simple creatures; Harry realized you guys were friends, so that was it. End of story.

But for some reason, years later, he is being haunted by your sudden attractiveness? Harry’s not fucking stupid when he thinks this. You’ve always been gorgeous and funny and smart, so it made perfect sense why you didn’t have a boyfriend. You just checked too many boxes, right? The only possible solution of why men weren’t kissing your feet had to be because of your own expectations.

You’ve always been the kind of girl who thought every little thing to the tee. Harry even remembers you planning your wedding with your dolls when you were younger. You had a binder with all the people you would invite and colors that would decorate the walls of the church your parents got married in. Getting married in a church may seem basic to anyone else, but to you it was special because your grandmother also got married there. To you, it was a tradition, and Harry knows you love traditions and schedules. It’s like a plan that’s set in stone for you to complete. He just knows when you get married you’ll have the most thoughtful wedding because you would have put your heart into every single detail. You’re barely 22, finishing up your last year of college just like Harry, so you still have plenty of time to find your future husband.

Yet you think it’s the end of the world that you don’t have one in the running right now, and Harry has no idea why.

Thinking of the future like this used to make Harry feel happy for you because he knows it’s one of your biggest dreams, but there is something inside of him that’s blocking him from feeling like that anymore. It’s a nagging, sort of distant feeling in his chest that kind of makes him ill. He always knew he was going to be at your wedding in some form, but maybe he wishes it was…

No, that’s ridiculous. How did he overthink that much?

See? You’ve seriously fucked him up. This is exactly why he cannot text you. This is exactly why he cannot touch you anymore. No matter how badly he wants to. God, does he want to. You haunted his mind and invaded his soul until you were completely entwined within his consciousness, lingering like a flashbulb memory. He pitied you at first, so he wanted to help his best friend with her inexperience. That’s what friends are there for–to help you through the embarrassing times in secret, so when you go out into the real world it’s not so bad.

But now, Harry just wants to keep you for himself. He hates touching you knowing that it’s going to be for someone else one day. But he got too greedy to say no to himself, so he put you on his thigh the second day rather than fingering you. Fuck, he wishes he could slide his cock into you while whispering the sweetest and dirtiest words in your ear, just for your face to burn up in flames. He wants to hear your soft moans echo in the air from his cock because you want to be with him, not because you’re trying to “get better” at sex.

No, Harry doesn’t think he can do anything more with you without figuring his shit out.

–

Incoming call: Y/N

Harry wanted to answer it, but he hesitated too long. Fuck, what if you really just wanted to hang out this time? But fuck, he missed your touch. And your voice. And your face… How is he supposed to be around you without reaching out to caress you?

Missed call: Y/N

Voicemail: Y/N: “Hey, I just called to see what you were up to. I was just seein’ if you wanted to hang out. But clearly you’re busy, so it’s fine. I, um, have a surprise that I wanted to show you sometime. I… Well, I’ve been trying to learn some things on my own, if you know what I mean. I’ve been watching some videos, but you know, nothing is as good as a real life teacher! So, um, just call me back whenever you’re free. Bye!”

Harry was royally fucked. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about what you might have been learning about. You were also so cute in your voicemail that Harry just had to save it. He doesn’t think he’s ever saved someone’s voicemail before, but he’s never been more thankful for letting that call go to one. He took a single deep breath before he pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Doll. Sorry, I was in the shower…”

Now he has to rush to take a shower as you drive over to his house to present him with your little “surprise.”

–

As Harry stood up from his couch to answer the door, he regrets not jerking off in the shower.

He had an incredible hard-on, and it was embarrassingly from the voicemail. He was a little too excited for whatever your surprise was. You gave him no hint, but he’s assuming it has something to do with masturbating.

“Harry,” Your voice was chipper as you greeted him almost formally. But it was a little too high and squeaky. It was obvious to Harry that you were nervous, which made him feel a bit better in a way. You didn’t seem as distressed as you last had been, so maybe you did learn to get yourself off. Then you wouldn’t need him anymore.

That was the goal, right?

“Y/N,” he says as he widens the door and lets you in. You scurry past him and onto his couch, immediately heating up at the memory from before.

You swallowed the dryness that drained your voice, deciding how to bring it up to him. You take a deep breath and remember the confidence that he’s been trying to instill in you. You recall all the videos you’ve been researching and how assertive all those women had been. While you do so, Harry follows you to the couch and plops right down next to you.

If you hadn’t been so nervous yourself, maybe you would have seen how shifty Harry was. His eyes were darting all around, trying to look busy. His mind was scouring thoughts of things to say, but couldn’t settle on the right one. Maybe you’d see that he swallowed all the saliva in his mouth until his tongue was dry and he was biting his lip. Only then did you look up from your shivering fingers to see his bottom lip anxiously tucked between his bunny teeth.

“I wanted to talk about our…deal,” You started, tucking your calves underneath your body. Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything. “We never explicitly stated any details of what this contract entailed–”

“English, please, Y/N. You get all formal and chatty when y’nervous.”

Your skin heated, embarrassed. “Right… We never talked about what we were doing. So, if what I’m about to ask breaks some unspoken rule, just let me know. If you actually want to stop doing this, also let me know–”

“Just say it, Y/N.”

“I’ve been watching videos on how to pleasure you…” You speedily say, causing the room to go silent. You feel the heat from in between your legs grow whilst also flowing towards your neck and face. You wonder how hot a human can get before they just boil over and explode. Harry’s seemingly nonchalant face grows a smirk, which is comfortable to you now. “God, you’re a dick.”

After your mumble, you continue: “I felt… bad that you were doing everything. And I just thought that maybe I could learn something from this. And you could be… rewarded in a way.”

“So you’ve been learning what exactly?” His smirk never fades. Of course he wants you to be explicit with him, which you struggle with. He just loves making you nervous. He feeds off of it.

He’s selfish. He’s so selfish and he can’t control it. When he’s with you, it’s like driving a car without its brakes. He speeds right through all the stop signs without blinking twice.

Just one last time, he swears. Then he’s ending it.

“C’mon. Would it be easier to tell me or show me, hmm?” You swear his voice dropped an octave, just like your eyes dropped to the area on his sweatpants. There was a lump that you can’t recall being there before. Were you looking?

You took a deep breath and kept it there, unable to breathe normally at how straightforward Harry is. He’s always been like that, never changed. So why is he just now making you breathless?

Confidence.

“Okay.”

You move your eyes up to meet Harry, and he’s already looking at you. You feel your heart jump at his sudden stare, strikingly green and beaming with lust. Without removing your sight from him, you shift yourself off the couch and onto his carpet.

His eyebrows slightly raise as you hesitantly reach for the waistband of his pants. He’s enjoying this too much, he thinks.

“Go on. I want to see what you can do,” his simple words urged you to actually grab his sweatpants. As he lifts his hips, you yank the material down until his boxers are showing.

“Huh,” The noise left your mouth before you could stop it. Harry stares at you puzzled, blinking at you curiously. That’s the first time a girl has ever made that noise in front of him before. In this position especially…

“What?” Harry has never felt more self-conscious than right now. He was alright until you made that sound. That’s never something a guy wants to hear when a girl is on her knees in front of him.

“Nothing, I just took you as more of a ‘briefs’ guy.” Harry instantly felt more relieved.

“I’ave both. Haven’t y’borrowed my boxers before?” he asks. Your eyes widen as you look down. Maybe you have in the past, but the thought of that now sounds incredibly too intimate to you. Yeah, you’ll never be doing that again.

“Anyway,” You smiled forcefully while trying to rid the heat from your cheeks, “before I pull down your boxers, I have to ask you something.”

“Of course,” he agrees with sarcasm laced in his tone, which only makes you roll your eyes. You’re inches away from his cock, merely separated by a sheer layer of clothing and you have a question. He can bet it’s not going to be can I take this off now?.

“Do you find me attractive?” You had to ask. You bit the inside of your cheek, chewing on the nerves that you felt. Harry just stares at you, blinking. You always find a way to catch him off guard, he thinks. He doesn’t say a word, just two eyes lasering into yours as if he’s searching for the perfect answer. “It’s a simple yes or no. But if it’s a no, then I don’t want to do this. Because then you’ll be all-all soft in my hands or my mouth and then you’ll just be uncomfortable. Guys must not like it when they’re soft, right? You have to be hard, it means you like it… Right?”

When you got nervous, you got chatty. It was one of your most evident qualities. You had to fill the silence that Harry had created with his nonexistent answer.

Harry wishes that was a simple yes or no. Of course, he found you attractive, so yes. But only now are those feelings becoming more complicated, diverging from anything ‘simple’. It would feel like crossing a line if he said yes.

But Harry was great at brushing it off.

“Y’right. So why don’t y’pull these down and see for yourself, Doll?”

Your posture had been stick-straight and stiff unknowingly. But his hot words had your icicle-like spine melting in seconds, shivers cascading down your back like an avalanche.

You swallowed for what felt like the hundredth time since you’ve been here. You shifted on your legs on the ground, trying to get comfortable. You remind yourself that you are going to be confident and show Harry exactly what you have been learning. It should be simple. You should be able to do it without feeling all these emotions.

But it seems so hard when it’s Harry that’s tied to them.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pull them down. When the material is at his ankles, you finally acknowledge the hard length that sprung from beneath them. His cock was nothing like those porn videos. It wasn’t abnormally monstrous with loads of veins on the sides that looked impossible to fit into any hole. It wasn’t ugly and unappealing. Just the sight of his length alone made you want to touch him. Made you want to put your mouth on him…

You never thought you’d want to do that with anyone ever. You never thought you’d be attracted to that because of those unsettling videos. But of course, Harry is throwing you off, making reality much more fantastical and dreamy than it really is. How does he do such a thing?

You know whoever you fall in love with will not have a cock like this.

His tip was a dark pink with a smidge of wetness at the top. He only had one prominent vein that ran down the left side that was throbbing from neglect. You didn’t even notice your mouth watering, salivating as if you were classically conditioned.

“Does that answer y’question, Doll?” Harry was trying his very hardest not to stroke himself. Better yet, to come. The doe-eyed expression on your face was priceless and would forever be framed in his mind. The glossy, wondrous glint in your eyes screamed lust and anticipation. You seemed excited, but Harry could never be sure because he still feels a tad vulnerable. He’s never felt so revealed before.

He guesses with you it would have always been different no matter what. Because it’s you.

“Yes,” Your voice was quiet as you placed your hands beside his thighs. You were unbelievably nervous now. You were trying to recall what the videos did at this point in your head, but you lost your train of thought. You were literally entranced by his dick. Also something you never thought would happen.

“D’you know what happens now? Or do y’need some help?” he taunts, subtly squinting his eyes as he leans the slightest bit forward. He’s attempting to ignore the throbbing of his cock as you lock your stare into his eyes. It twitches, but he continues to neglect it. He thinks that if and when you decide to touch him, he will come on the spot.

“I know what to do, Harold.”

“Then do it, sweetheart.”

You repeat his words back to him, mocking his tone before spitting on your hands aggressively. Once you feel like they’re not as dry, you put one hand on him without hesitation. His taunting tone fueled you with more confidence than you would have thought. Your legs were tightly squeezed together, so you didn’t have to worry about the tingle that slowly began to throb between them.

Harry hissed lowly, followed by a gentle growl at your touch. Your hands were colder than he had thought, catching him by surprise.

“Holy shit, your hands are freezin’. How did I not feel tha’?”

“Shut up,” You grumbled as you continued to stroke him roughly, not really paying attention if it felt good. You’re annoyed with him because his dick is so perfect, and he’s trying to rush you.

“Hey,” his finger goes beneath your chin and forces your eyes away from his cock. You look into his eyes with a serious pout on your face. He wants to believe you’re truly mad, but he knows you, and he knows that you’re not. You’re secretly frustrated because you don’t know what to do now that you’re actually in the situation. And he knows you hate not knowing what to do. “You’re on your knees for me. Don’t forget where y’are. Now, show me what ya learned, pretty girl.”

His words never failed to make you dizzy. He might as well have put you on the teacups ride and then spun you in a circle. His finger was grazing your chin, and you felt as if you could melt in a puddle before him. He had you weak. He made you want to say yes, sir and obey his every command. Every drop of feminism left your body at his very words, your body going all in.

“Yes,” The s sounded slurred because the word sir nearly fell from your lips. It felt automatic, it felt right. But you didn’t want to cross any boundaries that you guys failed to cover.

Your hands continued to move up and down his length, feeling more comfortable with him in your hand.

“Can I…” You leaned forward, your mouth nearing his cock. He was leaking more than before and his tip was pulsing red. You didn’t even wait for his answer because you knew you already had his consent to do whatever you wanted.

Your mouth dropped down to his cock, sucking on just the tip. Harry doesn’t hold back his moan as it echoes throughout his living room, bouncing off his walls. You don’t move yourself any lower. You just swirl your tongue around the rutty tip and consume all of his juices. The taste wasn’t bad. Maybe a little salty, but it was nothing like you would have assumed. In a way, it was a little addicting. You had hoped that’s what cum tastes like, and you hoped that you would taste his.

Was that a weird thing to hope for?

“Fuck, Y/N,” Harry grumbled as his large hand slotted in your hair, in need of some stability. You didn’t mind, instantly loving the feeling of his hand on you. He didn’t pull or tug you, but just kept you in place. Almost as if he didn’t want you to go any lower in fear of you choking.

“Use y’hands for the rest,” Even with his eyes half shut, he was still able to instruct you on your technique. While his hand was strong, you went lower onto his cock, taking more into your mouth than before. The weight of his tip on your tongue was heavy and hot, but it didn’t stop you from slowly moving it in and out. Your hands eventually found a rhythm with your mouth, understanding speed and pace.

The louder Harry’s sounds got, whether they were breaths or moans or growls, hinted that you were in the right direction. You knew technique and skill was all learned from experience, but also being attentive to your partner. When Harry was pleasuring you, he always listened to you. Almost too well. Even just after a few sessions, he knew what got you off the fastest better than you ever did (obviously).

“Doin’ so good, Doll,” his fingers curled in your hair and you released some type of moan around his cock. The sound vibrated throughout his body, sending a shock to his core. “Gettin’ off on this, huh? ‘Course y’are. Just desperate for whateva you can get.”

Harry was completely right. Your clit was throbbing in your underwear and your nipples were beyond their peaks. But you didn’t seem as hopeless as you usually are because you finally had a reasonable distraction. Your neck was beginning to ache as your jaw felt like it was about to lock. But your hands never stopped, and your tongue continued to explore his circumference, even after swirling around it a million times.

Harry had been holding off for too long. He twitched every time he thought he was about to come, attempting to make it fade. But your mouth was just so warm, so wet, and so, so desperate to be filled, it was impossible to stay calm.

“D’ya want me to come, baby? Huh? Want me to come down your pretty, little throat? Gonna swallow it like the good girl you are, right? It’s the last step,” Harry was nearly choked from the way you moved on his cock. Yes, you were sloppy, but you were determined.

He could feel your nod along with the halt of your hands. You rested your hands on his bare thighs, clawing gently at the tiger tattoo. To his shock, your mouth went as deep as you could go, his tip nudging the back of your throat. He felt your gag, which he had expected for how fast you went down on him. Just as he was about to pull out of you completely though, you persevered, which made him go over the edge.

Before he knew it, his orgasm was spurting down your throat, coating your tongue. When he was all empty, you finally pushed him off of you to catch a breath. Harry was still in shock. He did not expect you to exceed your own limits and swallow all of him without hesitation. You have always had a good work ethic, though.

“Holy fuck, baby, are you okay?” Now, his hands grab your aching jaw in concern, pulling you up to sit on the couch. You didn’t realize how much your knees were going to hurt, but now that you’re up, all you are is achy.

The pet name made your skin hotter than it already was, wondering if he realized what he had just called you. Maybe it was an accident, but it had your heart accelerating at a speed that did not seem remotely healthy.

“Y-Yeah,” You croaked out, throat immensely dry. Harry quickly puts his boxers and pants back on before leaving to the kitchen. You’re left on his couch in shock while you rub your aching jaw.

Harry’s back with some water that you chug without thought. He can’t help but chuckle a little at your nature. He observes you doing a simple task, drinking water for your parched throat. But even with the mundane action, he’s somehow in awe. When you seem finished, you put the glass down and look at him.

“Well, that was difficult,” You sigh, leaning back on the couch. You believe that if you just pretend that what you’re feeling is normal then everything is normal. Harry’s concern for you still echoes in your head; the word baby is never going to be the same.

“I bet,” Harry’s response was dry, but only because he feels like he has to.

“Was it… horrible?” You asked, cringing in fear of his response. You know Harry’s going to be only honest, which means he could be brutal.

It felt way too fucking good for your first time and made me see you in a way I’ve never seen you before is what Harry wanted to say. But he settled with, “It was fine, Doll.”

“That’s it? Oh, c’mon! Give me something honest. I need to learn, don’t I?” You sounded like a little child. Harry rolled his eyes as you scooted closer to him on the couch. He swallowed at the proximity, which you didn’t bat an eyelash at. “C’monnnn.”

Truth be told, your heart was still racing, but you were too immersed in how off-put Harry seemed. You liked that he didn’t have some charming, witty comment hanging off the tip of his tongue. It was enjoyable to watch him get a little nervous.

“Don’t be so stiff,” his arm falls on the back of the couch, “probably why y’neck hurts so bad.”

“Pfft. My neck does not hurt,” You bluffed as you rolled your eyes, avoiding eye contact. Harry knows you too well, though, and didn’t believe you for a sliver of a second.

“Really.”

“Mhm.”

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, absorbing its warmth. It was almost embarrassing how hot your neck was, flush with the aftermath of sucking him off. You won’t lie and say that it wasn’t attractive. You won’t lie and say that you didn’t get off on it. Everything that Harry had said had been true. It was evident that you were turned on by pleasuring him, just like he you.

You swallowed with his hand caressing your neck. His soft touch slowly turned into a gentle massage, squeezing the aching muscles between his fingers. You couldn’t stop the whispered moan that left your mouth at the relief. The slight roughness from his callouses was doing wonders to the soreness at the base of your neck. Your eyes had shut now, fully encompassed with his hand rubbing your skin.

If it didn’t feel so good, maybe you would worry about how this is too intimate and you too were way too close. But his touch wasn’t as electrifying as it was calming right now, soothing you until your mind’s thoughts were lulled asleep. You were amazed at how his hands could be both. You felt your shoulders drop in peace, teeth pillowing into your lips.

You weren’t conscious of all your movements, but each made Harry go mad. His touch was simple and light, but he could see it really relaxed you. Maybe you weren’t just sore from this, but from school as well. Sometimes, Harry felt like he hadn't talked to you as much because you too were so busy doing… this.

You guys lost time to just being friends.

Maybe Harry was too in his head, but he hated that. He hated that you hadn’t been texting him as often or even coming over as much. Every time you did now, it only had to do with sex. Don’t get him wrong, he loves that, but with you, it’s always more. It’s always been more. And he hates that there’s no ‘more’ anymore.

Should you two stop doing this? Harry already feels guilty enough. He feels selfish because he wants you in ways he knows he can’t have you, so why is he tempting himself? Each time you come over he knows what you want and he selfishly gives it to you because he convinces he’s doing you a favor. At first, he innocently was. But now, he doesn’t see you as a friend as much as something more. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to back petal his way back into a comfortable friendship with you as long as this continues. Losing his best friend because he was horny and thoughtless is unreasonable to him. That’s what it is, he concludes. That he is just horny, and he’s thinking with his dick.

But there’s a certain pattern of his heart that continues to beat your name in a rhythm that’s new and unfamiliar to Harry.

It feels like a crossed line, a boundary overstepped. If he were to officially cross the line, you would have your back turned on him unknowingly because there is no way you feel the way he’s feeling. He fears he is subconsciously trespassing an area of your friendship with these feelings that are bubbling in his chest. It’s hard for him to say he’s just a horny college boy when it comes to you, but that’s all he’s got.

Harry was so caught up in his head, he hadn’t realized how close you two had gotten. Your face looked beyond serene, basking in the warmth and comfort of his hands. But Harry felt guilty. He couldn’t stop feeling selfish for touching you, even if it’s what you wanted. You don’t know his intentions, so each massage on your muscles feels wrong.

Suddenly, Harry removes his hands off of your shoulders and your eyes peel open. You sigh with a gentle smile on your face, very thankful for the time he put into massaging your neck.

“Thank you. I guess my neck did hurt a little–”

“I, um, actually forgot I have work,” Harry blurts as he removes his hand from your neck entirely. Your smile fades as you shake your head. His words brought you back to reality instantly, taking you away from your sweet serenity. One where his hands are on you all the time, lulling you to sleep whenever you’re stressed. It was a great daydream, truly.

“Oh. Yeah. Did you say that before?”

“Don’t know. Must have slipped my mind. Sorry,” His responses were short and clipped, a tell that something was up.

“Hey,” You stopped him from getting off the couch. The worry laced in your voice seemed to slow him down. “What just happened?”

With anyone else, he would ask what do you mean? as if the other person was stupid. But he knew you weren’t stupid, and you knew exactly what was going on. Something had changed within that moment and you weren’t just going to have him kick you out because he had some random thought.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. M’sorry,” he sighs, shoulder drooping.

You no longer felt serenity as the words fell from his lips. It’s always your best friends that know where it especially hurts. Right after you have done something vulnerable he drops that shit on you. Unbelievable.

This is why people should never do sexual shit with their best friends. Or better yet, any of their friends. It’s just way too complicated. It can never be as simple as a favor.

No, it’s way too fucking personal.

—

AHHH HOW DO WE FEEL??

taglist: @whoreonmondays @armystay89 @meighasfangirldiary @icumforbaldrry @luvonstyles @bisexual-desi @littlenatilda @crybabyddl @tiaamberxx @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @likeapplejuicenpeach

crossed out= not able to tag

[feasibilities]

Physician-Patient Privilege | Jonathan Crane x Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: After weeks of harassment, Jonathan finally accepts your request.

Warnings: Discussion of Murder, Sexual Harassment, Non-Con, Choking, Knife Play, Breeding Kink, Medical Malpractice

Author's Note: Thank you to @mothhball and @cillianslvt for your amazing ideas. I hope I wrote them well!

Jonathan prides himself on maintaining neutrality and quietude in the face of the most unwell individuals. His job requires him to speak to perpetrators of the most macabre crimes in Gotham. Any reactivity on his part could delay the progress of his patients. However, there was one patient in particular that pushed his buttons like no other. Your constant teasing and vulgar words chipped away at the dam of his psyche. You lie in wait for the dam to break and for his true personality to come out. He tried to move you to monthly sessions but his superiors assumed it was a safety risk. Jonathan constantly read over your case file before these meetings.

Patient is serving a 10-year sentence in Arkham Asylum due to a series of sex-related murders in Gotham. Victims were lured in through means of prostitution and were killed post-coitus. They were mutilated in various ways and also had postmortem injuries. 

When he walked in, you perked up at his presence and smiled sweetly.

“I’ve waited all day to see you, Jonathan.” You piped, standing up.

“Dr. Crane. Please sit down.” He corrected you. 

“Yes, sir.” You obliged. Jonathan tensed at your words but kept his peace. He sifted through his folder before he found the medical notes from the previous session. 

“Have you dealt with any suicidal or homicidal ideation in the past 24 hours?” He asked plainly.

“Of course.” You beamed. He shot you a vexed glance before he scribbled on the nearly full page. 

“I will continue to prescribe you Seroquel. I’m not sure what else to do for you.” He said, feeling quite frustrated. 

“You could tell them to let me out of that stuffy room sometimes. I promise I’ll be a good girl.” You teased, fluttering your eyelashes. He paid you no mind as he continued to write. 

“Oh, that medication has given me some odd side effects.” You said.

“Like what?” He asked, not looking up from the paper. 

“I sleep all day except when I wake up and have to touch myself.” You said, barely hiding the smirk on your face.  

“Well, I have all the information I need. I will forward your input to my supervisor.” He said, gathering his notes. He felt himself grow hard and needed a quick escape. The enchanting visual nearly broke him.

“We have 20 minutes left, can’t you stay?” You asked.

“I hate to cut this short but I have somewhere to be. See you next week.” He replied, walking to the door. Before he could react, you stood between him and the door. You pressed against him uncomfortably. He avoided your gaze and swallowed harshly at the physical contact. 

“I think about you every time. I know you want me, Jon.” You cooed, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He glared at you before snatching your hands away and wedging out of the door. You were amused by his panicked state. 

Once he completed his rounds for the day, he went to find your cell. You managed to stay asleep through the loud clanks of him unlocking and closing the door. To him, it was now or never. He loosened his tie and sat his wireframe glasses on your desk. He pulled the blanket off your body to admire you in your entirety. His hands ghosted over your breasts as he counted your breaths. He brought his hands closer and closer until you were flush against his palms. He could take you like this but it wouldn’t be as fun. Your eyes shot open at the sensation. Jonathan hurriedly covered your mouth to muffle any protests. 

“Don’t scream. You promised me that you would be a good girl, right?” He whispered. His arctic blue eyes were distinctive in the dimly lit cell, much to your consternation. You had already gotten yourself off before bed but felt the same agonizing heat between your legs. You nodded in agreement as he removed his hand from your mouth. He hastily took your underwear off and caressed your thighs.

“Stop teasing.” You whimpered, toying with your moisture. Jonathan took your hand away and sucked the residue off your fingers. He pinned you down by your throat and squeezed hard enough to restrict most of your air flow. His cool fingers circled around your taut hole before shoving them inside. A strangled moan left you as he pumped them steadily. Although your tears blurred your vision, his gaze burned through you. His dark pupils swallowed his austere blue irises. You clawed at his wrist to make him loosen his grip. 

“You can breathe when you cum.” He dismissed you, curling his fingers against your g-spot. Your walls fluttered around them as you tried to stay conscious. His jaw clenched as he clung to the last pieces of his self-control. His breaths grew ragged as tried to stop himself from finishing in his pants. Your legs trembled while you came around his fingers. Raspy mewls escaped your mouth when he swirled his thumb around your clit. You slipped into a benumbed state as finally let go of your throat. Jonathan nipped at your collarbone to wake you. You kissed him gently and smiled against lips when he moaned. 

Unbuckling his pants, you yanked them down his legs halfway and straddled him. You took a switchblade from underneath the mattress and clicked it open. You grazed the tip of the blade against his plump lips. Moving it to his throat, you sheathed yourself on his length and pressed the blade against his skin. You resisted the urge to dissect him like one of your many victims. 

“You would bleed like a stuck pig.” You teased, bouncing slowly. Jonathan’s heart beat out of his chest while he moved his hands to your hips. His eyes were drunk with pleasure. 

“I want you to give me a baby. Can you do that for me, Jon?” You asked in the most gentle tone you could manage. He mindlessly agreed as you bounced faster. You tossed the knife aside when you felt his tip brush against your cervix. Your arousal coated his dick as you pinned his arms above his head. Soon after, spurts of his seed spilled into you. Whether he wanted it or not, you were in his life forever.