#my lack of meds is showing

[miammey]

I feel like I’ve said this before, but I HATE it when people get rid of the relationship between two characters just because they don’t ship them romantically, like wtf are people not allowed to have close platonic relationships???

I see this a lot with male and female duos, like if a guy and girl are incredibly close, maybe canon wants them to be together but the fandom prefers a gay ship (completely valid), but in doing so they just ignore all the canon connections that guy and girl have with each other, just throw it away. Hell, I’ve even seen canon do this (Overwatch I’m looking at you with Genji and Mercy, tho to be fair that barely has a canon at this point)

Note to anyone making any content: do not get rid of canon connections just because you ship something else!!! Don’t throw away platonic relationships, even if you don’t wanna write about it or make content for it don’t ignore it, don’t mischaracterize them by making one character “get in the way of a ship,” and don’t always assume that every art of two people standing next to each other is ship art, if you’re really clutching your pearls at the idea of a ship you don’t like check the tags, most people tag ships if present (or at least they should)

Platonic relationships are valid!! They’re good!!! Don’t throw them away because you like other romantic pairings!!! You can still like the romantic ships, but the members of the ship are still allowed to have close relationships outside of it!!! People are allowed to have close friends and family!! People’s lives exist outside of their romantic interest!!!

[mywillbedone]

i tell u what if i didnt have blondie here with me today id be having a very disruptive meltdown

[paperlovesadness]

Me seeing all the comments under Glasto-themed posts blaming Alex for being sick and calling off Dublin

I'm barely able to fold that knife though.... And I'm not trusting myself that it'll stay folded.

[texanmarcusdavenport]

every time someone characterizes Oliver as an anxious weak nerd and Kaz as his dumb but strong protector, an aneurysm spontaneously forms in my brain

[coloursofaparadox]

im still not over the sleep thing one sec i gotta rant about this shit

[musical-chick-13]

I! HATE!! HAVING!!!! OCD!!!!!!!!

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad

there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging. 

which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.

“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.

“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”

“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.

“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”

“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”

“try and log in with that user.”

“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”

“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”

okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan. 

you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”

“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”

ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—

yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes. 

“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”

“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”

she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code. 

hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.

———

satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?

“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”

“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”

“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”

“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”

“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”

“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”

“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”

“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”

satoru deflates. 

okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope. 

evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing. 

but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches. 

life is so cruel sometimes. 

“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”

“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”

“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”

suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together. 

“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”

satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed. 

———

after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him. 

we need to talk. is all you send him. 

the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers. 

miss me already? knew it ;)

wow. what a dickhead. 

so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this. 

the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?

well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.

“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”

“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”

“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”

of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding. 

“okay,” you huff. 

meet me at my place. now.

on my way, he sends back almost instantly. 

“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”

“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case. 

———

“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”

“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”

okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded. 

“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”

“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”

“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”

“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised. 

it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.

“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”

he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”

“satoru.”

yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad. 

“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”

that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse. 

“so it’s my fault?”

“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”

“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief. 

“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”

“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”

“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”

“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”

“don’t curse at me, satoru—”

“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”

“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings. 

“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”

“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”

“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”

“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”

“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”

“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”

“now look at who's cursing!”

it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits. 

it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans. 

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”

he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever. 

you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants. 

“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes. 

satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”

“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”

“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips. 

you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently. 

“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”

he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.

“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”

it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own. 

“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head. 

“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”

“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”

“yes,” you snort.

“and you’ll follow back, right?”

“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”

“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer. 

you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be. 

———

“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat. 

of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen. 

how considerate of you both. 

“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”

“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes. 

woefully, they both agree to split the check. 

suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Theoretically Yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: After a series of murders at your university, the FBI has decided to give you a bodyguard. The problem is that he can hardly protect himself, especially from you and your charms.

Words: 1,9k.

Warnings & Tags: mentions of murder, crime, blood. spicy insinuations. spencer from the first seasons with GLASSES meow. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm really excited about this, I love Spencer Reid in all seasons, but in the early ones he had something different that drove me crazy.

Also, this is the first time I write here and I'm nervous.

It was supposed to be a normal day, but agents showed up at your door to stop you from going to class and left you under the watchful eye of the youngest of them, Dr. Spencer Reid. It was a precaution to protect you from the killer who has been stalking the campus, killing girls with similar profiles to yours.

You weren't afraid and insisted that it wasn't necessary until you saw him. The mere thought of spending time alone with the man made you more excited than you would have liked. He was very tall, skinny and could barely look you in the eye for more than five seconds without looking away absolutely blushing.

You had decided not to talk to him or act suspicious, but for some reason you liked the idea of him helping you with your biology homework. You were studying pre-med at the behest of your parents and were having trouble understanding some of the material. Spencer saved your life when he offered to help you and told you about his multiple doctorates.

“You are amazing, like a genius.” You said in surprise when he read the big book you had on the table in just five minutes and left a bunch of notes in it.

He blushed again, trying to adjust his glasses to hide it so it wouldn't show. Reid was doing his best to be professional and not let his guard down, he had to be vigilant in case you were in danger.

“It's nothing. I hope it helps you.” He said, giving you a little smile.

You nod and look at the television behind him. They were airing a new report on the latest murders, showing photos of the victims and interviews with family members. Everyone cried and repeated how unfair it was to lose their prodigy daughters to a madman. You thought about how they made such a simple TV show about spilled blood without thinking about it, just trying to paint the girls who had tormented you for several years as white doves.

“Don't worry, you're safe here. I can promise that.” Spencer spoke as he followed your gaze. He was trying to comfort you and take away any fear with his presence.

“I know.” You smile at him with innocence. You were more than capable of protecting yourself and you knew it.

There was an awkward moment of silence, so you offered him coffee to break it. You went to the kitchen and poured two cups, watching from afar as he talked on the phone in the meantime. You couldn't help but notice the nervousness in his voice as he repeated to his colleagues that all was well with you.

“She's pretty, isn't she?” Penelope's voice rang through the phone in Reid's ear and sent shivers down his spine. “I saw some pictures in internet.”

“I...maybe...yes.” He mumbled, trying not to let you hear him. "How does that matter or help the case?"

As you used the coffeepot, Spencer looked you over from head to toe. He couldn't deny how attractive you were and how much his heart raced when you were around. His extreme lack of flirting skills and his clear differences with you saved him from the temptation you were.

“Just have fun, lover boy. You need it.” The woman smiled proudly and hung up the call before he could answer.

The two poured cups were already on the table, you sat down on the sofa by the window to start reading the notes he had left in your medical book. His impeccable handwriting made you shudder, it was unbelievable that someone with so much knowledge would waste time trying to take care of you from yourself and not even realize it.

“You're okay?” He asked with a soft voice, sitting in front of you.

“Yes, just reading your notes.”

“Sorry, I put too many. But I can mark the important ones for you.” He gently took the book from your hands and began to place himself between the paragraphs with one of his fingers.

Your eyes fell on his hands, the way he moved them over the pages of the book bringing inappropriate thoughts to your mind. You hadn't noticed before how perfect every part of him seemed, especially now that he was spouting complex biological terms without even flinching. You were aware of your own intelligence and proud of it, but you would have liked to be like him...or at least have him around.

“Is something wrong?” He asked confused as he noticed how you had been watching him.

“Sorry. I was thinking of biology...nothing better to look at to understand the theory.” You said to justify your indiscretion.

“Oh sure, it helps. According to several studies, the human being has three main systems for perceiving information: visual, auditory and kinesthetic.” He began to explain quickly. “This theory was put forward in 1988.”

“Maybe that can help me.” You suggested, trying to look away from him.

He nods and start to talking again.

“You were watching, that was visual. And you heard me talking before, that was auditory.”

“And what is kinesthetic?” You asked, even though you knew what the answer was.

Spencer swallowed before speaking, trying to hide his nervousness at the sudden change in tone of the conversation. He was glad to know that he had been able to turn the situation around and put the recent crimes out of his mind, he had been worried that they would affect you.

“Is what is learned through sensation and movement.” He finally said with his voice trembling slightly.

“Can I...?” You try to ask, but he nods before you can finish the sentence.

You stop looking into his eyes and take his hand, put it on your legs and start tracing lines with your finger over his scarred veins. You could feel him shudder every time you touched him, and his mutterings about the technical names of each became inaudible.

“This is the radial artery, provides oxygenated blood to the hands and fingers.” You start to talking, looking him to the eyes again and letting your hand enjoy the softness of his.

“Yes...yeah, it is.” His voice came out as a whisper, as if he was losing control of the situation. No one had ever touched him in such a way before.

The smell of coffee mixed with his cologne is almost addictive and begins to drive you crazy. Just touching his hands was not enough, something inside you wanted more and the ideas running through your head began to torment you. You knew it wasn't right and that your own sanity was in jeopardy, he was one of the good guys and you not so much. It just wasn't right for you to mix, let alone under the current circumstances.

“I should check the perimeter.” Spencer rose from his seat and slowly moved his hand away from yours. He need to go away before something incorrect happened.

All the words were caught in your throat at that moment. You didn't want him to walk away yet.

“It's not necessary.” You got up after him, preventing him from walking to the door and being able to leave. “Everyone is in their classes now, the residence is empty and your coffee is going to get cold.”

Spencer knew you were right. He couldn't go against logic, so he sat back down on one of the couches and took a sip of the coffee you had poured for him. He did his best to avoid your gaze, but it was impossible when you were looking out the window and absentmindedly sipping your coffee.

“Do you think they'll find the killer?” You asked, trying to make conversation after watching through the glass as police cruisers drove around campus.

“Of course, no one else will have to get hurt and everything will be back to normal for you.” He replied without taking his eyes off you.

“I don't think you get to decide that.” You blurt out without thinking.

The phrase and your tone were enough to make him stand up and walk towards you. He put a hand on your shoulder out of inertia, to give you support and reassure you a little.

“You don't need to be afraid.” He gave you a small reassuring smile and you felt the warmth of his touch.

You took a tentative step toward him, shortening the distance between your bodies. You raised your gaze to meet his, feeling at his mercy because of the difference in height. You weren't thinking too hard and didn't hesitate to put your hand on his cheek, caressing it.

“What are you doing?” He asked, trying not to get carried away by your touch.

“To thank you for being here and helping me.” You had a burst of courage and stood on tiptoe to give him a resounding kiss on the cheek.

Then you moved your face far enough away to look at him and see his blush. He looked so affected by a simple kiss on the cheek that you couldn't help but move closer again, this time with his fingers on your chin.

“You can't. We can't.” He stopped the approach just a couple of inches from their lips colliding.

“Why? Because I'm part of your job?” You questioned in frustration, unable to tear your eyes away from his mouth.

“I'm here to keep you safe.” He tried to sound calm and professional, though his voice trembled.

“I'm very safe now.” You assured him, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around your waist. “No one can hurt me here.”

Without Spencer being able to notice, a small moan escaped him at your action.

“There's a killer on the loose.” He insisted, trying to be the voice of reason even though he couldn't look away from your lips.

“Trust me, a kiss won't bring him here. I'm sure of it.” You replied as you noticed him slowly pulling away from you.

A curse tried to come out of your mouth at the rejection and lack of his touch at your waist, but before you could finish it, his lips were on yours and his hands were pressing you against him.

His lips were as soft as his hands, but the way they moved over yours was not soft at all. At first, even his tongue seemed to ask your permission to continue. It took several seconds of clear acceptance before the uncertainty of his kiss disappeared and was replaced by need.

You took advantage of the fact that you were in front of the big couch to push him off and you both fell on top of him, having only a few seconds to catch your breath before continuing. He gave you a quick, tender kiss before pulling his hands away from your back to remove his glasses, which were already fogged up and out of place. But your hand stopped him just before he could put them down on the table.

“Do not take off your glasses. I really like them.” You whispered still over his mouth.

“As you wish.” He said before kissing you again and letting himself enjoy himself under you, without thinking about anything else.

At that moment you knew that maybe committing a few more murders to keep him around wasn't such a bad idea.

[star-anise]

Currently getting my socks clean blown off by Rethinking Narcissism, by Dr. Craig Malkin. Which I found, in a roundabout way, from this video on Midsommar, grief, and narcissism.

Tonight I woke up from a nap and accidentally took my morning meds, so I'm going to be up for a few hours because of the meth. In place of sleep, I'll try to roughly sum up some basic ideas proposed by the research the book is based on:

That traits of "narcissism" like entitlement, grandiosity, and feeling special are not inherently toxic. There are times and places they are appropriate and beneficial. If you show up at a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, you should not sit and wait to be seen after people with earaches and coughs. (Actually, medical systems are designed to prioritize people with more urgent needs, and you qualify under that system. You are special and are deserving of different treatment than those others, which is why making your needs known, even insisting on it if you're not listened to appropriately the first time, is an extremely good idea. It keeps you from bleeding to death on the floor, and keeps the hospital from getting its pants sued off by your heirs.)

It is more useful to view "narcissism" not as an inherent immutable personality trait, but as a cluster of coping mechanisms. As previously stated, there are times they are exactly the right coping mechanism for the job. However, people we call "narcissists" tend to cling to these ones even when they become detrimental to themselves and others, often because they lack other ways of regulating their emotions and getting their needs met. And that is something they can change, if a person is willing to put in sincere and difficult work. It is not usually fast change; it's a matter of years, not weeks. But a skillbuilding approach turned Borderline Personality Disorder from an immutable curse to a fully treatable (though not quickly treatable) condition, and there's a lot of hope that it can do the same for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Meanwhile, there's an opposite end to the narcissism spectrum, and it is also pathological and destructive to hang out there all the time. It's an aversion, or even a resistance, to expecting yourself or other people to treat your own feelings, thoughts, ideas, needs, or preferences as important. For Greek mythology reasons, its proposed name is Echoism.

Unfortunately, because most of the damage echoism does is, by its very nature, localized to its sufferer and their own personal relationships, its downsides aren't often talked about. In fact, it's often seen as an ideal moral state, a kind of altruism or saintliness everyone should strive for. As a pathological coping mechanism a person is trapped in, though, it's often more a fear-based reflex than a conscious and deliberate attempt to achieve some real and specific good. It's not actually as beneficial as being able to recognize your needs, desires, positive aspects, and areas of competence or excellence, and bring them forward in your relationships with other people and yourself.

To me this has all been a cross between a gut-punch and a cool, sweet drink of water. There have been other ways to describe echoism over the years, but this feels like the most concise and useful one I've seen in ages.

It specifically puts its pin down in the middle of the moral debate a lot of people struggle with—"What right do I have to put myself forward? What hope do I have of being seen and accepted? Isn't it better not to burden anybody else?"—and says that the problem is not feeling in touch with either side of the equation, but specifically, the inability to move from one part of the spectrum to another when it's merited by circumstances.

When I was a child, I thought Echoism was the answer. It was my ideal. I thought it was what would get me the love and acceptance I wanted, and would keep me safe from the pain of rejection or not being understood. I had no idea it would actually, in fact, be the primary cause of alienation and loneliness for the rest of my life.

Now I'm so deeply thankful I couldn't fully achieve it, in practical terms. As hard as I tried to erase myself, there were always things I loved too much to suppress. I still found ways to express and discover myself in the books I read, the stories I wrote, the intellectual work of school and the experience of pursuing hobbies I loved, my ambitions to be helpful even when they demanded I stop being selfless, and the relationships where I felt safe enough to experience love and acceptance even if I didn't think I deserved them.

There's this question I found a while back that echoed in my bones: Who am I allowed to be around you? Because that's what I felt like, as a child. If I wanted to engage with other people and minimize my risk of harm, it was my job to bend into a pretzel and fit the shape they wanted. And thank god, thank god, thank god, I couldn't fully do it. Despite everything, there were parts of me too strong and bright to lop off completely to get my arms and legs inside the carriage. I was able to take care of myself and let them grow in secret until I found social places I could let them out again. Despite myself, I found ways to grow and thrive, well beyond the trauma that said I shouldn't have.

[thegreatyin]

before you ask: the reason i don't have access to my medication is because i'm currently visiting family for the holidays and i, in my always brilliant state of impeccable mind, left home without packing the pill bottles like the biggest idiot imaginable. so now my adderall is stuck a full day's drive away and it's just barely not debilitating enough to be worth making the roadtrip for while also being necessary enough that i am a complete and utter fool regarding concepts such as "executive function" and "deadlines" without it. what i'm really saying is every post and drawing and spot of RP i've made during the latter half of december are minor miracles and we all should be celebrating their existence(s)

for those curious abt exactly what the fuck has been going on in the yin oc world lately: i am writing a summary post abt it. i don't have access to my ADHD meds for the duration of the holiday season so i can't say with confidence when i'll actually be done with the thing but tune in Sometime Before New Years™ for it. caeru war crime cringe compilation (the holiday special) 🎉

[shotmrmiller]

PAUSE! OH MY GOD. writing a soap smut got me thinking. 

As a medic in base, you see the 141 guys all the time. Whether in passing or because they get injured, you’re always interacting with them. Your particular lack of response at Ghost’s irritated glare after reprimanding him for being unable to keep his stitches intact during training is what solidified your friendship with Johnny— what Soap tells you to call him.

Every time Johnny goes out, he likes to drag you along and this is where you notice peculiar interactions between him and Ghost.

The way Ghost gives Soap Johnny his full attention when he’s speaking, turning his entire body to face him, even if it’s something completely trivial. Or how Johnny stresses over Ghost who’s injured on your med table and Ghost will comfort him. When going on a mission, if one goes, so does the other.

You wonder if there's something else going on.

—

You get your answer.

One day you’re knocking on Johnny’s door because it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to weasel out of a physical. You’d think getting shot would hurt more than a vaccine but here you are— about to twist his scottish ear off. The door finally opens, and you barge in because you aren’t about to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway when you freeze. 

Ghost is in Johnny's room, lying on the bed. If looks could kill, Ghost’s would’ve leveled the base. And he’s naked under the sheets— if that tree trunk-sized bulge is what you think it is. It doesn't even look hard. Bloody hell. 

You shift your gaze towards Soap, and your eyes drop— he's clad in nothing but a towel that hangs dangerously low on his hips. 

Massive. These men just walkin’ round with weapons in their pants.

Shaking off those thoughts, you shift your attention to his face.

“Meet me at the clinic in 10 or so help me god, Johnny.” and walk out the door.

You hear a muffled "Yes ma'am" , and a hiss escapes your lips.

That cocky smile Johnny had means he definitely saw you ogling them. 

—

A week passes and it’s a friday. You can’t wait to lock yourself in your barracks room and watch movies the entire weekend— you plan to start as soon as you're off the clock.

And then other medics twist your arm into going out for drinks.

Now you find yourself seated at a table in a lively bar, indulging in shots of tequila. As you glance around, your eyes catch sight of Soap and Ghost standing near the bartender. It appeared that some woman is talking to Johnny and he has a polite, detached smile on his face. Always too kind to strangers.

Then she starts caressing his thigh.

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. Right in front of Ghost’s salad? You lock eyes with Ghost and he looks murderous. Jesus.

You usually don't stick your nose in others' business, but if you don’t intervene, Ghost might actually kill her in her sleep. Besides, tequila has always made you bold.

With a confident stride, you make your way towards Johnny and remove that woman’s hand before settling yourself snugly on his lap— and you wrap his arms around your waist.

“And who is this?” you ask Soap, but the girl questions back.

“No. Who are you?” 

Bitch. 

Curling your upper lip, you answer, “I’m the one he comes in every night hoping it takes. Now leave before I make you,” completely ignoring the massive bulge pressing up into your arse.

She looks at you with a bewildered expression, but doesn't move so you finish off with, "Try it. Just a warning though, it'll be hard to fight when the fight ain't fair."

You cock your head to the side with a taunting expression and the woman scoffs before walking away. Noticing she left her almost full drink behind, you give it to the bartender to toss in the trash. She's just gonna have to get another one.

Your act comes to an end, so you shift to stand up— and realize that the arms encircling your waist tighten, keeping you on his lap. His clothed cock.

“Ye didnae think we’d let ye go after yer little show, did ye?” 

Unless Johnny’s speaking french, he just said we. You'd be nervous but you aren't about to decline what could be the best sex of your life. The want you feel in Soap's pants has you riding a certain high— it makes you feel confident.

Grabbing onto the edge of the bartop, you swivel the stool you're on to face Ghost. 

“And this okay with you? I wouldn’t be stepping on any toes, or nothin’?”

Ghost swiftly lifts you from Johnny's lap and places you onto his own.

“Does this answer your question?” and draws you closer before grinding his erection against you.

And it sure as hell does. Slapping the counter, you ask for some water. If this night is going to end with you sandwiched between these two, you want to remember all of it.

reader's a boss ass bitch. GET IT CHILE.

[softfem-dom]

being logan's iron deficiency princess™ would include.. masterlist with all of my works with logan's iron deficiency princess ,,

✰ him noticing that your scent had a different something from the ones from the other mutants. kind of as if it was lacking something, much weaker than the ones from other people.

✰ him noticing just how poorly you performed in P.E class whenever he walked past a window and saw you already exhausted after just two laps around the gardens.

✰ him starting to subcounsciously keep an eye on you while training and doing P.E most times just sitting in a bench with a cold beer as his excuse as to why he was watching especifically your class during that subject.

✰ him being the teacher on 'watch duty' during reccess the time you actually fainted just because of playing tag with some other teens your age.

The garden outside of the lived-in school was bustling with the sounds of yells and laughter coming from the noisy students enjoying their reccess time. Logan was sitting on a random bench, cigar between his index and fore finger as he kept a gruff eye on the teenagers coming and going. He had gotten dragged into 'watch duty', mostly to make sure no smartass tried to use their mutation and accidentally hurt someone, after half of the teachers had gone out in a special mission. And that was when he heard it, he knew the sound was not directly near him, but his enchanced hearing allowed him to hear the 'thud' of a body hitting the floor clear as day. His head snapping to the side with a quirked eyebrow, ready to scold whoever kid had pushed another to the floor, only to be met by the sight of the body of a girl on the floor. You. Out cold. With a groan, he was forced to put out his cigar and shoo the curious students away from your unconscious body.

✰ him eventually convincing Hank to get a blood test done on you, much to your dismay, and having to literally —and reluctantly— hold you down so you wouldn't go into hysterics at the sight of the needle.

✰ It turned out, you had the fucking lowest iron he had ever seen. He was no medic, but the ten (10) written next to the mcg/dL in the document when you clearly had to be over 35 to be healthy was a clear indicator.

"Look, bub" his voice was gruff, slightly raspy from the cigar he had smoked not half an hour before. He held the papers right up to your face, index finger pointing at the number in bold. "you see that? well, that's fucking low" Hank simply stared and listened from the sidelines, going over the rest of the information in the printed papers of your blood test results while listening to Logan scolding the hell out of you with the most deadpan look ever. As if the roughed up mutant knew anything about medical results, but he was right in one thing: your levels of iron in blood were fucking low.

✰ that's how Logan ended up, unwillingly, becoming the human tracker of your meds and other important things such as eating breakfast.

✰ He'd literally go as far as to yank you by the back of your shirt while you walked past him just to show you the box of meds with a quirked eyebrow and an unimpresed look.

✰ He gets mad whenever you don't take your meds, mostly because if you pair up not taking your meds with your forgetful nature in eating times terms, since it was him the one being called whenever you ended up in the infirmary.

,,

✰ There are days when the anemia leaves you tired and drained, when your brain simply won't focus and it feels as if you're living through a thick dream.

✰ On those days Logan doesn't hesitate in being the one with a warm hand firmly resting between your shoulders, gently guiding you to wherever you needed to go in the first place.

✰ Also, on your worst days, he'll also carry you with him wherever he goes. It's kind of like a protective urge deep down. Having you sit on one of his arms, your back against his chest, while he walks around the school with a cold beer in the other. ^piggybacking on this, he can definetely sense whenever is one of your bad days because the your scent is way weaker than normal.

"Logan?" Ororo's voice cut through the silence in the kitchen, an amused edge to it. The school halls and kitchen or common rooms were empty at this hour in the morning, only —albeit rarely— occupied by the teachers with free periods. "what?" he huffed, barely sparing her a glance as he momentarily struggled to pop the top of the beer bottle off with just one hand. "what are you doing?" "what do ya mean, bub?" "I mean, why do you have a student in your arms when she's supposed to be in class" the white-haired woman hummed, walking past by you both —your form sitting on Logan's bulky arm, back against his chest— to grab a drink from the big fridge. "her iron is too damn low" he grumbled, bringing the bottle to his lips to take a swig, while shooting you the tired-of-this-shit father™ look. "gotta keep an eye on her today, that's it" his voice wasn't louder than a deep grumble, almost as if he was annoyed by it, but the way he gently bumped his nose against your cheek when Ororo wasn't looking said otherwise. "you and your mama bear instincts" the woman teased, closing the the fridge's door and sending you a wink. "mama bear my fucking ass"

✰ he's also the one teacher to accompany you to the blood tests, always. He was that first time and he doesn't see why anyone else would need to take up his role, even if he acts like it annoys the shit out of him.

✰ will actually smack the back of your head when he passes by you somewhere, and when you ask what it's for, he'll say for not eating breakfast and fainting on your way up the stairs.

✰ whenever it's lunch time, and he happens to walk by you, he'll do the ✌👁👁🫵 thing as if saying 'you better eat, im watching you'.

✰ he'll take any and every opportunity to make it about your iron levels. You're tired? that's for not taking your fucking iron meds. You're groggy? that's for not taking your meds. You're moody? that's because of not taking your meds.

✰ And god help him if you ever end up hospitalized/interned in the infirmary due to your low iron levels. He'll go batshit about it with you, no gentleness no spoiling, just an angry and hella worried old man accusatorily pointing at you and telling you that if you keep this up he's going to get damn gray hairs.

✰ don't let it fool you though, after the initial anger his behaviour'll soften up. Just a little though, he'll definetely give you the nastiest side eye + cocked eyebrow combo EVER if you complain while on bed rest.

[hauntedhokage]

A Helping Hand

Caleb/F!Reader

rating: explicit

word count: 4.1k (my bad)

warnings: spoilers for Homecoming Wings story and Caleb’s Painful Signal memory, grief, sexual content

part two to Handsy

ao3 | masterlist | ko-fi

You hadn’t paid attention to any of the specifics that were provided to you, you simply didn’t care about any of the details besides the fact that your friend was dead. He was supposed to show up on his first day back at Skyhaven from his trip to Linkon for a follow up appointment, you needed to make sure his concussion had actually healed so he could be cleared to fly, only to be told by one of the Captains that you weren’t going to see him again. 

You’d wanted it to be a joke, his horrible attempt at gauging how much you missed him while he was gone, but you know better than to challenge a superior over it.

That explained why he hadn’t texted back, aside from your other explanation being that he was spending time with his family and not checking his phone. But for him to be dead? It didn’t feel real. 

Not him. Not Caleb. 

He was always confident in his strength and ability to perform (in every scenario), for him to have been killed was just…wrong. 

But a week goes by without someone saying “sike”, nobody jumps out to tease you for being gullible, and you’re dressed for the funeral held in Linkon City for the fallen pilot. You stand in your only appropriate funeral attire - one of hundreds on base who showed up but the only one who received eye contact from two of his close friends. 

After the funeral one of those two friends approaches you, letting you know that there were a couple things with your name on them in Caleb’s room of the apartment they shared, and that you were welcome at any time to come collect them. Stuff he’d want you to have, they’d said, and that wasn’t something that was easy to comprehend. 

The idea of Caleb having things for you in his apartment felt off, given your lack of a real relationship between you. Sure you were friends who had sex and he teased you relentlessly, but there hadn’t been anything more concrete established for him to have things for you in the apartment you’d never seen. There were feelings on your side of the relationship, sexual attraction blooming into so much more with every moment you spent with the pilot fertilizing that seed, but you kept that to yourself out of risk of him laughing you out the door. Without knowing his intentions, you wanted to keep your feelings safe from potential garden shears ready to cut the stem from the root, only now that flower would be left to wilt without his care and attention to keep it alive. 

You leave the gift bag sitting on your coffee table for longer than you’d like to admit. Two weeks of staring at it after long shifts in the med bay, your eyes constantly sore and puffy from how much you rubbed at them to keep the tears from staining your cheeks. It felt wrong to open a gift when the person who gave it to you wasn’t there to see your reaction to it. But you know you need to do it, because he would’ve wanted you to be strong for him. 

Inside the bag is a bear, one of the souvenir bears dressed like a pilot that was sold in the gift shop of the aviation museum. You told him once that there wasn’t a replacement for him unless those silly bears were an option, and he’d told you that it could count even if he was cuter. 

The card is opened next, your eyes taking in the only thing of him that you had left in his handwriting. The script was neat compared to other pilots, legible and carefully printed to ensure you could read it instead of the squiggles and shapes others had put in front of you to attempt at reading. 

Happy birthday, doc!

Cheers to another year of keeping each other healthy. Little Caleb is your new friend for when I’m gone - he’ll keep you company until I get back to bug you some more. 

Confession time:

I can say a lot to your face, but not this for some reason. Maybe we can get dinner for real as a date and it’ll be my turn to be flustered as I talk about feelings while you tease me?

Have a wonderful birthday, and let me know if anyone gives you crap so I can straighten them out. 

-your favorite pilot, Caleb 

“Yeah,” you whisper, reading over his handwriting once more in hopes that it relaxes the vice around your heart. “We should’ve talked feelings before you left, idiot.”

But that opportunity had long passed; and now you’re curled up on your couch with the bear in your arms, crying over your deceased lover. 

If he was alive, you’d kill him again for making you so upset - but he’d kick himself for it enough which would unfortunately deter you from wanting to hurt him. He was great at looking like a kicked puppy, you didn’t want to deal with that. 

The next day you resign from your position at the DAA. You felt sick to your stomach every time you saw a pilot walk by after Caleb’s funeral, and after the bear you just couldn’t take it anymore. A month later you’ve moved into a new apartment across Skyhaven in a month after accepting a position at Willow Medical Center. It doesn’t fix everything, but it certainly helped to live somewhere that you didn’t have a memory of Caleb - no meals cooked in that kitchen or singing in the shower to haunt your memory. In the hospital you don’t see him in every patient you come across, you don’t have to do any double takes when you see a uniform pass on a man with dark hair. You don’t sit and wait for him to slide into whatever room you’re in to ask you to hang out or get him out of some cleaning duty he’s been tasked with because he was a smartass. 

It was easier to breathe when you weren’t being suffocated by the memories of him and what could’ve been between you. 

But if you were to say you were handling your grief well, you’d be lying if you said you had it under control. You pay bills for a house you rarely live in, only there to sleep in a bed rather than half awake in your office at the hospital. It was more likely to see you reading a research paper in the hospital cafeteria than out getting lunch with colleagues, and you hadn’t had a home cooked meal since you left the DAA. You’d never bothered with truly going grocery shopping since moving in, so there was nothing to cook and you could keep your body alive by ordering takeout. 

It wasn’t healthy, but it kept you alive - or, at least, whatever this version of “alive” could be called. You weren’t even present in your own life anymore, holding an absence in your own life to keep yourself from truly processing those feelings. 

This was supposed to be any other Tuesday. You’d been in the hospital since Monday morning, moving about with maybe one or two naps in your office to keep you moving between appointments and the random request for a second opinion on a diagnosis. There had been a bustling on the floor when you were leaving your last patient for the day, which had you mentally planning to delay your return home about an hour or so to ensure you could avoid whatever commotion had arisen. 

But then the door to your office opens as you’re packing up your bag, and you bite your lip in irritation when the door is softly shut behind whoever had come to see you. 

“Can I help you?”

“I missed my follow up appointment.”

That voice… it was impossible. Caleb was- he’d been killed by an explosion. This visitor was just a victim of a similar voice, that was all. That, or you’d been at the hospital for far too long. 

“I’m sorry, but I haven't had any follow-ups scheduled that have been missed, so…” You trail off as you turn around, realizing immediately that you were standing face-to-face with the new Colonel of the Farspace Fleet that everyone was talking about. Tall and imposing in the long black coat over the uniform, but he’s not looking at you so you can’t see his face clearly. But why was he here? They had their own doctors in the Fleet. 

“I’m a couple months late, doc.” He states, keeping his service cap tucked in his arm as he turns to face you properly. 

Those eyes, that stupid little smile - there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the mad you’d been grieving for months. 

The crack! that rings through the room freezes everything that might’ve been happening around you. Caleb holds his jaw with a gloved hand, staring at you open mouthed in shock as you stare back at him. You’d slapped him hard enough that you felt a crack in your own hand in addition to the sting from the impact, and yet you were the one who was now crying over it. 

“Okay, ow!” He finally speaks, and you stand your ground with hands on your hips despite the tears that trail down your cheeks. Any eye makeup you might’ve worn is now ruined if your long hours at the hospital already hadn’t, but you can’t care about that when you’re standing in front of a ghost. “I’m sorry, doc.”

“You’d want to be more than that.”

He doesn’t stop you when you hit him again, your left fist colliding with his chest and followed by your right. It’s like he didn’t feel the blows at all, his hand coming to rest on your hip as you continue to pound on his chest and gradually pulling you in closer until you’re sobbing into his uniform. A gentle hand rubs your back as the other cradles the back of your head, keeping you close as you cry. 

“I’m back, doc, I’m okay.”

“Y-you’re such a dick.” Your voice wobbles more than you’d wanted it to, as if your tears didn’t already alert him to how deeply upset you’d been. “Why’d you come here?”

“You weren’t at home.” It’s like he’d never died, as if never left you, his tone light and easy as he steps back to look at you. He always could find you anywhere, it was an annoying talent of his. “Can I take you home? Your colleagues say you’ve been here for over a day, you need to rest-“

“To be able to take care of others,” you finish for him, stepping away from his gentle hold and turning towards your desk. “Yeah, I know.”

You didn’t have any appointments, the ward and emergency room were staffed, so there was no reason for you to stay. But did you want to go anywhere with a man you believed to be dead? Could you?

You supposed that you didn’t really have a choice; he already knew where you lived and worked, so he could show up whenever he wanted. This was a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, noncompliance could land you in their military jail for whatever reason he deemed fit. It didn’t feel like something Caleb would do, but you weren’t sure that this was even the man you’d had such strong feelings for - how could this possibly be your friend?

When you wake up the following morning, you believe that you’d dreamt it all. You’d gone home, probably had a drink, then fell into bed to sleep off the long days at the hospital. It was a believable story, considering your history, and you’d almost convinced yourself of that truth - until you looked at your hand. 

Bandaged neatly, the dull throb telling you that you had actually injured yourself slapping Ca-

It couldn’t have been Caleb. Just some Farspace Fleet suit that riled you up, it couldn’t have been him. He was still very much dead in a box in a cemetery in Linkon City. 

Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed to take some flowers to his grave - telling you to come to terms and get the fuck over it. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable like this - that much you knew. If you didn’t get arrested for assaulting a Farspace official then maybe you’d take some days off to go to Linkon, or maybe go to the DAA and see the little shrine Patrick and Gideon had set up in his old locker.

“Caleb,” you whisper, your head dropping into your hands as the too-familiar burn of tears in your eyes builds up. “You bastard.”

“Rude.”

The new voice in your bedroom has you screaming, throwing the first thing you could get your hands on at the figure in the doorway. He catches the bear easily, looking at it with a smile before looking back to where you sit on the bed. He’d never seen you so upset, and for it to be over him was a twist of the knife that had planted itself in his heart every time he went to check on you. 

“Hey, you’re okay, doc. It’s me.”

“That's the problem.” Your counter makes him scoff, and you scoot away from him as he steps closer to your bed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” His sigh is heavy, and he sits on the edge of the bed with Little Caleb in his hands. “You’re not hallucinating, and you can hit me some more if you want.”

Fuck, did you want to. But if you hurt him you’d then have to patch him up and that wasn’t something you were particularly interested in. Not when your hands couldn’t stop shaking and your vision was blurred courtesy of the tears you'd been trying to blink away. You didn’t sign off on sloppy work, nor would you perform sloppy work - not even on him. 

You watch as he scoots closer to you, slow and with his hands in your sight as if trying to calm a scared animal. He’d always been so dramatic, and you hate that his antics have your cheek twitching as he dances Little Caleb towards you as he moves. He was now a Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and he was using a teddy bear to try and calm you down. 

“You shouldn’t cry over me anymore,” he says when you’re finally within reach, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. It’s warm, skin softer than you remember it being, and you can’t help but put your bandaged hand over his. “I’m back, and I’m okay.”

Was he? The Caleb you knew would rather die than have to wear a suit and tie - uniform or not. He’d shed the tie and coats, sitting beside you in a button down and slacks with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, more like the man you had come to love but still foreign to you

“So you just stalked me for two months?”

“Only two weeks. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Your diagnosis?”

“You’re not okay,” he whispers, his arms hesitant to pull you into him but still succeeding in their task. “I can’t apologize enough for what’s happened, but I can take care of you moving forward. Whatever you want or need, I’ll make sure you have it and that’s a promise.” 

“I don’t want you to leave me again.” Your murmured request has him moving you so you straddle him, forcing the eye contact he needed to try and get through to you.

“I’m not.”

The kiss happens before you’ve registered that he’d moved, but your fingers move to undo more of his buttons so you could get so your hands could feel his skin and trust that he was real. Your bandaged hand rests over his heart, and you’re not sure if it was his heartbeat or the throbbing in your hand that you’re feeling but you were choosing to believe that it was his. 

“No zero gravity acrobatics,” you request when you feel yourself get lighter, earning a laugh from him against your lips as he moves below you. 

“Trying to get these pants off.”

That was a good idea, and you swing your legs back as you’d learned how to do so you can get your own pants off while he did. There were some things you supposed you’d never forget how to do, you just hadn’t expected moving in the evol created gravity fluctuations to be one of those things but it clearly came in handy. 

“So talented,” he praises, bringing your legs back around him as the gravity returns and his hands pull your shirt over your head. “Missed you so much, baby. Your teasin’ and your smile, this pretty body, and the way you tell me ‘m stupid.”

“Caleb.” It’s all you can say, eyes closing when you feel his fingers slide through your folds. You couldn’t help that his gravity manipulation turned you on, or the way your body would always react to his touch. 

“Already so wet, that’s my girl.”

His. You’d been his since the second time you’d slept with him, nobody could ever come close to what Caleb made you feel. Both literally and figuratively weightless, with an infectious warmth that radiated from his heart and easily made your own that much warmer. His hands are still so familiar with your body, touching you with an uncertain gentleness but still knowing exactly how you needed to be touched to pull that first orgasm from you.

“Come home with me, doc.” He whispers into your mouth, hands holding you hips tight as you hover over his length. His tip just barely poking into your prepped hole drives you crazy, but you know he won’t let you move until you answer him. Those dual-toned eyes have that pleading look to them, like a puppy begging for a treat but the looming darkness in them makes you wonder if this puppy would bite. 

“We can talk about it later,” you suggest, your arm moving to wrap around his neck as you get the clearance to lower yourself onto him. 

It’d been too long since you’d had any kind of penetration, the fire of your desire snuffed out by your grief, and Caleb had always been difficult for you to take. It had been long enough that this felt like a new experience again, your eyes staying open as his forehead presses to yours while he talks you through the slow descent with soft praise until you’re fully seated. You missed the feeling of his length, the position that made you feel like he was deepen enough that he was pushed against your cervix - and in this moment you think he actually might be. 

“Always take me so well,” he praises, his hands guiding you to move. “You could have me every day if you wanted. All the time, take you with me on tours just so you can be close.”

The drag of his length against your still adjusting walls prompts an ache that was familiar and comforting despite the pain it brought, and you find yourself clinging to him in hopes that it would keep him there with you forever. You couldn’t bear to let him leave you again, you’d keep him inside you like this if it meant he wouldn’t leave you alone, leave you to feel that emptiness he’d left when he’d “died”. The offer to go with him actually sounded enticing, being taken care of rather than taking care of others - taking care of yourself again. 

“No more crying, baby.” It’s a soft spoken order, but an order nonetheless, his hands coming to cup your cheeks so he could wipe the offending tears away. You still have the assistance of his evol to ride him, the fluctuations in gravity keeping you moving despite both of you being otherwise occupied with each other. 

“I don’t want you to leave again.” If you hadn’t been so close, he likely wouldn’t have heard your whisper. Being exposed like this, even in front of Caleb, wasn’t something you were good at. You were already calm and collected, the black cat to his golden retriever in terms of energy which carried into your work. You couldn’t hold it together after he’d died, but you put up a good front in the hospital for your patients and colleagues. Even the most artisan of masks had their cracks and you were seeing yours crumble to dust in his hands, likely never to be repaired. 

“I’m not leaving you, baby,” he murmurs, placing the gentles of kisses to your lips as he holds your head in place. “Never again. I can’t be without you again. But let me make you feel good, alright? Let me take care of you.”

And he does, pulling multiple orgasms from you before he finally releases into your spent body. You’re held tightly in his arms, chest to heaving chest as you both fight to catch your breath. 

His stamina was insane now, making you wonder just what they’d done to him in his recovery as your brain finally caught up to the activities of the last hour. How had he been alerted, was it the Fleet’s doing or someone else’s? Did it hurt? Was he-

“Thinking way too hard after all of that.”

“Is it okay if I’m thinking about you?”

“Only if it’s about my offer to come home with me. But I’ll also accept compliments about how handsome and good in bed I am.”

In all your grieving you’d forgotten how fucking cocky he was, an annoyed huff leaving you as you try to pull away. The reaction in his right hand is delayed compared to the left, which was odd considering he was right handed. His reaction time should’ve been better, and it was suspicious how perfect his skin was despite him being in an explosion. There were some imperfections created by your grip on him, but nothing related to the explosion. You’d expected maybe some grafts, scarring from burns at the very least - but he was perfect. 

“Let’s go shower, honey. Maybe that’ll help you relax some more.” 

It doesn’t, but you do your best to put up a front as your hands carefully examine his body. He spends the shower reassuring you that he was real and standing in front of you, trying to wash your body down as you used washing his as an excuse to really look at him. Medical at the Fleet must really be something, and you’re tempted to take him up on his offer just so you could investigate closer. Something truly wasn’t right here, and for his sake you needed to know what it was. 

His hands are careful as they dry you off, paying special attention to your hair and leaning in to kiss you as you look up at him. His lips are dry, and you remind him to stay hydrated which earns a nervous laugh at him being caught.

“You really notice everything, doc.” It’s unfortunate that he’s right, because you wanted to just enjoy that he was here but couldn’t. 

You’re barely dressed when he gets a call, and you excuse yourself to get your own glass of water so he could have that privacy. It’s when you start to head back to the bedroom that you frown at seeing him fully dressed and heading your way while draping his tie around his neck. 

“I gotta handle some business. But I’ll be back tonight.” His fingers nimbly tie the black fabric around his neck, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you as he transforms into The Colonel. 

He leans in to kiss you, indulging himself in your taste with a satisfied hum that reverberates through your mouth and causing your heart to flutter.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, doc, I promise.” The promise is sealed with another kiss, only he’s pulling you along with him to the door to maintain that physical contact to anchor him to the moment despite the tides working to pull him away. “I ordered some groceries for you that should be here soon, make sure you eat.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The use of his title pulls a wink from him, a request for you to call him that in bed at least once met with your door closing in his face. You could hear him laugh on the other side, the sound more comforting than you think he’d ever realize. He was back, alive, and with you once again. You couldn’t look past the mystery that was lingering under his surface and return, but you were going to enjoy your time with him nonetheless.

[mahg-stuff]

Hi. Can I request a big daddy elvis (late 70s) in which he and female reader are having an argument and he says something really mean so she heads into the bedroom and cries. He goes into the bedroom to apologize and then make out. Smut, detailed if you can and also some aftercare. Thanks

Tysm for the request! Enjoy it lovee! ♡

Kiss'n make it better

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Word count: 6.4k (quick) Summary: Bde grows stuffy as he witnesses you playing a card game with the guys, but not only that, you are in your delicate bed attire while you do it. Pairing: (1976)bd!elvis x afab!reader Warnings: 18+!, smut, p in v, elvis finally fully takes the reader, cherry cream pie (if you know what I mean...), kissing whilst bodily fluids are present on the mouth, tasting of bodily fluids, playing around with spit?oral fixation?, mention of elvis’ medications/pill use & dr. nick (im sorry), elvis’ standards for his women, toxicity, once again elvis being volatile, use of the word daddy, & of course fluff + baby talk!!

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AN: Hello there! I was off and on while writing this since I was eager to let it out soon bc I felt I’d left the anon hanging for too long so, certain areas may seem rushed/lack context but I did my best with the details! I hope it’s not a bother, but overall I enjoyed writing this little piece. Anywho, my dear anon I hope you are pleased with this! And to the rest of you loves, enjoy! ♡ (keep the requests coming!!😚)

- pls excuse any errors, your girl got tired half way through cleaning it up 🥹💋

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Elvis was, as of now, getting his day-by-day measurements of meds from Dr. Nick within the master bathroom in his room. In the meantime, you held up in his bed, twiddling your thumbs as you waited, you both had just woken up. He would always make sure to do it in a different room, given that you had eventually told him that you didn't enjoy seeing everything they put in him. When you witnessed firsthand how much his body had to ingest, you expressed your concern, but he waved you off, saying everything was always under control.

At some point, you stopped showing concern upfront to him because it had resulted in the first argument between the two of you, however, you'd unconsciously always be pinching away at your arm's flesh as you worried about him. You were still relatively new to his lifestyle, but you were gradually adapting.

Things were taking quite a while, so you began wandering around his room. You'd only been together for a few months now, so you were still trying to settle in. Elvis asked you to move in right away, and you soon found out he didn't like being left alone. As you moved around the room, you were still in your night slip. It was a look that he found especially appealing. You tip-toed barefoot to the door, peeking outside, and then back over to the closed bathroom door in the bedroom. 

You heard them mumbling inside and decided, Why not go downstairs? 

Making your entrance to the living room and taking in more glances of the house you hadn't paid much attention to before, your eyes shot up towards the voices in the kitchen. As you peered into the kitchen, you saw two of his guys sitting there chatting with some cards in their hands. They took notice of your presence and glanced over at you, their eyes lingering on your attire. Going quite unnoticed by you. 

One clears his throat.

"Hey there, y/n, ya need anythin'?" 

You shrug, not really knowing what you need or want, but feeling a bit restless. 

"No, just bored waiting on El," you reply absentmindedly. 

One of the guys chuckles and nudges the other, whispering something to him. You catch a snippet of their conversation and wonder if they're talking about you.

"What's so funny?" you ask, tilting your head in confusion. 

The guys exchange glances before one of them speaks up, struggling to find the right words. 

"Oh, nothin', just...you know...we were just talkin' 'bout how...um...how fashionable you look today." 

You give them a skeptical look, not fully convinced by their compliment. 

"Really? They're just my pajamas, the first thing I found in the closet last night," you admit with a sheepish shrug as you look down at your delicate garments. 

They both burst into laughter, causing you to giggle along. The guys exchange knowing glances, struggling to contain their amusement at your naivety. Being new in Elvis' life and feeling a bit clueless around the guys sometimes—I mean, you'd never been surrounded by so many men before, so it was uncommon for you to catch their brash ways.

 

One of the guys begins talking, "Since you're bored, why don't ya join us? We're playin’ a card game." 

You happily agree and take a seat at the table. They explain the rules to you as one of them shuffles the deck of cards. The game soon progresses, and the guys bring out their competitive sides, teasing each other and making playful taunts. Even though they might’ve been acting a little abruptly, it was clear that they were enjoying themselves. Amidst the banter, one of the guys turns to you with a mischievous grin. 

"Hey, watch out, I wouldn't want ya to get too confused with all these cards. It might be a bit too much for a girl to handle," he says snarkily. 

You titter and shake your head, clearly letting the comment go over and past your head. 

"I can handle." 

You say it humbly.

***

Elvis, grumbling his way downstairs to look where you'd wandered off, stops at the bottom of the stairway as he hears his precious girl's laughter from the kitchen. He stalks quietly towards the doorframe of the kitchen, there he sees you sitting pretty with his men. He scans your body until he gets to your bare, wriggling sooties that are dangled just above the ground in the chair. Elvis clenches his fists, feeling his irritation rise at the sight of you playing with the guys.

As he watches, he can't help but notice the unkempt yet alluring exterior you possess. Your tousled hair and streaked makeup from the night before only seem to enhance your beauty, giving you a tempting appeal that could captivate those around you. He had set certain expectations for you, and seeing you in this compromising situation with the guys confirms that you were not fulfilling them. He storms in, his footsteps echoing through the room as he confronts the scene before him. 

"Darlin', you know bedder than to be gallivantin' 'round in your night attire with these fellas." He narrows his eyes, his southern accent thickening as he speaks.

Your head quickly turned to that familiar gruff voice, his appearance matching the roughness in his tone. There he stood, portly and only in a silk robe, a region of dark hair trailing down his navel from the open slit and his luscious sideburns framing his face. His noir hair, slightly disheveled from a restless night, completed the picture of a man who demanded attentiveness. As you caught his gaze, you could see a mix of disappointment and fret in his eyes. You instinctively straightened up, feeling a twinge of shame creeping into your conscience for some reason as you looked down at your attire and then back at him. 

"Well, I thought it'd be okay. I mean, I do live here now. Shouldn't I be comfortable, El?" You voiced cunningly, not purposefully trying to provoke him but unable to resist the urge to justify yourself. 

But there was an inimitable standard he held you to, one that required impeccability and grace. 

"Goddammit!" He started. 

"No man's woman should be 'round men in such whorey showin' garments. 'Specially not mah women!" 

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his strong reaction. The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew tense, and you could feel the weight of his disapproval pressing down on you. 

His pride was unexpected for you. 

As you searched for words to respond, his intense gaze never wavered, making you feel insecure and exposed. 

"W-Well, the guys think otherwise!" You spoke aloud as your throat tightened. Well, at least you thought they didn't find your attire whorey—a word Elvis had introduced to you when he saw an outfit you picked out while shopping with him. 

Elvis glared over at them, and they both quickly stood up from their positions, some cards falling off the table as they did so. 

"That right?" 

"N-No Ep, 'course not." They stood there longer than they should have. 

"The hell y'all still doin' standin' here, for?! Go on an' do sumn then." Elvis spoke sternly as he pointed, his robe falling more open with his motion. 

The guys hastily scampered away, not wanting to further incur Elvis' anger. You look at Elvis, noticing his neglected appearance and glazed eyes. Nervous, you place your cards down, your eyebrows puckering in disarray. 

"What was that, Elvis?" you ask softly, but your voice is filled with slight perplexity. 

"They didn't do anything." You squeaked. 

"Didn't do anyhtin'." He scoffed under his breath. He shook his head and met your gaze again. 

"Matter uh fact, the hell were you thinkin' wonderin' off?" His words were a bit slurred. 

"Know all yur attention should be on me, 'n only me." Elvis' words hung in the air, heavy with a mix of fury and vulnerability. 

You could sense an ache behind his harsh tone, and it struck a chord within you. 

"Elvis." You delicately said his name, the concern evident in your voice.

But before you could continue, he raised his voice again, his drooping eyes glaring. 

"Kept mah eyes off ya for just uh moment, den I find you playin' bimbo wit' 'em fellas." 

Your heart sank as Elvis' words echoed in the room. 

This wasn't your Elvis. 

Your bottom lip quivered as you stood up from your seat, covering your face with one hand as you moved to leave the room. 

"The hell are ya goin'." He says this as he tries to stop you, but you pull away forcefully and hastily walk upstairs. 

Elvis hears your faint sniffle from the hallway, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. He paced around, mumbling words to himself as he held his forehead, trying to make sense of what just happened. 

It was clear that his head wasn't in the right place. 

***

As Elvis continued to pace, he barely grasps the impact of his words and considers the hurt he may have caused. 

"Baby," he muffles to himself as he looks around. 

He rubs his eyes and begins to walk towards the staircase. 

"Baby." He muffled again, as if he were whispering a plea into the empty space. 

He reaches the top step and hesitates, unsure of whether to knock on the closed bedroom door or barge right in. 

"B-Baby, a-a-ah wannas come in," he says gently in his gruff voice. 

"W-Wanna come in." Elvis stands in front of the door, his voice quivering with desperation. 

His babyish tone reveals the depth of his regret. Your ears perk up on the other side of the door, straining to catch every word. You can sense the turmoil in his voice, the vulnerability, and the longing.

It's a side of him you were weak for, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Slowly, you rise from the bed, your footsteps barely audible as you make your way to the door. With a shaken hand, you turn the knob and open the door, revealing Elvis standing there, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and fear. He takes in your appearance—your tear stained cheeks, red, fuzzy nose, and the slight puffiness of your eyes. His face softens with concern, and without a word, he pulls you into a tight embrace. Your face buried into his exposed, hairy, warm torso through the opening of his robe. 

Feverishly, he brings his large palms up to either side of your face and pulls your face upwards. Taking in your babyfaced features. Your damp lashes flutter as you meet his gaze. 

"A-Ah made my little 'un cry." he mumbles as he grazes the pad of his thumb under your eye. 

"Y-Ya know ah ain't meant what I said back dere," he continues, his voice filled with veracity. 

"M-My temper… mah words came out wrong. A-Ah, wudnit wha I meant—", he trails off just before he wavers off, trying to focus his eyesight all of a sudden. 

As his eyelids droop, a gentle sigh escapes his lips. You can see the drowsiness etched across his weathered face, the lines deepening in the dim light of the room. 

It always tortured you when you saw him like this. 

You noticed it was one of the many effects the pills had on him, before starting him up, they'd slow him down first. 

Even with his abrupt weariness, you recognize that sincerity in his voice and the sorryness in his slumped eyes. You reached out and took his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it, offering a silent reassurance that you understood what he was trying to get out. 

You cared deeply for him, so forgiving him always came in a hurry for you.

***

As you both stood there, the grogginess began to fade, and his eyes soon became more and more focused. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. He gave your cheek a gentle squeeze. His gaze lingered on your face as he continued to graze his thumb gently on your cheek. 

"Let me m-make it up t-ta mah sweet girl, hmm." He says it so softly with that drawl of his.

As you listen to his soft voice, filled with tenderness and warmth, it becomes evident that he was speaking to you with the same affection one would reserve for a baby. One of his traits you had gotten used to and valued thoroughly. Your cheeks fill with warmth. He holds you by the waist, turning you over, and fully enters the bedroom with you. Shutting the door, he then leads you to the bed, helping you sit down on the edge. Elvis sits down beside you, and you feel the bed sink from his weight. 

He turns your face over to him, and he places a hand on your cheek. He begins caressing your face ever so lightly, as if you were made of spun glass. 

"Kiss'n make it better." He mumbles pouty-lippedly as his thumb runs over your lips. 

You stare into his hollow eyes, nodding, as he begins to push his thumb into your small mouth. Politely opening your mouth for him, the taste of his skin lingers on your tongue as his thumb explores the contours of your mouth. You both hold each other's gaze, and you lightly suckle on it, watching his eyes light up at your action. He gently brings his thumb out, a string of saliva dribbling down your lip. Elvis smudges your saliva all around your soft pout, making your lips appear glossy, then brings his thumb up to his lips to suck off your slobber. As you both continue your intimate encounter, the air around you seems to grow heavier. His fingers then work their way down your torso, tracing your dainty body. With a famished mutter, he slides his hand beneath your slip, teasingly grazing over your soft, small chest, giving one of your nipples a tug. You can't help but whimper at his action.

And want grows between you, feeling a surge of heat run from your face down to your toes. 

"C'mere, let ol’ daddy kiss ya," he leans in, capturing your lips in a fervent, persistent kiss. 

The taste of him fills your palate as he slips his tongue inside your pretty mouth. You find yourself feeling fuzzy in the rush of the moment, willingly giving into his actions. His large hands begin gripping your small waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. His supple kisses had always been tender and gentle, but this one was different. It left you almost breathless. His touch was heavy, and you found yourself slipping in the heat of the moment. Your slip rises upwards at his action, revealing the pair of tiny matching ruffled shorts. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his pillowy lips glistening. His eyes lock onto yours—a look of want. Elvis' hefty hand goes down to your upper thigh, and he grazes the fabric of your shorts. 

"Take 'em off, 'ittle." He rasps quietly, the bass of his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

Your breath hitches with a half-laugh. "Kay." You gently get off the bed and look over at him as he keenly stares at you with his still-glazed-over eyes. 

A look you may never get used to. 

You began pulling down at the hem of your waistband until the fabric hit the ground, being completely bare underneath. 

While the length of your slip fell just enough to cover your most delicate parts, he whispered, "Lemme see her." 

His voice is playful as he motions for you to come closer.

You take a step toward him. He reaches out and gently tugs at your hip, his thumb rubbing your hipbone, sending a muzzy feeling to your belly. With his other hand, he reaches over to the hem of the fabric, pulling it up—he throbs between his legs.

From his view, he could see all of you. Your narrow hips and thighs and the smallest patch of curls that covered your pussy. The little crease in the middle—so sweet, you were puffy, and sticky just from his kisses. You looked over at his garb—his robe now fully undone from all his movement, also nothing underneath. You took in as the section of his body hair went from his pudgy chest to his soft belly, which hung just barely over his waistline, and then turned into thick curls at his mound. His corpulent and hard, leaky cock presently standing tall just for you against his paunch. You gazed at the ridge of his pretty, purplish, rosy tip weep as it peeked from his foreskin.

Suddenly, you jolted as you felt his thumb at your swollen clit, a splotchy pink filling your cheeks. His touch was gentle yet firm, his fingers perfectly caressing your sensitive nub. You couldn't help but whimper, the lovely sound escaping your pursed lips as your hips instinctively bucked against his digit. 

"Ain't nothin' more purdy than seein' you all pink 'n warmed up. Could spend all day thumbin' away at that ‘dorable clit uh yours." He babbled as he applied more pressure and quickened the pace of his movements. 

Making you even more rosy. 

You could feel the heat building between your legs, the ache for release becoming almost unbearable. Every swipe of his thumb seemed to bring you closer to the edge, pushing you towards the brink of ecstasy. Your back began to arch as you leaned into his touch, but just as you were almost there, he pulled his thumb away. You let out a frustrated whimper, desperately wanting him to continue, then you went to cup yourself until he swiftly stopped you. 

"Dun cha get greedy on me now," he whispered, his voice coated with directness and a hint of humor. 

You couldn't help but pout, your need for satisfaction overwhelmed your senses. You ached. He had never stopped on the brink of your release like this before. His hand left your trembling body, resulting in you feeling empty and yearning for more. You watched as he brought his thumb to his lips, tasting the remnants of your sweet desire, a sly smile playing on his lips. The rosiness in your cheeks seems to grow darker with his action.

"Ah can't have ya fallin' apart jus yet," he murmured, his voice low. 

You looked at him doe-eyed as you clamped your legs, standing there. 

"Little 'un." Elvis whispered as he reached out for a hand. 

"Idenit time for ya to blossom," he continued as he pulled you closer, his warm breath hitting your cheek. "'ittle flower of yours needs ta bloom." Elvis gave you a nod as he spoke and guided you. 

"Bloom," you repeated as you held his strong gaze, and he began helping you lay on the bed. 

"Mhm, correct baby." He cooed as he helped you lie down. 

When you finally understood what he had said, your heart seemed to race. Staring up at the mirror above you on the ceiling, you took in as you laid delicately on his silk bedding. You began recalling the past nights and days of glancing up at yourself while Elvis rutted against your tummy when he cuddled you until he came, or when he'd only do little more than barely let the tip of his cock pierce your tiny hole—but never more than that. 

Now, he indicated that he wanted to take things further. You were both a little afraid and excited by it. Even so, you were genuinely more willing than ever. It made you rub your legs together thinking about it. You would constantly pester him for more, but he would tell you that it wasn't the right moment and that he knew when it would be. Thinking of his words from earlier, you thought maybe this would be his way of making it better after he'd lashed out. Maybe, he wanted to make it up to you by fully fulfilling your needs. You beamed at the thought.

Lost in your little mind, you were interrupted as you felt the bed sink next to you.

There he lay, still in his loose, silky garb, fully open, his hairy manliness laying solid against his belly while his balls were perfectly nestled below his shaft. You looked over at him as he began lying on his side to face you. His jawline was soft and his cheeks full, adding to the suppleness of his overall appearance. His overgrown sideburns adding to his rugged allure. The word ‘mesmerizing’ repeating in your head.

"Rest on yur side f'me, baby." You began turning over for him, but before you could, he stopped you—he saw the mild unease in your eyes. 

His hand cradled the side of your cheek as your eyes stared into his. However, he couldn't help but smile, thinking your muddled face looked adorable. 

"Hers dudden needs to be afraid." He whispered softly and patted your head now. 

With each light pat on your head, his warmth enveloped you, making you feel comforted in his presence. You smiled back at him softly, it sort of surprised you when he caught it. 

"H-Her knows." You whispered back in the same way he spoke to you. 

It was really rubbing off on you, for sure.

He leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, and then motioned for you to rest on your side. Such a baby, you thought as you gave his chubby face one last glance. As you shifted onto your side, he scooted in closer, so he was spooning you, his round stomach pressing into you. You felt the hardness of his length up against your lower back, feeling the warmth radiating off as it throbbed against the thin fabric of your slip. You couldn't deny the growing ache between your legs, yearning for his touch and for him to take control. 

Elvis began lifting the hem of your garment, exposing your bare, pretty, round backside to him. His hand rested on the curve of your hip, his touch both firm and gentle. A shiver ran down your spine as his palm traced delicate patterns on your skin, sending those funny feelings through your body. You felt him move your leg a bit, so your pussy lips were peeking out between your thighs from his view. You felt him pulsing along your rear now, slick already forming at your petals. You couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself to him completely. You heard him snicker behind you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Elvis grabbed his thick shaft in one hand and brought it between your thighs, your slick and his precum mixing into one as he rubbed the ridge of his cock along your lips. 

Eagerly, you try to slide down, so his tip pushes up towards your entrance. 

"Careful, too big for yuh to take so fast," he warns as you bare down on his leaky tip. 

You move back unconsciously, and the head of cock grazes at your swollen clit causing you to shudder. 

Trying again, you huff, "Won't fit." 

Elvis is quite amused by this, and he tittered as he leaned into your neck for a quick peck. 

You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, "Baby, needa take time t'stretch ya out properly." 

He trails his fingers along your inner thighs, teasingly rubbing circles on your sensitive heat. Your body reacts, flushing with chills and impatience. You can feel yourself clenching at nothing. Elvis raises the leg you weren’t resting on with his other arm, and you blush at how vulnerable you seem in the pose. He moves the hand he was massaging you with toward your mouth. You understood what he meant, of course. Carefully, you used your hand to hold the back of his large one as you carefully spit into it. You watch as Elvis gruffly giggles at your compliance as you gaze up at the mirror, his eyes peeking over you as he watches his hand lower back down.

Bringing his hand back down to your throbbing core, now slick with both your juices and saliva. His fingers glide along your folds, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. As his thumb brushes against your clit, a shudder runs through your body, aching for more. You arch your back, silently begging for his touch to become more demanding, more intense. His finger begins to pry at your snug cunt, slipping inside with ease from all your wetness. You feel him begin to inch a second finger inside of you, stretching you further and filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, his fingers deeper than you were used to. He would only nag at your hole in the past. You whimper as he starts to move his fingers in and out—a slow and deliberate rhythm. Your hips instinctively press down on his hand, seeking more friction and more of his lengthy fingers. You can't help but squeal, the sound escaping your lips as he curls his fingers inside you, hitting a sweet spot that makes your whole body shiver. You try closing your legs, but he still holds one up. He feels your leg shift and hears your cute squeal. Elvis lets go, letting your leg rest down, with a snicker as he looks over at you with a mischievous grin. Soothing his palm up and down against your thigh, he leaned to kiss your upper arm. 

"Ya kay, 'ittle?" he whispered in his southern drawl. 

You nod, unable to form words, as the sensations overwhelm you. 

Slowly, he removes his fingers from inside you, leaving you aching for more. But before you have a chance to say anything, Elvis is already positioning himself between your legs from behind. He catches a glimpse of your sweet little gaping hole that was dripping with want. He begins rubbing the ridge of his cock along your pussy, you feel his chest vibrate behind you from a low groan. His tip begins to ease in as he coos in your ear slowly. Without delay, he plunges inside you halfway, his lip curling at your tightness. You wail as he bucks his hips further, and you try to get away due to the harsh feeling of the big stretch. He carefully moves the arm he was resting on to go under your waist to hold you from your firm stomach as he hitches up the rest of your babydoll. Pulling you towards him, his gut pressing into you more. 

Taking a glance at your clenched fists and shut eyes, he grumbles, "S'okay baby, breathe." 

You gulp down and gasp, "'S't-too much." 

"Needa bit more little 'un." He croons and brings his empty hand to swipe at your clit from the front in order to break you in with more ease. 

With a final buck of his hips, he fills your sweet cunt completely, taking him all in. You cry out at the forceful pinch, your hand gripping at his hand that held you from your tummy. Elvis grunts loudly when you clench at his cock. 

"M-Mah god, baby, let loose f'me. You'll break me off wit' all tha squeezin'." He blurts out, his voice strained with pleasure and urgency.

Your body trembles against his, and he continues to swipe at your tender nub, wanting to bring any type of pleasure to you right now. Elvis glanced up at your face, a tear dribbling down from the corner of yours. He leaned in, kissing it away. Gently opening your glossy eyes, you look up towards the mirror, taking in the way you were both at last bound. His robe was still hanging loosely on his body, and his hair was tousled as he pressed his face into your nape. As you gripped him with your hand, you felt him grab hold of it and start pulling it down to your heat. Placing it between your thighs, where you and him connected, you traced his weighty balls over with your small hand. Indicating he was practically balls deep inside your dear little hole. 

"Yuh feel him inside ya." He whispered airily into your nape, the bass of his voice rumbling against your back. 

You blushed at his words, feeling a mixture of shyness and alertness. You nodded, unable to find the words to respond, as you focused on the sensation of him filling you completely. His hand remained on yours, guiding your movements as you continued to explore the intimate connection between your bodies. Your digits now covered by both yours and his fluids. Elvis let his hand loose and moved it over to your waist, both of his arms now holding you in a spoon position. As the initial sting began to fade and pleasure took its place, you began moving, slowly your movements against him became more confident. Each motion became braver as desire continued to build between you both. Your whimpers got louder, and you felt the hairs on your nape stand as you heard a little huff come from Elvis behind you. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. Pulling himself out slightly and then bucking into you again, causing you to let out a high-pitched moan as you experienced the overwhelming sensation for the first time. A dance of pain and pleasure intertwined within you. You were sure a trickle of blood had stained the satin sheets beneath you both as you felt the warm wetness building between you two. You were too busy taking in the feeling of his hardness inside you, he noticed as he peeked up at the mirror and saw you lying there with your small mouth gaping and your hand buried between your thighs where he had left it. 

"Touch yuh'self sweetheart." He grunted into your ear as he strained himself from moving his hips too harshly, his grip on your waist still firmly in his arms.

You complied, your fingers danced over your sensitive folds, slick with arousal, and maybe more, until they found your swollen clit. As you began to rub circles around it, your moans grew louder and more dire, echoing through the room. The mirror gave you a clear view of your own flushed face, your eyes filled with desire and vulnerability. The way he watched you, his dark eyes smoldering with lust, only fueled the fire burning within you. Every movement caused the robe to sway gently, revealing hints of his luscious curves beneath. As your fingers continued their rhythmic dance upon your clit, you couldn't help but imagine his hands—those strong and skilled hands—taking over. The thought of his touch, his fingers tracing the same patterns you were now creating, made your toes wriggle. Your breath hitched as you quivered as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your lower abdomen became more and more unbearable. His thrusts became more vigorous, matching the intensity building within you. The room was filled with the symphony of your moans mingling with his low grunts. As he maintained his relentless pace, you surrendered yourself completely to what your body was feeling. The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter until, finally, with one strong thrust, you unraveled into a state of euphoria on his cock. Your body trembled with sheer bliss as he continued to move inside you, he watched as your pretty face contorted and your blush deepened. 

"O-Oh god." You whined loudly, tightening around him, and the throbbing of his girthy cock became even more pronounced. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you with renewed vigor, looking for his own release. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you moan prettily but uncontrollably. He glared over at you, bringing one hand up to grasp your jaw, his thumb once again finding its way into your mouth.

"N-Not so loud baby. Ain't want no 'un else hearin' ya gone like this, only me." He spoke between each heavy breath, sounding imposing. 

You nodded, unable to say any words. 

His thumb pressed against your tongue, silencing your moans as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. The room was filled with the sound of skin pushing against skin, blending with your muffled cries of pleasure. You felt your ears grow hotter as his grunts turned into gruff whines, it made you wonder how such a man could make such pretty sounds. He pressed into you harder, the suppleness of his hair-filled belly now squished into your lower back. Elvis' grip on you toughens under you, his fingers digging into the skin of your tummy as he pulls you closer, seeking an even deeper connection. His other hand now filled with your drool. Watching as his lip was now curled, you couldn't tear your gaze away from his beautiful expression slipping into that o-face of his through the mirror. With one final thrust, he let out a garish whine, emptying himself inside of your now-tamed pussy, filling you completely with his essence. You couldn't help but muffle a sob and bite down on his thumb as you felt his scorching seed paint your walls. 

He was still so far buried inside you as he let out heavy sighs. Elvis slowly began to withdraw his upper body from you, looking down at the slight space between his belly and your back, shifting his hips slowly to pull out, the base of his cock streaked with your pure blood. He paused as he felt your tongue pushing at his thumb and looked over, your eyes were watery. 

He withdrew his large hand, you turned your head over to him, the position putting a little discomfort on your neck as he was still spooning you. You were in awe of his blushed face and matted, lush hair sticking to his forehead from all his sweat. Bringing the hand you still held between your thighs over to hold the side of his face, your eyes widened as you focused on the redness of your blood on your digits, which had now smudged a bit on his cheek. Elvis took in your expression and glanced over at your small hand against his cheek, he snickered. Grabbing ahold of it, he brought it over to his mouth, giving it a soft kiss and even a subtle lick. Your purity now smudged along his soft lips. 

"A fine 'ittle flower 'as bloomed," he mumbled as he leaned his face into you. 

Your heart raced as his lips pushed against yours gently. The taste of his kiss, a mixture of your blood and his own essence, sent warmth down your spine. He steadily pulled away, enjoying the fact that your lips were stained right along with his. 

It left you brain-scattered and your hind eyes in a fuzzy state.

You were brought back when you felt him pulling his practically flaccid cock out of you. You winced as a dull ache shot through your body. Quickly sensing soreness, but a satisfied, weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, knowing he'd finally gone completely with you. You stiffened as the warmth of his spew slowly oozed out of your snug, bruised hole. 

Elvis' view was a delight, he thought, watching as the scarlet milky mess glazed your puffed-up pussy lips, running down your inner thigh. Slumbering on your back now, your babydoll still pushed up but remained covering your small chest. 

But before you could turn to fully face him, you panicked as he stood up from the bed abruptly. 

"E-Elvis," you sputtered out, even reaching your hand out for him. 

He ignored your plea as he hurriedly walked towards the bathroom. His footsteps echoed in the silence, and you suddenly felt anxious. Moments later, he emerged with a damp towel in his hand. As he approached you, he saw the look on your face as you laid on your back. 

"Hey, what's wit' da worried eyes baby," he asked gently while gently leaning over at you. 

You still felt the pang of fret in your chest as Elvis leaned over you, his concern evident in his eyes. 

"I-I just got scared. Thought you w-were leaving," you admitted, your voice shaky. 

Elvis' expression softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair off your face. 

"Aww, don' worry, sweetheart. Am here now, ain't goin' anywhere," he reassured you, his voice smooth and reassuring in his drawl. 

His touch was comforting, and you felt yourself relax under his calm presence. 

As his hand lingered on your cheek, he spoke again. "Ah's needs ta clean my little girl now, kay." 

You nodded as Elvis stood in front of you while you lay splayed on the bed. He softly lifted your legs and began to gently wipe away the sticky residue, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His sunken eyes met yours briefly, a glimmer of tenderness, before he focused back on cleaning you up. You flinched as he swiped at your tender bud, and he couldn't help but grin. Finishing up, he tossed the used rag aside. Elvis had always been thorough in his caretaking when it came to you. As he gently began tugging your delicate top down to cover you, he paused and scrunched it up, revealing your small, supple chest and your soft pink meek nipples. 

Leaning down to give both of your petite mounds delicate kisses, "Almost forgot 'bout 'em sweet lil' things," he muffled as he kissed your warm skin. 

You found yourself giggling as you ran a hand through his tousled-up hair. One of the things he had made you become—a giggler. 

He stood back up and fixed your babydoll fully now as he smiled at you.

"All done, my little 'un," he whispered softly, his voice filled with pride and adoration. 

Collapsing beside you, his hand tenderly stroked your hair, whispering, "We'll get tha rest uh us cleaned up later." 

He then continued as you moved over to fully face him, his robe now imperfectly tied. "Needa hold ya darlin’, ah know how emotional you puny things can be after experiencin' this kinda thing." 

You snuggled closer to him with a giggle, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort in his embrace. The tubbiness of him being all the more cozy. As you both basked in each other, you felt the palm of his hand smooth down at your lower abdomen. 

"Yuh sore?" His voice held that babyish tone. 

"Bits," you mumbled as your cheek rested against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. 

His hand continued to caress your belly, his touch gentle. “Love her lots,” he suddenly blurted and leaned in to give your forehead a kiss. 

You gazed up at him, leaning in to kiss the fullness between his neck and chin. “Loves daddy lots too,” you whispered as you followed up with another kiss before you snuggled into him again. 

• Master List

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₊ ⊹ Get added to Taglist for future stories here.

[forsoobado137]

♊padparadschshc1209 Follow

🏓Gorgotmommy1225 Follow

My favorite part was when the actual Isle of Mann came showed up and was like "Hey guys it's me remember me this is what I look like I'm not a 47 year old man."

👩‍🏫teachinggaystoread Follow

I love how the others were like "This guy's a stupid conman" but Scotland was like so ready to shoot him just to prove his point.

🐸theonetrueswampgirlie Follow

England: Do you have the documentation to prove your nation status?

Scotland:

13,347 notes

🎩whereareyaoooo Follow

I know that commie kids and WW2 kids are annoying as fuck but the NatPer kids are on a WHOLE different level.

🧇Belgiangaufres Follow

🏖Allythecalibitch Follow

Teacher: And in 1937, Japan invaded China

NatPer kid: That was so dom of him lol

Me: I'm going fucking insane

21,477 notes

🐉whyamimonster Follow

I just started uni and this guy in my bio class looks exactly like Matthew Williams. I told him and apparently he gets that a lot. He's literally the most Canadian man I've ever met.

🐉whyamimonster Follow

I have been informed by all of tumblr that I share a class with the national personification of my own country.

129,560 notes

🌩goaheadgoku Follow

🦈sharkirasharkira416t19 Follow

Do people still believe nationfacts? I thought we all blocked them.

🧼scrubehindurears Follow

I'm in med school and some of the other nurses actually believe that nations are faking symptoms of illness. Conspiracy theories like these are dangerous because then nation people won't get taken seriously by doctors and will be less likely to get proper treatment. This can lead to a lack of preparation for natural disasters and economic crises because people think they're incapable of feeling sick. This shit can kill people. I'm tired of having this conversation all the time.

🐶doghelldoesntexist Follow

Every time I see this stuff on my dash I'm reminded of the Martinville tornado disaster where the NP of the united states was begging the hospital he was in to evacuate because he felt the familiar dizziness of a tornado but the doctors yelled at him for taking up space in the ER. I wonder what would've happened to all those patients had they been evacuated safely.

🐶doghelldoesntexist Follow

Also btw I know this happened in 1952, before modern forecast technology, but my point still stands. Just because it's easier to predict stuff without nations doesn't mean doctors should yell at them and accuse them of faking. This misinformation kills people.

44,029 notes

[oval3000]

Chapter 3

Yandere Psych Patient König x Nurse Reader

Warning: Possesive, Obsession, Death, Gore, Blood, Smut, Toxic behavior, age gap.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

(This might suck idk. I don't know German so it's all Google translate)

-------------------------------------------------------

He hasn't left his room for a month. They kept him in their with the straitjacket on. His meals are just vitamins that he has to swallow. You would go in to check up on him, but new orders from the administrator's to not go near at all, so you pass by his room. You would peak through the little window and see him laying on his back with little no to motion on his arms or body entirely. His psychiatrist, Dr. Smith is the only that goes in there. They have sessions in his room instead of the usual spot they have it in.

She was pissed at everyone, specifically you. You are her punching bag, even though it was Ben's fault. "Why hasn't he been given his meds!" She yelled at you.

"We are not allowed to go i-" you tried to explain your her, but she could care less.

"You are his nurse right! Your job is to give him his meds! How did you graduate when you can't even do that!" She yelled at you.

You plead for her to listen to you "I'm sorry, Dr. Smith. I can't it's Mr. Millers orders. No one can go in except you because you are his psychiatrist."

So she strolled her way to the administrator's office.

Ignoring his assistant from telling her that she can't go in. Slaming the door open to see him sitting on his chair, writing whatever cral he writes on paper.

"Sarah calm down!"

"Do you have any idea how dangerous he is, and you want me to deal with him alone! On top of that the lack of guards is making my job harder!" Dr. Smith argued with a hand on her hips and her finger pointing towards Ben.

"Do you remeber when you wanted a nurse to look after him." She rolled her eyes. Yes, you, the nurse. "Do you have any idea how much money is going towards her. Triple the pay for looking after him."

Her hands swing in motion, showing her frustration. "She can't even do her fucking job Ben!"

"If she's alive, then she's doing her job well. What's making this hard, is you barging into my office and telling me what to do when you are the one demanding this." He stood up from his chair, fixing his navy tie. "We're loosing staff. People don't want to go near him. Gabriel is threatening to sue the company. Gaurds are quiting left and right so sorry that there aren't enough staff attending your needs."

She crossed her arms with an annoying sigh leaving her lips tinted with red lipstick. "Then hire more people, I don't see the problem?"

"Did you not hear what I said" he walked towards her, standing toe to toe to her. "Majority of our budget is going towards (Y/n). She's been here for two months now, lasting longer than any other nurses. We can't afford another hire with the same pay to deal with König. Besides he hasn't actually killed anyone in those two months, I'll take that than dealing with someone who has a broken jaw from a simple punch."

"Then ask for more money." She scuffed like if it was a joke she said.

He laughed at her face, "Do you think the government cares to fund more for this place, I already have the staff on my ass for new medical supplies, do you think they are gonna hand me the budget to hire someone with triple pay just because you are scared."

"Then fire (y/n) and hire a new guard, maybe someone with military experience."

"Why would I do that. You came into my office, spreaded your legs cause you were so desperate for a nurse and now you want me to fire her. She hasn't done anything in particularly wrong."

"She doesn't follow orders!"

"She does, you just make it difficult." He came in defense.

"Wasn't she trying to stop you from putting him into a straitjacket?" She smirked while her arms crossed at her chest.

"Yes, and she was right. Putting him in a straitjacket does nothing. He was fine it's just that..." he closed his eyes taking deep breath.

"Just what?" She came closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, gently caressing it.

He turned his head to her, he used to lovy dovey with her seduction, but now it's more annoyance. "Eli, the other guard, came to my office the other day and told me that Gabriel was provoking König."

She rolled her eyes, looking around his office. Paying attention to the paintings hanged up on the wall and the light objects he has on his desk. "Like what? Making fun of him? We all make fun the people here what else is new?"

"I don't know the full details, but that's what he told me." He sat a bit on his desk.

"Why does that matter?" She shook her head without a single thought in her brain.

"Gabriel is threatening to sue us. If we fight the legal action, we'll have to defend König. König, just like any other patient represent us, our care. If they find out that Gabriel was the one that caused this, making König the victim it doesn't look good after we placed him in the straitjacket. Like we silencing him out. It will ruin our reputation, we'll all loose our jobs and you fucked your way up here for nothing."

"But he harmed a worker, beside murdered multiple people." She let out a little chuckle, placing her hand on his chest.

He didn't give in, instead, he gave her a stare. "He's ex- military and as for you being his psychiatrist, you'll have to speak on behalf of him. Meaning that people will find out about you, how you never studied to become a doctor you fucked every professor you had to get your degree."

"What are you saying, Ben." Her smile dropped.

"I won't fire (Y/n). She stood up for König, making us look like we care about our patients. As for Gabriel, all he's asking is for some 20,000 thousand dollars, which we can easily give him worth than standing infront of the judge. Which means that we can't afford new guards for you. Besides they're taking off his straitjacket today, so stop being so scared and do your dam job."

"I still think you should fire, (Y/n) atleast." She hummed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"I'm not doing that. Beside she's the only staff that doesn't barge in here demanding stuff. She nice and sweet...." he looked down to the side, " and...young and beautiful. "

She let go of his waist, clenching her jaw. Yes, you being so beautiful. "So what? You want to fuck her? Is that it. Never head young pussy before?"

"You should leave, I have work to do and so do you. This discussion is over." He walked to his desk, sitting down on his chair, unbutton his last few buttons from his dark, navy, blazer.

She stormed off his office, angrly stomping on the white tile floors with her heels creating a louder noise.

You heard the word going around that their taking of his straitjacket, so you quickly gathered what you need to check him up. You saw as the guards took off. He let out a big stretched, flexing more of his muscles. It caused a scare to the guards like a lion letting out a roar.

You walked up to and saw more of his face. He stared at you.

He missed you. He never thought he would miss you. During that month of not seeing you was a time he contemplated about you. Are you made for him or not. He will shut his eyes and images of you will pop up. You smiling at him. Taking good care of him. Watching you squirm under him as you take his full length cock inside your pussy. He'll treat you with respect as long as you do what he says that's all. Seeing your belly swell up with his baby. Can't wait to fuck your tits filled with milk. Can't wait to impregnate you with multiple of his children, making one big happy family. How protective he'll be for his kids, for you. To stand up to the bullies, to show them not to be scared of anything. To hold them if they cry.

He should kill you for making him react this way. He should just kill you. You are just another nurse thinking they have control over him. He use to give orders to people, being the colonel and all, he got the respect he fought for, why does he feel weak around you. You are so sweet and joyful to him. If he was back in the field and saw you, would he kill you. Or maybe fuck you. Maybe that's it. He hasn't done it in so long, so long he hasn't touch a women. He should've just fucked one of the other nurses. Yes, maybe he should do that. Fuck a nurse, just to see. I mean what's the harm in that.

"Aah...yes. right there ngh.... yes...oh fuck that feels good."

The sound of König's footsteps were low that they couldn't hear over the sound of skin slapping against eachother. Watching a men fucking his girlfriend on his bed.

"Does your boyfriend fuck you like this?" Slaming her ass back and forth on his cock.

"Ah....a-aah....he-..he could barley...make me- fuck!..mmgh....wet." She grip the bedsheets hard while he kept pounding her.

No. No. He can't. Not you. He can't. He can't betray you like they did. He can't imagine the face you'll make if you know he fucked another girl. No he should be pure to you. You should be the only one he touches.

He needs you. Okay, it's done. He'll make you his and you'll love him. You'll love him and care for him. Rather you like him or not it's done.

You wrapped the cuff around his bicep and squeeze the bulb reading the numbers on the circle, writing it down. Doing the usual things you have studied for. As you were checking his heartbeat, he reached up which caused you to flinch a bit. His index finger, gently, caressing your cheek. Your back was turned to the guards, making it hard them to see what's going. You stared at him as he touched you with such charisma. His thumb reaching to your chin, hovering over your lips. He placed the tip of his thumb on your bottom lip, gently pulling it out a bit.

You shouldn't have this feeling at the pit of your stomach. You couldn't tell of you didn't smack his hand away because you are scared or because you enjoy it. You never had this much attention, not like this.

"I don't have time to argue with you (Y/n)! Go to your room!" The little girl tuged at her moms shirt.

"Where's daddy?" She felt tears running down her face as her mother poured more wine into her glass, already finishing up the fresh new bottle.

"(Y/n)! Seriously go to room! You are such a headache! Why couldn't your father take you with him! Nauseating!" She dranked the entire glass, slamming the cup on the table.

"Where's daddy?" She said one last time not letting go of her blanket. The same blanket her father got her when she told him she was cold.

"HE LEFT! HE LEFT US (Y/N)! LEFT US FOR THAT BITCH! AND NOW I'M STUCK HERE WITH YOU. HE RUINED MY LIFE. I COULD'VE DONE SOOOO MANY THINGS! But no! I'm stuck to take care of a brat!"

He palmed your cheek, feeling your warmth. He went in closer to you. You could feel his hot breath, quicken as he got closer to your lips.

You pulled back, "I shouldn't- we shouldn't. I mean." You whispered to him.

"Mein liebling (my darling)." He whispered to you. The first time he spoke to you. You couldn't understand him, but he spoke to you. "Du bist mein (you are mine)." He pulled you closer to him, he didn't care if the guards were staring, if anything, he enjoys it. To show everyone that he is yours to touch. "Mein schatz (my sweetheart)," his lips were hovering yours, you felt a little tingle at how close he was.

You know this shouldn't happen. You turned your away from his. You walked back, feeling his grasp letting go. He stared at you witch a smile on his face. You saw the smile he gave you.

When your shift ended and went back to your apartment, the thoughts of what happened lingered into your mind.

That night, you couldn't sleep. He was in your dreams. What if you never pulled way. Were you really going to kiss him. You glazed over the parts where he touched you.

You searched the words he said to you to translate it. Sweetheart, darling, mine.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach again. You never felt so complicated before.

Having a crush on a patient.

You have a crush on König.