#he’s been an addict since i was a fucking toddler

[yeonjuns-beanie]

As It Was

warnings: 18+, weed usage, smut, unprotected sex, soulmate au(kind of), little hatefuckin before real fucking, reader is a brat, mentions of suicide, oral(f receiving, logan is an EATER), claws come out when he…, little bit of primal play, breeding kink, daddy kink, implied age gap cuz i think it’s hot, im prolly gonna write him like an animal, think that’s it!! LOL

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: after saving his world from extinction, wade brings home a wolverine. you feel a tether to him but can't quite figure out what it is, but logan does. as the days go by you slowly chip away at the wall between you two and things slowly return to as it was.

word count: 4.5k

title is inspired by the hozier song of the same name....

It’s been three months now and you still couldn’t figure out the pull you felt toward Logan. The moment Wade brought him through the door, Mary Puppins in hand, you felt a tie to him. Now, it was as if the Red String of Fate was punishing you for not remembering your connection with him. It was haunting, aggravating, and pushing you towards sexual frustration because no matter how much you tried to remember, your thoughts would instantly become clouded with your attraction to him. He was brooding, grumpy, and humorous when he wanted to. The stoic exterior of him was just that, a shell. You just weren’t quite sure how to crack his nut yet.

You were sat in the main room of the apartment grinding up some green to pack a morning bowl. As you were getting ready to fill the glass you heard Wade’s voice echo through the apartment.

“You always grind Aunt Mary so hard. Don’t you think she would like to be loved tenderly, sugarbear?”

“And the last time I gave you the grinder there might as well have been a whole nug in the bowl. You damn near burned half my stash.”

“You’d think living with three addicts would be fun, but it’s more like babysitting toddlers fighting to see who can ruin my day first. Spoiler: it’s everyone.”

You chuckled, slotting the bowl into the joint of the bong, and pointed at Wade with it.

“You wanna hit this or not?”

“‘Course I do. How could I pass up a wake n bake with my girl?”

Wade jogged over to you, plopping dramatically on the seat next to you. Rolling your eyes, you took the first hit letting Wade finish off the remaining smoke in the shaft. Exhaling you spoke while the smoke billowed out of your mouth.

“Wade, baby, I love you, but I’m not your girl. What about Nessa?”

Before he spoke, he had his coughing fit like clockwork. Every time, no matter the method, resulted in a cough so bad he looked like a drooling dog. It was free entertainment but you tried your hardest not to laugh out loud because every time you did, it made it worse.

You couldn’t hold it

It was like watching a court jester and when Wade finally caught his breath he was staring off at a wall in the apartment mindlessly reaching for the glass. When his hand was left fondling the air reaching nothing, you let your laugh echo through the apartment.

“You sure you want another one?”

“Just gimme the weed, gorgeous. And to answer your question. Vanessa and I are on a break of sorts, but I’m wounded that I now have lost you too. It’s cause I brought Peanut here isn’t it?”

Wade was feigning heartbreak, just busting your balls in an effort to see if you’d crack. Your relationship was always like this and that was probably why you two got along so well. Nothing was ever too serious and yet still completely vulnerable. As wild as he was, Wade was a safe space for you and for some reason this morning, you felt like sharing.

“Perhaps.”

His head whipped so fast you thought it’d fly off. Coupled with his dramatic gasp and chest grab you nearly regretted your admission.

“I knew it!”

“Will you keep it down, it’s not that serious.”

“Au contraire. This is probably the most serious thing since Blind Al ran out of Peruvian marching powder.”

Rolling your eyes, you swallowed your pride as you knew Wade wouldn’t let it go until you told him every detail possible. As much as you pretended you hated divulging this information, it was kinda nice to let out to somebody. You’d been wrestling with so many feelings since Wade brought Logan to stay with you guys and the weight of it was becoming painful.

“Well, he’s hot obviously.”

“Tell me something more interesting, we all disrespectfully gawk at the honey badger.” Wade quipped.

“The problem is I feel this weird attachment to him. Like I’ve known him before. Maybe we met before they tried their best to wipe my memory, but I can’t shake this one. I’m drawn to him but he won’t let anyone get close enough to figure that out.”

You had your own run-in with the TVA a few years ago and instead of dumping you into the void, they were nice enough to plop you in Earth-10005. You were grateful considering the stories of this barren garbage heap that Wade and Logan told you about but you couldn’t remember why they sent you here in the first place.

You had no real memory of your life before this or what you did that fucked you up so badly. It always haunted you. Maybe you were a murderer. A merciless killer and that’s why they snagged you. A similar fate to Wade’s but they decided somewhere that you weren’t equipped for the job and the TVA orphaned you to another universe.

You weren’t complaining, you loved the life that you had now you just wanted to remember the rest of you. You were roaming this universe, a husk of your former self and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you, it did. It kept you up at night. Until Logan walked through the apartment door.

Slowly, things started to reveal themselves to you but only in a dream. You were forced to piece together your life with the shattered fragments of what your dreamscape gave you to work with. You’d wake up from the most vivid dreams only to remember one instance where you were walking down a street, the sky pouring rain in a godly attempt to cleanse you. Your hands were always coated in crimson when you looked down.

It’d come in flashes and it’d end just as fast. You were patient with yourself but a lot of times you tried to drown out the feeling with various substances. Weed being your vice of choice as alcohol made you suffer. Making you wish that an attempt of self-mutilation or the bittersweet release of dancing with death while your wrists stained the floor garnet succeeded.

They never did.

So you tried your best to make peace with your life and you were doing alright until Logan showed up. Now the universe was mocking you. Testing to see if you’d slip up and forget everything you learned.

“I think he’d like to figure you out, y/n. Do with that what you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wade shrugged his shoulders handing you the bong back. As he stood up you took one last hit and left the glass piece on the table. As you exhaled, Logan’s voice pierced through the silence.

“Jesus. D’ya have to stink up the apartment with that shit? Can’t go outside?”

“Easy, peanut. The art of the wake n bake is sacred. Plus, talk to the gardener if you have requests to make, not me.”

Wade pointed to you as he wandered off into the kitchen and you reached for the bong motioning it to Logan.

“Wanna hit?”

Logan hit you with a short ‘no’ and it almost hurt your feelings. Your gaze flicked over to Wade who was mouthing to you something you couldn’t quite make out but he was pointing to Logan while doing it. Your brain spazzed for a moment before coming up with a response as you stood.

“You want coffee or something, Lo?”

“Sure, kid.”

You walked into the kitchen with Wade and started whispering to him.

“What the fuck? Of course, he comes out while I’m blowing up the house.”

“I don’t see why you’re worried, he doesn’t seem upset.”

You turned around trying your best not to look suspicious.

“Yes, the fuck he does. I’m gonna fuck this up before I even get the chance to start-”

“-You two morons know I can hear you, right?”

You hung your head in defeat finishing up the two cups before setting one in front of Logan and holding yours while you stood. The air was thick, but not uncomfortable. It just felt like everyone needed to get something off their chest and didn’t know how to start. Before you opened your mouth to speak, Wade’s voice cut you off while he sent a text message.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you lovebirds to it. I’ve got a pegging date.”

Again. Mocking you. The universe seemed to just have it out for you and apparently, today was the day of honesty. You took a seat across from Logan wondering where to direct the conversation.

“You hungry? I can make us something.”

“I’m alright kid, not too keen on stoner food in the morning.”

“Hey, I’m still a good cook when I’m cooked. I just wanted to offer.” You paused.

“Also if you have a problem with it, I’ll find a new spot. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“No need. Just giving you guys a hard time. We all have something to cope with our shit.”

You nodded knowing he was referencing his drinking habit, or problem if we were feeling honest. You left your coffee cup on the table and stood up, wanting to Irish goodbye in your own home. But you didn’t want to add any more bricks to this wall even though it felt like the silence was already doing so.

“Well, um. I’m gonna chill out for a bit in my room if you need anything.”

He hummed to let you know he heard you and you walked down the hallway to your bedroom before stopping in your tracks. Something possessed you and you had to get this out. The test was walking away and if you finished that journey into your bedroom and locked the door, nothing would be resolved. Turning on your heel, you walked back into the kitchen and faced Logan.

“Why do you hate me?”

He nearly choked on his coffee, the noise echoing in the cup.

“What?”

You sighed, trying to not feel silly about your admission.

“Why do you hate me? And if you don’t, why do you act like it? It’s so hard to get through to you and it feels like I’m talking to a fucking wall.”

“Kid-”

“And stop ‘kid’ing me! If it’s out of endearment it doesn’t feel like it.”

Your heart rate was rising and you could feel your skin getting hot. The months of pent up emotions were finally boiling over and you couldn’t stop it. You needed to know why.

“What is it then, y/n?”

“Why can’t I get through to you? Every time I try, you shut me down by being curt with me and I’m left with the same feeling as before. I can’t shake this feeling that I know you and I can’t even get close to you without you shoving me away like I have a fatal disease. So why, Logan? All I wanna know is why?”

He sighed knowing there was no easy way to escape this.

“Kid–sorry. It’s complicated. I know that feeling. I feel it too, but I know why it’s there and I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

Again?

“What do you mean again?”

Logan sighed and said nothing. Hanging his head in what you thought was shame but most definitely could be avoidance. It frustrated you even more so because why couldn’t he just talk to you?

“Here we go again, nothing?! Is it so hard to just say what this is?”

“It’s not that simple, bub.”

You scoffed and turned around to walk to your room. You needed to clear your head because it was more than apparent that a solution would not be provided for you. Logan didn’t have the courage to reveal what he knew so a walk away from him would have to suffice.

“Y/n! Where are you going?”

“I need to clear my head since obviously you don’t have the gall to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Slipping your shoes on, you tried to move past Logan but he was blocking the doorway.

“Move.”

“Y/n. Just-”

“I said move, Logan.”

One wall after another you kept hitting, except this one was physically him. He nearly filled up the doorway and his frame was imposing. You tried to figure out how you’d slip past him but you were so heated that you were about to settle for dramatics before he moved his body just enough for you to slip past. You stared at him, looking for something in his eyes to tell you to stay but it just made you more irritated. You walked down the hallway and almost made it to the door before you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Do you get a kick out of torturing me or something?”

“Sweetheart, if you just—just sit down and let me say what I need to say.”

“Oh, now you wanna fucking talk. Let go of me. I’m not in the mood to talk anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened as you struggled against him and you pushed on his chest trying to get him off of you. He was stunned by your actions and so were you but you couldn’t stop. You kept pushing him away from you until he grabbed your upper arms stabilizing you but you still were pressing your hands against his chest. He was calling your name trying to calm you down but you were too lost in your emotions. You thrashed your head up, trying to plead with him silently to let you go even though you knew that was the last thing you wanted.

When your eyes met his, one of his hands cradled the back of your head and before you could register it, his lips were slotted against yours in a moment of desire and exasperation. Bated breath, fury, and sexual confusion fueled the kiss but you’d be a liar to say you didn’t enjoy this feeling. His body flesh against yours, the heat bouncing between the two of you nearly suffocating and it had only been seconds. Logan had you pressed against the wall his hands roaming the curves of your body and his knee slotted itself in between your thighs, completely caging you against him.

He pushed his knee up into the apex of your thighs applying a delicate pressure to your center. You moaned against him, your body rolling your hips into the feeling. His hands were roaming over your body in a frenzy, like if he didn’t touch you fast enough you’d disappear. Your hands wrapped into his hair, pulling on his sandy brown locks as you tried to stabilize yourself into the feeling.

Logan pulled away from you, a string of spit the only thing left connecting you two until it broke and you felt the cold air vaporize the heat on your swollen lips. You were staring at his features, locked in his gaze hoping that if you didn’t break eye contact he’d stay right here. His gruff voice broke the heady silence.

“Since you wanna be a brat and not talk anymore, I have no choice but to show you how I feel, sugar.”

Logan slid his hands down until they were underneath the swell of your ass and told you to jump. As your legs wrapped around his waist, he walked down the hallway to your room. His senses were incredibly heightened at this moment and when he breached the threshold of your room, he was intoxicated by the smell of you swirling the room.

As he laid you down on your bed, your scent wafted off of the sheets with a gentle breeze and he was soon surrounded by a nest of you and your arousal. He prowled over your body, taking you in and memorizing every inch of you, how you were restless against him, and how your lower half mindlessly moved against him in desperate need of some sort of friction.

He uttered a low growl against you as he snaked up to your neck leaving a string of hot kisses against your skin. The scruff of his beard nearly overstimulated you and had you clawing at his skin, frantic in your efforts, soft moans escaped your lips in wordless need of feeling something more.

“Don’t wanna talk but I got you whimpering for me, huh princess?”

“Lo-”

“Shh, baby. I got you.”

Logan bit your ear, pulling at the skin before he tugged at the bottom of your shirt and you lifted your back just enough so that he could slip it off of you. Your upper body was fully exposed to him as your tits pancaked on your chest. As he lowered his face back down to your body, he trailed down your skin with his nose inhaling every last inch of you. The action was so subdued in comparison to the rest of his demeanor that you got completely lost in the feeling.

As his face met your stomach, the scent of your arousal was incredibly inebriating, deluging his mind with salacity. He traced the waistband of your shorts with his nose, encasing his teeth around the elastic piece of fabric before replacing his mouth with his hands as he languidly pulled them down your legs. Tossing them across the room he looked up at you.

“You want this?”

“Please.” You mewled out.

Logan shoved his nose against your panties inhaling your scent before rubbing your bud through the fabric as he came back up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He pulled your panties from your body, your slick stretching as the fabric left your messy lips. The cool air was welcomed but was soon replaced by the warmth of Logan’s mouth against your petals.

He lapped at you like a dog. A wanton primal need taking over his senses. He wanted to be enveloped in you and you in him. In every timeline, he’d claim you and this one was no different. You tangled your hands in his hair, rolling your pussy into his face as he sloppily ate you out. His hands were wrapped around your hips holding you in place as he greedily drank you in.

You could feel the spit dripping down your folds and forming a cool pool of fervour beneath your skin. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy you could feel your orgasm begin to settle in your lower stomach, heat rippling across your skin. Your moans increased in frequency but became more breathy in nature as you came closer to your high.

Logan’s hand snaked up your curves and his fingers teased your nipples, pulling and pinching at the sensitive skin as he felt your body grow more tense with desire. Dragging his calloused hands down your body one last time, he inserted a finger into your wet, libertine cavern and you sucked him in with need. The stretch of him adding a second finger pushing you right to your edge as he curled them inside of you.

“Lo- I’m gonna-”

“I know, sugar. Let it out. Lemme hear you”

He immediately put his tongue back on your clit, and let you ride out your high against his face. Your moans gained volume completely immersed in the pleasure. When the ripples of euphoria finally dwindled, you looked down at Logan and pulled him up to your face so you could kiss him. The tang of your sex was still present on his lips and it ignited something within you.

“You got too many fuckin clothes on, Daddy.”

You were breathless. Lost in a licentious rhapsody as you had him hovering over your body and when Logan paused his movements to look at you, you thought you ruined the moment. He could smell the change in you and spoke before you had the chance to apologize for nothing.

“Say it again.”

He could feel you heartbeat pounding in your chest, arousal returning to the forefront of your mind.

“Wanna see you. Feel all of you, Daddy.”

Your voice was dripping sex, his personal psychedelic. He freed himself from his beater and you palmed his bulge through his sweats. Slipping your hand past the waistband, you stroked his heavy cock.

“Lemme make you feel good.”

You were getting ready to flip your bodies over, but Logan pinned you to the bed his eyes boring through you. You felt so small underneath him, like he could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him. When he spoke he broke you from the trance.

“Another time, sweetheart. This is about showing you how I feel about you since my baby needs me to spell it out for her.”

Slipping out of his sweats his cock was on full display, so heavy that it didn’t have the spring to bounce against his stomach. It hung in front of him, heady and in desperate need to be inside of you. Precum and prurience leaked from his tip. Logan crawled on top of you, the tip of his cock rubbing between your folds, coating your slick across his shaft.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

You squeezed around nothing, the action not going unnoticed by Logan. You mewled against him, just wanting him to ravish you in every way possible. You wanted to be marked, for everyone to see that you belonged to him but you couldn’t find the words to articulate this feeling while this sexual heat was radiating off of your bodies and numbing your mind.

Logan slowly pushed his tip into your rapt cunt before pulling it out and sliding it against your clit. The withdrawal of pleasure bringing you to your senses.

“I want you to make me yours. Wanna belong to you, Lo.”

You were wanton with need. The desire for him became nearly unbearable and it was all soon resolved as he pushed his cock past your pious walls, defiling you of any innocence you had left. You wanted to be claimed, he’d claim you. Animal instinct took over as he rocked his hips into your cunt, your walls fluttering around him in ardor. Low growls left his throat as he nipped at the skin on your neck, alternating between kissing the marks and swiping them with his tongue. He was marking you, making you his own.

It was like he couldn’t get close enough to you as he thrusted into you. His arms wrapped around your body as you fell limp to the pleasure. You felt another orgasm on the horizon and you tried your best to warn Logan by sinking your nails into his back, leaving red trails of morbid desire to mark him as yours. You didn’t realize the amount of pressure you were putting on his skin, but the groans that left him had that concern pushed to the back of your mind. Your orgasm washed over you and your pussy squeezed so tight around him that you nearly pushed him out of you. You were entranced, drunk on him and his cock, still desperate for more.

It was like he could hear your thoughts because as soon as you thought of a second round, Logan was flipping you on your hands and knees and you arched your back as he rubbed his hand along the small of it, accentuating your arch. His cock filled your sugared walls one more time and as he buried himself to the hilt. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he brought your body flesh against his.

“Gonna fuckin breed you. Never gonna forget you who belong to, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the preemptive squeezing of his cock at the mention of him breeding you. The thought of him filling you with all of him was grossly erotic and Logan took the chance to taunt you.

“Oh? You like that, huh? Want daddy to breed your pretty little pussy?”

You hummed, your eyes lidded as you tried to see him over your shoulder. Sweat was sticking your bodies together and you only noticed how hot it was between the two of you when he pushed your body forward, cool air hitting your back as he began to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock. His tip was kissing your cervix and repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you that made you squirm against his body.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his breaths ragged and you could feel your third orgasm of the night creeping on you. Low growls complimented the whimpers that were leaving your mouth and being somewhat muffled by the fabric of your sheets. You couldn’t hold his hips against you to ensure that he stayed inside so you just whimpered out a small ‘inside’ as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over your body.

Logan wasn’t far behind, one hand resting on your hips and his other by your head steadying himself above you. Sinking his teeth into your neck, you cried out in avidity and rapture filled his veins before painting his seed across your walls. You heard a faint schwing and as you opened your eyes, you saw that his claws were extended. As you moved your hips back into him to fuck you through the rest of your high, you accidentally nicked yourself on one of his blades. He hissed against you uttering a strained ‘don’t move’ as the luxuria dissipated in his body.

As he calmed down, his claws retracted back into skin and he gently rolled you over to gaze over your features. He moved a few sweat-stricken pieces of hair off of your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, which was such a contrast from before. Pulling out of you he pushed himself off the bed.

“Be right back.”

Returning with a warm towel, he cleaned you up and grabbed a shirt from one of your drawers waiting for you to put it in before sliding next to you in the bed. You curled into him, tracing patterns into his chest. Looking up at him, you felt none of the tension from before in the room and you decided that this would be the time.

“So, what did you mean by ‘again’ earlier?”

Logan sighed but not out of exasperation like it was earlier, it was softer this time.

“In my world, we were together. That’s the pull you feel. But in like so many other areas in that timeline, I fucked up and I lost you. I’d rather have kept you at a distance than not have you at all, but I fucked that up too, now.”

He laughed the last bit out, a touch of humor apparent in his delivery. Sighing, you felt like something could work here between the two of you.

“Well, whenever you’re ready to tell me what happened between your timeline’s me and you, I’ll wait patiently for it. But until then, know that you’re not losing me here. I’m yours as long as you want me.”

You didn’t expect a response from him, nor did you feel like you really needed one. You wanted to relish in this moment between the two of you and soon enough sleep overtook both of your forms.

© yeonjuns-beanie '24

~Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The love, the dark, the light, the flame~

[lavender-bun]

Bonding

SUMMARY | You and Rafe have more in common than you both thought.

-requested by anon

PAIRING | rafe cameron x adopted!teen!reader

WARNINGS | drug consumption, yelling, arguing, hurt/comfort, soft!Rafe, fluff at the end

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You have been living with the Camerons for a few weeks now, still getting used to yet another family who grantly took you in. You're related to them, but not by blood. Your so-called mother met your stepfather when you were just a toddler, both quickly bonded over the fact that they're drug addicts.

You were only 6 when you got ripped out of your home and thrown into the system, going to family after family, everyone claiming you were too much to handle.

Now you were a teen and the system surprised you one day when they told you they found some of your relatives.

"They live in the Outer Banks. Ward and Rose Cameron already await you with open arms." The social worker told you with a smile while you only sighed, slumping in your seat before her desk. Great, another family who are 'oh so happy' to get to know you.

Now here you were, sitting in your room at Tannyhill and it was just how you expected. Ward did seem like a nice guy all until the papers were signed and the social worker left. He showed you your room and since then you were just air to him. A charity case to show off at events or the country club, to let everyone know what a good guy he is and how generous for finally getting you out of the system.

You hated it. After all these years of being thrown back and forth from family to family, you were now stuck here, adopted by someone who doesn't even acknowledge your presence when entering a room.

At least his kids, or your new siblings you suppose, talked with you and showed you around the Outer Banks.

Wheezie is funny and very smart. You both had a movie night once every week or sometimes you would go shopping with her, loving to just listen to her rambling or gossiping about school, sometimes she even asked you for advice.

Sarah took you several times to the Chateau where you got to know the pogues, they're a chaotic group of friends but it's nice feeling included in something.

And then there was Rafe. You don't really talk much, just the usual small talk when you would go to the kitchen to get water or when he passed your room, peaking inside to ask if you want to join him by the pool.

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One evening you got home late, stumbling through the door, high as a kite, and didn't notice Ward standing there with his arms crossed until you kicked your shoes off jumping in surprise when you turned to face him, placing a hand on your chest.

"Where were you?" he asked, his tone laced with anger.

"Out." you simply shrugged, about to walk up the stairs when Ward turned you around, grabbing your chin in one hand and examining your face.

He scoffed with a smile, letting you go harshly, making you stumble a little before he snapped at you. "You're grounded!"

"What?!"

"You heard me. For the next two weeks you won't leave the house except for school," he said crossing his arms.

"But I bet I still have to go to that stupid midsummer event, right? Have to keep up your reputation?" you laughed mockingly.

"What are you on about?"

"As if you don't know! I'm nothing but a charity case to you, a trophy you can show around and live on your act as the generous Ward Cameron, so no one knows what an actual asshole you are!" you screamed in his face, pointing a finger at him.

"You better watch who you're talking to you brat!" he shouted back.

"You're pathetic. Doing everything for another dollar in your pocket as if you don't have enough already!" you waved your arm in the air.

"Alright, you just earned yourself a month of being grounded! There are rules and as long you're under my roof and care you're going to follow them. Unless you want to end up like your mother, pregnant and as an addict."

"Fuck you!" You flipped him off, stomping up the stairs and to your room, slamming the door shut before throwing yourself on your bed burying your face in a pillow.

You never wanted to be here in the first place. You screamed into your pillow in frustration before the tears started to fall, sobbing quietly.

When you heard someone knocking on your door you ignored it at first, groaning when the knocking continued and shouted. "Leave me alone!"

It didn't stop and you sighed, wiping your face before going to answer the door. "I said leave- oh, it's you."

Rafe stood before you, hands in his pockets and lips pressed in a thin line. "Hey, I- uhh, heard what happened downstairs." he coughed awkwardly. "I just wanted to see if you're okay."

"Perfectly fine." you said with a sarcastic smile, about to close the door again.

"You want some company?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You were about to turn it down but decided against it, nodding your head you stepped to the side, a silent invitation for him to enter.

You walked back over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it, and patted the place next to you. He sat down next to you, rubbing his hands over his knees.

"So, what happened?"

"I thought you heard it?" you raised an eyebrow with a small smile on your face.

"Yeah, okay, you got me." he chuckled. "You know, Dad gets angry fast, you shouldn't take it seriously."

"Don't worry, he's nothing but a clown to me." you both laughed.

There was silence for a moment before you sighed, looking down at your hands, fidgeting with them.

"I just feel so out of place, not only here. I feel like this everywhere. I know it sounds stupid...but...I just want to feel loved and appreciated. There wasn't a single family where I felt at home." You told him, tears already forming in your eyes again. "I know I can be a lot to handle, at least, that's what I've been told my whole life..."

The tears you tried to hold back started to flow down your cheeks. Rafe straightened, slightly panicking at seeing you cry. He reaches behind you, soothingly rubbing your back.

"Shh, it's okay. C'mere." he pulls you more into his side.

He continued to hold you while you soaked his shirt in your tears, but he couldn't care less right now.

"It'll be okay, and hey, don't you know how much Wheezie and Sarah love you?" he asked and you pulled back to look at him, wiping your tears away, sniffling.

He wanted you to know that there are people who love and care for you, himself being one of them. He related to you more than you'll ever know. Being the oldest he tried to be a role model for his sisters, failing miserably, but he still did so much to get his father's attention, receiving nothing in return, not even a pat on the back.

"Really?" you asked, eyes big and filled with hope.

He nodded. "Really, trust me. You're not out of place, you just need time and that's totally valid after all you've been through." he noticed the confusion on your face since you never really talked with anyone about your past. "I've done some research," he admitted and you nodded.

"Thank you, Rafe." You smiled, still sniffling a little.

"Don't mention it, kid." he smiled, reaching a hand up to ruffle your hair. "Now, how about we go and watch a movie? Wheezie had been nagging my ear off about some new horror movie."

"Sounds perfect. I'm grounded anyways, so I don't have any plans." You shrugged making him laugh again.

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@lokigirlszendaya @buckymydarlingangel @superlegend216

[brucewaynehater101]

The brainrot is hitting hard today…

On the topic of the Drakes, I usually prefer the unconventional but loving parent type (Bruce x the Drakes is my favorite rarepair) but the idea of a de-aged Toddler Tim having no idea what to do when Jason or another Bat does the “ur a baby I’m gonna pick you up” move because his parents stopped picking him up once he started walking is so heartbreakingly wonderful to me.

even with de-aged Tim fics in general, i prefer when he’s a feral raccoon, but just that specific scene is so addicting.

a whole fic exploring the personality of a three-year-old Tim with limited parental context and his dynamics with Jason in particular is mwah.

and then a week later, he’s deaged again but as a 6-year-old and the family has to deal with a brat with too much time on his hands and too little supervision.

3-year-old tim as a victim of neglectful, bordering abusive, parenting

6-year-old tim as a consequence of neglectful, bordering abusive, parenting

also, bonus if 3 y/o Tim just cam saw the graysons fall and only recognizes Dick after Nightwing does something flippy. “Flippy Dick” being his first words since deaging (i think i saw the nickname in a good parents!drakes post ironically)

Yes! I do adore the angst of the Drakes loving Tim, wanting the world for him, and failing. The black and white "Drakes are bad parents" is great for healing and comfort, but the grey area is where I feel a lot of people are with their own parents. The Drakes trying but never being enough is so intoxicating to read. There's usually only bad parents and good parents for the Drakes.

I also love when the Drakes and Bruce share parenting Tim while the kid fights that at every turn. It's hilarious.

For Kid Tim fics, I can't really stand when he's turned into a "so cute but so sad" version. That child is a gremlin. Therefore, I love when authors hint at angst/abuse, but Tim doesn't realize that something is wrong. For him, that's normal. Why would he know the difference?

The nickname "Flippy Dick/Dickie" is cute and I adore a chaotic 6 year old Tim. A lack of supervision for children (who have issues with impulse control due to their brain development) equates to Tim doing whatever the fuck he wants and not respecting authority. He gets to make decisions for himself because that's how it's always been.

On the same note, fics that have Bruce noticing Tim's lack of supervision and then forcing restrictions on Tim freak me out. Yes, a child should not be making such decisions and should not be alone at such ages. However, Tim, in these AUs, has years of experience doing so. Forcing him to follow Bruce's rules without choice disrespects the systems Tim has built up to protect himself. He should have continued autonomy. The goal is to support him. They should allow Tim to slowly integrate himself into the Wayne family as someone ensures he's getting food regularly, has an adult to rely on, and has all his needs met (however Tim chooses to meet them).

If Tim chooses to relinquish his control over every aspect in his life for some help and relief, then absolutely. Despite this, Tim will need to be treated as closer to an equal than a child due to his experiences. He is still a child, but he's been making choices for himself for a while. He should have the respect and autonomy to continue making decisions in regard to his own being.

I guess I got on a rant, lmao. Anyways, de-aging fics that highlight Tim not being able to hide his chaotic nature as well are amazing

[dairy-farmer]

Recursive Incest Pregnancy Timmy Anon with more fun! Little baby Timmy just seemed to be born horny. He's been playing with his baby pussy ever since his fingers found that magic little button that made him all tingly and shaky and felt so good! Naturally, his parents tried to dissuade him from this when they found out - that's not something little toddlers need to play with. Of course, playing with it as much as he does, he rubs his sweet little cunny raw, and needs medication to help the delicate skin repair.

Janet applies it at first, but gets extremely put out when her little son starts rocking on her finger, moaning softly for "more, mommy." She then enlists Jack's help in treating their son, because surely he can handle this, right? Well, Jack handles it a bit better, or at least doesn't complain as much, and after a while, she doesn't even hear Timmy moaning for more! What Janet doesn't know is that Jack bribed Timmy to be quiet by offering a finger inside his hungry little baby pussy to just stop moaning.

One finger isn't enough for long, and baby Timmy starts whimpering again, causing Jack to stuff a second finger inside of him. Of course, after a while of this, Jack's starting to react to having fingers in the tightest, youngest puss he's ever had his hands on. And Timmy won't stop rubbing his little puss raw, so he has to keep treating the boy with that ointment. When Timmy starts whining again about needing more, Jack just huffs and stuffs his cock inside that baby pussy.

Well Timmy's hooked! All of maybe 7 years old and addicted to having his dad's cock inside of him regularly. Jack has to send Janet on the archaeology trips alone, because Timmy needs his treatment, and they don't want the maid to find out about Tim's 'situation'. So Jack fucks his horny little son for his treatments, and Tim starts to finally keep his hands off his pussy. But the moment Jack starts making noises about joining Janet out on the field, Timmy has to find a way to keep stuffed full of cock!

So Tim starts climbing into bed with Jack, sitting on his lap and rocking piteously, begging for his daddy to "make him tingle inside." And, well, Janet isn't exactly putting out lately, so he succumbs to this child's desires and starts fucking him more. The boy hasn't even had his period yet! But sure enough, Jack keeps loading up that little puss with hot daddy cum.

A couple weeks before Timmy's next birthday, he starts getting a little pudgy. Timmy doesn't care, he just keeps begging his daddy for his hot daddy juice. Jack however, starts noticing that baby Timmy's tits are getting puffier, milkier. He's not a stupid man, he knows full well he's managed to knock up his son before he's even had his first period. Now he has to figure out what to do about this.

Jack knows he sure as heck can't tell Janet that he knocked up their son, nor their doctor, because that would get Timmy taken away, and someone might think it's actually ok to take advantage of his boy. He seeks out a very hush hush doctor to consult about Tim's condition. The doctor says they can absolutely make it go away, but Tim needs to decide for himself. Jack brings his little boy, with his not so little pudge now, to the doctor, who explains exactly what's going on to Timmy, who just looks so excited he's gonna be a mommy, and moreso when the doctor says it's also going to be his little sibling. "I always wanted a brother or sister!"

Well now Jack's really fucked, he has a horny little boy that wants to give birth really badly. So he messages Janet to let her know that Tim is being difficult, so he's going to have to stay in Gotham to make sure he stops playing with himself. Janet is surprisingly understanding, "as long as I don't have to hear the boy moaning on our fingers ever again." Jack swears she won't, feeling a bit awkward about the lie of omission, which he sends while Timmy is happily bouncing on his dad's cock.

Timmy keeps riding his dad's cock the full nine months, and only stops right before his water breaks. Thankfully, the doctor is fine with house calls for situations like this, and Timmy gives birth to his little brother. Little Timmy is over the moon, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn't want to play with his little pussy - it's too sore from delivering his son. Jack thinks he can finally get back to the field, after making sure Timmy is ok taking care of his little brother.

Of course, the moment Timmy's poor little abused snatch has healed up, he crawls right back into Jack's bed to bounce on his morning wood before he wakes. Jack wakes up to cumming deep in his oldest son again with a low groan. "Tim, you can't keep doing this . . ."

"Why not? don't you want more kids?" Timmy asks, with big, innocent, wide eyes. Jack curses as that just causes his dick to make a valiant effort at coming back to full hardness. Timmy smirks as he notices the reaction, grinding down on his dad with a soft moan of "Daddy, I want more siblings, won't you give them to me?" Jack can't help himself, his son still has the tightest, wettest little pussy, even this soon after giving birth, and it feels so good to fuck.

Jack tells Janet that his hiatus from the field is going to take a while, their boy is just as stubborn as his parents. Janet is surprisingly understanding, and says that she's been finding some incredible things, and it's too bad Tim inherited their stubbornness, but she'll bring some great things home. Jack only wants to know when she'll be home, telling her it's because he misses her, but knowing it's because he'll need to hide Tim's little brother . . . or more.

He does eventually ask his neighbor if his kids can sleep over at his place "when the missus gets home." Wayne "call me Bruce" gives him a sly wink as he says he'll happily keep the kids out of their hair for a little while. Jack just barely passes off Tim's second son off as Janet's, along with the first when he drops the three off, saying she'd come back to give birth in Gotham. He'd also warned Tim about letting out their "little secret" and to behave himself at Brucie's place.

Thankfully, that time, Timmy's a little too sore still to be a horny little fucktoy of a boy. The second time Janet comes back, they're not quite as lucky, and Timmy hasn't quite been knocked up by Jack yet when he's found fingering himself madly, whining for cock in his guest room. Timmy sweetly asks whoever's walked in on him to "please fuck me? I'm so empty"

Do they take little Timmy up on his offer of baby puss? And who finds him?

(even better if Timmy starts teaching his little brothers how to fuck him once they start finding out about their baby cocks, and how good they feel to play with. Maybe next time they're sent to Brucie's to cover up all the breeding Jack's been doing to Timmy, the last person who walked in on them [and possibly fucked Timmy] walks in on Timmy being pounded into next week by his oldest son)

tim being a whore from the very beginning, he was practically born one. its not jack's fault or anyone who takes "advantage" of tim! tim was always going to turn out that way! he's just made to be a mindless little toy, a sleeve for anyone that will fuck him 💖💖💖!!!

[germygilbert]

it is like. both fascinating and infuriating to me when people downplay Liam's overdose at the end of season four

1.) I don't expect to hold addicts 100% accountable for their behavior while on drugs i think there's some play in culpability. HOWEVER:

2.) I do think that people who completely write this off and excuse this for the benefit of Fiona are pretty racist or at least have the biggest racism blinders on BECAUSE

2a.) like point blank comparing this specific act of neglect to other acts of neglect (which were no doubt terrible and traumatizing) is one thing. acting like they are on the same level or that say, monica's neglect of Carl is somehow worse is literally just racism

2b.) The choice in drug, as my girlfriend pointed out for a white caregiver to expose a black toddler in her care to, is intentional. You are meant to think about the racial dynamic at play here in regards to conversations and behavior around drug use for the last fifty plus years. Liam is a fucking BABY and you still cannot muster pretend imaginary sympathy for him? How racist do you have to be to react to this arc in this way. Has it been over a month since you called a black drug user a cr*ckhead be honest

3.) Lip losing his shit on fiona while this was happening was not an example of him "perpetuating Frank's cycle of abuse omfg

3a.) I'm not going to say Lip's behavior towards Fiona while she was being incarcerated was completely justified of course but that was their little brother who they both love dearly who might die and Lip is justifiably freaking the fuck out. this is categorically not the same thing as an abusive father yelling in order to exercise control

3b.) Your baby brother does not have the power required to exercise an abusive dynamic over you. Of course he can replicate abusive behavior as anyone who was raised by an abusive parent or otherwise can. The line of thinking that Lip is "abusing" Fiona here shows an irresponsible and, in the wrong hands, entirely dangerous misunderstanding of how and when abusive dynamics come to be

3c.) that is not even Frank's brand of abuse. I can count on one hand the amount of times that Frank uses yelling as a tactic. The name of his game is manipulation and he usually exercises it by acting overly kind to the youngest gallaghers in order to get them to participate in his insane schemes. We see him doing this to Carl and Debbie and Liam and we even hear of him doing this to lip when he was younger. He only hits Ian once and we have reason to believe that is the only time he has hit one of his children. textually. He understands he can't control Lip Ian and Fiona by series start and as such he moslty leaves them alone and occasionally even pals around with them. We SEE him discard Debbie and Carl when they begin to question him and argue against his hair brained ethically heinous schemes

4.)the narrative is indeed asking you to engage with the theme of cycles of abuse being replicated by people who mean well. During this specific arc is asking you to do so with FIONA, not Lip, FIONA, who is liam's legal guardian who she is in this moment recklessly endangering. Even if you pretend the race thing isn't there (which is extremely difficult because its place in the narrative is, as I've pointed out, intentional) Fiona still allowed a baby to eat cocaine through her neglect. You are supposed to be thinking about this. You are supposed to be comparing i in your mind to Carl's childhood injuries and Frank using drugs as a sleep sedative for infants. At all times throughout the show you are meant to be examining how many steps away each character is from being "just as bad as frank"

I know fandom is specifically designed to stomp out critical analysis but omfg.

[themidnightcrimson]

Present—w. maximoff

summary: in which wanda wants to give you your birthday present at your party.

warnings: top!wanda, fingering, cumstrap, slight voyeurism, lots of groping, wanda being horny and feral, tony stark is our father

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

masterlist.

Your father was addicted to showcasing. His new iron suits, each time they were thoroughly assembled and polished, were showcased in glass cases throughout the mansion. Each time his AI helpers (more like nannies for adult men) learned a new skill that he precariously programmed into them, he would drag the whole team down just to watch. And when it was his daughter’s birthday, he had a mission to showcase you to everyone he knew.

Your living room was filled with people you had never even met before. Tony had friends from all over the world and in every subculture of science and technology and millionaires. He’d been introducing you to everyone ever since you were a toddler on his hip, but there were just too many to remember.

An array of “Look how much you’ve grown!” even though you’ve been able to legally vote for years and are a fully formed, fully functioning adult, goaded you to leave your father’s side and head towards the bar. It was like you were only known as Tony’s daughter and not as a valid and serious member on the Avenger team.

Your short black dress did nothing to exacerbate people’s childish views of you, and it certainly left nothing to the eye as you rest your elbows on the bar top, leaning over slightly at the waist and waiting for the bartender to finish making a drink for a few people down the row.

With your eyes incrementing across every bottle in the row of liquor displayed behind the bar, you didn’t see or hear someone come up behind you. In fact, before you could catch a head of red hair sneaking behind you in the mirror that walled the bar, you felt a hand embrace one cheek of your ass, an upper body pressing hard against you to keep you still so that the hand could squeeze your flesh bruisingly hard.

Gasping at the flash of heat that embroidered your skin with their touch, your preliminary worries of being faced with one of Tony’s weird old friends faded away simply from your body recognizing who that hand belonged to. You straightened, hearing a feminine voice hum into your ear, and that was when your eyes focused on the woman through the mirror.

“Wanda,” you whispered, shimmying your way out of her grip, though her hand was insistent to stay locked on your ass.

She gave you no room between her body and the bar as you carefully turned around, and in fact, she took a step closer, conclusively trapping you and giving you no space to breathe.

Your friendship with Wanda had spanned a number of years, ever since she joined the team, but the new spark between you was fresh and exhilarating. It was only a few weeks ago that she approached you rather aggressively, and between several makeout sessions and a few rendezvous of fucking, she seemed to be rather obsessed with you. Luckily, she was beautiful and persuasive, keeping you just as hooked as she was.

You gave her a reprimanding yet gentle slap on her shoulder, trying your hardest to ignore her deep red suit and an off-centered wrinkle in her pants. “You can’t just come up and grab my ass in front of everyone—an in front of my dad!”

“He’s clueless,” Wanda whispered, her deep pink lips crawling into a smirk as she nodded towards where Tony was standing across the room, not even having to look at him to check his head. He was, indeed, blabbering to some woman, most likely showcasing some feat of his to her. “And you…” Wanda continued, her thick eyelashes fanning downwards as her gaze followed in that direction. She grabbed your hips and swung you closer to her. “You shouldn’t be wearing that.”

Her green eyes met yours again with a sultry look that plucked whatever remark you had loaded right out of your mouth. Rolling your eyes coyly, you moved away from her hold.

“I’m starting to think you’re just a teenage boy hiding in a grown woman’s body,” you joked, finally getting the bartender’s attention and ordering a drink while Wanda sat down on the barstool near you, ordering herself one too.

“You don’t appreciate the extra attention on your special day?” she asked as you hesitantly sat next to her, originally considering sitting a seat away so that she couldn’t reach you with her grabby hands.

“It’s not a special day,” you huffed as you crossed your legs, pulling the end of your short dress down to cover your thighs, but you caught Wanda already looking.

“Sure it is,” she enthusiastically said as your drinks were set in front of you. “It’s the day the most beautiful girl in the world was born.” She tilted her head and smirked, but there was an aching twinkle in her eye that proved her words were more than true.

“Shut up,” you dismissed her as you took a sip, but it was only because your cheeks were tingeing pink.

“Hey,” she quipped, reaching forward and placing her hand dangerously north on your thigh. Her fingertips landed right under the fabric of your dress, and it took everything in Wanda’s will to not glide her hand straight upwards. “Really, I’m serious. It’s your birthday, and I want to celebrate it.”

“We are celebrating,” you lulled, gesturing to the room filled with people and balloons and music. “This is a celebration!”

Wanda rolled her eyes and scooched closer to you, tilting her head and seductively whispering, “I have a present for you.”

Her grip on your thigh tightened, and you watched her tongue playfully line her top row of teeth before her lips broke into a devilish smile—she had something planned. You could hardly start to guess what her plans were because she was letting her hand slip farther up. She let one of her fingers press down on your flesh, targeting a bruise under the thin fabric that reminded you of your night with her a few nights ago. The bruise was still there on your thigh, and Wanda knew exactly where it was, and she was trying to tell you in your mind that she wanted more.

Before the message could fully conceptualize, someone suddenly stepped between the two of you. Wanda gasped and snatched her hand away, nearly falling off the stool as your father seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Dad—” you gasped, suddenly sitting up straight and feeling awkward tension fill all the space in your lungs.

“Ladies,” he greeted, leaning up on his toes and looking between the two of you with a firm smile. You looked at Wanda past Tony and saw the terrified look on her face as Tony’s stare landed on her. He looked her up and down for a moment before snappily remarking, “So Wanda, tell me more about that terrorist group you were in. I am just so interested—”

“Dad!” you exclaimed, and he looked back at you innocently. You widened your eyes to tell him to fuck off, seeing Wanda grow more and more uncomfortable and guilty by the second.

“What? No anti-freedom organization talk? You guys are such party poopers.” The sarcasm in his voice was evident as he snatched your drink out of your hand and took a drink from it, taking a few slow steps backwards, his eyes trained on Wanda. The speed with which he backed away was so slow that it was a good ten seconds before he was finally out of proximity, rhythmically whispering a quick, “Don’t grope my daughter in front of me if you know what’s good for you,” before turning and speedwalking away with your drink still in his hand.

You let out the breath you were holding as Wanda only chuckled, knowing that Tony did approve of her but was nonetheless a protective albeit invasive father.

“You were saying?” you sighed, feeling aggravated at Tony’s need to insert himself in every situation with Wanda. A week ago, he tried to implement a three-feet distance rule between the both of you at dinners and meetings.

“Well,” Wanda chuckled, recovering from the awkwardness that Tony brought. It still didn’t kill her vibe apparently, because she smirked at you again and said, “I’m wondering if you want to see your present.”

“Okay…” you began, noticing that she wasn’t holding any box or bag. “Where is it?”

“It’s in your room.”

You paused, confused. You’d lived in the Avengers compound for a few years now, and surely Wanda wasn’t wanting to drag you all the way to the compound just to show you her present for you. “Wait, my room here?”

Wanda nodded and smiled deviously. “Come on.” Standing up, she grabbed your hand and tugged you off your seat, leaving you no choice but to scramble to catch your balance as she started dragging you up the stairs.

“Why did you put it in my teenager bedroom?” you questioned on the way up the stairs. “Did you go into my room when you first got here? Why couldn’t you just put it on the table with all the other ones? If it’s a ring for you to propose to me with, I’m telling you right now it’s gonna be a no.”

Opening the door to your room, Wanda placed her hand on your back and guided you in first. You looked around at the room you lived in as a teenager. The purple walls and boy band posters were so far gone from your current tastes that the sight made you wonder if you were ever sane in your teenagerhood. You heard the door close behind you which reminded you to search for a present, but the room looked completely normal with no present in sight. As you opened your mouth to ask what was going on, you felt Wanda press against your back.

Your breath stifled as Wanda’s hands rested on your waist and slid up your sides, traversing to your upper arms until they were resting on your shoulders, her fingers nestled under the thin straps of your dress.

Wanda’s lips came close to your ear, her warm breath fanning over the expanse of your neck as she whispered huskily, “Are you ready for your birthday present, babygirl?”

Unsure of what exactly she was referring to as your present, you nodded anyway, her voice putting you under her trance. Her hands slipped farther under the straps of fabric on your shoulders and held them, slowly pulling them apart so that she could let them slide down your shoulders. Pressing closer to you, she reached down to the already low neckline of your dress and pulled it down further until your bare breasts were out, her hands immediately cupping them as she moaned behind you.

“So soft,” Wanda whispered, consuming your neck with hungry kisses and setting your body ablaze with the way she groped and fondled your tits, her thumbs pressing over your hardening nipples as she massaged the tender flesh.

“Wanda,” you gasped, turning your head to the side so that she could access more of your neck to sloppily kiss, and you gasped softly when her teeth sunk into your skin a few times.

“Baby,” she groaned, pressing herself even closer against you. When she dug her hips right against your ass, your eyes, which had remained closed as you endured her gentle touches on your body, popped open as you felt something hard pressing against your ass from under the fabric of Wanda’s pants.

A warm shiver bloomed throughout your body as Wanda grunted and dug her crotch against you, her hands on your chest keeping you still. You now began to realize what your birthday present was as Wanda started moving you towards the bed. Shuffling towards it, your thighs hit the mattress and Wanda immediately pushed you over at the waist, your face hitting the sheets as a pair of hands groped your ass.

“I know how much you like to be fucked like a dirty slut,” Wanda’s labored voice spoke as she kneaded the flesh on your ass, keeping her groin right against the back of your thigh. “Are you?” She slowly peeled the fabric of your dress over your ass between her words, settling the end of your dress at your hips and leaving your behind completely bare. “My dirty slut?��

She punctuated her question with a slap to your cheek, and you squeaked and jumped forward, more warmth developing in the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes,” you bashfully admitted, earning a hum of approval from Wanda as she entertained herself with your ass.

“Good girl, you are my dirty slut,” she spoke as her hand roamed down to your thin panties, pushing them aside so that she could suddenly cup your slit, groaning as she felt how soaked you were. “Already so wet for me.” She swam her fingers through your folds, every movement earning a soft gasp from your lips.

She dragged her fingers down to your clit, finding it instantly and rubbing it for a moment before she slid her hand back up until she found your entrance, slipping two fingers in without warning.

Your hands grabbed at the sheets as you felt Wanda’s fingers explore you, your face pressed against the mattress as you reeled at the helpless position you were in which only added to the moisture that Wanda was exploring. She pushed her fingers all the way inside, pressing around all of your pulsing walls before she slid them out, and when she pushed them back in, there were three fingers this time, as well as resistance.

“So fucking tight,” Wanda groaned, pressing her hardness against you. “I’m gonna need to stretch you before you can take my cock.”

Her mere words were enough to get you squirming on the bed as the woman behind you violated your hole, stretching her three fingers out wide inside you and pumping them just like that. Whines filled the room as you squirmed on the bed, your noises only adding to Wanda’s desire as she grabbed at your ass and fingered you, nearly drooling in anticipating for when she could finally put her new strap inside you.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” Wanda groaned, removing her fingers from you and wiping the wetness on your ass, leaving you empty and unfulfilled. Internally throbbing, you listened to the sound of a zipper and fabric shuffling before Wanda pressed against you again, and this time you felt the tip of her cock rest against your entrance.

“Wanda…” you breathed as you calculated how big it was just from the tip teasing your hole. It was definitely bigger than anything you’d ever taken.

“It’s your birthday, slut, and you’re gonna take my present like a grateful whore, right?” Wanda halfway mumbled through her heavy breaths of excitement. When you didn’t answer, she slapped your ass, earning a shriek and an incoherent noise of confirmation.

Wanda spat into her hand and rubbed it on your entrance before she grabbed both of your hips to steady you, easing her cock inside you. Your mouth fell open as her girthy size stretched you out around her, and the stinging pain made you hiss and grab a fistful of the sheets.

“That’s it,” Wanda gently whispered, spreading your cheeks open to help spread you more. “Take my cock like a good girl, baby.”

“Wanda, it hurts,” you whined as she stopped halfway in to let you breathe. You already felt so full, but Wanda continued to push further inside you.

“You can take it,” she firmly said, stifling a groan as she pushed herself all the way inside you until her hips were flat against your ass and her cock pressed against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you groaned, clenching your teeth at the pain as she dragged herself back out halfway and slowly thrust in again.

Wanda continued her slow thrusts for a while until you finally eased up, and she marked her new objective with a sudden snap of her hips which drove herself deep inside you and elicited a sharp moan from you, and then she started to thrust her hips wildly into you.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” she said as she leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your upper body off the bed and arching your back which sent her cock hitting a new angle inside you.

She fucked you like that, bent over the bed, dress only covering your midsection, grabbing your hair, fondling your breasts and rubbing your clit, until your body had had enough of all the pleasurable sensations, and a coil of pressure formed in your stomach and threatened to snap at any moment.

“Wanda, I’m close,” you whined, and from the sounds Wanda was making behind you and the lack of pace in her wild thrusts, she was too.

“Cum for me, babygirl,” she grunted, leaning down and nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck and finding a patch of skin to bite as your orgasm unleashed simultaneously with hers.

For a moment, you didn’t realize Wanda reaching down and squeezing the base of her strap until you felt liquid gushing deep inside you, prolonging the aftereffects of your climax.

“Take my cum,” Wanda groaned as she kept short thrusts into you, making sure she was as deep as possible inside you as she filled you with her faux cum. “Take every drop, whore.”

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling like you could cum again just from the feeling of her pounding her cum deep inside you.

Finally, her strap was emptied, and you both were coming down from your highs, Wanda panting against your neck and holding your breasts, resting her full weight on top of you. You panted under her, your walls twitching around her cock that lay still inside you.

After a few minutes, Wanda finally moved off you, slowly pulling out of you and finding her strap covered in a mix of your juices. Not only were your inner thighs a complete wet mess and your panties ruined, but a drop of Wanda’s cum was already starting to leak out of you. She reached forward and used her finger to push her cum back inside you, taking your legs and pressing them closed.

“Better keep your thighs shut for the rest of the night, baby,” she coyly said as she pulled your dress back down over your ass, helping you to stand up which proved hard because of how weak and shaky your legs felt and how sore you were between them.

As you stood, you could feel her cum move inside you and threaten to gush out. Wanda fixed the top of your dress for you and fixed your messy hair before wiping away some of your makeup that had smeared. As much as she tried to fix you up, it was still evident that you had just been fucked.

“Wanda,” you whined when you could feel wetness seeping out of you, trying to shut your thighs to keep it from coming out. “I can’t go back to the party.”

“Oh, but you have to, baby. It’s your own birthday party,” she said with an edge of amusement as she smirked deviously. This was her plan all along, to give you her little (big) present and then spend the rest of the party watching you miserably try to keep her cum inside you.

“You’re evil,” you whined, throwing yourself against her as she chuckled and wrapped her arms around you, letting her hands fall down to your ass and grab you. If you didn’t have a party to attend, she could have easily taken you again.

“Happy birthday, angel,” Wanda whispered with a kiss to the top of your head.

[drabbles-mc]

All Good Here

Sydney Adamu x Richie Jerimovich

For @widespindriftgaze for the Candy Hearts Exchange!

Prompt: "You should be addicted to shutting the fuck up." / "You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, steamy things

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I truly, truly loved writing this so much. A pairing that hadn't ever really crossed my radar but once I thought about it I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I hope you enjoy it too! xo

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @narcolini @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was a relief and a rarity for her to get to the restaurant and have no one else be there. That was the nature of not being the only workaholic—everyone got there early and everyone stayed late. Carmy was pretty much always there when she was, normally getting there a little before her if not immediately after. And, on top of that, lately it seemed like Marcus never left the place. The dedication was admirable, but Sydney would be lying if she tried to say that she wasn’t looking for some alone time to clear her head every now and again.

But the door was locked when she showed up. All the lights were off, even the lights in the kitchen. She called out a few names, and was met with the beautiful sound of silence. Letting out a sigh of relief, she put her things in her locker and swapped out her shoes. If nothing else, she was looking to take advantage of the time to work on a few things that had been running around in her brain, new ideas that hadn’t been leaving her alone. She’d get to prepping eventually, but while she had the privacy it felt like a crime not to take advantage of it.

She had everything else completely tuned out. It was easier to do in an empty, silent restaurant. But realistically a bomb could’ve gone off outside and it barely would’ve caught her attention. She was too focused on pulling the thoughts from her head and making them a reality.

There was no bomb going off outside, but the next best thing happened—Richie showed up early. Sydney didn’t hear him when he walked in, when he was out in the seating area. She almost didn’t notice the way that the kitchen door swung open as he entered.

“What are you doing here this early?” Richie asked when he saw her leaned over the stove, staring intently at the pot that was almost to a boil.

“What does it look like I’m doing here this early?”

He held his hands up in a mocking surrender. “Alright, sweetheart, calm down. Was just trying to, you know,” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “show some interest or whatever.”

“Only thing I need you to ‘show interest’ in,” she peppered in the air-quotes for good measure before continuing, “is leaving me alone and letting me do my job.” She shot him a brief, sideways glance as she asked, “Think that that’s something you can handle?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Can I handle it? Yea, I think I’ll be able to handle letting you burn the place down before we even open.”

Sydney fought the urge to bring up the fact that far more calamities at the restaurant could be traced back to Richie than to her, but she didn’t. She wanted to mention that if anyone was going to be burning things down it would be him, or Carmy, and their fucking cigarettes they were always leaving everywhere, but she didn’t say that either. She didn’t say anything.

Since she didn’t say anything, Richie continued talking, one of the things he was best at, for better or worse. “Think you’ll be able to handle not starting any fucking problems for one day? No toddler tantrums from you or Carmen?”

Sydney gave one long, slow blink as she tried to keep herself in check. The argument was exactly what Richie wanted, what he was looking for. She knew that, but even so, he made it so fucking difficult to just ignore him.

She killed the heat on the stove before turning so that she was facing him directly. “What?”

Richie let out a sarcastic laugh. “You heard me. You two are always trying to change shit up around here. And for what, huh?”

“And for what?” she repeated back in disbelief. “Look, I’m sorry that you hate change so much that you’re willing to let this place crumble to the ground, but some of us—”

“Don’t, don’t start with that,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“Then you don’t start either!” she snapped. “Leave me alone and let me do my job. Some of us are here to work.”

He laughed again. “Oh, really?”

“Yea, really.” The words Richie was saying weren’t really reaching her ears as she reached over to the counter opposite the stove, fingers wrapping around the handle of her knife. They were standing just far enough apart for her to point the blade in his direction without it touching him. “Imagine how bad it’ll hurt when I stab you on purpose.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you still pretending that the first time wasn’t on purpose?”

She rolled her eyes. “If it had been on purpose, you would’ve needed more than Ebra to patch you up.”

They stood there, stuck in their stalemate for another minute. Neither of them wanted to be the one to cave and let the argument dissolve. And, surprisingly, neither one of them were in the mood to escalate it as much as they could given the fact that they were alone and now there were weapons involved.

Then they both heard the sound of the front door when Carmy walked in. They both turned to look, but neither of them moved. Seconds later he was striding into the kitchen, and it took him no time at all to see the situation that was currently playing itself out in front of him.

He cleared his throat, looking back and forth between the two of them. “All good?”

Sydney managed to beat Richie to the punch, nodding as she pulled the knife away and set it back on the counter where it had been before. “All good.”

Richie scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her turn the flame back on and then walk past him towards the walk-in freezer. “Yea,” he muttered under his breath, “we’re fuckin’ great, cousin.”

When the door clicked shut behind Sydney, Carmy looked back at Richie, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “Why do you always gotta go around causing fucking problems?” The restaurant wasn’t even open yet.

“What? Who said I was—”

“Don’t,” Carmy cut him off. “Just,” he nodded towards the front of the restaurant, “let us get through shit back here without blowing it all up. Please.”

Richie didn’t get the chance to say whatever comment was on the tip of his tongue as Carmy walked off towards the office. Richie stood there, shaking his head for a moment before finally turning around and heading back for the front. Just as he was going by the walk-in, Sydney was pushing the door open from inside. He promptly pushed it back shut so he could walk by, ignoring the string of angry words Sydney was shouting at him from the other side.

Dinner service had long since ended. And, despite the fact that the two of them were the first ones in, Sydney and Richie were also on track to be the last ones out. Almost everyone had left once they cleaned up their stations, even Carmy booked it out, determined to cut out as quickly as he could to go to a meeting. But Sydney wasn’t in a rush to go home, to go anywhere, really. And apparently neither was Richie.

He walked out into the back alleyway, and he couldn’t hide his surprise at seeing Sydney there. The expression on his face quickly shifted to one of annoyance, of borderline disappointment. Sydney looked up at him from where she was sitting, plastic container of water in her hands as she sat with her elbows propped against her thighs. She purposely didn’t say anything to him, not wanting to have a conversation, not wanting to have an argument.

Richie put the cigarette between his lips before sparking it. He took a drag, exhaling a stream of smoke as he looked over at Sydney. “You know—”

“Oh my god,” she said as she dropped her head back in exasperation. She didn’t know why he felt like they needed to talk. They didn’t. “Do you ever stop?”

“No,” he shot back immediately, “I don’t.” He took another drag. “Do you?”

“Is being an asshole just, compulsory for you? Or is it an active choice?”

“Compulsory?” he repeated back to her.

“Need me to spell it out for you?”

“No.”

Sydney waited for there to be something after that, but there wasn’t. He took another inhale off his cigarette and tapped the ashes onto the ground. He stood so that he was facing her, but he wasn’t actually looking at her. His eyes were seemingly glued to the toes of his shoes. Sydney went back and forth between looking at his face and looking at the small tub of water in her hands.

“Why are you even still here?” she asked.

“Why are you still here, huh? Cooking’s done. Go the fuck home.”

She leaned back so that she was resting against the wooden fence behind her. She spoke without looking at him, staring up at the sky as she tapped the back of her head against the fence. “I am about two more bad days away from using the pillow and blanket that Marcus has shoved under his work station.” She didn’t know why she was showing any shred of vulnerability, giving him any kind of ammunition like that. She was just so fucking exhausted.

Richie chuckled at that, not in the mocking sort of way that he usually did, but like he understood it, like maybe he even found it to be a little genuinely funny. “Better off bringing your own sleeping bag. Least then you won’t wake up smelling like shit since Marcus stays here for a week at a time without taking a goddamn shower.”

Sydney laughed.  “Can’t have that. Then I’d have to borrow some of your,” she chuckled as she finally looked at him, “overbearing fucking cologne.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed as he dropped the butt of his cigarette, snubbing it out under the ball of his foot. “I smell fucking delightful, first of all.”

Sydney waited for the next thing he was going to say. When he didn’t, she prodded. “And second of all?”

His face scrunched up. “What?”

She took a sip from her plastic container. “You said first of all. That, you know, implies that there’s at least a second of all.”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Alright. Second of all, you can’t just shut the fuck up and let things be, can you?”

Her eyes widened. “I can’t?”

She stood up, setting her makeshift cup down even though there was hardly a few sips left in it by that point. She held herself as close to chest-to-chest with him as she could considering their height difference.

“No, you can’t. You always gotta have some shit to say.”

She sputtered, struggling to string together a sentence. “Let me get this straight, you think that I am the one who has a problem shutting the fuck up? YOU?! The guy who can’t walk through a room without going off on a fucking monologue?”

“Yea, me. The guy that you are just, fucking, addicted to being mean to, for whatever fucking reason. Can’t help but to cause all these fucking problems.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she looked up at him. “Yea? Well, okay,” she pushed him, fingertips of both hands pressing hard against his chest sending him back half a step, “maybe you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up, yea? Then maybe I wouldn’t have so many reasons to be mean to you. Then maybe you wouldn’t look so fucking stupid all the time.”

“Yea? Well,” he scoffed, stepping back in even closer than he had been before, leaning in so that his nose was practically touching hers, “you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Hah!” she barked out the laugh, so close to Richie that he could feel her breath across his face as she did. “You—you really? Wow. Apparently stupid was a fucking understatement.”

“Was it?” He stepped in closer, his chest bumping against hers as he pushed her back a step. “Because I don’t see you trying to walk away now, sweetheart—I don’t hear you denying it.”

“Don’t,” she said as she pointed up at him, shaking her head as she tried to string her sentence together, “do not call me that, Richie. I swear to—”

“Or what?” he challenged.

Sydney sucked in a deep breath, one that was shaky purely from the amount of restraint it took not to let all of her anger out at once and pummel him. She kept staring up at him, not able to make herself do anything else. Richie’s eyes were locked onto hers, and she noticed the split second they drifted down to her lips before coming back up to her eyes again. She noticed, but pretended that she didn’t. The same way she pretended that it didn’t cause any ridiculous and inappropriate thoughts to fly through her head at record speed. They were gone as quickly as they’d arrived, it almost didn’t seem worth it to waste another second on them. She lied to herself and said that she wouldn’t.

She exhaled through her nose, another long, slow blink as she got ready to respond, still deciding whether she wanted to verbally tell him to fuck off, or if she was just going to push through him to leave.

She went for a combination of the two. Stepping to the side, she stayed just close enough for her shoulder to abruptly bump into his as she walked by him. “Goodnight.”

Sydney was halfway back through the door into the restaurant by the time that Richie got his brain communicating with his feet. His long strides allowed him to catch up to her rather quickly, managing to just barely catch the door before it swung shut all the way.

“Yo! Syd!” He caught up to her as she pulled her things out of her locker. Like the two of them were still in high school, he reached and pushed the locker shut on her. “That’s it?”

She held her hands out, shaking her head slightly at him. “What do you mean that’s it?”

“What, suddenly you’re out of shit to say?”

Even though his palm was still planted against the door of her locker to keep it pushed closed, Syd reached forward and yanked on the door, forcing it open and causing Richie to stumble a step. “I’m fucking tired. I want to go home.” She forcefully shrugged her coat on and yanked the zipper up. “So,” she turned so that she was facing him head-on again as he tried to block her in, “let me go home.”

He saw it now, that she was more exhausted than she was annoyed or angry. A better man would’ve let it go at that, would’ve let her go home and get what precious few hours of sleep she could get before waking up and going right back through the gauntlet again tomorrow. But he wasn’t a better man.

With the way that he was blocking her, Sydney was waiting for him to say something else to her. He always had at least five shitty, sarcastic remarks in the bank, so she braced herself to be on the receiving end of at least two of those before she managed to push through him again.

When he didn’t say anything for another few seconds, she went to go by him again. He stood his ground, though. She tried to side-step him a couple times, but each time he blocked her. Finally snapping, she pushed him with both hands.

“Fucking move!”

He had been ready for it that time, bracing himself against the impact. “Or what, huh? You never answered me.”

“Because I don’t owe you a fucking answer, Richie. You’re not my boss you’re not in charge of me. So get out of my way.”

He crowded into her again. “Make me.”

“What—” she stopped herself before the question got too far, rolling her eyes at herself just as much as she was at him. “You know, for all the times you call Carmy and I toddlers, you’re the one who is acting like you’re five years old right now.”

He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers again. She leaned back slightly, keeping the barest amount of distance between her face and his. There was annoyance and anger and weeks of digging barbs into each other’s sides all bubbling just below the surface.

For all of the horrid things that Syd could say about Richie, for all of the harsh things that she had already said about him, even she couldn’t deny that there was something captivating about his eyes. They had no right to be that bright, that hard to look away from. She would never admit any of that to him. She wouldn’t ever run the risk of giving him an ago boost.

Then she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift away from his. It was for a fraction of a second. He was so close to her, leaning in so far that she was surprised that she couldn’t feel his forehead resting against hers. It was suffocating, almost as incapacitating as it was to have him still looking her in the eyes. So she looked away. Hardly a second. But he noticed. He noticed the brief moment that her eyes drifted just a couple inches down to his lips, snapping right back up again. He noticed that she did it to him the same way that she noticed him doing it to her.

Only Richie actually did something about it.

He collapsed what little distance was left between them, not that it took much. His lips crashed into hers. It was sloppy, awkward, and nearly sent both of them tumbling to the ground from the sheer force of it, but Sydney manage to tumble back against the lockers, saving both of them from falling.

Richie was waiting for her to slap him, push him away. He was ready for that, expected it, even. But she didn’t. She hesitated for a second, froze up, but that went away quickly as she reached and balled her fists into the fabric of one of his countless restaurant t-shirts, pulling him against her, pinning her tighter between him and the locker behind her.

One of his hands reached and flattened against the flimsy metal behind her, making it easier to leverage himself against her. He didn’t know where to put his other hand—cupping her face felt too soft, too intimate, pulling on her hair felt too rough, and her puffy jacket made trying to get a good hold on her hip almost more trouble than it was worth.

“Fuck,” he murmured against her lips as he fumbled with his other hand to find the zipper on her jacket, quickly tugging it down once he found it.

When her jacket fell open, he slipped his hand in between that and her shirt, gripping onto her side as he pinned her a little harder as he wedged one leg in between hers. The sound she let out at that was something just below a moan. It was quiet, barely controlled, but it still sank its claws into Richie’s brain in a way that he hadn’t been expecting. He cursed quietly under his breath in between their lips connecting for each kiss.

Syd managed to unfurl one hand from his shirt, her palm slowly starting to drag down his chest and stomach. Neither of them said anything about it, but she could feel the way that his whole body tensed. He didn’t pull away, though, didn’t tell her to stop.

Just before she reached the waistband of his track pants, they both heard the front door bang shut after someone had walked in. They froze up for a moment, Syd barely managing to push Richie away from her as the footsteps got closer and then entered the kitchen.

Each one of them looked as confused as the others as Carmy looked at them, and they looked back at him before looking at each other. The awkward tension in the air was thick enough to slice with a knife but no one said anything. By the look on Carmy’s face, the meeting had taken a toll on him. Syd and Richie could thank their lucky stars later for his emotionally compromised state not letting him read the room clearly.

“All good?” he asked, same as the morning only now his voice was heavier.

“Yea,” Syd managed to force out first as she zipped her coat back up, “I was just, I was just getting out of here.”

Carmy nodded, running his hand back through his hair. “Right, yea. Night.”

“Night,” she said with a small nod.

Both Carmy and Richie watched as she all but ran out of the restaurant. Richie stood there for a moment, dragging the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip for a moment. Clearing his throat, he pulled his thumb away from his face and jerked it towards the door. “I’m gonna fuckin’ beat it too.” He paused. “You, uh, you good, cousin?” he asked.

Carmy nodded. “Fine. You?”

Richie shrugged, nodding back. “Fine.”

They both accepted the other’s lie as Carmy made his way back towards the office, and Richie made his way towards the front of the restaurant.

[talesofunlikelysapphicpairings]

HELLOOOOO?! IS ANYONE THERE?!?!?!?!

Lmao, welcome back to me !!! I know, it was the longest hiatus I've had since I started this Tumblr account but life has been C R A Z Y.

I've already talked about the fact that I was taken off the Latin Honor list, so that's 3 years of hard work trying to maintain grades, extracurriculars, and social life down the drain. Such a wasteful thing cause I only needed a few points to secure my grade— grades that I had after a loooot of efforts but the idiot 'instructor' randomly decided to take out. A shame really, since I only have one year left to finish my Bachelor's. My mother's 50th birthday gift was supposed to be my Magna cum Laude. I guess I have to think of a new present, lol.

Also, I had to process a lot of trauma since last year and the first half of this year has been traumatic for me. 😂 Had to process these bad boys.

Last September my father had a newborn son. (Child of separated parents here.) Decided to play house with his new girl and her kids, with their new baby (not me) while the rest of his relatives sided with them, too and went against me. It was a messy business standing up for myself (yuck, toxic grown adults arguing with and gaslighting a twenty something) but I managed it. They've learned not to fight me nor ignore me, so I'll take that as a win.

Soon after, my mother adopted a toddler-boy, too. Then played house with her new boy and their own son, too.

I came from a country where being a boy is more impressive than being a golden child your whole life. My house right now is literally filled with gold medals, trophies, certificates, sash, crowns, and awards. But of course, I'm not a boy, so... "I won't be able to pass on the family name." (Like, fuck off. I'll be the most successful member of this family anybody will ever know; you'll only be known cause of your association with me.)

I am soooo glad I don't live with any of them anymore. I've made a home for myself (yes, their money but the point still stands).

Numerous health scares. Appendicitis attacks. Astigmatism attacks. I got bitten by a puppy twice in a span of two weeks. Then the puppy died so we knew he got rabies. (I got my shots, don't worry.) I twisted my ankle. And I've been coughing and sneezing every morning for three weeks now (allergies). You know, the usual.

In good news, I have fallen in love with Eve Best. So... If you watch edits of her on TikTok, you have probably already seen my account since I comment on the edits ... A lot... you just have to guess which one is mine. Lmao, good luck with that.

Also, I was chosen by the cat distribution system!!! I got a cat now. Her full name is Zumi Issi Sannanna Malyk. She came down from my ceiling's open panel one day, laid on my lap, and stayed at my house. I named her Zumi because she likes zoomies (she broke two glasses and one vase in three months!); Issi because I loved Valyrian even though I don't speak it; Sannanna because I got addicted to that Bollywood song that became a TikTok trend; and Malyk after one of my pen names. She's an orange cat so you know she's a handful. Aside from her, stray cats also stay at my garage when it's raining and it's rainy season where I am, so they fill my garage. (I can't adopt them all cause they don't stay in one place. I feed them and keep them warm instead.)

I guess, you can also say that I've been chosen by the dog guarding system, too. Since there are a few stray dogs that are guarding my house from the outside. They run away when I try to come near though, so I just leave the food on my door or toss it in their direction.

I've grown two plants. They bloomed, by the way. Then the one that's got three flowers in it (after ten weeks of me taking care of it!!!)— got stolen. RIGHT AT MY FRONT PORCH. I didn't really mind, 'cause the people who stole it might need it more you know. I hope it cheered them up. Then the other one who stayed with me for five weeks more, got a big chunk of its stem stolen, too. My mother said they probably used it to plant more. I hope the stem grows cause my plant died! I cried about it, too.

University starts again next, next week. Aside from my regular extracurriculars, thesis, internship, and usual busy-ness, I am also set to lead my program's Theatre Org so that's fun (and busy).

So that's the update on my life. Thanks for coming to my TED talk. 😂 I'm back for my usual shenanigans and yapping now.

[ill-caterpillar-7616]

My life is falling apart and I’m so close to a relapse

My marriage is crumbling due to my own mental health and lack of affection. I feel as though I’m failing my kid at every turn, even when everyone keeps saying I’m doing well or telling me how smart and well-behaved he is. I’ve had to move 2 hours away from my husband and toddler to my mom’s house as my grandmother is now needing 24/7 care probably until she passes (expected within a year but who fucking knows) since no one else in the family can or will be bothered by their own mother dying. An ACTUAL live in caregiver wouldn’t be covered by insurance and would be too expensive. My kid is going to have to live like we have split custody. I feel as though I have barely any true emotional support as my husband is struggling with his own battles that I’m trying so hard to fix/ help with since they’re mostly my fault. My friends are all long-distant or online, and I’m not REALLY that close to any of them at this point in my life. My mother is juggling her job, finances, her mother’s health, her mother’s impending death, another mouth to feed as I can’t bring much monetary assistance to the house, and so much more so it fucking seems like I can’t seem to even ask her to take my kid for 5 minutes after a LONG day, not only doing my duties to my kid and grandmother, but helping my own mother outside even though I have chronic joint pain and a fatigue condition that left me feeling like I was going to collapse from exhaustion, pain, and lack of oxygen by the time I finally pushed my body back inside. SHE WOULDNT EVEN LET ME GET THE QUESTION OUT OF MY MOUTH!! I had been struggling to get him to go to bed for over 30 minutes and I just needed a moment (we do NOT do the cry it out in this household). All I said was”Moma,-“ and it’s all “no, it’s not happening, I have to be up early,” as if I’m not having to ALSO wake up early to get my grandmother dressed, fed, taken to the bathroom, and received her toe fungal meds alongside the other laundry list of medications before she needs to be out the door at 8:30 in the morning

Now, I am aware of my responsibilities as a parent and that as I have MY child, he is MY responsibility, and I don’t want to push him off to other people who have enough on their plate, but to ask for 2 seconds of help from my own mother and to be shot down so quickly and (IMO) cruelly, fucking hurt. I’m taking care of her mother and so far, for just the price of a vape (I’m trying to quit. Also I don’t expect monetary return on help I’m just adding it in I guess. Idk at this point). I have a whole life and family that is falling apart but I know I’m the only option here. My siblings either work or are out of state. My aunts and uncles either have work (which some have the ability to still help even then), their own elderly to care for, or my favorite, care more about their weird church’s “volunteer work” or mowingg their lawn more than coming to help or even fucking visit. Like. Who fuxkin does that?!??!?

So with all of that info… I battled with an addiction to self harm for over 7 years. I’m riddled with scars on my body but I have been 4 years clean as of so far. However, with everything going on, it’s becoming harder and harder to push the thoughts away and think on the things that usually help me get away from those urges/temptations. I hate it because my husband and our baby have been the pillars to my continued clean streak/sobriety(?) and with everything falling apart as it is right now… I don’t know how much longer I can hold on to my sanity if I’m being honest. I have to cancel and put a rain check on both my therapy that I JUST FUCKING STARTED and my psychiatrist appointment (I hope I can just call him and let him know the dosage is fine). It’s all just a big fucking mess.

Im sorry. I know there are many details missing to all of this but it’s not for advice… I just needed to get it off my chest. I can’t tell anyone else. Can’t worry those who are my closest circle bc EVERYONE is dealing with something right now and my BS just …no.

[feminist-minimalist]

Psychiatric Wards & Hospitals, My Experiences

I've been diagnosed with PTSD, depression, a few other things that seem to have been merged into these diagnoses after further context and I've had some odd experiences as psych patient.

First, let me say this: sometimes, they *can* help. They *can* be a way to decompress and stabilize. Everybody's experience is different as is everybody's mental health team and psych ward/hospital rules. This serves as a disclaimer to say that I am not a licensed mental health professional.

That said, I have to say, they are not the best and have served me more bad than good. Let me explain.

The first time, I called the cops on myself. I was angry and distraught that I had tried to seek him out for support because I was feeling really suicidal and depressed about my time with a hostile and toxic work environment. Even though I left, I still felt the effects. The cop was professional, caring, and receptive, to be fair. But..also, a Jordan Peterson follower. So....eh. Not great, but not terrible. I kind of just tuned out. I had a chef's knife to my chest, but called the cops before I took irreversible action. I still can remember how sharp it was, with the tip brushing up against me but also how annoyed I was that I didn't think I could press down hard enough.

So, the hospital. Honestly? I had a mixed experience, but in some ways, kind of was really...all right. I called the cops on myself to get help, and I really did feel connected to the patients there. Food was fucking amazing. I slept a little better. Had some meds. The only bad parts? An annoying conspiracy theorist for COVID as well as a misogynist, and a few other people that I just...honestly felt sorry for but still were these angry balls of addiction. They calmed down after awhile and though they were still struggling, were ok conversationalists. The only bad part? One of the employees there kept saying "he's still your dad", which didn't help though it was meant in a loving way and I took it in the spirit they were implying. Still was invalidating though. The experience after coming home sucked. I was going through it with a bad landlady. I got her fired though. Still sucked to go through.

Next! So the next hospital. Really not great. It was an inpatient/outpatient facility and they knew me on an outpatient basis. Or I thought they did. I never felt respected by them as an abuse survivor. While I did CBT shit, they kept trying to diagnose me with something that was obviously untrue. Doesn't matter what it was now though since I ceased services and really made it clear I wasn't happy with them. This was in Florida during COVID. So. Yeah. That caused some problems considering I was definitely one of those "mask up and vaccinate" types and everyone else really wasn't. It literally caused so much stress with their neglectful attitude towards my very real complaints and concerns that it brought up this trauma from BEFORE Urissa. I had body memories of my Uncle Scott tackling me out of nowhere when I was a toddler. Big drunk guy who was a careless idiot. There were witnesses but I never went to the hospital and no charges were filed even though I was crawling around. I barely could stand after he tackled me. We weren't playing football and I wasn't interested in sports. So...yeah. Anyway.

That was probably the most directly damaging one. The way they framed me was acting out. But I had been repressing this shit FOR YEARS and unsafe people and places were essentially a "get over it" thing for the people I went to for help. They also misdiagnosed me. I had to argue with them to change it. It sucked. I got blamed for things that weren't my fault.

Again though, food was fine. People mostly fine except for some annoying patients and caregivers. But the reasons why I was there was dumb. I felt like I was heightened into a psychotic break *because* caregivers weren't caring. I came back a little better with a new perspective with my trauma finally jostled, but I was gobsmacked by the mistreatment there and at UNF. Wasn't suicidal on admittance, but definitely was in a position to have a full blown PTSD flashback, turned psychotic break. I was there to get permission for a medical withdrawal, which turned out to um...not be needed. Also, UNF campus security was attempting to silence and dismiss my issues. They did that.

Next!

Moved to a different state. Felt the walls closing in after I failed my truck driving skills test and didn't have a plan to return to uni (back at uni now of course though). Confronted poor family support, financial support cut off. Emotional support always nonexistent. So. Here's the thing with that. I had tried to kill myself by starving myself and not drinking water. I went to Lovelace and they said "eh" and threw me out. I tried again. I went to my uni hospital. They checked me out. Did find my vitals to be off and a thyroid problem. Gave me fluids. Sent me to psych hospital. Guess what happened? They turned me away when I called them out on giving me an inappropriate medication! They basically told me "yes, I think you need help, but no inpatient.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm. I still don't know how to feel about that. I mean. I'm glad I could have my sleep apnea device at home. I'm glad I got some food (still dealing with food insecurity due to being a student and not eligible for food stamps). I'm glad I could masterbate in the privacy of my own home. But still. Food good. I felt really bad. And I was hoping for three square meals til I felt better after my suicide attempt since I had no money, but I had Medicaid!

Anyway, I think the takeaway here is that, yes, in some cases, they can help. But all I can think about are the injustices and annoyances of some of them. I'll say this much. I wasn't comfortable as a sexual assault and rape survivor forced to spend time around other people with no fucking privacy. Other people definitely exposed themselves on purpose and seemed to kind of prod me over that fact. It was deeply violating. Fuck you that One Florida Mental Hospital.

Now there was one time where I went to a psych ward just to get away from Urissa. And I really was having a major dissociative moment where I was like "what the fuck is this chick doing"?!! And that really was just a floor. No privacy. No bed. Just a fucking chair with a table like in a school. Now. I will say this. I loved being away from Urissa. I loved being able to sleep (albeit in a chair like Grandpa Simpson). The burgers and fries for food was good. Really good. But I still was just...not having any space for myself. The caregivers were overworked. But I got some time to decompress from my abusive rapist.

And that's that.

No. You are unlikely to be 100 percent comfortable and unbothered in a psych ward. I wasn't allowed electronics in any of the places I went to, which made it worse, or have any space for myself. I hated not being able to masturbate. But I never just fucking jacked it in the open like some of the other patients I was with. Sometimes you'll deal with people that will not help you get better. The only reason why I'm saying that wellllllll yes, they can be helpful is that if you are someone that has always kind of self-parented, was neglected, but still figured it out, you'll have a space to ponder without those family members that don't help and no school or work to work through it on your own. With That One Florida Mental Hospital, I literally had a psychotic break to help me through it. I've never had psychosis before or after. It was literally just my brain going "LISTEN TO ME, YOU ARE TRAUMATIZED WORK THROUGH IT!!!!" But the fact that they just kind of diagnosed that instead of straight PTSD always irks me.

Also, if you are obese and short, good fucking luck if you went in involuntarily without allowable clothes on the floor. Because when I went in, the scrubs kept breaking and actually exposed me involuntarily and that's not great for people who have been sexually abused and raped.

They really are a mixed bag. And if you wanna get better, you really have to advocate for yourself and make good faith attempts to plead your case if you are unheard.

Good luck with them! You deserve a therapeutic relationship with your caregivers and to be heard on your concerns!

[1800duckhotline]

i love tisha so much he is so cool,, now i need the kuobakhaya ramble though.. if u dont mind..

(big sign pointing at me that says: he forgot to finish replying to this when he drafted it)

anyway

well well well.. so her backstory is currently being reworked on because i wanna do several background checks for my own peace of mind, but basically:

kuobakhaya syrgenovna kuschut comes from sakha, specifically yakutsk. long story short, she was born there, but her parents decided to move towards western russia when she was still a toddler with the intention of living in a different climate (i am still in the process of deciding whether or not bakhya had siblings or not) but later on in her life she moves on her own to brighton, england, in hopes of being on her own and also because her lifetime friendship with tisha (which basically makes them feel like brother and sister) could grant her a possibility to start a new life.

i used to have a very streamlined/long version of her biography but i've been reworking it in my head. the gist of it is that she's always been easily subjected to peer pressure, despite having a fairly assertive personality, bakhya desperately thrives off of being liked by others. similarly to tisha she became a drug addict in her early teens thanks to peer pressure, and has suffered from it for more than a decade, all while trying to get clean multiple times without success. she is a young woman in her current age of 28 years old, basically the same age as tisha, and at this moment in time she's been trying to quit drugs by going cold turkey on them (she used to do heroin) even knowing that it'd be pretty disastrous for her. the idea of going to rehab is scary to her, basically. (don't worry though she does go eventually)

in spite of a hardly manageable lifestyle, and while coping and dealing with mental illnesses among with eating disorders, she survived also thanks to four main passions of her: herbalism (which her mother taught her a lot about ever since she was a kid, and the knowledge of which she enriched by herself as an adult), poetry, romance (as in, the genre) and music. extra is dogs. shes a dog girl through and through, she used to have one as a child too.

she owns a plant/florist shop where she resells plants and grows her own as well, and for a fun spin sometimes she prepares seeds and fertilizers that are entirely handmade. how she can manage the costs of this place can be explained by tisha's hefty paychecks (killing for a job can bring you quite the bag) and the accumulated money she gains from being a shopkeeper herself. it's tough but she hangs on. kuobakhaya may not be the perfect person but she is also very spiteful and very very much stubborn, as well as a bit of a hater (good for her, with the things she's dealt with i can't blame her) and in spite of her nervousness she whip up some pretty stinging insults if she wants. she isn't afraid of acting and being friendly with complete strangers but she is more awkward when it comes to opening up. she also hates when people demean her and behave towards her as if she's an aimless child just because she seems, and is, nervous a lot of the time. she hates people infantilizing her like that and she's very vocal about it, also because she is still "almost 30 fucking years old" (her own words)

but she has obviously softer sides, such towards dogs, poetry, and children and well, plants.

bonus fact is that she doesn't trust people enough to tell them her real name all the time so she often introduces herself as "valya" which is a pseudonym most folk that aren't intimate friends of her address her as. it helps her feel a little safer and grants her an extra layer of anonymity sort of. it's also the name she signs her poetry with

[briamichellewrites]

102

Mike learned that Ashley was a Theater major. She wanted to be on Broadway, so she moved to New York from Laguna Beach to attend New York University on a scholarship. After graduating, she attended auditions but she got caught up in drinking while exploring her sexuality for the first time. She got into a minor car accident while on summer break a few years back. Her doctor prescribed her strong pain medication, which she became addicted to.

She had been rear-ended and hurt her neck. Thankfully, nothing was broken. She was the stereotypical theater kid growing up, who turned out to be bisexual. They laughed. How old was she? She was twenty-two, a year older than Bria. Did they know they grew up so close? No, they didn’t. Not until Bria mentioned something about being from LA.

Mike recognized his judgment of her came from Bria having an episode of her BPD. He read information about the disorder and he learned about idolization and devaluation. Ashley hadn’t known about her being in the hospital. She thought she had abandoned her. Therefore, she hated and devalued her. Since she was there with her, she was back in her good graces. He wondered if she idolized Bradley and had now devalued him.

Her mind was her worst enemy. He asked Bria if any of the spirits communicated with her at the hospital. Yes, but she couldn’t help them. They were all talking to her at the same time, so their voices overlapped. She saw them wherever she went, but she couldn’t tell anyone because they would think she was crazy. He reminded her she wasn’t crazy. She knew that.

“That’s what sucks about this. People think you’re fucking psychotic and they throw labels at you just because they’re a doctor. Then, you get sent to the fucking looney bin where they put you on medication and they try to placate you. It’s fucking… I don’t even fucking know!”

“Were you raised by wolves”, Ashley asked her.

“No, I raised myself. I’m monologuing.”

He laughed. Shiloh had fallen asleep while playing with her dolls. Brad heard that silence was very suspicious when having a toddler, so he went to check on her expecting to find her getting into trouble. Nope, she was asleep on the floor with her doll tucked under her arm. It was two in the afternoon, so a perfect time for a rest.

He carefully picked her up and set her on her bed because it was more comfortable. She had a big girl bed after getting rid of her crib. It was pink with pictures of Disney princesses on the headboard and footboard. She loved her bed! It was low to the floor, so she could get in and out herself. His mother bought her a princess bedspread to match. Now, she was fast asleep. He went downstairs to check his phone to see if Mike had texted him.

Mike felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He had sent Brad an update and he was acknowledging that he received it. Maybe this was just an episode. He did encourage him to get her help, in case it was a serious drug addiction. Mike agreed he would do that.

Bria asked about being on the news. Ashley just said that she saw a report that said police had been called to her townhouse and she had been hospitalized for mental health concerns. She didn’t know which hospital she went to. Mike asked if she knew about her mental health. Yes, she did. She had an aunt she was close to who had bipolar disorder.

Her aunt had been in and out of hospitals because she refused to take her medication. She was living in an assisted living facility where she got help with her daily routine. There were days when she would be okay. Then, she would have days where she became manic. She believed she was the descendant of English royalty and she would get angry if she wasn’t getting the treatment she thought she deserved. When she had depression, she would self-harm with whatever she could find.

She was currently doing a lot better because she was on medication. It was just a matter of whether she would continue her medication or not.

“She stops her medication when she’s doing well”, Bria asked.

“Yeah, she thinks it’s a sign that she doesn’t need it anymore. That’s when she spirals.”

“How old is she”, Mike asked.

“She’s nineteen. It’s crazy. My grandparents have ten kids, so she’s the second youngest. My mom is somewhere in there, but it’s her younger sister. We think her mental health problems are related to my grandparents’ older age when they had her. They were almost in their forties when they had her and her twin brother.”

What about her brother? He didn’t have any mental health problems other than ADHD. The other kids didn’t have any mental health problems. She didn’t know anything about Borderline Personality Disorder, so she was learning about it from Bria. Yes, she knew she could talk to dead people. She thought it was cool at first. Until she heard what it was like for her.

Meow. Mama and Slash had left the bed after getting their fill of attention, but Sebastian had fallen asleep. He awoke and yawned before making his presence known. Bria picked him up and set him on her lap. He purred loudly as she petted him. They laughed.

After Ashley left, Bria was tired. Mike pulled her in. She had no life in her eyes. She had everything she could ever want, except happiness. Being wealthy was not what it was made out to be. She was so scared of being used for money and getting hurt. At the same time, she needed to feel close to someone to have that connection. He saw her as the same scared sixteen-year-old girl she used to be.

She put walls up to protect herself from getting hurt. It took weeks before they finally fell. The band was patient with her, even when she pulled back from them. They were the first people to show her kindness and love. She could express herself and they wouldn’t get rid of her. For the first time, she truly understood what love was. Now, he was seeing that again. She wanted love but she was afraid of it. Her girlfriend would be gone for three months.

He asked her about it. She didn’t know what she was going to do. No, she would not go to rehab because they wouldn’t believe her. He respected that. What about Sebastian?

“He’s a curious little guy. Mama and Slash watch him to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

He laughed. “He reminds me of Shiloh because he’s high energy and he likes to put stuff in his mouth.”

“She still does that? I thought by a certain age, they stopped.”

“Her pediatrician said she would stop by the age of three or four. It’s nothing major. If she’s playing with a plastic banana, she’ll pretend to eat it. Stuff like that.”

“That makes sense.”

Misty learned that she would likely drop food on the floor for her, so she waited by her high chair during meals. Oh my god. He laughed. Toddlers were interesting but so rewarding. How was Brad doing with her for the week? He was struggling because he wasn’t used to it, but he gave him a lot of credit for trying. Good for him. He nodded and pulled her closer to him.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[dairy-farmer]

I'm the anon who made the original ask of Jack knocking Tim up to keep him from being Robin and I am OBSESSED with what that newest ask you answered as of March 1 or 2 consists of!!

Bc just imagine it! A few years down the road, a decade and some change, Tim is 26/27 and heavily pregnant once again with another of the Red Hood's babies, and his two oldest son's are getting to be that age where they notice things like girls and boobs and think about sex, and well, their house is very open in regards to that, so they're exposed to that stuff often enough (seeing Tim breastfeed one of his many babies, just having his entire bare chest out, not to mention all of the sex he has with Jason ((and tbh I don't think Jack would be totally impotent? So there are still a few instances where any of Tim's kids have walked in on their heavily pregnant mother being railed by their grandpa)), there isn't much left to the imagination when it comes to sex). Is it any wonder when the older kids start to wonder what sex is like, but specifically with their slutty mom?

The older two kids, 12 and 11, talk to Jack and Jack has an idea, broaches it to Tim about having the boys watch the next time Jason comes over. Tim is wary at first, bc he doesn't necessarily LIKE having sex in front of his children, Jack and Jason just tend to take him wherever they see fit, and sometimes that's in the living room while the kids do homework, or on the floor of the nursery while the younger babies sleep and the toddlers play around the room, so he caves quickly, especially when the boys give him puppy dog eyes

It escalates much more quickly than anyone expects, bc Jack is watching from the sides, explaining things to the boys while Jason fucks Tim into the mattress, his full tits and heavily pregnant belly swinging and jiggling from the force of it all. But when Tim takes a moment to open his eyes and notices the way his children have hard little pricks, whining and palming at their erections, Tim can't help but drool and offer his services

Instead of just touching them, he goes straight to sucking off his younger son, offering his ass up to his older son once Jason is finished. They're all fucked out by the end of the night, and Tim might be a little addicted. Especially since, as Red Hood has become busier with his crime lording, Tim hasn't had as much easy access to cock the way he used to. So having his son's there to fill that void? Kind of genius

He draws the line, at first, at fucking him between pregnancies, bc that would be crossing a line, right? Letting his children knock him up? But a few years later, Tim is 28 and just gave birth a month previously (he's almost positive the baby was his father's, this time. That would be the third time he's made himself a big brother, and he couldn't be happier), when Jason goes on a trip that takes him away for nearly two entire months. Tim hasn't gone that long between pregnancies for a very, very long time, not since the gap between his firstborn and second born

His father is getting older and can't help as much, plus his swimmers aren't as strong as they used to be (Tim mourns the fact that his most recent baby will likely be the last he has from his dad), so he knows he can't get pregnant from him. So he has to find someone else. He doesn't want to leave the house if he can help it, with so many babies to take care of, Tim takes his duty as a mother very seriously. So going out and finding some random men to knock him up isn't an option either

So when he's helping his oldest boys one night, he realizes he can get what he wants here and now, from one of them. Only his two oldest can produce viable sperm at this age, his oldest 14 and second oldest 13 (right at the age Tim was when he had first been knocked up, how nostalgic! And it feels kind of full circle, Tim thinks as he's fucked full by both of his teenagers simultaneously, both of their smaller cocks fucking in and out of his pussy roughly in a way Tim loves), so they marathon fuck for nearly two weeks before Tim thinks it finally took. And he's right! One of his children has knocked him up, he's about to make himself a grandmother as he swells with this newest baby (and possibly an uncle? If his firstborn got him pregnant, that is ((and god it turns Tim on to think he might be carrying the child of his child who was fucked into him by his father)), and he almost expects Jason to be upset when he returns, but he thinks it's hot as well, seeing the proof of how slutty and desperate and cock addicted Tim is as he swells with a baby that was given to him by one of his babies

From then on it's hard for them to determine who Tim pops out kids for, but at that point they're all raised communally with Tim as their mama and Jason as their dad. The only one who calls anyone any different is Tim's firstborn, who calls Tim his mama and Jack his dad

Either way they have one big, happy (if fucked up) family, and it's just the way they all like it ❤️

tim being so utterly incapable of not having a baby in him so he crosses even his own lines to birth his own grandchild ❤️❤️❤️ their entire family dynamic and tree is just one screwed up little circle but they're all so happy ❤️❤️!!!!!

[gplewis]

a famous page (to me)

friday 4/9/21 few can sell their journals, few take it impersonally enough to write for pleasure/salvation and publish for money ~ people take their status so seriously until they graduate/overcome from status truly not giving a fuck, having no fear that their bliss can’t be turned part and parcel into their product/professional performance. He who dares not obey email all weekday must inevitably meet in himself what he hates, what he can’t stand, what he wishes to run away from fast / not want to be touched, not want to be awake or part of the world; intolerable self-awareness must be poured and discarded elsewhere; writing is a fine way to bear oneself; the internet destroys writers like alcohol did the previous generation; enemy of style, the internet is the intermediary between the writers and what has been written; gatekeeper politics are amusing ape-battles for positioning (apparent positioning; eventually the game of winning dries up and you discover you are alone in this beautiful place, and it turns out human beings have nothing on nature and the real compensation is chillin’, hanging out with your friends, enjoying the world, learning nothing needs to be fixed that isn’t healing itself; the terrible truth is you have time for gratitude // i have suffered from internet addiction, information addiction…but I Don’t know any other way to get safe; there is no social safety net that is not looking online at stuff, filling the mine with information meant to expire, keeping everyone’s eyes peeled and guts full of cotton; there’s too much to hear and there always will be, too many places to plug in; we may all just wanna chill, meet people, make babies, teach children, make flags and ornaments, have pride and joy -- it’s always someone else, never in ourselves; oneself is and is not the work of art. The writer impresses and intrigues us with her patience, devotion to the depths of quiet and blistering awareness of her own feelings, memories, judgments, refusals, (there, deep black is back, baby; [me talking to the ink] reaching the end of the spool… I wonder if editing and publishing are dead now that everyone is constantly making content; I personally have lost the thrill of needing to overcome rejection, needing to solve the problem that I’m not the one looked at; I missed the era of self-importance so I’m campaigning to myself for self-regard since self-esteem is the only house we live in; the public world of accolades is not it, the ongoingness of that world probably destroys the planet anyway, young people at heart don’t need anything but each other anyway, memory and voice with a dash of surprising reckless abandon for their age (“age considers, youth ventures”), ultimately all you can “get” is being listened to, understood, believed, agreed with, but really, loved. But being loved is not as good as writing :) or doing your verb; you must make self-regard, it can’t be given to you // the throbbing presence of the internet distracts me from writing stuff like this, I don’t have the strength to resist in my current state of self-diagnosed depression, anxiety, loss, longing, loneliness; any kind of fucked up there is or you’ve heard of, I’m gonna fold myself into it..,now, who am I? An online creator, a poet and cultural critic, essayist, writer, artist, cultural commentator (like every toddler and adolescent, I am an expert on what’s wrong and unfair and what feels bad…and I talk about it! It’s my information diet that’s fucked; it’s my disobedience and refusal to “work” which makes me who and where I am; everyone online today has made themselves out of a primordial cocktail of addiction, laziness and zealotry. I love you, we could adore, endure, tolerate and laugh at each other; this could be our song…we could go on.

[kurosukii]

𝐟𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

REPOSTED CAUSE IT GOT FL4GGED WELP

pairing: miya atsumu x f!reader

summary: going to your friend’s daycare center on his time off awoke something in him.

genre: smut, timeskip au

warnings: 18+. breeding kink, lactation kink, mommy kink (he calls you mommy but not in the femdom way), multiple orgasms, slight oral fixation, overstimulation, dumbification, praise, degradation (‘dumb baby’), motorboating, squirting, fingering, creampie (lots of cum like a lot), cumplay, mating press (this is so messy bc tsum likes it like that omg sorry)

word count: 3.4k

author's note: for @mindninjax domestic daydream collab! thanks for letting me join! (let me know if i missed any warnings) (MINORS DNI) @hqintheclub

° thank you to @kurinoot for beta reading!

[3:34 PM]

the thought of having kids never really graced atsumu’s mind, not until he saw the little chubby toddler giggle in your arms.

“c’mon, tsum! it’ll be fun! my friend’s hoard of kids are the cutest and nicest bunch you’ll ever meet!”

cutest bunch? atsumu will not argue with that, but nicest? that’s definitely debatable. the only reason why he was able to escape from their chaos was because he was basically a giant to them.

no seriously, just as he was taking his shoes off by the door, hand-in-hand with you, all the kids stared up at him with awe. little ooh’s and ahh’s filled the room as they looked up at your muscular and tall husband.

you giggled at their reactions—both the kids’ and atsumu’s—before cooing at the children and playing with them, loud laughter and excited shrieks filling the pastel yellow room littered with paintings of animals.

atsumu will hand it down to you. visiting kids on his time off was never on his mind, but he admits that their radiant smiles definitely took a weight off his shoulders.

he was in his own corner, playing with the other kids, but he always kept a watchful eye on you. the longer he watched you excitedly playing with the little scrubs, the faster the stirring in his belly grew.

the stirring that atsumu has been feeling ever since the both of you arrived finally has a name—he wants to put his baby in you.

“hng—it’s embarrassing tsumu!”

you squeal loudly, cheeks burning with how mortified you are, but what do you expect?

atsumu’s a grown man with a heart and mind of a teenage boy, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you when his large hands then cup the soft skin and flesh of your chest as he buries his pretty face between the valley of your tits.

he shamelessly presses your breasts to his cheeks before promptly shaking his head from side to side. it’s absolutely embarrassing, and you’ve been trying to push his face away for the past five minutes.

but he just can’t get enough. his mind has been set ever since he hauled your ass out of the daycare. the minute the both of you entered your house, you were a flurry of rustled clothes and tangled limbs, lips locked in a messy and passionate kiss as atsumu stumbled up the stairs with you in tow.

you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t know what this was about or where the sudden need for him to devour you came from, because you know exactly what’s on his mind.

it’s a conversation meant to be had over a cup of coffee, with maybe a shot of something stronger in the cup, but with the way atsumu made you cum two times prior—maybe it isn’t so bad to let him have his way this time?

your husband has always been addicted to you and your body, practically insatiable, even. but this time’s different.

this time, he has a definite goal.

“i‘m gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart.”

he states seriously, as if the both of you are discussing a serious legal matter. he doesn’t give you any time to protest because he smothers his face in your tits again, blowing raspberries into your skin.

he would have definitely killed the mood if it weren’t for his talented mouth latching on to your nipple. atsumu rips a pleased whine from your throat as your fingers tangle in his messy blonde hair.

his free hand palms your other breast, skilled setter fingers tweaking and twisting the sensitive peak. god, he wants to ruin you. he releases your nipple with a loud pop and a satisfied groan, before his greedy mouth envelops the other one and gives it the same treatment.

you feel so hot, but you only have atsumu to blame. his large body is draped over you and he feels like a furnace. waves of warmth transfer from his body to yours, making your body slick with sweat.

the whole ordeal feels so juvenile, like you’re both young college students who have just started experimenting with each other’s bodies, but seeing the way atsumu is enjoying himself, you can’t help but feel so turned on by him and his actions.

the hard planes and dips of his body makes you feel protected and feminine. he’s just so warm. your free hand reaches out between the miniscule space between your bodies, your palm rubbing his shining and chiseled torso.

atsumu interrupts your appraisal of him when he sucks your nipple harder into his mouth, clearly enjoying the feeling of you touching him when his teeth gently nip on the nipple he’s sucking on.

you moan softly when you feel his stiff cock rubbing against your thigh, humping you like it’s his first time with a woman. little groans and whines fall from his lips, and you’re sure that it’s because of the slight relief he feels—based on the pre-cum that’s staining your thigh, but no.

atsumu’s eyes are tightly shut, his mind vividly giving him images of your sore and aching breasts leaking with milk. he never thought that he’d be into it but fuck, every scene that his brain conjures quickly becomes his fantasy as long as you’re the star of it.

“gonna make you mommy, would ya like that?”

he rasps in your ear, fingers stealthily playing with your slick folds. you yelp, jerking towards his body at the prodding and swirling of his fingers, pussy clenching around nothing as your body remembers the previous orgasms he gave you.

atsumu’s so sweaty, his blonde hair is sticking up in all directions but he’s never looked so attractive to you. his angular face is flushed with a pink color, lips swollen and rosy.

his caramel eyes open, wide and burning with unconcealed desire. his defined abs glisten with a thin sheen of sweat—yeah there’s no way you wouldn’t let him be all over you.

he looks like a god, your god.

“tsumu, please,” you beg, and you feel his cock jump at the whiny plea in your voice. your nails claw against his broad shoulders, leaving red streaks as you whine for him to stop teasing you. you need him, need his cock inside of you.

atsumu gives one last hard suck to your nipple before lifting his head, lazily smiling at you when he sees the needy expression on your face.

you sniffle as you whimper, eyes teary and wide because you’re aching all over—your tits, pussy, basically anywhere atsumu has touched you. you don’t really care that you’re whining like a dumb baby because the only thing on your mind is that you desperately need your husband’s cock pounding into you.

“shh, don’t cry. just gotta get you as wet as possible, s’all. fuckin’ love it when you’re drippin’ for me,” he coos, making you moan loudly when his thick fingers slip inside of you with no friction whatsoever.

his pupils are blown wide, rosy lips parted as he watches your messy cunt take his fingers, drenching his hand while the other one presses down on your abdomen.

he smirks devilishly when you wail, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head as he increases the pressure and speed of his fingers. it’s too early, he guesses, but he can’t help it—he loves it when you’re all dumb and whining for him.

you’re already so wet. you feel like a puddle has formed on the sheets below your ass, and the fact that his fingers are drilling into like nobody’s business isn’t helping. he already pulled two orgasms out of you and he still thinks you’re not wet enough?

“a-atsumu! g-gonna cum!” you scream as both of your hands reach for his wrist, practically anchoring yourself on his arm when you feel the tell-tale sign of the coil in your lower stomach tightening, preparing yourself to cum all over atsumu’s fingers.

“fuck, atsumu! so good,” you cry out, biting your lower lip so hard that the skin almost breaks. the loud squelching noises from your cunt spurs atsumu on and when he curls his fingers towards your sweet spot, he can’t help but marvel at the way your bent legs shake from the pleasure, cheeks flushed and eyes fluttering as you ramble incoherently.

“you’re so damn beautiful when you cum, baby.” atsumu praises you with a groan, pulling out his dripping fingers from your cunt. you watch with blurry eyes as he puts them in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your essence flooding his tongue.

you should be used to atsumu’s shamelessness by now, but he never ceases to surprise you. he catches you by surprise when he slips his spit-soaked fingers into your parted lips, humming as he urges you to suck them. this beast of a man, you swear in your head.

he chuckles, smirking boyishly when you copy his movements from before. his cock throbs at the lust in your eyes, promptly pulling his fingers, making you whine at the loss.

atsumu coos at you again as he expertly maneuvers himself, his large body now hovering over you as he nudges your legs open, revealing your dripping pussy to him. he braces himself with one hand beside your body while the other guides his cock to your sex.

“gonna put it in now, okay?”

it’s probably the last thing you hear clearly because a familiar ringing fills your ears. even after having sex with your husband regularly, daily—if you are to be specific, his cock still stretches your little cunt as if it’s your first time taking him.

he’s just so long and thick, it doesn’t even help that the veins on his cock drag inside your walls deliciously, leaving you a whiny and teary mess. atsumu never fails to make you go crazy and beg for him.

“shit, you feel s’tight, my god,” atsumu gasps, his breathing coming out in short and quick pants when he bottoms out. he reaches for your legs and wraps them around his lithe waist before leaning over you.

your heaving breasts are squished against his chest as he kisses you sloppily, moaning and whining in between the clicks of your tangled tongues.

“i stretch your cunt every day and you’re still suffocating my cock, sweetheart,” atsumu grunts as he jerks his hips, trying to sink even deeper into your pussy. the way your tight walls squeeze his cock makes him dizzy and the muscles in his back tense as your sharp cries and mewls fill the air.

shit, he swears he can just cum from your pussy clenching around him—but he's a man on a mission. it's not enough that he fills you with his cum, he wants your mind to be filled with just him. he’s greedy like that, after all.

“i-i love it every time you’re inside of me, tsumu, feel so full.”

you whine, body jolting with every heavy thrust he makes. it starts calculated, with atsumu never failing to get into his rhythm but he quickly loses it as well, even faster now that he’s fucking you with a definite purpose.

he’s definitely as drunk you are, rutting into you as the bed shakes and the headboard thumps against the wall. his guttural moans vibrate against your ear as he blabbers his inner thoughts with his raspy voice.

“you’d look so pretty, swollen and round with my kid. your tits would be heavy and aching too,” he whines, sucking your nipple into his mouth while thrusting in and out of you. “can’t wait to taste your milk, baby.”

your cheeks flame at his admission, eyes fluttering as his cock stretches you. atsumu finds your hands and holds them, pinning them on either side of your head.

your tits bounce and jostle with his rough movements but his mouth will always find a way to suckle your nipples—it’s practically one of his skills at this point.

“yes, ‘tsumu, please. fill me up with your cum!” you cry, your ankles locking together as your heels dig into his ass, but it's not necessary anyway, because the only place atsumu’s going to cum is inside your cunt, and he won’t waste a drop of it.

his balls slap against your ass and he untangles his hands from yours so he can press down on your stomach and draw tight circles on your clit, making you scream and fist the pillow by your head.

your lower half is pulsing in anticipation, back arching from the pleasure of atsumu’s cock curving against your sweet spot. you’re close, he can tell, he can see. the way your eyes go blank, mouth forming into a perfect ‘o’ as loud moans fall from your lips.

“yeah, s’okay sweetheart, i’m gonna fill you up—fuck!” atsumu moans, thrusting so deep that he teases the entrance to your cervix. his entire body tenses and stiffens, before he cums with a whine of your name.

he gasps as his body shudders, abs tightening when his cock shoots out his load into your creamy pussy. his bangs fall over his eyes as his hips jerk with small thrusts, making sure that you’re milking all of him.

his cum is so hot and thick and heavy. you can’t stop the high pitched whines escaping from you, how can you? your insides feel so warm and full.

atsumu looks down to see your pussy overflowing with your combined juices, groaning when your cunt clenches and flutters around him, leaving a white ring on the base of his cock.

he sighs contentedly, but you know he’s not done yet, because he’s still hard and pulsing inside of you. your husband’s stamina is a force to be reckoned with.

atsumu straightens his sweaty body as he clicks his tongue in disapproval at the cum that’s spilling out of you. his fingers play with the thick and viscous puddle of white where the two of you are connected, and the next thing he says makes your heart race even faster.

“hmm, not enough, still gotta fill you up more.”

he stops playing with you, in favor of hooking his hands behind your knees. he pushes your thighs towards your chest and snickers when he hears you squeak in protest, your face scrunching up in a wince when you feel the stretch in your legs from being folded in half.

atsumu slips his head in the small space between your raised legs, and kisses you with all the fervor and passion he holds. your breath catches when his chest squishes your thighs further, feeling the hot and throbbing cock hovering over your leaking cunt.

he moans unabashedly as he drives into you again, his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth. his cock is so sensitive that it hurts—but he’s a masochist and he loves the way you whimper and tighten around him.

your calves rest on his broad shoulders as you fist the sheets next to your hips. broken whines fill atsumu’s ears and he pulses even more, cock twitching inside you.

he still has a lot of cum to give and he’ll empty himself inside your pussy before he even thinks of falling flat on the bed. his eyes are glossy with unshed tears from the onslaught of pleasure but compared to yours, he’s basically a stream and you’re a waterfall.

your face is slick with sweat and tears. it’s so messy but so fucking hot at the same time and the tension in your thighs is nothing but a delicious pain as atsumu presses into you.

your body jolts with every thrust, your ankles dangling over his scratched shoulders as he brutally pounds your pussy. the loud squelching of your mixed juices, combined with the slapping of sweaty skin makes the sex so feverish and dirty.

“gonna make sure you’re so full of my cum, alright? i got you, don’t worry,” atsumu babbles as his large hands fist the pillow your head is resting on. he nibbles on your lower lip, moaning when he feels you clench around his cock.

“that’s a good girl, c’mon milk my cock—fuck yes,” he hisses, pelvis smacking against the back of your thighs as you practically suck him in. your hips buck against his with whatever little space you have, wailing when the curve of his cock hits the spongy spot inside your cunt.

“yeah baby, take my cock, take my cock.”

you’d be embarrassed at his volume if you weren’t so busy getting pounded into the mattress and it’s clearly obvious that your husband doesn't care if the neighbors hear him, and why would he? he’s fucking the best pussy of his life.

“wanna give you a baby tsumu! cum inside of me please!” you whine, tears cascading down your cheeks as your pussy throbs, juices leaking out of you and creating a huge mess of cum and slick between your bodies.

“yes, tsumu! right there!”

atsumu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at your high pitched cry. his thrusts have no rhythm to them anymore, just sloppy and heavy smacks of his hips, growls and whines coming from deep within his chest.

there’s a tight and fragile spring in your lower abdomen, and the pressure of his weight on top of you, your thighs squished against your tummy—everything—renders you mindless.

nothing but broken cries of his name and profanities come out of your mouth, a symphony of pleasure that’s starting to become too much for you. one particularly powerful thrust from atsumu makes you keen, arching your back towards him and the spring just snaps.

you moan long and hard, head buried deep in the pillow as your legs stiffen for a few moments, before they tremble and your toes end up curling so hard that it’s starting to cramp.

clear liquid shoots out of your pussy in short spurts, drenching your thighs and his abs as your eyes flutter from what is probably the most earth-shattering orgasm atsumu has ever given you.

“holy shit, you squirted all over me, pretty girl. you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.

atsumu stares at you in shock and wonder, stopping for only a second before he fucks you with all the force he has, sloppily kissing your messy mouth before his muscles become taut with tension, moaning your name against your lips.

he fills you with his hot and heavy cum once more, his breath coming out in choked gasps as he shudders from his orgasm. your ruined pussy is definitely sucking him in and he curses at how it hurts so damn good.

“pretty little cunt takin’ all my cum,” he moans brokenly, lifting his body off of yours with his trembling arms so he can stare at the hot and sticky mess that’s connecting the both of you.

you blacked out for a bit there and saw stars. rivulets of your combined juices travel down the crevice of your ass, staining the sheets below you and forming a puddle.

you feel lightheaded and dizzy, chest heaving so hard as atsumu removes your legs from his shoulders, straightening them on either of him. you’re mumbling unintelligibly and atsumu mirrors you, hiccuping as he pulls out with a loud and wet pop that has him blushing profusely.

his eyebrows furrow, wincing at how his cock is rubbed raw but he wants more. he still has a few rounds left in him.

you sigh in contentment, eyes drooping as the exhaustion from your activity catches up to you. but you’re in for a rude awakening because atsumu unceremoniously flips you to your stomach.

he pushes your back into a deep arch and you whine brokenly, but words have since left you and your bones are practically jelly, too mindless to push him away.

he’s literally as fucked out as you are, his body trembling with the same intensity. but he’s not finished, far from it.

atsumu’s brown eyes are hazy and shiny, drool falling out of his lips as he looks down at the junction between your ass with a tired and semi-satisfied grin.

he eases your twitching by massaging your thighs to relieve the tension. he lines himself up to your battered and dripping pussy, thighs messy with trails of white smearing into your skin.

he leans over your back and his lips kiss the sweaty skin where your neck meets your shoulder, and a dopey smile stretches his lips when you moan and wiggle your ass. you want more too.

“we’re not done, sweetheart. gotta make sure you get pregnant after all.”

[6:55 PM]

tagging: pls omg sorry for the tags again but this baby got flagged so if u can give it some love again ehe .

@anime-nymph @semisgroupie @rosesandtoshi @tetsuswhore@kuroohoeee @chaotic-fangirl-blog @alaina-rose13@devilgirlcrybabiey @moonlit-mizukage @omiikeii @slutawara @yams046 @fairyxkisses @lov3glore @bucinhajime @scnwanna @cute-mute @criesinpisces @thotthumb @bunbyy @kinsurou @chiefinvestigatoremma

[brunchable]

Conflict Resolution Chapter 3 — Counselling || Surgeon!S.S. × Asian!Reader.

Warnings: Coarse Language, Sexual Elements, Medical elements

Pairings: Stephen Strange x Asian!Reader (OC)

Summary: You are late for your first conflict resolution counselling with Stephen and both of you are given the assignment of having dinner together.

A/N: I have no ownership of this story, all credits go to Kate Canterbary for her book, The Worst Guy.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ainsley 

Your sneakers squealed against the laminate floor as you rounded the corner to Dr. Karla Sofen's office. You would've preferred to slip into the restroom to check your hair and straighten yourself before the first conflict resolution session with Strange but you were already running late. Just a few minutes, but you hated being late. It always filled you with the most pointless panic. You told yourself it was pointless and that worrying in this way was a waste of energy but you were already wasting a ton of pointless energy so there was no stopping this mess now. 

The truth was, you didn't choose the messy life. All this messy chose you—and you were okay with that. You had to be. You are a perfectionist good girl with the heart of a raging bitch. Messy was the only way to rock this bun. You are really good at your job, yet stupid old imposter syndrome kicked your ass on the daily. You were scrappy as fuck and more delicate than anyone had the right to be. You were vain as hell yet bristled at being judged on your appearance first, your surgical pedigree second. You swore fluently and often. You came across as inconsistent and moody. Hot and cold. 

You were twenty-seven years old and a pickier eater than most toddlers. That meant no one could take you anywhere—but don't even think about not inviting you. Even your hair got in on the action. 

You came by the mess honestly—as honestly as anyone could when growing up with drama-addicted parents who would've been better off divorced but elected to cheat on each other and complain about their unfavourable prenup to anyone who would listen, you and your siblings the most frequent audience. Despite living through this marital master class, you still found yourself wanting to settle down with someone. Just as soon as you met them and learned how to be vulnerable. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

All of that left you holding the bill of sale for a whole lot of emotional garbage, most of which you'd processed and recycled into the kind of high-value skills that made you look like a well-adjusted, functional adult until you destroyed an exam room. Appearances, those funny little liars. 

You stepped inside Dr. Sofen's office, surprised to find it filled with warm sunlight and green plants, a large British flag and crammed bookshelves—and Stephen perched on the arm of the sofa, the hint of a smile lingering on his lips. 

The man smiled? Since when? 

Out of pure reflex you smiled back, but he was quick to destroy the moment with a pointed glance at his smartwatch followed by a bent-eyebrowed stare. He raked that stare through your probably wild hair, over your white coat, and down to your lavender sneakers. 

What an asshole.

Just for that, you abandoned all discomfort over your late arrival and the state of your hair. 

"Dr. Park, you've found us," Dr. Sofen said, gesturing to the sofa. She was the kind of sixties-ish woman who could wear a poncho and make it look good, which was a true accomplishment in your book. 

Essentially, you wanted to be able to wear a blanket and call it fashion. Was that too much to ask? 

"Please make yourself comfortable. Dr. Strange and I were just trading Puerto Rican restaurant recommendations since we've made a habit of bumping into each other in line for the new Caribbean food truck. Perhaps we could conduct one of our sessions over lunch?"

Oh, you hated that idea and you'd find a way to wiggle out of lunch without insulting Dr. Sofen and her food in the process, but those priorities were secondary to glaring at Stephen as he pushed off the sofa's arm and stalked to the bookshelves. 

You settled into the corner of the sofa closest to the door. "I was late finishing with the residents in my skills lab. Thank you for waiting." 

It felt as strange to say that as it sounded. It would've been so much simpler to apologise for running late and it would've felt better too—until all the little concessions and apologies tightened and calcified inside you, a brittle organ that functioned only when fed a steady diet of shame. You hadn't learned it was shameful until the past few years. 

Before, you'd thought this was perfectionism, type A personality, oldest sister syndrome. What harm could come from always wanting to be the top of your class, look polished and put-together all the time, solve problems before they materialised? What was wrong with controlling everything? The organ still ticked inside you. It sputtered in innocuous moments like these when you said thank you for waiting instead of 'I'm sorry', and it panged with hunger when you stood up to badass bully surgeons like Strange because it would be so, so much easier to stay quiet. 

Dr. Sofen was asking him something about a restaurant and scribbling a note on the pad perched on her knee. "I love a good rice and pernil lunch plate too," she said. "Especially when it's made right." 

He nodded in agreement. He wasn't smiling anymore. No, the relaxed, amenable version of him you'd found when stepping into this office was long gone, and since you were the only change in this dynamic, you earned the prize of being the stick up his ass today. Awesome. 

"If not all of us together, then you two should visit the food trucks. It would be a fine opportunity to learn something about each other outside your hospital roles,"she said.

You gave a slow nod and lukewarm smile but there was absolutely no way that was happening. Lunch with Stephen was out of the question, but also, you couldn't even walk past the area where food trucks regularly parked in this neighbourhood without your stomach turning. It drove you crazy that so much of everyday adult life revolved around eating with people. This setup wasn't designed for those of you with confrontational digestive systems. 

Dr. Sofen shifted in her modern-style red wingback chair to glance at Strange, her long silver hair gleaming in the sun as a smile tugged at her lips. "That's a defensive posture if I've ever seen one, Dr. Strange." 

He stood with his shoulders against the shelf and his arms crossed over his chest. His scrubs were the darkest, most saturated navy blue you'd ever seen, the colour one would receive if they asked for black with the barest pulse of life beating inside it. 

When Stephen replied with nothing more than a slow blink, Dr. Sofen continued, "Ah. Well. It is time for us to begin." 

You reached into your coat pockets to check that all your devices were set to vibrate. From the corner of your eye, you watched Stephen inspect the device clipped to his hip and the phone in his pocket. 

"How's this going to go?" he asked. "Are we supposed to prove that we're not a danger to each other or hospital property? If that's the case, I can probably leave now, seeing as Park is the one who likes to live dangerously." 

"In this space, I'll encourage you to speak to each other using first names—" 

"Park is fine," you said. Your whole life, I'd been Ains Park, or Pak, if they want to say your name the traditional way. No one ever called you Ainsley. You doubted you'd even respond to it. 

"Or is this going to be naming feelings and exploring trauma and that whole dumpster fire? Because if so, can we just raw dog this thing and move it all along? My father hasn't been in my life on a consistent basis, my parents divorced when I was four, and I haven't felt anything since then. Park, you're on deck." 

You deposited your devices back into one pocket beside the colour-coded notecards you used to prepare for your cases, and grabbed this afternoon's snack from the other. "I feel plenty of things but I'd rather intellectualise those feelings and bottle them up until they explode." 

"See Exhibit A, the exam room I like for charting," he said. 

Dr. Sofen hummed to herself as she steepled her fingertips under her chin. "I understand now."

"What?" Stephen asked. "Why you, as the Associate Director of Behavioral Health, got stuck with us instead of shipping us off to a doctoral student?" 

She inclined her head toward him with a generous smile. "Yes, and why I was promised I'd enjoy it so much." 

You pinched your lips together to keep yourself from shouting that this wasn't a game to you. That you'd been chastised for your behavior by your boss—which was the worst punishment in the world for any perfectionist, but especially this perfectionist, since it came coupled with a reminder that your fucking father would've been disappointed. 

Your entire professional life was spent defining yourself as separate and distinct from your father and now…well, this wasn't a game to you. You weren't going to let it be a game. 

"I commend you both for being able to distil yourself down to, ahem, raw dog terms, as you say, though that's not how this is going to go, Stephen," Dr. Sofen said. "If you're comfortable with it, you're welcome to call me Karla." She glanced in your direction but you were too busy eating and organising your pockets. 

Not for the first time, you observed that you could hide an entire kitten in one of these pockets. 

"Our time together will be spent practising de-escalation, social perspective-taking, and communication in high stress yet professional settings. I hope you'll view this as an opportunity rather than a punishment."

"It is a punishment," you said, mostly to yourself. 

"What—what the hell are you eating?" Stephen asked. 

You replied with the same amount of exasperation with which he'd asked the question. "Croutons." 

"Why?" 

"Why," you repeated. "What kind of question is that? Do you go up to people in the cafeteria and ask them why they chose that sandwich?" 

"No, because it's a fucking sandwich, not a bag of croutons that belong on top of a salad. That's weird." He looked at Karla. "That's weird." 

She held up her hands and let them fall, silently choosing neutrality in this battle. 

"My croutons are not subject to your approval." 

He cocked his head to the side. "And yet my treatment plans are subject to your approval?" 

"Yeah, when the plan is lazy. There are better options than sloppy staples, especially when we're talking about faces, especially when we're talking about younger patients who—" 

"Then your primary concern is aesthetics," he interrupted, nodding to himself like this confirmed all his worst suspicions. "Should've guessed that. Plastics and all." He lifted his shoulders and you could hear the smugness vibrating off him, "My primary concern is saving lives." 

You bit into another crouton, staring at him all the while. You made him wait for your response, and you could tell from every tick of his jaw that he hated it. 

When you were good and ready, you said, "You're not accomplishing what you think you're accomplishing by drowning me in condescension. Instead of validating your expertise, you're undercutting yourself and showing your whole ass in the process by telling us"—you gestured toward Karla—"that the only expertise you value is your own. That doesn't speak fondly to your growth mindset, now does it, Dr. Strange?" 

He didn't respond. You had to work at swallowing your smile. You weren't positive but it seemed like he was grinding his teeth. He went on staring at you, his blue eyes hard and his arms locked tight across his chest. It was audacious of him to walk around with those bare muscular obscenities. And that was no exaggeration. Strange was quite obscene and he deserved none of it. He had no more use for that crisp jawline than he did those broad, powerful shoulders. 

Karla glanced between you several times as the silence thickened. Well, it wasn't entirely silent. These croutons were as good as pins loudly stabbing your Stephen Strange voodoo doll. 

Eventually, she broke the tension, saying, "You might not recognize it, but we've made progress today." 

"Because there's no broken glass on the floor?" he asked. 

You crunched down on a pumpernickel crouton as hard as you could manage. When you glanced at him, you found his gaze locked on you. Not exactly on you, but the pin on your shirt. It read Scrubs and Scalpels, with an anatomically correct heart and a pair of surgical blades crossed like a pirate's skull and bones. 

His brows lifted and he laughed, a single ha that barely registered as a sound. Then he met your eyes, his permanent scowl shifting into the finest fragment of a smile. You arched a brow in challenge and he responded with an eye roll so epic he probably gave himself a tension headache. 

Ignoring all of this, Karla continued, "Progress doesn't stick unless you practise it. For this week's practice, I'd like you to share a meal—" 

"No." You shook your head. The pumpernickel turned to bile, sharp and bitter and miserable in my throat. 

"Go ahead and put me down for no, as well," Stephen said. 

Because this kind woman with her gleaming hair and potted plants had an evil side, Karla repeated, "I'd like you to share a meal. Here are the requirements. You must convene outside the hospital complex. You must sit down at a table to eat. I might be old-school but I'm telling you coffee is not a meal. Not in my book. Finally, you must learn five new, non-professional things about each other."

Stephen unfolded his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets, his scowl deep enough to stir up a thunderstorm of its own. "Here's my requirement. That hour of extracurricular work counts as one of the eight sessions." 

You would've thrown your support behind this proposal if you weren't busy cataloguing ways to dodge the assignment entirely. If you asked around, you could probably find someone who needed a kidney. 

Donating a kidney would excuse me, right? It would. 

It would destroy your schedule but it was all about bargaining away the bad. 

"This won't be the last assignment," Karla said. "But I'll consider your suggestion if this assignment is completed to my satisfaction by next week's session." 

You closed your reusable snack bag and shoved it in a coat pocket. You couldn't think about next week's session yet, not when this one needed to end. You'd prepared yourself for these visits but not activities outside the hospital. You really hated group projects. They always had a way of growing legs and ruining your life. 

"I'd like you to make that allowance," Stephen pressed. 

"Dr. Strange, I'm aware that you are accustomed to getting your way. You've earned it. But you get your way on the surgical wing. Not in this office, not unless you earn it here." 

You pushed to your feet. You didn't know if you were finished or not but you didn't have another minute in you. 

"Thank you for your time," you said to Karla. 

"Excuse me." Before she could respond, you were out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Maybe it was just you but being a people-pleaser had never been about making anyone happy. You called it people-pleasing but what you meant was you did whatever it took to keep from altering the status quo. 

Working extremely hard in school has been one of your most socially acceptable forms of maintaining the status quo and getting a dash of validation in the process. There was nothing to see here so long as you were earning good grades and engaged in the right after-school activities. Being obsessively obedient and helpful was another. Everyone loved the kid who was so damn mature for her age. 

They never saw it as the outward manifestation of inner stress. They never stopped to ask how that kid got to be so mature. They never asked why she couldn't just be a kid. They only reaped the benefits. You didn't give a damn about pleasing people but you knew everything about playing the right part. You knew better now. You knew you didn't have to do any of those things anymore but you still felt the twinges of guilt when it came to asserting your needs—or walking out of a counselling session when you'd had enough. 

That same guilt ate at you now, hours after the session. You and Stephen had homework to do and you always did your homework, even if it was homework that forced you out of your comfort zone. After a bit of research, you drafted a text to Strange.

Ainsley: Here's a screenshot of my schedule for the week. 

Ainsley: Here's a list of restaurants that work for me. 

Stephen: I thought you'd fight this to the death. I'm disappointed you caved so quickly. 

Ainsley: Shut up and choose a place.

Stephen: I've been to Pastoral. Druid's brother-in-law lives near there. That works.

Ainsley: Date? 

Stephen: Yeah, I guess it's a date if that's what you want to call it… 

Ainsley: No. It is NOT a date. You need to tell me when you're available, as in day and time. Which date? 

Stephen: Ah. Okay. Monday? 7 or 8? 

Ainsley: 7 will be fine. 

Stephen: It's a date, right? 

Ainsley: For fuck's sake, no!

Stephen: Did I just hear you screech from three floors away?

You tossed your phone aside and groaned up at the ceiling. You'd distracted yourself reading menus and forgotten for a few beautiful minutes that Stephen was upstairs. By virtue of sturdy yet randomly flimsy brownstones, everyone in the building's three apartments knew when the others were showering, climbing the stairs, or loudly breathing. Forget about watching TV or having sex. Not that you'd had a lot of sex since moving here from Boston but Christine and her husband Charlie had a lot of sex. You owned several different types of noise-cancelling headphones and white noise machines, and scrolled the local real estate listings every day. You'd never had a conversation with Christine about the sex noises. You didn't even allude to hearing them—and that was another difference between friends and best friends. One of you could say, "Look, sweetie, it's so nice that your husband's cock can make you see stars. Maybe now is a good time to invite some new toys into your play and try out a gag? Perhaps some light choking?"

Ainsley: I do not screech. 

Stephen: You do. 

Ainsley: Monday. 7. I will meet you there. Please figure out your five things in advance.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Tags: @winsteria @classicrebound @gwephen @patbrdac @goldencherriess @elizabethdarcy29 @strangeobsessed @strangelockd @lady-harvey @mirikusashes @rbymoon @k1mikoz @allie131313 @strangesthirdeye @nicoletka @sleutherclaw @dragonqueen89 @bloodyxsaint @3443652 @pinkthick @iamdedsthingz @casualimaginesfluffwagon @im-akira @faltinestrange @ilikedarkrai @alicia-c37 @phatm00d @xunquish-blog @keistange @omgstarks @jotaros-bara-tiddies @gaitwae @sherlux