#but I needed to get this out somewhere that’s not my therapist’s office or to my parents who are in the same boat

[meremere21]

Just saw and read a Times article about how 70% of men die within a year of being widowed…and it just made me realize that it’s almost the 10 year anniversary of my Grandma’s death, which was devastating because it came out of almost nowhere (she caught C. Diff when she was at the hospital for a different matter), and how my PawPaw only lived until the following January. He had extenuating circumstances in the fact that he had Parkinson’s, but my whole family’s of the opinion that he only held on for as long as he did because he wanted to have one last Christmas with all of us.

Sometimes the sadness of losing loved ones hits you really hard. They were such a huge part of my life, we’d see them at least 2-3 times a month and outside of my parents and sister they were my most important people. Grandma was the one who taught me how to bake and play the piano and PawPaw was the one who taught me how to fish and play dominos. Grandma’s death hit us hardest because, while we’d been slowly preparing ourselves to lose PawPaw to his Parkinson’s for years, we weren’t prepared at all to lose her so soon. Looking back on it, losing both of them in such a short amount of time and no longer having either of them to call or rely on probably contributed to the depressive episode I spiraled into my senior year of college.

And now I’m even sadder because thinking of my grandparents and the relationship my sister and I had with them is reminding me that so far and probably for a long time to come…my nieces aren’t going to have that kind of relationship with my parents, because my sister’s husband is an emotionally, mentally, and psychologically abusive bastard who absolutely hates our parents, especially mom because she doesn’t tow his line and agree with everything he says like his own mother does, and has done everything he can to separate and isolate my sister from our family. He only tolerates me because he doesn’t see me as a ‘threat’. He gets mad at her for even TALKING to our parents outside of their therapy sessions and our parents can count on one hand how many times they’ve seen their grandchildren since they’ve been born (…and honestly so can I, but even though I’m allowed in their home…I’m not comfortable being in his space knowing what he’s doing to my sister and our family). The girls are turning one this week.

And until my sister is truly ready to admit that her husband is abusing her and either ask for help or just pack up the girls and leave herself…I fear that my nieces will NEVER have the kind of relationship with their grandparents that my sister and I did…

[supermenz]

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

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Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life. 

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter. 

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either. 

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same. 

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman. 

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying. 

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too. 

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him. 

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.  

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did. 

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen? 

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.” 

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.) 

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.” 

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?” 

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses. 

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now. 

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.” 

(He isn't sure about that.) 

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing. 

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life. 

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside. 

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.” 

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out. 

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed. 

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out. 

Still, something’s missing. 

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be. 

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk. 

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.” 

[gremlingottoosilly]

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 

— I can fold my own pants, love. 

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 

— Little minx. 

— Me or Lady Lasswell? 

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 

— Shite, love. Sorry. 

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 

— Not a chance. 

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 

— Help your captain, eh? 

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 

 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 

Price moans. 

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 

God, what are you even thinking about? 

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 

— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 

[p0orbaby]

It’s Called Free Fall

summary: therapy makes you realise a lot of things

warnings: none

a/n: there’s not actually any alexia in this, but she is mentioned

word count: 2.7k

part 1

-

The therapist’s office feels like it’s been curated for someone far more refined than you—someone who actually takes their therapy seriously, rather than as an ironic lifestyle choice. The walls are a pale, flat grey that veers perilously close to lifeless, and there’s this overwhelming sense of emptiness, like everything here exists for display rather than use. The chairs, two narrow-backed leather things angled just slightly towards each other, appear less like furniture and more like sculptures. You imagine some recent graduate from a New York art school positioned them just so, meticulously arranging each one to make sure it induced the precise mix of discomfort and luxury.

The table between you and Dr. Vargas is another matter entirely—a sleek slab of polished mahogany, thick enough that you could lean your entire weight on it without even a squeak of protest. Its surface is bare except for a single leather-bound notebook, a fountain pen and a ceramic dish, all aligned to a degree that feels almost militaristic. There’s not a single loose thread in the rug, not a fingerprint on the glass of the one window facing out onto a garden view that’s suspiciously verdant for the middle of winter.

Even the fern, perched in the corner like it’s waiting for its close-up, seems too green, too lush. It’s ridiculous, but it’s all part of the aesthetic, this carefully curated minimalism, the kind of cultivated restraint that says, “We don’t need embellishments. We’re here for the truth.” You’re here, supposedly, for honesty and revelation. But to you, it all feels a bit too staged, like a hotel that boasts a “homely charm” but is actually cold and sterile beneath the surface. You suspect Dr. Vargas might even mist the plant herself in some sacred ritual of maintenance, a sort of last-minute grounding exercise to fill the silence between clients.

You settle back in the chair, draping one leg over the other, and make a mental note to mention it next time you’re in some magazine interview. “Austere,” you’d say, “but in a chic way. I once caught my therapist hand-polishing the leaves of a houseplant.” You let yourself savour the image for a moment, glancing at the fern, which seems to return your gaze with silent judgement.

Dr. Vargas has her pen poised in that infuriatingly neutral way, a half-smile that somehow manages to be both welcoming and utterly unreadable. She’s mastered this look; the expression that says, I’m here for you while also suggesting she’s already a step ahead, already written your entire profile out in her head, neatly categorised into sub-headings like “Avoidant Tendencies” and “Control Issues.”

You begin with a sigh, throwing a glance at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “I’ve been thinking about another place. A chalet, maybe. Something in the mountains this time.” You pause, letting the idea sit, feigning like it’s just occurred to you. “Somewhere remote, where people can’t just… get to me”

You’re fully aware that she sees right through it. This isn’t her first rodeo; you’re sure she’s dealt with hundreds like you before, masters of diversion who fill sessions with banalities rather than facing anything real. But Dr. Vargas, in all her maddening professionalism, gives nothing away. She just tilts her head, the soft scratch of her pen against her notebook barely there as she writes something down.

“A place to escape,” she offers back to you in that maddeningly placid tone.

“Yes. Escape,” you echo, knowing full well the word holds no weight here. Escape from what, exactly? You let your leg bounce a little, as if the rhythm might lend some gravity to your words. “And there’s this new project I’m in talks with—A24, actually. They want me to do something… serious. A proper rebrand. Gritty. Artistic.” You drawl out “artistic” with the faintest of smirks, like you’re amused at the thought of it all. A lifetime of playing these games, and you’re practically a pro by now.

Dr. Vargas’s face betrays not a flicker of interest or amusement. She simply nods, that little encouraging tilt of her head again, like she’s waiting for you to get to the real point, the heart of the matter. But you’re not giving in so easily.

“It could be big, you know,” you continue, lifting your chin a fraction. “And I’ve got Alexia, of course.” The name slips out, deliberately nonchalant, though you feel its weight instantly, like it’s left a mark on the air between you.

Dr. Vargas raises her eyebrows, ever so slightly. “Alexia,” she repeats, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Just… acknowledgment, and yet it still feels as if she’s plucked something out of you without you realising. You don’t like it, the way she turns your own words against you.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging. “She’s… brilliant. On the field, off it. You know, she’s—” You trail off, allowing a smirk to play on your lips. “Not bad to look at, either”

She gives no reaction, doesn’t even break eye contact. You imagine her poker face would rival that of any seasoned card shark. But it’s her silence that presses at you, coaxing out more than you intend to reveal. It’s a trick she’s used before, and yet here you are, willingly falling into it.

“Honestly,” you continue, almost laughing as if sharing some private joke, “you should see her after a match. There’s this… intensity, this rawness. Shirt off, sweat-drenched, eyes still blazing from the game. It’s… invigorating.” You roll the word around like a fine wine, savouring it as you go. “It’s like the universe threw me a bone, just when I was getting bored”

Dr. Vargas finally moves, a slight shift of her head, her mouth curving up in a near-smile. “And yet, you’re here”

Her words drop between you like a carefully placed stone. You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there’s something in her expression—an almost imperceptible softness that somehow feels like an accusation. “Therapy’s a hobby,” you shrug, leaning back, as if the very idea of anything deeper is laughable. “I’m always in therapy, Doc. News flash”

“Yes,” she agrees smoothly, not missing a beat, “but you don’t usually bring her up”

“Come on,” you counter, with a smirk that’s designed to look careless, “I bring her up all the time”

“Not like this”

Her voice is calm, almost gentle, but her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place. You feel a spike of irritation, or maybe it’s something else. You cast a look towards the fern, now faintly silhouetted by the afternoon sun, its shadow long and narrow across the wall, an unasked-for third party in this strange little dance. The absurdity of the whole scene hits you, but before you can fully detach, she’s speaking again.

“You’re talking about her differently. More… openly.” There’s no edge to her tone, no overt judgment, yet it feels like she’s peeled back a layer, glimpsed a part of you you hadn’t meant to reveal.

In the moments that follow, you stub out your cigarette on the pristine ceramic dish Vargas keeps on the table, the one she’s claimed is “not for smoking” but never actually moved after that one session. You’ve taken it as tacit permission, though you know damn well it irritates her—just another way to test the boundaries in a room that prides itself on having none. That’s half the point of these sessions: see how far you can stretch them. How much she’ll let you say, or not say. And you’ve mastered the art of saying absolutely nothing, all while filling the space with empty words.

Dr. Vargas doesn’t speak, doesn’t press, which is almost worse than if she did. There’s just the persistent softness in her eyes, the quiet implication that she understands more than you’d prefer. You remember Alexia’s eyes looking at you like that once, right after you’d tried to make some grand point about the nature of relationships—one of those pseudo-philosophical tangents you like to go on. She’d just looked at you, with a kind of bemused patience that felt a little too genuine, a little too close to knowing you.

You roll your shoulders, shake off the memory. But it clings.

“Alright,” you say, letting the smoke spill out as you form the words. “Maybe I don’t do ‘love’ like everyone else. I’m not here for a candlelit dinner and a mortgage. I’m not,” you add with a quick laugh, “one of those people who turn into some sap over a nice couple’s holiday in Santorini”

Dr. Vargas gives a small nod, an acknowledgement rather than agreement, her expression neutral but open, giving you room to continue.

“But, yes. Fine.” You take another drag, a deliberate pause. “Maybe I… care about her. I care about her. She’s different, alright?”

“Different how?” she asks gently, with an infuriatingly patient tone.

You groan, shifting in your seat. “Come on, don’t make me quantify it. That’s your thing, not mine.” You know you’re stalling, using your usual deflections, but there’s an itch underneath it, a part of you that feels raw just acknowledging that Alexia is, in fact, ‘different.’

You can feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to take the bait you’ve laid out for yourself.

“Fine, you want specifics?” you sigh, feigning annoyance, though you know you’re the one who’s led the conversation here. “She… laughs at my worst jokes. Like, really laughs. Not in a polite way, but genuinely, like she thinks I’m the funniest person alive, even when I’m barely trying. It’s stupid, really, but it gets me”

“And how does that make you feel?” Vargas leans forward, like she’s zeroing in on something significant.

You chuckle, low and dismissive, waving the question off with your cigarette. “How do you think it makes me feel? It’s… fine. Nice. A bit strange, maybe. I’m not used to being seen like that.” You pause, the weight of that admission lingering in the air between you.

She doesn’t react, doesn’t push; she just lets the moment settle, knowing there’s more.

You sigh, smoke curling up around you, as your mind goes back to other little things—the way she has this weird ritual of picking all the green M&Ms out of the bag and tossing them to you, claiming they’re “bad luck.” How she insists on reading the morning news out loud, in that silly, exaggerated announcer voice, just to make you laugh while you pretend to read emails. Or how she makes you tea at exactly the right temperature, handing you the mug with a grin like she’s just given you a priceless gift. These are things that, on the surface, should be forgettable, the kind of mundane moments that fade. But they don’t, do they? Not with her.

Dr. Vargas’s voice interrupts your reverie, soft but insistent. “You’re smiling”

You realise she’s right; you’re smiling without even meaning to, and it’s a small, stupid smile, the kind that feels too open. You try to erase it, but it’s too late. The vulnerability’s already there, a quiet confession written across your face.

You roll your eyes, more at yourself than at her. “Alright, so what? So she’s… alright, she’s fun. She’s got that energy, you know, that lightness. It’s kind of… refreshing”

The words slip out unbidden, and you feel a pang of something resembling regret. Refreshing. A word that implies something else by omission—that most of your life, most people you’ve known, have been exhausting. The irony isn’t lost on you: someone so completely different from your own brand of detached sarcasm, from your carefully cultivated ennui, has managed to slip under the radar and wedge herself into your carefully controlled life.

Dr. Vargas watches, her silence pressing you forward.

“Look, I don’t think about it too much,” you say, trying to inject a casual note into your tone. “I don’t need to psychoanalyse every smile, every inside joke. I’m not here to have my relationship broken down into neat little psych terms”

“Maybe you should think about it,” Vargas says gently. “Maybe that’s why you’re here”

You scoff, but there’s a softness in the sound, a hint of resignation. Because she’s right, isn’t she? You came here because, as much as you don’t want to admit it, this thing with Alexia has started to matter, in a way that’s both terrifying and strangely compelling. You’ve always prided yourself on staying a step removed, on being a spectator in your own life, observing rather than fully engaging. But with her, you’re finding it harder to keep that distance.

“Fine,” you mutter, leaning back, letting your head rest against the chair, staring up at the ceiling as though the answers might be written there. “Maybe she’s… special”

The words feel strange in your mouth, too vulnerable, too open. You don’t say “special” often, especially not in this context. But there it is, a reluctant admission.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m in love with her,” you continue, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She’s great—don’t get me wrong. She’s amazing in bed. I can’t remember the last time someone made me cum so much. And she’s got this thing about her, you know? Like this fire, this intensity. It’s like when she looks at me, she’s looking right through me. And yeah, I guess that’s… intoxicating. But that’s all it is. Right?”

Dr. Vargas nods, a small, subtle gesture. “Why does that scare you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the smoke dancing away from your cigarette, dissipating into the air, leaving nothing behind but a faint, lingering scent. You think about what it is you’re so afraid of—because there’s something there, something you can’t quite name, a sense that if you let this thing with Alexia continue, it might change you in ways you’re not ready for.

“Because I don’t do… attachment,” you say finally, the words coming out sharper than intended. “I’ve built a life that doesn’t depend on anyone else. And she’s… she’s a complication”

You can feel Vargas watching you, sensing the weight of what you’re not saying, the unspoken truth that this isn’t just about Alexia, that it’s about something deeper, a fear of vulnerability, of losing control. She doesn’t push, though; she just waits, letting the silence do the work for her.

After a long pause, you take a breath, letting your gaze drift to the fern by the window, its leaves glossy and perfect, so meticulously maintained it almost looks fake. You wonder if it’s ever felt the strain of trying to keep everything together, to present a flawless exterior while something more fragile lurks beneath the surface.

“You know,” you say, almost to yourself, “it’s funny. For the longest time, I thought love was just a distraction, a temporary fix for people who couldn’t handle being alone.” You take another drag from your cigarette, exhaling slowly. “But with her, it’s… it’s different. It’s like she makes everything brighter, sharper, like she’s tuned into some frequency I didn’t know existed”

Dr. Vargas doesn’t respond, just nods, letting you continue.

“And the worst part?” You chuckle, a self-deprecating sound. “The worst part is that she’s getting to me. She’s in my head, even when she’s not there. I find myself thinking about her in the middle of the day, wondering what she’s up to, if she’s thinking about me too”

There’s a fragility in the admission, a crack in the armour you’ve built around yourself. And it terrifies you, this sense of letting someone in, of letting them get close enough to matter.

You stub out your cigarette, watching the last curl of smoke dissipate into the air. It feels like a metaphor for something, though you’re not sure what.

Dr. Vargas gives you a small, knowing smile. “Maybe falling in love isn’t as bad as you think it will be,” she says gently.

You shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s right. Because for all your detachment, all your carefully cultivated distance, there’s something about Alexia that feels like home, like she’s a part of you you didn’t realise was missing.

“Maybe,” you say, the words soft, barely audible.

Love. The word lingers like an uninvited guest. You try to dismiss it, try to laugh it off, but it keeps creeping back in.

[lizzieisright]

I actually asked another creator this too, but if your requests ARE open, can you do a comfort fic where Abby starts dating reader and it's like her first relationship outside of a manipulative/controlling/abusive relationship? where abbys just super sweet and reassuring and just :((

I love your writing sm so!!

Palestine: what can you do

I'm ready to suffer (and I'm ready to hope)

Okay actually I saw these amazing women who are paediatric PTs on youtube and thought Abby would make an amazing paediatric PT, so this is modern au! 

Tw for the mentions of abusive situations. 

/-/-/-/-/-/-

When you finally leave Sandy you swear to not ever date again.

And you don’t.

You find a therapist and start spending more time with your friends again. They’re incredibly supportive of you and they don’t let you sit at home, always asking you to hang out or go somewhere. They’re eager to introduce the world back to you and it’s wonderful, but you’re exhausted. Sandy took every piece of you and it's damn hard work to gain it back, and dealing with the fear of being shamed for not having a good time when your friends put so much effort into it is very hard. It takes a lot of reminders from them to make you feel okay, but somewhere in your mind you still expect them to blow out on you. They never do.

And you start to feel like you’re in a good place now. Of course, when we feel like we’re finally free, the Universe needs us to remember how much work is still ahead of us. Your reminder comes to your work at the end of the work day on Friday with a bouquet of lilies that smell as suffocating as the person holding them.

“Hi baby.” Sandy smiles at you, but you don’t move closer than 3 feet. You want to go around her if she had a bomb in these flowers.

The good thing - you expected it. You weren’t surprised to see her here, so she lost her element of shock that would have disarmed you.

“What do you want?” You ask coldly.

“Come on baby, it’s Friday! I thought it would be a good time for us to go on a date, discuss what happened and you know, make up. I miss you.”

You clench your fists. She wants to discuss what happened - is she ready to admit her mistakes and change? Is it a sign that everything will work out this time?

No. No “this time”.

“I have plans.”

The angry furrow on Sandy's face just proves you made the right decision. The bouquet falls on the floor and she starts crying.

“I thought you loved me!” Sandy howls and your colleagues are now paying attention to the whole situation. “You have a date, don't you? Already moved on, huh? Fucking slut.”

It's humiliating, but you understand with horror that you're used to it. It's not the first time when your coworkers see Sandy in this state.

“I'm just hanging out with Niki.” You reassure Sandy because you don't want to hurt her - she is a human after all and she was always so jealous, so insecure about your loyalty. People betrayed her in the past, and you have a hard time blaming her.

“Of course, the moment I'm out of the picture Niki is there to lick your wounds! I bet she does more than just licking your wounds.”

The shame flares up and you take a breath. You slipped up. You fell for her shit again.

“It doesn't concern you anymore.”

You don't wait for her answer, too scared she will get to you again. You turn around and go into the office where she will not be allowed to follow.

At your next appointment with your therapist, you're pissed off at yourself.

“Why did I even speak to her? I knew it would end badly!”

“Well, it's normal to speak to people when they speak to you. You told her you're busy and she tried to manipulate you again, but you slowed down, noticed what she was doing, and made the right decision. I'd say this situation shows how much progress you've made. You protected yourself.”

These words bring you back to reality. You sigh.

“She will come to my work again.”

Dr. Spencer hums.

“You told me before that you would like to explore different opportunities in your work field. Maybe you should take yourself on that.”

This is how you end up getting a job as the nurse in a paediatric clinic. It is in a different place of the city and takes a different route, so Sandy won’t be able to catch you at a metro station if she tries. You don’t tell your colleagues where you’re going, just saying you wanted to take time for yourself and relax, removing the possibility of Sandy finding you again.  

You're excited - working with kids and helping them seems like an opportunity to heal something in yourself by doing something good. The head of the clinic, Sevika, gives you a tour after your final interview to meet the team and she also introduces you to the doctor you’ll be working with.

“Doctor Anderson?” Sevika calls when you enter the office. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, hang on.” The voice of this woman is soft and friendly, and it reassures you.

“I want you to meet your new nurse.”

Something falls and you hear a children’s song playing and the room is not illuminated by different colours. Adorable.

“Sorry, it’s a mess here.” You hear her voice again and then Dr. Anderson emerges.

You just stare. She is tall and has broad shoulders, her compression shirt under her scrubs shows off her muscled arms - which is expected, she is a PT - her blonde hair is braided and her braid rests on her shoulder. Dr. Anderson is incredibly pretty, and you’re a woman enough to admit it and stay professional.

“Hi. I’m Abby.” Dr. Anderson smiles and holds her hand for a handshake.

You tell her your name and shake her hand - god, the grip these women have here.

“Would you walk Ms. (Y/n) through everything here?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Dr. Anderson shows you everything: where is all the equipment, the toys for kids, the changing room. She tells you all about the protocols - which you’re familiar with as well, except for dealing with overprotective parents and dealing with kids’ pain: at your previous clinic you mostly worked with adults.

“I’m very excited.” You admit after your tour is finished.

“Yeah?” Dr. Anderson grins. “Be prepared to learn a lot of baby songs.”

You laugh and feel very optimistic. You feel like you can have your life back now.

Your first day might not go as smoothly as you wanted, but Dr. Anderson is patient with you. She doesn’t snap at you when you follow her instruction wrong for the third time and doesn’t tell you off after patients leave. She just gives you tips and leaves it to you to correct it. You don’t know if she notices how you flinched in fear when you made a mistake the first time or if she is always like this, but you’re grateful anyway.

The kids are adorable and resilient, they don’t give up and it makes you cry a little. The way Dr. Anderson praises them and holds them and explains to parents what she is doing is admirable. Watching her hold a 3yo toddler on her palms is equally impressive and attractive. Dr. Anderson is attractive, it’s hard not to be drawn to her, but you shove your emotions deep, deep down - it’s incredibly unprofessional. You complain about it to Dr. Spencer and she just chuckles and reminds you, “Attraction happens unconsciously and you can’t control it, so stop fighting it.” It annoys you that she is right.

After three months working together you become friends and you call Dr. Anderson Abby now. Because honestly, she looks absolutely ridiculous in her Hello Kitty cap. You find your rhythm and now you work extremely smoothly - you know exactly when the kid needs to be distracted or when Abby needs your help during different exercises.

And Abby doesn’t tell you - because she is also aware how unprofessional she is - but she adores you. You’re so good with kids it makes Abby jealous sometimes, how you somehow know what exactly will stop the kid from crying. You’re also good with her - you take as much as possible from her shoulders and Abby now has someone to rely on.

She knows she is ears deep in love when you send her a video of a bright squeaky octopus and tell her you’re going to buy it for her office and then a few days later you admit to her that it’s actually a dog toy and you got in a pet section. Abby cackles and promises not to tell anyone. Especially since the octopus is a hit with a few kids she is treating.

Abby is desperate. She knows she can’t ask you on a date, but love makes a fool out of the best of us, so on the day that marks four months since you’ve been working together, Abby goes to Sevika’s office to embarrass herself.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Dr. Anderson.” Sevika tells her as much. “Ms. (Y/n) is not employed by you and you have no authority over her. Ask the girl out and don’t waste my time. If it goes south I’ll just send her to Grayson.”

“Thanks, Sevika.”

“Get the fuck out, Anderson.”

Abby laughs and goes back to work, hopeful.

And Abby is not delusional - you do like her. She is caring and patient and funny as hell. But you’re too scared both because you’re her nurse and because as much as you work in therapy, Sandy doesn’t let go of you. Dr. Spencer had to deal with your multiple spirals after you started working with Abby and fucking up or thinking you’re fucking up. “Now name me 10 things that are different about Dr. Anderson and Sandy” was said at least 5 times. Well, your life is routine based so you schedule your spirals once a month, it seems.

So yes, you like Abby a lot. But you’re so broken that when Abby finally gains courage and,

“Do you have plans this weekend?”

“Sleep for 12 hours counts?” You laugh, oblivious.

“Would you-“ Abby takes a big breath and now you’re panicking, scared she’ll tell you something mean. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You just stand there and stare at her in shock. Abby gives you time, but her nerves are not that strong, so she gives up when the silence starts to feel too big.

“I’m sorry.” Abby says as politely as possible, not wanting to burden you with her disappointment. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I-uh- no, it’s okay! I just- I didn’t expect it.” You say while anxiety is buzzing inside you. “I upset you, I’m sorry.” You cringe when you understand you projected onto Abby again.

“Hey, it’s totally fine. I understand, believe me.” Abby smiles.

You’re too scared to agree - you don’t feel like you’re ready for dating - so you let the awkward silence fill the room.

That evening you spend overthinking, convincing yourself Abby deserves better, that you’re not good enough for her and you can’t involve her in your issues.

“So Dr. Anderson, who you like, likes you back?” Dr. Spencer asks when you retell her the whole story. “Why don’t you tell her you’d go on a date with her?”

“Because I’m not what she needs. She needs someone who is better than whatever I am.” Dr. Spencer nods compassionately. She wants to bring your attention to how you speak about yourself, but she chooses to go on a different route.

“Don’t take her choice away. Let her decide what she needs. After all, who is the expert on her needs?”

“She is.” You admit and feel like you can breathe again. You're not responsible for Abby's choices, so you can't decide for her. It makes you feel free.

Abby is not having the time of her life on Saturday evening, moping around and cringing at herself for asking you out and reading the situation wrong, when her phone rings. She sees your contact and her heart speeds up from anxiety and hope.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me. I-um. I’m sorry for yesterday, I was just- Sorry, not the point. Is your offer still standing?” You sound extremely nervous and it’s cute. Abby smiles and chuckles, happy.

“Yes. Of course.” She says softly and hears your shaky sigh. “Are you free tomorrow?”

You’re very nervous on your first date with Abby - you don’t want to upset her. So you dress and redress and redress until you think you don’t look too embarrassing. Abby smiles and compliments your outfit when she sees you, and some of your anxiety goes away. You’re painfully aware that you feel like you’re walking on eggshells during your date - Abby took you to an art gallery and then to dinner - and you know it’s not because of Abby. Abby has been so sweet and considerate the whole time and you’re sure she doesn’t feel comfortable with how tense you are at some moments, but the past still grips you tightly.

So you come clean to her when you go for a walk after dinner.

“I’m sorry I’ve been weird.” You start and Abby looks at you to show that she is listening. “My past relationship was not great and I’m dealing with the aftermath now. Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay grounded in reality.” You’re so deeply ashamed of yourself you can’t look at Abby. You expect her to dump you right away, or laugh at you, or call you weird, but nothing like this happens.

“Oh.” She says, surprised. She thought you were just shy, but it makes sense. “Thank you for telling me. Is it why you didn’t agree to the date when I asked you on Friday?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You cringe, but Abby looks at you softly.

“Don’t. We all have our battles. I’m glad you called me back.”

You can’t help your smile. Abby can’t help but to ask if she can kiss you.

The first sign of how “not great” your past relationship was happens three weeks into dating. It was the end of the day and you were packing your things when your phone made a sound. You quickly checked it and then looked at Abby, panicked. Abby stops packing her bag, worried.

“Did something happen?”

“N-no. My friend just texted me. She asked me if we could go for drinks.” You admit, scared to lie to Abby and scared she will not be pleased with you. “Can I?”

“Can you what?” Abby asks, confused, but your mind is registering it as anger. You take a breath to calm down.

“Can I go? If you don’t want me to, I won’t, I promise.”

Abby stops completely. Her heart breaks when she understands what is happening, and why it’s happening.

“Baby, hey. Take a breath, yeah?” She speaks softly and comes closer to you to hold your hands gently. “I’m not going to be mad if you go anywhere, especially to meet your friends. You don’t need to ask my permission, okay? You’re your own person with your own life.”

You sniffle and Abby coos and hugs you tightly.

“I’m sorry.” You say into her shoulder. “I just-“

“It takes time to heal. I understand.” You cry even harder in her arms. “I promise I’m not going to be mad about it. Can’t be sure about Kyle though.”

You laugh through your tears - Kyle is a two year old who is obsessed with the noises you can make. It’s the only thing that keeps him calm when he does his exercises, and you have to be in the room during his appointments.

“Thank you.” You tell Abby honestly and she kisses your forehead.

You’re still nervous when you go to see Niki the next day, but Abby just tells you to be safe and call her if you need her, and that she can pick you up if you want her to. You’re not sure, and you tell her that, and that you will text her if you change your mind. It’s scary, to put a boundary, but Abby just kisses your cheek and tells you to have fun.

“You look so happy.” Niki tells you after you caught up on mundane news and gossip.

“I’m actually dating someone.” You confess and Niki's mouth hangs open in a dramatic shock.

“Really? And how is it going? What’s her name? Do you have a picture?”

“Her name is Abby. We work together, and she is amazing.” You giggle and show Niki one of the pictures you took together when you were fooling around at the clinic.

“Wow. She looks strong.” Niki winks and you get flustered. “I hope she treats you well.”

“I told her about Sandy. She has been very patient with my bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.” Niki frowns, stubborn. “Sandy is a fucking psycho and she really hurt you.”

“Abby told me she can pick me up if I want her to, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to understand what is normal behaviour and what is not.” You admit and Niki squeezes your bicep, showing her support.

“Well, when we hung out while you were with Sandy, she texted you constantly and then showed up ten minutes later to drag you out of here.”

“It wasn’t like this at first.”

“No, at first she was just constantly texting you and asking you about stupid shit.” Niki says pointedly and eyes your phone that hasn't made a sound during the whole evening. "I think your girlfriend just cares about you. You know, like a decent person."

You end up texting Abby and asking her to come when you and Niki feel like it’s time to go home. Abby replies with a thumb up, and then 20 minutes later she enters the pub and smiles at you. You introduce Niki to Abby and they shake hands while you laugh at Niki’s face when she gets to experience a handshake with a PT.

“Are you ready to go or do you guys want to have some more time? I’ll wait.” Your heart feels swollen from feelings: Abby is so sweet you can’t help but nuzzle into her side. “I feel like this is the answer.” She chuckles and Niki coos at you two.

“Let’s go.” Niki smiles like a fox, happy to see you happy.

“Do you have a ride?” Abby asks Niki while she gives you her forearm to hold on to. “We can drop you off.”

“No, I called a taxi already.” She smiles and winks at you.

When you go outside Abby takes off her jacket and places it around you shoulders and you smile like a lovesick idiot. It’s not even this chilly, but Abby still thinks of your comfort.

When Niki is safe in her taxi, you both get inside Abby’s car as well.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah.” You smile.

“Good.”

The fights, as it turns out, are not scary or loud or violent - you’re baffled by the fact that Abby actually listens to you when you voice your concerns. You expect her to lash out or tell you you’re imagining things or that you’re making a villain out of her, but nothing like this happens. Abby has her own issues: she is very problem-solving focused and her first reaction is “how can I/we fix this”, and it hurts when you actually want her to comfort you, but you both learn how to deal with it. You honestly can’t even call them fights, they’re more like troubleshoots.

What is scary is that the first few times when you voice your problems and Abby reacts like a normal person, you bottle up your anxiety. You exhaust yourself with overthinking: is Abby going to leave you? Are you too much to handle? Are you being a burden? How long before your stupid whims will make Abby sick of you?

You can’t bear it. You see how patient Abby is with kids, how she pushes them just enough for them to progress and evolve, how kind she is, how she calls them “sirs” and “ma’ams” when they do something on their own, and all you can think is that you don’t deserve her. How amazing Abby is and how fucked up you are, and how much problems you cause.

You’re spiralling, and you know it, able to recognise your own insanity now, but you can’t stop it. But the one thing Dr. Spencer taught you is to speak up, and one day, when you’re at Abby’s place, you find your courage to speak up.

“Am I being too much?”

“Hm?” Abby is confused. She is often confused when your issues come out of nowhere. “What do you mean?”

“Will you break up with me because I ask for too much?” You ask quietly, really trying to ignore how your voice shakes because you’re on the verge of tears.

Abby stares at you for a second, but in the next she is hugging you. The dam inside you breaks and you sob into her chest, letting all anxiety go out.

“I will not leave you. I’m here. You don’t ask for too much, baby, you barely ask for anything. Ask for more, ask the world from me, okay? Ask for the most ridiculous shit, it’ll only make me love you more.” Abby murmurs and your sobs get louder. “Let it out, yeah, let it out. I love taking care of you, it’s my favourite thing in the world.”

“I’m just so scared.” You say into Abby’s chest as you cling to her. “I want to be deserving of you.”

“Baby, you’re deserving of me just by existing. You’re here and this alone makes me happy.”

Abby lets you cry it out and then brings you some water when you calm down. You are still vulnerable and anxious, but Abby cuddles you and talks to you to soothe you. 

“Do you think I'm weak?” You ask her ten minutes later and Abby chuckles. 

“Quite the opposite, actually. I don't think if I went through what you did I would ever let myself trust someone again. But you are brave. And you're so incredibly kind and thoughtful. The only weakness you have is probably sweets.” You both chuckle. “And I'm very angry that there's a person who dared to hurt you like this and put this bullshit into your head. Honestly, can you give me her address? I know exactly how to break her bones.”

“Can you promise to tell me if dealing with me gets tiring?”

“Of course.” Abby promises you genuinely, because she knows this moment might come - she is only human. But she knows that even when this moment comes, she will be by your side. 

+ 1 nsfw

When you first have sex you're both very worked up and you cling to Abby impatiently, clawing at her shirt and her pants, not really sure what you want to be gone first. Abby thinks it's cute, how needy you are, and she tells you as much before she can think.

“Someone is needy, huh?” She teases you and expects you to get flustered, but instead you freeze and look at her, wide eyed and hurt. 

“Sorry.” You say, ashamed, and Abby's heart breaks. She takes your face into her palms and looks into your eyes with such tenderness you have to look away. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like this. I like how enthusiastic you are. It makes me feel wanted.” Abby smirks and your cheeks heat up. “Is there… is there anything I need to be careful about?”

“I’m not really good at sex.” You admit. “I wasn't able to make my ex cum.” You don't tell Abby the whole story, you don't want to ruin the mood, but Sandy was never happy with your skills: she had to watch porn on her phone to get aroused when you topped. And she hated when you didn't do as she wanted when you bottomed and how needy and pathetic you were. 

“Well. I don't trust your ex’s opinion since she is a piece of shit.” Abby smirks. “And sex it not about destination-”

“It’s about the journey, I know.” You chuckle. Dr. Spencer likes this saying so much. You take a breath and brace yourself: you know sex is not a place where you can hide something from Abby without hurting you both. Honesty is crucial in sex. “I don't think I can undress fully. Can I leave my shirt on?”

“Of course. Can I- can I still touch you under it? I really wanna feel how soft your tits are.”

You hide your face in embarrassment and giggle. You nod and Abby kisses your cheek.

“If you don't enjoy something, tell me, yeah? And if you want we can really make your ex look stupid.” 

“How?”

“With you I really don't need much to cum. One stroke wonder if you will.”

You snort and hit Abby's shoulder. 

“You're horrible.”

Abby grins and kisses you. You do make Sandy look stupid that night, when Abby's thighs close around your head and she cums on your face so hard your ears start to ring. 

[copperbadge]

How did you find the doctor(s) who assessed you for ADHD? Im looking into the process of getting diagnosed because (although ive suspected I might have adhd for years now) I've been struggling a lot more lately and i want to try medication to see if it helps at all. Im trying to search for psychiatrists through my health insurance portal but the the results im getting are all for child/adolescent psychiatry specialists, and I dont think that'll be much help for an adult adhd assessment? Did you have an established therapist to refer you for your assessment or were you able to find a psychiatrist independently?

I actually just kind of had to freeform it, but that does mean I have some tips to share!

I will say, I have never once used a health insurance portal to find someone to treat me for anything. Often their search engine is fucked up and the information is sometimes out of date. I almost always either ask someone who I know has had similar issues if they have a recommendation, ask my treating physician if I have one, or just google until I find someone reputable-looking; any qualified medical center or professional will list what insurance they take anyway, and you can always ask when you make the appointment.

So here's the process for how to do that!

When I was first considering it, I asked a friend who'd had an evaluation that came back not-ADHD, which I liked because it meant we knew it wasn't like, a weird Adderall pill mill or something. I really wanted to have a professional and thorough evaluation because I knew myself and knew I was capable of gaming a questionnaire. The place she had her evaluation was unfortunately having some staffing issues; part of the reason it took me so long is that I played phone tag with them for ages -- I'd call, and regardless of what time of day I called, their scheduler would be "out", so I'd leave a message and never get a call back. Ultimately I said "I really need to talk to a human, because your scheduler has not returned any of my numerous calls" and they said they could transfer me to another office outside of Chicago (in the burbs). That was not going to be accessible to me, so I told them thanks but I'll go somewhere else. Then COVID hit and I was not going to go anywhere near a medical center unless I had to for about two years.

So, when I was making my second serious run at getting evaluated, I did what might be expected of me by longtime readers of this blog: I made a spreadsheet.

I want to caveat this up top with REALLY IMPORTANT CONTEXT: I did not do all of this in a single day. The process from starting research to making an evaluation appointment took about a month, and probably would have taken longer if I wasn't getting somewhat desperate. Do not push yourself to do this as a single act. Research alone is a multi-day process; some days I looked at the open tabs and only entered one tab's worth of information. It took me quite a bit of time to write the form email I sent inquiring about an assessment. It took me time to call the clinic back when they asked me to call to book the appointment. This is a series of steps, not a single leap.

So!

I was looking for a clinic rather than an individual, in part because I'd heard a couple of horror stories about people who went to a psychiatrist and just got argued with for an hour instead of actually getting evaluated. So I googled, and here are some key terms for you, chicago adult adhd assessment. Chicago obviously for the region, but "adult adhd" (putting it in quotes will help) is the important term that will help you filter out a lot of child psych stuff. A lot of what I looked at did included family or child assessment/therapy but were clear that they also evaluated adults.

Then I went through every legit-looking search result and noted down, in my spreadsheet, the name of the clinic/company, the contact phone and email, the URL, the physical location (I needed to be able to get to it fairly easily) and whether they took my insurance. Even if they didn't take my insurance (all but one did) I still put them into the spreadsheet so that if I found them again I could check the sheet and know I didn't need to investigate further. I also tended to bump more legitimate and friendly-looking places to the top of the sheet. And if I were going to do it again I would also look for one specific thing, which is an assessment guide of some kind.

The assessment guide may be something they only give you after you speak with them, so it's not a no-go if they don't have one on their website, but it basically tells you what generally will go on during the assessment, how long it will take, and what you should bring. A full assessment like I had is estimated to take 4-6 hours and they recommended I wear layers so I wouldn't be overly cold/warm in their office, and to bring a snack. That's the kind of information you want, duration of the assessment and what they recommend for you, to ensure that you're working with people who are thorough and care about your comfort.

So, I have this spreadsheet now of places to reach out to, which I know take my insurance and do adult assessment. In the spreadsheet I also had columns for what date I contacted them and whether they'd responded. I started reaching out via email, one per day, with the form email I'd written.

The form email basically said "I'm 42 with no previous diagnosis but I have a family history of autism and dyslexia. I've been told I should get assessed for ADHD, so I'm looking for a clinic that will do the assessment and takes (my insurance). I prefer to be contacted by email but if need be, my phone number is (phone number). Please let me know if you have any open appointments and what information you will need from me to book an evaluation with you." (You can always ask for more information about the actual evaluation process once they respond.)

If I didn't get a response within 24 hours, I moved on to the next, but I only greyed out the text in that line of the spreadsheet; I didn't disqualify/remove the nonresponsive ones because again, I wanted to make sure I kept that information in case they eventually did respond. I did this with about ten clinics, because I figured I must be able to find at least one in ten who could do the eval, and I could go back and research more if necessary.

I think the third or fourth one I reached out to was the first to respond, and I ended up going with them; I had a very positive experience in the assessment itself but it was a real pain in the ass getting the documentation from them -- they took about a month to go through the evaluation data (this is not abnormal but is rather longer than usual according to my psychiatrist) and they gave me an in-person-by-zoom report once it was ready. That said, it took another four months and the threat of reporting them to the state to get them to send me the text of the eval (in part because the evaluator left the clinic unexpectedly with my formal report not yet written). But that's something that's truly impossible to know until you're working with them, and highly unusual, so don't let concerns about that deter you. If you end up in that situation come hit me up and I'll tell you how I dealt with that.

My eval recommended an executive function coach, but if I haven't been able to func it by now I never will, so I thanked them for the recommendation and went looking for a psychiatrist unaffiliated with the clinic to prescribe me meds. There, the key words you're going to be looking for are again "adult adhd" but also "adult disability" and if you want medication that's less likely to be a huge fucking hassle, "medication management". My psychiatrist and I meet every two months to reup my prescription, but he doesn't require me to take a regular drug test or meet him in person in order to get a new scrip, as some people have encountered. We meet in person once or twice a year (I can't remember, it's due to a legal requirement in Illinois) but otherwise it's over zoom.

So yeah -- it's a process, but there are ways to streamline and manage it, and a few tripwires in place to make sure you don't end up screwed by the system. Definitely feel free to ask if you have questions, either here or if you want a more indepth conversation you can email me at copperbadge@gmail.com. GOOD LUCK!

[portgasdwrld]

Strawhat reactions to a chiropractor or massage therapist joining their crew? (Sfw) I know they get injured and could use it.

I love those random ideas lately 😭helps me out if my writer block💕

📂Strawhat + chiropractor/massage therapist reader joining their crew

Mostly them reacting to you proposing them a session

Luffy

He’s so fucking excited. He’s jumping everywhere, begging to be your first client. He’s already laying down in your office to have his body cracked, but then you realize as you do it that his body is literally made of rubber and it’s impossible for you to work on him. When you tell him the news, he’s whining and tells you to try again😭 He’s all pouty so you decide to massage him and that put him out to sleep real quick. He went from sulking to sleeping. When he woke up, he commented about how good this was and truly he never felt this alive in a while.

Zoro

He would totally refuse at first and complain about how he doesn’t need it and how he only needs to rest a little (a good nap), and he will be fine. But then you actually try to convince him to do it, as you saw how much his body had to go through with his training, the battles, his poor sleep position… He finally agrees only after Chopper tells him how it can better his performance and make him feel more relaxed. He barely admits that it did in fact made him feel better, but now he jumps to the occasion whenever you propose it 🚶🏻‍♀️

Nami & Robin

The girls are so freaking happy especially Nami. She pretty much asks you for a session whenever she feels sore after working hard on maps or when she had to fight. She chats to you about life and tell you some gossips. She loves to make conversation and treat it a bit like a spa day.

Robin was down to try it, but she usually use her devil fruit if she feels sore somewhere and need to release some built up tension, because of stress or battles. Basically, she never needed someone for that, but after Nami told her how amazing you were, she gave it a try. She’s mostly silent and take this time to relax her body and empty her thoughts.

Usopp

He’s a bit scared at first because he heard some people talk about horror stories at the chiropractor. He heard some people got their bones cracked with no going back to normal or how some doctor were secretly psychopath 💀💀💀 To say the least, he really didn’t see the appeal to risk his life like this 😔 If you poke fun at his ego, he might do it just to prove it to you that he isn’t scared (his legs are shaking the moment he enters your office). He has difficulty relaxing which put you off , You have to wait for couple minutes, make him sips some relaxing tea. When it finally happens, he’s bragging about how cool it is and how everyone should do it🙄 there is legit nothing to be scared off pfff???

Sanji

I don’t know why, but I get the feel Sanji would somewhat be shy 😭 When you ask him if he wanna have a session to help with his stress, he would just look at you like 😳?? He would try to make analogy to food, like it’s a bit like how he hit(?) the meat before cooking it so it’s tender, but in that case it’s gonna make him relaxed. You kinda just stare and nod because whut 😭 He honestly could use it with all the cooking he does and the fights. He loved it but he got flustered a lot. He was red-shy when he left 🚶🏻‍♀️

Brook

He’s a skeleton.

Franky

Finally FRANKYYY, this man was BORN for this. He is so excited and is so talkative. He asks you when you started and why did it became your profession. He pretty much tell you to only focus on the back of his body because it’s less solid than the rest of his cyborg body. So you went in for a massage and he’s really vocal through it. As it ends, he tells you he’s happy you joined and he will be a regular which makes you laugh because you two are literally on the same boat lol 😭

[sinistersuns]

feel too bad to talk to anyone > feel bad (anxious) about not talking to anyone > get more stressed > pain gets worse

my back has been hurting for like an entire month and i’ve been too tired to get out of bed for more than food all day so uhhhhh that’s probably not good

[svtoose]

Backache ft. Kim Mingyu

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader

word count: .6k

f + c : reader helps mingyu out n its very fluffy

warnings: some innuendos, mingyu's back is really sore

request: "Hi I was wondering if I could request a mingy fic in which mingyu's back pain requires him to need a massage but due to weather conditions he cant go so reader offers to massage him and does it pretty well"

a/n : I've been pretty mia so here it is!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After an exhausting day of practice, Mingyu feels the muscles in his back begin to painfully tighten. His neck, his shoulders, his back, are all seeking the attention of a masseuse. As he heads down to exit the Hybe building, the sound of raindrops thudding against the windows becomes apparent to him. The awful weather conditions leave Mingyu with two options; he can either spend his whole night commuting to the masseuse’s office, or he can simply drive home to you.

After weighing his options, Mingyu decides to head home. He misses you tons and figures his back pain is nothing cuddles cant soothe. He pulls his hood over his head and jogs out the door to his car. While he drives home, all he can think about is how you’re managing to get home in this weather.  Mingyu pulls into the driveway and head up to your apartment, eager to change out of his damp clothes. 

He takes a quick shower which helps to soothe his pain, but the soreness in his bones is becoming overwhelming. With careful steps, he makes his way to the living room couch and lays on his stomach, hoping that’ll offer some relief. “Y/nnn” he whines to himself, praying for you to come home soon. He knows your presence will make things better.

After dosing off for a few minutes, Mingyu finally hears the door unlock. 

“Oh, hi Mingyu,” you say slightly out of breath from dashing through the rain.

“Baby, I missed you.” You chuckle at your whiny boyfriend.

“I missed you too, Gyu. Is everything okay?” You begin to worry as Mingyu lies limp on the couch, not even arising for your daily after-work hug.

“Hurt my back today in practice,” he groans into the cushion. You walk toward the couch and take a seat next to your injured Mingyu.

“Aww, you poor thing. Did you want to go to your massage therapist?... Well maybe not in this weather,” you consider your options while your hands mindlessly begin to work their way into Mingyu’s shoulders.

“Ahh.” He makes a sharp sound and your hands immediately retract.

“Oh Im so sorry Mingyu!”

“No, no. That feels good. Can you keep doing it?” He turns your head toward and smiles along with his plea. Surely, you won’t deny your boyfriend any sort of relief.

“Move over a bit,” you order. You have him lay on his backs arms to his side, as you take a seat down his lower back, almost straddling your boyfriend as you begin to undo the knots in his shoulders.

Your fingers gracefully move along the crevices as the tension begins to loosen. In the meanwhile, Mingyu makes all sorts of questionable noises.

“Quiet down unless you want the neighbors to get the wrong idea.” That earns you a little chuckle from your boyfriend.

After good fifteen minutes, you climb off mingles back and take a seat by his side, unsure if he’s still awake. 

“I’m done, love. How does that feel?”

He turns over, wearing a most euphoric expression on his face. “Thank you baby. That was the best thing I’ve ever felt,” he exhales. "The best thing?" You ask interrogatively. He looks taken aback back by your comment. After giving  himself a moment to think, he speaks again. "Second best thing." He answers lightly smirking, as he pulls you into his arms.

For the rest of the night, you guys cuddle in each other’s warmth, recounting the details of your days. By 11 p.m. the conversation has completely taken a turn, somewhere into the bare embrace of one another. 

[calummss]

Orange, White and Dark Rosé | Rebekah Mikaelson

masterlist

summary: with cancer slowly eating you alive, you come back to school to see a beautiful girl that has started to make you question everything you thought you knew

pairing: fem! reader x rebekah mikaelson

words: 3.9k

a/n: for my girl kissers!! <33 also i believe this is my longest fic yet… NOT PROOFREAD

You’ve had the worst few months of your life. What started out as a simple cough became more painful throughout the weeks. Each cough as though your lungs were torn from your chest, no air to keep you breathing. Night sweats became drowning; difficulty swallowing became not eating at all.

‘You have pleural mesothelioma, Miss Blanchard.’ The words the doctor uttered still so freshly imprinted on your mind. He continued moving his lips but nothing but inaudible muffles penetrated your ears as the sound of your own heartbeat filled your empty void.

Several nights after your diagnosis you woke up. The air drained from your lungs as fluid started to build up between your lungs and chest wall. The sensation of drowning without water in sight. It was a nightmare. Your body turning on you, ready to take you away despite the care you took to look after it.

Following those events you were pulled out of school, your parents worried sick as their daughter was at risk for involuntary death any minute of any day. The feeling of loneliness only increasing as you spent most days alone in your room; on the chair at your therapist's office; or the dining table chair, eyes piercing through you as you tried to make conversation about anything else but your cancer.

‘Do you need help cutting the chicken?’, ‘Need more water?’, ‘Leave the dishes, sweetheart. Your dad and I’ll get to them.’

Your cancer not only took your life but your maturity, letting people treat you like a damsel in distress, needing help with everything when you wish you could just forget everything bad for one day and live as normally as you could, one day at a time.

‘I’m going back to school,’ you said, placing your cutlery down on the dinner mat, staring onto your plate as you could hear the chewing of rubbery green beans stop.

Your mother grabbed her glass of wine, clearing her throat and washing it down all at once. Your father stared at your mother as she tried to find words that reflected her wish to protect you and to keep you as comfortable as possible.

‘I’m sorry, darling, you said you wanted to go back to school?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I ask what brought this sudden request.’ She neatly folded her ageing hands underneath her chin, her eyes resting on you as your father’s eyes jumped from frame to frame, unsure what to say.

‘I just want to live as normal as possible,’ you let out a sigh, ‘I miss my friends, I miss having to do stuff, I miss…I can’t believe I’m saying this,’ you chuckled, feeling heat rush through your face. ‘I miss homework. School assignments, presentations, stuff I hated before but made me normal. A normal girl living a boring life. I’m missing my chance at a full life just because of this cancer I’m sure will rob me even further as time passes. I need to be able to feel like I belong somewhere despite…all this.’

Their eyes stayed focused on you, soft eyebrows trying to interpret what you needed the most in a time where everything slowly started to deteriorate.

‘Have you thought about what your school life would be like now, Y/n?’ Your father engulfed your hands, his thumb rubbing circles as he often did. ‘You would need to carry around an oxygen tank in case of an emergency. You complained every day that the school day was hard and now it will be three times that of before. I understand where you're coming from but I need you to know what decision you are making…Your mother and I only want what’s best for you and if that is going back to school so be it. But we will have to make sure you are okay at all times.’

‘I really do want to go back…’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine,’ your mother took your other free hand. ‘You can go back to school. But promise us that when things get hard that you will tell us and may have to take a step back from school again.’

‘I promise.’ You smiled at them, squeezing their hands tight. ‘I will accept my limits when they come.’

The very next week you stood back on the familiar ground of Mystic Falls High; home to the timberwolves. The bell you dreaded every morning , rather wanting to exchange gossip with Elena and Caroline. However that particular morning you have never felt more excited to walk through the halls. Hallways you haven’t seen in a few months. Faces of fellow students.

Walking through the door you noticed a heap of pitiful glances, welcome backs, get well soons and prayers. It wasn't unusual for everyone to know what had happened to you, Mystic Falls was a small town after all. Their words of condolences were sweet. You cherished them. But when you live on limited time, burned out hope and terminal cancer with a survival rate of 9.6%, it was hard to pretend like you would get better when their words could easily be uttered to a person that simply caught the common cold. Nothing could fix you. The only thing you had were fifteen months to make sure to drain every last drop of experiences life has to offer. No prayers, no words of the world could help—only medicine could. And even that was a shot in the dark. Caroline had offered her vampire blood to you on more than one occasion, but you were convinced that it wouldn’t help so you declined it over and over again, continuing to deny the chance at a normal life that you craved more than anything.

Heading towards your locker, you placed your emergency oxygen tank inside, the dust of month’s absences piling on old books you had left behind the day the cough became too unbearable.

Closing the door you made your way to your first class of the day; history taught by Mr. Saltzman. Bracing yourself to walk into a room full of eyes, you noticed that the classroom was empty for the exception of a girl. She was beautiful. The type of beautiful you would see beyond your day, wondering whether or not you would see them again. She had light hair, almost as white as her skin that bore freckles across the apples of her cheeks and nose that stuck between pages of a book that let her long black lashes show. Full lips pursed, knitted eyebrows framing her face.

‘I’m sorry,’ you felt rude for interrupting her obvious devotion to studying. ‘Is this history with Mr. Saltzman?’

‘Yes.’ She answered boorishly, eyes stuck on the pages, rushing her words as she paid no attention to you.

‘Where is everyone?’ God you were embarrassed to disrupt her again.

‘How would I know?’ She sighed, finally looking up. Her blue eyes locking with yours as you appreciated her beauty, wishing you looked like her. To be so flawless.

‘Oh, I’m sorry—I just—ehm, it’s kind of my first day back in a few months and the lack of students is making me doubt if I am in fact in the right room…’

‘No, this is the correct room,’ she stopped looking at her notes, her crystal eyes glued to your face as you continued to study her details. ‘So you went here before then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you stop?’

‘Got sick.’ You pressed your lips together, sliding your hands into the back pockets of your jeans that clung to your thighs.

‘What sickness?’ She asked with a genuine look of interest, almost as if it were her first time encountering a sick person. Lucky her.

‘Cancer.’

‘Ohh,’ she puckered up her lips, squinting at you, her words confusingly sounding concerned and uninterested. ‘That sucks.’

‘Yeah,’ you breathed, the continuous standing started to make itself known as your shoulders started to feel lighter. ‘It sucks.’

‘Well you are free to sit next to me. I don’t tend to be liked by most.’ Her pearly teeth peaked between dark roseish lips. ‘I’m Rebekah by the way,’

‘Y/n,’ you smiled back. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Walking over to sit down next to her, the sudden sound of familiar voices washed over you as Caroline and Elena came through the entrance, their eyes widening as soon as they saw you standing back in the classroom that had felt your absence the past months.

‘Y/n, oh my god!’ They almost shouted in union as they sprinted to hug you tight, their arms merging into your back as you reunited with your friends. No hospital visits or phone calls, just friends seeing each other in school like you always have.

‘Come sit with us!’ Caroline dragged you towards the front of the room, your eyes turning back to Rebekah who had observed your encounter with the girls, her eyes smiling back at you, her spark diminished as you parted from her.

In your next class you saw Rebekah again.

Again sitting alone at the dissecting table and when you made up your mind to sit next to her, Rebekah noticing your upcoming footsteps, Elena and Caroline barged through the door like they had before. Pulling you towards the opposite end of where she was sitting, her seat staying vacant as her eyes continued to find you throughout the lesson.

‘Rebekah, wait!’ You called after her, the last sound of the bell signalling the end of the school day.

Rebekah turned around, her blonde hair framing her face. Strands of hair blowing across her face, caught amongst her lashes. The sun reflecting on her skin.

‘About your offer to sit next to you,’ you lifted your arm to block the blazing sun. ‘I would like it if you held that spot for me tomorrow. If you still want me to sit next to you…’

‘Sure, it’s not like it’ll be occupied anytime soon. It’s yours to take.’

‘Okay then…’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/n, okay?’

‘Sure, yeah totally,’ you cleared your throat as you mentally prepared for the criticism you were about to hold above your head. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Rebekah gave you a last smile, ‘Bye.’

‘Bye,’ you whispered, her feet already taking off towards the other side of your way home, leaving behind a manipulative smell of vanilla and macadamia nut, that you swore was the nicest fragrance you had smelled in a long time.

The next day you came walking back through the class again, finding Rebekah by herself at her assigned spot, her hand swiftly moving across her page.

‘Good morning, Y/n.’ She greeted, her eyes never leaving her paper.

‘How could you tell it was me?’

‘I smelled your strawberry perfume before you even entered the room,’ she finally lifted her head to reveal her face.

‘Do you like it?’ What is wrong with me?????

‘I do.’ Nevermind.

‘You don’t mind if I keep my word, right?’ You eyes up the chair next to her, waiting for her response, silently hoping that no one would barge in to seat you away from her.

‘Feel free to use all the space you need.’

You chuckled, letting your feet carry you to the table next to her, her familiar scent back in your memory as you took out your school supplies, feeling her gaze on you.

‘So,’ you turned your head to her body already turned towards you. ‘Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before?’

‘Yeah, I am. I moved here a couple of weeks ago. My brother has been here for a month now and I wanted a change of scenery.’ She let out a breath. ‘There’s only so much of New Orleans you can take.’

��New Orleans? That is very different from Mystic Falls…’ You raised your eyebrows with a grin, your armpit resting over the back of the chair, legs crossed, turned towards her. ‘Do you like it here?’

‘So far I do…’ Rebekah glanced at you, a shimmer of light swimming amongst her pale eyes.

‘That’s good…’ You stared back because it was the only thing you could do.

Her hand reached for your hair, taking a strand of it and twirling it around her index finger, gently laying the curls heated with her body temperature on your shoulder, ‘You have really nice hair.’

‘Thank you,’ you felt a rush of heat make its way to your cheeks, your stomach starting to feel queasy as you let her words repeat in your mind. ‘I love your— well actually everything about you is really beautiful.’

‘You are too kind.’

‘I wouldn’t lie.’

‘I know you’re not.’

‘Good…’ Your eyes couldn’t part from her, her face burned into the back of your mind, still wanting to stare at her as long as you could. Her smile bringing warmth to you.

‘I wouldn’t lie either,’ she repeated.

‘Good.’

The teacher came in, disturbing the awful long eye contact, both cleared by loud coughs, Rebekah and your eyes settling to the front of the class; no more looks being exchanged for the rest of the lesson, though you fought the urge to catch a glimpse.

‘Do you have anything planned today?’ Rebekah and you walk out of the building, the school day coming to an end as grey clouds started to gather above you.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Would you like to come over to mine?’ She turned her face to you. ‘We could watch a movie, bake something, I don’t know. Do something typical for a teenage girl.’

Typical for a teenage girl. Normalcy. She treated you normally. Never once mentioning the fact you were sick or if you were okay with it. She treated you like an equal.

‘I would love to.’ You replied, feeling glad that a person could forget about everything shitty in your life and talk to you like you were just like them.

Rebekah drove you to her home, finding out that she had a rather large heep in possession. The kind of car you’d take to the beach on an early summer morning; running towards the cold water as sand stuck to your naked skin. Rebekah was a good driver, unlike your father that made you glad that you had health insurance…

Seemingly arriving at her house, a big mansion greeted you. Surrounded by trees, a long driveway leading to the mansion’s entrance.

‘This is your house?’ You asked, eyes glued onto the building, imagini how many room it must’ve had. How many square feet it covered.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s so nice.’

‘I know,’ she chuckled, unbuckling her seatbelt. ‘I have to admit that my brother does have great taste when it comes to architecture. Suppose it’s his only good trait.

‘You have a brother?’

‘Too many…’

You let out a laugh, you too unbuckled your seatbelt to step out of her car, feeling so small as you walked towards the door. The interior of the house was just as beautiful. Simple yet classy Rebekah threw her keys onto one of the dressers that stood by the door and told you to follow her, your head turning left and right, mesmerised by everything you took in.

‘Rebekah.’ You suddenly heard a male voice call from behind you. He had a nice accent just like she did.

‘What, Nik?’ She didn’t sound too happy to see him.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

‘This is Y/n from school. Don’t eat her, she has cancer.’

You listened to her with a quizzical look on your face, looking at her as she mirrored your expression.

‘What?’ She asked.

‘Vampire?’ You asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Hmm,’

‘You don’t seem surprised…’

‘I have lived in Mystic Falls all my life,’ you let out a jestful breath. ‘Nothing surprises me anymore.’

‘Well,’ his voice made you turn your back on Rebekah, his tone full of pride and confidence, ‘welcome to my humble abode.’

‘Humble is a great word to describe all of this,’ you grinned, looking at the room once more. ‘But it is really nice. You have good taste.’

‘I know I do. Best get going then,’ he pointed towards Rebekah whose facial expressions couldn’t have made it clearer that she wanted to get away from him.

‘Nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’

You paced towards Rebekah who told you to follow her, different hallways leading towards a really nice kitchen.

She grabbed all the ingredients that you thought was going to make a cake and watched as her eyes crinkled, so focused on finding everything that you needed.

‘Are we making a cake?’

‘We are,’ she snuck a quick grin, her head pack in the cabinet searching for a baking tin.

‘What type of cake?’

‘Well,’ she resurfaced, placing the tin on the counter, her cheeks lightly flushed. ‘I kind of asked Elena what your favourite cake was and she said your favourite was a lemon cake, so we are going to make that. Unless she lied…’

‘No, no,’ you tried hiding a grin, fingers picking at your palm. ‘It is my favourite.’

‘Good.’ Rebekah exclaimed, almost throwing the flour at you. ‘You'll do dry and I’ll do the wets.’

Continuing to make the cake, Rebekah was whisking the cake batter enthusiastically, dancing along to Stacy’s Mom that blasted through the stereo. Carelessly throwing her limbs up and down, swaying her head with the biggest grin you had ever seen…She was so beautiful

‘Oh,’ Rebekah gasped, your mouth widening in shocked as wet drops of batter landed on your face, Rebekah accidentally swinging the wrong arm to the rhythm.

You let out a giggle, trying to swipe away the batter but it was no ise. Every stroke just spreading it more evenly across your face. ‘Shit.’

‘Here I got it,’ she set aside the bowl and came closer, placing her thumb on your cheek, getting the batter on her finger, her eyes momentarily longing on you. She retracted her thumb and licked off the excess, eyes never breaking contact.

You stared at her for what felt like forever, captivated by her face; her eyes, her lips, all whispering to you that you should come closer. You leaned in, your heart beating so powerfully you ought to stop, exhaustion that came with the sickness. But you didn’t. Neither did she. Her breath ricocheted off your cheeks, her glimmering eyes infatuating yours as you could feel your lips take the lead but before your skins touched, a loud opening of the door made you jump back, looking back at what had caused you to separate.

‘What do you want, Elijah?’ Rebekah asked forcefully, the older man’s eyes glimpsing at both you and her

‘Do I need to want something walking around in my house?’

You observed the two, their banter making it clear that he too must be one of the ‘too many’ brothers she had talked about.

Feeling queasy, you quickly said goodbye to Rebekah and Elijah, telling them you weren’t feeling too well, a perk when being the teenager with cancer. Everyone at all times will believe it.

You had to get away from Rebekah. She was clouding your mind and falling for a girl wasn’t supposed to happen. You’ve been with a guy or two and those feelings you felt when you were around them, you recognised as the image of her resurrected itself in your mind. You liked her, but you couldn’t like her. At least not right now.

‘I’m home!’ You called into the house, the smell of grilled eel filtering through the air: your favourite.

‘We’re in the kitchen!’

You placed your backpack next to the stairs, ready to take them to your room once you were done with dinner. Entering the kitchen you saw your mother plate the last of the cut up eel pieces onto the plate, placing it on the table with some salads and rice. Your father stood by the kitchen aisle making some mocktails from his newly purchased mocktail cookbook thing you got him recently.

After dinner you went up to your room, putting the oxygen tube on your face as today’s exhaustion came running to you. Thinking back on the moments that increased your heartbeat.

‘Honey, are you okay?’ You heard your father’s footsteps approaching your room, leaning against the door frame.

‘Yeah,’ you nodded, glancing at your oxygen tank. ‘Hard day. Have to catch my breath. Literally.’

He chuckled, coming in to hug you. ‘Just make sure to tell us once you’ve reached your limit, okay? I know you like to act tough and pretend that you can still keep up but you need to have a reality check. You’re not the same as before and that’s okay. No one is trying to put you in a box. You just need to accept that certain limits cannot be reached anymore…’

‘Yeah I know, dad. I know. It’s just hard having to turn my back on my past life.

The next few weeks Rebekah and you pretended like the moment back at her house didn’t happen. Continuing to sit next to each other in class, meeting at each other’s houses or going out in town.

It was easier ignoring the moment than trying to talk about it because if you were being honest, what would you even say? You liked her as a friend. Nothing more. You’ve known her for less than a month so how could your heart possibly flutter at the thought of her touch on your skin.

Then you were invited to the Mikaelson ball, a card delivered to your doorstep. On the back Rebekah’s writing said, to meet her there to clear stuff up.

So when Friday came, you managed to find a dress and head towards the mansion you had previously entered before. Only this time you were hooked to oxygen after a water build up episode that caused your lungs to fill with water.

Arriving at the mansion you were greeted by servants who took your coat, without looking, wanting to grab your tank thinking it was luggage. ‘I’ll be needing this…’

‘Hi.’

You turned around, already knowing whose soft voice it belonged to.

‘Hi.’

‘You look gorgeous.’ She awed in amazement.

‘You too.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ you noticed her lingering stare on your tank. ‘Lungs filled with water. Nothing crazy.’

‘We need to talk. I’m sorry.’

‘No I’m sorry.’ You said.

‘For what.?’

Compelled in the moment you pulled the last of your confidence together and stepped closer to Rebekah, who looked unsure of what you were about to do. ‘For this.’ You placed your lips on Rebekah’s, gently kissing her lips as a thousand thoughts filled your mind, all screaming to stop, but you didn’t want to.

Rebekah’s hand found your face as she deepened the kiss,careful not to tangle the oxygen tube.

You’ve never felt this way before. You thought Rebekah was just the type of pretty you wanted to be, not knowing that she was just someone you wanted to be with. And with dying time there wasn’t another person you would rather kiss other than her.

The start of a short love story; the dead and dying.

[enmstorytime]

The Therapist

I chose the cheap graduate program, the one that I could complete without taking out student loans. I needed the degree to pursue a career as a therapist.

I don't know if my mistake was upsetting my professor, or if my mistake was signing up for the hypnosis course. I haven't asked any of my classmates if they suffer from the same condition. I'm afraid they don't. And if they don't, and they found out the condition that I suffer from, I worry that they could get my license revoked.

I know that whatever is happening to me started in that hypnosis class. There was one class period, where I remember walking into class, making a joke at my professor's expense, and then I don't remember the class. I remember waking up in my bedroom, ten miles from campus. I normally slept naked, so I wasn't concerned when I rolled out of bed naked. What made me realize that something had happened was the fact that my car wasn't in the parking lot. My clothes from the day before were also nowhere to be found. Somehow, I had made my way from campus to my apartment and somewhere along the way my clothes had vanished. I found my car on campus, but I never found my clothing. And I never knew if anyone had seen me naked that day. All the smirks and knowing looks my classmates gave me from that point could have just been my imagination.

That class was ten years ago. Eventually, I pushed that weird morning out of my mind and decided I must have taken the bus, and stripped on my front stoop. Some neighbor probably thought my abandoned clothes were litter and cleaned them up.

At least I allowed myself this thought, until my graduation party, when one of my peers showed me a picture of me sitting completely naked on the city bus, my face blank, my hands behind my head, my legs crossed.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked him.

"You don't remember this day, man?" my classmate asked. "This was the minute I started respecting you man. You just sat there so confident on the bus, your cock out for the world to see."

"That never happened, you sick fuck," I said. "You probably asked AI to make this image."

But I also had to admit that AI had gotten a lot right, if this was in fact AI. There was the mole on my hip. My nipples were the exact right size and in the right place, and my cock was the right size when I was flaccid and the circumcision looked right.

"Dude, I wouldn't spend my time making AI naked pictures of you," my classmate said, getting angry now. "Besides, I asked if I could take your picture, and you told me to go ahead."

"I don't remember that," I said, remembering the day I had mysteriously left my car on campus. Apparently those clothes I never found were somewhere between my hypnosis class and the bus station. But anyone riding the number 7 bus that afternoon got an eye full of me.

I dreaded that as I started my practice other passengers would post those pictures online, and some client would come into my office to confront me with my nudes.

What I didn't expect was to wake up one afternoon two years ago, five years into running my own therapy practice, in the middle of a session with a barrel chested, clean-cut daddy, completely naked.

The daddy was laid out across the couch in leather handcuffs, a collar, and a cock cage, his business suit coat hanging on the back of the office door, the rest of his clothes piled up and rumpled right at the office door.

Searching for my own clothes, I saw that my client's messenger bag was over stuffed, a pant leg and one of my argyle dress socks sticking out of the side.

"What the fuck is going on here," I asked, hurriedly covering my penis with my hands. My client jumped.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting up, and covering his caged cock with his own hands.

"I mean, why are we naked?" I asked. "Why the hell are my clothes in your bag?"

"Is this some kind of fucked up exposure therapy?" My client asked, sounding angry. "You were the one who answered your office door butt naked, and told me today we'd try something new. You handed me your clothes and told me that whatever you said, I needed to take them with me at the end of the session."

"Obviously that will not be happening," I said, standing up while still covering myself and crossing to open his bag.

"What the hell is going on here?" My client demanded. "I was actually making breakthroughs before whatever the fuck this is."

"I don't care about your fucking breakthroughs," I said. "I mean, I do, but I'm naked here. This is entirely unacceptable."

"Is this some kind of test," the man asked, his anger soothing. "Yeah, that's what this is," he said, standing up and blocking my path to his bag. "You told me not to let you take your clothes back, no matter what you said. I need to be a man of my word, huh? That's what this is about."

"No, it's not," I said, trying to get past him.

But he took his hands off his cock and started to use his arms to block me from reaching my clothing that he had somehow gotten from me.

"I'm sorry to have reacted so poorly to this test he said, pushing me away, and I fell backward on the rug, catching myself with my hands, my legs flying up to expose pole and hole to my client. "I really didn't expect any therapist to go to these lengths to help me. I can't thank you enough."

He grabbed his clothes, but didn't take the time to get dressed. Instead he pushed my office door open, his clothes bunched in his hands in front of his crotch, his messenger bag with all of my clothes swinging off his shoulder.

I spent too long debating whether or not I should follow him, and by the time I decided I should, as I stepped out of my office door, hands glued to privates, I watched his car backing out of his parking space through the waiting room's front windows.

I also saw my next client sitting waiting, and they certainly saw me.

I ducked back into my office, and shouted to the receptionist to cancel the rest of my appointments for the day because I wasn't feeling well.

The client who saw me standing in my office doorway with nothing but my hands covering me never came back for another session.

My receptionist, a hot young college guy did come back to my office to run some paperwork past me. He didn't knock, just barged in, catching me with my back to the office door, standing at the window, peeking around the curtains.

"You're naked," he said.

I turned around, flushing red, and quickly covering my privates again.

"No need to hide it," he said. "I've seen a cock before."

"But not your boss's cock," I said, walking to my desk where I could hide at least my lower half.

The rug in my office felt soft under my bare heels and toes, but my ass also jiggled obscenely in front of my receptionist, who was grinning stupidly and certainly not looking at my face.

"No, I've never seen my boss's cock," he said, and closed the door behind him. "But I'd certainly like to."

It was the right words, and my body reacted with very little thought. I had hired my receptionist because of his easy boy-next-door grin. I'd spent hours fantasizing about taking the glasses off his face to look him in the eye. I had imagined all the ways my receptionist and I could move our relationship from professional to sexual, but I hadn't imagined this.

And at the simplest encouragement from him, I took my hands off my cock and stepped toward him. He was on his knees before I had fully processed what was happening, and his soft, fat tongues slithered down the head of my cock to the base and back.

I moaned.

He grabbed my ass cheeks and pulled me all the way too him, sliding my cock into his mouth, into his willing, open throat.

It took seconds for me to swell to my full mast in his throat, and he gagged once, before adjusting, before beginning his delicate, trained rhythm. His tongue lapped up and down my penis, his hands pulled my cheeks apart, a few fingers making their way to my hole, to probe and explore.

His hands and mouth maneuvered me, and I became putty in his hands as he slurped and sucked, sliding up and down, until I couldn't handle it anymore, and I pushed out the first shot of cum.

Immediately, he pressed a finger against my prostrate, and I came harder, my knees knocking against each other, the cum coming even more forcefully, the moan bursting uninhibited from my own throat.

I thrust and thrust and thrust sending stream after stream of hot cum down the throat of my sexy receptionist.

When he released me from his mouth, I slid to the floor, completely spent. I laid on my back, one arm behind my head, one arm, holding my scrotum, my deflating cock still on full display.

My receptionist stepped over me, and did the only thing that could make this moment more perfect. He unzipped the front of his slacks, and dropped his slacks and underwear. He stood over me, still wearing his shirt, but naked from the waist down, and began stroking himself over my naked, spent self.

His cum hit my chest and my face, hot and sticky, and he moaned as he continued to milk himself. It was a full minute of moaning and globs of cum falling onto me.

Without a word, he pulled up his slacks and underwear, zipped back up, and left me naked on my office rug, covered in his cum.

This was the best time I ever woke up naked mid-session completely naked. But it certainly wasn't the last.

[derelictlovefool]

❝​🇪​​🇲​​🇪​​🇷​​🇬​​🇪​​🇳​​🇨​​🇪​-⦂❝

— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝.

Notes: Don't forget part one and part two! Reader and Wade suck at communicating some more, Peter's a good pal and you should remember to never walk past dark alleyways at night kids, especially when your recent ex is a merc!

Warning/s: Canon Typical violence, kidnapping, graphic depictions of violence, unhealthy relationships, toxic behaviour, angst, references to alcohol consumption & sexually explicit activities, explicit language

Words: 3k

The act of finishing a favourite hot beverage had never been so difficult, so tense and unendurable. You and Wade had sat in stuffy silence, neither giving in and or walking away; the only two ways to push the painful interaction forward. You had so much you wanted to say but no words would come out, your leg bounced under the table and you'd locked your arms over each other. You were trying with all your might to block him out, physically and mentally, but it would never work with him right across from you. You inhaled deeply and exhaled just as roughly, Wade's own movements Mimicking yours as he adjusted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Look at us," he finally muttered, "This is sadder than the shitty apartment in that game they made about me." He sighed and you felt like tossing your empty mug at his head for the reference you couldn't conjure in your mind, no one in this universe was making games in honour of Deadpool—or Wade Wilson. No one was making anything his face or name anywhere near it. He was right that it was fucking sad though, you wouldn't argue with that.

"Whose fault is that?" You couldn’t help but be snippy, indignation heavy in your tone, your back restlessly hitting the back of the booth that started to feel more suffocating as the seconds ticked by. You wanted to be anywhere else, you wanted to turn back time and be sitting in this booth with Wade making jokes about the cafe decor and not remarking on your crumbling relationship.

"I blame Daniel Way and Damon Wilson-Hart personally—"

You shot him a pointed look and he cut himself off, the mirage of humour and escaping this reality joining the hot cocoa in his stomach acid as he all but deflated before you.

"How many times do I gotta say sorry?" His shoulders slumped and he held his hands up in question, he'd never sounded so lost. And there were plenty of times when he had been, maybe in even more dire and important ways than this. One's where you weren't involved.

"I don't know Wade, I've never had that big of a shitshow breakup before and I can't just snap my fingers and get over it." You snapped your fingers to emphasise your point, "I wish I could just forgive you and have nothing but happy, bubbly feelings for you again but that's not how the real world works." You unfold your arms, spreading them out across the table and you seem him almost reach out to grab one of your hands when you do; you weren't sure if you would have recoiled, or if you would have grabbed him back tight enough to leave a bruise—so you're relieved when he doesn't.

It would just make it harder.

"What do we do now then? I'm no good at grovelling, I'm much better at shovelling and shooting, neither of those apply here—or do they?"

"If I were to start somewhere Wade I'd figure out how you're gonna tell me what happened, with all the gritty details, " you ignored his latter question, "and maybe while you're at it some therapy would do you some good." You hated how harsh you sounded but you needed to say it, it's not like you were asking too much—Well the therapy might have been a step too far for Wade but you stood by it. No matter how much you praised the work your therapist had done while helping you Wade never got more than a hundred feet within a practice or office.

It was like he was allergic to the mere concept of therapy and getting help.

"And what about you?"

"I have an appointment with my therapist and i'm gonna bitch and moan about you, wait for them to fix me and tell me what to do so I can argue with them for ten minutes… And end up doing the opposite." You rolled your eyes, expecting a scoff or some kind of dig, that seemed to be what you were both good at right now. But what you got was almost worse.

"So there's still hope… For us?" His words left a heavy feeling hanging over you and you suddenly found your fingernails very interesting. Caught off guard and forced to deal with yourself rather than him had you shfiting in your seat. You wanted to say yes, of course, there was never no hope for you. No matter how many scenarios you played in your head none of them had you walking away from the merc, it just wasn't something you were capable of. Your therapist would be extremely disappointed but despite all you'd told them no one really understood you and Wade, and no one ever really would.

Even when it felt like you were worlds apart it was you two against everybody else.

You envisioned the both of you back to back, tied by that silly red string pulled tight enough to draw blood, your skin on Wade's and the both of you unable to move lest the cord pull tighter and choose to free you both of your heads and hearts. The more you thought about it the more you got to realise how much you'd let yourself need Wade and how your therapist had some credibility when they tossed the co-dependency thing around. You wished you’d never heard the word and kept living in blissful ignorance but it was too late for that, you and Wade were all kinds of messed up and this whole situation was proving a myriad of things you didn’t want to think about.

"I hope so." You whispered, the sentiment genuine as it tumbles from your lips. You wanted to stop being angry. you wanted to stop your chest from aching anytime you glanced at him and got flooded by the memories of the last two years—and that fucking breakup. God you wanted to forget about it and tuck it away into the memories that gave you hives box and never think about it again. Depending on someone wasn't a crime and you knew Wade felt the same, even if it was for different reasons. That day had apparently sucked for both of you but you dared to say you got the shorter end of the stick.

Your phone buzzed, Wade stared you down from across the table.

You picked it up and despite the notification being nothing more than a reminder for your appointment the next day you stood and stuffed it away in your pocket. You couldn’t deal with this right now, the angry arguments you could handle but the raw, open vulnerability was too much—at least for a cafe. Maybe if you were back in your apartment you’d feel more inclined to sit in it and talk. Actually talk. But you weren’t at your apartment.

"I gotta go, I'll… See you around Wade." It felt weird to walk past him without squeezing his shoulder or pressing a kiss to the leather of his suit; all of this felt wrong and you wanted to try all over again. Maybe you should have just stayed home, actually. Wade grabbed your wrist and you took a moment to steel yourself before looking down at him, his expression hidden by that red fabric and blank white eyes set into the black coverings.

"Tomorrow night. I'll see you." It was a firm declaration and it had you wondering all sorts of things but you were too tired to argue. You nodded and his hand lingered over yours as he slowly let you go. It felt nice, for a brief moment, to have your hand in his; the warmth of his palm and gentle touch of his fingertips. But it slipped away and you walked out, holding your head high as you forced yourself to head down the street. You found yourself at another park across the city, sitting on a bench and scrolling through your contacts as you thought about how to distract yourself.

Normally you loved the weekend—Normally you had Wade or friends to hang out with.

But as you looked at the names of your buddies you couldn't think of one that wouldn't give you another 'I told you so' lecture about Wade and you really didn't need that right now. You needed to think about literally anything else at that moment—or be supported in some other, less Wade-hating way.

You jumped as your phone rang and you stared at the photo on your screen for a second before you picked up the call.

"Hi Pete." You greeted, brows furrowed as the sound of wind gushing past the receiver met your ears.

"Spidey senses were tingling, you okay?" He asked, voice muffled by his mask, and you can't help but laugh. No, you were so far from okay, and Peter was not one of the people who'd keep his mouth shut about Wade. He hated him, or at the very least had an extreme dislike for him—even when you were dating, he didn't keep his disdain about it to himself. You got that's what friends were for in so many cases, but sometimes it really pissed you off, and you weren't sure you could handle any of that right now.

"I'm fine," a long pause, "Okay no, I feel like shit but I really, really, don't want to talk about it." You muttered, chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced around the park. People walked by like usual, none of their world's were crumbling at the seams because their boyfriend broke up with them—they were happy, or, happier than you. The wind died down on the other side of your phone, and you jumped as the bench bounced with the weight of someone leaping onto the wood beside you.

You turned to the side, Peter crouching beside you, fully suited up and phone now tucked safely away. You let yours fall to your lap as Spiderman now squinted at you, scrutinising the eye bags and red eyes as you stared back at him hoping he didn't say the one name you don't wanna hear from him.

"Hello totally-random-sad-bench-citizen whom I don’t know, you look like you need pizza and a joyride." You were pleasantly surprised when he held his hands out to you. People were whispering around you again, but this time, it was all directed at the superhero beside you. You stood, took his hand and let him help you to your feet, jumping on his back in what you both liked to call 'backpack buddy mode'. Within a second you were flying through the crisp air, you gasped, always in awe no matter how many times you'd done this. The feeling of flying through the air, far away from all your issues, was like nothing else. It was freeing.

You clung to Peter's shoulders and tried to get a good look at the city streets below, where everything looked like ants, and you felt like a God watching the world go by. If only you could stay up here with the birds, never touch the ground or have to focus on your problems like a grown adult.

Apparently and thankfully, Peter had already ordered pizza, and when you arrived at the rooftop of one of the taller apartment complexes in the city, there was a pizza box and cans of soda waiting. You wondered if he’d spotted you on your walk earlier, it would be too far-fetched to guess he saw you run into Wade and head to the cafe. You would be surprised if that were the case, seeing as he’d been like your small, chihuahua sized guard dog hellbent on keeping Wade away from you as you dealt with everything. Maybe he had realised what your therapist had already known or a year.

Wade was your problem and your solution all wrapped up in one messy little bow. You couldn’t get past this without him.

"I don't want a heart to heart over pizza and soda, just so you know." He set you down safely on the brick and shrugged in reply, walking over to the ledge to sit down.

"Duly noted, you want me to hear about my day then?" He clapped his hands together, and you smiled, nodding in genuine eagerness—hearing about someone else for a while might just do the trick of getting you out of your own head. And damn did you need out of it for a second.

"Okay, good, because you're not gonna believe what these bank robbers did this morning, these guys really get their routines from looney tunes or something." And so he began, pushing his mask up to his nose so he could 'chow and pow', the term you coined for talking shit and stuffing your face while you were at it. Very unattractive but inevitable when you were eating and deep into your rant.

Peter waved his arms about as he regaled the stupidity of a group of bank robbers and then the old lady who nearly got him hit by a bus, it was nice to lose yourself to his day for a while. You even laughed, a full, belly-aching laugh with snorts and all. You stayed on the roof until the sun began to set, and you ended laying on your back, legs dangling over the ledge as you and Peter fell into a comfortable silence. Staring at the clouds carving their snail pace across the sky and the shifting hues of the sky beyond them.

The pizza box and soda cans were empty, and for a moment, so was your mind. You could close your eyes, and everything was totally blank. Just a serene nothing as you listened to the faded sounds of the city and your own breathing.

"I know you don't want to talk about it."

Fuck. There it was. You cringed, squeezing your eyes shut as you readied yourself for whatever he was about to say.

"I'm here if you need me, I think I said all I wanted to say…" He trailed off and you recalled Peter arriving in your apartment the night of the breakup, his anger had almost rivalled your own anguish and he had definitely had plenty of choice things to say about… About Wade. About your relationship too, but mostly Wade.

"Breakups suck, and if you need another joyride and pizza hour with your friendly neighbourhood… With your friend, I'm here." Peter knocked your knuckles together, and you felt yourself relax, appreciative of where that had gone. Far from what you'd been expecting. You rolled your head to the side and shot him a smile, matching his own as you returned the weak fist bump.

"Thanks Pete,"

"Anytime… You need a ride home? Free of charge." You grinned as you pulled yourself up and he followed suit.

"Nah, can you drop me off at Faun Street? I think I need to walk in thoughtful silence for a bit." You mused, there was a lot you needed to get in order in your own head before you faced Wade again. You needed to decide whether you were gonna accept whatever he said and maybe try to work things out or put your foot down and decide… That it was maybe time you two were just friends again. Even though the thought alone made your stomach turn over itself uncomfortably.

"Yeah, okay, I get it." And with that, you were off, having the short and fun ride of binning your trash mid-air and being dropped off right across from the café you and Wade had sat in earlier today. You hugged Peter goodbye, and after he vanished around a corner, you rolled your shoulders and turned on your heel—headed toward the park that eventually would lead you back home.

You had to evaluate some things, like how much you could be okay with Wade's reasoning for the spectacle he made of your breakup. You think you'd need a while to get over how public and angry it was, he didn't need to be that cruel about it—no matter what. The thought he was trying to protect you in his own twisted way did make sense, but it didn't make it hurt any less. You weren't sure there was anyone for you after Wade, no one could full the shape of him in your heart, you doubted anyone would want to. So even if it had gone smoother, even if it had been cordial and he had gotten stuck forever in a black hole; you would have been more likely to steal a spaceship and save him yourself. Somehow.

You'd managed to find him in wieder places before. If he had more faith in you, let you into that side of his world more openly, then it wouldn't have been a problem in the first place. Maybe that was it, you had to break down that wall between Deadpool and Wade Winston Wilson, the division he put up to keep you away from the blood and guts of his operation—literally and figuratively Maybe then he could be more honest, still a dick but one that wouldn't break up with you on the basis of not being able to tell you the truth.

You sighed, running a hand over your face as you crossed onto the street and past an alleyway, poor timing on obscuring your vision there you'd admit later. Especially as multiple hands shot out and took hold of you all at once—your side hit the ground and your body scraped across the concrete harshly, your skin burned and the air escaped your lungs before you could make any type of distinguishable noise. You barely got a glance at the shadowy figures around you before a heavy force hit the back of your head, blacking out your vision and leaving you limp and unconscious.

End notes: Hope you enjoyed this part, let know know what you thought about it! The next part’s gonna be tons of fun! :)

[rottenrosethorns]

I see your looking for request, so I was more than happy to show up in your inbox

I came up with this randomly - anyway. Leon plans a weekend getaway/vacation for him and the reader. Somewhere where they can go swimming (beach,lake etc etc). Leon needs to relieve some tension. Leon and the reader share romantic night swim together totally on a whim, and just enjoy each other’s company, and tiny bit of smut just to top it all off.

much love x

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x afab!reader 

Genre: Fluff, Smut 

Synopsis: Disaster after disaster, Leon’s weekend plans seem to come to an unfortunate end; however, you convince him to try one last resort at a secluded campsite off the side of the road. 

Word Count: 4.4K 

Warning: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT; swimming, bugs, unprotected sex, vanilla romantic sex 

A/N: all of my a/n are like “sorry for taking so long” and “it’s longer than expected” lmao. Thank you anon for requesting, i hope you like it! I really hope i got the romance translated through the story (if its subpar, im sorry, im tragically single LMAO) 

__________

- masterlist - 

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“Hey, hey, look at me,” You reached across the center console to cup Leon’s cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “Everything’s going to be okay, alright?”

Your voice hushes into a comforting whisper as you rubbed Leon’s cheek with a sad pout. Thankfully, your kiss seemed to soften his disarray of emotions as his frustrated wrinkles eased away as he let out a quick huff. Leon’s eyes were set looking through the windshield, avoiding your eyes at all costs as he wanted to avoid you picking up on his embarrassment. But, even without looking at him, you always knew what emotion he was feeling. You could clearly tell that Leon was disappointed in himself despite your attempts at reassurance. Leon sighed loudly, resting his elbow on the driver’s door as he looked down with his forehead resting in his left hand, “Everything was supposed to be perfect.” 

Optimistically, you tried to offer him a smile, but even you knew that you couldn’t argue with him about that one. Nothing was ever perfect, but this weekend trip was far from smooth sailing. Leon – being the vacation desperate man that he is – took the first chance to get out of town and booked a picturesque shoreside cabin for the extended weekend. It’s been way too long since he’s had a break, and all he wanted to do was spend time with you while reconnecting with nature. Well, the latter part was more so a suggestion from Leon’s therapist to which you essentially forced him to start seeing. Although he deemed it unnecessary even with his success of departing from the hardships of his trauma, Leon only agreed to comply with the treatments if you were doing them with him which included you enjoying the calmness that nature offered as well. A win is a win, you suppose. 

However, not everyone could be winners without losing once or twice, and Leon seemed to be on a streak today. With the cabin site a hefty four hours away from home, you were bound to run into some mishaps. But those mishaps quickly turned into mayhem as you faced the tribulations of Leon losing and finding his wallet, changing a flat tire on the highway, getting pulled over and let go with a warning, nearly missing a deer kissing the front bumper, and much, much more. Leon felt like he was fighting for his life more so on this road trip than being on an actual work mission. The only difference being that his enemy was the invisible universe instead of the normal mutated creatures and undead humans. 

Upon struggling to reach the cabinsite, Leon was relieved to pull into the parking lot of the front office and finally settle down after the hectic events of the day. But as if his trip couldn’t get any worse, the receptionist at the cabinsite pitifully informed you both that Leon’s booking confirmation never went through and that there were unfortunately no vacancies for the rest of the weekend. So now, you were both back in Leon’s car as he tried his best not to blow a fuse from the abundance of misfortunes. 

Just as you were about to respond back to him, your eyes shifted from Leon towards your phone screen that just lit up from being drained of its battery. Leon mistook your untimely silence as if you were condemning him at fault for being the reason why this trip was so disastrous. As he went to shift away from you, you quickly reached out and embraced his hands in yours, “We’re still going to have fun, okay? We’ve got a couple hours until sundown and I think I have an idea.” 

“You sure? If you don’t want to, we can go back home,” Leon offered with a downward turn on his lips. As much as he hated the idea of going back home and sitting idly within those same four walls of the house, Leon didn’t want you to feel as if you were being forced along with him to share the unexpected hardships of the road-trip. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to reconnect with nature?” You laughed to yourself, already finding the imagery of Leon frolicking in the grass like some Disney princess amusing, “Let’s go here, I saw it on the way.”

Leon leaned over to look at the location you’d pull up on your phone, showing a small and secluded campsite hidden on the side of the road. Leon inspected the images with a skeptical look, “Are you sure? Those pictures seem kinda old, what if it’s not what it looks like anymore?”

You shrugged, “Then, we’ll find out and see.” 

“We don’t even have camping supplies.”

“Then, we get them.”

You and Leon stared at each other in silence as the proposition sunk in. After a moment, Leon sighed and started the car’s engine to drive off wherever you directed him to go. A part of him hoped that you wanted to tell him to turn around and go home, but the other part of him still wanted the weekend events to work out. After a bit more convincing, you managed to dissipate all his doubts and initiated yourself to take the responsibility for the rest of the trip. Although he was disappointed that his plans fell through, Leon couldn’t bring himself to put in more effort in the trip. During the ride, you constantly reassured him that nothing bad would happen although you both knew you really couldn’t promise that. It didn’t stop you from believing nonetheless. 

You directed Leon for a while until the car stopped at the nearest department store where you gathered all the necessary camping supplies and whatever food you wanted to last you the weekend. Thankfully, Leon’s mood started to brighten up as he chose your favorite snacks and even offered to buy you a cute stuffed teddy bear to keep you company. Was he slightly jealous that you were beaming at the plush? Maybe. But, he’d buy you anything to keep that smile on your face. 

Once satisfied with the purchase, you both departed the parking lot and drove until you found yourselves going down a tiny dirt path. The further you went down the road you started to second guess whether or not this was a good idea. It was a good half of a mile drive from the main road, and you were skeptical if there was even going to be a nice scene at the end of the road to settle in. The dirt road quickly started to disappear as the path became more and more overgrown as if no one had driven over it for quite some time. You cringed at the sound of the tree branches scratching the sides of Leon’s car as the edge of the forest got narrower. You really didn’t want the campsite to be bad and dampen Leon’s mood even more. You knew how much he needed a break, and you wanted to help make that happen. 

As you progressed deeper into the forest, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach worsened. Leon seemed to notice your skepticism, “You sure this is the right place?”

You let out a nervous giggle, tightening your hold around your teddy bear, “Yes?”

Leon shook his head, unsure whether or not to believe you, yet he continued to drive forward blindly. You felt yourself holding your breath in anticipation as the thick trees looming over the road started to clear up. You lurched forward in your seat, rubbing your eyes from thinking that you saw something in the distance. As Leon approached, a laser flash of the sun’s reflection flashed your squinting eyes before you started to piece shining ripples on a water’s surface, “Is that a lake?”

Upon completely entering the clearing, your eyes were welcomed with a wide yet humble campground peacefully secluded from the main road. The campsite was equipped with a circle of rocks acting as a firepit with a small path leading down towards the sandbank and access to the lake from a wooden dock at the shore. Utterly breath taken from the sight before you, you awed the sheer capacity of the view. The lake was essentially crystal clear surrounded with rocks, cliff ledges, assortment of lush green trees, and a mountain. It was exactly what you’d see in a painting.  

Leon pulled off to the side, parked the car, and hopped out eagerly to deeply inhale the fresh scent of pine. You quickly followed after Leon and leaping into his arms for an open hug while laughing, “Is this okay?”

Leon snuggled into you, feeling happy for the first time today, “No, this is perfect, maybe even better than the cabin.” 

Leon tightened his arms for a moment as a silent thank you for your suggestion before putting you down and turning to soak himself in the view as well. While he was looking away, you couldn’t help but put yourself at ease from watching the smile on Leon’s face grow as the relief washed over him. 

You kissed his cheek and glanced at the campsite again, “Let’s set up for dinner before the sun goes down.” 

You and Leon tagged team setting up the tent and making dinner before sitting yourselves at the edge of the dock to eat and relax. 

“Can you believe that there’s places like this that actually exist?” You breathed a sigh of awe as you watched the reflection of the setting sun shimmer against the breeze induced ripples on the lake's surface. 

Unfortunately, your moment was partially ruined by some flying insects invading your vision and coming a bit too close for comfort as you swatted them away chaotically. Just as your bravery was set to dissipate, Leon aided in swatting the small swarm away. Shivering from the imaginative feeling of bugs crawling on your skin, you groaned in discomfort while rolling your eyes, “My knight and shining armor.”

“Is this your token of gratitude?” Leon feigned hurt by putting a hand over his heart dramatically, “Even after I aided your distress?”

You pushed him away with a laugh, yet your arms returned to rub them over your skin subconsciously. Even when you knew you were safe, you still felt vulnerable, especially out in the open, “I hate bugs.”

Leon hummed in acknowledgement as he intensely peered out into the scenic lake before perking up suddenly, “I have an idea!”

You eyed him suspiciously, moving your torso away and holding your hands up cautiously, “Uh-oh.”

“It’s not even dangerous,” Leon rolled his eyes, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You blinked, “Yeah, I don’t know about that one.”

“When have I ever put you in danger?”

“Let’s see,” You pointed each finger up, counting off the events as you recalled them, “Vegas, New York, LA – oh, don’t forget China too!”

“Alright! Alright!” Leon huffed with an exaggerated pout, “You have a point.”

“I always have a point,” You smiled in triumph, “Now-”

Leon cut you off by suddenly standing up and offering you a hand. You peered at his hand for a moment before shifting your eyes to his as you both silently communicated. Eventually, you decided to take his hand and let him lead you to wherever he planned to; however, instead of helping you stand up like you anticipated him to, Leon had pulled you forward and used the momentum of your imbalance to throw your body against his as he engulfed you in a hug and threw your bodies into the lake. 

Closing your eyes and holding your breath, you were completely submerged in the cool water. As quickly as it happened, you felt Leon’s hands grab your waist and help you break the surface and take a deep gasp for air. 

“Seriously, Leon?" You wiped the water droplets off your face and pushed your hair back,  "What are you like ten?" 

Leon’s hands moved from your waist to the back of your thighs and guided them to wrap around his waist as he floated around in the water. Leon smirked as you securely wrapped your arms around his neck, afraid to drift too far from him although you were safely near the shore’s edge, “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You were about to question what he meant by that before you realized that the cool sensation of the water wore off the icky feeling of the bugs crawling on your skin. Upon seeing your face, Leon laughed in satisfaction, knowing that he was right. 

“Shut up,” You mumbled. 

Leon leaned into you closer, teasingly hovering his lips near yours, “What was that?”

“I said-” You took your chance to release his neck, cup a pocket of water in your hands, and splash Leon in the face. 

Leon released you, giving you a chance to swim away before becoming a victim to his revenge. You can’t remember how long you were in the lake for, but you definitely are going to remember the memories of laughing and smiling with Leon for the rest of your life. Before you knew it, the sun was barely over the horizon as the black and blue sky began to overtake the pink and orange hues. While distracted from looking at the sky, Leon swam towards you. 

“Come on, you’re getting cold,” Leon helped you gain your footing as you both trudged towards the firepit soaking wet. 

You squeezed out the hem of your shirt in efforts to reduce the amount of water on you; however, you remained drenched no matter how much you twisted and wrung the fabric. Turning towards Leon, you meant to ask him which bag he packed the towels to retrieve them but was promptly stopped upon seeing him sling off his shirt and wringing it out. You gulped as you watched the veins trailing down his arms to his hands enhanced as he tightly gripped the fabric of his shirt. Now with the moon high in the sky, Leon’s bare skin seemed to glitter as his muscles flexed. 

You felt like you would’ve stayed there forever had your thoughts not been interrupted from Leon’s chuckle, “Can I help you?”

Adverting your eyes and clearing your throat loudly, you awkwardly pointed towards his car, “Um, I'm gonna get the towels. Which – uh, which bag did you put them in?”

“I didn’t pack towels.”

“You,” Your jaw slacked, “You what?”

Leon shrugged, taking a nearby stick and propping it upwards in the ground near the fire and hung his shirt to dry, “I figured the cabin would’ve provided some, so I didn’t pack any.” 

You stood there dumbfounded, knowing that Leon did have a point despite his lack of preparedness, “We can’t stay wet like this, we’ll get sick.”

“There’s a fire right here,” Leon stated like it was obvious before hooking his thumbs around his waistband and stripping himself from his pants and undergarments. 

You gasped loudly, turning your back towards him as your wide eyes did their best to avoid being flashed, “Leon!” 

Your voice echoed out into the forest as Leon’s boisterous laugh filled the air as he slung the rest of his clothes over another stick, “Come on, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.” 

Heat flushes your face as you bite the inside of your cheek from the imagery of Leon being completely unclothed, most times from events when you both were getting intimate, “T-That’s different!” 

You knew Leon rolled his eyes from the tone of his voice, “You can turn around now, I’ve got clothes on.”

Slowly, you peeked at Leon, making sure he was telling the truth before committing to fully view him. True to his word, Leon had dressed himself with his previous outfit hanging near the fire. He handed you your clothes he managed to grab and set up another row of sticks to set your wet clothes to dry. 

When he noticed you were still frozen in place, Leon asked, “What’s wrong?”

Quietly, you mumbled, “Can you turn around?”

Leon paused his movements before a wide smirk flashed across his lips, “What was that?”

“I said,” You huffed, annoyed, “Turn around!” 

Leon snickered at your embarrassment but ultimately complied as he turned his back towards you and patiently waited until you handed him your sopping clothes to be hung on his makeshift clothing line. Once you finished dressing and hanging your clothes to dry, you noticed Leon shuffling about inside the tent. You watched as Leon basically disassembled the bedding setup and placed it outside near the campfire, “You know those are supposed to go inside the tent, right?” 

For a while, you tried to decipher what he was doing while urging yourself not to scold him for placing the sheets on the dirt. Leon would set the sheets in one spot, crane his neck upwards before moving the sheets to another spot before doing the same thing again and again until he settled on a spot to his liking. He was a bit of a perfectionist and his wide smile proved that point even more as he sat down and patted the spot next to him eagerly. Playing along, you seat yourself next to Leon and follow suit as you both laid on the sheets to look up at the night sky. There you saw the blanket of darkness with billions of stars that seemed to glow brighter than it did in the city.

“See the big dipper?” Leon took his hand and placed it over yours with your pointer outwards as he stretched your arm out towards the sky and traced the shape of the constellation, “And, there’s the little one.” 

Leon continued to look up at the stars and educate you about the history of each constellation and the mysteries of outer space. You listened intently, soaking every story and fact that he had to tell, “Since when did you know all this stuff? I thought you hated astronomy and horoscopes.”

Leon shrugged, “I do, but then I watched this documentary.”

You laughed incredulously before returning to awe at the glittering specks above you, tracing the constellations’ patterns over and over again. From the forest to the lake to the stars, you felt at peace in the countryside and a part of you wondered whether you could make a life with Leon out here far into the future. While looking at the stars, a quick linear flash of light darted across the tail end of the Little Dipper, “Leon, a shooting star! Make a wish!” 

Instinctively, you brought your hands up to your chest in a mock prayer while dragging Leon’s hand in yours as you closed your eyes and made your wish. After a moment of silence, you turned towards Leon, only to be surprised that he was looking at you the whole time. Leon chuckled at your reaction, “What’d you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you, silly, or it won’t come true.”

“Fair,” Leon said without glancing away at you, “You want to know what my wish was?”

“It won’t come true if you tell me,” You said in a hush just above a whisper, noticing the twinkling in Leon’s eyes became brighter than the stars above you.

“What if it already came true?” 

Leon’s eyes traced the features of your face as the campfire’s flames illuminated your complexion. Slowly, Leon brought up a hand to cup your cheek as his thumb softly traced your bottom lip, “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” You whispered. 

Immediately, Leon pressed his lips to yours in a loving embrace, only moving his lips slowly as if to slow down time and relish the feelings of this moment. You melted into his kiss much like all of his others, but you yearned for more as you broke the kiss to straddle his lap. Sitting up, Leon rested his hands at your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kisses you gave him. Grinding yourself onto Leon’s hardness, you helped each other take off your shirts before Leon dove forward to pepper kisses along your neck and collarbone. You arched your back, easing access for Leon to leave a few marks behind. Leon trailed his hands up and down your exposed back before dipping them into the hem of your shorts and gathered the fabric of your underwear in a gentle tug, causing the friction to rub against your clit. 

Leon pulled back for a moment, chest heaving from lust, “Are you sure you want this?”

“This isn’t our first time,” You giggled, running your fingers through his messy hair. 

“I know,” Leon said with his eyes flickering from your eyes to your swollen lips, “I’m just checking.”

“For?”

“If you want this,” Leon hesitated, pressing his lips in a fine line, “If you want me.”

You sat back, arms dropping to your sides as you peered at your lover confused. Leon rarely ever questioned your reasoning for staying with him despite all his history and his flaws. But, it was when the crackle of the fire paired with an extra large flicker of flame flashed the raw emotion of uncertainty in Leon’s eyes when you understood that it was the insecurity of all his history and all his flaws which clouded his mind with doubt. You had to step back and see things from his perspective for a moment. Of course, Leon was used to disasters in his everyday life, but now with all the great memories he’s created today, he was scared to lose it all now that the night was coming to an end. 

Knowing this, you smiled at him, holding his jawline with both hands as you pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. Leon responded with equal passion, but you could still sense a twinge of doubt within him. You pulled away, just enough to hover your lips over his as you rested your foreheads upon another, “Let me show you that I want this, that I want you.”

Leon gulped, eyes flickering between yours before slowly nodding and letting you take the lead. Taking his hands off your hips, you slid off his lap to fully undress yourself and guided him to do the same before reclaiming your place. You sat back, allowing enough space for you to dip your hand between your legs to grab Leon’s dick and slowly pump him at the base. Leon took a sharp inhale, eyes focused on your working hand. It didn’t take him long to get fully erect before you trailed your hand further up his shaft to drag his tip and spread your lubricant from pussy lips to clit. You spread the slickness along his shaft, causing him to hiss from the ease, “Don’t you need to prep? I can-”

You hushed him, “I’ll be fine, I need you in me right now.”

Leon twitched at your words, salivating from your eagerness. He didn’t want to lose his composure so quickly especially since you seemed to be holding on so well, but he was just as desperate to be in you and you were for him. Taking him back in your hand, you raised your weight in your knees and positioned yourself to take him in. Slowly, you sank down, allowing yourself the luxury of the initial painful stretch before using your body weight to bottom out. Leon’s face contorted with pleasure, using every ounce of self control that he could muster not to move your hips up and downwards as you took a moment to adjust to his size. Leon closed his eyes, taking shaky deep breaths in and out. 

You knew it was evil, but you purposefully prolonged your adjustment just to see Leon in this state. You found it endearing to see him so frustrated as you essentially cockwarmed him, but you knew you couldn’t keep this up for too long before Leon would turn the tables on you and make you regret testing his patience. So, with one last look of desperation on his face, you finally pumped your hips against his and took all of him. You hugged his wide shoulders and bit down on his skin as you dragged your walls against his veiny cock. The heat of your core plus the heat of the fire ignited a flush within you as the ember glow filled the air around you. 

Leon chose to show his appreciation by gripping your waist to push you back and leaving open mouth kisses on your breast and nipples. You arched your back, using his shoulders to hold for leverage as you continued to pump yourself on him. You could feel yourself beginning to tightened as you approached your finish and surely Leon could feel it too; however, Leon repositioned his hands to lift you off of him and on the blanket, so that you were lying on your back. 

“I was almost done,” You looked up at him with a pout from your stolen climax before a moan from your lips pierced the air as Leon entered you again. 

“I know, baby,” Leon hovered over you, lips on the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I just wanted to show you how much I wanted you too.”

With newfound passion, Leon rose back up and relentlessly pounded into your cunt. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with pleasure as you gripped his veiny forearms to keep yourself from shifting away due to his force. You cried out into the night air as your moans and whimpers became lost in the wilderness. Lost in the feeling of Leon’s heavy thrusts, you hadn’t realized he took your hands in his as he continued his pace. 

“Please,” You gasped, “I’m almost there.”

You felt the familiar clench in your gut as Leon aimed at an upwards angle, deliciously pressing against your g-spot. You gripped his hands harder as you begged him not to stop. Leon edged you on by whispering more dirty thoughts in your ear as he groaned between his speech. Once again, Leon’s lips found your their way up and down your neck before leaving hickeys around the soft skin of your breasts 

“Cum, baby, cum for me,” Leon thrusted one last time into you, hips stuttering as he held your hand and pushed himself impossibly deeper into you. You moaned loudly as you wrapped your legs around his sides and clenched around him as he pumped into you. You both laid there, taking a moment to catch your breaths before removing yourselves, cleaning up, and laying covered up to bask in each other’s after sex glow by the fire. 

“Thank you for a memorable weekend,” Leon caressed your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You kissed him lovingly and snuggled into his side to share his warmth. Although the fire was more than enough, it could never compare to the warmth and comfort that Leon gave you. 

“What should we do tomorrow?”

“Probably, get that tire properly fixed.” 

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 29

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Mary’s family emergency ended up turning into a funeral for her grandad, which keeps her away from the theatre for the rest of the week. This means I have to attempt to fill her shoes for the remaining days. Thankfully, the therapy appointment I hastily booked, comes at just the right time. Stella drives me to the appointment on her way into the office and it truly is the best decision I’ve made in a long time. 

My therapist ends up being a lovely middle-aged woman who is super easy to talk to and understanding of everything I tell her. During the session, she encourages me to share only what I can without delving into the trauma. She says that our first session is mainly to get to know each other and to work out what help or guidance I may need. I start by briefly explaining everything that happened with the guys in my life, my financial struggles and currently overloaded schedule. While she encourages me to make sure to leave some time for rest and to protect my mental health, she doesn’t push too hard for me to drop any particular thing. All too soon, she closes her notebook and tells me that out time is out for the day. She gives me some homework to practice self-care and then I make another appointment for the same time next week. As I walk down to the subway, I feel utterly drained, but I force myself to keep going. I still need to get back to the cafe in time for my shift and then over to the theatre for tonight’s show. I don’t have time to relax yet, her homework will have to wait. 

On Friday night, I take my final bow as Sandy. Mary guaranteed our stage manager that she would be back by the weekend and I for one cannot wait to see her. While being the lead is my dream, with so much else on my plate and so little time to prepare it has just been a shock. But despite my anxiety I can’t help but feel a little sad as I hang the costume back up in Mary’s section and wipe off my make up. As I walk out of the dressing room I say goodnight to a few of the lingering cast and crew until I run into something –or someone–solid. I look up and almost instantly burst into tears as I’m wrapped up in a pair of strong arms.

“You were amazing, Sandy!” an all too familiar and comforting voice says into my hair.

I look up to meet his beautiful green eyes and ask, “How long this time?”

“The weekend. I fly out Sunday night.”

“You got a hotel?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking we could go out somewhere first. Get a bite to eat? Take it back to your place or mine?”

“I’d be down for that. Texan?”

“Hell, you know I’m in.” I pull apart from him as I hear the door swing open behind us. Obviously noticing my nerves he offers me his hand. “Come on then, let’s get outta here.”

I let him lead us out into the parking lot and towards a black car, but to my surprise it’s empty. Jensen opens the passenger door for me before getting in the driver’s seat and starting the engine. 

“Where’s Clif?” I ask.

“I just wanted it to be you and me this time. I know you probably feel safer with him around but also I can’t ask him to follow me everywhere, he has a family too.”

“I don’t mind, just surprised is all.” 

As we sit in the parking lot Jensen pulls out his phone. “I’m thinking we call in our order this time. Don’t wanna get swarmed again. I love that the fans love Dean but tonight I just want to be with you.” I nod and then we go through the menu together on his phone as we pick what is likely way too much food again. He places the order and then pulls out of the now dark lot. The car falls quiet despite us having so much that we need to talk about. Instead of pushing though, Jensen hands me his phone. “What’s your favourite song? You can play whatever you want.”

I consider for a little while before searching for the song that he sung during our last dance at the wedding: Heaven. It’s not my favourite song of all time but it now has a very special place. As the first notes fill the car Jensen begins to sing along quietly. I smile as I watch him navigate the busy streets, he looks so at home behind the wheel eventhough it’s the first time I’ve actually seen him drive apart from on TV. He expertly finds the restaurant and I get out. We decide it’s best if I just slip in and pick up the order to avoid a repeat of last time he was here. As I hoped, I’m in and out in less than 10 minutes. As he navigates out of the city centre we discuss where to go. In the end he agrees that it should be safe enough to go back to my place since he’s with me and the new security guard started last night. 

My apartment feels terribly unlived in since I’ve been avoiding it, but with Jensen by my side it’s slightly more bearable. Since Texan BBQ tends to be messy, we eat at the counter, but when Jensen suggests that we retire to the lounge and watch a movie I can’t help but hesitate. He notices then that it’s still the same couch, so instead he pivots.

“You have a laptop, right?” I nod. “Okay, I’m gonna suggest something but remember our word,” he says nodding at the empty takeaway containers. When I nod he continues, “We could lay together in your bed and watch something on your laptop. Or you can get some stuff together and we can go back to my hotel. Or I can go and leave you be if that’s what you want too…You let me know your boundaries.”

I look back over at the couch and shake my head. Then I look back over at him in tight jeans, a white button-up shirt and boots. As he notices me looking at him he says, “I can see those cogs turning. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be comfortable with whatever you want.” When I don’t answer he walks closer to me and softly cups my face in his hands to make me look at him. “Alright, Darlin’, I’m gonna take some pressure off of you. Let’s just go lay down for a bit, put on a movie and if you get uncomfortable or if it’s too much too soon, we re-evaluate.”

When I finally nod I can see the relief in his eyes. He glances quickly at my lips but pulls back and reaches for my hand instead to lead us into my bedroom. He leaves the sliding doors open to make it feel more casual and then toes off his boots. 

As I look around for my laptop I realize I left it at Stella’s place from when I’ve been studying and living there. I look over at Jensen as he stands slightly awkwardly in the corner of my room beside the bed waiting for me to make the next move. “I uh…my laptop’s not here. It’s at Stella’s.”

My smiles as he lets out a dry chuckle. “That’s alright. Can we just talk then? Or we can watch something on my phone? Really all I want is to spend time with you.”

I look at my bed, and I want nothing more than to lay there and cuddle with him, but with the underwire of my cheap bra digging into my ribs and my tight jeans strangling my thighs I feel anything but relaxed. But I also feel bad changing into comfy clothes when he’s stuck in his day clothes.

He pushes off the wall he’s leaning on and rounds the bed to my side and sits down while patting the spot beside him. “Alright, Darlin’...I need to know exactly what’s going on inside that head of yours. If this is all too much, I can go. I just need to know what you’re thinking. You’re not going to upset or disappoint me, regardless of what it is.”

I reluctantly sit down but I don’t face him. “I…” He doesn’t rush me, he just gives me time to arrange my thoughts and open up. I finally glance up at him and let myself be vulnerable. “I want to cuddle, but I’m uncomfortable…my bra’s digging into my chest and my jeans are chafing my thighs but I feel bad because you can’t be comfortable either. And I’m scared of being with someone without layers…I can’t…” As my breath quickens he takes my hand and rubs soft patterns on the back of it.

“That’s what’s bothering you?”

I try to pull away. “I know it’s stupid and I’m overthinking-”

“Hey…Hey…Y/N, Sweetheart. It’s not. You’re not. I’m perfectly comfortable, these jeans aren’t that tight and I’ve slept in worse. I’m okay. I can wait out on the couch or something while you shower and change, that’s no problem. I want you to be comfortable. And as for the layers…you’re concerned that I want sex? Is that it?” He lifts my chin so he can meet my eyes before continuing, “That’s not even in the realm of where my head’s at. I’ll be the luckiest man in the world if you ever choose to go that far with me, but I don’t expect it, and honestly I don’t really even want it, because I know you’re not ready. If it ever happens, it will only be once we’re in a stable relationship, are both on the same page about everything and are both comfortable, not a second before.”

I can’t help myself when I close the small gap between us to lightly press a kiss to his lips. It’s quick and he doesn’t have time to respond before I pull back, but I hope he gets the message. I stand up but he keeps a grip on my hand, not so strong that I can’t pull free but firm enough to show that he’s there. “You can stay here…I’ll just,” I point over my shoulder at the bathroom.

“Take your time,” he says as he pulls out his phone and frees my hand. I quickly go to my drawers and pull out a sports bra that’s well stretched and comfortable, an oversized T-shirt, a pair of black leggings and clean pair of underwear. I slip into the ensuite and change, but as I look in the mirror I can’t help but feel underdressed, especially to present myself to a movie star and model. As I brush my teeth, I try to talk myself down; I know he’s seen me in worse and never judged. I force myself to open the door.

As I emerge, I find Jensen casually sitting propped up against my headboard and pillows with his long bow-legs stretched out over the comforter. He looks me up and down before patting the space beside him. “That looks much more comfy, com’ere.”

I leave the bathroom light on but turn off the bedroom light before climbing onto the bed beside him. He opens his arms out to give me to option to snuggle close, which I take. I lean against him and rest my head on his chest. His arms wrap around me, settling on my waist. We settle into a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Jensen breaks it. “My last girlfriend cheated on me. It was a short lived thing, we kept it under wraps so the press never knew. But we met on set, she was a guest star, and she refused to give us a label or come out as a couple, and I later found out it was because she was sleeping with some guy she met on another show she guested on. It wasn’t love or anything, so she didn’t get the chance to break my heart but it sucked. It’s no excuse, but that’s probably part of why I said what I did on Valentines. I’d never push you to label us, I’m content with just seeing where things go, but that’s why I got insecure. And then I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.”

I run my hand over his chest feeling the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry you went through that…”

“You’ve been through worse…”

“Still…” Our comfortable silence returns briefly before I add, “Thanks for telling me.”

“You deserved to know. Plus, I don’t want secrets from you, hence throwing out the NDA. I want to be an open book…ask me anything.”

I think for a minute before asking, “Have you ever been in love?” His hand that had started to rub my back stills and I instantly regret asking. “You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just thinking.” After a moment I feel him shake his head. “Not truly. I’ve had my fair share of flings, even in high school and then once I got into acting, and there’s been a few girls I thought I loved, but I don’t think I’ve ever truly been in love…But I hope to, one day, with the right girl…when she’s ready.”

I look up at him and he tilts down so our lips can meet. As we get lost in the passion and emotions he attempts to deepen the kiss, running his tongue along my bottom lip, as I give his permission, I roll myself so I’m straddling his waist. It all feels so natural in the moment but then he cups my chin and pulls back. “Y/N…Darlin’...” He shakes his head and lifts me back off of him and onto my side of the bed. “I should go…I’m sorry.”

As he tries to push out of the bed I grip his arm. “Stay…please?”

He refuses to meet my eyes but I can see the pain in his. His normally beautiful bright green eyes are dark and watery. “I’m sorry…I meant what I said. I’ll wait for you…No pressure. I don’t want to fuck you, God I don’t even want to have sex with you…” My heart sinks, but then he finally meet my eyes and continues, “When or if we ever do it, I want to make love to you. Show and give you everything your deserve and more…and show you how special you are. But I know you’re not ready, even if you think you are, I know you’re not and then we’ll both regret it.”

I let go of his arm, but I can tell he’s still tense. Both of us are now on the brink of tears. “I’d never pressure or force you to stay, just I know you’d never force me to either. So, if this is too hard for you, you can go back to your hotel…but don’t go because you think it’s what I want…Go because it’s what you need.”

“I just don’t wanna pressure you…” he says, his voice more sullen and hoarse. “Especially after what that monster did…I don’t-”

I slide over closer and encourage him to get comfortable again. I place my hand softly on his stubble-covered cheek and make him look at me. “I don’t feel pressured here. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt comfortable like this, but with you I do. But you are right, I know I’m not ready…It’s just been so long since I’ve even wanted to…We both got carried away.” He nods and a tear slips down and onto my hand. I lean forward and kiss him softly. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close as he scoots down the bed to lay down flat. I rest my head back on his chest as he rubs my back. As we lay there in the heavy silence, I can’t help but reflect over everything. I know I’m falling hard and fast for the man under me and I can’t stop, but I’m still terrified of being hurt again. But knowing he’s just as scared of hurting me reassures me that he won’t. Despite his light and comforting movements, I know he’s overthinking as much as me, so I try to lighten the mood, “What’s your favorite color?”

“So, you haven’t Googled me then.”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Blue, and as a fun fact it’s my mark color on set.”

I roll a little so I can look up at him. “Com’on you gotta get more specific than that, there’s a hundred different shades of blue. For example, mine is green, but not just any green, the deep forest green of the leaves of trees in the middle of spring when everything’s alive and blooming brightly. I loved running my fingers over the fresh buds and leaves as I rode between the trees towards the look out in Cinco Range.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “That’s beautiful. Fine, sky blue like the sky on a clear summer day, but especially the Texas sky. The sky always feels slightly more bleak in Vancouver, it’s probably the cold weather.”

“So, basically, we’re both missing home…Your turn.”

“Okay, ummm…Favorite animal. Mine’s basic but I like dogs, and before you ask me to elaborate, it’s because they’re loyal and good company.”

“Good answer,” I say as I lay back down on his chest comfortably. “Horses, specifically my Snowy, but all horses for a similar reason.”

“You wanna go riding again tomorrow?”

“I’d love to, but I actually have to open the cafe, then I have two shows…”

“You have to open?! Why are we still talking? Get some sleep!”

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes you are. Your adrenaline’s just high. Come on.” He gets up and pulls down the comforter. I reluctantly crawl under it and then he tries to tuck me in and I frown.

“You’re leaving?”

“You want me to stay? I don’t want to keep you up, you need sleep, you’ve got a big day tomorrow. I never intended to be a distraction, I just wanted to support you.”

“I’ll sleep better if you stay…”Then quietly I add, “I don’t like being alone anymore. I’m scared.”

He instantly kneels on the bed and brushes back my hair from my face. “Okay, Darlin’, I’ll stay. Want me sleep on the couch?”

I hold up the comforter and shake my head. He rubs his hands on his denim covered thighs. “If I’m gonna stay, can I? And feel free to say no, I’ll manage.”

I nod. “It’s okay. You need to be comfy too.”

He turns around as he undoes his belt and pulls down his tight jeans. I feel like a perv but I can’t help but sneak a glance at his ass. But the longer I allow myself to watch the more my heartrate rises, the images of Todd pushing down his pants flash through my mind. I instantly look away and sit up as I start to hyperventilate. Jensen’s at my side in a second rubbing up and down my arms and pulling my close. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It was too much. You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” I can’t help but try to squirm out of his grasp, and he lets me. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Y/N, Darlin’, you’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He just sits on the edge of the bed and gives me time to calm down after pulling he jeans back up. After a while I finally calm my heart and breathing enough to lay back down. He tucks me in and then goes to get me a glass of water. When he comes back he perches on the side of the bed as I drink. Once he takes the glass and put it on the bedside table he says, “Get some sleep, Baby, I’ll be right here.”

I lay back down under the blanket and get comfortable and he scoots over and lays ontop of the blanket. He rubs his hand over my arm comfortingly and he even starts to sing very softly. I let his voice wash over me as the exhaustion of the day and from my panic attack finally take over.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey, @kamisobsessed

[nunalastor]

Guy / Serial Roommates

Anonymous asked:

Goes anyone else get mixed-vibes about Guy? I don't know what he's meant to look like but I always imagine dark hair, dark grey eyes, and tan skin. Like he might be white-passing but there is some Asian in there somewhere.

Anonymous asked:

Vox finds out about Guy and what he hears makes him think that Guy is Alastor's lover. There's no way Alastor suffered through all that for just a friend, right? And that would explain in Vox's head why Alastor rejected him if his heart belonged to someone else.

Guy and Alastor find out about that false impression and do the crazy cross-eyed laugh together.

Anonymous asked:

Serial Roommates Plot Twist: Guy is miserable in heaven (he and Al are friends for a reason) but convinced himself if Alastor is there, everything will be okay and they can fix all the problems together. Part of him knows he is more alive in hell and so is Alastor, but preconceived notions of what heaven and hell are meant to be makes him think helping people leave hell is best. Either way he acts as a therapist to give others the kindness and grace about mental health he couldn’t find in heaven.

Anonymous asked:

At this point, every demon with a brain knows it would be suicide to kidnap or hurt Guy. It reminds me of this episode of Superman of a plane being hijacked and Lois Lane is on it. When she tells them her name they’re like, the one Superman always saves?!

Imagine that with Guy? He just let his would be murderers know his name and they instantly know, they fucked up. By then it’s too late and they hear the screeching of an elk and radio static.

Anonymous asked:

The combination of Guy dying from cancer or some other sickness and Alastor still dying first is so painful! He would need the support of a friend, but one day Alastor never came home from his hunt and Guy was left to suffer and die alone. Any comfort he could have in reuniting with him after death also destroyed when he finds out he went to heaven and Alastor went to hell.

Anonymous asked:

Oh! Guy has a death now! It makes sense for disease to do him in, nobody in the cast we know of died of illness and after looking up images of the Bakers Estate that looks like somewhere someone would get all the diseases, mold cure or not.

Buckshot Anon, your time has come!

Anonymous asked:

What characters do y'all think Guy and Llewella would play in the DnD AU? I imagine the two of them being guest party members who only occasionally join the main group.

Also, Cherri Bomb takes over playing Sir Pentious's character after he dies.

Anonymous asked:

Currently obsessed with the song Albi by Sevdaliza and it gave me of the idea of genderbend Alastor and Guy.

Guy would still work for the police but possibly a matron or secretary. (Who knows maybe still an officer cause I just googled and apparently the first female cop was in the 1908) So her focus would be focused on women. So when she learns her roommate is killing the abusers, rapists and other killers; of course she’s going to support her.

Can you remember when the last time was

You felt safe in the dark?

This world was never meant for a woman's heart

But still, you rise through it all

When I'm out of breath, she's my vitals

When I need to rev, she's my ride-or-die

When I'm out of faith, she's my idol

I just killed a man, she's my alibi

Anonymous asked:

Can we all agree that if Guy were to fall for whatever reason, his demon form would be legitimately horrifying? His base form would probably look mostly human like Alastor (didn’t we say he had some dog traits, like he is to dogs what Alastor is to deer?) but going into his full demon form would tap into the mold he was infected with for months in the Baker Estate and become something grotesque. Shit like his burned away angel wings regenerating comprised entirely of the mold. That, and if he died of cancer related to his exposure to the mold, what is a more fucked up demon form to have than that of the thing that caused your torture, possession, and later slow death? 

Anonymous asked:

Alastor's suitors: *kidnap Guy for yandere reasons*

Guy: ROOKIE NUMBERS

[unknownpisces002]

GREEN MILE.

“ Losing my mind, think I look good when I’m really just high. Scared of my life, can a bitch get by? Sick of listening to everyone else. Sick of my pride, sick of just saying shit, just to be nice. Sick of this world, how do I get by? Miles running wild in my head.”

Giovanna Ramos X Black Fem.

Summary

“Clarity is a state of mind. And freedom ain’t real either, so who’s sold you that lie?” A love story told in a therapy session, about two young girls that were once mad for one another. By a recovering drug addict, who’s life revolves entirely around the green mile of North Carolina.

That she so desperately wants to escape.

Word count: 2,259

Themes: friends to lovers, LGBT, derealization, coming out of the closet, growth, homophobia, substance abuse, summer, violence, mental health, religion, family problems and secrets, young adults, mature, self discovery, eventual fluff, eventual smut, therapy, North Carolina, countryside, poverty, trauma, urban romance, urban fiction, ghetto.

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

Author’s Note

hi everyone! this is a story that i decided to transfer over from my wattpad account. that i recently just started at the end of december. because i felt the need to share it here, over on this platform as well.

so that all of you guys would also be able to read/ give me feedback on how it is, and what you’d like to see occur? as the story progresses on. so i hope that you all like it, and also feel free to follow me on wattpad as well! my username is supersensitivepisces on there 🧚🏽

also, inspiration to create this story? came from my love for Giovanna. ( she’s so aesthetically pleasing flf me.) as well as a movie that i had been watching, the day that i decided to publish this onto my account back in december.

PROLOGUE.

" I'll never meet a girl like you again. Out of everything I lost, I lost a friend. Tryna get over you, tryna convince myself every night. It's just another night, even though deep down I'm traumatized."

HASSAN

4 hassan

U r the omega of my heart. The foundation 4 my concept of love, when I think of what a black woman should be. It's you that I first think of.

_____________________________________________

U will never fully understand how deeply my heart feels for you. I worry that we'll grow apart, and I'll end up losing you.

____________________________________________

U bring me to a climax without sex, and u do it all with regal grace. U r my heart in human form, a friend I could never replace.

____________________________________________

– from gio.

___________

11/7/18

Oak City Therapy

Lillington, NC

" When I was younger, around like five or six years old? I used to bug my mom and tell her about how I wanted to be a firefighter. So I could save lies and put out fires? Like the people who I'd watch on tv would do."

Tapping the tips of her fingertips onto the dark oak wood coffee table, that was located in the center of the dim lit office room. Giovanna kept her head facing downwards.

Finding that, refusing to make direct eye contact with her therapist of 3 years, who was named Marsha? Was far more comfortable and peaceful for her nerves, as well as her emotional state.

That had so desperately wanted to crumble and falter, into tiny small pieces of despair. But you see, that was the one thing on this fucked up planet, we call earth? That Giovanna was against.

Showing emotions and allowing herself to be vulnerable? Were just two things she'd rather die over, before she'd allow them to be seen by the entire world.

Or in this specific case? Her friends, along with her father. Who had played a humongous part, in why she chose to be nonchalant while acting unfazed? About majority of the things that would occur inside of her life.

".. I too? Used to dream of being a firefighter myself. When I was around that exact age, but I'm assuming that specific dream of yours must've gotten lost. Somewhere down the line as you aged up? If you aren't uncomfortable telling me about why or how? That occurred.."

Marsha eased her way into questioning the young woman who sat before her, slowly and hesitantly. Making sure that each of the words she'd spoken? Came out soft, in a calm and delicate manner.

As she leaned her backside up against her office chair, with eyes full of hope and wonder. That held a bit of gloominess inside them as well too. Once she noticed the way that Giovanna's breathing had begun to pick up a bit.

Just as her short, but not too short fingernails, that were painted a matte black color? Had begun to dig into the surface of the desk she sat at. Almost as if she were trying to dig a deep hole into the center of it, that would allow her to shield and hide herself away?

From having to answer the difficult question? That had been asked of her.

" ..I wouldn't say that my passion to accomplish that specific dream? Got lost. Because even after my mom had passed away, from having cancer? Apart of me still wanted to pursue that goal. But at the same time? Another part of me, like the part that held high hopes and expectations for things? Had diminished inside of me completely, after I lost my mom.."

" ..And I'm not really sure that if me being an only child, plays a part in that? Because don't get me wrong, I was loved wholeheartedly? By both of my parents equally when I was younger. But I don't know...sometimes now? Like when I'm alone or high from being off pills or something? I start to realize that really? It was only my mom that had loved me wholeheartedly back then.."

" Instead of it being my dad."

" And why is it, that you feel as if your father doesn't love you Giovanna?" Marsha continued to ask all the questions, that were written down onto her clipboard hesitantly.

Feeling an unsettling sensation begin to wash over her slowly. When Giovanna had taken it upon herself to shift around inside her seat. Which allowed the left sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt to rise. And give Marsha the opportunity, to catch a glimpse of all the fresh and faded scar markings that were present there.

From Giovanna, inflicting a significant amount of self harm unto herself.

" I know that he doesn't love me? Because he's voiced that statement every single day. Over the last twelve years? Repeatedly." Giovanna chuckled bitterly, all while gnawing on the inside of her jaw using her teeth.

" Me being a lesbian? Probably is another one of the reasons why he hates me too. But all in all? He just doesn't love or care for me period? In the way that a normal father would love their child."

And that fact alone? Was sadly true.

" Him not loving me or treating me properly? Doesn't bother me at all though. Because I'm used to it now, and I know that me saying that? Probably sounds stupid right? And it might also make you assume that I may or may not have Stockholm syndrome? Being that I'm okay with the fact that my father's been treating me like shit, while sometimes abusing me and more? For over twelve years."

" Yes, the way that you are going on about how his lack of love and affection, doesn't bother you? Does raise a few red flags for me. As far as you possibly being a victim of having Stockholm syndrome? But it also makes me worry more about your emotional and mental state? Even more. Being that when you really sit and sum up the timeframe, of you losing your mother? Down to your father's continuous abuse?"

" It seems that through all of that? You haven't been able to feel any of the proper care, love or attention? That a person who's endured losing a parent at a young age? Should get to feel. And that may also be another reason, as to why you feel the need to be so distant. While hiding away your true feelings, because honestly Giovanna? I'm gonna tell you something from my own personal experiences with life."

"..That have helped me find closure and peace? Within myself. After being a victim of my own? To some of the same exact problems that you've been having."

Sitting her clipboard aside, after grabbing a few tissues out of the box that was towards her right. Marsha had begun opening up about her past life, to Giovanna. As a way to encourage the younger woman and try to get through to her in a way, that talking and asking simple therapy questions? Couldn't do.

But of course? As always, Giovanna didn't care to hear any of it. Which allowed every word that left from out of Marsha's mouth, to enter inside of one ear, and come floating directly through the other.

Just as she found herself beginning to grow a bit offended, once Marsha had begun to talk about love and relationships. And how someone in Giovanna's state, didn't really need to engage in any form of romantic or sexual interactions? With another person.

Due to the lack of her father not showing her enough love or care properly? When she was a young age.

" I've been in love before." Were the first few words that left from out of Giovanna's mouth. As she cut into the middle of Marsha's speech, not really caring or giving a fuck if she had come off rude or not? After doing so.

" I'm actually in love right now? If you want me to be honest. I'm just not on speaking terms with the person? Who owns the other half of my heart right now."

" Really?" Marsha questioned slowly, sounding a bit shocked and caught off guard by Giovanna's statement.

" Mm-hm." Giovanna nodded her head slowly, feeling a small smile begin to form at the corners of her lips. Once the thought of her distant and angelic lover? Had begun to enter inside of her mind slowly.

" And why aren't the two of you on speaking terms? If you don't mind me asking."

" Because I'm..." Trailing off at the end of her sentence, Giovanna had begun to still her breathing. Just as her dark brown eyes started to glisten, and blur her vision up with tears.

" Because you're what, Giovanna?" Marsha pressed her for an answer, knowing almost immediately? What the younger girls response would've been like, once she re-opened up her mouth to speak.

" ..I'm damaged goods, Miss Marsha.."

" Like I have a heart, of course? And I know how to love and treat someone properly, even though I myself? Never got to receive that same exact treatment, from the people I deserved it from. I still know how to love and treat someone good? Despite that. But I just..."

" You're just a product of your environment. And even though treating someone kindly and loving them correctly? Doesn't come difficult. Sometimes accepting back that same love and energy? Can be a bit difficult. When all you've ever known was toxicity and dysfunction."

" But see, the thing about me accepting it back? Wasn't the problem Miss Marsha. The problem was my self esteem and my communication. Because there were times when I said things out of anger or out of being afraid? That had drove Hassan away from me too."

" Hassan?" Marsha repeated the name of Giovanna's lover slowly. " Hassan is such a pretty name, and I'm sure that she must be a pretty girl too? With how emotional and vulnerable you're getting while talking about her."

And that? She was indeed.

But of course, pretty? Wouldn't even be a suitable word to describe her at all. Because you see, Hassan? Was angelic. Just like everything else about her personality and character? Was too.

" Experiencing her love and even the attention she gave to me, before we ever became a thing? Was a privilege I wish that I never took for granted." Giovanna answered quietly, picking with the bracelet on her arm, that was giving to her by Hassan herself.

" And I know before, when I had first gotten here? I told you about how growing up as a child, with both of my parents while my mom was still alive? Was the time period where my want to do lots of things? Had been very strong."

" But even when she died and my dad became more hostile towards me? I still craved to be something or let alone somebody? Who'd be great. I just didn't know how or where to start first? For me to be able to accomplish any of those things period? Until I met Hassan.."

"..And she came into my world, allowing everything that once looked black and white? Turn colorful and vibrant. So that I could be guided out of my selfish, stuck up ways, and be the person who she swore up above to God and the heavens? That I was created to be."

" And what kind of person was that?" Marsha found herself growing a bit emotional as time passed, as she sat with her arms folded tightly. Trying not to make a fool out of herself, for crying and weeping over her client's newfound vulnerability and bravery.

That she had gained out of the blue, due to talking about her past. Or in this case? Still present lover. Who she wholeheartedly still loved very deeply, to this day.

" The kind of person who always showed patience and kindness, despite being robbed of all their goodness and purity? Far too early than I should've been. That's the kind of person? She saw me as. Even through the good, the bad and the ugly? She always looked at me, with eyes that held so much love and adoration. That at often times? I'd get scared."

" While wondering how a person like me? Could win over the heart of someone like her, you know? But even then after everything that's happened and changed over the years? I'd never stop loving her ever."

" And why is that Giovanna?"

" Because finding someone who'd love you through any and everything, despite the fact that you might not even deserve it at all? Is very fucking rare these days."

" And I have Hassan's heart? In the same exact way she has mine. So why would I ever let go or move onto someone else? When I know for certain that we'll find our way back to one another. Just like we always have? During the past."

" And you're willing to wait however long it may take, until that day ends up coming?"

" Oh? Absolutely." Giovanna's head nodded up and down quickly. " If I had to wait another year or even ten more? I'd do it without question."

" Because Hassan is worth the wait. And if I ended up having to grow old and wrinkly, just for that day to come back to me? I wouldn't have a problem with it at all."

" ..I'd just accept her back into my life fully, with open arms. Because that's all I've been wanting again and looking forward to? For the last two years."

if you’d like to be tagged in the next part? just comment below. & also feel free to leave thoughts down there as well too!