#i don't think this man has ever been to medical school

[turnthepagevn]

How would Robin deal with an M/C that cries from even the thought of someone being nice or validating them?

He's gonna keep validating, cherishing, and loving them, and he'll say it's exposure therapy.

[user00003123]

NOW LIVE: BUILDING A BOND feat. t. fushiguro

SUMMARY: when your parents get you a job as a psychologist at the prison, you don't expect to take such an interest in one of the inmates.

CONTENT WARNINGS: inmate! toji! x psychologist! fem! reader, smut, mdni, modern prison au, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, clit play, fingering, finger sucking, nipple sucking, slight choking, toji is kind of degrading, oral (f. & m. receiving), p in v, cow girl, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), panty stealing, nicknames (Doc, slut, dirty girl, nasty girl, good girl) wc: 4,117

"I'm sorry—what?"

"Look sweetie, you said it yourself. You went to school so that you could help people, and what's more helpful than being a psychologist for the prison, hm?" your mother sat next to you on the couch one arm around your shoulders and the other holding your hand.

"Your mother is right sweetie, this has been your dream since you were a little girl," your father speaks up from his desk.

"Working at a prison was not my dream," your arms are folded across your chest. "When I got my degree, I was thinking more of a cute office where I talk to children and teens to help them. Not grown men who did who knows what to get themselves in a prison," you slightly yell getting off the couch and standing in front of your father's desk.

"I get it sweetie, but if I didn't think you were the right one for this position, I wouldn't have volunteered you," your father gets up from his desk and walks over to you. He places his hands on both your shoulders, sighing, "You are the smartest, most compassionate young woman I've ever met. I know it's not the job you wanted, but maybe it's the job you needed."

Maybe he was right, I mean these men weren't emotionally stable and it could benefit them to talk to you.

The next day you were dressed in a black pantsuit with black flats, making sure to not have any flashy jewelry on. When arriving you had to go through extensive security, to make sure you didn't have any contraband, or anything harmful that could be used against you.

"You're the new psychologist aren't you?" A tall man with white hair asks you as you're leaving the security office. He was also dressed in all black, but with a vest that had police stitched on it in white.

"What gave it away?" you ask with a raised eyebrow. He tilts his head eyeing your outfit.

"You're cheerful being here," he laughs, hands now on the vest with the many pockets, and you notice the gun on his hip.

"I'm just trying to be hopeful that I can help these men in some way," you say running your hands down your shirt.

"I admire that, hope is not something that people have in here. Maybe you'll change that," you give him a small smile. "I'm Gojo, by the way. I'll be your security guard for the day."

"Just the day?" you follow him down a long hallway.

"Like me already?" you roll your eyes with a light laugh. "I'm messing with ya' sweetheart. Each day every guard has a different place we'll be in the prison. Mine is sadly guarding solitary the next couple days."

You hum in response and continue to follow him until you're in the medical bay. You meet the nurses, desk attendants, and other guards before Gojo takes you to your office. You give him a thanks as you put you're bag down looking around the room.

Empty white walls, a two-person cream-colored sofa, and a white desk with a matching chair. Very bland, but anything else added and it could've been used against you. Sitting at the desk you start to take a look at the files of the patients who would be visiting you. Some have a tragic back story, other don't, and you started to feel a bit overwhelmed. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you calmed yourself down just as a knock was heard on the door.

"Come in!" Gojo comes in with a long black-haired inmate who has an unidentifiable expression on his face.

"Cuffs on or off?" Gojo questions. You think on it for a second then tell him off. Letting the inmates not have their cuffs on shows you have some type of trust in them and helps build the bond for them to trust you.

"Behave yourself, Geto," Gojo starts to walk out of the office before turning to you again. "Remember, just yell or push the panic button and I'll come right in."

"Thanks," you smile at him before motioning for Geto to have a seat on your couch. He does and the two of you talk, he opens up quite a bit about how he feels about him being in here and why he's even in here in the first place. It's a great start to your day and every patient after Geto is pretty up or down. Either they wanna talk or they give you a hard time, but it's only the first day.

Your last patient comes in while you're fixing all the files on your desk, clearing his throat to let you know of his presence. You're eyes trailed up his body, black uniform pants, black wife-beater, his big beefy arms decorated in black ink, and a cocky little smirk plastered on his face. You look down at your schedule to see his name and you give him a smile then tell Gojo it's okay to take off his cuffs.

"You sure sweetheart, I'm a dangerous man," his eyes are staring right into yours, his smirk never leaving his face. Gojo leaves when you give him a nod and you gesture to the sofa for the new patient to sit down.

"Is that how you see yourself, Toji? Dangerous?" He leans his body back relaxing into the seat with a sigh.

"Of course, I do, Doc. I've hurt people, had blood on my hands. I know I'm dangerous," his eyes are watching you as you write down in your notes, before looking at him again.

"Are you proud of that?" you question tilting your head.

He puts a finger on his chin like he was thinking before letting out a laugh, "I am actually." Standing up from the sofa, he walks over to where you're sitting, leaning over you and the desk, "I did what I had to do to protect the ones I love. I had my reasons."

Before you could even respond, he was walking out the door, "Thanks for the session, Doc."

Re-reading Toji's file, you notice that it says he has a son and a daughter and was married before the incident. Your heart sinks thinking about how his kids must feel not having their father, even more so how Toji must feel not being able to be with his kids. He's right, he has his reasons for doing what he did, even as violent as it was, it was for the people he cared about.

The next few days Toji didn't show back up to the office, and honestly, you were worried about him. That Thursday when Gojo was your security guard again you ask him about Toji.

"He seems angrier than normal, and he hasn't said a word since he left your office on Monday,"  you were looking around the yard, spectating how the inmates engaged with one another or just with themselves. You saw Toji lifting weights in the corner of the yard, he was by himself, no one daring to come up and intrude. "Don't dwell too much, he'll come talk to you when the time is right. Just like the rest of these men."

The next day you go through your appointments, some of your patients opening up more than when you first meet them, making sure you tell each of them that you're proud of the progress they're making. You started to pack up for the weekend when it was time for Toji's appointment, knowing he wasn't coming, until a knock at your door startles you.

"Come in!" Toji walks through the door, head high, and another smirk on his face as Gojo walks in behind him, hands holding Toji's cuffed ones behind his back.

"He asked me to bring him." You smile lightly then gesture for Gojo to take off the cuffs before he leaves your office. Toji sits down on the sofa while you lean on your desk, giving him your full attention. Your eyes wandered on his body, seeing a few red marks and some sweat.

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart," you laugh slightly embarrassed, eyes staring right into his.

"I heard you don't work weekends, so I wanted to come talk to you before you left."

"Of course. What is it you would like to talk about?" you ask hand clasped in your lap.

"I want to apologize for my actions on Monday. I am not the talking type and never really have been, probably why my marriages haven't worked out." He whispered the last part, and you jotted that down in your head. "You were just doing your job and I don't need to make it any harder."

"I appreciate you apologizing Toji but know you didn't have to. I don't understand what's it like to be here, but I know that this environment isn't the best one to make you feel like you want to open up about your feelings," you smile and it warms his heart. "You don't have to come every day if it feels like too much for you. We can start at whatever pace it is you want if you even want to come to talk to me."

"Thanks, Doc, and I'm fine with meeting every day. I'm hoping that talking to you will help me get on parol so I can see my kids." He's being sincere and you admire that.

"As long as you make me believe that you've learned your lesson about being in here, I will get you parol, Toji," you give him a genuine smile and he returns it.

"I want to be a better man, for my kids," and for the next couple weeks, he saw you every day. During the first two weeks, he was still having a hard time being completely honest about his feelings, telling you small details about how he ended up here, or about his childhood. You didn't push him though, you didn't push any of your patients. Building trust with them is about letting them learn to trust you at their own pace, letting them open up at their speed, and as long as you give them the time to open up, your job will be easier.

Around the second month of Toji coming in every day, he felt himself become so intrigued with you. Whenever you weren't around, you were all he could think about, your eyes that drew him in whenever he looked at them too long, your legs that he couldn't stop thinking about wrapping around his waist as he pounded into you, and your pretty full lips that he imagines is his hand when fisting his cock late at night in his cell.

It would be a lie if you said you didn't think about him that way either. How could you not? Always having his big beefy biceps on display when he wore a wife beater. His uniform pants hung low on his hips and as soon as he sat down they were tight and you could see the print of dick against his thigh.

You always sat behind your desk when you met with your patients, so it was no different when it came to Toji, which made it easier to hide the fact that you were clenching your thighs together to release the tension you felt between your legs. Then one day as you were about to sit down at your desk Toji asks if you would sit next to him instead.

"I don't think it's appropriate to be so close to one of my patients," you smile and you could see a small pout on his face.

"Don't you want your patients to feel comfortable and feel you are building a bond with them?" He tilts his head and you laugh, knowing what he's doing. You grab your notebook and pen and sit at the other end of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. He smiles at you and places both his hands in his lap, hinting he won't try anything.

"We haven't gotten into your past relationships. Would you like to talk about your ex-wives or anyone you've been involved with?"

"Like people I've fucked?" he smirks and you shake your head looking down at your notepad.

"If that has anything to do with the person you are today or why you ended up here then sure."

"Sure it does, I mean how else would I have gotten two kids in this world without fucking some pretty girls," you rolled your eyes. "You have any kids, Doc?"

"No, I don't."

"Why not?" he questions.

"Toji, we're here to talk about you—”

"We're building a bond," your body leans back on the sofa letting out a sigh.

"I'm just not the motherly type," you tap your pen lightly against the notepad.

"So you just have casual sex then, nothing serious?" you can see the small smirk on his face.

"What does my sex life have to do with you?" you put your pen down and look at him.

"I'm just curious, Doc, wanna get to know you," he's grinning, trying to get in your head.

You raise your eyebrow, "Asking me about sex is getting to know me?" All he does is nod his head and you roll your eyes mumbling a 'fine.'

You turn your body towards him still leaning against the couch with your legs crossed, "Yes, I just have casual sex."

"Is it.....good?"

You laughed a little at the question, "I mean sometimes it is, other times not so much."

"What's the kind of sex you like?" his lip was between his teeth, he's just curious.

You tapped your chin with your finger in thought, "I don't know, I like it all." You looked at Toji, eyes scanning over his muscular arms, then down to his pants where you could see him getting hard. "Most of the time, sex just depends on the mood that's set."

"So what's the mood that's set right now?" your eyes widened at how forward the question was, clearing your throat as you looked away from him.

"Toji—"

"You know you want to, Doc," he slides his hand from off his lap and onto your leg. He was running his fingers back and forth on your smooth skin, your body felt hot and a shock of electricity ran up your back. You knew this was wrong, so so wrong, but it just felt so right.

He leaned his bigger body closer to yours, lips ghosting right over the shell of your ear as his hand pushed off your notepad and pen, making its way under your tight pencil skirt and rubbing his fingers over your panties, "Such a dirty girl getting all wet for an inmate."

You did feel dirty, about to fuck your patient in your office of a prison, it was disgusting, but your pussy has never been wetter at the thought. You turned his head towards you bringing him into a heated kiss. His tongue was exploring your mouth as his fingers were sliding your panties over to rub circles on your clit. Moaning in his mouth, he smirked against your lips, "Lemme eat your pussy, Doc."

He stood up from the couch, fingers still massaging your clit as his lips are still entangled with yours. A string of saliva connects your lips as he bends down in front of you, both hands grabbing your thighs and spreading them apart. He can see a wet spot on your panties, and swipes his tongue across the spot, briefly tasting your bitter juice and letting out a moan, "Didn't think I'd miss eating pussy, but God I did."

He pulls your panties down and off your legs making sure to slide them in his pockets, then uses two fingers to spread your folds apart, exposing your glossy pussy to the cold air in your office, "You have such a pretty pussy, Doc."

Letting out a needy whine when you feel his breath against your cunt, it causes your aching hole to clench around nothing, Toji's eyes widened at the sight, "Toji... please just eat my pussy!"

He smirks at your whining, leaning his head down to kiss your clit, "Your such a nasty girl..." His tongue slid down your folds, breathing in your scent, "acting like a slut for an inmate." Your head is leaned back against the couch, moaning at the contact from his warm tongue. His tongue is circling your clit before he's closing his lips around it, sucking the nub into his mouth.

"Mmm—Toji!" your moans are music to his ears as your thighs are squeezing around his head. He's so messy, practically making out with your pussy, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs, "Mouth feels....so good." Your fingers are tangled in his black hair, as your rutting against his face, and he's moaning at your taste.

He slides one hand up your body, tapping his fingers on your lips, and you open your mouth allowing two of his thick digits to sit on your tongue as you suck on them, "You gotta be quiet dirty girl, don't want us to get caught, huh?" You nod your head, legs lightly shaking around his head, as he continues to lap at your messy cunt.

Your clit feels tingly as you feel a hot feeling of pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach, your toes are curling, and Toji's name is rolling off your tongue like a song. He laughs lowly, the vibration sending a shock up your spine, "Aw, Doc, you gonna cum already?"

His eyes are looking right into yours as you nod your head frantically, still sucking on his fingers. Your roll your hips into his face, chasing your orgasm, fingers gripping onto his hair, and right as he starts flicking his tongue against your clit once more, your legs are shutting around his head as your back arches off the couch, "Fuck, fuck—Toji I'm cumming!" He continues to slurp at your cunt, getting you through your orgasm, hand rubbing your thigh soothingly.

"God, your pussy tastes so good," he smiles wide as he's licking his lips, and removes his fingers from your mouth. You steady your breathing as you open your eyes seeing his dopey grin.

"You know for you to have been in here for 5 years, you're good at eating pussy," you laugh sitting up on the couch, then bring him into a slow sloppy kiss, letting your hand trail down and rub against the bulge that was in his pants.

"I don't have time for teasing, sweetheart, I'm already on edge from eating your pussy," he groans against your lips.

"Then stand up," he was quick to stand to his feet, your eyes looking right up at him as your sat on the couch. You kiss against this clothed bulge, fanning your breath over it and his head is leaning back.

"Fuck, Doc, just take it out," your hands are pulling down his pants just past his balls, eyes widening at the size of his cock.

"So big," you moan licking the underside of his cock and your eyes are watching his expressions. His lip between his teeth, eyes screwed shut, and his big hand holding the back of your neck. Parting your lips letting just his tip past your lips, tasting the salty pre-cum that was leaking. You swirl your tongue around his tip, then widen your mouth to take more of his length while a hand fondles his balls.

Bobbing your head taking most of his fat cock, he's groaning and bucking his hips into your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag, "Yeah, gag on my cock, Doc." He's watching you with dark, hungry eyes, as breathy, deep moans slip past his lips, he's struggling to keep himself quiet, "Such a good girl, with a filthy mouth."

You moan at his dirty talk, fingers massaging his warm squishy balls, as you relax your mouth deep throating him as best you could. He squeezed the back of your neck pulling you off his cock then leaned down to kiss you, shoving his tongue in your mouth, "Feel like a fucking virgin 'bout to cum in 2 seconds."

Spitting on his fingers, he rubs your clit, then stuffs two of his fingers in your wet hole, you instantly spread your legs, and moan against his lips, "Tell me how you want me to fuck you, Doc."

"I don't know—mmm—just put it inside me," he's kissing you again before a hand wraps around your neck and he's whispering in your ear.

"Ride this dick," he pulls his fingers out of your soaking cunt, you rise to your feet quickly, switching places with him so he's now sat on the couch. He grabs each of your thighs placing them on the sides of his so you're straddling him, hands on your hips as yours are around his neck.

He guides you down on his length, both of you moaning feeling the stretch, "Fuck, pussy's so tight." Once you're fully sat on Toji's thighs, he doesn't rush you, letting you get used to him, kissing on your neck, then sliding up your sweater to expose your boobs, sucking on one of your nipples.

Your rise your hips until it's just his tip that's in you before sliding back down, taking him fully again. You keep the slow pace of riding him, as his hands are rubbing softly on your hips, lips still sucking on your hard nipple as you moan his name. "Toji feels soo good," you whine head leaning in the crook of his neck.

"How about you speed up for me?" you do as your told, lifting your hips again and then slamming them back down on his thighs. Your ass continues to slap against his thighs, the sound of how of wet you are filling the room. Toji moans in your ear about how wet your pussy is, you can't do anything besides moan his name, so intoxicated with the feeling of him filling you up.

Your legs were starting to give out, Toji could feel you slowing down, so he moved his hands under your ass slamming you down on his cock as he started to thrust up meeting you halfway. Kneading the flesh of your ass before smacking it, you let out a yelp clenching around his shaft and Toji's head fell back against the couch, "Fuck, Doc, pussy so good, you're gonna make me cum already."

He moves one hand to play with your puffy clit, and you moan loud in his ear, making him turn his head and capture your lips in a kiss, shushing you. You grind your hips into his fingers and within a minute your creaming all over his cock, squeezing him with your gummy walls, and he's coming right after you. Lifting you off of him and cumming on your stomach, with a loud moan of your name.

Your forehead is leaning against his as you both calm your breathing down before you're lifting off of him and heading to your desk to grab tissues to wipe off his cum. "For an inmate, your stamina ain't too bad," you laugh fixing your clothes.

"Well if we make this a regular thing, it could get better," he's pulling his pants back up, his eyes glued to you. Before you could respond there was a knock on the door, you both look at each other before he sat back down on the couch and you sitting at your desk.

"Come in!" you yell and Gojo walks in with a concerned look on his face.

"Everything okay? You guys took longer than normal?" Gojo questions arms crossed against this chest.

"Yeah, I was just crying about my past," Toji pouts and Gojo scoffs.

"Yeah right," Gojo leans against the door frame.

"I was explaining to him about my past, and it got a little emotional," you explain. "Building a bond with my patients requires trust on both ends."

"Hm, makes sense," he walks over closer to Toji. "But I'm going to have to break up this bonding moment, all inmates need to be in their cells."

You nod in understanding, and Toji stands up, hands behind his back, so Gojo can put on the cuffs. "Same time tomorrow, Doc?" Toji looks towards his pocket where your pink panties are sticking out with a smirk.

Your eyes widen as you force a smile, "Same time tomorrow."

©HANNSDIARY 2023 | all rights reserved. please don’t copy, steal, modify, or repost my work on other sites.

[appleblueberry-pie]

yandere miles 42 when a guys asks you out to prom yk like where they make a whole scene a cardboard box cut into a square and it has will you go out to prom with me 😭😭 and says the most cheasy thing making you cringe and a large group of ppl are surrounding you two but we reject them and they get mad and you tell miles all abt it ^^ i love your posts btw🙏🏽

[Come back home to me.]

You knew something funny was gonna happen when people were smiling your way, giggling and whispering about you. And the further you trekked down the hallway, the more crowded it was. You tried to keep your eyes to yourself as you slithered through the crowd. Clutching your backpack straps harder. Phones were out and on you, you felt a little nervous. This day has been hard enough for you. Long, grueling hours in class, people chatting up a storm in your ears, a mind-blowing headache that you've had all damn day that you could only take medication for just 30 minutes ago. You were tired.

"Hey, Y/n!" You tense up before sighing, shoulders dropping. How much happier would you be if you just ignored the call of your name and dealt with the backlash tomorrow, instead? You recognized the voice, and knew that if you ignored him...you'd be dealing with the consequences forever. You decided to turn around.

There goes Travis. His dark brown complexion and well-maintained dreads make him stand out. They were pulled back into a low pony, probably because he knew these videos would be the talk of the school for a while. He always loved the spotlight. A junior, like you, giving you that smile that all of the girls bothered him to give to them. It's directed right at you while he holds a beautifully made sign. It's humongous. And pink. And purple. Colors that you don't remember telling him were your favorite. Your head begins to hurt again when you notice your name drawn in amazing detail and care, followed by something among the lines of "prom" and "love of my life."

Somehow in the time span that you scanned your eyes over the sign that determined your possibly inevitable doom, a perfect circle was formed by the students who stood and watched you two like hawks. The flash on phones made you calculate that these videos wouldn't leave the internet for at least a month. Great. A month of reminders. A month of prodding and picking at your sanity from a place you have to go to damn near every day for an education. And a month of replays of a rejection.

You're not telling him yes.

Travis's homeboys hoot and holler to encourage him. "Y/n..." He starts, taking a step closer to you. A fake smile wobbles onto your lips and you stare up at him. "......yes...?" Everyone suddenly goes silent as you two begin to converse.

The way he stares at you makes you feel like....what he's looking for in you isn't something you'd give up for any high school boy anytime. Because what he wants, you know it isn't genuine love. So it makes you nervous the way he seems to tower over you during his, so called, "profession of love".

"Your beauty and smarts is something I've always wanted in a girl." His voice is loud and clear. It echoes throughout the hallway, like he wants everyone to hear. You don't think the halls have ever been so quiet. "Everyday, I'd pass you in the hallways while you carry your textbooks and wonder what it'd be like talking to you every morning before class. What it would be like to love you the way you deserve to be loved." His vague explanation of his love towards you had you wondering if anyone else also realized how fake this whole thing was.

His dark brown eyes never leave your face and he's right in front of you now. "So, I made this sign...to show you how much I love you. And how much I want to be with you. So, if it isn't so much to ask," Travis slowly puts the sign aside and drops to one knee, taking one of your hands into his, holding it carefully. "would you please go to prom with me? And let me be your man?"

The longer he watched the live feed, the harder it was to not burn his work space to the ground. The longer he listened, the harder he tweaked his claw he was attempting to fix. He was trying. He was trying so hard to stay calm. Because it's not like you'd say yes. But at the same time, no matter how often he kills or beats niggas up, "They just keep fucking touching you, puto cabrón!" He swipes the table, his tools and broken claw flying to the ground. Miles takes deep breaths, holding his head in his hands.

He stands up, turning off his phone and begins pacing. He didn't wanna see the rest of that. Why does he have to keep doing this? Don't they understand your his? Just his??? Yes, you're the shining light that keeps Brooklyn alive, yes, yes, this isn't news. But he's always with you. So why do they keep bothering you?

It doesn't matter because he's gonna keep killing them until they get the message. The more roaches he brings into the light, the better. He suddenly rushes to his phone and quickly dials your number, chest heaving as he tries to calm himself.

Your phone silently vibrates in your back pocket and your heart drops. It had to be Miles. Because he wasn't at school today and this definitely wouldn't have happened if he was here. You're so fucked, you think to yourself as everyone cheers at Travis's speech. And it goes silent again as they wait for your answer.

Suddenly, Travis is so hard to look at. You didn't want to be stared at like that when he's gonna die in the next few hours. Miles was gonna get him and it'd be your fault. He always said it wasn't and would caress your face as reassurance, but there's no excuse when he only kills these guys at school because they talk to you. And not for any other reason. You always have to be where the line is drawn.

"No, I can't go to prom with you." You say, chest lifting of the thousand pound weight that held it down. Travis didn't even look sad, he still had that adoring look in his eyes. And you then knew that he was faking all of this. "Why not? Is it because of Miles?" He stands, still holding your hand and shakes his head. "If he's bothering you, I could....get rid of him if you want. Cause that nigga, he a fucking weirdo. And he clearly, like, has you hostage or something, cause he ain't nothing special. Any one of us is better than him." He scoffs at the mention of him and his friends laugh with him.

You shake your head and take your hand away. "No, sorry, Travis. I just....don't wanna go." He rolls his eyes and smiles at you, picking up his sign. "Whatever. That's aight." He tosses it in the nearest trash can. You wonder if he even made that himself with the way he tossed it with zero regards. He turns back to you one last time and nods. "I'll holler. Let me know when you get rid of yo little guard dog. He be stinking the halls anyway."

And everyone dispersed.

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. You think this city is going to be the death of you with how many times you've gotten unwanted attention based on your looks. You tense up once more when you remember that Miles was calling you. The sudden silence after multiple calls was never a good thing. You yanked your phone out of your pocket and saw the 20-something missed calls and whispered to yourself in fear.

Immediately, you began your journey to his place.

His room was dark and cold. Only the light from outside his window illuminated it. You softly dropped your backpack into the usual corner and backed up to sit on his bed, but your back softly collided with a warm wall that also wrapped it's arms around your torso. You flinched as Miles exhaled in your ear, his head resting on your shoulder. "Miles, what the hell...."

He squeezes you a little and backs you both up, until he brings you to sit on his lap on his bed. He shifts you, so that you're facing him, his hand caressing your face and rubbing your back. "Hermosa como siempre, mami. How was your day?"(Beautiful as always, mami.) He whispers it to you, to calm you down. You're visibly nervous at his actions, expecting him to explode any minute.

"Um...it was alright. I did my project in 3rd period and got a coffee drink with my lunch. And..... I got asked to prom." You stare down at him, watching him scan you up and down, and let him 'check' your pockets before resting his hands on your waist. "Yeah? Who asked?" He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from you.

You severely struggled to tell him it was Travis. You were tired of him killing people. You were tired of the apologies from men who were beaten half to death because of you. You scrunched your eyebrows as your throat began to close.

"Hm?" He asked. You hated how calm he was about this. How he held you so dearly as you fidgeted with your uniform skirt. Tears built up in your eyes and you shook your head. Miles pulled you closer, immediately wiping your eyes. "No, no, por favor no llores, nena. No estés triste. I just want you to tell me who did it, that's all."(No, no, please don't cry, baby. Don't be sad.) You break into full out sobbing and wipe at your eyes.

"I don't- don't want to because you're gonna kill him!" You stutter and manage to spit out your words, voice wobbly. Miles shushes you and rocks you back and forth, resting your head on his chest. His voice rumbles in your ears when he speaks. "You don't have to worry about a thing when I'm here with you, N/n. All I want is for you to drop his name, and everything else doesn't matter."

He kisses your forehead sweetly, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. "Okay?" You nod and try to take deep breaths. You couldn't win against him. He probably already knew who proposed to you, and Travis's fate still wouldn't be unavoidable. "Travis." You felt immense guilt and despair the moment you dropped his name.

"Travis...." Miles repeats. Just putting his name in the air made him pissed all over again. He stays silent for a few seconds before tilting his head to the side. "I just realized why that name is so familiar," He starts. "That's that nigga who robbed and threatened you last year, ain't it?" Miles scoffs and turns to look at you. "Is that why you didn't leave when he brought up that sign? Cause of what he did to you?"

You scrunch your eyebrows at his words and sit up. "How do you know about that?" You didn't meet Miles until a month after you were robbed by Travis in your sophomore year. So, him knowing about that was weird, especially since you never brought it up to him before. Miles ignores your question and continues. "I should've known some shit was off." Miles places you on the bed and gets up, grabbing some clothes to change into.

You rush to stand in front of him to stop him. "Miles, wait! Please- please don't do this. He didn't even do anything to me. All he did is ask me out. I said no. What's wrong with that??"

"What's wrong with that is that nigga is gonna keep fucking getting at you until he can get into your pants, baby. I'm not stupid. These niggas know what they doin' riling you up and sending you back home to me crying and shit. Ain't you tired??" Miles begins to size you up, backing you towards his bedroom door, clothes clutched in his hand as he stares down at you.

"I am fucking tired. And I'm also tired of you ruining my life by making more rumors for niggas to spread about me. Nobody wants to be near me because of you, Miles!" You jab your finger into his chest and he grabs your hand. "You don't need nobody else." You hear his breathing speed up and realized you should've kept your mouth shut.

It's too damn silent for your liking. All you can hear is him and your heartbeat in your ears. "When the fuck have you ever needed anyone else besides me?.....I take care of you. I feed you, I do your fucking hair every morning, I walk you to and from school, I protect you. Es que no es suficiente?(Is that not enough?)" You don't respond and stare up into brown eyes that glare down at you. "How 'bout I show you how good you got it?" You try to pull your hand back, but his iron grip isn't letting up. "What.....? Miles, let me go."

"What's wrong, mi corazón? Don't wanna see?" Miles almost jokingly asks about your sudden concern. He steps into your space once more and firmly grabs your face. "Look at me when I tell you this,"

He shakes his head. "You don't know how to protect yourself. I'm the only one who knows how to keep you safe in these fucked up streets. When was the last time you felt protected before you met me? Huh? Cause I know you haven't. I'm meant to be here with you! I'm protecting you from the horrible fucking things that are happening out there that could've been happening to you, baby. You heard?"

You struggle to remove his hands from your face and he makes no move to stop the distress he's putting you in. "Okay, okay, Miles. Just...please stop."

Miles places a kiss onto your forehead before holding you in his arms. You sigh relief at the release of pressure and let him hold you. "Volveré pronto, okay? And then we can do whatever you want."(I'll be back soon) You allow yourself to relax and your eyes flutter shut. Sometimes you wonder how much it'll take for him to stop taking his obsession out on Brooklyn.

[nightlyrequiem]

Scream

A new serial killer has been terrorizing the streets of Las Almas. You have an... interesting encounter with her one night while working your first shift at the morgue.

New Part Every Thursday

Masterlist AO3

A/N- I wanted to be a medical examiner when I was twelve. That's not something in my future anymore sadly. Also, no matter how often I write smut I feel goofy doing it, but I think this turned out okay.

Tags/Warnings: Slasher Valeria, Violence, Blood, WLW, Dubcon, FINGERING, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content

There's been another murder. A man found in his car with his throat sliced open. You're starting to wonder if Las Almas was the right town to move to. The fall air is only slightly cooler than the summer air but not enough to count. It's mid-October yet you're still wearing shorts and a tank top. You stand among other bystanders as police and coroners investigate the crime scene. The body was moved a while ago. At first everyone had assumed the murders were related to the ever-growing cartel located right in the town but a video on a victim's phone showed a glimpse of a figure in a white mask. Eyes drooping, mouth elongated into a soundless scream, and realised this was something else entirely.

A man in an official looking suit strides up to the crowd standing at the police tape.

"Go home." He says sternly. "This is real life, not one of those little perverse true crime podcasts." He scolds. The group slowly dissipates. Nobody feeling truly guilty for gawking. You reluctantly turn away and leave as well. Not wanting to be the only person still there. You head back home. You should get some rest anyway. You start your first shift at the morgue tonight. 

You groan irritably as your phone alarm blares right beside your ear. Shrill and annoying. You make quick work of turning it off. For a few minutes you lay there on your mattress - you don't have a bedframe yet - and fight back frustration. You can't believe this is what you have to do every day. You're just so tired. You can't fathom having to do this for the next forty-fifty years of your life. Despite the evil voice in your head telling you not to get up, you do. You throw on a simple shirt and pants combo. It doesn't matter because you'll have to suit up anyway. You debate putting on makeup as well but you're so tired and the only people around to see you will be your mentor and a corpse. Those dark circles under your eyes will fit right in.

The drive to the morgue is short. The streets of Las Almas are deserted at night. Dim yellow streetlights adding to the eerie atmosphere. Of course nobody wants to be out at night here. There's an operating cartel and a serial killer on the loose. Your eyes drift to your rear mirror. Just to make sure no ghastly figures are lurking about in your backseat. You park and get out. Grabbing your bag and walking inside. The bright fluorescent lights buzz and threaten to give you a headache and you swallow down the dread at having to spend nine hours here. You didn't take all those medical classes just to give up. Down in the basement your mentor is already suited up. Setting up the tray of tools. He turns and smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. He's an older man. Short and going gray.

"Glad to see you." He greets. "Your scrubs are in that locker over there, get suited up and come join me and I'll go over the basics."

You struggled a bit with putting on the apron and gloves but finally got the hang of it. You walk over to him and do your best to listen as he goes over the tools and their uses. Scalpel, bone saw, enterotome, rib shears. You already know all about them, but it doesn't hurt to get a refresher. It's been a few years since you were in school.

"Okay. Let's go get the body." The man nods. He leads you to the back and you shiver at the drop in temperature. You don't care for it, although you know it's necessary to keep the bodies fresh. The more decayed it is, the harder and more dangerous for you it is to do an autopsy. He shows you how to take the body out from the columbarium and wheels him back to the examining room.

The man's eyes are still open. His lifeless stare creeps you out a bit.

"What do we do first?" Your mentor asks. Staring at you expectantly. You weren't expecting him to ask and you hesitate. Mind blanking.

"Um... we- we drain him." You answer.

"No, we note down any external marks and wounds." He corrects. You mentally facepalm. Of course. That's the obvious answer. You blame it on the dissociative state you're in.

"Right. Sorry." You say.

"It's alright." He says kindly, handing you a notebook and pen.

You walk up to the cadaver and realise just how surreal this is. This man was a person. A son, a child at one point. He had a favourite food, colour. None of that matters anymore.

"I write down his name right?" You ask. Your mentor nods. you shakily scratch down his name. You look him over. There's a scratch on his right wrist. There's a deep, obvious gash along his throat. You inspect the jagged edges of his skin. "... I think this was made with a hunting knife?" You guess. Looking to your mentor. He approaches and inspects him too. Nodding in agreement. 

"Correct, anything else?"

You stare at the cadaver. What else are you supposed to look at? Right, his nails. You lift up his big hands gingerly and check under his nails. No visible evidence of skin or blood. You jot down your findings.

One-inch-long shallow scratch, right wrist. Three-inch-long gash along throat, jagged edges, suggests it was done with hunting knife. No other visible external injuries.

You stare at the body and at your notes. Maybe you should check him once more.

"I need to use the washroom." Your mentor mumbles, degloving. He walks out of the room, leaving you alone in this cold, unfamiliar place with a body. You stand around awkwardly for a few moments, your only company being the dead man. You feel suffocated by the weight of the future. What if you never get the hang of this? What if you can't do it? You take a few seconds to breathe. You got your bachelor's degree. You got hired at the morgue. You remind yourself you felt overwhelmed and scared of driving at first too, and now you can do it just fine. If you can navigate college, you can navigate a corpse.

You check him over one more time to see if you were accurate. As you're setting his hand down you stop and look closer. A very short, fine black thread is caught under his thumbnail. You jot it down and carefully pull it out, holding it up to your face. Up close you see it's not thread but a strand of hair. you set it down on the counter in a tray to be looked at later. You shamble closer and stare at him uncertainly. Do you cut him open now or is there something you're forgetting? You look up. Your mentor still hasn't returned. You'll wait before you do anything. The last thing you want to do is mess up an autopsy.

Twenty minutes later he still hasn't returned. You frown and debate with yourself. He could be unwell, and you'd feel awkward about disturbing him while he's on the toilet, but you need to learn, and you can't proceed without him to guide you. You walk out of the room and down the hall. Doors are closed along the walls. The lights out in those rooms. It's quiet. Where are the bathrooms again? You turn down another hallway. Peering down it. You walk towards an opening. Not the bathrooms. Instead, there are tables lined up with cover sheets. All are barren except for one. If a body isn't being examined, it needs to be put away. You put aside your search for your mentor and begin to wheel the body to the body storage area. Your skin prickles into goosebumps. The body's feet are the only part sticking out from under the blanket. It still has shoes on. You stop. You're pretty sure all cadavers are to be stripped of their clothing once they arrive. You'll do that at the columbarium.

You leave him in there and hurry back to the examining room to retrieve fabric sheers. You gasp as something dark darts across the hall.

"Hello?" You call instinctively, then mentally facepalm. What is wrong with you? It's nothing, you decide. Because you aren't sure what you'd do if it was something. You feel uneasy at the silence and your mentor still being gone but you push those fears aside. Morgues hold dead people, of course you're wary. It's no different to a hospital though, both are medical buildings. One's for the living, the other for the dead.

Back in the storage room you approach the body. You grab ahold of the edge of the sheet and pull it off, freezing in place. Your hands tremble and you drop the black plastic sheet. It flutters to the ground. Dark red blooms through his white scrubs on his chest. A clean wound entering and exiting his body. Your mentor stares at the ceiling unblinkingly. Your brain takes a few seconds to comprehend what you're seeing. Your mentor is dead, and he was murdered. You whip around to face the doorway. The hallway is brightly lit. What's the likelihood of his killer still being in the building? Pretty fucking high. The buzzing of the lights and the otherwise silence feels threatening. You grip the fabric shears tightly. Too afraid to move. You picture the murderer standing just beside the door frame, knife poised, waiting to plunge it into your heart.

The body can lose fourteen percent of its blood without much consequence. Fifteen to thirty percent and you risk passing out - although you know that's much lower for you because you cut open your foot one time and almost passed out after losing maybe five percent at most. Forty percent and you die. It depends where your cut or stabbed too. The body has twenty arteries. Any of those get punctured and you'll be dead within five minutes.

You creep forward. Shears raised in defense. You psyche yourself up to look around the corner. Imagining the tip of a wicked blade sinking into your eye socket. Popping that fragile ball of jelly. You look quickly. Seeing an empty hall on both sides. You need to get back to the examining room to get your phone. Call the police. Barricade yourself in the room until they arrive. Your feet softly hit the clean linoleum floors with every step. You make it to the examining room without issue. You quickly rush to your locker and root through your bag for your phone. a sob wells up in your throat, it's not there. You know for certain you put it there.

People are sometimes able to feel when someone else enters a room before seeing them. A shift in the air, a tingle in the spine. Your feel sick with fear. You don't want to turn around, but you don't want to keep your back to the open door. Slowly you turn. In the doorway stands the murderer. Adequately called Ghostface by the public. They're all dressed up. White mask, black hood and tattered robe and all. You two stare at each other for what feels like forever.

"Forget your phone?" Their voice is muffled and gravely and mocking. Almost electronic sounding, like someone talking through a walkie talkie. You watch in horror as they hold out your phone, dropping it to the ground. They raise one foot and stomp down with their heel, shattering the screen and your hopes of getting out of here. "Aren't you pretty." They walk forward and shut the door. Reaching behind themselves to lock it. Your eyes dart towards the tool table. Distressed to find it cleared. All you have are the fabric shears.

You back up, raising them slightly. A show of aggression. Not a good one, but one nonetheless. The figure tilts their head at you.

"What do you think you'll be able to do with those?"

"... Kill you." You rasp. Ghostface just chuckles. "I haven't seen your face, I won't tell the cops anything, please don't kill me." Your voice breaks at the end. Ghostface observes you silently. Looking like the grim reaper. You watch on in confusion as they raise a gloved hand slowly and grip the edge of their mask. Lifting it to reveal the face beneath. A woman in her thirties. Dark brows and eyes that stare right through you. 

"Now you have." She murmurs. Sounding far less robotic. She pulls the mask back over her face. "But I don't think I want to kill you just yet."

She rushes at you, throwing the table to the side. You scream and raise your hands to protect your face. The woman grabs you by the shoulders and roughly throws you to the floor, winding you. You gasp and try to crawl away, shears clutched uselessly in your hand. She throws herself on top of you. Straddling your lower back and pressing your pelvis into the hard floor uncomfortably. One gloved hand wraps around the front of your throat and pulls your head back, making it harder to breath. Your back and neck arching in the process.

"Poor thing, all alone." Valeria coos. Index finger rubbing your throat mockingly. "These scrubs are so unflattering."

The sound of tearing makes you cringe. "What are you doing?" You ask shakily. She doesn't answer as she cuts away at your scrubs. Pulling the torn fabric to the side. Her fingers trace along your ribs and waist, making you shiver.

"You're so pretty." She mutters to herself. 

She violently tugs down your sweats, exposing your ass to the cool air. Your heart flutters and you flinch. You don't feel as afraid as you should and that alone frightens you. Her palm smooths over your cheeks. Massaging the skin. You breathe heavily, feeling like you're going to pass out. Her hand dips between your cheeks. Prodding along your clothed asshole and cunt. You wore light coloured underwear and know she can see the damp spot beginning to form. Not that it matters, because you can feel the cotton sticking to your wet folds, moulding to their shape. She hums in interest.

"... You're already wet?" She comments. Stroking you gently. "Don't tell me you get off on this." 

Your face warms with embarrassment. "I'm not... It's not... get the hell off of me!" It's not death that arouses you. You aren't into dying, or corpses. You don't know why being pinned to the cold floor by a murderer is making your clit throb.

She doesn't get off of you. Instead, she roughly pushes your head down. Your cheek presses against the ground.

"Shut the fuck up." She demands. Rubbing her hand through your folds, soaking your panties even more. She cuts away at your underwear without a care. The air makes contact with your slick unpleasantly. Chilling your weeping core. A leather clad finger prods at your entrance and to your shame you don't protest. Prioritizing your desire to be filled more than the need to flee and call for help. Her finger slips in. The unfamiliar texture of the leather makes you squirm as your spongy walls pull it deeper. She adds another finger, curling them upwards and hitting that sweet spot inside of you.

You tense and gasp. Jerking upwards at the feeling. She sets a fast pace. Pumping her fingers into you with an intensity. Your pussy practically sings her praises as it squelches. You press your face into the floor to hide your shame. Valeria isn't having any of that. She grabs ahold of your hair and yanks your head back.

"You're enjoying this." She taunts. "Sick little freak."

You clench around her fingers. "No I'm - not." You whimper. She gives you a hard thrust in response, pushing a loud whine from the back of your throat.

"You're dripping all over my hand." Valeria retorts, moving her other hand from the back of your head to the nape of your neck.

As if to punish you for your insolence, she presses down and roughly pumps her fingers into you. Droplets of your slick hitting the floor. You feel like a monster for even slightly enjoying this and you do your best to stave off the impending orgasm quickly approaching. It's one thing to enjoy what's happening - it's another to get off on it. Valeria is relentless. Leaning over you and breathing in your ear. You whine and clench around her fingers. Toes curling in your shoes.

"Fuck." You mutter with defeat. You came on a murderer's fingers.

The woman slowly pulls her fingers out, gathering up your wetness. She holds it out in front of your face and spreads her fingers. Translucent strings connecting them, evidence of your debauchery.

"Open your mouth." She murmurs. "C'mon, sweet thing, open your mouth." She forces her fingers between your lips. The taste of blood, leather, and your own juices hit your tongue. You gag as she shoves them deeper into your mouth. When she finally pulls them away, she gives your cheek a quick tap and stands, leaving you on the floor in a puddle of your own release.

"Are you going to kill me?" You whisper.

"Maybe." She hums. "If you aren't useful." 

Now that the high is wearing off your left with a cavernous pit in your stomach. Your mentor was murdered, and you happily let the killer finger you. "What? How can I be useful?"

She scoffs. "You're a medical examiner are you not?" She replies impatiently, she leans against the counter and lifts her mask again.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a box of cigarettes and lights one.

"You're not supposed to smoke down here." You mutter.

"I don't care." She says, lighting one and putting it to her hips. "You're going to tamper with the bodies, or lie about how they died, or whatever it is you do."

You close your eyes. "That's... that's so unethical, I can't do that."

She grins at you. "Cumming around a murderer's hand - in a morgue no less - is pretty unethical."

She approaches and squats down, grabbing your chin and making you face her.

"If you don't want me to fucking gut you," She murmurs softly. "then you'll do what I say."

You don't want that. You're of the opinion that your insides belong inside of you. "Okay." You say weakly. You don't have much of a choice. 

"Good girl." Valeria hums. she stands and walks towards the doorway, pausing to look at you over her shoulder. "I'll be seeing you again very soon."

[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

[stardew-requests]

Can I get headcanons for the Bachelors and a pregnant farmer? ((Or a link to a post that you've made about the same thing that I really feel like you've made that I still can't remember))

Nothing makes my heart happier than the Stardew bachelors as dads! Thanks for the request Anon!

This one's long post! I put it under the cut!

Alex: In some regard, he still views himself as a teenager, so upon learning that the farmer was pregnant he had a moment of panic. Okay, it was more than just a moment. "What are we going to do? My grandma's going to be so disappointed!" He'd say, pacing back a forth. The farmer would just shake their head. "Alex, we're married. I don't think it'll be much of a scandal". It took some time to really register that he was going to be a father, but when it finally clicked a few weeks in, he begins to get excited. He takes initiative on prepping the nursery and goes above and beyond with helping on the farm. At his core, he's determined to be that father he never had; the one that every kid deserves.

Elliott: He is extremely attentive, almost excessively. Every need, every craving, every appointment or exam, he's there without hesitation. The farmer never has to doubt whether or not he'll be there, because he was fully involved from the moment they told him they were expecting. It had always been a dream of his to be a father, and it had finally come to fruition. So he was there for every moment of the pregnancy, good and bad. And the moment he held that baby for the first time? No painting or song or any piece of art was ever as beautiful as that moment.

Harvey: Being a doctor, Harvey was completely ready, medically speaking. However, no amount of medical school or field work could've prepared him for the intense emotions that overcame him the moment he found out he was going to be a father. Pure joy flooded over him, but also crippling worry. What if he panicked during the delivery? What if something went wrong? How could he live with himself if something did go wrong and he wasn't able to help? The farmer, while worried to a lesser degree, became the rock he needed to be both an attentive doctor and a caring husband. And, of course, he excelled at both. 

Sam: Poor Sam didn't see this one coming. The pregnancy was a surprise, and the farmer was overjoyed, but Sam had no idea how to react at first. Of course he was ecstatic; he'd often daydream of being a father. Taking care of Vincent all those years had given him a real paternal touch. But he was also nervous. What would his mom say? Would his dad be disappointed in him? Would he grow apart from his friends? The situation took some getting used to, but after he overcame the initial shock he let the excitement take over. He went to every single checkup with the farmer and bought LOADS of baby things to prepare the nursery. And you believe he absolutely spoils that baby. 

Sebastian: In his younger years, Sebastian fully believed he never wanted to be a father. He didn't think he was cut out for it. But after meeting the farmer, the idea began to grow on him. He liked the idea of being a stay-at-home dad on the farm. So when the farmer told him the news, he immediately knew he was ready to fall right into the role. Not having his own dad around (and the coldness he received from Demetrius all his life) made him dead-set on being the most attentive and loving man he could be. For both the baby and the farmer.

Shane: Shane had convinced himself that he'd never get that chance to be a father, with the exception of Jas of course, and he'd come to terms with that long ago. It was only after recovery and the blooming relationship with the farmer that he dared to imagine the possibility of a child of his own. When the time came that the farmer told him of their pregnancy, they were worried that he wouldn't react well. Though he'd come a long way in his recovery, he was still fragile. But the farmer wouldn't have guessed that he'd bury his head in his hands and become choked up. "Shane?" They'd ask carefully, worried he was going to break down. But he just shakes his head, looks up at the farmer, and says "I'm so happy".

[undead-knick-knack]

I don't think that man has ever been to medical school

[babyjakes]

dreamy undoing.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | april '23 ddlg-themed blurb night

summary | when you need it most, ransom knows exactly how to clear out your pretty little head.

pairing | daddy!ransom drysdale x little!reader

warnings | ddlg. soft sweet doting daddy!ransom. toys: warming cream, clit pump, vibe, butt plug. fingering. soo much praise, a little dumbification, lots of "shhhhh"s which are my favorite hehe <3. reader cries a little but only due to pleasure. reader is tied up. multiple orgasms, squirting.

word count | 1,517

requested by 🫧 anon | Life has been so stressy lately and I just know that Daddy Ari or Daddy Andy (or any Daddy you feel like writing!) would put together the perfect plan to wipe all the stressy thoughts from their little one’s brain. Daddy would make sure she feels all safe and little first, and then maybe tie her up to show her some new toys he got for her as he tells her that he’s going to use them to make all her stress go away. By the end, all she can do is come and squirt over and over and over again as daddy makes her make a big big mess.

an | ohh bestie i'm so glad you sent in a toy request, i have been craving a good toy fic and this was perfectly timed for blurb night!! hope it's alright with you that i chose ransom, i just love him and miss him and always think of him first when it comes to toys hehe <3 also?? this was supposed to be just a quick lil blurb but the adhd medication got me completely carried away..... hope you enjoy >:-)

"There you go baby— shhh," Ransom's voice is the softest, sweetest thing you've ever heard as his gentle fingers spread the yummy-scented cream all over your poor little button. Your legs twitch against the ropes holding you open and spread wide for your daddy. Though you're all tied up in quite a punishing position, this is not a disciplinary session. Instead, the restraints are simply there for your safety, for your comfort. Ransom knows this is exactly what you need after such a grueling week of school and work; all he wants to do is let his pretty baby's mind melt away to nothing as he rewards her endlessly for all the hard work she's been doing.

"Mmm... Daddy," you mumble. Ransom hums along with you as he rolls your tiny knot of nerves between his fingers, the effects of the special cream not taking long at all to be felt. "Th-thank you Daddy, feels so nice, feels—"

"Shhh— you're welcome, baby," the dark-haired man leans his head in to press a kiss against your forehead as he works your sensitive clit with his fingers. "You just let Daddy take care of you, hmm? Don't have to worry about a single thing, sunshine. Need to empty out that pretty little head of yours, s'not good for a tiny baby like you to be doin' so much thinkin'."

From the little pile of toys he has sitting next to you on the bed, he grabs your favorite pump next. It's a simple device with a round plastic cup for your clit, connected to a small bulb that allows your daddy to work the suction manually. As Ransom uses his fingers to spread you out gently, fitting the toy into its place, your toes curl in excitement. "Need to get your sweet little button all puffy and ready for Daddy to play with, right baby?" he smiles as he sucks your poor clit up with a squeeze, earning an eager nod from you as he wiggles the pump carefully, making sure the seal is air-tight.

"Bet that feels nice— huh, princess?" he croons knowingly as he grabs the next toy: your pretty pink plug, custom-made with genuine Swarovski crystals embedded in the base. "Don't worry, angel. Gonna get it nice and slick for you, make sure nothing hurts for my pretty little girl." Eyeing your dripping folds, he hums in approval. "Such a good girl, getting so messy for me already."

Your mind floats safely through your tiny headspace as Ransom preps the plug with plenty of lubricant, earning a quiet whimper from you as he begins rubbing the blunted tip up against your puckered hole. "Easy baby, shhh," he soothes you once more, bringing one hand up to tap against the hard plastic encasing your clit as the other begins working the plug into you. He releases the pump before squeezing it again and again at a quick, teasing pace, your poor puffy button getting sucked up over and over by the tool.

Your breaths deepen, heart thumping faster and faster as your clit pulsates in pleasure, the sensation of the plug stretching you out in your most sensitive of places bringing you closer and closer to the edge in little time at all. Attentive as always, Ransom senses your growing arousal with ease. "Good girl, that's my sweet little y/n. That feel nice, baby? You like it when Daddy plays with your clit and plugs up your pretty little bottom? Poor little girl— so tight, aren't you?" he mocks pity, the heat in your tummy growing as he slides the plug in and out of your burning hole, letting it stretch you out as far as it can without quite giving you the satisfaction of inserting it fully to sit nicely in its intended place.

"P-please Daddy," you pout, bottom lip trembling as he toys with your ass, letting out a gasp as he sucks your needy button up fully again before plunging two thick fingers into your neglected cunt. "O-oh Daddy... thank you Daddy, I— please, please Daddy..." Ransom grins at the sound of your increasing desperation. The first orgasm is always his favorite; he loves dragging it out, watching as it creeps up slowly, then before either of you know it, all at once.

"There you go, babygirl. Just needed this pretty little pussy filled up, huh?" he sings, the pads of his fingers curling up against your tender ceiling as you grit your teeth, tears building in your eyes as you pass the point of no return.

"Please Daddy, I-I'm gonna— please," you heave.

"Go ahead, baby," Ransom murmurs, giving you a knowing nod as he works his hands faster, bringing you right to orgasm at his simple command, "cum for me. Theere," he hums, a satisfied look washing over his face as he witnesses you coming completely undone before him.

Clenching down against the plug and your daddy's fingers, you completely let go, gushing steadily against his ministrations. Your climax is long, steady, and intense, pathetic whimpers sputtering out of you once you finally begin to drift back down to earth. Ransom carries you through it with care, working your most sensitive places as long as he can to give you as pleasurable of an orgasm as possible. Only when you're finally winding down does he slow, bringing his drenched fingers up to his lips to taste your sweet juices.

"So good for me, angel," his voice is low, tender as he finally pushes the plug in fully, watching as it nestles itself perfectly into place against your trembling rosebud. Free hand coming up to rub your tummy gently, he coos as it still spasms lightly from your euphoric high. "So proud of you, sweetheart. Did so well for Daddy, that feel good?"

"Mhmm," you hum, gazing at him through half-closed lids as you soak in the dreamy waves of pleasure still coursing through your veins. "So good, thank you Daddy," you mewl sweetly.

"You're so welcome, little one. Now let's see here," he muses, bringing his attention back up to your clit as it sits swollen in its clear cage. "Oh my," he breathes as he lets it out of the pump with a pop, the magic workings of the device and the cream visible as the little bundle of nerves now sits completely exposed and hardened, just begging to be loved on. "So puffy, baby. Look at you," he enthuses, placing a hand behind your head to bring it forward, forcing you to look at your poor, abused sex.

"S-so puffy," you agree, eyes widening as he reaches for the bottle of lube, gently dripping some down against the knot of flesh. The sensation of the cool liquid hitting your most sensitive spot brings tears to your eyes once more.

"Think I've bullied your poor little button enough, huh?" he frowns as he grabs a small, cordless wand from beside you— another favorite. "Think it deserves some relief. What do you say, princess?"

"Y-yes Daddy, please Daddy," you drool as you rest your head back against the pillows once more, the sound of the wand switching on already overwhelming you with anticipation.

Pressing three fingers into your messy heat this time, Ransom gives no warning before bringing the head of the wand down to begin working over your clit. You jolt at the intensity, earning a light chuckle from the dark-haired man as he begins pumping his digits in and out of you once more, singing, "There, that's what you needed, isn't it? Just needed Daddy to tie you down and let you cum? How long d'you think you'll last this time, sweetheart?" he wonders aloud.

But you're already teetering towards the edge again, the wand being swirled over your throbbing clit in slick, steady circles enough to make your mind go completely numb. And that's all Ransom wants; that's all he's wanted from the beginning: to reduce you down to nothing but whimpers and moans, a drippy, darling mess at the mercy of his skilled hands. "Please... please..." Your vocabulary is shrinking by the second as his fingers speed up against your burning walls.

"You don't have to beg, baby. You can cum, can cum as many times as you need. Daddy's gonna take care of you, sunshine," he promises as you reach your second high, tears and spit dribbling down your chin as you squirt out against your daddy's hands once more. He praises you softly and sweetly, letting you ride out your orgasm for as long as you can. Your juices crackle against the hum of the vibrator as you squeeze your eyes shut, heart pounding in your throat as you wait seconds, minutes, what feels like forever for the ripples of pleasure to finally subside.

"Hmmph... Daddy..." your own voice sounds miles away from you as you stay in your daze, head entirely somewhere else as you feel the wand being run up and down your soaked slit.

"Daddy's here, angel. Doin' so good for me— let's see if you can give me another one, hm?"

quietly tagging @onsunnyside in dis bc. dis is puff puff behavior fr.

[mybrainisrotted]

Gojo/gn!reader, established relationship. Post Shibuya incident spoilers. When our man returned.

Read on Ao3.

"I mean this respectfully Ijichi, please get the fuck out of my way."

The metal examining table under Gojo's thighs is cold and uncomfortable, but it's a different sort of cold and uncomfortable and for that he's grateful. But the voice that echoes in the hall outside the medical room sends a rush of warmth through him that makes it feel like his heart has been restarted when he didn't even know it had stopped. For a moment--a second stretched indefinitely--he forgets where he's been, what he's seen, what he's felt, who he's lost.

The door slams open, bouncing off the wall hard enough to make even Shoko wince a bit as she takes a drag from her nearly ever present cigarette. Smiling softly, she joins Ijichi in the hall, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait anymore."

Gojo's already on his feet when you come barreling into him, arms open and ready to catch you. Your body molds to his, arms wrapped tight around his middle, face pressed against his chest where he's sure you can hear how his heart has picked up pace, slamming against his ribcage. He folds himself around you as best he can, squeezing you a little too tightly because he knows that's how you like your hugs. You take a deep breath and let it out with a pleased hum, nuzzling your cheek against him.

"You smell like you. Like home."

The corner of Gojo's mouth ticks up, and he presses his own nose to the top of your head, letting the faint but familiar scent of your coconut shampoo take over his senses. It triggers memories that are uniquely coded to you; smoothing fingers over your shoulder as he ghosts his lips over the back of your neck in bed, and steam filled showers that you always begrudge him for taking with you even as you lovingly massage that shampoo into his hair (which he bought to keep at his place specifically for this purpose), humming softly under your breath as your nails gently rake over his scalp.

Gojo's favourite part was smelling you on his things. Rolling over in bed, alone, and burying his nose in his pillow and smelling you. Drying his hands on his towel, sitting on his couch, pulling on his clothes and having that faint scent of coconut suddenly tickle his nose. You're with him even when you aren't. And in the Prison Realm, with nothing to do to pass the infinite looping of time except dive inward into his own mind, he'd tucked his chin into the collar of his shirt and--smelled you. Lingering within the fabric and threads was the simple essence of you and suddenly he hadn't felt so alone.

"I'm sorry I've been gone," Gojo murmurs, mouth at your temple and fingers smoothing nonsensical patterns up and down your spine. Now that he's got you in his grasp again, when the likelihood of that had begun to seem like a fleeting possibility, he doesn't want to let you go. "It won't happen again. I promise."

You squirm in his hold, placing both hands on his chest to push him back slightly so you can look at him face to face. You don't think you've ever seen him on school grounds without his blindfold or sunglasses. The nineteen days without him makes you realize between the sky and the ocean there isn't a shade of blue that could possibly capture what you see swirling in his irises.

"You don't need to apologize for something out of your control, Satoru," you say with a slight frown. You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, committing him to memory all over again, warming when his expression softens under your touch. "You have no idea how happy I am that you're back. That's the only thing that matters."

Something in Gojo's eyes flickers, and though he smirks it doesn't carry his usual lightheartedness. The coil of tension in his stomach twists uncomfortably. "Missed the strongest sorcerer, huh?"

You shake your head again, smoothing the pad of your thumb over his lower lip. "I missed your corny jokes. I missed your surprise mochi deliveries. I missed our late night hot chocolate talks on your balcony." Your fingers trace a gentle path upward, over his sharp cheekbones and soft brows, smoothing a lock of silky white hair over his temple and then settling at his nape. "I missed your morning bed head. I missed your laugh. I missed your touch. I missed the way you said you loved me. I missed my sweet Satoru."

The love you give him, have always given him, is free of strings and expectations. Gojo doesn't know what his future is going to look like but he knows he wants one with you. By your side. His smile wobbles as he gently swipes away the tears at the corners of your eyes, that knot in his stomach loosening with your words. He kisses you on the forehead, on each damp cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips, once, twice, three times, before he taps his head to yours.

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

[poolseason]

brain dump on amane yugi after tbhk 120

i'm just launching out everything that came to mind.

1. The Red House's Possession

Amane's life, regardless of the timeline, is depressing as all hell. But the main thing is, Yugi-sensei lived only to his late 20s, and died somewhere in the Red House. It's safe to say he was still a teacher at Kamome when he died, and maybe.. he was still a teacher at Kamome after he died. Let me explain,

It's kind of hard to get a good grasp on his character and his awareness of the supernatural considering he's POSSESSED and all, but to try to work it out

Theory A: Amane's not aware of the supernatural. This could explain how he seems to be totally clueless after the Red House entity's possession, and gives a reason for the prescription Aoi finds in 119. Amane isn't actually naturally inclined towards the supernatural, and gets medicated (either by himself or his parents) to somehow deal with the lost time or the childhood paranoia

Theory B: Amane has always been aware of the supernatural, and knowingly taps into the Red House's power to try and bring his brother back through the rumours spread throughout the school

Personally I'm leaning towards option A,,, Remember Kou's circumstances? He was possessed in chapter 116, and then unwittingly lured himself and Mitsuba to the well, after being sent by a "teacher" which could have been Amane's spirit. And we see that Hole/Entity/Red House tends to jump from host to host, mb depending on who's most likely to effectively bring in a new sacrifice. It takes back Kou in it's attempt at eating Nene, after momentarily losing momentum with Amane, but it didn't go Hole Mode right away.

All this to say that the Yugi-sensei in the flashback, and even Nene's time-shifting scene from ch115 is at least in someway under the control of the Red House Entity. Outside of that, man is just one dopey ass confused mf.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2. break: what does Tsukasa have to do with all of this?

Tsu never returned from inside the Hole, but he's always had the power to in the original time

The Entity seems to be possessing him in the new timeline too. At least, it's holding a lot more influence on him. I don't think it's a stretch to assume that Tsukasa's always been bonded to it, since he was 3yo, just managed to hold more of his own sense of self in the old world because he left the pit and whatever the fuck happened to Amane in this world didn't happen in the other one.

Posessed Tsukasa has fully light eyes, while posessed Amane has fully darkened eyes (and also TENTACLES???? WHY?????). The reason why still stands to be contested, but maybe there's something involving the how the Entity is controlling them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3. Jump to the past

Amane is regaining his memory of the other world. That much is obvious from the fact that Amane AND Kou both snapped out of control. Tentacle!Amane even broke down the door, giving them an out, and didn't even follow. Is Hanako's memories going to come through in the future chapters?

Also important to note that Nene's Mermaid scale curse is active (again? was it ever off?)

Akane's new plan is to use the Big Clock to rewind time, which means in the coming chapters or the next arc, our heros might travel to a time period where Yugi Amane will actually be alive.

The Clockkeepers created a divergence in 1968, the year Amane was working on the Big Clock, however we know that the earliest change in the timeline happened on Amane's 4th birthday around he discovered Tsukasa was missing and was told that the future was changed by a mysterious figure (a Clockkeeper? a future version of himself?? even one of our protagonists???)

a few things that are worth considering, now that we've thought a little about Yugi-sensei's knowledge of the supernatural and his current possessed status:

In the old timeline, and the new timeline, when did Amane first learn about the supernatural? Was he able to see spirits before he died? In the original world, He clearly didn't have a clue when he was 8, but by 1968, likely did, just a year before his death. Which has me wondering, if he didn't then he doesn't have a sixth sense, he's just close to death. Similar to Nene.

Maybe Amane's posession isn't exclusive to this new world... Does it have anything to do with his seal, or even the twin's deaths?

There's a lot of water theming here: A wishing well, a tentacled beast, a mermaid curse, a bathroom ghost. All boundaries are partially submerged. The supernatural in Kamome are direcly linked to water. Why's this all tied?

[theficpusher]

They Just Don't Know You by mukeandziamgotmelike | nr | 1306 //So, oh, tell me, tell me you won't break my heart. That you won't tear my world apart. That you'll be there when I need, cause I wanna tell them they just don't know you, they just don't know you, they just don't know you, they don't know you like I do.// -OR- Liam has been dating Zayn for months, and still, for some reason, no one approves of him. It's annoying, and Liam wishes they would stop. He doesn't know why they don't trust Zayn, but he just wants to tell them that they just don't know him like he does.

Screaming But Daddy I Love Him by Wishingforloushair | E | 21873 Harry has always tried to be the perfect Christian boy his religiously fanatic mother demands him to be. At seventeen he's never eaten fast food, drunk coffee (unless it was decaffeinated) or touched himself. That is until he meets Louis, one of the church's youth musicians. With his 'I Heart Jesus' stickers on his beaten up guitar case, his band (The Redemption Riffs), and his taste for good quality coffee, Louis' relationship with God is entirely different to Harry's, and Harry is positive that Louis is either a divine vessel, or Heaven-sent. Prepared to worship at Louis' feet, Harry is ready to learn a whole different way of worship and devotion with Louis' help. “That’s coffee,” he remarked, pointing at the dark substance in the other boy’s cup. “Yes, it is,” Louis said, taking a sip from it, his eyes fixed on Harry. “Is it decaffeinated?” Louis raised an eyebrow, putting his mug down. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you it is?” “Lying is bad.” “Then, no, it’s not decaf. I don’t drink decaf coffee because it tastes awful.” “But,” Harry swallowed, glancing over his shoulder before leaning forwards. “Drugs are bad,” he whispered.

What Side Of Love Are You On? by FallingLikeThis | T | 25000 Ever since Harry finally made the decision to come out to his mother as bisexual, she’s been foisting women on him left and right, determined it’s just a phase. But when she puts out a personal ad to find the perfect partner for her son, things really get complicated. Suddenly, Harry’s heart is being pulled in two very different directions. On one side is the sweet, caring woman he has fun with, but doesn’t know his mother chose for him. On the other is a man who seems to be his mother’s worst nightmare, but makes Harry’s heart flutter in ways he’s never felt before. When all is said and done, maybe they’ll all learn that when there is no clear path to go down, the best option is to follow your heart. A Because I Said So Au with a bisexual twist.

but daddy i love him by wanderlou | nr | 28924 Someone cleared their throat and they all turned to the person; Charles. “I cannot and will not support this marriage.” “But Daddy…I love him,” Louis pouted. Or the one where Harry and Louis are getting married and Louis' dad hates Harry. Harry does everything to try and earn his respect during the wedding weekend.

adrenaline by reveries_passions | M | 38208 “Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as Harry Styles. Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Dean of Harvard Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University. Oh my god, Louis thinks, mortified. I just slept with Harry Styles. As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him. Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay. ~ louis tomlinson, college dropout, up and coming dj, and gay activist, is the notorious owner of exclusive underground gay club, adrenaline. harry styles, med student by day, partier by night, child prodigy and seemingly heterosexual son of harvard professors, is the youngest and arguably the smartest student at harvard medical school. or: a one night stand wasn't supposed to become the greatest love story of the 21st century.

Counterbalance by YesIsAWorld | E | 44777 Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

your memory over me by shimmeringevil | E | 64355 Three years have passed since Louis last saw him, but all it took was a few minutes in Harry’s presence for him to be relegated to the desperate twenty-one year old that was practically begging his boyfriend for an ounce of reassurance that he still cared about him. Harry shouldn’t be here. He’s brought too many unresolved feelings with him, that Louis thought he’d never have to face. It’s Harry’s apparent apathy that’s the most difficult to come to terms with. Anger, he could handle. Regret, he would welcome. But Harry’s amiability, and carefree demeanor can only be born from indifference. He’s moved on. He doesn’t care. And that is something Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever be strong enough to face. - OR - The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone.

Of Mates and Men by bananaheathen | E | 630460 In which, Louis and Harry meet as best men for their best friends' wedding... well... sort of. Or, the one where Harry's just moved back from New York and Louis doesn't believe in romance. Or, I guess... the one where Zayn and Liam are getting married.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part V

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. NSFW. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

V. Talking In Bed

You didn’t exactly pack sexy pajamas, so you make do with an old t-shirt you cut the neck out of, and your nicest pair of panties, forgoing your old sweatpants that are a size too big and have a hole in the leg.

“Is that…a rat?” asks Frank, looking at your t-shirt with a raised eyebrow.

You chortle while looking down at the grinning animal howling at the moon emblazoned on your chest.

“It’s a possum. I made it in art school…five million years ago.”

“Somehow, it suits you.” 

You laugh, crawling into bed with him.

As it turns out, it doesn’t stay on long anyway. You snuggle up together, having a glass of wine in bed, watching a medical drama. When the wine is gone, your attention soon turns from bad tv to making out. Frank asks between kissing you, “So was it Keith who made you feel like you take too long?”

The answer is absolutely yes. He’d guilted you for wanting your own pleasure, complained when you tried to direct him how to touch you, and that affected you forever with other partners, truth be told.

“Ah…yeah.”

“What a prick.”

You can’t help but laugh between kisses that curl your toes. “Agreed.” A moment later you pose, “Is it weird we're talking about your brother in bed?”

“Half-brother. And we've been bashing him all weekend. Why stop now?” 

You sigh, still laughing a little. “Fine. Yes. He traumatized me for life, the asshole.” 

As you say this Frank is kissing down your body. It feels wonderful, but you miss his full mouth on yours. “Hey. Where are you going?” you say, trying to pull him back up. 

“I'll give you three guesses,” he offers, pulling up your t-shirt to kiss your belly.  

“You don't...” Your breath hitches as his tongue dips into the waistband of your panties. Oh god. “…Have to do that.” 

“Have to?” He pulls down your panties a little with his teeth. You watch him down your body with a mixture of amusement and something unnervingly warm in your chest. He should look absurd like this, trying to chew through the strap of your underwear. When in fact…he moves you to the tips of your toes.

“What if I want to?” he asks. 

“Do you?” Somehow, you find it hard to believe. No one ever has wanted to before. It’s always a matter of course, and you sense they don’t enjoy it, which adds to your own anxiety about it all.  

“Yes.” 

That single word—and maybe his tongue exploring your hip, makes you squirm. 

“I like it,” he affirms again. 

“Really?” 

You sound so incredulous. 

“Yes. And, let me tell you something I hope you carry with you after this weekend. Anyone who gives head as good as you do deserves cunnilingus. Copiously.”

You giggle a little, and your panties are dragged down your hips. 

“Frank?”

“Present,” he says to your pubic bone, brushing your downy curls with the tip of his nose.

“I—”

But then his tongue touches your center, and you absolutely forget what you were going to say. 

“You can take as long as you want, baby.” 

The flat of his tongue running up your slit is a marvel, and you don’t think this will take long at all. “Oh.” It only gets better, as this man toys with your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you languorously. Pleasure begins to fill in between your legs, a warm, maddening pressure that makes you arch against him. “Oh god... oh fuck...You're really... good at this.” 

He moans in answer against you, that deep grumble that vibrates through your entire body. The most brilliant feeling coils and throbs inside you, insistent and inevitable.

“Frank... I'm going to cum.”

He makes a sound of encouragement, or so you assume. This orgasm breaks over you like the dawn, slow and scintillating, warm as sunlight. The tingling rush fills the cradle of your hips and spreads up your spine. You arch off the mattress, fighting not to crush his head between your thighs as this consuming sensation has its way with you. He licks you through the aftershocks, until you writhe and beg for mercy from overstimulation. 

He wipes his mouth on the sheets before climbing up your body, claiming your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on him, earthy with a hint of salt. You feel the blunt tip of him nudging at your entrance, and you crave the stretch of him entering your body like you need air to breathe. 

“Please?”

He slides inside you like you have always been his to claim, rocking his hips slowly until he's sheathed to the hilt. You are so sensitive after orgasming on his tongue, but it's wonderful. Everything is wonderful, and you wrap your legs around his hips, somehow managing to pull him deeper with a heel on his firm buttocks. 

“Fuck,” he sighs into the bend of your neck. “You are—” He bites down on whatever he was going to say about you, making another primal sound that raises gooseflesh all over your body. He takes this round slow too, and you love just feeling him, running your hands over the powerful contours of his body, the muscles of his arms and back as he unhurriedly fucks you into the mattress. 

“Think you can cum again?” he asks between kisses.

“I…don’t know,” you answer truthfully. The first orgasm was so complete—and the two before that, don’t forget—and you’re feeling pretty fucking satisfied with this day.

“Hmm. Can I flip you over?”

Although you’ll be sad to lose him in this perfectly connected missionary position, you nod. Maybe it was feeling too intimate for him. It was certainly…intense, for you, and maybe you need to pump the brakes before you start catching all these feelings for this man who obviously isn’t optimistic about the staying power of human relationships.

But then, you can’t help but muse, as he positions you on your stomach with pillows under your hips, that he doesn’t touch you like something disposable meant for his own pleasure. He touches you like he might break you if he’s not careful, like he can’t quite believe you’re real under his big hands and strong fingers.

Again he sheathes himself inside you, and a ragged moan is your reward as you tilt your hips and clench around him. You look up to find you can see the two of you reflected in the vintage full length mirror in the corner of the room.

The two of you should look absolutely look ridiculous like this, with your ass in the air, naked, joined. But all you can think is that this moment is beautiful. “Take off your shirt,” you request, and after considering you for a moment, tilting his head to make that lovely dark hair swing down around his eyes, he complies for you.

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and it is utterly electric, a primal thing you feel in the very marrow of your bones, your walls fluttering around his cock buried inside you. You really didn’t think it possible, but just looking at him like this turns you on all over again. “You are gorgeous,” you tell him, and just for a moment his fingers tighten on the meat of your hips, maybe hard enough to bruise.

You don’t mind.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“Only if you mean it.”

“You are,” he answers without hesitation, and he begins to move, sliding completely out of you before plunging back into your tight little hole. He loses himself like that for a minute, using you for his pleasure and you gladly take it all.

“Why don’t you touch yourself?” he pants, slowing down inside you. You feel the strain of it in his back, the shudder in his arms.

“What?”

“Never tried it?”

Not with someone else in bed with you.

“No.” You’ve never been that comfortable with anyone.

“No time like the present.” The glide of his manhood inside you is maddening, his thickness stretching you in such a delicious way.

“You don’t mind that?”

“I’d love it. Take your pleasure, y/n. Use me. Cum on my dick again, I want to feel it.”

He seems so intent on it that you don’t want to deny him. Tentatively you reach between your legs, finding your swollen clit with your middle fingers, the way you would if you were alone…and oh. This is good, with him inside you. Inadvertently you clench harder, chasing your orgasm, the possibility of release not so elusive as you’d thought it would be.

“Yeah, like that baby,” he coaxes, and you glance up to see him with his head thrown back, concentrating on moving rhythmically inside you, for you. The thought fills you with such warmth, it’s as much of a turn on as his cock or your sticky little fingers. He bends over you, bracing himself with one arm so that he can touch your nipple, flicking you between his fingers in a way that sends sparks of pleasure straight to your groin, like throwing gasoline on a bonfire. You whimper, wanting it so badly suddenly and utterly surprised its even possible. You literally did not know your body was capable of this.

“So good,” Frank coaxes in your ear, the soft scruff of his beard against your cheek. “That’s my good girl, give it to me.”

You’re not sure what tips you over the edge; the praise, or the feeling of him utterly surrounding you while completely filling you, the timbre of his deep voice or his clever fingers on your tits or the way he moves his hips, but suddenly you are lost—the explosion of your orgasm hits you with a force that makes you see colors, bright oranges and yellows and peridot greens dance in your mind as your greedy cunt flutters on his cock.

Frank sinks his teeth in your shoulder as he thrusts quickly and deeply inside you, chasing your pleasure and soon following with his own, groaning into your hair. His hips snap against the pillow of your rear end, driving himself as deep as he can as he spills inside you. You feel the hot rush deep in your core, the aftershocks of your orgasm milking him further.

He collapses on top of you; you are too spent to protest. This is how you die; smothered by this beautiful man after the most mind-bending coitus of your life. Eventually you make a muffled sound that sort of sounds like, “I can’t breathe.”

With a satisfied sigh he shifts slightly, but does not abandon you, his heavy arm still looped over your waist, his manhood still sheathed inside you. His breathing deepens behind you, and you find you have zero interest in dislodging him. This is all too sweet, too perfect to be real. You doze together like that for at least half an hour.

He’s the one who stirs first behind you, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear. “This has got to be the most decadent day of my life,” he muses into your hair. “Three rounds of incredible unprotected sex with a beautiful woman I just met a day ago. There has to be some catch. The gods will punish us accordingly for living too well.”

“Is it that hard to believe we’re allowed to have something good for ourselves once in a while?”

“Yes. That’s not how life works. What’s the success rate of a modern IUD?”

“99.8 percent.”

“Hmm. It’s not perfect.”

You snort, if not sleepily.

“Believe me, I am not looking to be a mother any time soon.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really heard the tick tock of the maternal clock everyone talks about. Giving my life over to the thankless servitude of motherhood doesn’t appeal to me, for some reason.”

“Oh good. I was afraid I was the only one with mommy issues.”

“I do not have mommy issues.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Ok, maybe my mother and I are sort of at odds.”

 “Here we go.”

“She’s never really seemed happy in her conventional stay-at-home mother life-path, but she definitely tried to push it on me as the best choice when I was almost too young to know better.”

“There it is.”

“You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”

He chuckles sleepily, pulling you closer into the warm shelter of his broader body. “Misery loves company.”

“What about you?”

“What what about me?”

“Do you…want kids?”

“I would rather be dead in a ditch.”

“Wow. Ok then.”

“Being alive is such a miserable farce, why would I knowingly inflict it on innocent children?”

You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “Suddenly, it doesn’t seem all bad.”

“Think of all the pain you’ve gone through to get to this moment. Or maybe, that perfect, fleeting moment a little while ago, more like, the afterglow of which we are still enjoying. Was that really worth it?”

“Maybe.”

“For a half-tolerable day with a stranger who you’re never going to see again?”

This causes you to freeze in his grasp, holding your breath. For a long moment you feel like even your heart ceases to beat. “You…never want to see me again?”

It’s his turn to still behind you. “Not necessarily. That’s just…how these things go.” You can’t tell if he’s sad about it, or just resigned, the way he’s resigned to everything being total shit.

“They…don’t have to? If we decide…different?”

“Come on, honey. Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Take exception to feeling like a throw away cocksleeve?”

“Did you expect me to propose?”

“Of course not. I just…you couldn’t even pretend until tomorrow morning that maybe I meant a little to you?”

Suddenly your throat is too tight, and your vision is clouded with tears. It hurts. Everything just hurts, and somehow it hurts worse now than when this whole fucking misadventure started.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, sliding out of bed. The air feels so cold without his furnace of a body wrapped around you.

“Y/n. Please don’t go.”

“Being around you feels like being electrocuted,” you blurt, looking desperately through the bedclothes for your panties. Where the fuck did he put them?

He slumps at hearing that, suddenly very interested in the wall.

“I get that a lot.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” you try to explain, unable to see very well through the film of your tears. Great. Nothing like having an argument with your beaver out.

“Oh yes. The good kind of electrocution,” he snarks, though there is a spark of what might be hope in his dark eyes.

“There is just something about you. You don’t mince words for anyone, you constantly tell the truth, and it’s exciting and low key uncomfortable, and I get some weird little rush out of knowing you might insult me any minute and then I get to verbally spar with you and you have some brilliant riposte for anything I say, it’s the most fun I’ve had with any man in a long time, and this whole weekend I’ve had this prickly heat just crawling under my skin and I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”

 “You really talk it up, when you put it that way.”

You are so relieved, when anger arrives on the battlefield, and you’re able to get your shit together well enough to actually think.

“Look,” you say forcefully, pointing at him. “I usually fucking hate it when people say things happen for a reason.”

“Yes. It’s incredibly conceited.”

“Right. Because it implies when bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it, it was good somehow?”

“Go on.”

“But what if…”

“Oh God.”

“What if we met here, for a reason? Like my whole horrible fucking ordeal with Keith was somehow a trial…that brought me here to you?”

Immediately he shakes his head, something like panic in his eyes.

“Oh no. We’re not doing the this was meant to be thing.”

“You won’t even consider the sliver of a possibility?”

“You don’t even like me.”

“Who said I don’t like you?”

“No one likes me!”

“I do like you.”

He actually growls at this, as though the concept is so foreign, the possibility is terrifying.

But you also know that getting involved with a man like this is a bit like petting an abused dog. At any moment if it perceives you look at it wrong, it might snap, it might hurt you. With words, in Frank’s case, but to your tender heart that’s almost the same as taking a physical blow. Yet…you do not care. Because when things are good with this man…they are splendid, and you feel like it’s worth the price.

It’s worth a try, at any rate.

Yet the way he is looking at you—it doesn’t look good.

“You really don’t think this thing we have is special at all?”

You hate how much it hurts, to ask this question.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I am resigned to the fact that this will go no further than this weekend. These things never do. I’ll say I’ll call you, or you’ll say you’ll visit me, but it just never happens, and we waste our time on that glimmer of hope for some tiny aspect of life to not turn out to be complete shit—just to have it snatched away by the march of time.”

“Jesus, it’s so fucking terrible when you say it that way.”

“It’s just the truth. It’s life.”

You shake your head, whirling to go, panties or no. He can watch your bare ass as you walk out of his life forever.

“Wait, come on, don’t go.”

“Why not? What’s the point? What’s the point of anything?”

“Living in the moment?”

“Well, in this moment, I kind of feel like shit, so I think I’ll bounce.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because you like my company?”

“Yes.”

“Is it so fucking hard to admit that?”

“Yes, because any time I ever have the naivety to admit the slightest fondness for anything, the universe finds a way to snatch it away.”

You march back to the bed, jumping up to sit on the corner just out of reach with your arms crossed. You wait, looking around.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting to see if the universe strikes me dead.”

He gives that growling sigh that you are finding increasingly endearing as you get to know him. “Come here,” he says, holding out his arms.

Finally you crawl to him, and some restlessness settles inside you when he pulls you against him. From the small sigh he gives, you think he might feel the same way, and his grip tightens on you a little more. You’re not sure who kisses who, exactly, just that your mouths are pressed together, and for a little longer it seems like something is going right in the world.  

“If you haven’t noticed…I’m kind of a huge asshole.”

“Yeah,” you agree, and he snorts into the top of your head. “But you know what? You’re also kind of sweet…sometimes.”

“It’s a curse.”

“Only if you treat it that way.”

It just makes him hold you harder.

“No one can put up with me for long, y/n. Not even my own mother. My own father tried to kill me. It’s just facts. That’s why we’re going to enjoy the rest of this weekend, and when we get back home, we’re going to part as friends.”

You sigh, leaning even more against him. The film of tears is back, and you hide under his chin.

“You’re not even willing to try?”

“I’m doing you a favor. Believe me. I am what I am and it’s too late to fix me.”

“What if I don’t think you’re broken?”

“Very funny.”

“I meant it when I said I like you.”

“I like you too. It’s more than I can say for most people. Want to watch a movie or something?”

You nod, and you settle in together under the blanket to watch some stupid action flick. You can’t really focus on it, because Frank’s arms are around you, and it still feels like you have a live wire sparking under your skin.

[aleck-le-mec]

It's wild to me how some able-bodied people only think of disabled culture as a concept and they haven't ever actually experienced it. To me the biggest tell that somebody has never experienced disabled culture is their lack of knowledge about something I call Societal Manufactured Disability Theory.

This theory posits that an aspect of disability is manufactured by societal norms, stigmas and labeling.

People with disabilities like myself will tell you that people do treat you differently based solely upon the fact that you are disabled. When my hand writing is too messy to read do to Dysgraphia people assume I'm not trying hard enough to be neat, and if I'm lazy enough to slack with hand writing I must always be lazy. When I tell people I have Dyslexia they think I'm less intelligent, unable to read or incapable of understanding the written word. When I tell people I have a connective tissue disorder which is an invisible disability they think I'm a liar, scheming to take resources away from "real disabled people".

The societal norm here in America is to push forward, laziness is not an option we see it repeatedly in the rhetoric surrounding young people. News sources constantly talking about how "no one wants to work these days" or "young people are taking everything for granted".

There is a huge stigma around having Dyslexia that most people don't notice. In American society where we have a 79% literacy rate it is expected that you can read, so when you can't or you have trouble people think you have a lower IQ. Dyslexia can be genetic so I'm actually a fourth generation Dyslexic from my dad's side with all of them men being the ones to pass it down. My dad has always said that my great grandfather had no support for his Dyslexia, nobody cared and in fact the term Dyslexia was only coined in 1887. When my dad went to school they attempted to alleviate some of the symptoms of Dyslexia by making him watch his hands as he crawled on the floor, believing that the root of the problem was in a lack of eye coordination. To this day I and many other Dyslexics will avoid talking about our diagnosis because of the stigma behind it. I have had many experiences in my life where as soon as people learn that I am Dyslexic they assume that I can't spell anything or that they need to read everything to me. That's what stigma does, it makes people hide away just so they can live in peace and be respected.

It is extremely common for people with invisible disabilities to be labeled as liars, this is mostly due to a lack of education and representation. The general public's idea of disability is limited, but the truth is that disability is one of the most dynamic aspects of human beings. Invisible and dynamic disabilities make up the majority of disabilities; in fact, 1 out of every 3 Americans is in fact disabled. When people see me, a young, healthy-looking man, they never think I'm disabled. If I tell them I am, they may think I am lying. People generally do not like liars, and having such a label attached to your name can be detrimental to your social integration.

You can see that none of those setbacks I mentioned are symptoms of my disabilities. The perceived deviance, stigma, and labeling are not things you'll find on a medical report. However, they do harm me socially and potentially medically when it comes to stigma; these things disable me. Thus, part of my struggle as a disabled person is manufactured by society itself, in the norms we hold and the way we treat others.

I have come to that conclusion repeatedly, as have almost every other disabled person. It's a conclusion that is often reached in the community as a whole. However, it is in able-bodied culture where these stigmas, labels, and perceived attacks originate. So, if someone is completely averse to accepting the Societal Manufactured Disability Theory, it suggests that they have probably never fully been a part of any aspect of disability culture.

[miraluking-respectfully]

How Tall are the SWTOR Boyfriends?

This was written some months ago, but the Theron Height Poll has inspired me to actually post it.

Basing my metrics around 1) the average male height in the USA where I live (5'9" or 1.75m, according to google) 2) what would be funniest or cutest when matched to their personalities and dynamics with the player character. Bear in mind: I am not operating under the assumption that being a short man is something to be ashamed of (it isn't in the real world and it isn't in Star Wars), but some of the husbands in this video game have personalities that are...enhanced by engaging in a little playful stereotyping. You'll see what I mean.

Jorgan: 5'11-6'/~1.8m, hovering somewhere in the above average range. It makes him more intimidating to the average private who makes the mistake of getting his attention, but by the same token, more charming when he warms up to the Trooper and proves himself just a big fuzzy kitty. With a big fuzzy sniper rifle

Andronikos: 5'6ish, 5'7ish (~1.7m), hard to tell because he slouches. He only really stands up straight when he's trying to be a big tough guy

Quinn: 5'7"/1.7018m. No ambiguity because his posture is perfect. Alternate Interpretation: However tall your SW is, he is exactly 6 centimeters shorter. Come Here Elbow Rest

Doc: 5'4"/1.6m. No, not because I think his womanizing personality is him "overcompensating"; in fact Doc's height is only ever an advantage in his romantic conquests. He comes on so strong that him being particularly tall might be intimidating. But nah, he's just a little birthday boy, so the hot people in his orbit let their guard down, allowing him to get in close and hit 'em with a pickup line related to his medical expertise. Being small also means he's harder to hit when helping retrieve wounded resistance fighters from the battlefield #BalmorraForever

Felix: 5'11"/~1.8m, he gets an ABOVE AVERAGE height bc he is an ABOVE AVERAGE husband can I get an AMEN

Torian: You ever met a high school freshman and been fucking shocked that children are allowed to be so enormous? The kid's like, 14 years old and shot up like two feet over the summer, and it feels illegal? That's Torian. He's 19 and he's been 6'2"/~1.87m for the past five and a half years, but he's still a little gangly and the only reason he knows how to control his extremely long limbs is he's literally a trained fighter. Alternate Interpretation: If your BH is taller than 5'10, he's 5'10 exactly

Corso: 6'/1.82m. I know I just said negative associations around short men don't exist in The Galaxy Far Far Away, but Corso seems like the kind of guy who would somehow independently develop a complex about his height, if he was short. The fact he doesn't means he must be tall

Vector: God, I really wanted to make him on the shorter side of average to pair with his mild-mannered personality and contrast the more unusual elements of his speech and his eyes, but his sleek character design makes him feel tall when I'm looking at him. He's also the only LI I've drawn beside one of my characters, and I just sort of unconsciously made him tall because my agent is kind of short, and it looked appealing. Results inconclusive; some boyfriends can grow as tall as starships while others can be as small as mites

Arcann: 5'8"/1.72m. (Thexan was 5'9")

Theron: No taller than 5'9"/1.75m. Theron seems like a pretty normal guy when you meet him, until he reveals himself to be an insane little freak (affectionate), so giving him the most Average Height Possible feels correct.

Koth: However tall Lana is, Koth is exactly 2 cm shorter.

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk. I encourage spirited debate in the replies. Girl LI Height Opinions still percolating

[noblesixjm04]

I can't get this out of my head. It's just something that ive had rattling around. If this doesn't make much sense I'm sorry lol but.

Do you ever think about if the Spartan ii's ever met one of those siblings without realizing it?

Like. John meeting a young female marine. She's quick witted and wicked smart. There is almost nothing she will back down from. At least not until she gets a "win." She will never leave one of her teammates behind. She's also known among her friends for her dry sense of humor.

One day she runs into John whiles he's out of armor. She never realizes that he's the Master Chief as they stare at one another. Blue eyes look into blue. The roots of her hair are blonde. Contrasted against a dark brown. They share the same smattering of freckles. Dusted along their face and down to their arms. Petering out along the backs of their hands.

And when she smiles there's a gap in her front teeth. (One tooth is chipped from a hard won game of King of the Hill.) She jokes that they match.

Apparently her brother had to. Her parents told her about him. How he had passed a few years before she was born. Her mother told her about her and her brothers shared a constellation of freckles.

Maybe Kelly runs into a pair of twin engineers. One is a girl. The other a boy. The girl has her hair cropped short. It's faded green. The boy has long hair. Held back in a tight braid. It's blue.

They strike up a conversation with Kelly one day. Mostly out of boredom. At one point talking about how they had been on their schools track team. Twin Terrors they had been called. They were the fastest in the entirety of their schools career.

They are the only two out of the group of engineers and scientists that could match her humor.

Kelly never sees them again after that. But she thinks about them often enough. About how they all shared the same accented voice.

About the day they all raced.

She won. Of course. But something about it made her feel like she was missing something. She matched it to the same feeling to her younger years with the rest of the ii's on Reach. On some of the few days they had true fun.

Linda was sent to therapy. Well. Not really sent. It was... Suggested. That she go.

Linda did. This time. For the first time. The last time.

She met an older man. Her elder by about three or four years. With the same red hair, that has streaks of white at the temples, and piercing green eyes.

Those eyes that looked at her like she does down the snipers scope. Those eyes that seemed to know her own.

She could see them widen. Hear the hitch on his breath as they flicker to a photograph and then back to her.

He...

Maybe she had seen him in passing once. Despite him never having been on this ship before.

He has been the one to pull the trigger.

"I don't think I'm the right match for you." His voice rumbled in a familiar way.

When she left. Linda tried to stop thinking about the worn, frames photo on his desk. The one with a boy. About eight or nine. With a shock of bright red hair. He held an archery trophy in one hand. In his other. The hand of a little girl. Close to five. With that same shock of red hair and green eyes that seemed to see you even through the cameras lense.

Fred meets a medic after a nasty injury. The Odst's and Marines in his company joke that he has as getting the best medic around.

He was a young man. Kind and deeply empathetic.

Those same Marines also joked about how the two of them could be siblings in a different life. With how they shared the same sloped nose and sharp jaw. The same, soft manner of speaking.

"Seriously Lieutenant. Just give the Doc the same hair cut. Could fool me that's for sure."

The medic said that he did have a brother. One that he has never met. That he had passed away a few months before he had been born .

But he and his parents visited his grave every year on his brother's birthday. And that this was the first year that he wouldn't be able to.

"He's be turning thirty three today." The medic had just finished Fred's stitches.

"Oh." Fred spoke it before it could be stopped.

"Oh what?" The medic had asked.

"I turned thirty three today." It was one of the few things he remembered. Something he rarely thought about. Because something around it had made his heart hurt.

"Here then. Happy birthday." The medic handed Fred a chocolate granola bar.

[blazinghotfoggynights]

Random possibilities for 9-1-1 based on nothing more than my wandering, weird mind. These are just random thoughts:

What if Tommy is going to become a permanent cast member and he and Buck will last for a while, if not be endgame? Tim Minear seems to love Tommy and BuckTommy. I could see a proposal or marriage by the end of the season to complete the Tommy Kinard redemption arc.

What if Gerrard's return will be used to reinforce how Tommy is now a good man and "good people"? Tim Minear will use it to solidify Tommy's redemption arc and bring him in as a main character.

What if Eddie has a major emotional upheaval and moving back to Texas is a serious possibility? If they have him turn to his Catholic roots for guidance and comfort, I can see him choosing to leave LA and be what he was raised to be. That effectively gets rid of Ryan Guzman and puts all Buddie talk to an end, opening the door to a BuckTommy focused fanbase with no more distractions.

What if Bobby never comes back to the 118 and Gerrard is it? That is an easy way to send that character away.

What if with Bobby cut out, Athena decides to follow him? It wouldn't be difficult to remove Athena, who may decide that Bobby's new career is much more attractive and it's time she retired anyway.

What if with Bobby gone and Gerrard in permanently, the 118 becomes too hostile for Hen and Chim to finish their careers there? Hen could return to school to complete her medical degree (What happened with that storyline anyway?), Chimney could easily transfer, we have seen him training, and that would open the door for Buck to follow Tommy and Tim to create a show following them.

Buddie? There will always be fanfic. It is clear Tim loves the Tommy Kinard character and working with characters who can be hateful. (If you think it is normal to minimize racist, sexist bullying as just "fitting in", keep bringing back characters to infuse that element of hate, have the targets of the hate forgive and befriend their terrorists, then tell everyone how good they are, there is something wrong with you. Tim Minear loving those characters and redeeming them is a tired trope that has been dragged for decades and extremely sus.) Even if BuckTommy is not endgame, I feel the endgame will keep Eddie hetero and whoever Buck ends up with will be lily white and probably male, with that couple becoming the focus of the show. I still believe that right now, the plan is for BuckTommy to endure and end the series together.

Eddie? I think his character is going to be done very dirty. If he caves to his parents wishes for him and becomes the good son, it'll be one of the biggest disappointments ever. I could see him going to church, praying to be guided back to the fold, and deciding that LA is not the place for him if he wants to be a good, devout Catholic man with a son and, very soon in the future, a wife, so his parents will be proud.

What if Buck, who has been desperate for love and acceptance since episode one, changes to be more like Tommy and more like what Tommy wants in a partner? Since Buck is the fan favorite, having him mirror Tommy could support Tommy being a good guy and gain support from the fanbase.

Where the hell are Hen, Karen, and Ravi? Hen is a main. Karen has been around for years, as has Ravi. Why aren't we getting more of them?

I said this last season and I am going to say it again this season, I think the endgame now is for this to end as the Buck and Tommy hour. It looks like the other characters are possibly being set up for phase outs, with their stories being left underdeveloped on purpose in order to tie them up easily.

I could see a spin off in the works focused on Buck and Tommy.

No, I don't have inside information. I am no psychic, although I have ESPN. (Dad joke. Or is it a mom joke since I'm a woman? Whatever.) I'm just throwing random could-be's out there.