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liillyliilly · 2 months

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An Insomniac's Guide to Dreams

konoha akinori x reader words; 4580 synopsis; Maybe he could be her guide to accomplishing her dreams. The kind of dreams where a person falls in love and then magically, as if almost impossibly, stays in love. Konoha could be that for her. She just needed him to give her that opportunity.

Konoha looked at the clock, another 2 am shift that had kicked him from this universe into an entirely different one. Nothing was normal after two in the morning.

Especially not that hooded figure.

Definitely not the hooded figure that was lurking straight to the medicine aisle.

Konoha had been working at the pharmacy as a part-time job, hoping that he could use his experience working at the pharmacy to level up and finally apply to a pharmaceutical company after he had graduated college. He was 20 years old, and his older coworker had shifted his graveyard shift onto Konoha at the last minute.

The grey hoodie floated around until they found what they were looking for. Konoha was trying not to spy on them, but it was all he could do during the lateness of the hour.

She pulled her hoodie down when she slammed a bottle of melatonin gummies near the cash register.

Konoha recognized her from somewhere, he thought.

He scanned the bottle, then remembered he had to ask some questions before selling a drug like this to people.

Yawning, Konoha began the miniature spiel, “You need an ID to buy melatonin, can I see a driver’s license or other valid form of identification.”

She rubbed her dark eye bags and gave him a bored look.

“I don’t have my ID on me.”

Konoha responded, “I can’t sell you the melatonin then.” He grabbed the bottle and shoved it under the top of the table and she hit her forehead against the counter, slapping her hand repeatedly on the counter to draw attention to herself.

“You’re like what, 18 years old? Look me in the eye and tell me that I don’t look 18 years old as well.” She put her chin on the table and gave a huge pout, looking up at Konoha. He felt his mouth go dry.

“I can’t sell you the drugs.” Konoha wishes he could’ve, just the way her eyes glimmered a little in the dull light of the pharmacy had his heart experiencing minor afflictions.

“Really, not even for me?” She stood up to her full height, and leaned over the counter, propped up with her hands on the counter.

How much could an acquaintance from high school grow up in two years? Konoha was now realizing the reality of puberty, and maybe the reality of seeing people for more than their high school self.

He laughed when he realized it was her, the same 1st year from Nekoma who had followed him around during his last summer training camp in the volleyball club. Konoha laughed a little more, slightly delirious from a combination of seeing an old friend and from having stayed up for longer than 24 hours at this point.

He bought the melatonin gummies for her with his own money. He closed the store early, and locked it up as she cradled the bottle in her arms.

“Why are you still awake, isn’t school still in session for you? It's Wednesday?” He remembered that she must be in her final year of high school. Konoha tried to remember how many more days until she was going to graduate, it couldn’t have been more than a month or so.

She shook the jar, before pressing a quick kiss to the lid. “Insomnia is a clinical issue that happens to occur in around 6% of the adult population, it’s an actual disorder Akinori.”

“I don’t doubt that, but you really shouldn’t be out and about at this time. All the creeps come out at night.” Konoha shudders, he had been exposed to too many issues and body parts late at night.

“I ran out of my sweet, sweet, medicine.” She shrugged, and her hoodie slid off her shoulder a little, exposing skin to the cold air. She could feel the goosebumps crawl over her, so she gently rubbed the junction of her neck to her collarbone trying to generate warmth.

He started to toy with his fingers, wringing them out, avoiding looking at her exposed shoulder. And also definitely trying to ignore the way he saw a lack of a bra strap on her shoulder.

Konoha wants to ask how she’s been the last few years. He wonders if that’s something he should even ask. How close were they really?

He asked where she needed to go, and she said she needed to take a train with a few transfers to get back home.

“I’ll take you home, I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. ‘Master of None’.” He throws her old nickname out into the wind, and she cringes, shutting her eyes tightly.

“Please don’t ever call me that again. What a horrible stain on my reputation.” She rubs the top of her head in discomfort, remembering her younger years teenage follies.

Konoha chuckles into his turtleneck, letting his tan-blond hair cover his eyes as he shakes his head a little.

“I only got called that because none of those Nekoma players would never ever listen to me. It’s like I wasn’t even a manager.”

“But, oh my saints, did you love that nickname when you realized my teammates called me ‘Jack of All Trades’- you tried to climb me and begged me to listen to you explain how our nicknames meant we were meant for each other.”

She coughed a little, feeling blood coursing to her cheeks, she just cuddled her container of chewables tighter.

Konoha realized he may have teased her a little too much, so he softened the blow of his words.

“You were a cute kid. Very passionate. You could talk for hours on end if there was someone listening.”

There was something about calling her a kid, when in reality that had only been just over two years ago. Konoha knew something was shifting in his mind, something that made him realize that he had missed her.

Longing felt like a bitter pill to swallow. Initially being separated from someone who he’d grown close to was painful, and it matted on his conscience. Then as time went on, that irritation of being away from her faded. Her coming in and shopping where he worked had been a catalyst for a reaction where he grasped just how much he had yearned for her. How much he still felt for her.

“Well, you got stuck with me because you were the only one nice enough to let me talk for hours on end.” She pointed out.

He doesn’t quite remember it like that.

She was an overzealous 16 year old, but he hadn’t known that. He was a lax 18 year old. She was a manager for the volleyball team at Nekoma because her grandpa was friends with Coach Nekomata. Her debate season had ended, but volleyball was still barrelling along.

It was a sense of pride, or perhaps intrigue that drove her to put all her focus on understanding volleyball so she could be the best manager possible.

The first day of camp, she was running around greeting all the other managers, bowing and telling them that she was ready and willing to learn from them. He thought she behaved a little bit like a raging storm, nothing able to stop her in her tracks. She was a whirlwind of excitement, and he couldn’t help but want to know who she was exactly.

“Akaashi, you’re smart, who’s that?” Konoha bent forward to touch his toes, stretching before the first practice round against Nekoma.

Akaashi blinked slowly, trying to solve a puzzle in his mind, “Well, guessing by the way she’s wearing a very red jacket, and the way that Kenma keeps avoiding her while she trails him with a water bottle- I’d have to deduce that she’s Nekoma’s manager.”

Konoha lifted his head, pulling his arms from side to side to embrace the tug of muscles in his body.

“They didn’t have a manager at the last practice match we played with them a month ago.”

“I think she just joined. Kuroo was talking to Bokuto about her earlier. Apparently, she can talk for ages.” Akaashi laughed a little, going over to the rest of the Fukurodani team.

Konoha dropped his arms to the side of his body, and when she finally turned around- successful in getting Kenma to drink some water- they locked eyes. He waved politely, and she grinned with all her teeth, almost jumping up a little.

He thought she was definitely cute. A little ball of energy sure, but she radiated something beyond just excitement, she carried a sense of eternal optimism. And that was something Konoha would’ve killed to have as a high school student. It wasn’t that he had an extreme form of depression, or that his anxiety was serious enough to warrant a prescription. But he did experience the ruins of chemical imbalances more so than the next person.

She was inclined to watch Konoha, because he seemed naturally good at all the elements of volleyball. He could do everything at a level that was higher than most, from solid foundational receives to a slightly more technical serve.

To say she was infatuated would be an overstatement, because she really was just a girl with a huge crush on a boy.

Instead of sitting with her own team at the lunch break she had made her way to Konoha, asking if she could sit with him. He looked around, and saw that Komi was using his hands to make an insistent gesture of ‘no’ by slicing his hands back and forth in front of his face.

He had ignored Komi and patted the spot next to him on the concrete stairs into the gym.

Akaashi had been right, she could talk about anything and everything, her mouth moving faster than Konoha’s own brain. He only got to make small remarks when she took a bite of her lunch, chewing on the rice quickly but thoroughly so she could keep going on about a movie she had seen last week.

“What do you think?” She looked at him with expectant eyes.

Konoha swallowed his chicken, “Of Better Days?”

She nodded rapidly, Konoha’s head almost hurt a little at the motion.

“I haven’t seen it, I’m not a big fan of international films.” He shrugged, eating another piece of chicken from his plate, looking out to see groups of boys mingling.

Not once during his time with her at that camp did he wish he had spent it with anyone else. He was completely content just listening to her talk, with her occasional periods of interview-like questions for him to answer. A few times during the camp he would sit at one of the regular tables with an agglomeration of fellow players, and she wouldn’t go over to him.

When he looked around though, she was sitting alone in the same spot they had sat at during the first day. Using her water bottle to draw shapes on the grey pavement steps. He tried to wave her over, but she knew how other people looked at her. They would get this sheen in their eyes that told her that they did not want to listen to her, but that only made her talk more, trying to prove her worth.

Konoha had finished his food quickly, grabbing his own water bottle and sitting next to her.

“Let’s work together to make a drawing of Kuroo as a cat.”

The way her mood shifted, from feeling the sting of loneliness to the thrill of getting to spend time with the person she deemed as the best looking boy at the camp, was extremely beneficial for her happiness.

He didn’t mind filling the role of her friend during camp. He did feel a slight scorn for all the other boys and girls at the camp though. It was rude to be so blatant about their dislike and irritation at her.

On the second to last day, Konoha woke up in the middle of the night, needing to go get water from the vending machine in the gymnasium.

He scratched at his stomach while putting in his coins. Then he saw her, in a thin strapped black tank top and short shorts. She was playing with a hacky sack, kicking it with her knee then when it would land on her foot, she shot it up so she could alternate feet.

She was talking to herself as well. He listened to her chatter about music, about art, about that annoying thorn she’d found in her shoes that made her foot bleed a little. He could listen to her talk forever and never get bored.

Konoha put another few coins in the machine, getting a second can of orange flavored water. She was in the main area of the gym, but she had been facing away from the entrance to the gym, so when Konoha cleared his throat, she dropped the fabric bag full of rice on her head.

“You shouldn’t wear a tank top, it's dangerous.” Konoha handed her the drink when she bounded up to him.

She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, “Why would it be dangerous?”

“Someone might think you’re trying to seduce me.” He joked, cracking open his can and taking a deep drink of the nectarine tinged fluid.

Her eyes went wide as she reached down to a bench where she had put her jacket, she slid her arms into the sleeves.

Konoha chewed the inside of his mouth a little. Maybe over the course of a week he’d gotten in over his own head, developing a slight attachment to her. He pushed the thought away, remembering that she looked slightly uncomfortable. He had created a mentality for himself, one where he was supposed to view her like a younger sister. Hell, he had a younger sister her same age.

His stomach twisted a little.

“Sorry. Sometimes my jokes don’t exactly land how I intend them to.” He brought the can up to his mouth again, needing something to lubricate his increasingly drying throat.

She zips her jacket all the way up, the collar comes up to her chin. “It’s alright.”

Konoha looks down to avoid eye contact, trying to find a way to diffuse the slight stagnation in the air, but his eyes only land on the plush of her bare thighs. He could feel his ears turning red when he saw how her shorts dug into her thighs a little, creating a divot, and then the rest of her thigh seemed even more thick.

“I heard that there’s supposed to be really bright stars tonight.” He offered, turning on his heels to exit the gym. She followed him closely.

When he stopped in the center of the field next to the gym, she rammed into his back, getting bounced backwards a little. He caught her by the arm, tugging her upright.

“Woah there, I don’t want you falling for me quite yet, I haven’t even shown you my best qualities.” He snorted slightly.

She buried her face in her jacket, he could see her furrowing her eyebrows in an abashed way. The butterflies in his stomach would not stop fluttering. The little sister comparison stopped right in that moment, as she gave him a shy downturned smile.

It couldn’t have been later than midnight at most, but the way that he kept dozing slightly and opening his mouth to fix the air pressure around his head let him know that he was staying up much longer than he should’ve.

But how could he not, when she was looking up at the sky with admiration.

He pointed to the stars that represented Orihime and Hikoboshi. Everyone knew the story of the two star crossed lovers, a princess and her cow-herder. They had been so in love that they failed to tend to their duties, so her father had separated the couple. They could only reunite every year on July 7th, when the magpies created a bridge for the couple over the milky way.

That night, that they sat together under the stars, had been July 7th.

“I can’t see them.” He could hear the way she was making a frowning face, upset at not being able to see what he could see.

“Here, let me help.” He scooted closer to her, the length of their sides against one another, as he lifted her hand and tried to point out the star Vega, for Orihime. When he was satisfied that she was pointing right at the star he checked in with her, “Do you see her?”

Her soft no comes from much too close to his face. In Konoha’s excitement, he had brought his head closer to hers, trying to replicate what she would be seeing as best as possible. They were almost cheek to cheek.

He pulled away slightly, just enough for some space to exist between them.

“I only see you.” She breathed out.

Konoha choked.

He immediately stood up.

“We have matches tomorrow, I have to get back to bed.”

She got up to her feet, nodding to Konoha’s words.

The last of camp, after all the games were played, and the barbeque devoured by rowdy teenagers.

She was helping to put away bags and other miscellaneous supplies into Nekoma’s bus. And Konoha was leaning against the bus that would take Fukurodani back to their school. Akaashi had shoved his duffel bag into the compartment under the bus and walked to Konoha.

“Kuroo told me that she’ll be their manager for the rest of the season, so she’ll be at Nationals, if Nekoma makes it.”

“Nekoma will make it.” Konoha stated it with finality. Akaashi could see how Konoha was staring at the way she was struggling to lift a heavier bag.

“You know you can go and help her right?” Akaashi inspected his fingernails, suppressing a grin.

Konoha reached into his backpack, ripping a piece of paper from his notebook and scrawling out his phone number. He passed his bag to Akaashi and tucked the slip of paper into his pocket.

She was trying to hoist the bag with her arms, leaning really far backwards. Konoha grabbed the handles of the bag from her and tossed the bag into the bus. She smiled and thanked him.

“Fukurodani’s bus leaves in another hour or so, when are you supposed to head out?” Konoha leant on his shoulder against Nekoma’s bus.

“In around thirty minutes.”

So he asked her what she was going to do over the next few days, and she talked.

She had gotten through around fifteen minutes of talking and was in her zone, completely engrossed in following the rabbit hole of her own mind. Konoha’s hand was sweaty, as he tried to think of just the right pocket in her black backpack to slip his number into.

Eventually, Coach Nekomata told the team to gather around and she bowed to Konoha, saying her goodbye to him.

He just grabbed her by the loop at the top of the bag, rushing to put the paper into the main section of the backpack. She tried to walk forward but was tugged into staying in place with Konoha’s grip.

“Uh, yes?”

“Get home safely.” Konoha beamed, “Alright?”

“Alrighty.” She tilted her head back and forth, twisting her shoulders in a content giddiness.

He moved his head up to the sky and tightened his face, “So cute.”

She wiggled a little, and he released her bag. She asked, “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Okie dokie.” She held onto the straps of her backpack, shifting it around to be comfortable on her back.

She walked over to her team, letting Coach Nekomata pat her head a little bit.

Konoha rubbed his face, climbing into his bus and slumping into his seat. Bokuto got into the seat in front of him, but turned around and put his chin on the top of the chair to face Konoha.

“What’s with the sour attitude, Mr. Jack of All Trades?” Bokuto made a face of intense focus, intent on Konoha’s potential answer.

Akaashi put a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, giving the answer Konoha couldn’t articulate, “He’s fallen for Nekoma’s first year manager.”

Konoha stood up, not realizing he had put his seatbelt on, so he got rope burn around his neck as the seatbelt prevented him from actually going anywhere, “She’s a first year student!?”

Akaashi laughed, grabbing onto his stomach. Bokuto’s jaw dropped.

“You’ve been hanging around her all week and you neglected to ask what year she was in Konoha-san?” Akaashi wiped tears of humor from his eyes.

Konoha groaned, pulling his legs onto the seat as he hugged them.

Bokuto looked at Akaashi, “Well he’s positively forlorn. Did I use that word right?”

Akaashi nodded.

Konoha helped her get onto the train, making sure she didn’t trip from the platform to the main portion of the train. The train was mostly empty, with a few people standing or sitting a fair distance apart.

They sat side by side and she opened the container of her melatonin, lifting the lid to her nose so she could smell the berry flavored medicine.

Konoha folded his arms, bringing one leg to rest over the other.

“You know, I was surprised when, after the camp, you didn’t contact me at all.” Konoha felt a little strange, asking about something from what he deemed as a long time ago.

“How would I have contacted you? Believe me I did want to keep in touch, but we never exchanged numbers.” Just smelling the melatonin had her a little bit sleepier.

“I, uh, I put my number into your bag. When everyone was getting ready to leave, I put a piece of paper into your black bag.” Konoha rubbed his arm, getting ready to accept that maybe he had been the only one to have developed a crush that week.

“Oh, I didn’t bring a backpack to the camp. It must have been someone else’s that I was wearing.”

Konoha slumped into the seat further.

She had finally made the connections in her brain.

“You liked me!”

“It was kind of hard not to.”

“And here I was, living my entire high school life thinking that I had been head over heels for someone who had never liked me back.” She said simply.

“Had been? As in, no longer?”

She pursed her lips a little, tapping her chin.

“There’s something about the phrase ‘had been’. It carries a sense of loss, it carries with it a feeling of belonging. Like what had been was extremely personal.”

“You make no sense sometimes.” Konoha chuckles into his words.

“Maybe something better to say is, here I am. Living life wondering when we’d meet again.”

The train came to a halt, and he checked that this was the stop they would get off on. She tucked her bottle of drugs into her hoodie pocket. The street was entirely empty, and the street lights flickered a little from time to time.

“So, you want to go into pharmaceuticals?”

“Yeah, it’s a decently lucrative business, comfortable enough to live life with some extra money for this and that.”

They stood under the flickering street lamp, Konoha digging the toe of his foot into the concrete ground.

She felt a little bit like the world had frozen in time. Here he was, after two years, drawn to her yet again. She hummed for a moment. Then make a request for Konoha.

“Wait for me.”

Konoha lifted his head to make eye contact with her. Tilting his head a little, he made a look that could only be defined as inquisitive.

She really did love him. Call it instantaneous love, her crush that she had held onto for much longer than necessary, but she felt something for this sandy-haired drug dealer of hers. The way his light brown eyes almost seemed like a rushing sand dune in the right lack of light. Or the way that he had subconsciously reduced their distance from their walk, train ride, to now standing inches apart.

What kind of a person was he to show kindness to an annoying first year, taking her under his wing for an entire week. Solving emotional worries, relieving anxieties of where to sit or who to talk to, making her feel at home in a place that had decidedly rejected her before it even got to know her.

Maybe he could be her guide to accomplishing her dreams. The kind of dreams where a person falls in love and then magically, as if almost impossibly, stays in love. Konoha could be that for her. She just needed him to give her that opportunity.

“Wait for me, one more year, once I graduate. Let’s date.” She grabs his hand, and he lets her. She clears her throat a little, “Let’s give love a shot?”

“I think I’d like that a lot. It’s a deal.”

Dreams aren’t reality. Because sometimes reality is better than a dream.

She was chewing away at a piece of literature, trying to dissect Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams novel for her Sleep Science class. Becoming a Sleep Scientist wouldn’t do much for her own horrible sleep schedule if she wanted to make it through her Doctorate successfully. Despite Konoha telling her that sleeping was important for her well-being, she had the tendency to ignore what he said sometimes- it would only be one more all-nighter anyway.

He’s asleep in their bed, nuzzled into her pillow and not his own. He’s wearing one of her hoodies to bed, her favorite one from high school that had been two sizes too big.

The beige highlighter reminds her of Konoha, and she has to rip her eyes away from him to get back to her book.

Work at the pharmaceutical company had been long, especially with the rolling out of their new drug the past few weeks. Konoha was the head of the project and needed to be at work almost twice as much, even though he felt bad leaving her alone in their apartment for long intervals of time. He always brought home bagels and an apology disc, of a movie she had been wanting to watch, for her to add to her collection of physical copies of movie CDs.

Their shared shelving system was an agglomeration, her DVDs and books on one side of the shelf, and then his photos, astrology novels and miniature telescopes on the other side.

When she accidentally dropped the highlighter onto the floor, Konoha’s head shot up. It was a mess of dirty blond hair from sleeping.

“Aki, go back to sleep.” She coaxed.

“No, it’s cold when you’re not here.” He turned around and opened his arms to put emphasis on his point. “I’m basically a snowman right now.”

She closed her book, tucking the bookmark in. Slinking her way from the desk to the bed, only to slump into his arms and hug him tightly.

“Much better.” He slides over to his side so she can lay out on the bed more comfortably, and she brings her legs to lay on the bed. “I’m all warm now, thanks to you.”

Sometimes a dream is just a girl with the boy who made her feel seen.

Other times a dream is a boy who finally finds someone to let him feel a little more happy everyday.

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desmond69miles · 1 year

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Relationship HC’s for trish

NSFW included. luv u ! submit an ask

[-: Trish has dated around before, experimenting with men and women alike. It’d take her awhile to find someone she connects with and that’s not freaked out with her demonic nature, as well as the time it takes to develop romantic attraction. It would take a good friendship with a strong bond before Trish would consider you as a partner.

[-: Besides the fact that Trish wears heels, she’s tall. I think her canon hight is around 5’11” (180cm) without heels, so she’d most likely be taller than you. I don’t think she’s the type to explicitly place things higher than needed for you, in fact, I’d imagine she’d place things you needed daily on lower shelves. However, she does like to take advantage of her height when you’re napping together. She’d be the perfect person for the bigger spoon.

[-: Trish loves all body types. She’s the type of person to not care about hip dips, stretch marks, cellulite, etc, and in fact finds the imperfections alluring. It’s canon (she told me herself) that she loves dimples, scars, freckles, pigment issues, the little things. She’s literally the definition of a super model and likes the mundane things that make her feel like a human with a normal partner.

[-: Dates usually consist of clothing hauls, makeup shopping sprees, in-home fashion shows, and the occasional dinner away from home. Expect to come back with hundreds of dollars worth of makeup and clothing, then put on a fashion show for the other. You’re not even sure what to do with all the clothes, so most of them are kept at Trish’s place. Trish also loves to do your makeup, practicing looks she wants to try for herself. At the end of your dates, the whole house is a mess and your tired out from changing clothing and wiping makeup off.

[-: I feel like Trish has a certain knack for goths. Besides just liking the culture and music, she’s amazing at trad goth and romantic goth makeup. She could totally fit into a darker scene and by the subcultures definition, she’s already goth! Playing into this more; if you were goth Trish would call you “battie” and know exactly where to get the good goth clothing for cheap. She has so many connections with clothing stores it’s actually insane.

[-: Trish is a tactile and verbal lover. Expect her to ghost a hand up your spine, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and giving an endearing comment; “Your makeup looks good today.” “Oh! I love that shirt on you, you’ll have to let me borrow it sometime.” “You look nice today, babe.”

[-: If you had gotten so far into the relationship where Trish wanted to place a mating bite/mark on you, Dante would constantly tease you both by poking and commenting at it. Trish would respond by gut-punching Dante Lady-style, or hitting the man in the jugular. It would be an intricate golden design, one that Trish would ghost over with her lips and gently nibble on. Mating bites are sensitive! She knows how to toy with you.

[-: Her hands are magic, literally. She gives the best electro-therapy massages ever. On the contrary, she likes to have her hands massaged from pulling triggers all the time.

[-: Loves when you help her clean her guns/other weapons. Often she doesn't have time to fully clean and inspect her weapons, so she'd offer to teach you. Say yes! She enjoys coming back from shopping to see you wiping down a sword or swabbing down a gun, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a meaningful "Thank you, babe."

——/—\——

NSFW !

[-; Most always the dominant roll in bed. She much prefers being able to control and bend your pleasure at her fingertips, leading you to orgasm after orgasm. While she won’t mind being the bottom once in awhile, it gets repetitive and frustrating for her when done often.

[-; Type of woman to say “sit on my face” and mean put your full weight on her. She’s a demon, it’s nothing she can’t take. Adding onto this, she rakes her finely manicured nails across your thighs and butt leaving red trails while her tongue flicks around.

[-; Y’know she has those electrical powers? What’s to say she won’t give you a not so gentle zap while fingering you? Nothing so bad it hurts, but strong enough to make your heart kick up and legs instinctively shut.

[-; Has all kinds of strap ons. Big ones, small ones, clear ones, colored ones, knotted ones, tentacle ones, a shit load. What ever your feeling to mess your guts up she probably has.

[-; Trish has a light degradation kink, but a massive praise one as well. She won't push degradation/humiliation if you aren't comfortable with it. If you are however, Trish loves to make comments on you, mixing in praise.

[-; Adding onto the degradation, I don't think Trish would be into slut shaming or any other name calling. Trish has seen her fair share of lonely, short-dicked men cat calling her and while It doesn't affect her much, the last thing she would want is her partner to think Trish thinks of them in that way.

[-; Loves to be ate out after a long mission. If you couldn't fight/didn't want to fight, there would be nothing better than coming back to her sweet little partner and getting treated. "Good doll, you're doing such a good job." She'd say, raking her nude nails through your scalp. Oh, to have your head crushed between her thighs.

[-; She'd be up for trying public play if you were comfortable. To be more specific, Trish would be up for buying you a remote-controlled vibrator. Those ones that hit your g-spot as well as stimulating your clit? She'd totally have one of those. If she's off on a mission or even just out simply shopping with you, her hands on her phone, gently increasing and decreasing the vibes. If you'd happen to loose your composure and crouch down, trying to look like your inspecting the item shelf, Trish would make a jesting comment. "What? Can't handle some vibrations?"

[-; Likes phone sex while she's on missions. If she's not there to touch and tease you, the next best option is to hear your pretty voice. Just because she's not there with you doesn't mean you can come, though.

#trish dmc #trish dmc x reader #dmc trish x reader #devil may cry x reader #dmc x reader #trish smut #trish x reader smut #dmc headcanons #dmc smut

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joels6string · 2 years

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More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 3 - A Helping Hand

Summary: Settling in Jackson has proved far more difficult than you originally imagined.

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.2k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, slow burn, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, eventual smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix-it fic

“I had asked you,” you continued, voice shaking and hollow as the scar on the side of your leg began to twinge, “for one thing…and you didn’t—“ “You’re damn right I didn’t! I have lost enough,” his tone was hard and unwavering, unapologetic but desperate, “I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

Chapter 2 || Series Masterlist

What exactly did it mean to acclimate? Was it an actual change that slowly rippled through your body and psyche alike rewriting scripts and forging new paths to lead you to new emotions, new experiences, a new life? Or was it simply taking the old and shoving it behind a door, your new reality boarding it up with whatever small blockades it could find to keep the past at bay? Every slam of it against the feeble barrier threatening to send you rappelling into ruin. That’s what it felt like.

Tommy and Maria had agreed to let you out on patrol with one catch, you spend half your required working time training up the patrolmen on what Tommy had referred to as a “dying art.” Three days a week you rode through the paths of the mountains that still felt more like home than the four walls that housed you, the other two or three dragging along as you tried to harness what little patience your frame contained to help the hopeless with the collection of bows and quivers that went unused in the armory.

“No,” you sighed, stomping over to a kid that couldn’t be more than 17 and lifting his elbow, “you’ll go straight into the ground.”

“Sorry…” he mumbled, guilt joining your agitation, the dark clouds rolling in representing your souring mood just as much as the storm you’d been warned about this morning.

“Pack it up!” Maria called, relief flooding you as she stopped beside you, “Not you.”

As much as Maria Miller was trying to become a friend, she was also the leader of Jackson, although she hated the title. Maria made decisions when she had to and never more, leaving the residents of the town to figure out as much on their own without risking anarchy, the rules established long ago and abided by without much resistance. On most days, she felt like an equal, but when it was time for business it was made very clear. Her face hardened, spine straightened, and her intonation sharpened, it made your stomach drop to the dirt.

“When’s the last time you went to the market?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest, “Joel says you haven’t been by. And Indy told Tommy you gave her your voucher last week.”

“Tommy gave me a bunch—“ you began, but Maria’s hand shooting into the air snapped your lips shut.

“We gave you enough for a week, maybe two. It’s been almost a month.”

And you still had more than half of it left. Although your fresh produce was eaten quickly so as not to waste it, the meat had gone untouched and the dried goods were used sparingly, meticulously rationed and stored for longevity. As Maria awaited a response you wouldn’t give her, the words you knew she’d respond with echoed in your ears. You’re not out there anymore.

“Go see Joel,” she finally conceded in your silence, “He wants his freezer back.”

If Joel wasn’t at the Tipsy Bison, he’d wait another day. Your stomach had yet to adjust to the food that was served, but scotch was something that had always gone down easy. The fire at the back of your throat was a comforting heat, that warmth radiating out from your belly to your fingers and loosening tension you always seemed to forget was there.

“When are you gonna pay this tab, Deacon?” Seth growled as he slid a second your way, the almost empty bar quiet enough to almost welcome his attempts at debt collection.

“Here ya go,” the sound of a plan backfiring drawled from your left, “Should cover it.”

The stool creaked beneath his weight as he took a seat, the glass perched between your fingers no longer feeling like a chalice of relief as Seth hummed in approval at Joel’s currency of choice.

“Fan of venison, Seth?” you taunted before draining your glass, sucking air through your teeth as you passed it back to him, “Trade ya.”

“He’s got more than enough to cover it,” Joel growled, Seth’s gaze sliding over menacingly to find an unwavering hazel stare only a fool would argue with, “You drink too much.”

“How would you know?”

“Cause I just paid your debt.”

“Technically I paid…”

“Technically.”

The silence, it was always so easy. Maybe it was because you both enjoyed it, that had already been established. The confidence of familiarity was a balm. This mutual respect born from the instinct to survive had morphed into whatever sat heavy in the inches separating your body from his, a constant weight that was both comforting and tangible.

“You got a haircut,” you finally chimed, enjoying the way the lines around his eyes deepened as he furrowed his brow.

“Yeah,” his voice practically vibrated in your chest, “Better than doin’ it myself.”

“I like it when it’s longer.”

He paused, your statement catching him off guard and derailing his intentions. You were looking just as thin as you were a month ago while both he and Ellie had packed on a few healthy pounds. The purple beneath your eyes was still dark and your skin sallow, and he hadn’t been the only one to notice.

“Ellie says there ain’t shit to eat at your place.”

Was everyone watching you?

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not hosting a dinner party anytime soon,” you replied, eyes focused forward though you could feel his own fixated on your face.

“Funny you mention that. Ellie insists you come by tonight, she found herself a cookbook. Tommy and Maria’ll be there too.”

“My ceiling leaks. So, might have to accept.”

“It what?”

The change in his face wasn’t subtle. His body went rigid as his attention snapped entirely to you, the speed at which he moved causing you to flinch and your eyes turn to find the source of his alertness. Then, you realized it was you.

“My ceiling leaks. It’s not a huge deal,” you brushed off, remembering the first summer rain that had woken you from a rare deep sleep a few days after moving in, “it’s just upstairs. I sleep on the cou—“

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “Why the hell are you livin’ in a house with a leaking roof?”

Because it had been more than anything you’d been given before. Misery hadn’t turned you around on the map to gratitude as you’d begun navigating this new, disorienting life. The same four walls welcomed you home every night, gates and guards protecting a space you didn’t fear the people walking between like the ones before it. You’d smiled here, laughed, and despite your instance that you didn’t belong, the residents of Jackson had done nothing but prove you wrong at every turn. If the roof leaked, then so be it.

“I didn’t know who to ask,” you answered after a pause, just needing something to say, and you immediately regretted it the moment his nostrils flared.

“Me!” He sounded almost offended that it needed to be stated, “You ain’t eatin’, I’d bet my last dollar you ain’t sleepin’—“

“Yeah well, you don’t have a dollar so…”

Every muscle fiber in his body twitched with the urge to walk the hell away from you until the forests captured in the color of your eyes welcomed him home again.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered, getting a drink of his own from Seth who still lingered close by, “Put this on her new tab.”

The amber liquid burned on the way down, igniting the fire kindling in his belly further. Muscle defined the freckle-dusted stretch of your arms, the tank top you wore snug across your torso, and your hair hung down from the half-braided updo you sported like a curtain cascading down your shoulders. You looked tense enough to snap, did he piss you off that bad?

“Hey Joel,” a voice too sweet called out from the door, his attention snapping instantly over to a woman you had yet to be introduced to, “Tommy needs you. Horde.”

“God damnit.”

“Maria is going to see Ellie.”

“Alright then.”

He felt you leave before he saw it, the rush of air your quick departure blew against his back had his attention snapping from Francine in front of him to you storming out of the door. The way your fiery locks stood in stark contrast to the darkened skies like an eternal flame, not even the rain pouring from the skies enough to snuff you out.

“Ready?” Francine asked after an awkward pause, her voice wary and confused.

“Yeah,” he grunted, pouring a second glass Seth had clearly sensed was necessary back in a single toss before venturing into the downpour.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Finally, those kitchen pots had a purpose. Enshrouded in the dark that had settled over the town, you sat on the edge of the bed, your eyes following each droplet of water as it plunked down against the metal, each pop immersing you back to a more familiar world. The putrid smell of the damp underground tunnels you’d found yourself crawling through more often than you’d liked transported you back, a shiver shooting up your spine as the reminder of the bone-chilling cold and decaying remnants of a world long-dead burrowed in your chest.

It was like a siren song the way that curved bow of wood sang out from the night. It sat right beside your back door, your hands aching to feel its taut string and tattered quiver. If the rain soaked you to the bone, at least you had a healthy supply of dry clothes to put on upon your return home. And a hot shower.

Your boots squeaked along with the old stairs as you stampeded down, a clap of thundering masking the slam of your door against the siding as you ran out into the rain, the drops cooling your sweat-slicked skin. The air was heavy and humid, the petrichor filling your nostrils so comforting you contemplated bottling it up and saving it for the next episode of melancholy that overtook you.

Upon moving in, Joel had somehow ensured a few bales of hay made it to your backyard. With the first fire of your bolt into the dense, compacted grass, you were reminded you had yet to thank him for that. It was too late for it now.

Within minutes you were soaked to the skin, your clothes clinging to your body in ways that felt too familiar and too pleasant. This shouldn’t be satisfying, but the flashes of lightning across the sky illuminating the mountainscape before your eyes welcomed you into its treacherous embrace.

Even through the pouring rain and booming thunder, you heard the crunch of a rock beneath a boot, your own feet too solidly planted to be the culprit. Your hand shot to your belt as you whirled, the blade of your knife mere centimeters away from a figure kept hidden by the darkness. When a white-hot blaze seared across the landscape again, the hazel eyes you’d seen haunting your dreams boring down on you flared, his expression nothing short of perturbed by his current predicament.

“Why do you have that?” he asked with an air of annoyance, his rough, calloused fingers plucking the weapon free from your iron grip.

“Never know,” you snapped, turning your attention back to the collection of arrows accumulating in your target, “Why are you here?”

“Walkin’ home.”

“Your house is closer to the stables than mine.”

“I took the long way.”

The arrow’s song as it soared through the air broke the silence that had reclaimed the space, and despite his intrusion, it wasn’t lost on you that your grip was slightly more relaxed, your jaw less tense.

“Lemme look at the ceiling,” he sighed, your fingers freezing as they ran along the feathers perched between them.

“It’s fine,” you lied, knowing the pot you’d used to catch the droplets was probably near full, “I’m already soaked.”

“Your god damn roof leaks—“

“I don’t care!”

He’d begun to close distance, the way his sodden T-shirt stuck to his body not lost on you as you dared a peek through the corners of your eyes. When he pulled the bow from your hand, you didn’t protest, instead widening the crevice left between you into a canyon as you approached the edge of your yard and plucked each arrow free carefully. The heads were still dry, the innermost layers of the bricks of hay still dry, unaffected by what was happening at the surface.

“Why don’t you go inside and dry off?” he suggested, this time you hadn’t heard him approach.

“I prefer it out here,” you replied.

“I’m startin’ to pick up on that.”

“Aren’t you perceptive?”

That quip had his face hardening. His nostrils flared before his palm swallowed his chin and mouth, his attempts to regulate his irritation failing. It had been weeks since you’d spoken to him, hell you’d barely held a conversation with him since you got here, and he hated how much that bothered him. He’d kept up with you through Ellie, and even she’d grown worried. When the initial shock of settling here had worn off, it had been replaced with something far more sinister. Something everyone had come to find concern in.

“Go eat somethin’” he sighed, “I brought you food—”

“For fucks sake,” you muttered beneath your breath, “Just give it up already.”

“Give what up?” His voice thundered along with the skies. “We ain’t out there anymore! Stop acting like it!”

“I’m not your responsibility anymore!”

“I just wanna help—“

“I never asked for your help, Joel!”

From the moment you’d fired that arrow off to land between his feet as he approached the building you’d been hidden in, you’d never asked him for help. It was Ellie that had insisted you tag along, and who were you to give a kid the weight of guilt to carry? You were burdened enough by it, saving her from that had been worth any cost. So every time he’d offered to keep you going, to find you a better place to settle, you’d accepted. And that landed you here, in a house you knew nothing about leading a life you were ill-suited for.

There was an undeniable tug you felt towards the man standing three feet away, staring at you with confusion and apprehension. It terrified you. The way your eyes shot around your empty bedroom searching for him when you woke with a scream and how your fingers brushed over his neat handwriting in the patrol logs; it made you want to run. You just couldn’t be sure in which direction.

“I had asked you,” you continued, voice shaking and hollow as the scar on the side of your leg began to twinge, “for one thing…and you didn’t—“

“You’re damn right I didn’t! I have lost enough,” his tone was hard and unwavering, unapologetic but desperate, “I don’t need any more blood on my hands.”

“Am I your penance then? The balm to your scathed conscience? Fix me and you’re absolved of your sins?”

“It ain’t like that…”

“It is exactly like that. You should have left me where you found me.”

It was like a knife to his chest. Your face was unreadable, hardened like stone, the night too dark to see if that flicker of vulnerability was sparkling in your eye. He’d seen it before. But even that might not have been enough to convince him that your words had been a lie.

“No,” was all he gave, it was all he needed to say, and when your mouth opened to retort he was already prepping to stop you in your tracks.

“What are you two knuckleheads doin’ out in the rain?” Tommy’s lighthearted voice sliced through the tension, both of your shoulders relaxing as he came into view, “You know there’s a whole house behind ya?”

“I was just going in,” you answered, eyes still locked on Joel, his not willing to lose whatever battle of wills you’d entered.

“Well, before you do, be ready at 0700 tomorrow. Both of you. We’re cleanin’ up.”

“Cleaning up what?”

“Oh, you didn’t tell her?”

No. Joel had somehow forgotten about the horde of 60 he and Tommy had stumbled upon. Not that informing you of that was why he’d come here in the first place. He listened as Tommy filled you in, begging your face to change, the corners of your lips to lift even slightly, any hint that the rage you’d been hurling at him had subsided. But you gave him nothing, simply nodding at Tommy’s instructions to be at the stables and leaving him to dwell on this exchange overnight.

“What’s the deal with you and her anyway?” Tommy inquired with a mischievous lilt as the light of your bedroom began to glow.

“How do you mean?” Maybe playing dumb would work.

“I ain’t ever seen you so smitten before.”

The reaction was too over the top, Joel knew it and Tommy certainly did. A theatrical wave of the hand and too loud a scoff was telling, Tommy’s smirk signaling the failure of his ability to keep the lid on whatever was brewing and ready to burst.

“The hell are you on about?” Joel snapped, just because he had given himself away didn’t mean he had to admit it.

“Oh c’mon Joel, I’ve known you most of your life. You think I can’t pick up on a thing or two?”

“Boy, you forget I’ve done all this already?”

“Please. We both know Rebecca wasn’t real. That was obligation. This is somethin’ different.”

Ire blossomed across his cheeks, that wasn’t a name he ever wanted to hear again. It didn’t matter that the wounds she’d left behind were over three decades old, they’d never quite scabbed over, the slightest scrape enough to reopen them entirely and send blood oozing over every clean surface he’d been able to wipe the evidence free from.

“Don’t…” Joel cautioned, malice thick in his gruff timbre.

“You brought her all the way here,” Tommy pressed, “Why?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Because you feel somethin’. That’s why.”

Your silhouette caught the corner of his eye, the curtains maintaining your privacy as he watched you pace past the window. He could practically feel your anxiety, the urge to storm in and quiet these demons that ran rampant in your head quelled by your final words to him.

You should have left me where you found me.

“Tell me the ground doesn’t feel more solid beneath those boots when she’s around.” Tommy’s insistence was only making this worse, harder to ignore.

“I ain’t listenin’ to this,” he sneered, it was his turn to run now, “You got your happy white picket life. Don’t shove it on me.”

“Shove what? God forbid you be content for a god damn moment of your life, right? Can’t be Joel anymore if you crack a fuckin’ smile.”

“That’s enough.”

Tommy’s hands went up in surrender, but Joel was well aware the war was far from over. In the years after Rebecca, he’d done the same thing, attempts at hooking Joel up with the women that threw themselves at him, each date ending in disaster until he’d finally put a stop to it. He hated that Tommy might finally be right this time, the ground did feel more solid when he found himself wandering through your gaze, the weight of you clinging to his torso a comfort he’d come to miss.

“Her ceiling leaks,” Joel parted with as he turned, his bed calling him in from the rain, “Fix it.”

Chapter 4

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction

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calissarowan · 2 months

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So, since @lonelybiscuits has started writing their super awesome one-shots using my Gantlos half-vampire headcanon, I’ve been getting far more into it, and thinking over the lore a bit. I did a post about it a long time ago, but some stuff is being tweaked, especially due to the fact I’m not as squeamish over the idea of Gantlos hunting anymore. So, I might do a post with some more lore surrounding his family, if anyone would like to see that. (I used to have an oc that was his sister, but she doesn’t really come up in anything, so she may have fallen by the wayside. If anyone actually remembers her, let me know.)

Anyway, today I wanted to talk about his vampire/wizard physiology a little, namely him switching between his two sides.

So, most of the time, Gantlos looks…I’m gonna say human? He doesn’t look supremely normal, but neither do Ogron or Duman, so…human. We’re going with human. (We don’t really have a species label for Duman, but I don’t think he needs one. Also, Anagan does look human. I’m so with @spilledmilkfkdies when they say he’s ‘just some guy, in the nicest way possible’.)

Gantlos could be human or vampire, depending on what he chooses, but people tend to take ‘human’ way better than ‘blood-drinking immortal monster’, so he’s human most of the time, even if he’d be much stronger in battle as a vampire. Though he’d also be far more vulnerable to sunlight, so that’s not good when you’re fighting the Fairy of the Shining Sun. Plus, if someone got hurt and started bleeding, he’d have a hard time keeping himself under control, and if he couldn’t force himself back into human form, he might just have to run so he didn’t try and kill anyone.

But there are some times when Gantlos can’t stay human. The first, as I showed in my one-shot, is during a blood moon. This is pretty much the same as werewolves during a full moon, except the changes are more gradual, and Gantlos is fully aware of everything happening to him. He can try and stay human, and there are ways he can, but they all involve pretty dangerous levels of sunlight which, while it can keep him in human form, also burns him and makes him weak and sick, so his friends put a firm stop to that a while ago.

The second is rooted in actual biology. So, during the fight-or-flight response, adrenaline is released, and this causes changes such as a raised heartbeat, increased blood sugar, and higher blood pressure. The point of all these changes is to optimise the body for fighting or running away. Now, Gantlos is evidently more equipped for both of those things with vampire speed, strength and agility, and so, when he experiences high levels of adrenaline, his vampire side starts to come out. Sharper fangs, longer claws, etcetera. This is why, in the series, sometimes he has fangs and claws, and sometimes he doesn’t. He’s got a lot of adrenaline, and he can only keep so much control. Also, if Gantlos were to experience a panic or anxiety attack, since his body would be responding as though in actual danger, and adrenaline may be released, the effects would be similar. Also, I imagine if Gantlos had a panic attack, he’d wind up unleashing seismic waves out of panic, so that would be doubly bad.

I hope you thought this was interesting! I’m pretty happy with the link to adrenaline I came up with, since that feels like it actually makes quite a bit of sense. If anyone has any questions about this headcanon, please do ask! I love answering them!

#winx club #wizards of the black circle #winx gantlos #winx headcanons #wizards of the black circle headcanons #vampire Gantlos #I honestly almost gave up on this headcanon a while ago because I thought people would think it was weird #Thanks so much to @lonelybiscuits and @devilheartsblog for showing me it wasn’t!

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multiplicity-positivity · 6 months

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Okay, this got kind of long. I have a question, or well, more like several. I’m just very confused right now.

So, I’ve known about plurality for a while and also there’s other people in my head but like most of them are me or sort of me, so I didn’t think I/we would count and just kind of collectively decided to not look into it. Like, even tho it feels just kind of right to call ourselves “we” and stuff, it just never felt like something we should try and figure out with others. We were just winging it and deciding for ourselves on our own identity terms.

But recently a friend of ours came out as plural and that got us thinking about it. But we don’t want to say to them “oh hey I think we’re plural too!” because we- well, mostly I fear it’d come across as rude or that we’re trying to copy them. Also we still aren’t like really sure if we count as plural?

Also, about the whole possible plurality situation, it’s like I (the one writing this) am pretty much always more or less aware of what’s going on, even when it sometimes feels like one of the others is more in control and I’m just watching. idk if that’s normal that I never go into my mind.

Also, yeah, almost all of the other people in here feel like they’re also me. Which, I recently learned about median, but idk if that really applies. My situation is more like Al’s or everyone’s personality and appearance and stuff we’re derived from me and also sometimes I can kind of see into their brain, like their thoughts and stuff? Like we share the same consciousness.

And I’ve heard advice that’s men’s to be encouraging that goes along the lines of “you are pretending or making it up because that would require a conscious choice to pretend.” But like- sometimes genuinely don’t know if I’m pretending. It feels like VR, simultaneously real and make-believe. Because I can see the thoughts of the the others in my head and most (but not all) are derived from me, I kind of feel like maybe I am just faking it or confused or in the wrong community.

One last note I will put about how I kept mentioning that some aren’t derived from me. There’s only 2 (out of the 9ish others) that aren’t connected to me and I can’t really see into their thoughts and feelings. So like, if we were plural, there’d be a chance that maybe it’s just us three? But I still don’t know and they don’t know either and the other 7 who are me but aren’t also don’t know.

Thank you for your time. Sincerely, Grey + possibly others

Hey Grey, we aren’t quite sure how to respond to this… so we’re just going to take it one point at a time. All hyperlinks in this post head to Pluralpedia, a community-driven plurality wiki.

- If you feel like there’s other people in your head, you can call yourself plural. It doesn’t matter at all if they’re all copies of the same person or if every headmate is incredibly similar. Plurality just means being more than one. So if you feel like you’re more than one, or you share your body and mind with others, that’s really all it takes to be plural.

- You should get to come out as plural on your own terms in a way that helps you feel comfortable. If your friend thinks you’re “copying them” by coming out as a system not long after they did… honestly, we feel like that is their problem. You know yourself, and you know you’re not copying anyone by living your most authentic life/lives, and that’s what matters most. If you need some more advice on coming out specifically, you can check out our post on the matter:

- Having a frontstuck host who always remains at the front is actually pretty common in systems. We see this all the time in plural folks of all sorts. There is even a term, specutien, that describes systems with a permanently frontstuck member.

- It’s possible to be monoconscious, multiple headmates sharing the same consciousness, without being median, so it may be worth it to look into that.

- We feel like many, many systems feel like they’re pretending sometimes when they’re actually not. However, even if you really are pretending (sometimes or all the time), as long as the plurality framework benefits you, and if you feel comfortable and happy calling yourself plural, then you’re plural to us and you belong in our spaces. End of story.

For some resources for questioning systems, maybe check out this post:

In the end, we can’t tell you whether or not you’re plural - you’re going to have to discover that for yourself. But hopefully something here can help or at leas put your mind at ease, if only a little bit. Good luck with figuring this out, we know that sorting out feelings and trying to make sense of whether or not you’re plural can be really difficult at the beginning.

#long post #questioning system #specutien #frontstuck #monoconscious

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perplexingluciddreams · 1 year

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hello! i was just wondering what sort of reactions you've had to using AAC with strangers/new people. I know in one comment you said that many ask what your aac device is for, but was wondering if anything else has been said/repeated a lot.

because for me, i'm not usually asked what it is. people just presume i am deaf because I use aac, or ask me where my "mommy" is because they don't think i should be in public without someone to translate for them.

Do you find it common for people to grab your device? (I do- even when it's on it's strap. around my body.)

Anyway have a nice day/night/weekend/week!

I’ve not really had too much experience with reactions to AAC. Even before I had a proper device (back when I was still semi-verbal with unreliable speech (apraxia), I used to hand write notes or type on my phone and show people. Although, that was only once I could even get my thoughts out with typing/writing, though. For a long time I was just “the mute kid” or “the weirdo who never talks”, etc. (those are the “nice” examples of things that were said).

I got my AAC device when I was 16, and for years before that I had already been house-bound (only leaving for medical appointments). I am now also mostly bed-bound - this progressed over the years as my health declined. So I only get to see reactions from medical professionals, and in those situations my dad or whoever is with me will explain that I’m nonverbal and use a communication device at the start of the conversation. And even then I do very little communicating with my device - only when it’s absolutely necessary for me to say something that the person I’m with doesn’t know. It’s very difficult for me to communicate or interact in general, so I prefer for someone more capable to say things for me. Before appointments I have conversations over time with my parents who then repeat my answers to doctors.

I think what I said about “explaining what it’s for”, was just an example I gave as a possible thing I may have to deal with IF I was interacting with strangers directly on a regular basis (which I’m not). Although my dad will explain to doctors that it’s not just an iPad and I use it to communicate. (Currently I don’t use it much at all, even at home, because the device I have is not working for me anymore and I am in the process of getting a new one).

When I was younger I just used to avoid contact as much as possible… and sometimes my uncontrollable verbal scripting and echolalia would “save” me from true interaction. (I really was in very few social situations, and when I was, I was mostly very silent with the rare single spontaneous word, unless my scripting was “kicking in”). I did try other methods when I really needed to, though, such as writing letters/notes to people and having them read it while I’m there, and texting (this is the main way I communicate with my mum at the moment, as being around people is often too much for me to tolerate). I suppose those count as “forms” of AAC, however whilst being a bit odd in certain situations, they are normal and accepted methods of communication.

I have never had someone grab my device, although once again I barely ever leave the house, I only go to the hospital, and there’s always at least one person with me who holds onto my device most of the time. At home I use it like a regular iPad and it just stays in my room.

I’ve been presumed to be Deaf before, although not because of AAC. I’m just generally unaware of my surroundings and don’t always respond to people trying to get my attention, especially if they’re an unfamiliar person and I’m not expecting it. I also wear noise cancelling headphones all the time, so people have asked me or my parents if I can hear them before, because of that (the answer varies depending on if I’ve got music playing, what “mode” they’re in, etc.).

I actually do need someone with me to help me communicate with people, so I can’t answer that last part, sorry! I imagine it is very frustrating for people to assume you need someone with you, though. Asking where your mommy is also sounds very infantilising.

Sorry if this is not a great answer… I’ve not got much else to offer on this subject really. Have a nice day to you too!

#anon ask

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humansun · 1 year

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YET ANOTHER RANT ABOUT GRAMS

Written Thursday, May 25th at 9:38AM

Good morning! I woke up 10 minutes late for gym, so I wasn’t able to go this morning, but I’ll be certain to do my best to stay active in general.

My fitness journey has actually been awesome as difficult as it is at times. I’m really proud of how far I’ve come in terms of improving my diet and doing my best to meet my body where it’s at for exercise.

As for today, I plan on doing some creative work, because having something small is better than having nothing at all.

My self-esteem level today is at normal I would say. I wouldn’t say I feel incredibly happy but I feel content. Today when I went to brush my teeth, I realized that in that specific moment, I didn’t feel the need to compare myself to anyone because I’m taking my creative journey at my own pace. That’s pretty cool.

It was a moment of clarity where I felt that I was for once, okay where I was at. But it only lasted about a second, I would say.

Yesterday was another night sleeping on the couch. I can’t stand ants on my bed and on my desk and crawling on me. I’m just doing my best to deal with it as I’d like to save money living at home and that also requires me to mentally shut out my family’s negative comments at times. Mostly my grandma’s.

I feel as though I’m still processing my sentiments towards my grandma. I’m not sure if I like her very much. I don’t think I like her at all these days. That was a hard realization to come to, but I’m relieved I did because it gave me the freedom to have my own opinion and validity to my emotions. I still love her very much, but I don’t like who she is as a person.

I’m aware that the pain and hardship she’s gone through as a person has been traumatic and painful, but I believe I dislike her because of the pain and trauma that she sprinkles on our family members, but specifically pours onto those who live with her.

My goal is to learn and understand her better through our small interactions and recognize that her behavior is a potential result of neglect from her parents, friends, and siblings. There’s no way a human could be this mean and cynical and not have gone through horrific war experiences while living in a mentally challenging homehold.

It’s a weird feeling knowing she is going to die soon. I often think about Jeanette McCurdy's book about her being happy her mom died, and it’s not to that extent that I want my grandma to die. I just think the pain she inflicts on other people causes mental war and years of negative internalization. That to me is comparable to physical pain.

Just because I don’t like her, doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I think I feel guilty if I don’t love her too. But I do. I believe all I want is her approval, appreciation, and expressive love for me. It would be weird if she expressed any of those feelings, but I think that is what I want at the end of the day. A loving, normal, kind grandma. But I don’t have that. I have a bitter old lady grandma who is mean.

It’s still a process I’m working through. A part of me just wants to treat her kindly and kiss her toes - that way, I don’t experience the impending regret when she departs from the world or I don’t get paranoid about her haunting me. I wish I could give her shrooms, but that might also just kill her. Plus, it’s very illegal to do so.

Yeah. I think generally I’m afraid of her haunting me and I’m obviously going to have her on the bàn thờ so it’s like - I need to treat her with decent kindness right now but really I don’t want to. Most of the time I just tell her, “Grandma, I’m in a meeting with my boss” and close the door on her. Or I’ll give her one-worded answers. Or I’ll just avoid her. Like if I know she’s coming into the kitchen I will find a hidden spot in the house to hang out because I know she’ll try to talk to me, and if I respond, she’ll find a problem with what I said—every time.

I wonder when she goes to heaven she’ll be aware of how much a shitty person she was. I think I really like nice old grandmas because they’re nothing like my grandma. (All of these statements do not invalidate my gratitude for all she’s done. That is very much present in all of my sentiments above. At least to me.)

Anyways, there’s that. In regards to my today, I need to be as productive as possible because I feel like I’m falling behind in some kind of way. But for now, I’m going to eat breakfast like a normal person and actually eat enough so my stomach is satisfied because these days I’m like, always hungry.

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hazel2468 · 4 years

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So, something I see (and say) a lot is that fat/plus size folks should be able to go to the doctor to get medical treatment and not have everything be made about their weight. And I hear a lot of pushback to that- “Shouldn’t doctors bring that up? A doctor is SUPPOSED to care about your health!”

So I figured I would give y’all an example of what I mean when I say “I want to be able to get medical treatment and have it not be made about my weight.”

I’ve been to the doctor for breast pain twice in my life. Once when I was in my first year of college, and once during my last year of grad school. The two experiences were vastly different.

First time around, I go in because I’m having pain in my left breast. I don’t feel anything, but something hurts. I sit down in the doctor’s office, in she comes. I tell her what’s going on. And right away she hits me with “Well, maybe losing some weight would help.” Didn’t examine my breast. Didn’t ask me much else. Just spent the next ten minutes telling me that it probably had something to do with me being fat and then sent me on my way. I learned basically nothing, just that I “probably” didn’t have fucking breast cancer.

Second time. I’m in grad school, and this time I actually feel a lump, so of course I panic. I go to the doctor. She has me take off my shirt and all that, and then asks me some questions. When did it start? Is the pain worse or better than when I called about it? Can I still feel the lump? Has this happened before? I answer, she gives my boob a few good pokes and all that. Checks the other for good measure. And then gives me answers.

She tells me I have fiberous breasts, which is normal. Tells me it was probably a cyst, since that happens sometimes and, given my symptoms and the exam, it seems to be gone now. I tell her I get those in other places a lot and she nods and says “Yeah, probably a cyst.” She tells me to keep an eye out and call her if I feel any more lumps- even if it is just another cyst, she wants to make sure. She says I could go for a mammogram but because I’m only 24 and the symptoms are subsiding it isn’t needed, in her opinion, but she would be happy to set one up for me to put my mind at ease. Then she shakes my hand and leaves. We spent about 30 minutes together.

This is what I mean when I say “I want medical treatment without it being made about my weight.” The first doctor assumed, right away, that the problem was because I am fat. And because she assumed that, she didn’t check me, didn’t ask me questions she should have. There are horror stories out there about people who had treatable illnesses that later killed them because they weren’t caught in time.

“Shouldn’t doctors care about your health?” well, only one of these doctors actually seemed to. The one who did her job, who checked me out, who gave me answers and not only made sure I didn’t have something serious going on, but who put my mind at ease about my health. Who gave me signs to look out for and things to DO if this ever happens again. The other... The other lectured me about my body size and then shooed me out of her office without saying the words “lump” or “exam”. That, to me at least, doesn’t sound like caring about my health. The words “health” and “body size” are not synonomous and, in this case, my size didn’t have anything to do with it. There was no reason to bring it up because it wasn’t part of my medical concern.

I want to be able to walk into a doctor’s office and say “I have a problem” and have the doctor go “Okay, let me take a look at your problem”. I’m lucky and privileged that I have managed to find doctors who do that- who address my issues and history and ME as a whole person. But I’ve also had a lot of experiences with doctors who respond to “I have a problem” with “Well try losing weight”, no matter what the problem is. And that’s not okay. That KILLS people. And that’s why quality medical care for fat/plus size people is such an issue.

#fatphobia #medical fatphobia #personal anecdote #I have talked in the past about my good doctors #and my bad ones #and since the pandemic started #I’ve seen a lot more of the whole fat vs health discourse #and i encountered this topic yesterday and figured #I ought to give an example of what it means #we’re really not asking for a lot #we’re asking for our medical issues to be treated the same as a thin or straight size person’s issues are #to have symptoms actually looked at #instead of doctors slapping loose weight onto everything without so much as a second glance

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krakenartificer · 4 years

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So my therapist and I were talking today about ADHD brains, and what "executive function" means, and we discovered a really interesting thing about how my brain works. I don't know how much it will extend to other people, but I'm throwing it out there in case it's useful for anyone else.

Usually it takes me about 1.5 - 2 hours each morning, to go from "booting up my computer" to "actually starting on my first task". This is true whether I work from home or work in the office, whether it's a coding day or a meeting day, whether I jump out of bed when the alarm goes off or if I'm very seriously giving consideration to sleeping under my desk while my computer boots. I don't want it to take that long, but extensive experimentation has shown that it definitely does.

Today I decided to try an experiment. Instead of my normal morning routine (where I check email, IMs, to-do list, and self-care list, and compile that into an enormous to-do list for the day, then sort that list in order of "if everything goes sideways and I get to only one thing, what thing will be the most painful if it happens tomorrow instead of today", and then set up multiple desktops on my macbook so that each task -- including "brush teeth" has its own desktop, and then put the desktops in the assigned priority-order), I decided I'd just jump right into my first task, and see if I could get myself a hyper-focused hour of work before someone came into the office to bug me.

It. Was. Terrible.

I mean, I got the task done, in record time. Then I checked Tumblr. Then I checked Facebook. Then I composed a summary of David Graeber's argument that the European Age of Exploitation cannot be understood without knowing why the Chinese decided to abandon paper money. Then I replied to all my Facebook messages. Then I helped Jessica at work set up her code. There followed a relatively productive afternoon where I helped my boss sort out a personnel problem, set priorities for our department, contributed to one meeting, ran yet another meeting, got consensus on a project, and helped Jessica again -- but I didn't eat my midmorning snack until 1pm, I never did brush my teeth, and my knees are killing me because all through the second meeting my body was sending "This posture hurts! Change position! Get! Up!" signals, and I couldn't summon the focus to actually move from the floor to the couch. By the time my therapist called, my phone was on 3% and I couldn't find my bluetooth headphones. I'm still 400 calories under my target for the day, because I missed 900 calories during my workday and I couldn't figure out how to add more than 500 calories to my dinner.

So my therapist and I talked about this strange mix of symptoms: knocking out task after task of helping people at work, but unable to feed myself; incredibly highly effective code debugging, but also getting lost in Tumblr for an hour. I wasn't under-stimulated, but I also didn't get to pick what I focused on. And he talked about how executive function isn't just one thing, which I knew, but mentioned specifically that one element of executive function is taking your own initiative, deciding your actions for yourself, rather than just reacting to stimuli. And it hit me ---

I can't do that.

I thrive in hyper-focused development environments, where I react to each compiler error by debugging the error ... but I break down when the compiler runs without error; I don't know what to do if I don't have the error-stimulus deciding my actions.

I thrive in high-multi-tasking environments like running a retail store at Christmas, where I do a task, and then look around and see which notification is the highest priority, and then do that task. But I struggle in January and February, when all the customers are gone and I don't know what to do.

And today, I was entirely stimulus-driven. Jessica asked for help, and I helped her. Kathy commented on Facebook, and I replied to her. Ryan asked about a report, and I explained it to him. Mark brought up something that reminded me of David Graeber, and I typed up a history essay. Anything that didn't have a notification -- brushing my teeth, eating my snack, charging my phone -- didn't get done.

And that's when it hit me. My usual morning routing isn't a waste of 2 hours. It's setting up my environment so that I will be stimulated to do the things I want to do.

I have barely any initiative-decide-for-myself at all. I get one (1) intitiativon each morning, and I have to spend it wisely. And what I do with it, each day, is set up the stimuli I will experience throughout the day.

I finish a task and close that desktop: the next desktop pops up with a note that says "Meditate."

I finish meditating and close the desktop: the next desktop pops up with an email I need to reply to.

I finish that email and close that desktop: the next one pops up with a note that says "Order groceries."

I don't have any initiative left by that point, but I don't need to: I get the stimulus to do my work, maintain my health, connect with friends, and clean my house, and I'm too executive-dysfunction-deprived to do anything but respond to stimulus, and so I do all those things. This explains why I need to leave such specific directions to myself: not “write chapter 5″, but “Open C:/Documents/Writing/NovelTitle/Chapter5.doc”. The first one isn’t a stimulus to action; the second one is.

It's also why I have such a hard time with "leisure", and why my "randomized leisure activity" deck helped me so much; because by the time I get to the end of the day, and I'm out of spoons and I have earned a fun and relaxing evening.... I cannot -- by definition -- decide what would be fun and relaxing.

Like I say, I have no idea whether that will be any good for anyone else, but it prompted some interesting introspection, and I wanted to share. Now if you’ll excuse me, I still need to go brush my teeth

#ADHD #executive dysfunction cw #coping strategies #gpoy #how to life #long post #unsolicited advice #neurodivergence #tips #how to adult

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gurugirl · 2 years

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The Tiffany Club Part 21

Summary: Back in NYC, Camille and Harry feel settled and back to normal. But then Camille gets a call from her parents and she begins to spiral.

Warning: Angst - Triggering topics (mentions of disordered eating as a means to self-soothe, toxic parents, and past trauma)

Part 20*

Part 21 ~Camille~

London in the winter is quite similar to New York City in the winter. It’s cold, windy, dreary, and coats and bundling up are very necessary.

Harry took me to all kinds of spots. He gave me to full tourist experience, and it was pretty magical.

After everything blew up with us when I ran off, I feel different about my relationship with Harry. He came after me. He does want me. I have to keep telling myself that I haven’t made a mistake with choosing to be with him. It’s hard to break the cycle of self-doubt and questioning myself for everything I do. Every bite of food I eat is met with me talking myself off the cliff. Before Harry came along I did things my way and never had to let anyone in. I didn’t need to care for anyone else or worry about someone else. But now I do. Now I have to allow myself to be vulnerable and in turn I must accept another person’s vulnerabilities.

The “punishment” I received from Harry was therapeutic in a way. I know it sounds nuts but it was like Harry knew exactly what I needed to feel how serious he is about me. I gave in to him. Completely. It was the first time in my life that I allowed myself to go into a bit of subspace. I don’t think I was totally gone because I was still aware, but somehow I was just happy to accept his love and let him show me without question. It was like my body said yes to him, surrendered fully, and my mind followed.

That night changed everything. Everything. Mostly in myself. It was like he hypnotized me and made me see how by trying to protect myself, I was actually hurting myself. More than his spankings hurt. And that fucking hurt.

I couldn’t sit properly for days on end. Harry was the best, though. Kissing my bum, putting ointment on me. He had me lay over his lap every night when we’d returned from trekking around London and he’d take a cool, damp, cloth and dab it over my sore bum, then put ointment over it. He’d make me lie like that for about thirty minutes every evening to let the ointment soak in and, as he said, so he could get a view of my pretty bum.

When we returned to New York City Barry was beside himself that we were back. His tale was whacking everything near him, causing his rear to swing him off balance. I nearly cried I was so happy to see him. My best boy ever. I am fully grateful to Richard and his care for Barry.

A few days after settling back home from our small vacation away in London, my parents called. I haven’t spoken to either of them in months. The last I spoke to my dad was in early September very briefly. And then I texted my dad a few weeks ago telling him I’d like to speak with him. He never responded, which I wasn’t surprised about. But I did feel it was important to talk to him and tell him to stop sending me payments every month. It felt wrong to continue letting him put money into my account when I had Harry now, and Harry was more than taking care of me financially.

It was a shock to see the incoming call. Harry was away at the office and I was doing some light research and chores in between when the call came in. A video call of course.

When I opened the call, there were my mom and dad. I hadn’t spoken to my mom since July probably. She and I weren’t on good terms ever since I moved away to New York City. A sinful place to live for a sinful girl.

It started with small talk. How are you? and what’s new?… and then my mom asked me about coming to visit.

“I just miss my daughter. I need to make sure you’re living your life righteously. I’d like to see your apartment and what you’ve been doing. So, we have booked tickets to see you next week.”

The whole experience of speaking to my mom has left me in shock. I’ve missed her so much and to hear her say she wants to see me and that they’re coming… I haven’t had contact with my mom in nearly six months and the holidays are coming so it would be nice to see them. But I have to break the news to them about where I’m living, and that I’m being taken care of by a rich man who loves me and treats me well.

So, as I listen to them tell me the plans they’ve made to come visit, I’m thinking of how to tell them what to expect. I can’t just let them come here under the assumption that I’m still living by myself. They won’t like that I’m living with a man I’m not married to, but I must be honest and tell them the truth.

“I’m so excited you both want to see me! But I do need to tell you something. It’s a recent occurrence but now that you’re interested in coming you should know, I don’t live by myself anymore.” I take a deep breath and sooth myself with reassuring words and kind thoughts about who I am and what I’m doing before continuing, “I met someone and I live with him. He’s a wonderful man, you guys will like him a lot. He’s from London. His name is Harry.”

I’m met with silence and lost looks from them both. I sit and wait for them to respond. My dad goes first, “Yeah? He’s taking the money I send you every month then?” My mom snaps her head toward my dad and gives him a look of confusion. My mother didn’t know about the money my dad was sending me, but it’s all too late now.

“No! Of course not, dad. He’s very wealthy, doesn’t need it. But that’s why I texted you a few weeks ago. I wanted you to know because I’ve saved all the money you’ve sent and I don’t need you to keep helping me. It didn’t feel right.” I can feel my mouth growing dry and my throat closing up. I’m trying to stay calm and confident, but my decisions are all on the table and being scrutinized by my parents.

My mother says something to my dad about the money and she looks hurt, maybe a little mad. My dad speaks softly to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. I can’t hear their quiet conversation, only every couple of words sounds clear and I can see their expressions.

My mom looks back toward the phone screen, “I knew it. I knew I would be disappointed. Your father talked me into this and I was so worried that he would be wrong and I’d still be left mourning you and your soul. I don’t know if I can take this…” my mother gets up and leaves the spot where they’re seated. It makes my heart drop. Her words are my biggest fear. She’s disappointed in me. She feels like she has to mourn me, like a death.

I can’t stop the tears from forming in my eyes at the notion I’ve hurt her again.

My dad speaks, “Camille, listen. We’ll still come see you. It’s a surprise to hear you’ve moved in with a man before you’re married but you’re still our daughter. We still continue to pray for you and seek God to guide you out of sin. We love you, but we don’t love the choices you make and I don’t know that we’ll be happy to meet this Harry. Perhaps we can arrange time with just you. I’m not sure your mother and I are ready to meet him.”

My tears roll down my face and drip off my chin as he speaks. All I want is for my parents to accept me and be happy for me. And to not want to meet Harry? I can barely get words out to respond to my dad. My lungs are one fire, my heart is sunk in my chest, my throat is closed up. My sobs are audible and my dad just sits and watches as I cry.

“Dad… I don’t… I’m so happy in my life. I just want…” I hiccup between words as I try to speak, “you and mom to be proud…” I let more tears roll down my face and I wipe them away. Barry jumps onto the couch next to me and lays his head in my lap. He knows I’m upset and his sweet presence helps me feel more calm and grounded.

“You’re not happy, though, Camille. Do you know how I know? You’re feeling so guilty right now that you’re in tears. God isn’t happy with you and so you aren’t happy with you. The guilt and shame you feel is all over your face. Come back to God and his ways and your life will begin to make sense and you’ll feel fulfilled again.”

It’s my nightmare happening in real time. I’ve dreamt of the words they’d say to me, the way they’d judge me and make me feel like I’ve done something wrong. It feels rotten and claustrophobic. I feel like taking myself into the bathroom and throwing up all my breakfast and then going to sleep until I don’t feel anything anymore. I’m sick to my stomach and I’m devastated by their reaction. I just want them to love me and be happy for me. I just want to be accepted by them.

I brush my hand along Barry’s head and close my eyes. I think of the words Harry has told me and how I get to make my own choices in life. I recognize that I am actually happy and that my parents’ words are traumatizing to me. They reopen these wounds with me every time we speak and it creates this expression of fear that manifests physically and emotionally and sets me back.

I realize to myself as I watch Barry’s belly rise and fall with each breath he takes that I’m where I’m happy right now. I’m okay without my parents and if they come visit, they’ll be invited to meet Harry and if they don’t want to meet him, they won’t see me. Because this is my life.

“I love you dad. Tell mom I love her. If you both…” I try to calm my voice, the leftover emotions and tears are still obvious in the way I’m talking, “would like to come see me, you’ll meet Harry. If you… refuse to see him, you won’t see me.” I let out a breath and squeeze my eyes closed for a second.

I can hear the exhale my dad makes, a disappointed sigh, “We’ll see, Camille. I’ll talk to you when you’ve thought this through. Your emotions are high right now because God is working on your heart. I’ll give you some time to soak in his presence and figure things out. I urge you to pray and keep your mind open to him.”

We end the call and it’s a relief to be off the phone. I call Harry immediately because he told me when I’m feeling this way to let him know. He doesn’t want me purging or doubting myself and I need him to tell me I’m okay.

“Hey baby.” His voice immediately calms me and I sigh.

“Hi, Harry. Uhm…” I start crying again because I’m so overwhelmed.

“Camille… honey… what’s wrong?” Harry sounds worried.

“My mom and dad called. It was awful, Harry. I’m so sick and tired of everything. I don’t know what to do.” I keep my hands on Barry and pet him.

“I’m coming home, baby. Can you wait right where you are for ten minutes? Don’t do anything. Get Barry and give him some love and I’ll be right home.”

Barry doesn’t move off my lap as I continue to let the tears fall. I feel ridiculous. I’m an adult woman and my parents’ words still have so much weight and significance to me. It feels like I’ll never free myself of this awful burden of needing to feel their acceptance. I wish I could just move on and block them, not let their view of things get to me like it does. I can’t seem to help it, though. But there is something that has me feeling like I can climb out of this mess and breathe in the end. That’s Harry. I hate relying on anyone because I always feel like I’ll be let down but if I don’t trust Harry then I can’t trust anyone and then I’m on my own, left to my own destructive devices.

When my tears are mostly dried and I feel my breathing settle I hear the front door open and Barry jumps off my lap and I get up to follow behind Barry to greet Harry. He puts his briefcase down and pulls me into his arms and squeezes me tight. No words, just his warm embrace. It good having him hold me. I feel okay. I can breathe.

He brings me to the couch and pulls me onto his lap, keeping his arms around me.

“Tell me what happened, Camille.” He keeps his eyes on me as I explain what was said and how it made me feel. I tell Harry that my parents are planning to visit but they don’t want to meet him.

“Well, you’re not going anywhere near them without me around. That’s for certain. Everything you’ve told me about your mom and dad is a red flag and you’re my girl. I’m not letting anyone hurt you. In fact, don’t answer calls from them if I’m not around. Okay? Until you can trust them to be nice, you shouldn’t have to deal with their awful attitude alone.” Harry’s face is set in a serious expression.

I nod, “Yeah, I told them if they wanted to see me they’d have to meet you. My dad acted like I’d change my mind, but there’s no way I’ll see them without you around.” I lay my head on Harry’s chest and close my eyes. The pattern of his chest rising and falling comforts me. This is a man I can trust.

“Let them come visit. I’d love to meet them and put them in their place if they start anything with you. I won’t stand for letting them get away with hurting you. I’ll take care of you, baby.”

“I’m so nervous, though. I really don’t want to see them and have you argue with them. There’s no changing their minds about their opinion of me.”

“And if they insist on being judgmental and speaking badly of you I’ll be kicking them out. You’re my girl. No one is going to say shit about you and not have some kind of repercussions for it. And they can’t stay here. They’ll need to find a hotel or something. Anyone who isn’t kind to you doesn’t get to stay in our home.” Harry rubs his hands up and down my back as he speaks. He’s so incredibly calming to me that I feel nearly fine now.

Harry cuddles me and we lie down on the couch together and fall asleep with Barry draped over our feet. There’s truly not enough space for the three of us but it works because an hour later when I wake up we’re all still piled on the couch together.

Harry makes me my favorite comfort food while I take a warm bath. He insists on pampering me for the rest of the day. I tell him it’s not necessary but he refuses to listen.

The following day Harry stays home with me and he encourages me to call my dad and tell them to come. Harry really wants to meet them and I have a feeling it’s because he wants to have a word with them in person. He’s very protective over me and most of my issues stem from my upbringing and the way my parents still treat me to this day.

Plans are set with my parents. My mom objects but my dad assures me they’ll be coming to visit. He’s also under the impression that they’ll be able to change our minds about letting them stay with us, even though I told them they’ll need to find a hotel. Harry has told me not to worry. He’ll take care of it and he’s not a pushover. Which is true. Harry’s confident and well spoken. He promised me he won’t be mean to them but he won’t let them say whatever they want or do whatever they want.

Every day leading up to their arrival, Harry asks how I’m feeling about everything. The only way I know to explain to him is that I’m comforted by his presence, and I feel like I can handle it when he’s with me. I’m nervous, but I’m confident.

On the morning they are due to arrive my dad calls me to let me know they’ll be getting a taxi to our house. My nerves suddenly take over. I’m cleaning and putting things away I don’t want them to see, making sure I’m wearing something appropriate, take Barry on a walk for my nerves, make lemonade and snacks for them, and try to keep myself sane.

Harry comes home when I’ve texted him that they’re on their way. He holds me for a bit and reassures me over and over again and I believe him when he tells me everything is going to be okay.

When we get a call from the front desk that our “guests” have arrived Harry holds my hand and looks into my eyes, “I’m right here. You are going to be okay. If at any point you can’t handle it you can go into our bedroom and I will kindly tell them to leave.

The knock at our door startles both of us and Harry brings me with him as he opens the door, keeping his hand around mine. My mother is stood in front of my father and she looks worn and tired and even a little scared. I smile at her and then my father. They both have luggage with them, I note.

Harry lets go of my hand as I go in to hug my mother. She embraces me with a gentle hug and then walks inside with her suitcase and when I move to hug my dad, he puts a hand at my shoulder and gives me a stiff smile. He nods and then walks past, rolling his suitcase behind him. I’m not too surprised by his coldness. He doesn’t typically show love with gestures like hugs so I let it go as I take Harry’s hand again.

Harry greets both of my parents and tells them to leave their suitcases in the hallway and I can’t help but feel how awkward they both are. To be invited into someone’s home and to act as if they are being put out is so blatantly rude I feel like pushing them both out of the front door and telling them to start over again, but this time doing it nicely.

I get them both some lemonade and we settle into the living room. Our silence is awkward but Harry doesn’t seem phased by their bad attitudes.

“How was the flight?” Harry asks.

My dad looks to me and then Harry before speaking, “It was alright. We prayed before we boarded and feel we’re both being watched over and taken care of.”

It takes a few minutes for everyone to settle but finally when my dad speaks again I have to roll my eyes at his words, “What are your intentions with our daughter? Am I to understand she lives here with you?”

Harry smiles and squeezes my hand, “I love, Camille. My intentions are to make her happy and give her everything she needs. She’s precious to me. And, yes, she lives here. Is that a problem?”

I wish Harry wouldn’t have asked that.

My mom sniffs but otherwise stays silent where my dad sits up straight and keeps his eyes on Harry, “It is a problem. Yes. You two aren’t married and I’m afraid that means this union isn’t a happy one in God’s eyes. It’s living in sin. Without God’s blessing, which you most certainly do not have given the circumstances, you two are likely to not last as a couple.”

I swallow and feel my heartrate pick up. I look to Harry and he seems calm.

“It’s interesting how you put more faith in a fairytale creature than in your own daughter. But I’m not here to argue religion or whatever with you. I will just say I simply disagree with your assessment of the situation.”

My dad furrows his brow and frowns, “A fairytale? Are you saying you do not believe in God?”

Harry nods, “Bingo. But I do believe in your daughter. She’s sitting right here, flesh and blood. A real human with real feelings and thoughts in her head. You prefer a fantasy over listening and accepting your daughter. I feel bad for you.”

I am beginning to feel hot and my nerves are starting to take over. This isn’t how I imagined it but my picture of what this would look like was probably just a pipedream.

“And I feel bad for you. If you don’t believe in God you’re damned to hell, son. I think you should reconsider your stance.”

Harry lets out a laugh that sounds condescending and he looks down at you, “This girl here is amazing, beautiful and smart with the sweetest, kindest heart and there isn’t any God in this world that could make me feel otherwise.” Harry looks back to my parents, “You keep talking about what God thinks but you don’t care about what your own daughter thinks? Shame.”

My dad shifts and clears his throat, “Do no tell me how to feel about my daughter. I know her better than you do. I’m her father.”

Harry stays calm and I’m surprised by his coolness, “You are her father, and that’s shame.”

Before either of them can continue I speak up, “Let’s change the subject for now. Um… mom, dad? Would you like a snack? Uh, or maybe we can go out to eat?”

My mom looks at me like I’m crazy and my dad responds, “So you’d rather eat then get to the bottom of what’s really going on here?”

I nod, “Of course. There’s nothing to dissect here, really dad. I’m not changing anything about my life just because of your visit. But maybe we can relax and talk about something else. Going out to eat might be nice.”

My dad squints and looks down over my body and then back up to my eyes, “You do appear to have gained a little weight. Are you pregnant, Camille?”

I suddenly feel faint and my vision blurs to red as blood rushes to my head. My dad knows I’ve struggled with food. Even before Tiffany’s I had issue but that was because my dad and mom always wanted everything from me to be perfect. Perfect grades, perfect attitude, the best at whatever I did, and even the perfect body which came with restricting and limiting my food intake.

Harry lets go of my hand and stands up, “Please leave my home. We’ll try this again tomorrow when you’re both settled and feeling friendlier. Camille doesn’t deserve her life and her appearance to be scrutinized by either of you.”

I stay still and take deep breaths to calm myself. I know what my dad is saying is to get under my skin. I hang on to Harry’s voice and his presence to keep myself grounded.

“We had told Camille we’d be staying here with you. Sorry if you didn’t understand that but we’re not planning on getting a hotel. The cost is outrageous.”

Harry laughs again and walks around the coffee table and Barry follows him. Barry is usually quite docile and doesn’t worry himself with guests but I have a feeling Barry is feeling the vibe and he’s concerned now as he stands at Harry’s side. Harry pats Barry’s head and raises his brows at my dad, “Get. Out. Of. My. Home. Right. Now.”

My dad stands up and grasps my mother’s arm to pull her. She keeps her eyes on me as if I need to step in and say something on their behalf but I’m still reeling from my dad’s comment about my weight gain.

My dad looks at me, “Camille, I’m disapp…”

His words are cut off by Harry stepping in closer and raising his voice, “Do not finish that sentence! Leave now. Both of you!”

My mom and dad make their way out of Harry’s home silently and Harry slams the front door closed once they’re gone.

He immediately comes back to me as I’m still sitting on the couch and puts his arms around me and rocks me gently.

“Are you okay, honey?” He kisses the top of my head.

I nod into his chest and feel lighter now that my parents have left, “I feel better now that they’re gone. Thank you, Harry.”

Harry dotes on me and takes care of me during the rest of the day. It’s nice to be loved and taken care of. Even when my dad texts me later on that evening, Harry is the one to text him back, telling him that we’ll reach out to them in the morning.

He kind of feels like my hero lately. Harry has made me feel confident and happy and during the time we’ve been together he’s shown me what it feels like to be loved and to allow myself to love in return.

Thank you for reading! I’d appreciate any support you can give! Whether a comment, reblog, or buying me a coffee- it’s all appreciated.

Check out my masterlist if you enjoyed this 💞

Tags: @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @reveriehs @a-strange-familiar @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @wherethehellhaveyoubeenharry @rebellbelle @daisybigpeepee

#harry styles #ceo!harry #ceorry #sugar daddy harry styles #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic

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clouds-rambles · 3 years

Note

Hi there! Can i request xiao, childe,zhongli where reader gets injured bad one time that they go into like a comatose or something? And at the end they wake up, thank you!! 🤗

Hi bestie! And ask and ye shall sufficiently be fed. I kept rambling on these so I hope you don’t mind <3

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); hurt/comfort, cursing, slight wound description

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You didn’t actually plan to take on the Oceanid but you were in the area and you knew a friend needed a cleansing heart or two so why not?

The why not is the fact that the dumb water birds were ripping the shit out of you

Sufficiently happy that the Oceanid has given you a lesson enough, they disappear, leaving you pretty much in a heaped, shivering, bloody pile.

The yaksha hears his name being spoken with such a level of hurt, Xiao is moving before you’re able to mutter his name a second time

Despite his quick speeds and quicker panic, he hears your voice slowly lose breath. And as much as he doesn’t want to he has started preparing himself for the worst.

Maybe it’s his fault for loving a fleeting mortal?

When he reaches you, you’re unconscious. But breathing. Laboured, likely due to some broken ribs, but breathing none the less. A less panicked and worried Xiao would chastise him for holding onto something that could disappear.

Xiao isn’t going to let you die, not on his hands.

He takes your limp body back to the Wangshu Inn and within the hour there’s 3 doctors all bandaging your body and making sure your stable

Comatose isn’t a word that Xiao has much experience with. But to him it manifests into the worst weeks of his life

Where he isn’t sat beside you, he’s pacing in your room. And when he isn’t doing that he’s throwing himself so deep in slaying demons and once the supply of demons ran dry he started clearing out random hilichurl camps

He knows that things are starting to get better when you start muttering random things in your sleep, and reacting to whatever books Xiao reads to you

Nobody at the Inn says anything outwardly about how unusually soft Xiao is, but everyone’s notices. If you were awake Xiao could imagine you teasing him about it and giving him a kiss

Four weeks almost to the day you wake up. Xiao is sat in his normal place beside you, book in his hand reading to you

“I like that book, its my favourite” you tell the yaksha who hasn’t noticed your waking. Your voice struggles to make words, like when you talk first thing in the morning.

Xiao jumps a little at your voice, he was so engrossed in the book and barely noticed your gaze.

Grinning is an understatement, Xiao smiles so wide and out of character that you almost jest about Xiao being a doppelganger

But the moment he hugs you, careful of your bindings, the jest fizzles away

“I almost lost you” he tells you his face sufficiently buried in your neck to try and hide the growing tears that he’s been pushing back through the weeks

“You can’t get rid of me that easily cutie” you reassure the yaksha as you embrace him as tight as your bandaged body can

Childe

The two of you love to expend your energy with random friendly fights be it wrestling around the house or finding the highest plains and having a great all out battle. You both find its a great way to release stress too

“I was thinking about eating out for dinner” you tell Childe as you parry his arrow

“That sounds like an idea. Loser pays” Childe responds with a grin

The fight is great, and dare you say it you’re winning

Until, by no joke, the biggest gust of wind pushes you off of the cliff and sends you flying

It would be funny if you couldn’t feel your bones breaking as you fall

Childe dives off the cliff the as soon as he can attempting to catch you

He does. But he’s a little too late to catch you conscious. You feel like a limp bag of potatoes. Your heartbeat being the only thing that’s currently grounding him and keeping him from committing various crimes

He doesn’t have the time to overthink until you’re safe and laying in your shared room

The three days that you’re unconscious Childe spends almost every waking moment sat on a chair beside your bed, laying on the bed beside you and actively avoiding as much work as he physically can. Even to the point a fatui agent comes to the house and lectures him about how he mustn’t keep avoiding his obligations.

He leaves for half a day on the third day and sits beside you the moment he gets back. He’s lazily telling you about his boring half day of work after he finishes he drops his head onto the bead

“I guess I’ll have to buy dinner though” you tell Childe your hand petting his hair

You’ve never seen Childe sit up so fast and bury his head into your chest where you continue to pet his hair

“Though you might have to go and get it, my bones hurt” you jest

“You fell off a fucking cliff [name] I’m sure your bones do more than hurt” he smiles kissing your nose

You smile at the man and embrace him again “I’m sure you caught me though”

“Without hesitation” he grins, Childes worry's and the days before overthinking flutter away for the time being

Zhongli

Being the adventurer spirit that you are going to the reaches of Liyue and you’ve made it your personal goal of exploring every crevice of the country

On your way back to the Harbour after a month and a half being away. Though on the final stretch of your journey a mitachurl decided that you were a personal punching bag and threw you across the road

Though in much pain from the fall you some how managed to make it back home and into the arms of your spouse

“I’ve got a present fo-” you pass out mid sentence, obviously your adrenaline from the mitachurl had finally ran out

Zhongli takes your sudden excess of deadweight and quickly lays you down onto your shared bed and checks you for any wounds

He quickly finds a large bruise from the mitachurl earlier. Zhongli changes you into some comfortable clothing while you’re already half undressed under his concerned gaze

Despite his quick thinking and generally unfazed expression the archon feels a unsettling pit at the bottom of his stomach

Baizhu is inside the house within the half hour and within the hour he has a diagnosis. A coma with no end date.

Being acquainted with comas but thanks to his previous lifetimes Zhongli has never been so close to someone with such an ailment

Another month and a half Zhongli finds himself away from his spouse. Although trying to keep his schedule as consistent as possible his morning walks are changed to sitting at the bedside and dinner time was often spent sat to the table that was in the bedroom, but now moved closer to your bedside

Although very used to being alone for extended periods of time thanks for your love of exploration, he has never felt so far away from you despite you being so close to him

When you awoke it was actually close to midnight. Your brain takes a few moments to catch up with the world. You take into account that you’re in bed, and notably, your spouse was not

You feel the distinct pain of the hit you had taken, although you note that it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did when you came home

You sit on the edge of your bed and stand, a little wobbly at first, and you move about your home looking for your absent spouse

That’s until you find him asleep in the spare bedroom. Why is he there? You don’t remember having an explosive argument or kicking out of bed.

You enter the room and touch your spouses arm and you call his name. He wakes with a start almost surprised

“You’re awake” he informs you which causes you to chuckle at him

“You’re going to have to catch me up my love” you stroke his hair after he sits up in bed and urges you to sit atop his lap

“In the morning my dear, just for a moment let me be in your presence”

“Anything for you my love” you smile at him before pausing “Though I would love something to eat”

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #xiao #childe x reader #genshin impact childe #childe #zhongli x reader #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli #headcanons #hurt/comfort

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smol-and-soft · 2 years

Text

She had been caught off guard by the first signs of the effects taking hold. We had been talking, chatting idly to keep the both of us from being overwhelmed by the sudden lead weight in the pits of our stomachs that told us, primaly, that this was really about to happen. The reality set in when she went quiet, deep hazel eyes wide and glimmering at me. That look was a pleading one, begging me for some idea of what she should do in response to suddenly dropping a few inches below eye-level with me, and I had no real answer other than to stare in just the same way down at her. Hesitantly, I reached out a hand to try and steady her, but she winced and jumped when another shiver hit and another handful of inches got knocked off of her. Her long auburn hair seemed to ruffle from the surprise. She grabbed at the counter next to us for support and yet another stab at her height slammed her ability to process what was happening.

Realizing that she was panicking, unsure what to do despite all of the planning we had gone through for this moment, I decided I had to take charge of the situation, gripping her shoulders firmly to face her towards me. She looked like a deer in headlights with the way she stared up at me, all of her adorable freckles hiding within the deep red that was spreading across her face. My heart utterly melted; some part of my instincts screamed, wanting to pull her dwindling form close and smother her with the feelings I could barely contain. I contained them, though. She needed the stability. I squeezed her arm, which seemed to only encourage the downward spiraling of her body, and her wild eyes darted to gaze at my hand.

"I've got you. Careful on the way down. I want to make sure you don't hurt yourself." My words came out quieter than I had anticipated, but she physically untensed under my fingers the moment I started talking. Apparently, it had helped. Another few inches vanished from her as I started to sit down with her, reaching less than half her normal height by this point. The waves of loss were picking up speed, it seemed, and I was careful to handle her in a way that wouldn't spook her. The experience must have been overwhelming, because her normally infallible wit and indominable spirit had vanished, making her respond to the stimulus more like a frightened rat than the punky 20-something she was.

Something I noticed was that she almost seemed to follow my movement on instinct, sitting at the same time that I sat, making her look so much smaller than she actually was. It made my thoughts race, watching her dwindle further like that. She let out a little yelp, and I instinctively reached my hands out to cup her back, keeping her from tumbling over. "Um. I hadn't, ah. Expected. This." Everything she said came out clipped, like she was expecting another burst of reduction to cut her off. To be fair, that wasn't far off from the truth. As soon as she was finished with her sentence, a potent one had hit, forcing her to start craning her neck to look up at me. It was all she could do not to crumble against me.

"Mm." I didn't bother speaking. She jumped again, this time startled by how loud I must've been. Her recoiling landed her square in my palm, and only then had I realized how much height she had lost in the span of a few seconds. One moment she had still been big enough to fit in my lap comfortably, and now she was scrambling to find purchase on the folds of my hand. Careful not to spook her, my other hand came down, aiding me in lifting her off the ground and settling her square in the center of the palm she had ended up in.

Once she got comfortable, I took the opportunity to bring her closer to my face. The shrinking was slowing down, now, and she was reaching the height we had deduced beforehand that she would like the most. It was my turn to be overwhelmed. It felt so unreal, like an optical illusion. It felt like I should be able to peel back the camera and I would be holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa in a vacation photo. My fingers instinctively curled and I heard her squeak in response, scared for a moment before the realization set in for her too. Oh my god, I thought, she was as tall as my index finger. As if to put theory into practice, I curled that finger further, and her arm, now miniscule, wrapped around it. She was getting her bearings enough that she could start to act on her own, and I watched her test her balance by bringing herself to stand, using my digit as leverage.

My thoughts were scattered instantly the moment she finished standing and looked up at me. The panic in her eyes was replaced with wonder, in awe at my big dorky face taking up the majority of her vision. I must have looked dumbfounded, staring at her like a nugget of gold I had panned from a river. All of her confidence was returning to her in spades, now bolstered by the comfort of her size, using my hand as a vantage point to see the world from this fantastical perspective.

Finally, my will broke. I couldn't handle it anymore. I leaned forward and barreled my lips into her, and she giggled, *laughed* when I made contact with a barely-restrained kiss, tumbling against the wall of my other digits. She muttered something about calling a dog off, and the final nail in my coffin was when she turned the interaction on me. A tiny sensation, the feeling of her returning the kiss with what little mass she could, made me back off and let out a cry of delight, which I tempered the volume of to avoid annihilating her eardrums. This was going to be an evening I would never forget, I thought to myself. I'm sure she wouldn't forget it either.

#g/t #micro/macro #little drabble i cooked up from being a little too gay last night

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miekasa · 4 years

Text

bad romance

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: friends with benefits au, friends to lovers au (well i guess that’s open for interpretation lmao), modern au—college au?, explicit smut, mentioned/implied virginity

+ summary: friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school is probably a bad idea. friends with benefits with your best friend since middle school who you’ve also been in love with for the past seven years—all for the purpose of her gaining ‘experience’ so she’s not nervous to do it with some other guy she has a crush on—is probably a really bad idea. levi ackerman is not known to make great decisions.

+ word count: 3.5k

+ notes: truth be told, i don’t even know if i like this; i took this from an outline/draft of a series i’d planned but know i’ll never complete. it’s kind of unedited too heh, also if you’re a minor pls do not interact

Levi doesn’t think anything of it when he finds you on his doorstep on a rainy Saturday evening. It’s very much like you to show up unannounced and attempt to drag him into whatever activity you want to do that day. He’s fairly certain that Hange picked that up from you. Someone should tell her that it doesn’t work so well unless it’s you tugging on his arm sleeve and interrupting his otherwise peaceful evening.

So, for a while, everything is normal. You make fun of him for his use of, admittedly overpriced, organic butter when he toasts you a bagel; he makes jabs at you shuffling around his apartment like a semi-wet chihuahua, and all is right with the world.

Until it’s not. Because half-way into whatever stand-up comedy Netflix special you’d persuaded him into watching with you, Levi’s had enough of your nervous ticking. He doesn’t know if you think that he wouldn’t notice, but he does. And he knows it’s not the result of you still being wet or cold from the rain, seeing as you’ve long since dried off and warmed up.

You’re focused on the show (ironically, focused to a point of distraction), you’ve been twiddling your fingers since it started, and you’ve been fidgety since you stepped foot into his house. Quite frankly, he finds it insulting that you think he wouldn’t know something’s up by now.

So, he bends his knee, turns his body towards yours, lifts his elbow to rest atop the edge of the soft, and presses his cheek into his palm: “Alright, spit it out.”

“Huh?—What do you mean?” You look at him with wide, startled eyes. He looks back at you with unamused, expecting ones.

You crack a nervous smile, attempting to laugh off his command as incredulous, but instead, your voice comes out in what sounds like a pathetic attempt to cover up a lie—probably because it is, “What? Can’t I spend sometime with my favorite, surly psychology student?”

Levi scoffs at your batting eyelashes. The look he throws you seems to do the trick as you drop your facade with a sigh and shift yourself to face him on the couch too, your bent knees almost touching.

“Alright, fine, you got me,” you sigh, hands resting in your lap, “You, um... you know how you said you’d help me with, like, uh... sex and stuff?”

Levi raises an eyebrow. Of course he does. He watches as your eyes dart around the room waiting for his response. It’s cute as heck, and if the topic of conversation at hand weren’t about to get so compromising, he’d have probably teased you about it.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well… okay, so, you remember Jean, right? The guy I told you about?”

Levi hums. Yeah, he remembers Jean, but only because you can’t seem to shutup about him, not because he’s particularly memorable otherwise. He seems to be kind of a prick and a huge idiot, if you asked Levi; but, that’s kind of his default impression of most people.

“Jean and I hung out yesterday, and it was normal, you know? We just talked and ordered food and watched a movie,” you rub your palms along the fabric of your yoga pants—another nervous tick he’s been observing, “I don’t know if it was a date or not, because he didn’t say it was, and I don’t want to assume, but Marco keeps saying it was, and that Jean wants to actually ask me out.”

Levi blinks. “And?”

“And if he does ask me out—or even if he just… I don’t know, wants to try something the next time we hang out, I don’t want to look like a complete idiot!”

He refrains from letting a noticeable grimace take over his features; and washes away the unsettling feeling in his stomach with a nonchalant comment, “I doubt he’ll try anything on your first date.”

“But what if it’s not a date! People hang out just to hook up all the time.”

“I thought you wanted to date him?” Levi questions, but his it comes out as more of a deadpan statement.

“I do,” you answer, your response a little delayed and drawn out, “But, I wouldn’t mind just sleeping with him, either.”

“Bold statement from someone who’s never slept with anyone before.”

“Have I told you today that you’re an asshole?” you roll your eyes at him, “Come on, Levi, you know what it’s like to just want someone, but not want them, don’t you? You’ve had one night stands before.”

That’s true, Levi knows it, but it’s different. He wasn’t actively seeking advice from his friends about how to pursue and potentially please his one night stands because none of that mattered—well, the pleasing part, probably, but not the pursuit, or the feelings that came with it. Besides, Levi hasn’t felt the desire for any of that in a long time.

“That’s not the same,” he responds, trying to dismiss the muddy feelings crawling up his throat, “Look, if your Jean guy gets horny when you’re hanging out, just make out with him—make him jizz his pants or something.”

“That’s terrible advice,” you frown, “Plus, he’s probably done that with a million other girls.”

“Probably. Sex tends to repeat a few basic actions here and there.”

“For a psychology student, you sure are a terrible makeshift therapist, do you know that?”

“That’s not even the kind of psychology I study, never mind that I never asked to be your therapist.”

Levi takes great amusement in your huffing and the frustrated pout settling into your features, though he does his best to not let his own smile shine through. It’s probably futile; you can probably see through his facade, anyways.

“I just don’t want to bore him, Levi.”

Any trace of his smile vanishes as those words leave your mouth. Levi doesn’t retain much about this Jean guy you keep going on about, and he doesn’t care to in all honesty—but maybe if he did, he could understand why you’re so hellbent on pleasing the kid.

Levi doesn’t like it, not one single bit. His own feelings for you aside, he doesn’t like how Jean has managed to worm his way into your head and make you think that he’s deserving of any kind of affection from you, whether it be platonic, romantic, or sexual. Because he isn’t; Levi might not know him, but he knows that much.

Still, he sympathizes with you. He understands the pressure of navigating dating and hookup culture, especially in a university setting; never mind the additional expectations set on you as a girl. It’s shitty, all of it; the stupid feelings, the sense of uncertainty, the dumb-ass college pricks. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that.

“You won’t,” is Levi’s simpler response, “Just don’t crush his dick in the process.”

“I wouldn’t do that, fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve never been the most coordinated person in the world,” he taunts, “If that’s what you came here today to ask me to help you with, it’s fine.”

“Really?—I mean, okay, I know we said that’s okay, and stuff, but I didn’t know if—well I don’t know what’s on the table or not? I do want to do that with you, but I also wanted to know if we could do… more? But I didn’t want to ask for too much and make you uncomfortable! Do we need a lesson-plan of sorts, because I can make—”

“You’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Stalling,” Levi tells you, “You know, how when you get all nervous and ramble, then run out of breath or things to say, then get super quiet, and let the conversation die and be awkward again.”

You throw daggers his way with your eyes, and Levi has the audacity to smirk. “Forgive me, it’s not every day I ask my best friend if I can suck his dick for practice.”

“You can,” Levi replies, a little too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “If you want. I don’t mind. As for a lesson plan, that’s weird as shit, so don’t do that.”

“Really? I can?” you question again, an ironic child-like glimmer of joy in your eyes.

Levi chuckles lowly at your enthusiasm—your appreciation is so genuine, he finds it nothing short of adorable. And oddly enough, he’s a little turned on by it, too.

“Yeah,” he nods his head shallowly, “You can.”

You still have that gleam in your eyes, but Levi can feel the hesitation creeping up on you, and offers his guidance before he loses you to a shell of yourself. He shifts over to you just a bit, loosely holding your right wrist in his grip; holding eye-contact, he carefully pulls you up to stand in front of him.

“You can start,” he says, slowly tugging on your wrist, “By getting on your knees and taking off my pants.”

By the time he’s finished speaking, you’re already kneeling in front of him, and the sight is already enough to have Levi semi-hard in his pants; an almost embarrassed flush washing over his body as he comes to terms with the fact that he’s thought about this visual more times than he cares to ever admit.

You fumble with the zipper of his jeans, pulling them, along with his boxers to pool around his ankles. Your actions are careful and calculated, but you seem comfortable—maybe not with your skills, but with Levi.

His eyes stay glued on you, when you finally hold his length with a single hand, the other resting hot on his thigh. He leans over again, this time to rest a comforting hand on the back of your neck, eager to wash away any remains of your nervous resolve.

“Start slow,” he instructs, feeling your thumb swipe along the head, “Just move your hand up and down a bit, like—ah, yeah, like that.”

You seem follow his words carefully, focusing on the way his dick jerks in your hand. Levi observes you carefully and mentally notes that while he’d have liked it, not making out with you before this was probably the right call—he’d probably have creamed his jeans before this could have begun.

“You can grip it harder,” he tells you. You listen, applying slightly more pressure to your grasp; and it makes Levi groan, short, but strangled, above you.

“Okay?” you question, the genuine concern in your voice enough to make Levi’s gaze soften.

“Yeah, that’s—you’re doing good,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the nape of your neck habitually, “Twist your hand a little when you go up, you can—fuck, okay, yeah, that, like that.”

You snap your head up to look at him when he lets a moan slip through; nothing but pure enthusiasm and satisfaction dancing in your eyes. Levi grits his teeth when you do it again, your thumb sliding over the tip when you reach the top of his dick, and, Christ, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.

You work your way into a steady rhythm, letting Levi’s moans guide your movements. You feel him harden to full length under your touch; and when he does, you move your hand faster, twisting your wrist around the length and squeezing just a pinch harder at the tip, without instruction.

He watches through lidded eyes, using his thumb to press lightly into the back of your neck. You move your free hand from his thighs, eager to add it to the mix, but Levi freezes.

“Nuh uh,” he shakes his head.

It prompts you to stop your actions, tilt your head and look up at him, and Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so sinful. Your complete focus on him, neck craned obediently, eyes twinkling under your lashes; your position makes him want to kiss you or choke you or something in between.

“What—did I do something wrong?” you ask with wide and innocent eyes that make Levi feel bad for worrying you, yet send an erotic pulse throughout his body.

“Not at all,” he reassures you, fingers treading into the hair at your nape.

He’s setting himself up for failure, and he knows it, too—because, really, who agrees to teach a friend how to suck dick? Having you on your knees in front him, crane into his touch, and keen to all his desires, does nothing to mask the painful fire in the pit of his stomach.

It’s stupid to be this hungry, this possessive over you when he knows you come to him in hopes to learning how to please another man. But one, precious thought is enough to cloud over all of that, enough to put that sadistic smirk back on his face.

“You said you wanted to give me a blowjob, right?” he questions, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth at the shallow nod of your head, “Okay. Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

He barely pushes the tip past your lips when your head dips forward, tongue peeking out to lick the very top. Levi sucks in sharp air between his teeth, relaxing into the couch when your head bobs further, enclosing the tip of his dick in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice hoarse when his hardened cock rests against the velvet wet of your tongue, “That’s it—just keep going, like that.”

He watches intensely as your head bobs onto him. It’s hot and wet and so much more than he’d imagined it would be; and he’s not too shy to admit he’s imagined this with you. He moves his hand to brush away the flyaways of your hair, smoothing them back and tangling his fingers at the back of your head. He carefully guides your movements.

It’s slow and steady, and normally, it’d take him a while to cum like this, but with the visual of having you on your knees for him, Levi can feel a faint warmth of his orgasm already beginning to bubble inside of him.

“This is okay, right?” you pull back, a thin line of spit trailing from your mouth.

“Yes, yes,” he answers immediately, unaware of his tightening grasp on your hair.

With a shy smile, you continue, taking more of him this time and carefully gauging his reactions. You move your head further down, testing your own limits, until you feel like you’re choking. You pull back again, with an embarrassed cough.

“Don’t push yourself,” he says softly, rubbing soothing circles into your neck with his fingers, “Guys can’t actually tell the difference between a regular blowjob and being deep throated, no need to choke yourself.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, resting you bum against your heels.

“You seem so surprised.”

“That’s just so… disappointing,” you crinkle your nose, “Men and porn make deep-throating seem like the end all be all of giving head.”

Levi chuckles in genuine amusement, “Well, it’s not, trust me. If any guy insists on being deep-throated just to cum, he’s a fucking liar. He’s getting off on the submission, not the actual feeling.”

“The submission?”

“Getting someone to be willing to listen to them, telling them what to do, how to please them,” he shrugs, “Makes you feel like you’re in control.”

“And that… that works?”

“Yeah,” Levi says, “But, judging by the tone of your voice, and how willing you were to suck my dick three seconds ago, I’d say the idea of being dominant doesn’t really appeal to you.”

You scrunch your nose again, “Does it appeal to you?”

Levi pauses, thinking over his answer, before giving you a simple, “Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Oh,” you hum, “I… I don’t think I’d like that. I think I’d rather be told what to do, seeing as I don’t really know what I’m doing, anyways.”

“Ironic, considering you’ve never once listened anything I tell you do.”

“I was listening when you told me how to suck your dick,” you correct him, “You seemed to enjoy that.”

Levi pauses with a raised eyebrow. You don’t seem to back down, that matter-of-fact smirk on your face still mocking him. He leans over slowly, using his right hand to guide your head closer to him, and uses his left hand to grab your jaw between his fingers.

“You can be such a fucking brat, you know that,” he all but whispers, pursing your lips together in his hold, “Since you like listening to me so much, then shut up, and we can finish what you started.”

You blink, staring at him with a wide-eyed expression. He’s right that under any other circumstance you’d probably run your mouth off about him telling you what to do. But something about the way he knows what he wants and tells how he wants it makes you listen without an argument.

You nod, slowly wrapping your lips around the tip again, and bobbing along his length. Levi’s breath hitches when you hollow your cheeks slightly, a rough hand pressing down on the back of your neck.

“You’re really—god, okay, you’re good at this, you know,” Levi praises you, letting his right hand resume its position at the back of your neck.

If you had any doubts before about being submissive, the look on Levi’s face seemed to have wiped them away. Watching him throw his head back, his fingers gripping at your nape, his cock in your mouth—pleasing him seemed to be enough to please you, too.

“I wanna make you cum, Levi,” you voice your thoughts, letting a hand lazily jerk him off in the mean time, “Tell me what I have to do to make you cum.”

“If you keep going, I’ll cum,” he answers too quickly, a groan slipping through his words, “Trust me.”

“Come on, Levi,” you push, rolling your thumb over the slit of his dick. It makes him inhale sharply; you’re getting a little too good at that; at all of this. “Can—I mean, do you wanna cum in my mouth?”

“Shit, shit. Don’t say shit like that,” he curses, blunt nails raking and scraping at your scalp, “You don’t have to—I can just—”

“I want you to,” you tell him earnestly, “Please?”

Fuck, he was pretty fucking certain he’d told you to stop saying shit like that. Levi bites the inside of his cheek, paces himself; uses both of his hands to hold your head gently, while you use yours to wrap around his cock.

He grunts with a shake, and rolls his hips up, pushing himself further into your mouth, but not so much as to hurt you. It’s soon after that hot strophes of cum wet your tongue, and Levi lets you lazily jerk him off until you’ve milked his orgasm.

The room is silent save for his low moans and the squeaking of his thighs against the leather couch. When he’s finished, he slouches back, looking at you through hooded eyes, sweaty and panting, when you close your mouth and swallow.

You use your fingers to collect any remaining cum from his softening cock, and hum contented as you put your fingers in your mouth. Levi locks eyes with you again, cheeks flushed as you pull your digits out of your mouth, and he has to grip at his own thigh to gain the self-control to not get hard again.

You’re going to be the fucking death of him some day.

He shakes his head when you move backwards with a cute smile and pulls his boxers up, then his pants as best his can, not bothering to zip them up. When he’s done, you stand to your feet then straddle him on the couch, laughing lowly at his post-orgasm haze.

He doesn’t think twice about the way your hands clasp at the back of his neck, or the way his find their way to rest on your hips. You grab ahold of his jaw with both hands, holding his face in place. He thinks you’re going to lean in, but you don’t; just stay like that, your eyes roaming his glassy eyes.

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me all day?” he questions, lips pulled into a knowing grin.

“Can I?” your question makes him frown in confusion, “Dunno, I heard some guys don’t like that after getting head.”

“Bunch a fuckin pussies,” he grumbles, leaning forward to close the gap between your mouths. He can feel you smile into it, and mimics your grin when you begin to press short, repeated kisses against his lips.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

He laughs when you continue to press quick kisses on his lips. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

You kiss him on the cheek, wet and dramatic. “Love you, Levi.”

Your face is right in front of his, but he averts his gaze, a different kind go warmth spreading throughout his chest when you flash a smile at him. He lets you kiss him again, longer this time, but still slow and sweet. He likes the feeling of you resting against him, affection lingering on your tongue when you kiss him.

It’s dangerous, but he likes the way you spark a fire in him. Sweet or sinful, it makes him feel boneless, wanted, loved.

Levi leans forward, rubbing his hands up your sides, and captures your lips in another languid kiss before pulling away to peck the corner of your mouth. “Love you, too.”

And he means it of course, but if Levi thought he had it bad before, he’s in deep shit now.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fluff #eren x reader

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marlena-immortale · 3 years

Text

New Experiences: Part 1

Summary: Damiano wants to explore a new kink and is nervous to bring it up with you, but you ease his nerves.

CW: SMUT, masturbation, anal play, choking, d/s dynamic (dom reader), dirty talk, discussion of pegging

Word Count: 2.3k

Damiano David is a confident man. Anyone that’s met him can see it. He knows he’s hot and he doesn’t care what other people think of him, except for you. He holds your opinion very highly and definitely cares what you think about him. So when he discovers something new about himself that he wants to try out, he is very hesitant to bring it up to you. He knows that you’d never judge him and you’d probably even be into it, but his nervousness seems to still be weighing on him.

A few weeks ago, Damiano was scrolling through Instagram when he found a post of a man dressed in panties, arching his back and bent over, with a woman’s hand on his back pushing him down. He could feel his cheeks heat up and couldn’t help but screenshot the picture (for research purposes only of course). He didn’t know why it had such an effect on him but he decided to file that away to deal with at another time.

-------

Days later, you were out with your friends and Damiano had the whole house to himself. He lays down on your shared bed, cuddled up in the freshly-washed sheets. He opens his phone and finds the picture his mind just won’t let go of. Without realizing it, his other hand drifts down his own body, pretending it’s the girl’s in the picture, or better yet, your hand. He imagines your breath in his ear as you push him down into the mattress. His hand tucks inside his underwear and starts playing with his half-hard dick.

He lets out a frustrated moan as he imagines your hips pressing into his ass. He puts his phone down, his imagination more than enough now, and brings his other hand down the back of his underwear, reaching in as he shifts to lean more on his side. His finger makes its way down further and he presses it lightly to his hole. He gasps at the new sensation but it turns into a moan once he decides that he really likes the feeling. He lets himself experiment a bit and starts rubbing little circles against his rim. His mind clouds with thoughts of you telling him what a good boy he’s being, moaning so loud and making such pretty noises while he explores himself. He can feel this new sensation all over his body and instantly knows that this will be a staple in his self-pleasure routine from now on.

His other hand quickens its pace on his cock as he reaches his climax much quicker than expected. He can feel his hole contract on the very tip of his finger as he cums all over himself, his body shaking with pleasure. He sits there for a moment, processing what he just did and how good it felt, realizing that he definitely has to work up the courage to bring it up with you now.

-------

The next day, he wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee and carries himself to the kitchen to find you making espresso. You turn around to see your lovely boyfriend clad only in his snug underwear and open oversized flannel falling off his toned shoulders. A smile spreads across your face at the sight, pouring two cups of coffee. You can tell that he seems a little nervous for some reason by his hesitancy to walk closer to you like he normally would. He stays rooted by the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, to the doorframe, and back.

“Everything ok baby?” you ask while setting cups down on the table in front of him and pulling out the two chairs and sitting down. Damiano follows your lead and sits across from you, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Yeah, everything’s fine…. I just have something I wanna talk to you about,” he confesses, his eyes casting down at his cup held tightly in his hands.

You try not to get nervous yourself at his hesitancy to tell you. “Okay, what is it? You can tell me anything,” you respond, reaching to take one of his hands in your own, stroking his thumb. The gesture calms him down a bit and he takes a deep breath before replying.

“There’s something new I want to try…. like, in the bedroom,” he says, attempting to maintain eye contact the whole time. You instantly relax, a small smile now on your face, knowing it’s not anything serious and that you’d be happy to try anything he’s interested in.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe we could try…. pegging?” he says, surprised at his own hesitancy to admit his secret to you. You’re not sure why he was so nervous, it’s not like you haven’t casually brought it up before or joked around about it. In fact, you’re more than willing to try it out with him and already have some fun ideas swirling around in your head about how this could go.

“Is that all? I’d love to fuck you darling,” you offer with a smile, threading your fingers through his own now sweaty ones. His face fills with relief and he lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders. “How about we go to my favorite sex shop and pick something out together?” you offer.

“That sounds good. You’re really into this right? You’re not just doing this for me?”

“Oh trust me, I am most definitely into this,” you say as you stand up and stalk over to his side of the table, climbing onto his lap, running your hands over his chest. “I can’t wait to have you trembling beneath me, my cock deep inside of you,” you whisper into his ear. You hear a soft whimper come from his mouth.

Your words ease his worries, and also makes his heart beat a little faster and breath get a little heavier. You take his jaw into your hand and guide him to look up at you as you continue, “I’ll take it slow though baby, don’t worry. I’ll have you all stretched out and ready for me. You’ll be making such pretty noises for me, I promise it’ll feel so good”. You can see his eyes dilate and feel him getting a little excited when you shift your hips in his lap. Your hand travels lower to wrap lightly around his neck and his head tilts up, allowing you more access to feel his blood pumping under his skin. “How’s that sound baby boy? Do you like the sound of that?”

He nods dumbly and you let him try again. “Words sweetheart,” you urge.

“Yes, yes that sounds… really nice”.

“Yeah? Good. Why don’t you use that pretty voice to tell me exactly what you want” you whisper. It’s so easy for you to have him blushing and whimpering like putty in your hands. You just barely tighten your fingers around his throat and listen to his breath hitch and a pathetic noise leave his mouth, surprising even him.

“I want you…” he trails off.

“Aww, did my baby get all shy?” you coo at him.

“I um, I want you to… I want you to shove your fingers inside me and thrust so deep I can feel you everywhere. I bet you’d just love to see me all helpless and fucked out,” he says, his bratty energy coming out in full force. His eyes are dark and lidded as he looks at you with a smirk. You raise an eyebrow, a smirk appears on your own face, seeing how he wants to play this game now.

“You’re right baby, I would love that, to have you writhing and desperate, grinding your hips down onto me,” you say with a tight grip on his throat and the other hand slipping down to his inner thigh for emphasis. A broken whine escapes his pretty lips and you feel his erection growing against your ass.

“But I guess you’ll just have to wait for now,” you say with a cocky smile, and swiftly lift yourself off of him with a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him turned on and missing the feeling of you on his lap.

-------

The next day, you’re on your way to the sex shop, Damiano practically hanging off of you as you walk to the entrance, a lazy smile plastered across both of your faces. When you get to the shop, you immediately guide him to the section in the front where you know the strap-on harnesses are. His cheeks heat up, imagining you wearing it, and his head instantly goes to burrow into the space between your neck and shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp soothingly and when you see that it’s just an embarrassed smile on his face and not anything bad, you pick out a nice leather harness and lead him to the dildo section.

You can tell that he’s getting all shy and a little subby so you decide to play with him a bit. “Why don’t you pick out one you like, sweetheart?” you ask him, your fingers tilting his chin up and to the wall of dildos in front of you. He looks around, flustered and slightly overwhelmed by all the decisions. He’s still attached to your side, acting less bratty than usual, being too out of his element to attempt to annoy you. This sweeter side of him is just about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and you plan to see just how sweet you can make him.

“I want you to pick it out for me,” he whispers, still a little ashamed even though there’s no one nearby.

“Are you sure baby?” you ask, honored that he trusts you to make the best decision for him.

“Yes,” he says, nodding while pawing at your waist like a little puppy wanting all of your attention. You melt seeing him be so cute and submissive for you.

You look to the wall of dildos and find the perfect one; a pretty pastel pink one that’s as close as you can find to Damiano’s actual size, “so you can get a taste of your own medicine,” you say with a wink, placing it in your basket.

His blush deepens pinker than the dildo realizing that he’s intimidated by his own length. You guide him further into the store, the both of you still with stupid smiles across your face, so enamored and in love with each other. You find the lingerie section and pick out a pretty white lacy set for him, knowing he loves the feeling of lace against his skin and knowing just how sexy he’ll look in it.

You pick up a few more supplies you’ll need for the big night and check out at the counter before walking back to the car. As soon as you put the bag in the backseat and get situated in your seat, you look over at your beautiful boyfriend and sub to find him looking more embarrassed than he has been all day which was strange considering you’re alone now and not staring at a wall of dildos.

You look down to see the cause of Damiano’s embarrassment; the growing bulge in his pants. You smile, knowing how shy he gets about getting hard so easily.

“Aw, my poor sensitive puppy, always so easily turned on,” you say, leaning in close, your breath on his neck and your fingers brushing gently across his clothed erection, teasing him. As soon as he whimpers and starts to buck up into your hand, you sit back up and start the car.

“Nooo, please touch me,” he whines when you start pulling out of the parking lot.

You laugh and respond, “Well if you behave like a good boy, I’ll give you a nice reward when we get home”. He pouts but doesn’t say anything else. “Are you gonna be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, I promise,” Damiano desperately responds, needing some sort of release.

“Okay then, I want you to unzip your pants, pull your cock out, and make yourself cum,” you instruct him, keeping your eyes on the road ahead of you. His hands immediately fumble at his zipper, trying to get it down as quickly as possible. He pulls his pants and underwear down just far enough to pull himself out of them and immediately begins softly stroking. You can feel yourself getting turned on hearing his noises beside you as you navigate your car along the highway. He gasps as his thumb rubs across his tip, his head thrown back and hips moving of their own accord.

“C’mon baby, I know you can do better than that,” you encourage him condescendingly.

“Please, I need your hand,” Damiano begs you as he desperately strokes himself, staring at your hands clutching the steering wheel.

“Aw honey, I know you can do it yourself. You’re being such a good boy for me,” you say. Your words bring him closer to his climax as his hand speeds up on his cock. The car fills with the beautiful sounds of Damiano’s moans and gasps and quiet whimpers of your name that barely are able to make it past his lips. He only needs a few more strokes until he’s loudly moaning and spilling all over his own hand and shirt.

“This is gonna be fun,” you say, a big smile on your face as Damiano catches his breath, recovering from his orgasm.

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