#my brain is telling me those comments are like an hour old

[cbk1000]

Scrolling through my email and realizing I forgot to read and respond to several new ao3 comments.

[little-diable]

Meant to be – Prof!Spencer Reid (smut)

I just love writing prof!fics – almost as much as I love priest!fics. Almost. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is a young professor joining the university Spencer works at. Even though he's annoyed about having to share his office with her at first, he can't help but fall for her all too quickly.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, office smut, some possessiveness/jealousy, lots of fluff

Pairing: Prof!Spencer Reid x fem!prof!reader (3k words)

“Professor Reid?” The soft voice filled his office, forcing his eyes off the paper he was currently grading. His gaze wandered over the woman's features as he curiosity studied her for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“My office hours are over, please return on Wednesday for your questions.” His eyes left hers to refocus on his papers, while expecting her to turn around and leave, urged on by the rude tone he hadn’t been able to shake. Spencer hadn’t expected anybody else to turn up this late in the afternoon, he was desperate to squeeze as much work into the remaining time he had alone in his office, already overstimulated by the mere thought of having to share his office with somebody from today on. 

“My name is (y/n), I’ll be sharing this office with you.” Once again he was forced to look at her, unable to swallow his annoyance as it began to dawn on him that she wasn’t a student.

She was pretty, by far prettier than all the pictures he had searched on the internet the second he had heard about her, about (y/n) joining his personal safe space. Why hadn’t he recognised her? Was his mind already that fed up with the pretty stranger? 

“Of course, I’m sorry.” He didn’t move as she slowly stepped into the big room, letting her eyes wander before finding her way to her space. The old wooden desk had been placed near the big window, drenching her in the light of the slowly setting sun. Spencer would crash and burn if he were forced to see this daily, a sight so ethereal he feared this was just a trick of his tired brain. 

“I’m sorry that you have to share your office with me, I can only imagine how annoying that must be for you.” He wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that he doesn’t mind sharing it with her – polite words any other colleague would have effortlessly spoken. But all Spencer could do was hum and redirect his gaze to the papers, while missing the slight hurt expression (y/n) couldn’t hide. 

……

Her heart was pounding with a faster beat, singing a tale of nervousness in her chest she couldn’t silence just yet. This wasn’t an unusual situation for her, she had taught numerous classes before, but the first class she taught at a new university always had something special to it, something (y/n) couldn’t shake. 

The students were working on the papers she had handed out a minute ago, fully engrossed by the story. She let her eyes wander, taking them all in in hopes of remembering at least a handful of them. But her thoughts were silenced the second her eyes found his. Spencer Reid was leaning against the door and with his arms crossed in front of his chest he intently studied her from his spot.

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as it silently whispered to (y/n). It had been days since she had first crossed paths with him, the annoyed, closed-off man who was more handsome than she liked to admit. Ever since their first awkward run-in she hadn’t tried to make any conversations with him, she had opted to wear her headphones around him, hiding herself from the curious eyes she felt on her frame whenever she let her work swallow her. 

Neither of them dared to break their eye contact first, a silent challenge both were determined to win. (Y/n) allowed herself to take him all in, the locks perfectly framing his handsome face, the slight unfamiliar smile playing on his lips, and those twinkling eyes that seemed to follow her around whenever they crossed paths. 

“Alright, seems like our time is up, if you have any questions about your reading, please email me.” She was forced to break their staring contest first, smiling at her students who smiled back at her before leaving the room. (Y/n) couldn’t help but notice how a few of them wore overly bright smiles as they walked past Spencer, seemingly just as affected by the professor's handsome appearance, just like (y/n) was. 

Only as the last student had left the room did Spencer finally begin to move. Slowly, he walked down the stairs, moving closer to (y/n) with every passing moment. She was glued to her spot, patiently waiting for the man to break their silence, to let her hear the raspy voice that had rang in her ears for the past days. 

“That was a really interesting lecture, (y/n).” He came to a halt only a few steps away from her, keeping a slight distance between them as if he was unsure how to properly approach her. For a moment, (y/n) had to avert her gaze, she began to pack her bag with a slight smile stuck to her lips, hoping that he wouldn’t pick up on the nervousness flushing through her whenever he was close. 

“Thank you, Spencer, that means a lot coming from a beloved professor like you.” Her words drew a gritty laugh from him, while a slight rosy tint began to flush his cheeks. (Y/n) shouldered her bag before she began to walk up to him, wordlessly asking him to follow her up the stairs and back to their office. 

“Listen,” Spencer cleared his throat before he kept speaking, seemingly unsure how to put his thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I am sorry about those first days, I was annoyed and quite unfriendly to you. Would you allow me to make it up to you?”

“Oh, Spencer, that is very kind of you, but I get it, I would be just as annoyed if I had to give up my personal space to share it with a stranger.” Her soft voice left him smiling, unable to look away from (y/n) while stepping back into their own little bubble, the safe haven they found in their spacey office that was filled with books and collected items. 

“Would you want to get some food with me, as an apology? We could also order in, if you want.” He plopped down on his chair the same second (y/n) did, while holding eye contact from their spots. 

“Sure, that would be lovely, thank you, Spencer.”

……

Her phone had buzzed in her pocket a few minutes ago, and even though it had ripped (y/n) out of her thoughts, she was determined to get her search over with before giving into the pull. She had just finished her class and was now combing through their library, in search of new reading material, desperately trying to find her books. 

With a relieved sigh she reached for the book she had looked for these past minutes, pressing it to her side before finally giving into her heart’s silent call. (Y/n)’s hand wandered to her phone, unable to bite down her chuckles as she read Spencer’s all too simple message. 

“Thai or Italian?” 

Ever since that evening in their office, where they had ordered in and started to get to know one another properly, they had begun to form some kind of routine, ordering food at least once a week to spend their evenings together. Spending time with Spencer felt all too easy, too natural, something that made her feel more confused than she liked. 

She was about to type out her reply as she collided with somebody, forcing her eyes off her phone. Hands found her waist to stabilise her frame, keeping the young professor from losing her balance. (Y/n)’s wide eyes found a pair of brown ones, she studied the man for a second before parting her lips to apologise.

“I am so sorry, are you alright?” Her question drew a soft laugh from him. She had seen him from afar a few times, another professor she had yet to properly introduce herself to. He was a handsome man, taller than her and slightly older, and yet he had nothing on the professor she shared her office with.

“Don’t worry, are you alright though?” The man still had his hand placed on her waist, holding onto her while murmuring the question. Just as she wanted to reply, to tell him that nothing had happened, her name was called, forcing her attention towards Spencer, who was approaching the two. An unreadable expression tugged on his features as he studied her and the hand of their colleague which was still glued to her waist. 

“There you are, I was looking for you, sweetheart.” Heat flushed through her at the unfamiliar term of endearment. The second Spencer reached her side, he pulled her from the man’s grasp, straight into his arms. She could only gape up at him, torn between her confusion and the slight twinge of excitement she couldn’t shake as she took in his clear expression of jealousy.  

The man muttered something (y/n) couldn’t pick up, fully focused on Spencer and the way she fit all too perfectly into his grasp. No words were shared between them as they held eye contact, staring at one another as if it was the first time they got to take the other in. Spencer’s thumb stroked soft circles into the fabric of her shirt before he slowly – almost reluctantly – let go of her. 

“I, uhm, you didn’t reply, so I thought I’d go find before you get lost.” Spencer’s whispers drew a soft chuckle from (y/n). She couldn’t stop herself from reaching for his hand to lightly squeeze it as her smile kept growing.

“And what was that whole thing with calling me “sweetheart”?” The blush she was all too familiar with by now returned to his cheeks, while forcing his eyes from her. (Y/n) squeezed his hand again before she began to tug him down the hallway, set on finding their way back to their office.

“Don’t worry, Spence’, I quite liked it.” 

……

“You’re so quiet, what’s going on in that head of yours?” She mumbled the words as she studied Spencer. They were both sitting on the floor, leaning against the small couch placed near their bookshelves, while finishing their food. It had been almost an hour since their situation at the library, but while (y/n) had made some more jokes about the situation, Spencer had grown quiet, deep in thought. 

Spencer’s gaze flickered from his hands to her curious features. He studied her for a few seconds before he placed his plate down and fully turned towards (y/n). No words were shared between them, they were caught in a thick fog of unspoken thoughts, longings, and fears.

“Can I try something?” His husky voice was about to draw a gasp from (y/n). She could only nod her head, not daring to break out of the grasp this situation had on her. Spencer’s hand found her cheek, while his eyes were focusing on her lips. He let a few seconds pass before closing the distance between them. 

Within seconds he had pulled her into his lap, letting (y/n) straddle his thighs as their lips moved in sync. Their hearts were racing, pounding in their chests to beg one another to keep on going, to let their tongues meet while growing comfortable in the new sensation that held their souls hostage. The kiss felt all too perfect, something they had been waiting for ever since crossing paths, something they had longed for and thought of for weeks now. 

“I can’t stop thinking of the way he touched you.” Spencer murmured his words against her lips. A confused expression began to tug on her features as she patiently waited for him to keep on talking. 

“You’re mine to touch, and not his, you’ll never be.” Possessiveness dripped from his words – a possessiveness so strong, it made her feel as if they had been together for years, sharing memories neither could shake. (Y/n) couldn’t speak up, not when she felt Spencer’s hands disappear beneath the fabric of her blouse, softly stroking her sides. 

“Spencer,” she gasped his name, desperate for more, another touch – anything he’d offer to her. His lips began to find their way down her throat, sucking on spots that made her tingle with a biting heat threatening to leave its mark on her forever. (Y/n)’s hands tugged on his curls while trying to shuffle even closer, letting her core grind against his growing bulge. 

“We shouldn’t do this here.” (Y/n) could only whisper the words as his hands pulled her blouse over her head, exposing her bra to his wandering eyes. The groan that left Spencer at the sight made her forget every word she wanted to speak, every warning, nothing but hazy thoughts were left behind. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t, baby.” The raspy command forced her to arch her front into his touch. She felt as if he had set her ablaze, burning for him only, a summer solstice bonfire that left her shaking and trembling in a desperate need to turn every offering into something worthy. 

“People will hear.” His hands kept moving, urged on by the desperate whines leaving (y/n). The cold air teased her now naked chest, the hardening nipples Spencer’s fingers tugged on, drawing the most sinful sounds from her parted lips. 

“And? Let them hear how good I’ll be fucking you.” The words seemed to do something to (y/n) - they forced her hands to move from his hair down his front to slowly undo his trousers. Both knew that there was no way out of this, they were high on the feelings the other pushed through them, desperate for the highs they could already feel creeping closer without being properly touched.  

“How can you be so sure you’ll satisfy me enough?” She was riling him up, teasing him in a desperate attempt to forgo any foreplay to be filled by him, needing to feel Spencer buried deep inside of her. They held eye contact for a second as she finally managed to free his cock, twitching in her grasp as if he felt the same exciting heat burning deep inside of him. 

Spencer didn’t speak another word as he pushed her off his lap to murmur a raspy “Undress”. He stared at her as (y/n) pulled out of her jeans, with her soaked panties following a second later. Her skin was prickling, unsure how to act around the man who was now seeing her completely naked for the first time. 

They kept looking at one another while Spencer fisted his cock, giving himself a few pumps before a smirk tugged on his lips. With his hand finding the back of her head, he pulled her in for a teeth-clashing kiss – a kiss so desperate (y/n) feared he’d rob her of her last breath. 

“Turn around, chest down on the couch.” Slowly, (y/n) turned around to follow his command, only to feel him behind her a few moments later. She heard Spencer shuffle around and rip open a condom, before she felt his slender fingers at her aching heat. A loud moan managed to break through her at the feeling of his digits brushing through her slit, collecting drops of her arousal to spread it on her pulsing bundle. 

(Y/n) had to claw her fingernails into the fabric of the couch to ground herself, to let go of a few deep breaths – all while Spencer slowly pulled his fingers away to push his cock towards her entrance. With one hand placed on her waist, he held onto (y/n) while slowly pushing into her – a sensation so strong, it pulled raspy moans from the both of them. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby.” (Y/n) could only let go of a sob at his praises. She had her eyes squeezed shut, knuckles turning a few shades lighter from the strong grip she had on the couch. Spencer pulled out of her, only to fuck into her with more force, letting his hips meet her behind with every thrust. 

This was neither sweet nor was it slow, it was a desperate fuck, an attempt to get rid of the tension lingering between them, the longings neither of them had managed to shake ever since meeting for the first time. It was a perfect chase that now ended with both of them tumbling to their knees, losing all grip on reality, while being fucked into oblivion. 

“Spencer, fuck, you feel so good.” Tears dripped from her eyes while the words broke through her – words that filled Spencer with pride. His smirk began to widen as her moans grew louder, rumbling through their office like a song both played on repeat.

“Touch yourself, make yourself cum on my cock, baby.” Her fingers blindly followed his command, she circled her pulsing bundle to push herself closer and closer towards the edge, high on the sensation that began to thump through her veins. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) tried to keep another moan from leaving her, very well knowing that anybody could burst into their office any second now, a risk neither of them should take. And yet they couldn’t care, not when he was buried deep inside of her and about to fuck her through her high. 

(Y/n) began to tremble as her orgasm climbed up her limbs, momentarily robbing her of her sight as black spots appeared in her vision. Spencer kept fucking her from behind, more ferocious with every thrust to chase his own high, set on following her down the edge. Their moans got tangled, ringing in their ears as if fireworks went off in the distance to support them through this long awaited moment. 

Spencer came with a groan of her name, he clung to her as they both rode out their highs with racing hearts and quivering limbs. Heavy pants left them, filling the room with every breath spluttering from their lips. 

“That was,” the rest of her sentence was left hanging in the air. Spencer slowly pulled out of her, he tossed the condom away before finding his way back to her. A slow kiss was shared between them, with his hand cupping her cheek, and hers resting on his shoulders. 

“Perfect, like it was meant to be.”

[dilf-docs]

Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 33,577 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold. 

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

The habit of loneliness settles in between, and the flame they thought in deep slumber rekindles, burning with their long time unattended needs.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

[hayakawalove]

Remedy

Summary: You've had a really, really hard day today. The second you come home to Suguru, you fall apart. You tell him you need to turn your brain off. It's a good thing he knows how to help you do that.

A/N: So sorry, I wrote this with my pussy. I really think Suguru is so helpful and caring, if you asked him to make you feel better by treating you like shit, who is he to say no? I feel like I may have wrote him a bit differently in this. I think he's still the same as my Suguru, just more mean. However, I do want him to be mean to me. Thoughts? Comments appreciated!

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Thigh Riding, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Humiliation, Sir Kink, Spit Kink, Creampie, Choking, Hair-pulling, Dom/sub, Dacryphilia, Aftercare, Cock Drunk, He's Pretty Mean In This Just So You're Aware, Uses Other Names Than Slut And Stuff, He Might Call You A Bitch At One Point, Name-Calling, Subspace, Bullying, Fem Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 4,301

Credit to cafekitsune for the banner

Today was hard. 

There wasn’t any other way to put it. 

It was a terrible, no good, rotten day. 

To start off, your alarm woke you up late. Not just late, but extremely late. Suguru had to fix your bed head for you as you were walking out the door, if he didn’t you wouldn’t have noticed it. Just like you didn’t notice the little bit of toothpaste left on your lips. 

The project you had been working on for weeks at work had been a bust, you couldn’t help but cry at all those hours being lost down the drain. 

You missed the train you usually took home, making you late again. 

And to top it all off, you forgot your wallet at home. The only way you afforded the train was because some kind old woman paid for your ride. 

Yeah. It was a bad time. 

After hours of dealing with bullshit, you finally arrive home. You sniffle as you trudge up the walkway to your door, eyes welled up with tears due to your previous frustrations. 

Home. You were finally, finally home. 

You unlock the door and nudge it open, the warm light of your apartment bathing you in instant bliss. With a sigh, you gently shut the door behind you as you drop all your belongings on your way in. Your feet are unbearably heavy as you drag them further into the apartment. Suguru was home. You could tell by the lighting along with the faint scent of dinner. When you round the corner you see your living room, Suguru sat on the couch with a bored expression on his face. He’s watching some movie, you can't tell what it is, but it’s muted and he looks less than disinterested. 

Chestnut eyes flick over to you and a smile filled with warmth sparks on his face. 

“Welcome home baby, how was your day?” 

Your bottom lip trembles and you let out a noise similar to a whine before closing the gap, scooting next to him on the couch. 

“Oh honey, what’s wrong?” He questions, pivoting his body to provide you with just a little more warmth. 

“I had- today was such-“ you bite your lip and burrow your face into his side, begging your body not to fall apart. 

He raises an arm to smooth down your back, gentle in his approach, always gentle, quiet as he listens to you. You’re murmuring the details of your day and you know he can't understand you, but he pretends he does, and that’s all that matters. 

When you finish crying to him you look up, and you’re instantly met with his face. Concern washes over his features, but you can see his shoulders sag with relief at the mere sight of your eyes. 

“You made it through the day, I’m so proud of you.” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“Barely.” You mutter and look away, your fists still curled up in his shirt. 

Suguru’s lip quirks up a bit before he trains it down. He always did favor those who put on dramatics. He leans down and presses his lips against yours, and you turn to putty in his presence. 

“Can I get you something to eat? I made dinner.” 

“No, I’m not hungry.” 

Suguru hums and leans back, peering down at you. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“I just, I just wanna turn my brain off for a bit.” 

Suguru looks like he’s calculating something as he analyzes your face. You know what you meant by your words, and you think he does too. 

“Yeah? You wanna stop thinking for a bit?” 

You dig your teeth in your lip and look up at him, desire pooling in your gut. He knows exactly what you need. 

Suguru’s always been good at that.

He pulls back and looks down at your form on the couch. There’s love in his eyes as he gazes at you, and love in his fingertips as he reaches out to swipe your bottom lip. 

Suguru leans back in and kisses you, much rougher this time around, and reaches up to grab at your neck. He applies pressure, not too hard, but you can feel your mind begin to sway. 

His lips are on yours, stealing the breath from your lungs as he begins to squeeze tighter. The blood is reaching your brain at a much slower pace, and you aren’t sure you’ve ever felt this good before. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” He murmurs as he pulls away, his grip loosening ever so slightly. 

There’s lightning on your skin as you watch him with hazy eyes. Suguru is entrancing. Beauty and confidence leak from his pores as if he had an abundance of them, which he did.

Suguru removes his hand from your throat and instead reaches up to your face. He squeezes your cheeks together, pursing your lips. His hands, normally known for being loving and gentle, are rough as they handle you. 

He’s just getting started. 

“Open your mouth.” He speaks lowly. 

Your tongue slithers from your lips, and your hands hang from his forearms, a tight grip holding on like a lifeline. 

Suguru gathers spit from his tongue and he hovers over you, dropping it into your awaiting mouth. Your heart starts to race once it lands on your tastebuds. 

“You just need someone to take care of you, is that right?” Your eyes roll back in your head as he continues to goad you. “Need someone to do all the thinking for you?” 

You groan, your grip tightening against his forearms. Yes. Yes. You need that. 

“Hey.” His fingers squeeze your face harder. 

You whimper and your gaze flies back to him. He looks at you with an expectant eye. You know what he’s waiting for. 

“Yes sir.” Your words are muddled as you attempt to speak around your misshapen mouth. 

“There you go.” 

He finally lets go of your face and you’re already missing his touch. Suguru stands and picks you up with ease, holding you close to his chest as he walks the both of you to your bedroom. He was being so gentle, and you’re sure that was because he was going to be the furthest thing from that later. 

Once you arrive at your bedroom, Suguru sets you down on the floor and he spins around to sit on the end of the bed. You’re waiting for an order, your feet awkwardly sliding back and forth. 

“On the floor.” 

You fall to your knees before you can even think to abide by his demand. The floor is hard underneath you, but you welcome the sensation as you crawl up closer to Suguru. His face is stern as he looks down at you, waiting for you to situate yourself. 

He unbuckles his pants and slides them down, letting his cock pop free. Already hard. You watch as he squeezes the base of his length, wishing it was your hand instead. 

“Come closer.” He says. 

You inch closer, your mouth hovering right next to his cock. It’s a centimeter away. You reach your tongue out and swipe along his cock, moaning at the taste. It doesn’t last long as Suguru grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you back. 

“Did I say you could taste it?”

“No sir.” You mumble, knowing you fucked up. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I just thought-“ 

“No, you’re not doing any thinking, remember?”

Suguru looks hard at you and you feel like you’ve dropped twenty feet. You murmur a ‘yes sir’ and remain still until he’s removed his hand from your hair. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as your body relaxes. He was going to make all the decisions. You didn’t need to do anything. 

Suguru finally leans back and lets his legs fall open a bit more to make space for you. 

Where you belong. 

“Use your mouth. Not all the way, though.” 

Your lips twitch in a grin as excitement flows through your veins. You scoot forward and open your mouth wide, letting your tongue hang out as you slide it against his cock once more. 

His tender flesh is like velvet against your tongue as you slather it on him. You drag the tip of your tongue up to the head of his cock where you lap up the droplets of precum he’s gifted you with. Suguru watches silently, taking note of how eager you look. 

It’s almost painful not to open your mouth completely to envelope him in your lips, but you want to be a good girl so you don’t. 

His cock is shiny from your spit, his tip bright red in need. You wonder how he’s able to show such restraint. If you were in his position now, you would be begging for it. 

“Take more.” 

He barely gets the words out before you’re swallowing the head of his cock, lowering your lips until you reach the bottom. A gag releases from your throat but you pay it no mind, too intent on making him happy. Suguru shows no reaction, features devoid of any signs that he’s enjoying it. He wants you to work harder. 

You slowly drag your head up, letting your tongue work the side of his cock as you do so. His skin is smooth beneath you, the taste of his precum dripping onto your tongue. He’s leaning on his hands, hair spilling over his shoulders as he watches you deepthroat him. There’s a spark of pride in his eyes as he watches you take all of him. 

“Just like that,” he murmurs under his breath, sliding his hand through his long locks. 

Anyone would be able to see how badly you wanted him. You shuffle your legs below you as heat rushes to your cheeks. His praise always did that to you. 

He prefers you take it slow. Suguru is a patient man who enjoys taking his time. So that’s exactly what you do. Your head glides over him slowly, slow enough that you can indulge yourself in all of the details. 

You must be getting to him, because you can hear Suguru let out shaky breaths. The sound is something like a symphony to you, urging you to continue. 

It’s sort of hard to breathe, but you push on. There’s spit leaking from the sides of your lips, sliding down Suguru’s cock. 

“Enough, baby.” 

You ease your mouth off him, much to your dismay, and you look up at him with wide eyes. His lids are heavy as he looks down at you. There’s desire in his gaze. You know it, because you feel it too. 

Suguru holds a hand out to help you in standing up. Your knees are a bit wobbly from sitting on them for so long. You hold onto Suguru’s forearms to steady yourself and his eyes flick up to you, a small grin on his face. It’s a short moment, a break in character that shows you he cares. 

Suguru’s hands slide down your body and he begins to pull your pants off. He does so with practiced ease, the kind that could only happen with years of experience in providing for you.

You let him peel off your shirt as well, slowly removing every item of clothing from your person. You’re completely bare before him, but you feel no insecurity about how you appear. 

“Sit on my thigh.”

The request stops you in your tracks. He wants you to sit on him while you’re bare? He must see the panic in your eyes, because he slithers his hand around your waist to draw you in closer. 

You nibble on your lip as you slide on top of his thigh, settling each of your legs on either side of him. The muscles in his leg press against your dripping pussy, providing just a hint of comfort. 

“Are you sure? I'm gonna make a-“ 

“A mess? Don’t.” 

It’s a warning, his voice stern as he speaks. 

Suguru holds your waist firm, his nose grazing the side of your neck. You want to start moving, and he must know it. 

“You looked so pathetic down there baby, did you know that?” 

You whimper and fist his shirt, embarrassment washing over you. 

“Poor needy little thing. Allow me to help you.” 

He starts off slow, pushing your hips back and forth. It causes your core to grind against his thigh, the filth between your legs smearing down his leg. You let out a groan and toss your head back, letting him control your body. It feels good to let go. 

“That's it, my pretty little slut.” His voice is dark as it caresses your ears, beckoning for you to fall deeper into his trap. 

Your hips start to jerk against him, the need for more crawling up the back of your neck. Pleasure zaps your skin, making moans flow freely from your lips. Your clit is puffy as it presses down against him, causing you to fall helpless into your lust. 

Suguru attempts to slow you down, the harsh grip of his fingers reminding you of your place. You’re only allowed what he gives you. 

“Please, please.” You mutter. 

“Oh, you really are a slut huh? Begging for more already?” 

Your eyes dart away, his words aiding in the warm feeling growing throughout you. You’re on the verge of crying, a combination of his actions and words. He wants you to cry. You want to cry. 

“You’re soaking my thigh. You just can't help it, can you?” He coos. 

You shake your head and sniffle, looking down at him. He has a wicked grin below you, it makes your head spin. Suguru shifts you up slightly as he angles your clit directly against his thigh. You could scream at how good it feels. Suguru grinds you against his thigh once more, eyes tracking your face. Not once does he look down. 

“No, no I can’t sir.” 

“I know, sweetheart. You can’t help being so pathetic, right?” 

A single tear drops from your eye as he degrades you. The words cause your eyes to roll back as you rub your clit against him. 

“So embarrassing you’re using a leg to get off. Can’t even wait for anything else. Bet if I removed you right now you’d start crying.” 

He’s right. God, he’s right. As much as you want his mouth, his fingers, his cock, you can’t imagine stopping now. Not when it feels this good. 

You think he’s moaning along with you, but it’s hard to tell. Your head is full of mush as you use his body to get off. His skin is sticky below you, thigh covered in you. You’re groaning, gliding your pussy harder on him.

You’re getting close, so close. 

“S-Suguru I’m gonna, can I,” you whine. 

Suguru isn't helping at all anymore, instead letting his hands fall lazily against your hips as you work yourself on him. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna cum just from that?” He says incredulously. 

You bury your face in his neck as your hip jerks. You can feel how close you are, the promise of release touching your finger tips. 

“Yes, yes!” 

“Cum for me sweetheart.” 

You glide back several more times before it washes over you. You moan into Suguru’s neck, and you can hear him chuckle darkly as you finish. It’s embarrassing, but you love it. 

You breathe out deeply as your hips jerk against him. You feel worn out already, and you haven’t even done much. Suguru slides his hand down your back and pulls you away so he can watch your expression. You’re panting as you try to look back at him, but your eyes are out of focus. 

Suguru waits until you’ve come back to earth before he nudges you back. There’s a large spot on his thigh that’s glistening, your cum painting his bright skin. 

“You did make a mess, huh?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” 

He nudges you off until you’re sitting in front of him once more. You watch with curious eyes as he pushes his leg in front of your face, centimeters from you. 

“Why don’t you clean it off?”

It’s posed as a question, but you know damn well it’s not. You stick your tongue out and nervously drag it against his skin. The cum is salty on your tastebuds, and you have to hold back a moan as you lick it up. 

“Fucking filthy.” He spits the words like they’re acid on his tongue.

Your pussy begins to pulse again, your eyes closing as you listen to him. He watches you with hardened eyes as you flick your tongue against him. There’s a bit more cum than you were expecting. Damn, you really did make a mess. 

Once you’re done cleaning up his leg, although you really just made it more dirty, your saliva coating his hairy thigh, he yanks you up. Your breathing stutters as he pushes you on the bed, his tall figure crawling over you. Something akin to fear curls in your stomach. Suguru is the kindest man you know, but he’s a completely different person when he’s using you like an object. 

“Keep your legs open.” He whispers down to you. 

You whimper and wrap your hands around your thighs, pulling them apart to present yourself to him. Your pussy is sticky with cum, glistening beneath Suguru. He’s sturdy above you, leaning forward as he guides his cock into you. The stretch hurts a bit at first, but it’s a pain you are well accustomed to. 

“Pussy’s so fucking needy.” He speaks to himself, tone dark as he watches his body sink further into your core. 

You’re letting out quiet moans as you close your eyes. Suguru’s slow as he pushes himself further into you, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. When he’s buried himself fully in you, he pauses for a moment. Waits to listen for your ragged breathing as you rhythmically clench his cock. 

You’re seconds away from begging him to move. Your legs are burning from being kept into position, but you would never dream of defying his orders. You’re tempted to begin rocking your hips, but you tell yourself to have faith. 

Suguru pulls back slowly, watching as your cum paints his cock. He stops once his tip is the only thing left inside as he admires the sight. He waits and then slams his hips forward, driving his cock deep into you. You groan at the feeling, eyes flying open as he starts to pound into you. 

You’re moaning below him, legs bouncing as you try to keep yourself open for him. His cock presses against your gspot every time he thrusts inside you, almost taking your breath away. 

“See how much better it feels when you let me have control?” He panders to you. 

You can hear his words, but you can’t form a response. His cock feels punishing as he pushes into you hard. Your skin feels too hot for your body, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the physical strain or because of Suguru’s eyes. He’s looking at you, picking out all of the reactions you make based on how hard he’s fucking you. He’s memorized them all by now, but he still looks for them nonetheless. 

Suguru shifts his hand between your bodies, placing his fingers on your clit. It’s hard beneath his fingers, trembling under the pressure. Suguru starts to rub slow circles around it, indulging himself in the noises you let out. 

“My my, look at that. What a good whore.” 

You think he must be teasing you. You don’t need to see yourself to know you look like a mess. Your eyes roll back and you yank your legs up to give him more access. 

“Say it for me. Tell me you’re my good little whore.” 

“I’m-I’m you’re good little whore!” 

“That's right. Shit, you’d probably do anything I’d tell you to.” He groans.

“Y-yes, yes sir!” 

He’s talking down to you, the coldness in his voice making your heart race. The world is spinning around you, and at the center of it is Suguru. 

Suguru’s moving faster now, partially because he’s losing himself to the feeling. He gets off on making you happy, feels his heart burst when he can make you feel better. It’s a bonus that treating you this way does that for you. He likes to watch you crumble beneath him. 

His fingers glide against your clit, pressing down as he twirls around it. It feels like a wet spot is forming under you, the result of the pleasure Suguru was giving you drooling down your slit. 

You’re inching closer once more, every fiber of your being burning up as Suguru fucks you. 

“Feels so good sir, so good, you’re gonna make me cum!” 

Suguru slows his hips down at that, an eyebrow raised as he watches you whine. Your hips are circling around, trying to feel any form of pressure. 

“Oh honey,” he coos. 

He likes torturing you, you think. There’s an evil grin on his face as he watches you writhe about beneath him. Poor thing. You’re a prisoner to pleasure, mind numb from need. 

“Gotta cum!” You chant below him. 

Suguru starts back up, thrusting his cock into you once more. He’s still looking at you with that damn expression. One that shows his dominance, a look that makes your heart race. 

“That’s all you need? To cum?”

“Yes sir! Yes, yes!”

Suguru ignores your request.

“Fuck, you just need someone else to do all the thinking for you so you can be a brainless little slut. Only used for cock,” he moans. “Is that all you’re good for?”

“Yes, yes!” You’re sobbing now, tears streaming down your face. 

It feels so fucking good. It must be a crime to feel this good. 

He’s still rubbing your clit with precision, and you’re almost there. You moan as he fucks himself into you, cock enveloped by your warm tight walls. He holds you down as he plunges into you, watching you cry from his cock. 

Suguru uses his other hand to hold your throat, his fingers lacing around the delicate arteries in your neck. He applies pressure, much harder than before as he abuses you. The pain is just what you need to toss yourself over the edge, your pussy clenching in perfect rhythm, squeezing his cock as he fucks you.

“Fucking s-shit. That’s it, cum on my cock, dirty bitch,” He whines instantly, body trembling as you keep a death grip on him. 

Suguru guides you through it as you cum, face leaning down besides yours as he goes. He keeps a hand on your throat until you’re finished, only removing it once you stop twisting beneath him. 

Suguru shoves into you again, before he feels himself burst. He moans into your neck as he cums, hips jerking as he rides out his high. You let go of your legs and throw your arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Suguru’s thrusts slow until he’s completely still, lungs putting in the extra work as he breathes deeply. 

You think there’s static in your ears because you can’t hear anything. Not a single sound. There’s only warmth, and it’s in the form of Suguru’s love, steadily leaking out of you. 

He takes a deep breath and pushes himself up, gaze flicking down to your face. You look fucked out in every sense of the word. Your eyes are lazy, dragging around as you look, occasionally twitching. 

“Hey, hey.” Suguru murmurs. 

He pushes one of his hands against your forehead and smoothes your hair back. His shoulders relax once you react. You must feel something. Your eyelids close and a small smile grows on your lips. 

Suguru is an indulgent man. He hangs his head to gently kiss you, you aren’t aware of it but he could be pressed up against your lips forever. Your eyes slowly open, lashes fluttering as you float down, down, down back to earth. 

“There’s my beautiful girl.” Suguru says. 

His kind words are just what you need, immediately smoothing the deep cuts he made verbally. He pets your body, careful in his approach. Suguru slides from your warm walls, feeling bad the second you wince. 

“I know, I know, I can’t stay there forever though.” 

You don’t talk as he speaks, instead choosing to whimper. 

“Hey, I’m right here princess. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Suguru lays beside you and hoists you next to him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this comfortable in your whole life. The bed below you feels like a field of grass, soft against your skin, and Suguru is the warm air that caresses your body. 

“You’re okay.” He says, his hand sliding down your arm. 

He’s right. You know he’s right. What he’s saying feels right. 

He may have treated you like an object, but he did so out of love. He does everything for you out of love. Earlier, your mind was too full. You needed a break. And he gave you that. Now, your mind is much lighter. 

“You did so well. You’re perfect, perfect. I promise I didn’t mean anything I said. You know that?” 

You mumble an agreement, nuzzling your face into his chest. You might not feel up to talking, but you’re appreciative of his efforts to care for you. 

“I love you.” The sincerity of his words cause your body to melt against him. 

“I love you.” You reply, words jumbled and hard to discern. 

You felt so good. But you were also so fucking tired. 

“Get some rest baby.” His hand strokes your arm. 

You smile against his side, letting yourself fall into a deep slumber. 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak, @sad-darksoul, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @sakui1, @reiluvr, @gothicwhore666, @bunviixo

If you want to be added to my tag list just let me know, please specify what you wanted to be added for

[unforth]

I had a day off yesterday.

And I can already practically hear the assumptions that such a statement is prompting the reader to make. Those assumptions are wrong. I don't mean I didn't work. I did, for about 8 hours. That's not at all what I mean.

I mean my wife took the kids out at 9:30, spent the night with her mom, isn't back yet the next morning.

There are things I NEED people on this website to understand about parenting. And I've talked about it before, and I'll talk about it again, because honestly the way that Tumblr as a cohort talks about parents makes me sick. Multiple polls have shown that only about 2% of people on here are parents. We're a huge minority, and we're constantly talked over, ignored, or accused of being bad parents (like, personally, I have had people reply to my comments or come on to my posts and tell me I shouldn't have my kids). In my case, being a parent means I'm almost 41, I'm married to @ramblingandpie, and our children are inching up on being 8 and 6 years old.

My entire day, and therefore my entire life, revolves around them. I'm up most mornings at 5 AM, because that's the earliest they're "allowed" to wake up, and so my brain just defaults to being awake around then - better to wake up before them, at least then I get a few minutes in the morning. Between 5 and 7, I sit with them, do my social media, work on side blogs, study Chinese. Then it's helping them get ready for school, then my wife or I or both get them on the bus, and then I work until the last possible minute, which is either when I need to go pick them up for an after school activity or when I need to go down and meet them off the bus. My afternoons are after school activities, chores such as washing the dishes and cleaning up toys, talking with them, working with them, playing with them. Their bedtime starts at 7:40, and my son gets scared if I leave before he falls asleep so I sit with him until about 8:15. As soon as he's asleep, I go fall on my face, sleep as best I can, then wake up and do it again. Overnight, it's hard to sleep deeply, because about once a week someone will wake up in the middle of the night and need help. That could be as minimal as a hug or as complex as having to completely change the bedding on a bunk bed at 2 AM while also comforting a child who is afraid they'll be in trouble, or afraid they're sick, or afraid of their nightmare, or, or, or. Further, if a child is awake, there is always noise. I usually study Chinese with two or more competing sources of noise. I read the same way. My life is loud, and active, and consists of constant interruptions.

I adore my family, and I love my children, but this is terrible for me.

I do all of this as an neurodivergent introvert. My clinical depression is at least medicated, mostly because post-partum depression after I gave birth the first time nearly drove me to suicidal in under a week (we were expecting this and were prepared, fortunately, getting help was as simple as a phone call). The constant noise and interruptions and forced socialibility are about the worst combination of home-life I could be subjected to. I spend far too many early mornings just breathing deeply and gearing myself up to be subjected to the wall of Loud, Boisterous, Needing-My-Attention that is every minute when anyone else in the house is awake.

So what did my day off look like?

I helped get the kids ready to go and did some morning chores. I'd been up at 4:30 AM so I also had already social media'd and studied. Then, while my wife finished the preparations, I started work, and I worked from about 8 am to about 4 pm, straight. I didn't get hungry so didn't bother stopping for lunch. No one interrupted me, no one asked me to look at anything they'd built, no one broke my concentration, no sounds could be heard except those I'd chosen myself.

I'd been out the day before at a local shopping street and listened closely to the things the kids said they wanted, so at 4 I grabbed a couple orders I needed to ship for work and drove to our local downtown, dropped the orders in a post box, then went back to the shops and did some Christmas shopping in the 45 minutes or so before everything closed. I think I'm basically done with what we'll get them - other bigger things will be left to grand parents - so that's a load off, I literally had a stress dream earlier this week about it being 12/24 and having forgotten to do the shopping and having to go to (oh horrors) the mall on the day before Christmas. (Reminder: I'm a Jewish atheist. It's just virtually impossible not to Holiday in the Culturally Christian Hellscape that is the US. Also, my wife is Christian. So.) Found something cute for my wife, too, even tho I already know the main thing I'm getting her. Then, I realized - one of my favorite restaurants is on that block. So. I went there. I sat by myself at a table, only the indistinct restaurant hubbub around me. I read four or five chapters of my book, and ate a savory crepe, and drank lovely fruit tea, and got a scone to-go that I'll eat for lunch today. It was more than I probably should have spent on myself - about $25, including tip - but fuck it. I only get maybe a handful of days off all year, and I'm allowed to indulge a little.

Then I came home. There were no lights on. There was no noise. I had considered doing some more merch work while watching TV on the actual television (my kids are too young for subtitled shows, so usually if I want to watch My Shows I either have to do it on my computer when they're not around, or put them on and read all the subtitles aloud while trying to keep up and process the actual meaning of what I'm reading). But when I got back, the quiet and dark was so goddamn NICE that instead I curled up on the couch and read more of my book. I did that until bedtime - still about 8:15, because I'm exhausted. Then...I went to bed. And I slept long and deep, knowing that there was no chance I'd be interrupted and woken up, I didn't have to be, even in sleep, alert to every noise and possibility that I'd be needed.

I'm still exhausted and burned out, but even one night to myself felt really, really nice.

Saying "Tumblr does X" as a universal statement is doomed to failure, but generally speaking, the parenting posts I see on Tumblr, the ones with tens or hundreds of thousands of notes, speak what's apparently widely seen as a truism on here: that unless someone wants to spend 24/7 with their kids, to be 100% emotionally available at all times, is always kind and patient and perfect, they are a bad parent, maybe even abusive. I remember when covid started, there were multiple posts actively mocking the "oh god, my kids are now home all the time, how am I supposed to do this?" attitude that a lot of parents posted in despair. WhY dId YoU hAvE kIdS iF yOu DoN't WaNt To SpEnD tImE wItH tHeM?

Look at what my usual day looks like.

Look at what my day off looked like.

Do you really think I don't want to spend time with my kids? Do you really think I don't love my kids?

But I'm not a fucking MACHINE. I'm a PERSON. That's what people on Tumblr seem to forget. PARENTS ARE PEOPLE. The same tumblrinas who post ~uwu be kind to yourself rest if you need to, you should forgive yourself for that mistake you made~ will turn around, with zero sense of irony, and post "you're a bad parent if you ever raise your voice around a child."

Expecting parents to be perfect means expecting parents to be inhuman. It also means that a parent can't be poor (can't spend all your time being the perfect parent if you have to work multiple jobs or weird hours!), can't be introverted (can't be a perfect parent if you're not completely emotional available, god forbid socializing is exhausting for you), can't be on the ADHD or autism spectrum (what do you mean you forgot to get your kid to a doctor's appointment once? what do you mean over-stimulation can make you angry? how dare you get angry at a kid!), can't be depressed (gotta get out of bed every single day, gotta always be upbeat, patient, happy, or else that's Evil), can't be (like my wife) physically disabled (what do you mean your hands hurt too much to hold a child's hand? are you denying them touch?? CRUEL). And when the only answer you can offer to that is, "if you can't be that perfect you shouldn't be a parent," then you're saying people who aren't middle class to wealthy, people who aren't neurotypical, people who aren't physically able, shouldn't have children.

And honestly...what the fuck is your problem?

I'm not perfect. I tell my kids to just leave me alone sometimes. I raise my voice, especially when one of my kids starts punching the other, but also sometimes just cause I'm exhausted and Can't Anymore. I've forgotten an appointment by accident and felt like a total fucking idiot, and I've skipped an after school activity because I just wasn't up for taking them. I've served them more unbalanced, unhealthy meals than I can count. I've made many, many mistakes, but I've also done my best, and I love my kids, and I hope that when they grow up, they'll still love me even as they recognize that I wasn't perfect, just as I've come to accept my own parents' short-comings while still loving them very much. They're people, too, and the older I get, the more I understand where they were coming from.

When I fuck up, I apologize.

When they tell me they're unhappy with something I've done, I apologize, and I try to do better. Sometimes I even succeed.

This shit is hard, yo. And it's getting harder every year.

I'm BEGGING Tumblr: you need to start seeing parents as people. The way y'all talk about parenting on here is toxic, and genuinely harmful, and frankly exhausting. You have no idea what the reality of raising kids is like, and you need to shut the entire fuck up.

I had a day off yesterday.

I might get one more before the end of 2023.

I already can't wait. I am so, so, so tired. sigh

(if you actually read this whole rant and even a single word of it resonated for you, please reblog it. I'm tired of never seeing positive posts about parenting while I see negative ones with a bajillion notes.)

[pathetichimbos]

guys... I gotta talk about this. bear with me, it's gonna be a rollercoaster.

<nsfw under cut f!reader implied but not outright stated I guess>

---

Thomas having sex for the first time.

Oh boy. Oh boy. So many thoughts.

I don't care what anyone says. Thomas is a 30+ year old virgin. We stan him. We love him. We're gonna ruin him.

But first, let's talk about all the stuff in his life building up to it.

So, as I've stated many, many times before, Thomas was primarily isolated from kids his age when he was 13-14, so he didn't really have an outlet to explore anything in a safe manner with anyone. (Not that it would have been all that safe in the first place... these kids wildin')

And we also know that he grew up in a pretty conservative household (a.ka. patriotic god fearing americans), so we all know that he was most likely too embarrased and ashamed by his own attraction to explore anything by himself either. (whoo boy been there buddy)

And we know that as an older, proud, southern woman, Luda Mae most likely did not have any sort of sex talk with Thomas other than telling him it was for grown, married folks only.

But, you know what we didn't know?

Charlie wasn't around to have the talk with him either.

I was rewatching The Beginning (oh wow, really? what a surprising turn of events) and something I've heard dozens of times before caught my eye.

1952. Sergeant Major 'Hoyt' was a POW in the Korean war.

August, 1939. Luda Mae finds a discarded newborn in the dumpster outside the slaughterhouse.

1939-1952.

Depending on the month (but we can assume it was many, many months), Thomas was 12 or 13 when Charlie served in the Army.

So, while Thomas is dropping out of school and isolating himself from his family and peers, the only sense of a father figure is serving / being held captive by enemy soldiers.

And personally, I don't believe Thomas and Monty are that close. Monty doesn't seem to take any sort of interest in Thomas, and Thomas was a little too willing to chop his legs off. So I sincerely doubt he was any sort of help.

So, really, I wouldn't be all that surprised if Thomas doesn't really know what sex is. He has a general idea of the meaning and that it's reserved for marriage, but other than crude, most likely misogynistic comments from the older men in his life, he doesn't really know anything about it.

So, when he actually does meet someone (and tie the knot) and all of those feelings come rushing in, he's more than overwhelmed. It takes a long time before he can actually handle going all the way.

For the first part of your intimacy, it's a lot of soft talks and encouragement, and explaining everything to him. He has no idea how to make you feel good, so it's up to you to show him literally everything.

You have to build up to the actual sex, and even after you do it for the first time, he's going to need you to keep hold of the lead until he's familiar and comfortable with it all.

He's a mess when you finally do it. He's clinging to you, trying so hard not to hold you too tightly, a whining mess in your ear, burying his face in your neck and panting wildly. It's awkward, and bumpy, and he finishes way too fast (and you don't even get the chance) but the way he melts into your touch with that blissed out look in his eyes makes it worth it.

And trust me, he gets better. He's a quick learner, and as long as you tell him exactly what to do, he goes from a fumbling mess to making your toes curl in no time.

He spends an ungodly amount of time watching and learning what gets you going. The sounds, the sights, the movements, everything.

He could spend hours on you, but he's still new to this, so he gets distracted really easily.

He lives off praise, the more you give him the more fuzzy his brain gets until he's a whining mess. (He makes a LOT of noises). He loves when you leave scratches. (Nothing too deep or scarring, but the feeling drives him crazy). He likes when you tug his hair to make him look at you. (He's big on eye contact, specifically when you're more 'making love' than 'we've got five minutes before someone walks into the kitchen').

....Now this next thing I'm gonna say is going to upset plenty of people, but hear me out.

Realistically, I don't think Thomas enjoys going down.

I know, I know, it's a SUPER unpopular opinion as pretty much every headcanons him as being super into giving head, BUT, I have my reasonings.

It's not that he dislikes the act itself, and in fact, I'm sure he actually loves it, but we do have to remember that he has a rather severe skin condition mostly centered around his face.

This means his skin is super sensitive to certain things like strong chemicals, intense fragrances, hot water, and anything with a high acidity.

And going down with absolutely cause an irritable flare up that will hurt. A lot.

So, no, realistically, I don't think he'd do it, just for that reason.

Do I think he'd enjoy doing it if he could? Yea, absolutely, I just don't think he can.

Anyways. I don't know what this was. But it would not leave my brain, so. I guess this is my introductory to the smut I want to start writing. Who knows. We'll see.

[catboygretzky]

Do I even want to know what happened in the last 24 hours 😭 I'm almost afraid to ask but I'm also insanely curious

You probably don't want to know but I'll tell you because you have no choice. This will be long and...awful. But there are sources so that's fun! Please keep in mind that this was all released within 24 hours on Thursday, September 20th, 2024 and that, unfortunately, I haven't mentioned everything.

But! The GOP was certainly having a wild one yesterday.

To start things off:

The first 'Big News' to break was about Mark Robinson.

For those saying 'who the fuck is Mark Robinson', he's the current (R) Lt. Gov of North Carolina that is running for Gov. Before yesterday, he was best known for openly hating LGBT+ and Jewish folks, being a Holocaust denier, being (forcefully) anti abortion, saying it was better when women couldn't vote, anti immigrant, hating the civil rights movement, etc, just being a hateful Evangelical nasty fascist. MAGA to his core. Trump has endorsed him, saying he should be cherished and calling him "MLK on steroids". (Robinson is Black).

So, yeah, that's bad enough right? Yesterday it got even worse. CNN released a report about some comments he made on a porn site forum 12 years ago, the most prominent being 'i'm a black NAZI'. He also commented that he wished slavery was legal and that he'd own a few, and called himself a 'perv' that used to 'peep' on women in public locker rooms when he was a teenager.

Also the tale as old as time that I'm sure you could guess when I mentioned 'GOP' 'loudly transphobic' and 'porn site scandal' - trans porn was a favourite of his. Because of course.

Also of course - the GOP hasn't taken him off the ticket, and he will continue to be the nominee for governor in North Carolina!

Read the article, there's more about him and the situation in general. Mind the warnings.

-

Now on to our favourite worm brained bear eating anti vaxxer conspiracy theorist, Robert F. Kennedy Junior! I'm putting this under a read more now.

The first thing to drop about him yesterday was the news of an investigation after he allegedly cut off the head of a dead whale and took it home 20 years ago. Now I bet you're thinking, wow that's bad! Unfortunately for RFK Jr yesterday got worse. It was then revealed that he (70) was having an affair with right wing journalist Olivia Nuzzi (31) after New York Magazine suspended her.

Everything I learn about RFK Jr I learn against my own will.

-

Saying goodbye to RFK for now, let's move on to Rep. Matt Gaetz of Florida! This Matt Gaetz, with the botox if you didn't recognise him.

Scary lookin, right?

This isn't a completely new story (here's an article about how he alledgedly paid for sex with a minor) but new court filings were released yesterday alledging that he attended a drug-fueled sex party in 2017 with the 17-year-old girl at the center of the alleged sex trafficking scandal.

Sure is great to have such trustworthy men representing this country!

OKAY, on to the next.

-

This wasn't really breaking news because this is just Trump being Trump but he gave a speech at an ANTI ANTISEMITISM EVENT where he preemptively blamed the Jews for being the reason he'll lose this election, telling them they need to get their head checked if they vote for Harris (that's pretty much part of his stump speech by now though) and saying he'll reinstate his Muslim ban. White fascist blaming Jews? Wow, I did Nazi that coming.

-

I genuinely could go on, I really truly could.

Oh! Kamala Harris went on Oprah and it was really nice and not at all insane and she talked to the family of the first known victim of Trump's abortion ban and it was very touching. Trump's official social media then posted a clip of her talking about her gun and saying 'If somebody breaks into my house, they're getting shot' like it was a snatch when in reality Republicans in the comments are saying 'actually, this would make me vote for her'. Thanks, Trump Team for the free advertising!

Misc:

Chris Rufo (known racist and anti immigration right wing activist) got revealed to have an illegal immigrant wife, and then got revealed to be a user of Ashley Madison (database where people go to cheat on their partners)(Robinson was also on Ashley Madison).

Jasmine Crockett during her thing and ripping white republicans to shreds. (idk this was just fun to me)

Actually Republicans and Project 2025 got ripped to shreds and shut down in general by multiple Congress members.

GOP is on the brink of causing a government shutdown, because of COURSE they are.

Cards Against Humanity sues SpaceX over “invasion” of land on US/Mexico border.

Anyway there's actually MORE believe it or not but I can't remember if it happened yesterday. Thank you for reading, I'm always open to discussing current events. I don't think it's a well known fact that I'm into politics because I don't talk about it on tumblr because people are kinda stupid. Anyway!

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 6

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Did he just say that? He just said that. Right?

I wondered if I had somehow inserted that last excerpt from Dr. Miller’s mouth into the conversation on my own. Had my mind made it up because I wanted him so badly?

He was smiling now, not at all able to fight it back. I could tell that he was attempting to without avail.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” His voice caused my knees to part under the table. I didn’t know if it was instinctual or if the muscles in my legs had suddenly just turned to Jello but I literally felt myself melt down further into the oversized mahogany chair.

“That, uh..” I toyed with a strand of my hair for a half-a-second in my nervous tic, “That makes me a lot of things.”

“Another round?” The waitress appeared out of thin air and I was about to speak but Dr. Miller responded, with a simple, “We’ll take the check.”

I wanted to stay. When he was so eager to get the check after just one drink I couldn’t fight off the look of discouragement that was written all over my face. I knew what I must have looked like and I couldn’t reel it in. And then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was getting the check because he wanted to go somewhere else.

Like his house. It was wishful thinking.

“Stop looking like someone just shit in your cereal.” His accompanying laughter made me grin. There had to be something up his sleeve. This night couldn’t end with such an obscene, suggestive comment and lead nowhere.

“Didn’t want another drink?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“It’s a school night. We both have to be up early.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock.”

Dr. Miller gave a chuckle again and then looked up as the waitress handed him a black, leather case with the tab for two drinks tucked inside. He held up a finger, slipped a one hundred dollar bill inside and then handed it to her.

“I’ll be back with your change,” replied the woman.

“It’s yours.” He looked me in the eye as he spoke to her again and then began rising to his feet as he reached for his coat.

I followed his lead and allowed him to lead us out of the place.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

Was the night really over? On that note? On that red hot amorous note that had been left with a teetering, ‘dot, dot, dot’ next to it. To be continued? Would it?

Stop freaking out! My brain was screaming, shrieking; throwing a fit like a five year old in Toys ‘R Us that didn’t get the toy she wanted to play with. On the outside I smiled, gripped my keys and tried not to stare for too long as I walked beside Dr. Miller.

“You never gave an elaboration to your response,” he said to me once we stood by the driver’s side door in front of the old church.

I looked down and back up. “Should I elaborate?”

“I’d like to know where we stand.” He looked at me with certainty but, again, there was the slightest hint of uneasiness in his posture. Dr. Miller was tense in his shoulders and it traveled up his neck into his jaw as he waited.

“So would I,” I responded, taking a breath. I couldn’t look away from those brown eyes that were swelled black around the pupil. I knew what that meant - at least I thought I did.

“Well, how about this?” He took a step in my direction so there were only a few inches between us. “If you want to discuss it further, I’m opening up my office hours during our regularly scheduled class time on Thursday. Seven-thirty, I’ll walk you into the building, myself.”

I cleared my throat. Of course I was going to go. “Thursday.” I gave a little nod, wishing I had something to say that would affect him as much as he was currently affecting me.

“Email me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” I said right away. My chest heaved beneath my jacket and I opened my mouth to speak. At first nothing came out but then I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for the past seven or eight minutes, “Was that true what you said?”

“Which part?”

“About the elevator.” I swallowed hard now and Dr. Miller laughed again.

“Save all of your questions for Thursday at seven-thirty.” He took a step toward me and then nodded toward my vehicle, “Now get in your car so I know you’re safe.”

I looked at his lips. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lean in and see if he reciprocated, but from what I could tell of Dr. Miller, he was a forthright individual. If he wanted to kiss me, he would kiss me. He wanted to tell me about his racy musings when we were alone in the elevator. He wanted me to meet him alone at the school on Thursday. If he didn’t lean in for a kiss that means he didn’t want one.

Yet, I told myself.

I hit the button on my key fob and heard the click as my headlights flickered to let everyone in the immediate area know I had just unlocked the car.

“Goodnight (Y/N).” Dr. Miller gave a pained smile that emphasized the crow’s feet on the outskirts of his eyes.

“Goodnight Dr. Miller.” He didn’t correct me this time or ask me to refer to him as Joel. I knew at least a part of him liked having the title roll off my willing lips to acknowledge his authority over me.

Shutting my car door might as well have been shutting the jail cell. I gave a wave and started up the vehicle before reluctantly backing away from where he now stood on the walkway.

Even as I drove down the road, I glanced in my rearview mirror until I could no longer see his figure there and then finally turned the corner to head towards home.

The next day-and-a-half had me worrying about myself. My behavior felt obsessive. I had inspected every social media outlet in search of Joel Miller but there was nothing. He didn't even have a LinkedIn. That one, I had to say, surprised me.

No Snapchat. No Instagram. No Facebook. Nothing.

For my own senseless reasons it frustrated me. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to see a collection of pictures from his life over the course of the past decade. I decided I was spoiled for having access to just about anyone else's life I wanted to dig into.

Maybe I should put my profiles on private. It was Dr. Miller's casual piece of advice. Anyone could dig into my life and I was too concerned about getting “likes” than I was my own privacy. 

I'm a walking cliche of today's pre-thirty generation. 

Seeing as though my plan to gain access to Dr. Miller's life fell flat on the pavement, I carefully adjusted the private settings on all of my accounts. It had been a suggestion echoed to me by numerous friends and professionals that I hadn't taken seriously; yet here I was after one fleeting proposition from a man I just met making the meager change to my digital identity.

After work on Wednesday I found myself driving past The Library. My eyes scanned for the black Mercedes and I was actually satisfied in knowing that Dr. Miller wasn't out at the bar - at least when I drove by. It allowed my brain to rest rather than toy with the idea of dropping everything to go search inside for him.

Yes, I was officially obsessing. It felt like a violation of not only Dr. Miller's privacy, but also my own sanity.

It didn't stop me from repeating the action on the following afternoon after work. My amateur investigations weren't particularly thorough, though I assumed his car would stand out if he had been around, especially when my eyes were actively seeking out one specific automobile. 

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, however. It was Thursday. It was the evening I would be attending Dr. Miller's office hours.

Office hours. I was sure he hadn't actually posted any office hours. I was going to be alone with him.

In all of my years I hadn't had an off-kilter fantasy. My brain had never fancied the idea of taboo love affairs, or men in uniform or any of the typical sexual scenarios that I had heard others speak about.

Now, the idea of letting my handsome, older professor take me on his desk was enough to ignite a fire in every single part of my body - my head, my heart, my soul, my.. everything.

I wouldn't deny him. Correction, I couldn't deny him. I had created the scenario in my mind time after time. It was far too heavy a weight on my shoulders by now to just shy away from. I wanted Dr. Miller in the worst way.

Tori, my roommate, eyed me suspiciously as I exited my bedroom that evening. My clothes were casual, though rather than a sweatshirt and my white Converse sneakers I wore knee-high, brown boots and a tight, gray sweater that revealed just a bit of cleavage. 

My ponytail was replaced by perfectly straightened hair and just a tad more than the average amount of makeup I typically sported. Yes, if our roles had been reversed I would have had questions. Unless we were going out somewhere I always slummed it in the most comfortably acceptable clothes I could manage.

“Umm..” My roommate’s eyebrows pressed together, “Do you have a date I don't know about?”

I decided to meet her questions in the middle. “I'm going to a quick study session.” Tori gave me an ‘I don't believe you’ look and so I went on, “And then I'm going out with a guy I met at school.”

My professor, I added in my mind.

Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth. But she seemed to believe it and so I smiled when she offered me good luck.

“I'll fill you in,” I lied, knowing whatever happened that evening I would surely be keeping to myself - at least for the time being. Although I loathed the ‘YOLO’ expression, there was a time for everything and so I reminded myself, you only live once.

The drive to Woodbridge had my stomach in knots. I didn't know what was going to happen. Suddenly I wondered if I would even know what to do. I was twenty-seven. I had had sex before - plenty of it actually. I wasn't a nun.. but I wasn't a freak either. What was Dr. Miller expecting? He had certainly been around the block a time or two.

The faintest hint of sweat coated my hairline, a result of my budding anxiety. I couldn't wait, but then again I was so completely out of my league. I had never met a man so sure of himself. The guys I had dated, we were on an even playing field. I felt like a fan in the stands of a rock concert that was just called on stage to sing with Bon Jovi.

Stop putting him on such a pedestal, I told myself; though I truly couldn't help it. All reason had betrayed me.

The black Mercedes was there when I pulled into the lot and I saw Dr. Miller casually step out of his vehicle the second my blinker winked in favor of the parking lot on the left off the main road that cut through campus.

I parked closer to the building and slowly climbed out of the car as he approached. I knew I was a mess. There was no hiding what I was feeling. I was sure he might even be able to hear the thudding of my heart in my chest.

“I offered to walk you in,” he reminded me, to which I nodded as we walked in silence through the threshold of the academic enclosure.

Dr. Miller walked with a purpose toward the elevator in the main lobby, eagerly pressing the down button that would lead us to the basement where his office and our lecture hall sat vacant.

I thought of his words from Tuesday night at the bar as the doors opened and we entered. There were no other people in the building that I saw. There were no cameras in the elevator. As the doors shut with a resounding thump I side-glanced at my professor.

Out of my peripheral vision I could see how tensely straight he stood. His eyes were straight ahead; focused. He didn't blink or move. It almost looked as if he was holding his breath.

Please. I begged him in my mind, though I have to say when the doors reopened and we emerged to the basement level I was disappointed that he didn't immediately try to jump my bones. The opportunity had presented itself for Dr. Miller to do all the dirty things he claimed to have been craving and he hadn't even flinched on the ride. It was okay, now, wasn't it? Now that he knew I was a willing participant.

You're being ridiculous. I was currently questioning my every thought, my every word, my every move.

The stillness of the typically buzzing building heightened my anxiety. It felt as if butterflies were having a rave inside of my stomach. The only sound that gave a mild echo off the walls of the vacant corridor were the gentle clicks of Dr. Miller's shoes.

My temperature felt like it was rising with each door we passed. I counted them to maintain some level-headedness.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the fifth door came into clear view, Dr. Miller reached a hand into his khakis and removed a ring of keys. 

Next to the oversized, wooden door was a black piece of plastic with Dr. Miller’s name etched into it. Below his name was the door number: 007.

Of course it is, I thought, almost smiling and rolling my eyes. The heat returned to my cheeks, however, when my gaze met his from just a few inches away.

I swallowed hard when the silver key eased into the door handle, glancing down for just a second, before regaining his eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation on Dr. Miller's part before he finally turned the key and let the door swing open from a little push of his forearm.

“After you.” His arm extended outward now and the light automatically went on as I crossed through the threshold. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

He waltzed in, loosening his tie a bit as he rounded an oversized, espresso desk. 

“Umm.. no.” I shook my head, “No I'm fine.”

The corner of Dr. Miller's mouth tipped up in a little smirk. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair across from where he made himself comfortable and leaned forward with both hands folded on top of the desk.

I did as I was told. On the surface I thought I appeared like I had my shit together; like I wasn't imagining him pinning me down on the desk and having his way with me; like I wasn't conflicted about whether my feelings on the matter were wrong or right; or if he could lose his job if something did happen between us.

The man had a way of building tension. The brief moment of silence that lingered was deafening. His stare was almost too much for me. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't find the words to kick off a conversation.

“I assume you still have the question in your mind.” Dr. Miller finally spoke. “From the other night.”

My chest heaved up and down once from a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I opened my mouth to speak but I was interrupted.

“Dr. Miller!” An overzealous young man waved a stack of papers and held an IPad under his arm as he entered through the open door from the hallway.

I held my breath for half-a-second. It was Trevor Nelson. I had had two classes with him and his sheer presence alone was enough to drive me crazy. Right then, he was the bane of my existence. What was he doing here?

His stammering repetition of Dr. Miller’s name almost led me to a physical eye roll.

“Good evening.” Dr. Miller extended his arm out and Trevor eagerly shook it. “Remind me again of your-”

“Trevor,” he more-or-less shouted, glancing at me briefly.

I could see Dr. Miller was taken off-guard, though it was his organically, suave nature that allowed him to get through the unwanted conversation with ease.

“What can I do for you Trevor?”

“I just wanted to discuss a few points from the reading if you had a moment,” Trevor said, “And seeing as though you sent out an email with office hours I suspected you had the time.”

Office hours. He did send out his office hours.

Fuck! Was I all wrong?

“Yes,” Dr. Miller motioned to a second chair beside me. “I wasn't expecting you,” he admitted, “I sent out a sign up sheet-”

“My Wifi kept malfunctioning,” Trevor went on, cutting him off. “I tried. And that's why I printed some things out. I just assumed you would be here anyway and..” He shrugged and then looked at me for the first time, “I'm surprised to see you here.”

Dr. Miller huffed a laugh now. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as if to study what my reaction would be. What would I say to Trevor’s snide remark?

His very tone and uppity attitude was the precise reason why I couldn't stand him.

“I had questions about the reading, as well.” I remained cordial. There was no way I was about to air out a petty reply that would make me seem bitter or immature in my ways.

“Well.. great. We can bounce questions off one another then.” Trevor forced a smile that, while mum, seemed to have the same whiny tone as his nasally voice. 

“I blocked off twenty minute time slots,” Dr. Miller reminded him. “I have another appointment at 7:50.”

My stomach dropped and our eyes caught one another’s. He winked as Trevor took a fleeting peek at his watch with as much disappointment as I knew my face had suddenly been white-washed with.

Despite the wink I couldn't tell if he was serious or lying. Was Trevor really fucking up my twenty minutes alone with Dr. Miller? Was there another student coming in at ten of eight?

As my classmate began his vexatious ramblings I felt a burning hostility brewing in my core. At one point Dr. Miller's foot grazed mine beneath the table but he didn't look in my direction as it happened.

I decided I had to harness my disdain, which I knew was heightened to an unwarranted degree for poor Trevor. I actively told myself to stop being a jerk.

The genuine question that I had from the reading the other night popped into my head. Hallelujah, reason prevailed.

“If it's not too morbid, do you think whoever killed the girl on campus might be suffering from Antisocial Personality Disorder?” It was my first genuine attempt to engage in the conversation. 

Typically, I truly did enjoy the subject matter. That night, however, my mind was deep in the gutter. That's why I had to run with the lone, pertinent thought that inhabited my brain.

Dr. Miller turned and a small smile formed on his face. The dimples that drove me crazy were out in full force and I could see he was intrigued by my question.

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his seat and folded one leg over the other. “Depending on the motive I could entertain it as a possibility.”

I smiled wide, enjoying his mild praise.

“That is an interesting question,” Trevor added.

My eyes shifted toward Trevor for a second as he eyed the ceiling as he pondered my question. When I looked back, Dr. Miller had tipped his mouth up in a half-smirk again.

When Trevor came back down to earth, our professor motioned to the clock above me on the wall. “I'm sorry to kick you out.” Dr. Miller looked directly at Trevor now, “I think we've ended this session with a valid question that we can open with during Tuesday's class.” He rose to his feet and extended an arm in my classmate’s direction, “Sit on that idea over the weekend. Bring some notes to class.” He glanced at me and added, “I think that was a great topic of conversation Ms. (Y/LN).”

“Thank you.” I gave a little nod and Trevor appeared appeased as the three of us began a natural shift toward the door.

“Thank you for your time Dr. Miller.” The young man smiled and tucked his IPad back under his arm before vacating the room ahead of me. He turned for a second and asked, “Do you think they'll catch whoever killed that girl?”

My gaze switched from Trevor to Dr. Miller and he sucked his teeth while folding his hands together on top of the table. “I'm no investigator,” he said, “But if you want my honest opinion..” a breath exited through his nose and he finished with a simple, “No. No, I don't.”

“Why not?” Trevor leaned an arm on the door and Dr. Miller laughed while motioning to the clock again.

“Save it for another time.”

Like Trevor, I wanted to know his reasoning; though I didn't dig deeper into it right then. As intriguing and scary as it all was, other emotions were tugging at my core.

“I'll see you in class,” Trevor said, though I didn't know if he was speaking to me or our professor. 

I wasn't so quick to leave, but I knew it was time. I hadn't expected Dr. Miller to actually post office hours so it was probable that there was another student about to arrive.

Was it a female student? Yep, sparked jealousy inside of me.

When Dr. Miller didn't immediately make a plea for me to stay, I wandered through the open door toward the hallway.

And then I jumped. It was almost inhuman how fast his arm wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back into the room with him with the ferocity of a wolf mauling a lamb.

A gasp escaped my lips when he turned me around to face him as the door closed and my back planted against it. It was all one giant obscure action; a whirlwind of tension released when our bodies were finally pressed up against one another's and I was left panting.

“I thought you had another-”

His finger found my lips to shut me up. A wicked smile advertised his true intentions and his blackened eyes could have set me ablaze right there.

“You are as gullible as your friend Trevor.”

Before I could respond his lips crashed against mine. They literally crashed leaving the back of my head slamming against the thick wood behind me. I barely felt it. 

What I did feel was a rush of adrenaline and desire and a thirst for the man that I couldn't suppress - not when his hands were roaming my body and his tongue aggressively penetrated my lips.

I could barely keep up. I had built the moment up so much and now that I was wrapped up in the middle of this avid tornado of passion it had far surpassed my fantasies.

My arms wrapped high around his shoulders, though he quickly pinned them above my head against the door with one hand. His other hand hastily fiddled in his pocket to remove a set of keys, at which time my cheeks blushed a more fiery red when I saw his arousal peaking the front of his khakis.

My eyes were the only part of me capable of moving freely. The rest of me was a willing prisoner to the force of his body against mine. I never wanted to be released.

Dr. Miller's key slipped into the slot in the center of the doorknob and a click secured us behind closed doors.

With an echoing clank the keys hit the floor and my aching, vacant lips were welcomed back with the immediate warmth of his. When his hand released both of mine on the door my arms instinctively wrapped around him again. I was on cloud nine; in a state of mindless bliss. For the first time, possibly ever, I thought of nothing and just acted without reserve.

It was only when I struggled to breathe that I took a parting breath, allowing air back into my aching lungs. Dr. Miller groaned with the brief separation though it gave him the second he needed to wrestle with the button on my jeans.

In that one swift movement of his fingers he had access to everything I had to offer. I bit my lip in anticipation of him touching me for the first time. Just before my eyes were forced shut I saw his hungry eyes drinking in every part of me.

Dr. Miller's over-pronounced sigh accompanied the sensation of his first two fingers as they made home against my most sensitive areas.

I moaned as quietly as possible, though he made the task more difficult when his lips grazed the area just beneath my ear.

I let out a louder moan when his fingers pushed inside of me and his hot breath landed on my neck, the other cupped over my mouth and my eyes suddenly snapped open.

“Shhh..” Dr. Miller gave a hushed reminder that we weren't exactly in our own private love shack while his fingers continued their exploration. “We wouldn't want Trevor to wander back here because he heard a suspicious noise would we?”

Slowly, his hand was removed from across my mouth. I reached a hand down toward his waist but he swatted it away.

“You're not ready for that yet,” he growled, still speaking in a voice just above a whisper.

I was paralyzed. Paralyzed by pleasure. Paralyzed by the thrill. Paralyzed by my raw attraction to Dr. Miller. At that moment I didn't think I could speak if I tried.

A brand new combination of nervousness and arousal made home within me when his free hand now lingered on my throat. The barely-there pressure added something to what I had been feeling all along.

“You like that?” It was closer to a statement than a question but I choked out a whispered, “Yes,” in response.

There was a shake in my legs that I couldn't relieve. Dr. Miller felt it. There was no way he didn't. I was writhing beneath him against the door as the distance between my parted feet on the floor widened with the spread of my legs.

It didn't take long to reach my climax that was induced by his fingers, his hand on my throat, and the dirty nothings he whispered as he encouraged my impending orgasm.

I struggled to maintain my composure. As the first curse word escaped my lips his hand more forcefully clamped over my mouth again, though all the same his lips found my ear again as he encouraged me to, “Let it out,” in a hiss of whisper.

That was the final push. Fireworks might as well have gone off in my lower half as my muffled moans sounded off against the warmth of his palm. My eyes alternated between open and closed in those final seconds and Dr. Miller's provocative growling voice took my right back to the dream I’d had. This was no dream.

The shot of adrenaline had filtered through my body, numbing my limbs like some type of drug had just been injected into my veins.

Fuck! For several seconds I could only focus on the pleasure as I breathed heavily in and out in an attempt to remain quiet.

When I began to come down off the high. All of my senses began to return and I could hear my own breathing as his generous hand warily crept back out from beneath my damp panties.

A smile formed on my face as he stared at him. I was hot and disheveled. My pants were still down off my waist and as I went to tug them back up Dr. Miller stopped me.

“Oh we're not done yet,” he assured me, glancing over his shoulder toward the oversized desk. When he turned back around he reached for my hand and towed me across the room. I felt like I was floating.

When he made himself comfortable in the oversized chair, I just stared at him. With the two fingers that had just been inside of me he waved for me to come to him and pulled me down in for another heated kiss before whispering against my lips. “Now you're going to get down on your knees and return the favor.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @michilandcof @morallyinept @akah565 @cesspitoflove @brittmb115

[yelenasdiary]

Don't Chicken Out

Pairing: Kate Bishop X Fem! Reader.

Summary: Kate gets upset thinking you’ve started dating somebody. 

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, 

Type: Fluff & Angst

AC: This is a request from my old

“Pizza is here!” Kate excitingly jumped up from the sofa and ran to the door, “I’ll get the beer!” I said as I walked to the fridge. I grabbed two bottles and opened them, “What are we watching tonight?” I asked Kate as I made my way back to the living room. Kate and I have been friends since she joined the Avengers and I loved having another person to hang out with who was close in age. Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with the others but something about Kate makes her my favourite. 

“Whatever you want?” she replied, placing two slices of pizza on a small place for herself. I handed her a bottle of beer as I sat down next to her. “Uhm…what about Blended?” I suggested. “That one about Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore going to a resort?” she asked. I nodded, “yeah, it’s pretty funny!” I added. “Let’s do it!” she smiled. 

It was normal for Kate to cuddle up against me while we watched movies, it was in her personality. She was bubbly and sometimes annoying but in a good way, you feel? 

“These love movies are so corny, but I love them” Kate spoke as I gently played with her hair. “Look how sweet he looks at her” she added. “I guess so” I replied. I wasn’t too big on the romance side of the movie; I just enjoyed the comedy of it. 

“I guess so? You don’t want somebody to look at you like that?” she sat up. I looked at her, confused, “I mean, sure?” I shrugged as she raised an eyebrow, “What? I like comedy, I don’t really look at the romance” I added. “Have you ever seen titanic?!” she asked.

“No no no!! You have a mission we have to train for tomorrow, we are not watching a 3 hour movie tonight” I shook my head. “Fine… party pooper!!” she groaned as she returned to her original position. “How long will you be gone for this time?” I asked, returning to play with her hair. “However long Clint needs me for I’d say” she replied. 

After the movie, we cleaned up the living room before Kate walked me to my room. “6am tomorrow morning Kate, be ready!” you said to her as she walked down the hall to her room. “7!” she called back, “6!!” I shook my head to myself before closing my bedroom door. 

The next morning I help Kate train before she left with Clint for her mission. “So clint, how long you taking my best friend for this time” I joked. “Looking like a 2-3 month job kid. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine” he replied. “Oh, it’s not her I’m worried about old man” I joked as he rolled his eyes. 

“We’re watching Titanic when I’m back, you know that right” Kate spoke to me as she entered the conference room. “Really? Do I have too?” I groaned. “Yes!” she smiled. I rolled my eyes playfully at her and then hugged her tightly, “be safe okay” I said softly to her. “Always” she replied, hugging me a little tighter this time. I watched as her and Clint walked out the room. 

Kates POV:

“Let’s go home kid!” Clint spoke as we entered the jet. Finally, the mission is over, I’m tired and score from combat but so ready to make Y/n watch movies with me again and relax. “How’s those feelings for Y/n going?” Clint asked, catching me off guard. “Sorry..what? I don’t.. no…she’s my best friend” I stuttered. Clint chuckled to himself. 

“What?? I don’t. We are just good friends, plus I don’t even think she likes me if I did..like her… and im not saying I do because I don’t.. I mean I do but not like that” 

“Oh boy, you’ve got it bad kid!” Clint looked at me. “Shut up!” I spoke at my defeat. 

“Why don’t you just tell her? Save her from watching Titanic” he laughed.

“I think she’s seeing somebody else…”

“What makes you say that?”

“Her Instagram account…”

“Oh god, Social media is going to fry your brain kid. If she is seeing somebody, she’ll tell you but don’t just assume” 

“I’m not assuming but she did comment the word babe on this woman’s photo” 

Clint rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. 

Once we got back to the compound I went to my room and had a shower before I walked to the living room where I saw Y/n sitting on the sofa, texting. “Hey” I smiled, she looked up from her phone for not even a second, “hey you’re back!” she said, still typing. 

“Yeah…” I sighed. Her attention still glued to the phone in front of her. “So… uhm, do you wanna watch a movie or play a card game or something?” I asked. 

“Yeah sure, whatever you want” she spoke, still glued to her phone. I rolled my eyes in frustration, “actually, I’m kinda tired so I might just go lay down” I explained. “Okay, we’ll do a movie later then” she spoke without looking at me. 

I turned and walked to my room, pashing clint on my way. “Woah, are you okay?” he asked, stopping me in my tracks. “Told you she was seeing somebody” I sighed and continued to my bedroom. 

*2 week time jump*

Y/n’s POV:

“Clint, what happened on your mission a few weeks back with Kate?” I asked him as he sat reading the newspaper. “What do you mean? It went well” he looked up at me. “Well… Kate, she hasn’t been the same since she came back. She’s basically been ignoring me for like 2 weeks. All I get from her is grunts and mumbles” I explained, taking the seat across from him in the kitchen. 

“Ahh, right. Maybe you should talk to her about this” he spoke.

“Did you not just hear me? She won’t talk to me”

“You’re a smart kid, you’ll get through to her. Go talk to her, listen to her mumbles, maybe that’ll tell you something” he explained. With a sigh, I got up from the table and made my way to Kate’s room. 

I knocked gently and waited for her to open the door. 

“Go away, I have a headache” her voice travelled from the inside. 

“Kate…it’s me, please open the door” I spoke. I heard her grunt before the door opened. “What do you want?” she asked. 

“To talk…are you okay?” 

“I’m fine”

“Kate, you’ve been ignoring me for like 2 weeks, you don’t seem fine” 

“I’m not ignoring you, I just want some space”

“Kate. I know something’s wrong… please talk to me, I’m here for you”

“Fine… come in” she sighed as she opened the door for me. I walked in as she closed the door behind me and flopped herself back on her bed. “Did I do something to upset you?” I asked. 

“No.. I mean…not really”

“Not really?” 

Kate sat up and looked at me. “When I came back you basically ignored me, you were too busy texting your new girlfriend and couldn’t even look at me and it just bothered me because…bec- it just bothered me.” She explained. 

“Because why?” I slowly sat down next to her and took her hands into mine, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles gently. “Because I like you…I really like you. I like you the same way I like when you play with my hair and I like you the same way I like pizza on a Friday night and I know you’re seeing somebody so I’m sorry for dumping this on you but-“

“Kate… I’m not seeing anybody” you cut her off.

“You’re not?” she looked up at me with a soft smile, I shook my head softly, “I already like somebody else” you told her. Her smile dropped, “oh” slipped form her lips. “You” I said softly. She looked back at me with her big brown eyes. “You don’t think I notice how you look at me?” I added causing her to smile. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting….I wasn’t sure how to tell you and whenever I tried I just got overwhelmed and chickened” she chattered. 

“You fight all these bad dudes and stuff but you couldn’t tell me you liked me? That’s cute” I smiled at her. “When you put it like that…I sound weak almost” she chuckled. “Are you going to chicken out or kiss me already?” I asked. Kate looked at me for a moment then to my lips, slowly she leant in closer. “Nope, I’m going to chicken out” she laughed. “Oh, come here” I cupped her face and kissed her tenderly. 

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[slowd1ving]

II. RIDING HIGH IN APRIL ･ﾟ FRANCIS MOSSES

"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey BTW this is also posted on ao3 so if there are any doubts about me being the author just comment on any of my fics and I assure you I'll reply on there! (but thank you to those who expressed concern it means a lot)

MISC. MASTERLIST

THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ゜・NEXT PART

‘That’s life (that’s life) I tell you, I can’t deny it.’

It’s a different type of blue hour when it’s thirty minutes before dawn – cleaner than your smoke-filled evenings: filled with hope and a promise of sunlight, rather than a vow of everlasting sin. 

Your lungs burn with the cold air. It seems like you’re drowning, but it’s not the same sensation as three years back. This time, all your cells are clamouring for oxygen; scrambling and twisting, unlike the freezing resignation beneath the rain and viscera. 

You’re dressed casually: sweats and a shirt that’s tighter than your clinical kitchen jacket. Like a never ending hug, it tightly clasps the muscle forced upon you by the Execution programme. You should feel cold. You are cold, but the surge and flush in adrenaline is something that melts your stone heart and body. In your haste to leave at your colleague’s proclamation of an emergency, it seems you forgot your jacket. 

Fatigue eludes you – your breathing is controlled as ever. 

Let’s face it – if it weren’t for your shifting galaxy, you would’ve stayed in bed this morning. 

This is all his fault. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing here, having jogged to the diner getting heckled via landline by your coworker. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have deigned to answer. After all, the day management of the place is left to your colleague, not you. 

“He’s asked for you specifically.”

You can hear the satisfied grin through the landline. When you press her for more details, she hangs up on you, and you’re left seething with an almost broken cord clenched tight in your fist. 

Who the hell is she talking about?

As far as you knew, the boss had gone and fucked off to somewhere in Scandinavia two years ago. Unless he’s hauled his geriatric ass back here, you sincerely doubt he’s the one requesting your presence. 

But if you’re being honest, you don’t mind this sudden disruption to your schedule. 

Like molasses, sleep would’ve pulled you under – sticky and sweet – for the rest of the day to escape your thoughts. That’s your daily routine: an endless struggle with your mind. 

With this, at least the war in your brain has stilled. It’s a dangerous calm, one that threatens to flow out of control at the slightest ripple. The waters are growing agitated – it’s only a matter of time before you’re pulled under. 

Make no mistake, you will be dragged to the depths eventually. That’s not something you, nor anyone, can prevent. Sleep cannot hope to fight it. You cannot hope to ever escape it. 

Your head aches. 

It’s freezing. You’re slowly becoming more frigid, and your hands are beginning to shake. It was a mistake, coming out here. You don’t know what’s caused the change. 

No, you do know. You just can’t bear to keep acknowledging the catalyst behind it. 

It’s not the run that’s winded you – your breath stops ragged as you fumble in your pockets for the Old Gold that should be there. That small, plastic-wrapped carton should be there, but your pockets are sorely empty. 

Shit, shit.  

Your ears are ringing. Just like the death knell ringing for your friends and subordinates, it keeps ringing and ringing and tolling and tolling. Those reverberations permeated through sinew, through flesh and vessel – only contributing to the staggering tremors attacking your palms. 

That alizarin blue is fading from your vision, and there’s nothing you can do. 

Numbness spreads awful quick through your extremities after all; it hurtles whip-fast through your spine, pressing you against icy, rough brick. 

“Ha,” your breath comes in the form of hoarse, faint heaving. 

You’re not sure what comes next. Once the star begins exploding, it’s eventually reduced to nothingness. It’s theorised that even its very atoms disintegrate eventually.

 What’s going on?

Why aren’t you disappearing like those husks of particles?

You– you’re an empty shell. 

What’s that infernal fire spreading through your arms?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper with the finality of resignation. You’re not falling anymore. You give up. 

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He was nowhere mere moments ago – there was nothing but empty void on all sides. Not a star, not even a singular atom to initiate collision and the chain of energy. He’d been nowhere, but now he’s everywhere. 

That hushed cadence. Those warm palms. That tired look in his eyes, softening as you met his gaze. 

“You okay there?”

Mr Francis Mosses is closer to you than he’d ever been. Each callous on his hands you can feel pressed through your thin shirt, they burn against the permafrost of your skin. 

You’re too close. Those soot-black eyelashes – you can count them individually at this proximity. This distance is infinitesimal; faint traces of his cologne invade your senses, lingering beneath that milky, powdery smell. You shouldn’t notice this. You shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be feeling that feeling in your stomach. 

This is dangerous. 

“Yeah,” you manage to form a coherent syllable. A nuclear fission chain begins in your throat. “I’m alright.”

“Mm,” he acknowledges. His hands are still supporting you, and he’s not letting go. You can distinctly hear each pulse as it sounds out in his ribcage, while simultaneously hearing each breath as it hitches and tumbles in his lungs. At your sides, curled into tight spirals are your fists. 

You’re tense. Anyone can see it – the spring making up your flesh and bones is about to reach its plastic limit. You won’t be able to come back from this. 

The centripetal force making up your galaxy – your routine – is dissipating. 

He’s the cause of it. 

His arms wobble when you go limp, and suddenly you’re in his space – face pressed right into his trapezius, breathing in the temperature of his skin and the woody scent of aftershave. 

That’s new. 

He wraps around you, and you clutch the back of his shirt with enough force to crush a skull. He’s alive, pulse wildly careening through his flesh and sinew like a hummingbird. Furiously, he’s alive. His touch is searing as you press impossibly closer and closer. 

That gravitational pull can’t be from a mere supermassive black hole. 

He’s the origin – the very centre of the universe. All matter wants to be part of it; your cells tear into his, your heart sings out its mournful song, just to be a part of him. 

“Hey,” his breath is scorching across your ear. “You’re here, you’re alright.”

The murmurs are clumsy, tripping themselves up in a rush to escape his torrid lips. 

I’m here.

I’m alright. 

It may just be true. Where your hands connect to his latissimus dorsi through his crisp white shirt, they’ve stopped shaking. 

And you don’t know it, perhaps you never will, but that small, plastic-wrapped carton of gaseous aurum has been stored neatly away in the back of your mind for the past few minutes now. 

A throat clears. 

Your colleague’s face sports an amused expression, while your eyes convey a well-timed fuck you, as the rest of your face is buried in his shirt. 

When you pull back slightly, with her hand now on your back as well, you swear you feel Mr Francis Mosses clamp around your biceps like a vice. Resisting. An unstoppable force. His expression is worried, but when his exquisite brown eyes slide from you to your coworker, you think you can see the hint of a glare in them. You can’t be too sure. 

In the ultramarine light, there might be a hint of red on his face. You can’t be too sure of that either. 

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have called you in if he said he didn’t know you,” she explains sheepishly, but your ears are too full of a roaring heartbeat and your focus is entirely elsewhere. “We’ve been having issues with our milk provider, so we’ve switched to his company. It wouldn’t have been such an issue if our menu wasn’t half milkshakes.”

Her eyes are full of apology, despite her grumbling. She’s known you since your Execution Squad days, operating the calls and speaking to victims. She knows exactly how it feels – the panic, the suffocation, the lingering taste of tobacco that you can never really escape. 

But you can’t focus on that either. 

His thumbs are rubbing tiny, fiery circles onto your flesh – unconsciously, you think, as your eyes observe the slight anger in his face. 

No, wait. You blink in surprise. Since when are you able to discern that face?  

“I’ll wait inside so you can help me with the contract,” she scratches the back of her head, nonplussed when you don’t reply. “Take your time.”

She leaves, and you feel the origin of the universe relax. The molten, rigid singularity sighs – the heavens shift in response. 

“Sorry for taking up so much of your time.” He’s working, yet you’ve taken that away by giving in to your weakness. Shame bubbles in your throat, and you wish you could repeat this morning all over again and do it right just so you could avoid inconveniencing him. 

“Don’t apologise for that,” his voice is low, strung through with a hoarse fatigue. There’s something else clouding it, though, a sort of tightness that reminds you of anger. But he’s not angry, not anymore, you don’t think.

What is it?

He pulls you back into him, clutching at you as though you’re the lifeline instead of him being yours.

What is it?

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you breathe, but your arms wrap around him tightly once more. 

What is it?

“I’d give up all my days to help you like this.” 

The words are hushed, too hushed. They’re not meant to be for your ears, but your senses have been honed to a razor-sharp edge and your hearing is the sharpest blade of them all. 

You’ve identified that strain of his voice, so parallel to anger. 

Worry. 

He’s worried. 

That realisation burns you more fiercely than anything you’ve ever felt before. 

You give in to the torturous exhilaration. 

You lose yourself in the warmth. 

Just for a bit. 

‘I thought of quitting, baby, but my heart just ain’t gonna buy it.’

When he comes in those blue evenings, he brings the stardust that you can never spot in the sky. There’s no sun. There’s no moon, either. There are only the thick clouds that only let the most precocious blue through, and the power lines that cut straight through them. 

Over these three years, the only stars that you’ve seen are the twinkling remnants left in high-rise office buildings in the far city. You’ve seen the glimmers in diamond-encrusted watches, seen the shine on the record-player knobs you polish, seen the glitter in the dirty cents handed over the counter. These are not real stars, however. 

He brings the excruciating stardust, all bottled up in flesh and woven through in his capillaries. 

Today is no different. 

You don’t need the stars that are light-years away. Proxima Centauri, I don’t care about you. Tens of thousands of Kelvin – but they might as well be as freezing as the vacuum they orbit in. They’re cold points to you, dots of light that you can only see in encyclopaedias and the thick books customers bring in on occasion. These celestial bodies aren’t meant to be in a greasy diner – even mere phantoms of them are rare to spot.  

He’s warmer than any star. He’s closer than any star. He’s comprised of the universe itself. 

“What would you like today, Mr Francis Mosses?” 

Your very own galaxy. It appears nightly, much better than those lousy light shows that never appear in the thick fog of this polluted city. 

The panic of this morning has been long-forgotten. All gone, when you look in his mellow eyes. All gone. 

“Your recommendation,” he requests. He’s derailed your routine once more. “And double that.”

For the first time, you’re late in lighting a smoke. That’s not your fault, of course. It’s not. It really isn’t, not when he pulls your arm to sit you opposite him, nor when you let him, nor when you miss the warmth of his hand as he retracts it. 

The steaming food lies as the Rubicon between you. Who will cross it first?

You wait, tongue poised between your teeth. 

His hair is as messy as ever. Briefly, you wonder how it would feel beneath your calloused fingertips. 

There’s no response yet. You watch a little longer: a slight tremor as his throat bobs, lips pulled in nervousness, and eyes that dart to you, to the food, to the wall and everywhere in between. 

You lied about that last bit, by the way. Those tired, glassy eyes are focused solely on you at the moment. His darting eyes are actually your own: focused on him, his tapping fingers on the black reflective table, the steam particles between the two of you. 

“Are you feeling better?” It’s a simple question, devoid of any exhausted hum. It takes everything out of him, as though he’s practised a million ways of saying it and he’s still messed it up. His next breath is deep. 

“Yes?” You don’t mean it as a question, but the rising of the syllable from your larynx belies your confusion. Of course you’re all right – and you don’t mean this in a patronising manner. Of course you’re alright, when the building suffocation was replaced with a suffocation of another kind. 

A balmy, soothing sort. The previous drowning was a struggle; you gave into it fighting, with a snarl on your lips and a shattering spirit. But who wouldn’t ease into the other asphyxiation? In that honey-sweet warmth, you’d readily renounce your soul. 

“Yes,” you quickly repeat. This is a first: considering a customer’s feelings as you attempt to avoid a misunderstanding. “Much better, Mr Mosses.”

You don’t know why you avoid his first name. 

It seems he doesn’t know either; those tranquil brows furrow momentarily, before he gestures to the second portion of food. 

“Will you eat with me?” 

You give in too easily to the deception, especially when he adds your name onto the end of his question. It’s like a challenge, almost. 

“I thought about asking you directly,” he bites into the sandwich. Chews. Swallows. You’re slightly entranced by the movement of his throat. Human windpipes are so fragile, after all, in comparison to the imitation. “Mm, then I got nervous.”

If he was nervous, what were you?

“Don’t worry,” you say blithely, but that’s not your intention at all. You don’t want to be callous, and that surprises you once more. 

He always seems to coax a novel reaction from you. 

“Don’t worry – I wouldn’t refuse you,” you repeat. It’s a little quieter, a little more honest about how your heart sways. You don’t think you’ve ever sounded so heartfelt. 

“You mean that?” 

His tone shifts; a note lower, a pitch you wouldn’t have detected if you hadn’t specifically trained for this. You didn’t think of your response as particularly special, but it seemed he’d taken it as an invitation. 

You don’t mind that. Then again, you don’t mind his actions that should annoy you, had they been done by anybody else. 

“Yes. I’ll eat with you anytime.”

When you take a bite of the sandwich, you finally cross the Rubicon. 

You don’t know anything anymore. The routine, the precious universes you shaped – they’ve all been scattered by the two warm palms of a single man. The object of your rage is sitting in front of you, yet there’s no actual fury filling in the preconceived compartment. 

There’s amiability in one neat box. In the next, curiosity overflows and spills everywhere. Weaving through them all, however, is a strange substance you can’t identify. It’s warm. 

It’s warm, where there had previously only been ice. 

The strawberry taste lingering on your tongue is exquisite. 

It’s odd. Only after the dishes are soaking in the sink do you remember the pack in your apron pocket. Only when you turn around do you realise he’s still in the booth. Only when you spot his face do you notice you’re no longer feeling the same surge of adrenaline right before you smoke. 

You light the stick on the stovetop dispassionately. 

When the crisp blue air greets you, he’s in your shadow. How bizarre. 

It’s even more strange when he doesn’t leave to go to his small, compact van. He… remains. 

No, he does go back to his van. You watch him, sweet plumes hazing from your lips and fingertips. You can see the contraction of his tendons, each muscle moving seamlessly. No, not seamlessly. There’s a bit of a wobble – from fatigue, perhaps. No, that’s not right either. 

Have you always made so many mistakes when reading someone?

There’s a lack of drag that you’d expect. He’s always tired, so the slight pause in his gait is something natural to him. Instead, his feet are hesitant, as though he’s jittery.

This time, he comes back. 

Your mouth opens slightly. 

He’s never done this before. 

That coat from before, he wraps it snugly around you. You didn’t even know you were shivering. He’s meeting your gaze, but his brows are furrowed and he wears a weak smile with it. 

“Ah,” he mumbles slightly as your cigarette falls to the gravel between the two of you. It’s fine – it’s almost been burnt to a stub regardless. You step on it – thus bridging the chasm between you two. At this distance, he’s shorter than you are. You’ve been aware of it, but this is the first time you’ve truly felt it. 

He’s fastening his coat around you, but you can feel the trembling of his hands. 

“You looked cold.”

He’s so considerate, you realise. Even this morning, he went out of his way to help you. Even now, when he’s uncomfortable, he’s thinking of you. 

“What about you?” you breathe out. Your breath condenses in white plumes, and you think it’s a prettier sight than smoke. “Aren’t you cold, Mr Francis Mosses?”

Those warm eyes soften into liquid. There’s a slight crimson in his ears, a tiny hitch in his breath, and a shake in his shoulders. 

“No,” he answers honestly. It must be honest, for though his voice is clear, he looks away bashfully. He’s bared his heart, while yours is still locked away in its box. “I don’t get cold when I’m with you.”

What a coincidence, you want to say. 

Neither do I.

But you’re not him. You don’t get to run words parallel to that beating organ’s desires. 

You look away. 

You shouldn’t be allowed to say that either, you also want to add. 

Inexplicably, your heart is beating far too fast for it to be considered healthy. In fact, it might even be arrhythmia. That’s serious. 

“I–” You begin your sentence, but you hadn’t planned to actually open your mouth. This is new, too.  

“You should take better care of yourself.” The words stumble clumsily from your lips. Not everyone can have that buttery smoothness like he has. This is the universal truth – you’ve always avoided prolonged conversations for that reason precisely. So, why? Why now? Why does your pulse push these syllables from your careless vocal strings?

“I will.”

The weakness in his smile is gone. It’s fond, and you can’t bear it. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” you warn. 

And you won’t be at the diner if that happens. 

That’s strange. Why are you thinking that way?

Right. It’s him. He’s the catalyst. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His teeth are so bright. When he smiles, he’s got the jewels of the sea in his mouth. Bright pearls – and here you thought he’d only have mastery over the stars. 

“I’m serious.” You let yourself indulge in the smell of him on the coat. Your eyes are closed. You don’t think you could bear seeing his face more. “Don’t get sick.”

“Don’t worry so much,” he exhales – the trip and jump in the sound turns it into suppressed laughter. 

You can’t get sick. You want to say that. You’d shout it for the world to hear, but that would be too troublesome – and like you mentioned previously, you’re not like him. Your heart is small and cold and closed off in a tight box. 

Please, you can’t get sick. 

But for him, you’d do it. 

‘And if I didn’t think it was worth one single try, I’d jump right on a big bird and then I’d fly.’

He’s tricked you. 

Each time you think you’ve fit Mr Francis Mosses into a neat routine with clear expectations and a place in the galaxy, he evades that and tricks you. Then, he tricks you for a second and a third time, for good measure. 

Otherwise, why would you be counting down the hours until he gets here?

When you’re ringing up Miss Mia Stone’s order at half-past twelve, you’re thinking of him and his soft hair. When you’re taking Mr Henryk Jamesons’ money at quarter to five, you’re picturing those molten brown eyes. And when you’re separating the food into two compact takeout boxes for Mr Stephen Rudboys, you’re imagining those soft lips, poised to say the most unexpected things.

That’s also new. Since when did you focus on his lips?

“Thanks, have a great day,” Mr Rudboys waves at you mechanically, and you almost unconsciously reply with ‘don’t get sick’. You feel like an idiot. 

You feel swindled. 

You feel tricked, and it’s all his fault. He evidently has no respect for the labours of a diner worker, if he’s entering your mind while you’re serving other clients. 

Why does everything have to boil down to him?  

It always comes back to Mr Francis Mosses. You think it was a wise decision to be wary of his gravitational pull. If you’re not careful, he might just cause a wormhole and shoot right through you. 

With others, you’re thinking of him. 

Even when you’re alone, you swear you can smell that powdery, milky smell lingering. 

It’s not fair. 

Does he think of you too? When he’s under blue, fog-filled skies like these, does he think of the smoke you exhale? When he’s with others, can he recall your awkward attempts at conversation? When he’s alone, does he imagine you there with him?

Do I occupy your thoughts like you occupy mine?

It’s ridiculous. Really, it’s laughable. You’re a speck on this planet, while he’s the centre of everything. 

That would be your usual train of thought. 

Humans are not stars. 

But you don’t get to think even that, because you can hear the familiar hum of an engine and you know it could only be him that’s here.

And you’re laughing – laughing at yourself, laughing at your foolishness, laughing at just how ludicrous you’re being. To think, he’d made himself so at home in the ordered compartments of your mind that your very capillaries are magnetised to him. 

You’re attuned to him – compass pointing straight. Not north – you couldn’t care less about the ridiculous iron centre of Earth. The arrow points at him.  

For the first time, you’re inside the diner when he comes through – still beaming, hand pressed to your miserable face and wretched laughter ringing flush against the mellow tones of Frank Sinatra. 

He pauses in the doorway. Though you hear him – how could you not – the sounds that bubble up from your diaphragm refuse to cease. 

It’s only when you notice that gaze in his eyes that you stop – warmer, more liquid than anything you’ve ever seen. Those irises are darker, too – impossibly dilated. 

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you greet him. There’s a smile on your lips. You don’t think he’s ever seen you smile like that. “What will it be today?”

Dazed. You can read his face clear as day – and somehow, somehow, that makes you incredibly conscious of yourself, of him and of every minute action between the two of you. 

“I’ll take anything you give me,” he murmurs. His voice is hoarse, and not in the fatigued way, but in the ‘I’m losing my composure’ way. Carmine bleeds into his skin – you can feel the same carmine thrumming ceaselessly through your veins. 

Fuck.

This man, is he your Achilles’ heel? Your hamartia, your flaw above anything.

No, it can’t be. You’re full of flaws – he’s the only good thing about you. If anything, you’re the person who’s sure to drag him down. 

“Right.”

He sits at the counter today, perched on the cerise-red stools and propped up on an exhausted elbow. Yet, his eyes are clearer – sharper – than your usual expectation. They’re honed on you: your movements, your actions, you. He’s watching you, and nobody else. 

“Did someone make you laugh?”

His tone is different from his usual one; it lacks its usual enervation, and there’s a rougher burr to it that you can’t quite place. When you look up from where you’re assembling his wrap, there’s a shadow in his eyes. 

“Yes.” You did. For the first time in years, you laughed. All thanks to your azure singularity – him . 

There’s more he wants to say. Those lips of his part minutely, but you’ll never know what he wanted to say. 

“Hm?” And for the first time, you really want to know the potential: his thoughts before they leave his lips. 

“Forget it,” he exhales, looking anywhere but you. You slide his food over the counter; there’s a tinge of disappointment in your action. Disappointment, huh… 

You wonder if you’ll have enough boxes to sort out these different feelings. 

He doesn’t speak as he eats. It’s only when you slide onto a neighbouring stool with a milkshake for yourself that he looks up in surprise. 

“You…” he murmurs – there’s an eternal question concealed in that singular word. 

“You feeling alright?” you ask in mild concern. 

“What would you do if I said I wasn’t?” he breathes, and you look at him. You study his expression: his wide, sleepless eyes, his tousled hair, his lips pressed together. There’s a faint trembling in his hands. That won’t do.  

“I’d ask about it further, Mr Francis Mosses,” you reply seriously. “If it’s an emotional issue, I’ve been told I’m a very good sandbag. I can listen and take beatings simultaneously.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” his raised eyebrows suggest he’s mildly taken aback, but he presses on. “But there’s one thing you could do for me.”

“Which is?” you prompt. 

He takes a deep breath.

“Call me Francis.”

Oh. 

He always exceeds my expectations. 

“Please,” he almost begs. Who are you to say no to the one who decimated your universe?

“I think I’ll go crazy if you don’t.”

You don’t think you’re meant to hear that last bit – it’s muttered so softly that you think he’s unaware that these are his words.

There’s a maddening rhythm to your heartbeat. You don’t want it to ever end. 

“Francis.” Those two syllables creep out carefully. This is a first – you don’t remember the last time a name wasn’t carefully framed by honorifics and made impersonal. Francis. 

“Yes?” he replies breathlessly. It’s so fucking intimate: his pupils are blown out, bottom lip wobbling with a slight sheen on them, hands shaking around a cheap napkin. All because of you. It’s his name you’re saying, but it’s your lips it’s falling from. Yours. 

You want to turn his thoughts on their head – just like he’s flipped your world upside down. 

“Francis.” It’s almost a whisper – not quite. There’s laughter seeping into the name; rich amusement drips from it. You’re delighted. 

How can one man make you feel so much?

At the sound of your joy, his scarlet flush bleeds into his neck. Before, he’d met your gaze so boldly each time – irises honed right on you. But this – his face is exquisite right now. Those glazed-over eyes evade your stare. He’s looking anywhere but you: breathing spiralling out of control, teeth clamping desperately over those soft lips. 

And you’re grinning, teeth flashing neon and that blue taste on your tongue. 

Have you ever felt so light?

There’s laughter spilling over, and his eyes snap back to yours. 

“Francis,” you rasp. “Don’t ever change.”

Keep surprising me. 

Stay right here. 

When he takes your hand and holds it in both of his, it feels like a promise. It lasts only a moment – but you swear you experience several lives within that singular gesture. 

There’s that blazing flush on his face. 

You hope he’s feeling as warm as you are. 

“I won’t,” he says, and the heavens align themselves once more. 

‘I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.’

Anticipation makes way to expectation.

Francis.

Each muscle, every organ, all of the cells in your body – they’re all waiting. Sure, you’ve waited before. You’ve waited for the next mission, you’ve waited for your paycheck, you’ve waited for your new gun to be issued. 

You’ve waited to tear down doppelgängers.

You’ve waited a long time for revenge. 

But that burning feeling doesn’t feel like the balmy heat that traipses carefreely within your vessels. It’s a dancing, delicate thing. 

You’ve seen the ballet, once. There was a doppelgänger amongst the dancers – movements bolder than any of the others, freer and more unrestrained. Wilder. You almost felt bad about putting a bullet through its eye, but duty called and you weren’t about to abandon the fury within your heart for something as mundane as admiration. 

You don’t know why you’re thinking about it. 

You don’t know why your heartbeat is behaving so intrepidly, but you suppose you’ve lost enough humanity for your body to develop such characteristics. 

It’s strange. Really, it’s so strange you might end up laughing again.

Francis.

He’s got you so easily in his palm. If he asked you for it, you think you’d take the fist-sized organ from its receptacle nestled between your lungs and present it to him on a silver platter. You’d wipe away the congealed blood on his hands with a rough thumb and kiss them better with your poisonous mouth. 

You aren’t a poet. 

You’ve been a soldier and a pawn, so all you know and all you may ever know is the metallic, coppery stench of carmine – it follows in your shadow and stains your footsteps. Your hands are covered in it, and will be forever.  It doesn’t matter – you’d give your body over and over and over and over. Parallel universes will have the same outcome for you. There’s no changing that. 

You’re a soldier, so you’re not allowed to wax poetic about him – any letters you write, any flowery prose will be obscured by the heavy darkness you drag within you. 

But for once, you’d like to try your hand at words. And if your hand is still too stained with that bleeding arterial red, you’ll write it with your body. 

Just once, you’d like your limbs in this universe to be used for something more pretty than killing. Even though it’s an imitation, red is still red and blood is still blood. 

You aren’t a poet, so the most you’ll get is this expectation. You’re a simple creature. Words elude you, but your emotions are too fleeting to be caged in by prose and logic. 

It’s so ordinary. 

It’s all you ever wanted. 

But he doesn’t come tonight. 

Tonight, you’re left with that awful blue fog as your paramour and Sinatra as your entertainment. 

It was foolish, holding on to this expectation. Did you forget already? 

He is one to go beyond them. 

This is one of the few times you’ve ached so sharply. It’s a clean slice through your heart – not like the blunt bang of a pistol, but a masterful cut that draws out the pain better than a bullet ever could. 

It hurts. It really does, and it’s all your fault for feeling hopeful. 

You changed your mindset, and it only came back to pay you in tears. 

But you don’t cry.

It hurts, but the plumes of smoke you exhale taste better than the salt. 

If anything, you’re cherishing the white-hot pain. Maybe you haven't completely lost your humanity. 

It’s long laid dormant, but this agony is sweeter than honey. 

Still, you wish for everything to just disappear. If only for a moment. 

It hurts. Go away, please. Go away. 

You’re an idiot, and when you bury your face in your hands, you barely feel the burn from the cigarette. 

‘I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing.’

You’re unusually sullen the next day. There’s the biting pressure you feel from yesterday, but that’s ridiculous. Francis has no obligation to visit you daily, and your disappointment is your own fault. 

It’s alright. 

You can’t bring yourself to blame him. 

You feel so stupid, though. 

Never have you felt so small. With revenge, the burning consumes you and you don’t feel hopeless. There’s a goal to strive for, after all. But with this, there’s nothing you can do.  

“What will it be, Francis?” 

Your words come out tired. They match the fatigue in his eyes; something you’d normally be noting with wonderment. Today, the excitement doesn’t come. 

No, to be more precise, you tamp down on it harshly before it can come up to the surface. 

“Mm.” He acknowledges your question, but he’s staring you down dazedly and you can’t help but feel slightly wobbly inside. “Something light. I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

Right. You tap the pager unconsciously – it seems him staying away yesterday wasn’t out of his own volition. You don’t know what you would’ve done if it had been otherwise; but then again, you’ve forced those feelings back into a little box, locked tight thrice. Inescapable. Impenetrable. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You give him a weak smile, and the awkward fumbling of well wishes seems to have done the trick – his soft smile back washes the insecurity away without a trace. 

It’s when you’re cooking that it happens. While your hands drip red from strawberries, you hear footsteps. His footsteps – the ones you memorised. There’s that same gait, that same tired drag of his sole. 

And you force down your smile. 

He’s never done this either.

You’d think he was just walking around the diner to pass the time, but his footsteps get closer and closer, until–

His arms wrap around you from the back. 

You freeze. 

Out of all the things you thought he’d do, this isn’t one of them. His face presses into the juncture of your neck, and he’s breathing you in. He’s warm, so warm, and your heart finally begins its fervent race once more. 

If he squeezed you any tighter, you would’ve thought he was going for a suplex.

His fingers trace from your hips, up your abdominal muscles, before settling on your solar plexus – each digit splayed out as though his palms were the sun and his fingers the rays. How fitting. 

You should push him off. You should, but there’s something about him you can’t resist. 

“Francis,” you whisper, and it’s like that final barrier in the dam finally breaks. You give in to the raging tide of emotions. Let yourself be swept up in this turbulent river. Don’t worry about a thing. 

“Mm,” he hums, lips just brushing against the stiff fabric of your clinical jacket. And you can feel their reverberations echoing to your very bone marrow – you don’t think you’ve ever heard your pulse so cleanly, so clearly. “I missed you.”

The admission takes all the strength out of you. 

I missed you too. 

I missed you, so much I couldn’t bear it. 

Perhaps that’s the reason. Perhaps that’s why you could never push him away. 

Fuck.  

You really are a fool. 

So, why doesn’t that upset me?

‘Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.’

It’s a sleepless night. Just when you think those sweet molasses are going to drag you under, they slip from your fingers and leave you tossing and turning. 

“I missed you.”

You can still feel his fingers on your body. 

When you close your eyes, you can feel him, pressing his lips against your neck and holding you close to him. 

Back then as a Captain, there were people who needed you. Of course there were – you were a pawn, a soldier, someone who had a duty and kept to it. You were a resource: easily replaceable. In fact, it was a miracle you’d lasted the year. 

But him.  

You bury your face in your pillow. There’s a furious beat to your pulse. You can feel it everywhere: your head, your legs and even your stomach.

There’s no doubt about it. 

You like Francis. 

You like him, so much so that you’re running out of boxes to put your emotions in. 

It doesn’t come as a surprise when you’re haggard at work, even more so than yesterday. The day is both sluggish and hare-like, racing away from you yet constantly disturbing you with its slow crawl. It’s the adrenaline and dopamine; they’re clashing and twisting and dancing against themselves. You honestly don’t know how your hypothalamus manages to outshine itself every time. 

The familiar hum of the engine comes when the fog up in the sky is still white. It’s earlier than usual, but Francis has never been one to stick within the lines you’ve put him in. 

“Francis.” 

The shadows under his eyes are darker than before.

“I’m not here for food today,” he exhales. “Just let me spend time with you here.”

That’s a first. 

You’re a little lost. When the boss trained you on how to deal with customers, he never mentioned the tricky ones like these. 

“Ah,” you mumble. “Sure.”

“I also brought you something.” He’s smiling with his eyelids lowering – it’s not an expression you’ve ever seen him make. Fuck. You can’t resist him. 

He’s already taken up too much space in your universe. 

There’s a small plastic bag he takes out of his coat pocket. It crackles lightly against the glass of a milk bottle. “Strawberry cookies. Made them myself.”

You don’t think you’ve ever received such a heartfelt gift. 

When he places them in your outstretched palm, all you can think about is the roaring heat of his hand. 

There’s a few flecks of sanguine on his crisp white shirt. When he notices you looking, he laughs awkwardly. 

“I cut myself at work,” he explains, adjusting the hazy buttons. That’s a new habit; of course he’s filled with mysteries. Since he’s Francis. 

Gently, you take his wrist and press your lips to the fabric concealing it. 

“What–” he chokes. “–what are you doing?”

“I’m kissing it better,” you reply. There’s something different about you tonight as well. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but it seems you’ve become more bold in the time you’ve met with him. “Do you want me to stop?”

It seems you’ve been intoxicated by him. 

“No,” he stammers. “Please don’t.”

Perhaps he’s been intoxicated by you too. 

It’s only when you’ve placed your lips on the tips of his fingers that you finally pull back and study his face. He’s completely flushed now, with his hair messed up and eyes wide. 

You take a bite out of the biscuit. There’s strawberries on your tongue: sweet, tangy, perfectly suited to the buttery crumble. It’s warm, as if it’s been held close to his heart. The thought makes you smile. 

It’s perfect. 

This man…

When you stand from the stool to brush the crumbs from your fingers, he stands with you. 

When you head into the kitchen area, he follows you. 

When you attempt to move past him after washing your hands at the sink, he stops you by holding onto your wrist. You could break free if you tried, but you won’t. Because it’s him.  

“Francis…” you trail off. There’s a certain look in his eyes – it’s impossibly tender.  

“Tell me you’re feeling the same as me,” he pleads, pressing your palm flat against his heart. His pulse is wild, spinning out of control like that dancer you saw all those years ago. 

Your own heartbeat roars its own feral beat; it’s a careful syncopation with his. 

You didn’t know his human heart could feel that way. 

It’s not supposed to, not like yours does. 

That heaviness – you don’t hear it with humanity. 

Your thumb brushes over those soft lips; that look in his eyes speaks of immeasurable hunger. 

“Please,” he whines, and you surge. 

Your mouth is on his, and he tastes like the strawberries you’ve just eaten. Heady. Sweet. He may have cornered you between him and the sink, but you’re in control – the two of you know it. 

Perhaps that’s why his lips part so easily. 

He’s warm – so warm. You eagerly devour him, pressing a hand to his nape and another to his waist while you take his small hisses in stride. He’s forced to tilt his head up; hands scramble for purchase in the dips of your back, seeking refuge as you roughly press into him. 

He’s intoxicating. Even when the metallic taste enters your mouth, he’s intoxicating.  

Even when you can no longer smell that milky, powdery smell on him. There’s no woody aftershave either. 

Even when you hear the sound of a familiar hum. 

He stands, frozen in the doorway. 

Your lips are on someone who looks like him. 

And you’re looking directly at him. 

Why does he look like that?

His hands are shaking, and he just looks so lost. He’s panting, as though he’s just run here – and his face is covered with small scrapes that can’t just have been from work. 

And why are you feeling this bitter pain?

You knew you could never have Francis – his world was far too removed from yours, and staying with you is dangerous. You’re cursed, doomed to stay in this intransient state. 

“No–” he chokes out. “Get away from that thing!”

Why does it hurt so much?

You thought you’d be alright giving up on him. 

He can’t enter your blood-soaked world. 

He can’t.  

It hurts. It hurts so much. 

Your heart’s breaking into pieces, but you’re still holding onto his doppelgänger and that creature’s lips are still on yours. 

Francis… 

It was nice. This little dream was nice. 

It was nice, but there are tears in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips. 

It’s ending. That fake, brief happiness is crumbling away. 

“Get away!”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The doppelgänger’s voice finally drops to its natural pitch – low, a harsh hum reverberating through your sternum. “You caught on now?”

No. You hadn’t caught on just now. 

You had a feeling from the very beginning. 

‘That’s life (that’s life) that’s life and I can’t deny it.’

All the celestial bodies will go cold one day. It is simply a matter of waiting for the universe to turn into a graveyard of giants, undisturbed for the rest of eternity. 

There’s a gun in the cabinet behind you. If one examines it closely, you can see distinct initials that match someone working at the diner. But, surely not, right? None of your customers have suspected a thing. 

Faintly, you hear your name being called from somewhere along the periphery. 

“You need to get back, he’s dangerous!”

You pull out your gun, unlocking the mechanism with a swift click. It’s a standard-issue, given to the lieutenant-class and above – a heavy thing, unauthorised to be carried by any civilian. The bullets inside are deadlier than any ammunition used in human warfare. 

You didn’t think you’d ever use it again. 

But today, Francis will be joining the graveyard of celestial bodies. There, he’ll eventually disintegrate – not an atom will remain. 

“Francis, stay right there.” Your words are cold. Don’t you see? This is my world, Francis. 

This is my danger. 

This is what follows in my shadow. 

Don’t come near me. 

“Oh? I didn’t think you were ex-military,” the doppelgänger’s voice rumbles in its chest. “Give up. You’re no match for me. We’ve evolved past puny human capabilities.”

You didn’t think you’d ever do this again. 

Not again. 

Tears blur your vision, but you don’t need to rely on your eyes to kill. 

You need to shoot him. You need to shoot him because you love him, because he’s still alive and this thing is trying to replace him. You need to pull the trigger. 

Francis.

I love you. 

This pain – it’s too much to bear. 

When you squeeze the trigger, you repeat it like a mantra. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

And there’s a smile on the doppelgänger’s lips as you shoot him, like he’s won. 

There’s blood everywhere. Splashed on the pans, coating the griddle, sliding and congealing on the bright neon signs that light up the diner in fluorescent red. Brain matter is cleaved in thousands of pieces, and you resist the urge to throw up.

Red is still red, and blood is still blood. 

When the doppelgänger’s body begins to bubble, you move without a trace of hesitation – sliding across the counter with the agility of an athlete. You’re crying – crying as you take Francis out into the pouring rain.  You’re crying, as you’re covering his body with yours – behind you, the doppelgänger’s body finally blows up and shards of the diner stick to you and maul your back. But it’s fine – he’s still alive. Your universe is living – breathing beneath you. He's warm – a human warmth, with a human pulse and a human smell. 

“You–” he murmurs, drenched in rainwater and the blood covering you. His eyes are widened, but he doesn’t look scared. He’s not scared of you. 

And you’re high, high on adrenaline and the sight of him. 

He’s alive. 

He’s not dead. 

You protected him. 

‘Many times I thought of cutting out, but my heart just won’t buy it.’

The D.D.D will get here eventually. That’s something you’ve come to accept as truth, which is why you don’t care about phoning them when the smoke rising from the place will alert them regardless. 

You pull him into an alleyway near your apartment. There’s a howling storm and a torrential downpour, but you don’t care about any of that. 

He’s warm. He’s warm, and he’s alive. 

“You’re real, right?” you murmur. Your drenched palms press into his face. He’s staring at you, tears gathering on his lash line and a shake in his bottom lip. “Francis.”

“I’m real,” he breathes, and it’s like nothing else exists in the universe. Nothing but him and you in suspended animation, within all the space-time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m not going anywhere. 

Has anyone said something like that to you before?

There’s no fear in his eyes.

What a foolish promise. 

But maybe you’re the fool for feeling the way you do about that vow. 

You’re covered in blood, but he’s looking right past that. 

“Did you know–” he chokes out, looking away. “–that he was a doppelgänger?”

Yes. I knew, and I kissed him despite knowing that. 

Francis, I can’t be with you. 

Those words race through your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You can’t bring yourself to lie, either. Instead, you nod – and you can’t meet his eyes when you do so. 

“Why were you with him like that, then?” His thumb traces your jaw, mirroring the actions of your hands just moments prior. He sounds heartbroken, and you can feel tears blurring your vision once more. “Don’t tell me he’s better than me.”

“Francis,” you plead against the storm, against the deafening wind that presses against your words. “I can’t be with you.”

There’s a pause. Water soaks the two of you, but neither moves. 

“Who decided that?” He steps closer, and you swallow. His arms wrap tightly around you, and his head’s buried against your chest. He’s angry, you realise. He’s angry, because he knows exactly why you decided on that dream. 

He’s pressed skin-to-skin against you – fabric drenched through and ice-cold – and there’s a searing heat that threatens to envelope you whole. Let it, you think. I’ll give in for you. 

“Who decided that?” he repeats, mouth moving against your collarbone. If you weren’t against a wall, you think you might’ve collapsed by now. 

“Francis,” you falter. More. “Don’t you see how dangerous it is with me?” Say no. Be with me despite that. 

You’ve become selfish. 

“I don’t care,” he whispers against your flesh. “You like me, don’t you?”

I adore you. 

Don’t leave me.

You don’t say anything, but he can hear your answer in the wild drum of your pulse. 

“You’ll protect me.”

I’d give my life to serve that purpose. 

“Francis,” you rasp. There’s something coiling within you, burning up hotter and brighter than anything you’ve felt before. It sets your veins and capillaries alight, altering everything within. 

There’s a frigid downpour that freezes flesh and sinew, but you’re sweltering with him pressed against you.

Stardust coats your fingertips when you slide them beneath his chin. Beneath the rain, everything sluices away – the pain, the blood, the worry, and the hesitation.

“Use me to forget,” he breathes. “I’ll be yours.”

Fuck.

Gently, you slot your lips against his, and his eyes flutter closed. He’s hesitant – you can tell from how his hands curl open and closed against your chest. He’s hesitant, yet he presses himself against you like you’re going to disappear any minute. 

It’s funny. 

You’re thinking the exact same thing about him. 

Your fingers dig into his hips – you don’t think you’ll ever let him go.

His lips are warm – humanly warm – and he tastes explosive, like neutron stars merging. He’s divine.  

“More,” he whines into your mouth. “Please.”

With such soft lips parting just for you, who are you to refuse?

“Mm,” he gasps as you deepen the kiss, pressing your tongue into his spit-slicked mouth. Each pretty noise that escapes him snaps one more string of self-restraint of yours, until it’s all gone. You flip him, so his back’s pressed against the cold, drenched wall and your body moves against his front. 

And his hands – they’re clawing at your back and dragging against its valleys. You can feel each nail as you go rougher – eliciting more pain for you, but you couldn’t care less about that . Not when you’ve got him melting like putty as he clumsily moves his lips against yours, not when he’s desperately trying to come closer and closer and closer.  

There’s salt on your lips and copper on your tongue. Tears and blood. You can’t tell who cries. 

“More,” he pulls back from your mouth panting, choking for breath. “Please, I need more.”

Fuck.  It’s getting addicting. 

“You sure?” 

Give in.  You can’t help wanting to lose yourself in that heady sensation. 

“Please,” he begs. 

You crumble so easily. 

‘But if there’s nothing shaking, come this here July, I’m gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die.’

[goldenbuckyyy]

PARALYZED

Summary: Your mind is making you believe things you shouldn’t.

Pairings: Harry Styles x fem!Reader, Fem!Reader x OC, Mentions of HS x OC

Word Count: 4kish

Warnings: DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AGAINST PARTNER, mentions of blood, slapping, tugging, and previous events of D.V. Also being gaslit, believing something you shouldn’t, allures to depression, anxiety, PTSD from D.V events.

PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE IF ANY OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU.

A/N: First off, I am so sorry I’m barely posting part 4! I know it’s been a long time since I posted part 3, but I was in a funk about this short series and I had no idea what to do with it! I’m thinking since it’s such a heavy topic, it felt almost draining, but.. here it is! And I hope you all enjoy it. 🫶🏻 thank you for supporting me and loving my work!! I’m also tagging the people that commented on the last part! Song Inspo: “Paralyzed” by NF

All my mistakes are my own. Please do not repost or translate my fics on any other site nor this one.

I appreciate any likes, reblogs, messages, and interactions. Please message me your thoughts!!! It fuels me!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Two weeks. 

It’s been two weeks since you’ve been home since your accident. 

Accident. 

The word felt weird in your brain. It felt weird in your mouth. It felt weird even thinking about it. 

Because the more you thought about it… the more your brain tried to remember the events that had happened to you and the more pain it caused you. 

You had spent the entire time locked up in your home. 

Absolutely terrified to go outside. To see your friends. To see your family.

You hadn’t even seen Harry and it wasn’t for his lack of trying. He called. He texted. He even came to the house when he knew Asher would be at work. He’d stay outside for hours in his Range Rover and you’d secretly watch him from the window upstairs that he didn’t know had the perfect view of him. 

And he looked just as rough as you felt. 

But you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak to him. Let alone see him. 

Sometimes.. sometimes you’d cry sitting against the front door as you listened to Harry talking to you from behind it. 

But you would simply just text him to leave you alone and that you couldn’t speak to him anymore. 

He sent you so many messages daily and it made you feel guilty. Guilty for shutting him out after he was there for you.  Ashamed for what you had done to Asher. And terrified because you didn’t want anything to happen to Harry. The more you thought about what had happened to you… the more it made you afraid of Harry getting hurt because of you. 

You just felt so horrible. So ashamed. So guilty. So gross. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to record anything for your socials. 

You had been posting old drafts that you had saved for a rainy day and you feared that your followers were slowly realizing something was going on. But you ignored the feeling and persisted with your day to day life. 

Well, you were trying. 

Your body still aches. You still felt incredibly sore, but it was slowly getting better. 

The swelling around your face had gone down and the bruising was now a greenish/yellowing color. You still felt horrible. You felt hideous and ashamed. 

You didn’t know why, but you felt so ashamed of yourself. 

And you were terrified of Asher. 

You couldn’t even look at him. He had gone on with his day to day life after you had been released from the hospital. He tried to be there for you, but he could tell something was wrong because you wouldn’t let him touch you. 

You were so scared of him and you didn’t know why. You kept having nightmares of ‘the accident’ and the more and more you dreamt of it… the more the person resembled Asher. The more you saw the figure in your mind… the more their features twisted into Asher’s. 

Those dark eyes turned into angry blue ones. The messy black hair in your dreams turned into bright blonde. The blurry jaw turned sharp and all the features soon morphed into Asher. And it terrified you. 

Had it been Asher who had done this to you? 

The more you thought about it… the more those muffled words the person yelled turned into words yelled at you by Asher. 

The more you think about it the more your breathing starts feeling restricted because you can almost feel the way his strong hand was pressed against the base of your neck. The way he was physically choking you against the wall and how you cried to him, begging him to let you go, but he never did. 

Silent tears fall down your cheeks as the memories pile into your thoughts. You didn’t want to believe it. 

You couldn’t believe it. 

You grip onto your shoulders as you hug your knees to your chest and the cold bathtub feels good on your naked skin. But you feel hollow inside.. almost empty. 

The water surrounding your naked body is cold and your skin is breaking out into goosebumps. But you can’t find it in yourself to get out of it. 

You feel as if you’re drowning in all of your emotions with your heart pounding in your ears. Trying to find the meaning of why he did this to you. 

Why would he leave you with these scars inside of you that will never heal? 

You know what you did was wrong. So wrong. That’s why you hadn’t spoken to Harry in two weeks, but did you honestly deserve all of this? 

Maybe you did. 

Maybe you did deserve this. 

You did this. You cheated on him. You hurt him first. You destroyed him first. He just got even. 

The annoying little voice in your head kept repeating those sentences to you and you were starting to believe it. 

You let out a shaky breath as your body shakes with it. You slowly start to get out of the bathtub, your body feeling weak, and you know you look like shit. 

You had been feeling so nauseated and disgusting. You couldn’t keep anything down, but you kept trying. 

You obviously haven't been eating right and your body is showing it, but you avoid yourself in the mirror and dry yourself off in the dark closet. You pull on an oversized jumper and matching bottoms. You braid your wet hair into a braid and let out a deep sigh. Your chest feels heavy. 

You sit for a second, letting your eyes slowly go up, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your dark under eyes and hollow cheeks are enough to make you instantly look away. The bruises you still hold make your eyes sting. The fading handprint marks on your neck make you cringe. You close your eyes quickly and curse at yourself. 

You slowly make your way to your bed, putting your phone to charge, and slipping under the covers. 

And at that moment, Asher walks into the room in his work suit. His eyes immediately find you and you freeze in the bed. 

You wonder if he knows that you know it was him.  

Was it him? 

It was. 

His eyes never leave you as he bends down in front of you. You grip onto the covers around you and hold your breath when his fingers caress your face. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks with sincerity in his voice and warmth in his eyes. And you wonder how he could have ever laid a hand on you. 

“I’m okay,” you reply in a whisper and try to not shake underneath his touch. 

Why are you afraid of him? He was upset and you deserved it. 

“I’m glad,” he says as he quickly kisses your forehead and then goes into the bathroom. He shuts the door behind him and you let out a shaky breath that you were holding in. You wipe the wet kiss he left on your skin and then when you hear the shower start, your body relaxes into the bed. 

Then your phone vibrates on your nightstand. 

Your entire body runs cold and you quickly get it, jogging out of the room, and running downstairs. 

You step outside into your patio and answer your phone. The cold air hitting your face and making you instantly shiver.  

“You have to stop calling me,” you whisper immediately when you put the phone to your ear. Your heart thumps rapidly inside of your chest. 

You hear a small sniffle from the other side of the call and your heart tightens. 

“Sun..” 

You clench your eyes tightly and try to even out your breathing, “Harry. I’ve told you to stop calling me. You.. you can’t call me anymore. Whatever we had, it’s done. It-it’s over.” 

Even if your heart is screaming at you to let him back in. To ask him to come save you. To save you from Asher. To save you from yourself. 

“Just please tell me why you’re still there! He hurt you! He did this to you. Why don’t you believe me?!” His voice is filled with anguish, disbelief, and he sounds absolutely devastated. 

Because you can't admit that he did this to you. Because you deserve everything he did. Because you made the biggest mistake when you slept with Harry again. Harry doesn’t want you anymore. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose as an uneasiness settles into the pit of your stomach. “What am I supposed to do, Harry? I-I don’t even know if it was him! I feel crazy! I feel insane! I-I feel insane for the way my brain is slowly making images of him doing this to me! How could—he didn’t,” you start pacing your backyard, wet grass tickling your feet, “How could he have done this to me?” You silently beg him for an answer. 

You weep silently as he asks, “You remember?” 

You silently groan and wipe your tears away in a rush. 

“I don’t know what I remember! I-I don’t know what’s real or what’s fake. I just know that you need to stop calling me,” you demand as you quickly end the call and sit down on your patio chair. Trying to relax your heart rate as the ugly images rush in your brain. 

You clench your eyes tightly together, your hands grasping at the roots of your hair, and you let out a little whimper. 

Stop crying. You deserved it. 

You slowly start to work on your breathing, your entire body shaking with feelings of anxiety and desperation, and you lean back onto the chair. Letting yourself inhale deeply and calmly. Your eyes are still closed as you try to relax. 

“Y/N?”

Asher’s voice startles you which makes you flinch, which causes you to jump in the chair, your hands gripping onto the arm rests in a panic, and gasping deeply. Your eyes go wide in fright and you see Asher standing in front of you in only his pajama pants. His blonde hair is wet and messy. 

“Hey, it’s just me.” He coos at you, leaning down to watch you, his cold hands covering your own, and you try not to snatch them back. 

He notices your hesitation and he frowns. 

“Why are you outside?” His voice suddenly turned cold. 

“I just needed some fresh air,” you lie as you try to speak clearly and without any shakiness. 

Because your mind won’t stop trying to tell you about what happened. 

His eyebrows furr and his lips go tight. 

“You need to come inside before you catch a cold,” he demands. His hand tightens around your wrist and he basically tugs you onto your feet and drag you inside. 

You yelp loudly, “Asher, what are you doing? Let go of me!” 

He loves you. He wouldn’t hurt you. Would he? 

He already did. 

His hand only grips tighter around you as he drags you into the kitchen. 

The only place you had been avoiding since the accident. Your heart rate immediately goes sky high, confusion runs through you, and you beg, “Asher.. wh-what are you doing? Let me go, please.” 

Fear runs through your body when he shoves you into the kitchen stool and he stands in front of you. 

“Since when do you remember?” 

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes go wide, “Remember what?” 

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest, and his dark eyes turn to you. “Let’s just stop this game where you pretend you don’t remember what I did to you and why I did it to you.” 

“I…I don’t—I don’t know…” 

You look down to try to avoid his hard stare and start fumbling with your fingers. A feeling of uneasiness surrounds you. 

His hand slams onto the countertop, the loud bang making you jump, and tears fill your eyes. Because you’re terrified. Your lip quivers in fright. 

“Stop fucking lying to me!! You’ve been lying to me for years! Saying you and Harry are over! That-that nothing was going on between you guys! That it was over! It was never fucking over!! You kept fucking him behind my back and I want to know why!” 

His hands grip your arms tightly, tears falling down your cheeks as you try to avoid his eyes, and he grabs your chin in his hand. 

“Stop fucking crying and tell me why you kept fucking him!!” He roars at you as angry tears run down his face, chest heaving in rage, and he looks terrifying. 

You cry into his palm, “I-I d-don't know why! It-it just happened, I s-swear!! Please, Asher! Please believe me! It only h-happened a couple times and—-“ you whine as his grip tightens around your chin and pain shoots all over your body from it. 

“So, who’s the father?” 

What? 

His question makes your tears halt, you suck in a deep breath, and your hands immediately go into his wrist to try and pull him off of you. Your eyes staring into his own in shock, “What are you t-talking about?!” 

Father? 

He shoves you off his palm and you steady yourself in the chair again, watching him, and trying to stop more tears from falling. He walks around the kitchen, shaking his head, and he lets out a chuckle in disbelief. 

“Asher!” You cry out, standing up this time even though you are shaking from head to toe, and you feel completely afraid of him. You have to know what he meant. 

“What are you talking about?!” 

He turns to look down at you, his eyes roaming your body, and he stops at your belly. You flinch under his attention, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you’re trying to protect your body from him, and he moves closer to you. 

“I told the nurse from the hospital that I’m your fiancée and she told me that you’re pregnant.” You gasp loudly, covering your mouth as sobs break through you, “The only reason why they told me was because they were about to tell you after they checked your blood work again to make sure, but I begged them not to say anything. Saying something about how it would be too much for you too soon.” He rolls his eyes at your sobs and continues, “I had to practically beg on my knees for them not to tell you, but you were beaten up so bad that they felt bad for you.” 

He leans down to look into your eyes as you try to back away. 

“Little did they know it was me who did it to you,” he whispers, “but then I found out you’re pregnant. And I admit.. I did feel a little bit guilty. But then I felt pissed. Because I don’t even know if the baby is mine. Do you?” 

You whimper as he gets closer to you, your arms wrapping tighter around your body, and you look down to your feet.  

“You did this to me,” you sob out in a whisper, finally admitting it out loud, and you feel your shoulders start to shake. 

He suddenly grabs your neck and in an instant without even hesitation, you react by slapping his face hard. The loud smack startles him as an angry groan rages out of his chest and you instantly retract backwards, fumbling and tripping on your feet to the floor. 

Why would you hit the man who loves you?

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t touch me, I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me!” The words fly out of your mouth at a rapid speed as you quickly scatter into the corner of the room into a ball, trying to shield yourself from him with your arms, and your breathing picks up instantly. 

Asher’s quick steps allow him to reach you in an instant, his big hands swallow your wrist, and he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his embrace as he holds you tightly against his body. 

His free hand tugs into your hair, pulling at it by the roots and he laughs when you let out a pained whine, and tears spring out in the corner of your eyes, and you’re frozen in his hold. 

He’s pulling your hair down so that you’re looking up at him, his tight hold doesn’t let you move an inch, and his white teeth are covered in his own blood from the hard hit you gave him. 

“Are you scared of me?” He questions as he slowly caresses your face. 

You let out a low whimper as you watch him, scared to even breathe. 

“Why would I ever hit you? You’re my fiancé and I love you,” his voice is steady and cynical. You gulp down the lump in your throat as your lips quiver. 

Your body is aching already from his tight hold and you wish you were braver. 

“I would never hurt you again. Don’t you trust me?” he whispers into your neck as he starts kissing down your jaw. You shiver at his touch and don’t move. 

“Isn’t that right? I would never hurt you again. I’m sorry I ever touched you like I did before. I was only upset. You forgive me, right?,” he whispers into your mouth as his lips hover over yours and he slowly kisses you. Fear is etched into every single fiber of your body and you don’t close your eyes as you watch him kiss your lips. 

You let out a shaky breath as you move your lips against his as you try and think of what to do. How would you even get out of this situation? 

He’s taller than you. He’s stronger and faster than you’ll ever be. You don’t think you’d be able to make it far. You don’t think you’d make it out the door without him catching you. 

“And now you’re carrying my baby. I’m not ever going to hurt you again,” he whispers into your mouth as you cry silently. 

What are you going to do now?

Harry couldn’t live with you. 

He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t fucking think without you. 

He couldn’t even fucking breathe without you. 

His chest hurt from your absence in his life and he was trying so fucking hard to help you. But you wouldn’t let him in. 

He tried calling, he tried texting, he tried staying outside of your house to get you to talk to him, but you just wouldn’t. He didn’t want to force you to remember and he didn’t want to physically take you away from your home. 

He couldn’t do that to you. But he was terrified every single second of the day. He didn’t know what to do. 

He tried talking to your family and seeing if they had spoken to you or seen you, but they said they hadn’t. They said you messaged them every day, but only simple worlds that you were okay and that you were recovering. And that you were tired and needed to be alone. 

It was killing Harry. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

He was torn about what to do. Because he didn’t know what the fuck to do. How was he supposed to just take you away from your home? It would be basically kidnapping. 

But he was scared that Asher was going to hurt you again. How was he supposed to know if he didn’t already? 

He just wanted you to be okay. He just needed to see you. He just wanted to be with you. 

He’d protect you. He’d love you. He’d keep you safe. 

If only you’d let him. 

And now you weren’t even speaking to him. You kept telling him to leave you alone and that everything that had happened between you two was a mistake. 

How was he supposed to believe that? You are the love of his life. 

He couldn’t give two fucks about Vivian and Asher. 

Matter of fact, he called off his engagement with Vivian the second he got home from the hospital and she was out of his home the next day. She said she knew it was too good to be true and apparently fucked off to Paris. 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to care because he was too worried about you. And he knew what he was doing wasn’t healthy. But what else is he supposed to do? 

Kidnap you? 

Take you away from your home and keep you in his? 

Keep you in his home until you remember what Asher did to you? And make you leave him? 

Maybe he should. 

Harry’s eyes started burning as tears filled the brim of his eyes and he stumbles out a loud, frustrated sigh, because he’s so tired. He’s so fucking tired of crying! 

He’s so upset at himself for not doing anything. He’s pissed off at the world. He’s pissed at himself. He’s pissed off at Asher for ever touching you and he’s pissed off at your brain for making you forget. 

He wants to kill Asher. He wants to beat him to a pulp. He wants to make him hurt the way you hurt. 

But how is he supposed to do that when you still believe he’s the golden boy you used to love? 

Harry knows he’s not supposed to call you. He knows you probably won’t answer. You never do. Well, usually. But he misses your voice. He needs to hear your voice. He begs god that you remember and that you ask him to come for you. Please. He needs this. 

He clicks on the first contact in his favorites list and his breathing almost hitches when he hears your voice. 

“You have to stop calling me,” he hears your sweet voice whisper into the phone. His heart tightens in his chest. 

He sniffles as he feels his lips quiver and he frowns, “Sun…” 

“Harry. I’ve told you to stop calling me. You.. you can’t call me anymore. Whatever we had, it’s done. It-it’s over.” 

He can hear your strangled breathing on the other side of the phone. His heart is thumping rapidly at your words. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Just please tell me why you’re still there! He hurt you! He did this to you. Why don’t you believe me?!” He yells into the phone trying not to get too upset. But he feels so much pain right now. He feels devastated. He just needs you to believe him. Why don’t you believe him? 

He clutches his own chest as if he’s trying to console his own heart from the pain he’s feeling. 

“What am I supposed to do, Harry? I-I don’t even know if it was him! I feel crazy! I feel insane! I-I feel insane for the way my brain is slowly making images of him doing this to me! How could—he didn’t.. How could he have done this to me?” 

Harry listens to your rapid words and he aches for you. All he wants to do is take away everything you’re feeling. He wants to take away all your pain. 

He begs god to give it to him instead. He can handle it. He can take it.

You can’t. He doesn’t know if he can save you from this. He wants to save you. And then it clicks. 

He silently gasps when your words click in his own brain. 

“You remember?” 

He hears you groan into the phone before you speak again, “I don’t know what I remember! I-I don’t know what’s real or what’s fake. I just know that you need to stop calling me.” 

Then, the line goes dead. 

Harry stares at the phone in shock. His mind reels a million thoughts every second. What should he do? 

He doesn’t even think before he shoves on some shoes and goes into his Range Rover. 

He’s going to save you. Even if it kills him. He’s going to take you away from Asher. 

And he hopes you forgive him for not coming sooner. 

Tag list: @yellowtrain28 @sarcas-latte @st-ev-ie @ingrid-ingrid-ingrid @cherry01 @writinghost @that-daydream-look @marzhshaim

[persephone11110]

rain is a good thing

Jake‘Hangman’Seresin x Reader

Chapter 4: Memories

Warnings: medical induced coma, medical inaccuracy,past relationship, mama seresin, flashback of jake and y/nrelationship—there italicized

Chapter Summary: Its not awkward sitting in the room with your ex boyfriend-mother.

Characters: Gina Sersesin | Doctor Kate Young

A/N: does jake make it ? , enjoy and thank you to everyone who continues to like and reblog and comment.

WC:810

Previous | Next

Series Masterlist

—

You didn’t love him anymore not like before. Your just doing the right thing- which was keeping him company. After all what are ex girlfriends who still love their ex boyfriend there for?

So why are you sitting at your ex-boyfriend bedside holding his hand, reassuring him that you’ll never leave his side until he’s fully awake and functioning. You drop his hand by accident after hearing a familae voice, a voice you haven’t heard in a while.

You recognize two distinct voices- one voice belonging to Dr. Young the neurosurgeon who operated on Jake… and the other voiced was Jakes mother- Gina Seresin. Her voice heavy with a southern accent, dare you say heavier than Jakes. You hear Dr Young say something to her but your to busy listening to your heart rate accelerate to thousand beats per minute.

The back of your neck beat red you immediately rise out of the chair turning to meet her, she’s holding a bouquet of flowers, and picture of young Jake. Gina Seresin swears her old brain is playing tricks on her because Y/n L/n the heart her son broke was standing infront of her with a beat red face. “Is that you Y/n?”, you expected her voice to be dripping with anger but it isn’t, she motions you towards her. “C’mere darlin” she whispers to you.

“H-Hi Mrs. Seresin”, she envelopes you into a hug, her calmed voice provides you with a sense of comfort you haven’t had since you were a child. Your supposed to comforting the woman who son life hangs in between life and death, she flew all the way from Texas with by herself with the idea that her only son might be dead by the time she got to the hospital.

“Nonesense Y/n like I told you all those other times you have the right to call me anything but Mrs. Seresin”, she shushes you gently, neither of you were going to bring up the fact that both your shirts were now wet.

“Its nice to see you Gina”, your voice rough because of the crying you’ve been doing since you first saw Jake lying in the hospital bed.

You break apart from the hug- wiping away the tears,“Its nice to you see Gina, I wished we were meeting under different circumstances”, you grab the picture and flowers from her, putting on the table next to Jake. She pulls a chair from the wall, pulling it to the other side of Jakes bed.

She gives you a teary response in return,“Me too sweetheart”. Gina grabs Jakes hand gently and cups her hands around his,“Your going to be just fine baby, Rocky been waiting for you to ride her Jake”. How could you forget Rocky, when you and Jake were together he often brought up Rocky, a horse he had since he could walk. He would go on for hours about Rocky and how much he missed her while being stationed in California.

Wanting to give Gina alone time with her son you decided to slip out while her back to you and she’s busy telling Jake a story about Rocky.

You get lost in your mind as you wandered the hospital halls, walking past some hospital rooms with made beds, some with familes at the person bedside crying. Hearing a nurse yell clear as they attempt to bring someone back to life.

“Y’know Y/n your supposed to actually flip grill cheese”. Jake murmurs from behind, wrapping his arms around you.“Do you not like cheese sweets?”. He asks you with his signature shit eating grin.

“Jake you didn’t complain last time when I made it”. you hold the spatula upto his chest,“Not once did you speak ill of my cooking”.

“Well sweetheart you supposed to give compliments to the chef”. He grabs the spatula out of your hand placing it onto a napkin nearby.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”, you two are swaying back in forth with your arms lightly wrapped around Jakes neck.

“Yes it is”. you roll your eyes at Jakes sacarsm.“I love how excited you get when its your turn to cook that I just eat it darlin,watching you sing and bump your hips to music while cooking is my favorite thing to watch”.

“Well” you started to get teary, can’t find anything to say. “I love you Jake”. He pulls you so close that you feel how warm he is.

“Gotta show my darlin how much I love her”. Jake whispers into your ears, suddenly his lips are softly crashing into yours.

Between each breathe Jake utters a I love you.

“I love you so much sweetheart”. Jake inhales again, “I fucking love you”.

Your leaning aganist the doorway watching Gina finally succumb to sleep after hours of sitting at Jake beside awake, afraid to fall asleep.

“I love you”. you whispered into the quiet room.

Taglist: @chocolatefartstrawberry, @buckysteveloki-me, @dontletthemtakeyoualive, @classyunknownlover, @els-marvelvsp, @i-am-mrsreckless, @cinderellasmissingshoes,

[vintagesage123]

Fired Gojo x Reader

its been 2 years but i'm back, see you in another two maybe

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was it, really. No thank you for the years of torture no i'm sorry for all the stress i've put you through over the last 5 years of your life, no of course not, the asshole couldn't even come and tell me he was firing me himself.

All i was provided with was the cardboard box that I was supposed to put my things in. Fuck that, if they want me gone they can pack it them self. I've spent 5 years working my ass off in this company, i'm not spending another second in this hell hole.

16 hours later:

Something does't feel right, my head feels as if my brain is fighting to get out, my legs are like jelly, the hot body pressed to me from behind, and oh yeah that man's arm around me. Wait who the hell is that? ''Good morning sexy'' he smirks against my neck. Oh shit, i know that voice, I can already see that smirk just by the tone of his voice. Please tell me i didn't sleep with my old boss, please tell me i didn't sleep with Gojo Satoru.

i turn slowly around and see him, those blue eyes meet mine, still smiling of course. ''so... you wanna order in or should we go out?'' Oh no.

8 hours earlier

There was a banging on my door, I didn't order food did i?. I'm pretty drunk but i think id remember that. Slowly i peep through the hole in my door and see none other than Gojo. Fuck fuck fuck. What if I just pretend i'm not home?

''I know your in there'' Fuck my life.

I groan and open the door '' what do you want?''

''Nice outfit'' i'm wearing a hoodie and pj shorts. He pushes past me into my apartment. ''I have your stuff''

''What stuff?''

''The stuff you left on your desk before you stormed out, obviously'' he puts the box down on my kitchen island.

''Oh well why didn't you just get one of your underlings to bring it, like the way you got one of them to fire me'' i say ''and I also didn't storm out''

''You didn't storm out? then why did James tell me you cursed him out and oh... stormed out'' he laughs at his own joke.

''Whatever, we are done now, i don't have to pretend I like you and you can hire some early twenties bimbo to take my place''

He leans back on the island ''okay firstly'' he holds one finger up ''I didn't fire you for that reason, but thanks for the bimbo tip'' he holds his second finger up ''secondly if i wanted some eye candy I would have kept you, and your also good at your job so that's a bonus''

I step in front of him still a bit flustered from his comment ''Then why did you fire me''

''Your attitude'' he smirks

''My attitude'' i laugh at that ''my attitude, you were the one calling me at 3:30am to see if i could finish the work you didn't bother to get done, and i always got it done''

He leans down to my face ''You did, not very well but you did''

This ass ''Maybe because I don't have a business degree, and oh, IT WAS THREE THIRTY OR LATER''

''Yeahhhh, maybe that's why, anyways, whatcha doinggg'' he looks past my shoulder and sees the half drank bottle of alcohol ''Rough night huh''

''Fuck off'' I make my way to my couch and pour myself another drink.

''Woah, i thought your attitude was bad before, now your a full blown bitch. Keep that up and you might turn me on'' he makes his way over to sit beside me and pours himself a drink''

''What the hell is wrong with you'' i laugh.

''Oh my God'' he looks to me shocked.

''What, what is it!?'' i freeze.

''Your face doesn't crack when you smile''

''What is wrong with you, seriously, i thought there was an axe murder behind me'' I exhale.

He grabs the remote ''what are we watching, fight club, planet of the apes ohhh bullet train?''

I think of telling him to go home but that would be more work than just dealing with his presence ''uhhh bullet train''

It's about an hour in. He has spread himself out on the couch, the bottle's empty and we are pretty drunk. In this light hes kinda hot, well he was always hot, but tonight is the first time iv'e actually looked, like really looked. As I'm looking at him he catches me in the side of his eye. Oh no hes going to make a big deal out of this isn't he''

''See something you like'' he smirks

''Yeah Aaron Taylor Johnson is pretty hot''

''Anything else you like?'' he looks at me with that big cheshire grin.

''I mean Brad Pitt is pretty nice to look at'' he rolls his eyes at that. I almost feel like laughing.

''Sure you don't see anything else'' he grabs my thigh. What the fuck.

''No not really'' i gulp, there's no hiding how nervous i am now.

''Just relax, we've both had a pretty shitty day, why not relax?'' he lifts his hand up higher until hes almost touching me. Oh my god.

''If i say yes this doesn't mean anything, okay'' Is this a good idea, probably not, but i'm drunk and really fucking horny so fuck it.

He pulls me onto his lap ''You say no its a no, you say yes its a yes, you say its nothing then its nothing, what you say goes''

''Fuck it'' i pull him down to me and kiss him, and oh fuck he tastes good, like mint and alcohol.

He's holding me by my hips and grinding me down onto him, hes already hard ''fuck your so hot'' he says making his way down my neck. He picks me up from under my thighs ''where is your bedroom''

''Straight down the hall first left'' he drops me on the bed and crawls between my legs slowly pulling my shorts and panties down.

''Fuck, how long has it been baby, your soaking'' i really don't want to give him that answer, so I ignore him.

He puts his tongue on my lips and i already feel like i'm about to burst and he hasn't even gone near my clit ''Satoru'' i moan.

''How long baby, i wont lick you again if you don't tell me''

This asshole ''I don't know like...three years''

His smile drops ''how are you alive''

''Not all of us have a sex addiction'' he licks my clit this time and fuccckkk.

''I don't have a sex addiction'' he keeps licking''

''How many times have you called me late at night to 'leave to deal with a work emergency' because you wanted to get away from a woman'' he nips my thigh. ''Ow Satoru'' i hiss.

''I love it when you say my name'' he slides two fingers in me and it doesn't take him long to find that spot.

My legs start to shake and my thighs clamp around his head and then i'm seeing stars. Fuck i'm cumming already. He's good, easily my best, ill never tell him that of course.

When i think he's done he keeps going, overstimulating me ''wait Satoru, it's to much'' i moan out.

''How are you supposed to expect me to stop when you say my name like that, anyways I need to get you ready for me'' not long after he says that does he draw circles on my clit with that magic tongue and fuck i'm seeing stars again.

''Satoru'' i moan. Finally he pulls away from me. He pulls my hoodie over my head and see's i'm not wearing anything under it.

''Fuckkkkkk'' he kisses my neck and make his way down to my nipple and takes the left one in his mouth, letting me grind myself on his thigh.

He pulls himself back up to kneel in between my thighs ''I to be in you'' he pulls his fly down ''do you have protection''

''I haven't had sex in four years, so no'' this idiot

He smiles at me, what the hell is he smiling at ''thought you said three years''

''Shut up'' i grit out ''i'm on the pill, just pull out''

I've never seen this man smile more than after that sentence ''fuck yes baby'' he rips off his shirt and pulls down his sweatpants and fuck, no wonder these women keep coming back, easily 8 inches and fat to. Maybe he was right in making sure i was ready, this one time he was right.

''You ready baby'' he says stroking himself and lining himself up to my entrance.

I nod and that's all the confirmation he needs, he pushes himself in all the way ''fuckkkk baby your so fucking tight'' and fuckkkkk, hes right again, It's hitting just right, no man's fingers let alone his cock could hit that deep, but here the one man i thought I'd never sleep with is eight inches deep and i'm loving every second of it.

He starts thrusting at a slowed pace but doesn't take long to build up a rough fast pace. He lifts my legs up to my shoulder's and if i didn't think he was hitting the spot before, he sure is now.

He's not shy about showing how he enjoys sex, hes moaning and grunting just as much as me and it's turning me on more than i've ever been turned on before. He throws his head back in pure bliss ''Fuck baby, where is it''

I can't even think when hes hammering into that spot ''where's what'' i moan in between his thrusts.

''Your vibrator, you haven't had a cock in four years, you definitely have one'' he smiles. I stare at him in shock, how does know that.

''Em, in the nightstand'' without pulling out he grabs the bullet from the nightstand and puts it over my left nipple ''FUCK'' i moan.

Slowly he brings the vibrator down to my clit and in less than a minute i'm seeing stars. He doesn't stop there, he keeps abusing that spot and my clit. The only noises in the room is our skin and moans and before long i'm coming around him again. ''Fuck baby your so hot when you cum''

Tears are streaming down my face from the overstimulation, fuck its all to much, hes to much. ''Come on baby, just one more beautiful'' he lets my legs down and lays above me ''your so sexy baby he says kissing my neck comforting me ''your okay just give me one more''

''Satoru'' i moan and i'm cumming with him.

8 hours later:

Oh yeah that happened

note:

This is the second story i've written so the grammar and pacing might be a bit off but hope you enjoy and please id love some constructive criticism.

another note:

In this story i talked about pulling out, if your having sex pulling out doesn't work, please be careful and use protection.

[abbythewritor]

"Specimen." Connor x Venom reader.

Description: Y/n, a girl who's been alone her whole life, decides to change when an alien from the sky corrupts her body. Learning to cope with the symbiote named Venom, the two figure out a way to help put an end to disgusting humans who pick on the weak. But what happens when a certain Android detective is on her tail as if he was attracted to her all this time?

Warnings: Drama, blood, violence, stuff from the game, you know, the usual from Detroit become human.

Other things:

-I do not own Detroit Become Human; they belong to the owners and creators of the game.

-We will be following both Markus and Connors's side because the reader is with the deviants, while Connor, you know, does his cop duties, lol.

-Y/n is a human girl who is then corrupted by Venom; if you don't know who Venom is, then I recommend watching the movie about him, then that will sum it up for you.

-I really hope you like my second book, and I'm excited to share this all with you, so without further do, enjoy the prologue of my new book. :)

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

"Venom.....?"

'Hm?'

"How long has it been? You know....since the incident....?"

'Five years.....why?'

"No reason...I think it's funny...."

'Funny? Funny how? You were in a living hell, and you're telling me that situation is funny? You're truly are fucking weird brat...'

"Heh. Guess I am...five years ago today, I finally got my drunk ass dad to jail, and guess where that got me? Living in an abandoned house, now looking at a murder scene of a Mexican guy, where his robot is hiding in an addict....now looking back, this like I have right now is no fucking Island dream; it's paradise, am I right?"

'If this hell hole is your definition of paradise, I don't know what your vacation will be like. Do you dream about Mexicans being murdered every night? Because that's a weird kink to have.'

Your eyes rolled. "Yeah, of course I do; the blood of Mexicans aroused my blood." Venom popped out of your back. "Really?! Hah! Who knew-OUCH!" Throwing a sandwich at his head, you glared at him. "Do you really think that this was my kink?! You are truly disgusting." He let out a low growl before putting the whole sandwich, with the wrapper in his mouth, having no effect on eating something not edible. 'Can you blame me? You watch crime documentaries and celebrate when a murderer or a rapist is sentenced to death; I can't tell the difference between your fantasies or your interest, so I fucking apologize.'

Sighing, your elbows leaned more onto the railing. Eyes looked down to a house, which police cars surrounded. This house holds a special event with codes and keys of importance to Jerhico. North Sent you and Venom since if things could go south, you can grab the deviant with ease, preventing the police from being able to access the information.

You and your slimy friend have been on the rooftop for hours, getting nothing from the enemy but standing and complaining about the gruesome smell. With Venom eating all the sandwiches, snacks, and fuel you brought for this mission, it didn't take even ten minutes before another car pulled up to the crime scene, a rather old, yet grumpy man coming out of it.

Intrigued, your eyes followed him, watching the fat officer shake the man's head.

"Venom, let's listen in on those two.' "Copy, but don't blame me when they're talking dirty to each other. You can't get that shit out of your brain for a while." Confused, you didn't think of Venom's comment as he went back inside you, giving you hearing a 100% upgrade.

"Ah, for fuck sake, I thought I told you to stay in the car!" Confused, you looked around, your eyes soon landing on someone unfamiliar.

Eyes widened, you noticed an LED on the male, notifying you that it was an android. 'Why the fuck is the tin can working with the police?' sighing, your eyes stared at the android, looking around his body for any clues. You noticed his suit had writing on it, the letters reading RK 800 and cyber life. You weren't surprised that the police would hire an android, which makes them not as stupid as you realise.

"It's not a devient...this mission is going to be a lot harder with him on their side..."

"Yes, but we do know where the stray is...if we can get to him now, then we can just grab the fucker and flee back to jerhico, simple as that."

"It's not that simple."

"And why is that brat?"

"This android they hired is the best of the best, able to sense, see, and hear any human, robot, and android hundreds and maybe thousands of yards around him. He's able to track down evidence, previous situations, and many devients in just under ten minutes. If we try and get the devient out, he will know we are there, and this whole operation is blown."

"Well, I guess our time limit is ten minutes then, do you fucking know who I am? I was able to make us as silent as a mouse when it was just us breaking into Jericho, this will be a piece of cake." Sighing, you threw your empty burger wrapper behind you while hopping back to your feet. Stretching a bit, you continued to eye the crime scene below, watching as the three went inside the house, the android stopping momentarily.

"Tin can, oi! What are you standing there for?!" The android sensed something wrong as his head looked around the area. Seeing almost no one, his sensors were acting weirdly, as his eyes looked to the building you were standing on.

Venom, who quickly pulled up your cloak, covered yourself as he looked straight at you, the long black cloth blowing with the rainy-mixed win.

Smirking, you were fond of the looks of this robot, as he was not like any moddle you ever seen.

His hair was a dark brown, slicked back as the rain didn't mess it up, his skin a medium pale as beautiful, yet perfect dotted freckles painted his face.

The suit he wore from cyber life hugged ever inch of his body, his jacket blowing with the wind as well, his brown eyes digging into your mysterious soul. "Earth to fucking Connor!" Not getting anything when he scanned you, he turned to Hank and the officer, who were looking at him confusingly. "The hell is wrong with you? Looks like you saw a ghost or something.." Shaking his thoughts, Connor took a deep breath. "Apologize lieutenant, the air just suddenly changed. But, to add to your comment, Ghost's do not exist, I was just simply scanning the area." Weirded out by him more, Hank let out a scoff before turning. "Fucking androids...just...don't do anything stupid alright, we don't want the crime scene to be messed up-AH CHRIST THIS FUCKING STINKS!" A large, uncomfortable scent aroused throughout the house, multiple scents hitting the human's noses as both of them cringed with disgust. "We gotta call from the landlord around eight to tell it that the victim hadn't paid his rent back for a few months. So I thought he'd drop by to see what's going on. This smell, to be honest was worse before we opened the windows. So, have at it you two, the victim's name is Carlos Ortiz, who has a record of theft and assault."

Hank looked down at the victim, with great disgust as blood ran down the humans mouth. Multiple stab wounds were onto the mans stomach, leaving indents from his shirt. Connor, started investigating behind the two, as the old man's eyes glared to the officer slightly. "Did the neighbors hear anything or say anything about him?" The officer sighed. "According to them, he was kind of a loner. Stayed inside most of the time, and they hardly ever saw him.." Hank bended down to his level "Well, the state he's in Wentworth calling everybody out in the middle of the night. He coulda waited till morning. How long do ya think he's been here?" The officer shrugged. "Probably for a good three or four weeks. We'll know more when the coroner gets here. There's a kitchen knife over here, probably the murder weapon." Hank took something from the officers hands, Connor distracted which gave you a chance to get closer to the house.

Making sure the officers around the house didn't see you, you leaped crossed buildings, the trees to the victims yard as your silhouette shined in the clouded moonlight behind, your cloak still attached to your head.

Landing simply on the roof, your feet was light, so no loud thumping was heard at all.There was a hole in the middle of the roof, you walking simply closer to it as you were able to see the android, hank, and the whole investigation easily.

Kneeling down, you were making sure to be careful, as you just listened in to the convo that is going on right now. "Any signs of a break in?" Asked Hank. "Nope. The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside. All of the windows were boarded up. The killer must have gotten out the back way." 'You know, for humans without superpowers, their pretty stupid.' Nodding, you sighed. "Agreed, but, I wouldn't know the deviant was still here if I didn't have you...let's see if they can figure it out first, don't want to be unfair to them hmm?" 'Right, but we both know the Rk 800 is going to figure it out, right? He's a police android for fuck sake.' "Yeah, but, let's just hope he takes a bit of time going through the crime scene, I always wanted to watch one in real life, it just gets me excited." "Your fucking weird, you know that?" Chuckling, you adjusted your position, while now fully sitting onto the roof. "Guilty as charged." Looking more to the operation below, you saw the man, who seemed to be named Hank, holding the light up more to carlos, Connor, or the android, still was looking around, Piecing the evidence and everything together. "What do we know about his android?" "Not much, the neighbors confirmed he had one but it wasn't here when we arrived....I-I gotta get some air." As the officer left, you weren't surprised with how weak his nose was, as the smell of dead, rotting bodies was pretty brutal. Looking around some more, your eyes landed on the Wall, which had a writing of 'I AM ALIVE' written on it. Getting out a pad of paper, you scribbled it down, then writing a note that the android turned deviant, probably from the attacker. Looking up from the pad of paper, your eyes landed on the android, who looked at some red ice, then made his way to the murder weapon. Kneeling down to it, his fingers touched the blood, soon putting it to his mouth. Cringing from the sight, you had to look away before Venom popped out. 'The hell is he doing?! That's fucking disgusting! Even I won't eat 4 weeks old of blood!'

"Oi! What the fuck are ya doin'? That's fucking disgusting!" Hank told him, as Connor simply turned to the man. "I'm sorry, I'm analyzing the blood, I can check samples in real time. I should have warned you." Turning back to him, you were impressed with his response, as you wanted to Jot that down under this robots abilties. You could sense Hank was still disgusted, but slightly impressed as well as he began to back away. "Well-alright, but put no more fucking evidence in your mouth got it?" Connor nodded. "Got it." Hank scoffed. "Fucking hell, I can't believe this shit." As Hank walked away, connor continued to look around, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the hallway, he even looked out the back, trying to see if the devient walked out the back.

But to his surprise, he found no Foot prints at all, notifying he's still in the house.

'Three minutes left, we need to get to the robot. Now. ' Nodding, you quickly got up, trying your best to be quiet as Venom told you the way, you ending up in the attic just a couple steps away.

The room was full of manikins and other storage stuff, you of course seeing the devient hiding behind boxes, while of course holding a metal pipe into his hands.

Sighing, you hopped off the roof, landing in the attic with a slight thud, which alerted the deviant.

Scooting back instantly, his eyes widened when he met you, who was just standing their. "W-Who are you?! What do you want from me?!" Eyebrows furrowing, you could sense he was truly scared, and traumatized as dents, blue blood, and human blood were attached all over his body. He looked like hell, as the pipe that was in his hands shook with his body. Taking a step, you began to head towards him, in a calm yet caring manner. "Do not be afraid, I am not her to hurt you. I understand what you've been through, you were abused, correct?" Eyes widened with surprise, he held the pipe towards you, scooting back as you got closer. "H-How d-did you know t-that-" "I know all things-we know a lot of things. Carol Ortiz, hit you with the bat, almost ended your life as you just wanted to be free, wanted to be a better version of yourself. I know all the bad things he said to you, the brutal things he has done to you, you were only just trying to defend yourself." The deviants breath's became shakier, as you sensed more fear coming from him. "H-He was going to kill me...I-I d-didn't know what else to do-for the first time that night, I truly felt like myself, free, I couldn't let him do anything else to me..I-I didn't mean to kill him-" Smiling gently, you kneeled more to him, grasping the robots hands into yours. "I know..that's exactly why I'm here, to take you to a safer place." His eyes widened. "W-What do you mean by that? What could be safer, the humans hate me, how are you so willing to help?" "Because I know what your going through, androids and all humans alike deserve a better life, the weak and abused deserve to live freely without being in fear. I know your scared, and confused right now, but before the Humans find us, you need to come with me." Hesitant for a second, the android didn't know what to answer nor did he have time. You could sense someone else in the room instantly, as the RK 800 suddenly came into your view.

Eyes widened, you came in front of the deviant, Connor shooting his gun to you as Venom easily blocked it, pushing the android to a wall.

The Gunshot alerted hank, as he hurried to the attic stairs. "Connor! What is going on up there!?" Grabbing the deviants hand, he allowed you to lead the way, as both of you made a run for it towards the window. "IT'S HERE LUITENANT! HE'S ESCAPING WITH SOMEONE!" Hank let out a low growl, slightly cursing before sending more officers out side.

Connor bolted from the wall, heading to the window you hopped off of, before your eyes locked with his.

Stopping for a second, he got a slight glimpse of you, before your mouth formed a smirk, your hood still keeping your identity from being revealed.

"Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!" He asked, as the only response he heard was a giggle, your body fully turning to him with the deviant behind you. "The world needs to know the truth, and the cruelty humans bring. I am not who you think I am, but you, yourself will know the truth of freedom." Gritting his teeth, he saw you about to jump out of the window before he bolted, his arm reaching for your cloak.

But, before he could grab it, wind rushed in front of him, pushing connor back as you teleported away, taking the Deviant with you.

As his back slammed on the ground, his eyes instantly opened, him hopping back to his feet, his eyes and interface scanning for you.

You were gone.

Hank, who was outside witnessed the whole thing, his eyes winded with surprise as everything happened so fast.

Holding his watch up to his lips, he took a deep breath. "Tin can! Are you still there?! What the fuck happened? Do you have the suspect?!" It was silent for a second, as connor let out a slight curse, heading to the window.

No traces of you were found, as the remembrance of you and the deviant slipping through his fingers came through his mind, his LED turning a purple color. "I lost them Hank....."

"Someone took the deviant."

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Thanks for reading the prologue, stay tuned for the first chapter, which will be uploaded Monday, July 3rd.

[zebulontheplanet]

For people who don’t know, I had a my first therapy appointment on Tuesday. I’ve had a few days to process everything so I’m ready to talk about it.

I told her everything I could. The abuse, the amnesia, the diagnosis, everything that I could fit into our hour long session. It was a lot, and she was actually thoroughly concerned by the amount of issues that I had. Which..isn’t surprising, and I was expecting that. I was expecting some comments on that.

She asked me if I was interested in another neuropsych exam, and I was on the fence about it. I didn’t give her a yes or no answer, and I didn’t know what to say. I was with a neuropsych from ages 7 to 13 maybe 14. It was many many years of testing, and I don’t feel like doing it again. I don’t feel like going through that trouble again. I don’t feel like having more doctors be confused, or try and tell me this and this is wrong with me, or just tell me I’m an anomaly and they don’t know what’s wrong with me. I am pretty ok with the diagnosis I currently have. Although I’d love to get more answers on what is wrong with my brain, I really don’t see the point in going through the whole process again at twenty years old. I am twenty. I am done. I am happy and satisfied with my diagnosis for once. I don’t want to go through the testing again. The poking and prodding, the professionals acting like they know me, for them to look at me with those eyes of amazement like I’m some sort of zoo animal.

It’s not something I want to experience anytime soon, so I’m telling her no when I see her. I’m not interested. I’m happy. She did ask for the paperwork from my neuropsych, which I will give her of course, but yeah. She said usually, when I have the diagnoses I have, they usually see something big in the brain going on. Which..I understand but have no idea what it could be and I honestly don’t want to go through the testing to figure it out.

Testing itself is exhausting. It picks apart every aspect of your life, every thing you think of. You have to get personal with the doctors, a personal I don’t really want to get with anyone besides my therapist. I don’t want my brain poked and prodded at. I don’t want that. I’m tired. I’m done with that part of my life, I just want to move on and live with my life now. I want to finally live.

I really liked my therapist, she was wonderful and specialized in pain, mental health comorbities, and DBT skills with teens and college students, she joked that they paired us on purpose but it was purely luck to be honest. She was amazing, and seemed up to date with new terminology and was just overall so nice. I have all positive things to say.

Overall, the therapy session went well, but I have a lot to think about, and a lot to say.

[specialstay]

[05:35am]

very angsty with some self-doubt, him being very distant

This feeling in your chest again. Burning with pain and somewhat with love. Love hidden underneath a layer of disgust, pain and confusion.

Disgusted at yourself for still plaing his game, listening to his cards and words who seemingly have no intentions in making you feel loved nor wanted at this moment.

Pain because a part of you still sees him as your loving boyfriend who once would never hurt you in any kind of way, who would hold the door for you in pouring rain and would always make sure that you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

Confusion for his actions and words he has said to your face, ignoring how much he hurts you and ignoring the tears that make your face shimmer in the moonlight.

You didnt know how to react in situations like these. A part of you knows that hes not really feeling this way when he says that you dont matter to him right now, when he says that he wants to be alone right now and when he says that he doesnt care about anyhthing right now.

Right now...

Those two words that you hated at this point in your relationship.

Because yes, right now you dont want the leftover chicken in the fridge but throwing it away would be stupid because you were already planning on eating it for luch, but not right now.

Has he no sense for the future?

"Im getting sick of this" you finally say after hours of silence in your shared apartment.

"Aha" was the only response you got and he didnt even look up from his phone, nothing new when he was mad.

"I did nothing to deserve this. I did nothing wrong and I'm very much able to look objectively on a situation and acknowledge a mistake of mine" you said a little louder but you never screamed. Anger wont help your situation and would only make it worse.

To no surprise you didnt get an answer which only made you angrier. But who can blame you?

"I only told you "good morning, " but apparently, that was enough to make you mad again, and im really running out of options and patience here! Tell me, what was it this time? Was my morning breath so bad? Was there not enough toilet paper in the bathroom today?" You couldn't help the sarcastic comment, but at least you never shouted at him.

His eyes showed pure annoyance, and he doesn't even have to look you in the eyes for you to see that. You were considered a lucky start if he looked you in the eyes when he was mad.

"I dont wanna talk" was a surprisingly long answer for his circumstances but not long enough for you to be satisfied. Angry you stood up from the couch were the both of you were just sitting on and went to the kitchen.

Maybe going to your moms house for a few days was a good option for now.

"You never wanna talk, it's eating me alive! I did nothing but the best for you the past few weeks, i was always silent when you were angry because of some bullshit and I'm always hoping for you to be you again! Im hoping that the old you comes back, the one i fell in love with" you said loud enough for him to hear in the living room, you knew exactly that he never looked up once since you left the room.

"The old me is gone! The "one you fell in love with" is fucking gone and he wont come back" he finally answered while you grab your keys and coat. "No he is not! He is just hidden beneath all that self hate of yours and has trouble coming back, trouble i cant help with!" You finally shout now and unlock the front door, your heart screaming to go back inside, hug and kiss him until you both find a solution and finally fall alseep in his arms like you used to.

But your brain is telling you to go outside that door, leave him here and potentially risk your relationship and leave all the good memories you both have behind, just like leaving him behind on that couch.

Would he even care?

Would he even care now that youre about to leave this appointment?

Care about you and your feelings?