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jacevelaryonswife · 5 months

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You Really Got Me | Professor!Michael Gavey x student!fem reader

summary: With a perfect CV, Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity has never seemed so inherent to you before. The new Professor of Number Theory awakened inappropriate feelings that could become risky if they were reciprocal.

a/n: well, it was quite difficult to write this because I’m not familiar with the Oxford environment and I hope that my research has made this story as credible as possible.

tags: slight slow burn, smut, p in v sex, power imbalance, swearing.

word count: 5.7k

ewanverse masterlist | next part

Michael Gavey was... many things.

A lot of things, definitely.

Michael, or rather, Professor Gavey now, aroused conflicting feelings in you.

Admiration, fear, fascination and another whirlwind was felt when it was the new and brilliant Professor of Numbers Theory. He took over the discipline of a dear veteran and great name of mathematics in Oxford, his advisor in the master’s and PhD. Obviously great expectation formed around it, around him, wondering if he would be able to overcome the grandeur of his predecessor.

And apparently he was causing a certain commotion with his above-average intelligence and his eccentric personality.

Obviously you started a search for the CV of your next professor and the finding was surprisingly extraordinary. Speaker of the 2010 class, several projects carried out, postgraduate (also in Oxford), articles published in journals with high impact factor and experience at McKinsey & Company for 2 years.

Michael Gavey was on top of the fucking world and mediocrity had never seemed so inherent to you before.

Saying that you were intimidated by the first contact with him was an understatement- you were fucking terrified. The rumors of an alleged above-average intelligence proved to be untrue. Above average? No shit, he was far beyond everything you experienced. Your eyes didn’t dare to move away from him and the painting during the following hours, too fascinated by what was happening in your fucking front. You felt a current of pure mathematics run through your body and camp in your brain, illuminating all the neurons.

What the fuck had just happened?

You learned that every class he taught was a learning experience rarely experienced before. The passion he conveyed when teaching overflowed in all his expressions so intensely that it made you orbit around him slowly.

And that was the beginning of a problem.

A big problem.

But you hadn’t noticed yet.

“If I ever thought I was smart, forget it! Michael Gavey is the epitome of everything I want to be,” your good friend Miranda said before taking a sip of her latte.

“I know right? Every class I feel that my brain will explode,” you said while leaning your head against the table, “but I can understand what it teaches, at least a good part of things. I know I already have an advisor and our work is almost published, but I think I’m thinking of getting out of Algebra and trying something with Gavey,” you looked at her.

“Woah, are you fucking sure? I mean- if that’s what you really want, that’s fine, but I think it’s too mind blowing for me,” she said.

“For me too, but it’s fucking interesting, I really want to do at least one research in this area.”

“... hmm,” Miranda smirked, humming.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she superficially drank her coffee, “hmm.”

“Cut the bullshit,” you complained as you looked at her impatiently.

“It’s nothing, it’s just that from a certain angle he’s quite cute,” she said in a thin voice.

“Who? Gavey?”

“Yeah. He’s... different from the guys you usually date or are interested in but he’s not bad looking,” she explained.

“Come on, do you really think I’m interested in him? He's our professor and a big nerd to boot!” The last thing wasn’t totally the end of the world.

“And? It’s not like students and professors have never fucked before, although I don’t think he’d risk that much, he seems to be quite methodical,” she said calmly, “and most importantly, he’s clever as fuck and that automatically makes him sexy, if he’s not an idiot.”

That was absurd, you weren’t interested in Michael Gavey!

... right?

You thought about it for the rest of the day.

Was Michael Gavey, in addition to his bestial intellect, physically attractive?

Suddenly, you began to notice how his lips were perfectly drawn and pink as he explained the most beautiful things you had ever heard in those years at Oxford. Damn it. It was Miranda’s fault, obviously. You tried to convince yourself of that while elaborating a way to approach you about the possibility of a research project without embarrassing yourself. Obviously you tried to impress him before that, answering questions whenever possible and redoing all the examples and notes he passed around. When your own mind couldn’t assimilate some details, you looked for him to ask questions and oh Lord, he was more than attentive.

The proximity also made you realize how blue his eyes were under the glasses, and how his hands were- no, wait, what were those veins? Those long and thin fingers? You know what they say about guys with big hands... And his fluffy dirty blonde hair and those soft and ugly sweaters, his height, his waist-

DAMN IT MIRANDA!

That afternoon you gathered the courage to introduce the subject after your classmates left, using your best words to make a good impression.

“I have some interesting ideas that would yield good research, but before recruiting someone, I evaluate performance throughout the term; grades, posture, commitment, everything is observed.”

“Oh... sure, professor.”

“You’re doing well so far, you have good chances, keep it up.”

You wanted to scream. You’ve been recognized.

If your previous efforts were continuous to make a good impression, they would now be compulsive to stand out from the others. You needed to have him as an advisor. And all the eagerness to please him, all the competitive desire to excel, all that fervor triggered a fire that consumed every stretch of your body silently.

And that was a problem.

It shouldn’t be, but it became without you noticing.

“Do you know how many people would sacrifice everything to sit on these chairs? Walking through these corridors? Breathe this air? All of you have an obligation to achieve more than perfection, especially if you are here because of mommy and daddy’s money.”

You knew that very well. Gavey was very demanding about the quality of his students, always reinforcing the privilege of being in this environment, which in itself would make his discipline one of the most important of that term, but your current disposition made you demand almost all attention for him, for the test that was coming, for what you aspired to in the future.

And the result couldn’t be better.

You had a 100% performance in the first test. Excellent, handwritten next to the note. “Good work, keep it up,” he said with a subtle smile.

“Thank you, professor.”

So that’s what the butterflies in your stomach were from.

You smiled, satisfied as you reaped the fruit of weeks of hard work, too numb in your own pride to feel a close eye to follow your steps to the exit, although you had not gone unnoticed by Miranda.

“I think someone caught Gavey’s attention,” she hummed low, approaching on your side to lightly nudge your body with her hip.

“I know right? I need this opportunity,” you celebrated, oblivious to the implicit tone of her voice.

“I didn’t mean that way, babe. It's just he’s keeping an eye on you constantly, literally checking you every- I don’t know, three minutes?” She said it as if it were obvious.

“What? No, I don’t think it’s in this sense, he uses everything as a parameter of choice, he’s just observing my posture.” What? To believe that Gavey had ulterior motives? Too unreal.

“No, sweetheart, he was staring at you when no one paid attention, or almost no one, and he spent most of his time looking at you,” she insisted.

“You don't really thi-“

“I totally think so!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m not saying he’s in love with you, but he's interested, hell yeah,” she explained as you slowly processed her words.

“Fuck,” you said, “do you really, really think so? I mean- he doesn’t look like the type who stays with students.”

Definitely not, he seemed too methodical for that, methodical enough to separate the spectra of his life into compartments.

But what if there was the possibility? You couldn’t reproduce that question audibly, but in the comfort of your bed, you allowed yourself to daydream.

If there was some possibility?

Well, there were pros and cons that needed to be analyzed meticulously, of course.

In the event that Michael was a systematic monster, there wouldn’t be problems in a relationship since he wouldn’t mix romance with studies, theoretically. On the other hand, if he didn’t know how to differentiate the staff from the professional... well, you’d be fucked up if something went wrong. And that was the main point: the mistake.

The consequences would be drastic if something bad happened, especially to you, whose life was still under construction and a scholarship in Oxford could not be negotiated. The cost was too high.

However, over the weeks, you could only think about how attractive your professor was.

And now you know it’s a problem.

And with that, the end of year 2 was near when you received an email from Michael Gavey requesting to send your notes and certificates of everything you had done and participated in so far. Jesus, that man wasn’t kidding.

Neither were you.

That same morning you attached the documents to the e-mail and forwarded a response, as a result, your presence was requested at his office as soon as possible. I’m available in the afternoon, you send to him.

It was complicated to make your legs stop shaking along the way, practically jumping through the corridors while trying to stay calm. It was your chance, one where nothing could go wrong. You wore your best clothes, put on accessories that you used to wear daily and a subtle makeup to make a good impression, nothing that drew too much attention.

Stopping in front of his door, you took a deep breath and announced your presence with a light knock against the old wood, receiving immediate permission to enter the space. You would've liked the time and the absence of an observer to analyze all the details, but instead your eyes locked with his as he walked back to his chair.

“Good afternoon,” he said, a polite smile illuminating his beautiful face as he pointed to the chair in front of you, “have a seat. Please.”

“Good afternoon, professor, thank you,” you greeted him back, shaking your hands anxiously as you sat down.

With no time to allow your eyes to wander through the objects on the table, Michael cut straight to the point. "So, what aroused your interest in Number Theory?" You, to begin with.

"Well, I chose Maths at the age of 17, but things were difficult when I started the course. I was disenchanted considerably, but I always remained active. When your classes started I felt the same thing that motivated me to join here, it was as if everything had made sense again and I really fell in love with it."

“I see,” he said, crossing his hands over the table with a soft smile and a slight pink to his cheeks. Did you make him blush? No way. "I’m happy to have contributed positively to your training. I really appreciated your performance during classes and the analysis of your CV. The activities you have developed are also good but they can improve, I believe you also aspire to it. I seek a high level of quality in my students, after all we are in one of the best universities in the world and excellence is the least expected, I believe we agree on that. Have you already decided where you would like to specialise within Number Theory?"

"To be honest, no, but I would like to find out in-"

"I have some ideas that I’d like to be executed, I can show you now, if you don't have something in mind," he interrupted you with enthusiasm.

"... yes, I’d love to," you said, "but first, thank you for the opportunity you’re giving me, I admire you so much from the first classes and I feel really happy to receive this chance, I know there are many successful veteran professors, but I believe that a current view of a person as impressive as you can bring interesting results."

And if he had blushed with your previous statement, now he was red as a tomato and all disconcerted as he looked down with a shyness never witnessed before by you. It was deadly cute.

Gosh, you were really fucked.

═════════════════════

Working with Michael was exciting.

Terrifying too.

You felt constantly intimidated by his intellect, which caused a mix of sensations that varied according to the day. There was the pride of collaborating with him, the fear of failing, the paranoia of not being good enough and the satisfaction of achieving good results. It was a real roller coaster.

The passing of the months dissipated the initial strangeness and made living more comfortable. On the other hand, the proximity made you watch him for longer. It was pathetic.

Michael spent most of his time in front of his computer, correcting things, creating things and participating in events. You weren’t the only one under his guidance, there was Paul, a recent entry in Maths who was too inert in his own world to notice any non-standard deviation. Paul was a reminder and a barrier for nothing to come out of your daydreams, although he didn't seem very interested in what you were doing.

Still, you couldn't feed those thoughts, your relationship should be strictly professional.

It didn't matter how discreetly he approached you to help, or how close he leaned towards you- more than what was considered respectful. Or how good he smelled and looked so comfortable with his cheesy sweaters and old shoes. Or when you looked at him closely while he explained something.

How it was happening at that very moment.

“You're wasting time trying to demonstrate this equation, it's not so important for the project,” he said when analysing your latest advances.

"I know, but I'd like to understand better and I'm not getting it, it seems too abstract," you said with a frustrated pout, bothered by being stuck in something so simple.

"You've already solved more difficult things," he stressed, looking at you consciously, "can I?" he asked, referring to your notebook and the pen next to your laptop.

“Sure.”

Your attention focused on the numbers and symbols scribbled on the paper, trying to keep up with the speed of his thought. Watching it has always been fascinating.

“Some things are more difficult when we make them like this,” he said as he sketched on the paper.

"It's easy to say that being you," you replied, lamenting the failed attempt to absorb some of his knowledge.

"But it's true."

Unconsciously, you leaned your shoulder against his arm. "Some things are naturally difficult, not everyone can visualise like you."

"I know, it's a natural advantage," he smirked, looking at you over his shoulder, face closer than usual. "But you have a good brain, you shouldn't make it harder than it is."

So close.

"And how should I make it easier?" You held your breath, not daring to look beyond his beautiful blue irises.

"Find in the problem points that are favourable to you, try to demystify them, make them palpable," he replied slowly, taking a deep breath.

Really close.

"And if there's nothing to be explored?"

"You can always call me."

"… I know."

So close.

═════════════════════

After that, you don't know what or why, but something has changed in your relationship with Michael.

His looks became more persistent, his presence seemed closer, almost palpable. Maybe it was a daydream of your own mind, but it looked different, inexplicably different. The air seemed heavier when there was proximity. He seemed comfortable when he touched your shoulder while you read your results. It was nothing, you thought.

There was something not said and that was enough to bring out fears and expectations.

Why not? You thought repeatedly, knowing the reasons very well.

But, maybe...

Maybe you needed to get him out of your head for a few hours, meet some nice guys, drink a little, it was a good idea.

That's why that Friday night you decided to go to one of the nearby pubs with Miranda. It was a good plan, you would leave the lab at 5 PM and get ready to meet her at 7 PM. It was in fact a good plan... until the data analysis program decided to crash in the middle of your work and a malaise affected your friend, in addition to a grotesque rain that started to fall recently. Well, at least you tried.

After collecting the material from the bench, you stretched your arms above your head to ward off the hours of agonizing stress and got up from the chair. It was already late and your view was tired, more than your own body when Michael showed up with his keys in his hand after closing his own office. He spent the afternoon by your side trying to solve the damn problem in addition to his chores as a teacher.

"Everything worked out?" He asked.

"Yeah, at least that," you grumbled, picking up your backpack, "thank you for the help," you looked at him before going to the switches to turn off the equipment.

"You’re welcome," he said simply, in a softer tone than usual. Thunder echoed when you turned off the lights and made you retreat briefly in fright, making himhim laugh softly. "So, what does your generation do to have fun Friday night?" He asked casually after leaving the laboratory.

"Considering that these pubs are older than you and me, I think the same thing your generation did," you replied humorously, looking at him with a small smile, "Unfortunately not with this rain."

"Did you have plans?" He asked.

"Yes, my friend and I’d go to MacLaren's pub, but she's sick and the world decided to fall suddenly and I didn't bring my umbrella," you said faster than you intended, a brief irritation about how your night was totally destroyed. “And you?”

“No plans,” he said, adjusting his sweater. His car was close, but the rain prevented him from advancing a lot. "Are you walking?" He asked.

"Yes- I mean as soon as the rain passes," you crossed your arms and hugged yourself.

"I can take you," he said, his words beginning to make your heart beat faster.

It's no big deal, it's just a polite gesture.

"Oh no, you don't have to, honestly. I can wait," you said, although the twinge in your heart meant the opposite. Why the fuck did I deny it? Damn it.

"It's no big deal, besides we don't know when it will pass," he said, "we can wait in my car, I'm fucking freezing here."

"Sure." You tried not to freak out at the idea of being in such a restricted and warm environment with him, but Michael didn't seem to share the concern, since he basically ran in the middle of the fine rain to reach his car. Okay then. You went right behind, putting the backpack above your head to protect yourself from the water and closing the door harder than you intended. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting that,” you said with a light laugh.

"I just needed this heater," he said with a small smile on his lips, messing with things on the panel, "I also didn't bring an umbrella."

Avoiding making him uncomfortable when analyzing his every movement, you took your cell phone to try to distract yourself, relaxing when the hot air became present. It was almost 6:45 when You Really Got Me filled your ears and made you look at him.

"Do you like The Kinks?" You asked.

"I'm a fan, what about you?"

"My friend is a big fan."

“And you?”

"I like some songs."

"My grandfather was a great vinyl collector, he left everything to my father but he was never into rock in general," he said as he adjusted his glasses, looking at you with soft eyes.

You looked at him with interest. "I started listening to rock to get the attention of a guy I liked. It didn't work but I really liked the songs, although I don't listen to the same bands as I did when I was younger."

Michael laughed. The sound was carefree, almost relaxed even, a facet you didn't see often. He looked soft, cozy, in that burnt orange sweater he wore. "And what do you listen to?"

“I listen to a lot of Oasis, but that's not really 60's stuff. But I also like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Strokes...”

“Big fan of Oasis,” he said.

“Really?”

"I have all the vinyls and I went to a concert in Manchester before the separation." He paused, "Would you like to see them?"

There was an intensity in his look that made your breathing fail, making the air heavy. The casualness of the situation did not seem so natural all of a sudden. He meant-

“In my home.”

Shit shit shit shit

You couldn't, you shouldn't.

“Yes.”

═════════════════════

And so, contrary to all the possibilities of the night, you were in Michael fucking Gavey's house.

A veiled restlessness endured in the air and in the way your heart beat as you were taken by the unknown path. You couldn't believe you had agreed to that, but here you were, looking at every detail of his flat with curiosity. It was large, clean and almost minimalist in design, some thematic objects of mathematics scattered around on the shelves, walls and table. Nerd.

A short silence was maintained while your eyes eagerly explored his place. "Do you want to drink something?"

"Water would be great," you tried to keep the modesty, while watching him go to the kitchen and approach with your request with his gaze locked on yours.

You couldn't be imagining things, there was something there, a different glow, an unspoken truth that caused chills to run through your body.

"You can sit down, I'll get the vinyls."

Your heart was almost exploding since the invitation. You couldn't believe he brought you here, much less that you agreed to come. What the fuck should you do? Let him show you the records and then go? That was stupid.

You forced a conscious smile when he appeared with the records in his hand, watching with a certain curiosity.

“Here,” he said with what you assumed to be a nervous smile, “This is definitely my favourite, although What's the Story? Morning Glory introduced me to the band-“

Your brain wandered when he started digging non-stop about the albums, not giving a damn about Noel and Liam Gallagher's drama, all that mattered was that you were next to Michael Gavey, on his couch, at his house. Michael, the man who took away your sleep and made you constantly daydream. The man who fascinated and intimidated you to the same extent, who made your body warm up when it was close and imagined what it would be like if he got closer.

With his beautiful eyes, nose and lips, big hands and long fingers, soft and beautiful dirty blond hair.

You've wanted it for a long time.

You wanted him.

Wanted to fuck him.

You wanted to fuck your own professor.

And you're tired of denying it.

"I know I shouldn't do that, but it's all I've been thinking about for months."

You interrupted him, touching his cheek as you slowly leaned against him. He froze in place, not preventing your advances as your faces grew closer and closer. Your lips gently brushed against his before pressing harder, starting a fearful and shy, almost chaste kiss.

He didn't reciprocate.

Your heart sank, panic blooming in your stomach.

What did I do?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

His lips silenced any doubts that dared to emerge, holding the back of your head while kissing you experimentally. You didn't waste time in moving your lips at the pace he set, holding the back of his neck and smoothing his beautiful face, tasting the taste of his lips.

You couldn't believe it, you couldn't! He was kissing you!

Michael Gavey was kissing you!

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't-" he said as he walked away abruptly, but you didn't care.

You attacked his hungry lips and made him move the discs away when he leaned against his body, climbing on his lap and holding both sides of his neck. His hand went down your back and held your ass firmly while the other grasped on the back of your neck, pulling your body closer and asking for access to your mouth with his tongue. You kissed, sucked, and bit his pink lips, taking advantage of everything you could before moving away to look into his eyes, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

“Me too,” you said.

And then you were kissing him again, and again, and again until your lips were red, wet and swollen. Your body warmed up when a bulge emerged below your thighs, instinctively grinding against it.

“Fuck- I can't, we can't do that, I'm your fucking professor,” he said out of breath, holding your arms and briefly pushing your body away. "This can ruin everything- fuck up our relationship-"

He was red, dilated pupils and heavy breathing, a fucking vision.

“I know, I know. But... just this time, we can forget just this time... what do you think?"

He held firmly one side of your face and looked into your eyes. “Are you fucking sure about this?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

Just this time.

"... just this time."

He leaned over to kiss you quickly, moving his hands under your blouse to take it over his head, groping the exposed skin of your arms, waist and belly with his big hands while drinking from your body with lascivious eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered.

His lips traveled to spice up moist kisses on your neck, sucking the conjuncture with his shoulder, licking your throat, making you melt and close your eyes when he found your sweet spot. Who knew he had that fire? He nibbled and sucked the sensitive skin, holding your waist firmly when he raised you and put you on the floor, leaving you stunned as he guided you by the hand to the room.

Michael didn't have time for your reasoning to come back when he gently pushed you against the door with both hands next to your head. “You're fucking gorgeous.”

“And you're handsome,” you removed his orange sweater, touching the skin of his torso.

"... you don't have to reciprocate the compliment."

Your chest hurt when you heard that, which made you touch his cheek instinctively. "I'm not saying out of courtesy, Michael, you're fucking attractive," you traced his lips with your thumb, looking at him firmly. “Fucking handsome.”

A slight blush took over his cheeks and he captured your lips with passion, holding your waist while kissing life outside of you. Your head was spinning and your stomach warmed up by intimacy, straightening his soft hair. You were in the damn clouds.

His hands moved to unbutton your pants and lower them, kneeling before you to remove your shoes and jeans, kissing the stomach trail to the top of your panties and shamelessly touching your drenched pussy.

"Mmm," you shuddered and closed your eyes when he started rubbing your clitoris, increasing the moisture between your thighs. Fuck. Your goddamn professor was kneeling in front of you. If you weren't wet before, now a river has accumulated in your center.

"Is that good?" He asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered, holding onto him for better support, watching him continue to massage your clit now directly into the skin while leaving kisses on your belly. You leaned dramatically against the door when he stuck a finger in your entrance, pumping slowly, feeling you, teasing. “Fuck.”

Michael removed his finger and stood up, unbuttoning his belt quickly and taking off his pants and shoes, leaving you warm and needy and following him like a puppy when he went to the headboard near the bed and opened the upper drawer to take off a condom. Damn it, he was so fine. Before his hands were on your body, you slowly pushed him on the bed and took control, removing the bra and discarding the panties. You couldn't believe what was about to happen.

Your body trembled when he pulled you by the waist and clapped your breasts as you sat on his covered cock and ground over it.

"Fuck," he grunted, sucking one nipple.

"Michael," you moaned, panting. 'Professor,' that's what you wanted to shout, pulling the hair from the back of his neck. He moaned when you kept grinding against his erection and hoisted your hips to lay you on the sheets.

Your mouth opened when he discarded his underwear - not even in the wettest dreams did you imagine that size. He was fucking fine. Tall, thin, defined and with a beautiful cock. Fuck-

Michael Gavey was really a box full of surprises. He barely had time to adjust his glasses and put on the condom before he was pulled by you to take over the top, caged by your legs.

He captured your lips in a sweet kiss, leaning on his elbow as he adjusted between your thighs. The next thing you felt was the welcome intrusion into your folds, stretching you open deliciously. The initial stretch was a little painful, it's been a while since you've been with someone, but he was slow and careful when sinking into your core, making your toes curl up and a relieved moan come out of your throat when he was totally inside.

"Are you alright?" He asked with his face above yours.

"Yes," you held his back, "just wait a minute, please."

“Okay,” he said with a red face, hoarse voice and almost breathless.

Your walls were pulsating when you finally received it, relaxing when the slight discomfort passed. “Move.”

His thrusts were soft, but firm, looking at you closely. You couldn't believe that, yes, Michael was fucking you. Finally.

You leaned up to kiss him while holding your back, groping his wrinkles around your eyes. He was fucking handsome. His hips went further and faster when your body was totally receptive, the moisture and heat surrounding him and making him slip without hindrance. He leaned his forehead against yours and held your hips when you dug your feet on the bed, hitting deeper than before, making you moan loudly and your pussy squeeze instinctively.

A hoarse moan was his response, almost a whining that was swallowed by your lips.

You were in the fucking clouds with the intimacy of the moment, tracing patterns on his back and pulling the blonde strands from the back of the neck when the thrusts became more intense, deliberately repeating his name. Michael attacked the conjuncture of your neck and lifted your thigh even more to go deeper, deliciously hitting your core.

"Michael- fuck-" You could only think of how good he felt, how big his cock was and how his bulbous head brushed your sweet spot whenever he moved. You needed it too much. Holding his shoulders and pushing him away a little, you looked at him panting, making his eyes widen.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked with a tense body.

"No, no, It's just-" and then you moved to take control, resting your hands on his chest, "this." You wanted to ride him since the time you called me in your office. You rubbed your hips against his groin in an addictive rhythm, loving the friction against your clitoris and the feeling of being totally filled.

"Fuck," he grunted, squeezing your ass, groping your hip, holding your breasts, covering every piece of skin available.

You started moving on his cock, touching his chest gently. You felt it all over your core and that burned your whole body, especially when your spongy spot was being brushed rhythmically. Michael pulled you to a scorching kiss full of tongue and teeth, leaving your movements sloppy, but constant, almost frantic, your moans and whining became higher and higher, your velvety walls squeezing his thick axis more and more.

"So fucking good," he moaned against your mouth and leaned his feet on the bed, holding your buttocks and hitting his hips against yours.

“Fuck-“ you almost screamed, resting your head against his chest when he started pushing quickly into your hot pussy, creating lascivious sounds that echoed all over the room.

“You're squeezing me so fucking hard - you're close, aren't you?” He asked, almost breathless.

“Y-yes,” your eyes closed when the family tingling intensified and your juices lubricated it even more.

"Come for me baby," he grunted when your folds pulsed around him, "cum in my fucking cock."

Shit.

Your orgasm hit you hard; hot and sudden as lightning, making your body tremble and a flash blind your vision as the air disappeared from your lungs and your mind went blank.

"Fuck," you heard him moan far away, feeling his cock pulsate and the squeeze on your ass increase when his erratic movements stopped, leaving only a few slow pushes on your sensitive pussy.

You melted completely when the orgasmic euphoria spared, coming out of it unwillingly so as not to deprive you of the air and stabilize your own breathing. Your mind was tired although very aware of the fact that you had just fucked your professor.

You can't fucking believe it.

Fucking finally.

"Are you okay?" He asked, all red and sweaty as he looked at you with crooked glasses.

“Absofuckinglutely,” you looked at him tired, panting, attracted by how cozy he looked. “And you?”

He smiled softly, pushing away some strands of hair that had stuck to your forehead, fingering your face with his thumb. “I'm fucking great.”

Michael pulled you to rest on his chest when a comfortable mist hovered between you as you recovered. None of you said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying the calm silence before reality starts to come back. You fucked your professor.

You fucked your professor.

What did you have in your head?

You tried to convince yourself that nothing would change after that, that your relationship would not be affected, but you were not sure of that

Just this time.

═════════════════════

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oneirophobic · 1 year

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MESMERIZED - m. sturniolo ( ★ )

part of the 'summer fun' series

summary : you think water is such a beautiful thing, you know what matt thinks is a beautiful thing?

warnings : [ IMPLIED FEM!READER ] anxiety, mentions of depression, coping mechanisms, water, strong mother-daughter relationship, mentions of feet, reader wears a bikini, horrible dad joke, cat calling, no use of y/n, not proofread well

a/n : thanks for two hundred followers! (you guys got pranked so hard lol) sorry for not posting fics, i've been busy. this fic also has significance to me, i struggle with my mental health and use water to cope. if you're struggling yourself, do not be afraid to reach out to me, my dms are always open.

ever since i was a baby, i was fond of the water, a water baby my mom would say. she'd sit me in between her legs in the shallow end of a lake we camped alongside. the water brushing against my small, fragile hips; releasing sweet giggles from me as i splashed the water onto her inked thighs. i'd fall asleep there in between her legs, eventually being dazed by the tiny fish that swam nibbling at her feet and the way her tattoos distorted under the ripples.

even when we were away from the lake, i'd refuse to get out of the tub until the tiny pads of my fingers looked like the raisins i had as a snack earlier. crying and pleading for her to let me stay in there although i hadn't been able to form a singular word properly. she'd give in and sit with me outside the bathtub with her steamy romance novels in hand, looking up between paragraphs at the smile on my face as i splashed around with an assortment of rubber ducks.

as i grew older, my mom would let me swim at the end of the dock with her by my side, my tiny torso just above the rippling water. i'd dunk myself into the water, watching the minnows nibble at my tiny feet through the lenses of my goggles. giggling as i stuck my head back up, facing my mom with sparks in my eyes, "it tickles, mommy!"

by the time i was in middle school, i had unfortunately developed anxiety. i'd skip school because i grew so physically sick, staying in bed all day, crying uncontrollably. my mom had to stop by the school on those days on her way home from work, giving me a saddened look as she handed me the papers. i'd do them in a blur, my eyes swollen and stinging from my tears.

on one of those days, i had to take a shower, my hair was a greasy knotted mess. my mom helped me detangle it, being gentle as she worked her way to the top of my head. i hesitated before stripping off my three day old clothes, not daring to look at my bare reflection.

i slid into the lukewarm water, standing there for a minute. i felt all the stress being rinsed from my body. i lowered myself to the shower floor and sat there until the water ran cold. i began showering every day, before and after school. the way it felt against my skin made me feel comforted within seconds.

years later, i still use that coping mechanism. i began to learn to control my anxiety, thanks to matt. matt and i got close near the end of junior year, we sat next to each other in math class; always helping each other.

this one specific day, i had been cat called by a group of boys and was absolutely terrified that it was going to happen again. i began overthinking: "are my jeans too tight? can you see my bra through my shirt? am i wearing too much makeup?"

the algebraic equations being written on the board quickly became irrelevant, my breathing was picking up and my throat was closing. matt noticed the increase in my breathing pattern, quickly turning to me as he saw the tears brimming in my eyes. he quickly grabbed ahold of my hand and began rubbing soothing circles along the back of my hand. i squeezed his hand out of fear, shaking slightly.

he leaned in close to me and whispered in my ear, "i'm right here with you, copy my breathing." i turned to look at him, unsure of what was going on. "trust me," he mouthed, looking at my tear filled eyes. i nodded beginning to copy his breathing as we both faced the teacher as if we were paying attention.

i almost had my breathing under control, when the teacher told us to work with our partners, the class broke out into a jumble of murmurs almost instantly. matt slid his water bottle to me, "drink some, please." i grabbed bottle and began taking sips, matt watched carefully as i began to relax. "t-thank you," i stuttered, still shaking as i let go of his hand.

"yeah, of course," he said, examining my bouncing leg, "come here." matt opened his arms to me, ushering me into them, i hesitated before wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head on his shoulder. matt drew comforting shapes on my back as i breathed in his scent of vanilla, silently thanking him over and over.

after that moment, we became closer. he let me come over and spend the night with him and his brothers, just sitting around talking. we were just friends though, we'd share strictly platonic touches aside from the times we both started leaning in and someone waltzed in or one of us chickened out.

before homecoming of senior year, he'd finally ask me to be his girlfriend. making those touches romantic and closing the distance between our lips. we practically clung to each other, refusing to leave the other behind.

i had the lot that i had spent all my childhood in under my name now, my mom too focused on work to come up here anymore. i didn't have to share the trailer with my mom anymore, not being banished to the small pull out couch when we did.

i didn't like being up there alone, hearing the loud pitter patter of the rain against the metal roof gave me a sense of unease, only having my pillow to latch onto. i decided to bring the triplets out here, and they loved it.

they loved when i took them driving along the winding curves of the roads and to little shops. matt stealing chris' usual spot in the front seat to be close to me, which chris surprisingly allowed with zero hesitation.

every morning i'd wake matt up to go swimming with me while the lake was calm and nobody was disrupting the fish swimming below. he always agreed, throwing on our swimsuits while trying not to wake up nic and chris, it was our thing.

as soon as we crept out of the trailer, i took a moment to admire the sunrise and breathe in the fresh, dewy air that was destined to be filled with smoke by sunset from the campfires around the park. matt snuck his hand into mine and walked me down the dock, he always let me dip in first to see how cold it is from the night before. it was always relatively cold, it cooled down a lot at night after high temperatures and the blistering sun. despite the temperature, he always got used to it if it meant spending time with me.

we drifted to the drop off, avoiding the sharp shells that inhabited the lake years prior, the water slowly swallowing our bodies. i stopped as soon as it reached my belly button and dove down, savoring the feeling. i came up for air and turned to matt, looking at him with a big smile as the water rippled at his presence around his waist like a hula hoop. "come on, dunk in!" i said, laughing as i shook my shoulders in the water.

matt rolled his eyes before taking a deep breath and falling onto his back and gliding over to me. i smiled as i admired how silky his hair looked under the water. he came up and shook his hair like a dog on me, "matt!" i giggled. he stopped his movements and pressed a kiss to my sunkissed nose.

i turned to look at the horizon and let out a sigh, "i love this, i love the water." matt began chuckling at his own thought, "well, i am about 60% water." i gave him a weird look and laughed, "yeah, i guess i love you too, dingus," i said, sarcastically rolling my eyes.

i took another moment to watch the seagulls diving into the water to bring food back to their families when i felt a familiar feeling at my feet. i looked down to see the minnows nibbling at my feet and shins, making my giggle with a huge smile on my face.

i felt matt's eyes drilling into me, i looked over at him to see he had the dopiest grin on him face. "what's your major malfunction?" i laughed, drifting towards him. he grabbed at the waistline of my bikini, pulling me closer.

"i think i'm more mesmerized by you than you are by the water."

TAGLIST : @dwntwn-strnlo @crvptidsmain @stvrni0lo @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @ssturniolo @iha8you @lollibumblebee

#oneirophobic #nicole needs to stfu #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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edhellfire · 5 months

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Headcanon dump:

I have new followers so I figured I'd do a headcanon dump. Just some random facts about Eddie as I write him.

He's gonna be a tattoo artist when he grows up. He loves to draw and doodle (especially in class) so it feels like a natural progression.

I also will write him a rockstar verse where Corroded Coffin makes it.

In some verses, upon request, he is a single dad. His daughter's name is Halen. Halen Munson. His reasoning? When someone talks about them it's "Eddie and Valen" and he finds that amusing.

He will get more tattoos. I love the idea of him having a spider web tattoo on his neck.

In the rockstar verse, he def has his peepe pierced. In other verses, we'll see.

He's straight. Mostly. I've always wanted to experiment writing him liking boys but it's never happened. He's apparently very straight. Or, we haven't come across the right muse/chemistry to make him sway.

He is super respectful of women and tries his very hardest to not be scary when approaching women. A bit of mommy issues here but not in a bad way. Sidenote: don't ever speak ill of his mama.

He has a thing for cheerleaders. He can't explain it and neither can I.

He is not a virgin. Eddie, the freak, has had a surprisingly amount of action. He's got the bad boy thing going for him. However, he is every girl's "dirty little secret" because who wants the world to know they fooled around with the freak from the trailer park? He respects it and isn't one to kiss and tell anyway.

Guitar is his instrument of choice but Eddie has an ear for music and can pick up an instrument very quickly. He thinks the drums are very fun.

Eddie sings! But he's shy about it. Metal is fine because there's a lot of shouting involved but when he plays the acoustic and sings he wants to die of embarrassment. He has a good voice though. He's just a dumbass.

He's not dumb. I don't want to diagnose him (and I don't think that was common in the 1980s) but he definitely has something. Eddie just can't focus on things that don't interest him. He can be very good as physics, for example, because velocity and speed and he can see it in his head but give him algebra or calculus and he is extra fucked. His favorite subject in school is History. It's storytelling and he's a fan. His favorite time periods are Medieval and Renaiassance and shit like that.

Eddie was the kind of kid growing up that loved dinosaurs. Makes sense because dragons are like a natural progresion.

He can cook. Not saying he's a chef by any means but he has a handful of recipes down to an art. He taught himself as a kid when he got tired of eating canned soup and box mac and cheese when Uncle Wayne was working. He can't bake for shit though (and he would love to learn to bake cinnamon rolls and special brownies).

He doesn't usually do hard drugs anymore. He has to be in a dark dark place to go down that road. He had bad experiences. He also won't sell hard drugs to someone that is inexperienced.

He started smokig cigarettes at a scarily young age. I'm thinking around 12 when he started to steal them from his uncle Wayne. He used to smoke whatever but now he prefers menthols.

He feeds the strays that stroll into the trailer park. Cats, dogs, but his favorites are the raccoons that basically live in the dumpster.

He doesn't have any pets. Not because he doesn't want one but because he's scared he won't be a good pet-dad.

Speaking of dads, he has daddy issues. Daddy trauma really. The idea of being a dad terrifies him because he's scared he will turn out like his.

Eddie doesn't usually start fights. He will stand up for people but he will never start shit with someone else. That said, you say anything about his uncle and you're getting punched - even if you're bigger than him, even if he's outnumbered. He might not be the best son/nephew but he worships that man and is so damn grateful for him. He won't stand for Uncle Wayne slander.

Given the way he looks and his interests you would think his type is a rocker chick or a goth girl. You're wrong. Eddie loves femine girls or casual girls. A girl in a dress or a girl in a messy bun and a big tshirt. That sorta thing.

Eddie has always loved to read, ever since he was a kid. Because of this he's full of useless information.

He loved cryptids. He doesn't fuck with fairies though - they scare him.

He has a stuffed dragon that's missing an eye and lives under his bed. He got it from his mom when he was little and he's kept it since. It lives under his bed because Eddie logic says it's dark like a cave. It's named Draco after the constellation because when Eddie was a baby and couldn't sleep his mom would take him outside and they'd stargaze. One of the few memories he has of his mom.

Eddie logic is something that will come in threads. It's the way Eddie thinks. His brain just doesn't process things like a normal person but it makes sense to him and it's the hill he'll die on.

He's not a sports guy. Not because it doesn't fit the persona but because he's always sucked at them. Uncle Wayne would try to play catch with him as a kid and he would either miss or duck. He can run though and he likes to pretend he knows parkour. Doofus.

His favorite color is gray. Eddie logic says black is too basic. Again, doofus.

He doesn't have a favorite food but he's a sucker for anything homecooked. Uncle Wayne worked a lot growing up so anything that feels homecooked feels special to him.

Big cuddler. If you sleep with him, and it's more than just sex, expect aftercare.

He's not opposed to doing "girly" things. If you're a girl and his friend, besties level, he will totally be down for sleepovers that include face masks and manicures and all that. No fragile masculinity here. Just don't tell anyone.

Should be obvious but he loves horror movies. He's not big on gore though. He'll watch them but he's more into spooky shit like monsters, ghosts, demon possession and stuff like that. He does enjoy Children of the Corn, he finds creepy children amusing and terrifying.

He can fix pretty much anything. Both his dad and Uncle Wayne are handy with tools and Eddie learned from watching. He fixes his own van and basically built it from the ground up.

That's all I got right now. Feel free to ask questions.

#headcanon: eddie

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punkalope · 2 months

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One thing I don't see talked about often irt neurodivergency is like... Well, I see people talk about being left behind in terms of ADHD & Autism, & maybe I'm just not in the right circles, but I don't see much talk about it with undiagnosed learning disabilities

I'm very dyscalculic. Horribly so. I cannot do basic math for the life of me, I'm constantly tripped up by patterns, I can't tell left from right unless I have sticky notes in my vision to tell me because even doing the L finger thing gets me confused, I can't imagine how big things are or how they work in 3D etc etc... The whole package, except for maybe I have a pretty ok sense of direction at least. (As long as it doesn't follow a strict pattern...)

But growing up, no one ever believed me. I learned the word dyscalculia at 13, I tried to talk to adults about it, and no one believed me. They thought I was just lazy, trying to find an easy excuse, I was bad at math "on purpose". It got to a point where I became terrified of math classes or encountering it in daily life, I'd avoid it whenever I could. No one ever seemed patient enough to "deal with" me, and unfortunately I didn't have teachers who were kind, they'd let me get bullied and called the R word daily because they agreed I was a lost cause.

& having no one believe you makes you not wanna try anymore, but by the time I got to high school it was only becoming a worse and worse issue. Not only was I bad at math, but I was unlucky enough that my whole freshman year we went without a teacher because they all kept quitting. I was now extra behind.

Stories aside though. When you grow up with no one wanting to help you, no one believing you when you try to explain why, and the looming threat of being held back you kinda just... learn to get around it. You figure out how to navigate.

You learn to become really damn good at cheating.

Fake it till you make it, right? That's kinda how I ended up getting through my last few years of high school. There was no way I was going to pass on my own anymore, no one wanted or had time to help me, I kinda had no other choice. I cheated through all my homework, all my classwork. I never really could do most classwork anyways - it almost always brought me to tears with frustration, and I'd end up taking it home and looking up all the answers instead.

That's not to say I wasn't trying still. If I could learn how an answer was achieved while looking it up I would reverse engineer it. Often times when "show your work" was required this is what'd I'd do - I'd do it backwards. And on the rare moments I couldn't "just cheat", & I was allowed to do things my way (because the american education system sucks ass and teaches you how to test and memorize techniques, but the "proper way" to do things wasn't something I ever understood), I could actually do pretty okay. Give me a calculator and let me use colour pencils and don't time me and I might get pretty close or figure out some really ridiculous way to do algebra.

But that being said, being left behind by adults forces you to be real damn good at lying. & it fucking sucks, cause you don't really learn much and it WILL bite you in the ass - like, I'm 24, I never got a diagnosis, I have no idea how to approach math at a college level and how to get help when I have no insurance. & it sucks, cause I need to retake a lot to do a lot for college, and I don't have the money to try again if I were to fail. I get extremely nervous or embarrassed when math comes up around other people, and while my friends are patient and kind its a big trigger for me to mess up in front of others still, so I just avoid it as often as possible. Its worse now that I have chronic brain fog / long covid issues!

It just sucks all around, and I hope others with learning disabilities aren't alone. Being neurodivergent often means the adults in your life are going to fail you, and you'll learn weird ways to get around. That's okay. I dunno the solutions, but you'll be ok.

#burrow.html #sorry for long ramble i just staryed thinkin about this and needed to get it out

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sunflowerandstrawberryspice · 2 years

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Zane: cause y'all really seem to like him!

Okay so as you all can probably guess Zane is pretty much my favorite character and I don't see this man getting enough love so how would you like some of my head cannons and such (reminder I've only watched through season nine + one episode of season ten)

-He's a really smart idiot like he can do extended algebra in his head, recite the entire history of Ninjago and analyze any problem with ease, but at the same time he'll forget not everyone can just do a google translate in their head and he'll casually say things like "Salt sugar same difference "

-He built in the appearance changer thing cause people (especially kids) were afraid of his really robotic look

-To go along with the last hc he only really shows what he really looks like in front of people he's really comfortable with

-He's either a really good or really bad flirt, it differs from day to day like one day he'll be like "Dang and I thought fire was hot" and the next he'll be like "You have very colorful eyes"

-He and Pixel have more of a sibling dynamic than anything else, people thought they were dating but they're both just like "Ew no that's my emotional support borhter/sister" (cause honestly in the show the last relativly romantic thing they did was in season three with the whole "comptable secen" and after that they're just kinda been buddies, like literally all hugs and fits bumps, it's honestly really sweet)

-He and Pixel dare each other on pretty much a daily basis to eat things that they really shouldn't, this ranges from small pieces of paper to literal glass, they do it purely to scare everyone else (I just learned it's Pixal btw, but I'm honestly not changing it I'm in too deep now)

-Zane often has trouble verbally displaying his emotions even when he has strong feelings about things, so most times it results in him doing something to show it whether it be stomping off, giving the silent treatment or just generally trying to display his emotions in other ways (the other ninja and co are pretty good at getting the signs)

-He has to be really cautious when freezing people because surprise surprise if you entrap someone in a full block of ice they WILL suffocate and die

-His power makes it so he can freeze or unfreeze most things so he could potentially freeze the water in someone's body, kinda like a water bender in avatar (cause honestly I feel like it would be more likely he had powers over temperatures since ice isn't really an element, but over time maybe people forgot what the power actually was, idk yo)

-He's probably stronger than your average person due to being a robot , not as strong as someone with super strength like Cole but still impressively strong

-He likes animated movies, and he's irritated by the notion they're only for kids

-He likes rock and metal music, in fact him and Cole share a lot of music taste and no one really understands how Zane likes that kind of music but they're not inclined to question it

-Lloyd has called him mom/dad on multiple occasions, he's honnored

-He never came out to anyone cause for him he just kinda existed and didn't really think much of it (for reference I'm a fan of the pan/trans hc's that I've seen around)

-He's the tallest member of the group and he's no allowed to join when they compare heights cause he towers over everyone with Nya being the closest

Zane's a plant mom, simple as that

-He has the coolest socks ever, like patterns colors you name it

-Ever since season 4 he's been terrified of loosing his memory cause it happened when he forgot his father than again in season 4 and so now he's terrified of loosing his memories again, in fact getting hit in the head or back (where his switch panel is if I'm remembering correctly) is something that stresses him out a whole bunch.

-Zane is literally the worst car driver ever, like seriously there's a reason he's always got a mech or the ship or literally anything other than a car

-He doesn't get hot or cold so it'll be the middle of the winter and he'll be wearing shorts

-Zane couldn't dance but Cole most definitely taught him

-He and Cole go on dates to museums cause Zane's a nerd and Cole's really nostalgic for it

In conclusion I think robot man deserves more love and affection and I have more head cannons for more of the characters cause this silly little ninja show has indeed become my hyper fixation.

#zane ninjago #zane julien #ninjago #ninjago secrets of the forbidden spinjitzu #cole ninjago #zane x cole #headcanon #nindroid #honestly zane deserves way more credit than he gets #he's the reason the ninja didn't starve to death and I find that really funny #panromantic #pan #transmasc #trans

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hummingbirdsky98 · 1 year

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Just something I wrote lol

I’ve always wanted to be little.

I grew up too fast with many harsh words and thoughts always thrusted upon me. Taken advantage of, molded and forced into this large, jaded mold by those around me. I’ve never been little, metaphorically or literally. Genetics and life experiences cruelly laughed at my insecurities and other people’s possible perspectives of me. I wanted to be just like all the small, sweet girls in my classes. Beautiful glass sculptures on a golden pedestal. I was described as “big boned” and “different” understanding it was never meant in a positive manner, I simply was too weird to understand. While other girls like my sister where fragile, funny, smart, so much more than I ever was. She’s beautiful in all the ways I am not. Absolutely gorgeous face, with these wise, perceptive and piercing eyes. Tall with proper portions and a brain with such smarts and sharp whit that will cut and bleed you dry.

With every day she grows into being a powerful woman. I can only hope that life and fate will be gentle to her. I am unknown to every struggle she’s faced so far but I can only hope she sees what a magnificent and beautiful sculpture she is. When it came to my body if it was a temple, was doused in gasoline and set ablaze. Developing early only made it worse. I was always at odds with Mother Nature and human biology, my mother forcing me to wear training bras that other girls couldn’t even fill out. I on the other hand bought the ones with extra support. It only grew worse the older I got, it spread like vines overtaking an abandoned home. They snuck in, creeping one by one until the entire home was engulfed. Eventually curves began to set in, and stares soon followed. The girls in those dreaded, dilapidated locker rooms and bathrooms with watchful eyes making little jokes that only they would hear but the following laughter would echo and leave me empty.

The boys would ask me out as a joke then run back laughing to their friends all waiting anxiously to hear my response. Jokes lined up for any possibility I said yes, I learned quickly the few reasons why people seemed to like me. The older I grew the more of my statue became chipped away. I sought the attention from others the only way I knew how. Using my body at night to hear the few words of praise I would ever get in that time of my life. I was simply prey for older men to pounce on and devour whole. During the day I was a silent observer to shitty friend groups secretly making mental notes on how I could achieve my goal to be little and finally be normal. Sometimes my insides would scream and burn to be the confident, funny one.

Saying jokes that could barely get a chuckle and forgetting to use the correct volume in my voice. I quickly became terrified of being too loud. The exact opposite of what I needed to be. I couldn’t accept what I had become, a loud, broken, marble statue. I would often hurt myself and my body. With self harm taking rapid control of how I handled the stress of my life. The body others loved for their selfish reasons was mine to ruin. Not long after it all began, I soon started to stave myself. The ache felt pleasant in my stomach while sitting in a cold algebra class.

The fight was constant, a few times onlookers noticing my lack of appetite and trying to help. It was a never ending battle that I always assumed I was sure to loose. Others who came and went in my life found their own ways to ruin me and my body. Burning it even further with every touch and kiss, I ache with each passing day. But the beautiful glass statues always stayed the same, growing more marvelous by the day. While I was a cold, broken marble statue. A testament to what I could never be. I grew into an adult, with new ways to be taken advantage of and hurt. I slowly lost the uncomfortable weight I had been carrying for years.

Though still struggling with the familiar ache of before. I grew to fix little pieces of my statue, though my vision is double. One eye sees what has always been before me, while the other sees this unfamiliar person. She is little sometimes, she radiates joy and in the right lighting is actually quite pretty. New love for myself is growing. I’m trying to see her more and more. I’ve learned how to enjoy little things and treat myself. I’ve finally found people who don’t just use those around them. I’ve come to understand that perhaps my statue isn’t ugly and broken. It is simply incomplete, it’s beautiful in its own ways and slowly will be restored.

#words #writing #girlhood #trauma #tw disordered eating #deppresive #poetry #insecurity #sadgirl #self healing #tw self deprecation #tw self harm

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grahamstoney · 9 years

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26 Ways To Get The Hell Over Your Fear Of Making Mistakes

New Post has been published on https://grahamstoney.com/mindset/26-ways-to-get-the-hell-over-your-fear-of-making-mistakes

26 Ways To Get The Hell Over Your Fear Of Making Mistakes

I’m not going to lie to you: making mistakes still freaks me out. There’s something about getting things wrong that causes me to break out into a cold sweat. Even if I’m at home playing music by myself, just the thought “What if I get it wrong?” induces enough panic to throw my concentration out, leading to a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Does Making Mistakes Still Freak You Out Too?

It’s easy enough to see where this paranoia comes from. I grew up with a mother who criticised my father for almost everything that he said and did, and this led to arguments that I found very frightening. Most of those arguments were about who was right and who was wrong in the previous argument, so I learned from a very young age that it was extremely important to be right all the time if you wanted to avoid degrading humiliation and terrifying conflict.

Add to that a religion where you burned in hell for all eternity for being a flawed human being, if you didn’t accept the correct saviour. Even as a young child I knew that there were other religions from the one I was being indoctrinated with, so there were other possibilities to choose from. Being wrong about my choice of religion/saviour/deity had eternal unpleasant consequences.

And then there was an education system where your social status bequeathed by the teachers in the form of grades and your position in the class hierarchy depended on me giving the answers that they liked. Get too many things wrong, and I would find myself condemned to the class full of dead-heads.

This kind of thing can leave a lasting impact. I’m still upset about being marked wrong in 5th grade for answering that π equalled 3.1415926535897, rather than the “correct” answer of 22/7.

When I look at the beliefs that I internalised about making mistakes and getting things wrong, they pretty much boil down to these two:

If I make mistakes, people won’t love me

If I get anything wrong, I will be punished

I’ve long since abandoned much of the perfectionistic family, cultural and religious belief systems that I grew up with, so I no longer consciously believe that making mistakes is a terrible thing to be avoided at all costs. But just try telling that to my hyper-vigilant limbic system.

So lets see what happens when I run these beliefs through the 26 “Mind lines” from L. Michael Hall and Bobby G. Bodenhamer’s book Mind Lines: Lines For Changing Minds to see if I can neutralise them with a little neuro-semantic magic.

The book makes a distinction between External Behaviour and Internal State. In these two beliefs, the external behaviour is “make mistakes” and “get anything wrong”, while the Internal State is “people not loving me” and “being punished”.

Bring on 26 Ways To Get The Hell Over Your Fear Of Making Mistakes:

#1: Specificity: Chunking Down

Which people specifically are we talking about here? Perfectionistic control-freaks? They’re conditional love has strings attached. It’s toxic! You don’t want it anyway. Or strangers you’ll never meet? Who cares whether they love you or not? And what mistakes specifically are we talking about? Starting a sentence with the word “And”? Who gives a fuck. If people want to be that pedantic, let them go fuck themselves. You don’t need their love either. What specifically do you mean by “won’t love me”, anyway? Won’t send you Christmas cards? Won’t invite you to their lame parties? Won’t want to hang out with you? Would you really want to hang out with anyone who doesn’t want to hang out with you, anyway? Talk about awkward.

So what exactly do you mean by “get anything wrong”? Make mathematical errors? As if anyone is going to punish you for a mistake in your algebra now that you’re a grown-up. Get an accountant if you’re that worried about it. And how exactly do you expect to be punished? You don’t get sent to jail just for making mistakes, unless there’s some deliberate nefarious intent involved or extreme recklessness that goes way beyond anything you got in trouble for in primary school.

#2: Detailing the Strategy’s Sequence

You start out by doing your best at something, and nevertheless fuck it up. Then a whole brigade of loved ones, friends, associates, and strangers you’ve never met all race into your head and start screaming “You fucked it up!!!” Next, they all abandon you in search of someone who gets everything right, every time. Nice strategy. No wonder you worry so much about getting things wrong.

Let’s look at the punishment sequence:

Step 1: Make mistake (a.k.a. sin).

Step 2: Burn in hell for all eternity.

Yeah, that’s a belief system I’d like to buy into.

#3: Content Reframing: Reframe the External Behaviour by Redefining It

Perhaps there’s another way of looking at this whole “making mistakes” thing. Are you really ever making a mistake, or are you just learning how to be more successful next time? “Getting something wrong” could just be an exciting part of the adventure of life. Maybe other people react the way they do because they do love you, rather than because they don’t.

What you think of as “being punished” might just be other people’s way of celebrating your behaviour. If you make the mistake of committing a crime, perhaps the legal system just wants to reward you with 10 years in the company of other people who also enjoy committing crimes.

#4: Content Reframing: Reframe the Internal State by Redefining It

That unpleasant feeling that you get when you think that other people won’t love you might just be a helpful warning sign to get you to pay more attention so you’ll do a better job in future. Or maybe it’s not anxiety, but excitement: you’re excited about what a great job you can do. Perhaps it’s even fun to feel the edgy excitement of putting yourself out there and screwing everything up something royal, seeing as you’re such an adrenaline junkie. I mean, you must be given that you keep getting so anxious about things.

#5: Reflexive Reframing: Reflexively Apply External Behaviour to Self or Listener

Do you love other people when they make mistakes? Sometimes seeing someone make a mistake makes me warm to them because I’m witnessing their humanity. What I really hate about other people is when they refuse to acknowledge or show their vulnerability, weaknesses and mistakes. Mistakes and failures make other people more lovable to me.

Do other people deserve punishment when they do something wrong? Well that depends on how you want to see the world. If you want to see it as a harsh place where any misdeed is dealt with retributively, go right ahead… but excuse me if I choose not to participate in your self-created anti-nirvana. I’d rather live in a world filled with compassion and tolerance personally.

#6: Reflexive Reframing: Reflexively Apply Internal State to Self or Listener

Perhaps it’s possible to love other people more when I make mistakes, because I get to see that they’re just like me. Obviously other people make mistakes; I’ve been on the receiving end of plenty in my life. I make mistakes too. So really, we’re all just the same. I can feel the love already!

Punishing other people for my mistakes is a bit of a dickhead thing to do, but I’ve got to admit that I do it. I create these enemy images in my head of people who I think have “hurt me” by their cruel and callous actions. I think negative thoughts about them, and then try to punish them for the way I’m thinking. That doesn’t make a lot of sense, so I think I’ll quit doing that. If other people want to do it to me, that’s their own problem. I don’t need people like that in my life anyway. Let them try to “punish” me with abandonment; I’ll have the last laugh because they won’t be on my radar any more.

#7: Counter Example Framing

Ever had people love you even though you made a mistake? I think it’s called forgiveness, but don’t ask me because I’m not an expert at it. In fact, ever had people love you more because you made a mistake? I screwed up my routine at a stand-up comedy gig, and people told me afterwards that they loved that part the best. I always like it when other comedians mess up on-stage and I get to see their vulnerability. Mistakes are awesome for generating love and affinity between people!

You don’t always get punished for getting things wrong. Sometimes the universe rewards us for our mistakes. It’s a golden rule of theatrical improvisation that there is no wrong, and the bigger you can fuck it up, the better it generally goes. The rules that applied as a child in primary school generally operate the other way around as an adult in the real world.

#8: Positive Prior Intention Framing

Everybody loves you regardless of what you think of as your “mistakes”. The only reason they ever even bothered to point your flaws and weaknesses out to you in the past, was because they cared enough to let you know ways you could be even more awesome. The people who punished you in the past were just helpful Pavlovian behaviourists who wanted to condition you for even greater excellence in the future.

#9: Positive Prior Cause Framing

The reason some people don’t love you isn’t because you make mistakes sometimes; it’s because they just haven’t gotten to know you yet. They’ve very discriminating and just don’t want their love taken for granted. Other people want to be absolutely sure that when you do experience their love, that it feels real and meaningful to you.

Adults who punished you as a child were just preparing you for an exciting adulthood. They wanted to highlight the contrast between childhood, where you got punished for mistakes, and adulthood, where you get rewarded. They wanted you to feel the absolute joy of discovering for yourself that the more action you take as an adult, the more mistakes you make and the greater the rewards you receive in life.

#10: First Outcome Framing

What results are you likely to get if you hang onto the beliefs that mistakes mean that people won’t love you, and getting things wrong leads to punishment? Well, you won’t take many risks, and will live a small, unfulfilled “life of quiet desperation”. Is that really what you want?

#11: Outcome Of Outcome Framing

If you keep avoiding failure you’ll become totally risk-averse and miss out on all the excitement that life has to offer. All because you were too busy focusing on whether other people would love you or punish you for some arbitrary thing you’ve done that you’re choosing to call “wrong” or “mistaken”. I don’t see this leading to the life of my dreams; more like the life of your nightmares.

#12: Eternity Framing

Ultimately, if you persist in avoiding taking action out of fear of getting anything wrong, your whole world will implode into a gravitational black whole of suckiness. You’ll end up in a living hell for your sins.

Happy now?

#13: Model of the World Framing

What kind of fucked up inner world are you living in there anyway? One where people’s love and approval depends on whether we get everything right or not, and where any little mistake, no matter how minor, is met with cruel and unusual punishment. Yikes. The world you’ve created for yourself in your head isn’t one I’d want to live in. Get me out of here.

#14: Criteria and Values Framing

It’s not much fun to think that other people’s love depends on you being perfect, is it? Or that you’ll be punished for getting things wrong; unless we’re talking some kind of kinky business here. Nor is it consistent with the esteemed value of unconditional love. If you want to have fun in life, perhaps it’s time to forget about these limiting beliefs altogether.

#15: Allness or Universality Framing

Is it really true that all people won’t love you if you make any mistakes? I think not. Surely there are people out there who will love you regardless. Maybe even in your family, if you’d lighten up for long enough to give them a chance. And you haven’t always been punished for getting things wrong.

#16: Necessity Framing

Is this whole mistake/wrong/unloved/punishment thing really necessary?

I want to go play music now; it’s more fun.

#17: Identity Framing

Making mistakes and getting things wrong doesn’t really alter who you are. Whether other people love you or not doesn’t alter who you are either. Some people love you because of who you are, and others love you in spite of it. Your lovability isn’t dependent on whether other people choose to invest their emotional energy in you. You are not your behaviours, nor are you the outcome of your actions. You are who you are regardless of any mistakes you make.

#18: Framing All Other Abstractions

Reality does not dictate that mistakes make you unlovable; that’s just an idea you cooked up in your little brain… and this crazy idea is the big mistake. Other people’s response to you isn’t about you. They may withhold love, and they may punish sometimes. That’s about them, not you. I can’t emphasise enough just how silly it is to continue acting as-if you’ll be punished as an adult for getting things wrong. It’s an idea from the past that has no relevant in the present. It’s not real.

#19: Ecology Framing

Does believing that mistakes cause people not to love you, serve you well? Does thinking that you will be punished if you make mistakes make life a party? Do these irrational beliefs from your past create the best of all possible worlds for you to live in now? Are all these rhetorical questions starting to grate on you yet?

#20: Metaphoring Framing Or Storying Framing

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who got into trouble a lot for doing what he enjoyed. The people around him weren’t much fun and didn’t share his sense of humour. They wanted a nice, safe, quiet, boring life. For a long time, he did what they wanted because otherwise they withdrew their love or punished him severely. So he pretended to be the nice little boy he thought they wanted. Then he got very unhappy. In his desperation, he decided not to bother worrying what other people think any more, and to trust his creative instincts. This morning, he wrote this article so you can live in heaven instead of hell too.

#21: Both/And Framing

Sound the alarms! Turn on the sirens. I detect black-and-white thinking. Even if other people’s love did depend on whether you made mistakes or not, surely there’s a lot you could get away with before they’d withdraw their love completely. Getting little things wrong probably doesn’t attract any punishment at all; it’s not like we’re talking about killing someone here, or raping and pillaging.

There’s plenty of scope to live and have fun within the adult law, even when you get things wrong, without attracting any kind of punishment from the legal system. Push the boundaries and you’ll find that even there, the severity of the crime determines the severity of the punishment. Not that I’m suggesting becoming a career criminal; I’m just saying that there are degrees of “getting things wrong” and the punishment associated.

#22: Pseudo-Word Framing

Who came up with this idea of a “mistake” anyway? Maybe from time to time you behave in ways that don’t get you a result that you’d like, or that wind up giving you an experience you don’t enjoy so much. But is it really a “mistake”? It’s a made-up concept. There are no mistakes in life really, just learning opportunities. I might find this difficult to swallow when I’m in a lot of emotional pain over something turning out in a way that I didn’t like, such as a girl ditching me for another guy. But perhaps the only real “mistake” in life is to believe that there’s such a thing as a “mistake”.

And as for “getting something wrong”, that’s only a valid concept in the context of mathematics or formal logic. It doesn’t apply to the real world, where there are only actions and consequences; and the consequences often depend on many things outside our control. So you can hardly say you “got something wrong” just because you didn’t get the result that you would have liked.

#23: Negation Framing

I think you may have got the whole thing around backwards. People hate perfectionist robots. Making mistakes shows humanness and vulnerability. Showing vulnerability is the way to get people to love you. Getting things wrong shows humanness, that other people warm to and feel more safe around. Even my 5th cousin once removed Alan Turing’s “imitation game” required a computer to get things wrong sometimes in order to be considered having human intelligence. People will only truly love you if you make mistakes and get things wrong sometimes.

#24: Possibility and “As If” Framing

What would your life be like if you acted as-if these beliefs weren’t really true, and held no power over you any more? What would be possible if you not only thought that it was OK, but even advantageous to make mistakes, and that this would increase the amount of love in your life? How would you act if you believed that the only way to be rewarded in life was to take massive action and get as many things wrong as possible?

#25: Systemic and Probability Framing

Looking at the big picture, what’s the likelihood that you would lose all sense of love from other people even if you made mistakes constantly? Even if the belief was true, there is no chance that you could ever lose everyone’s love. Even the worst criminals have friends, and nobody can take away the love that you have for yourself; it’s always there, even if you can’t feel it.

Tackling the religious punishment-for-sins idea: Any God who condemned a person to eternal suffering for finite sins conducted in a limited lifetime would be unjust; and the bible says that God is loving and just. The notion of a loving God isn’t consistent with the idea of eternal punishment in hell; they couldn’t possibly exist in the same system. You don’t get eternal punishment for getting things wrong in this universe.

#26: Decision Framing

You get to decide what you believe and how you act. Who do you want to be? Someone who holds back from taking action because you’re worried that you might make mistakes (which you certainly will) and lacks love (which you certainly won’t). It’s your choice whether you judge yourself harshly and use labels like “getting something wrong”.

Or you could decide to dance like nobody’s watching, like my friend Gavin. Because nobody is.

#fear of failure #looking bad #making mistakes #mind lines #neuro-semantics #Mindset

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blue-eyed-bloodstains · 1 year

Text

Where do you hang your towel to dry after showering?

usually over the shower rod

What kind of mouse pad do you have?

I don’t have a desktop, only laptop so that ‘mouse pad’ is it

Do you brush your hair with a comb or a brush?

my hair is thick as shit so combs don’t work, always brush

In your opinion, who do you think is the hottest celebrity?

oh I can name many lol

You have a project due tomorrow, do you use tape or glue?

depends on what I have, and what the project is (how detailed, the materials, etc.)

Chicken or pork?

both

By the time you get to school, is it still dark?

got* considering I graduated in 2010 (fuck I’m old) and no, the sun was already up even if it was still pretty low it was light out

If you had a choice to be a unicorn or mermaid which would it be?

normally I’d love to say mermaid but the unknown depths and darkness of the ocean fuckin terrify me and I’m not a fast runner so I’m sure I’d be too slow a swimmer to get away too lol so unicorn

What color is your underwear?

a pale lavender sorta color

What time does the sun usually set?

depends on the season/daylight savings/weather...but usually around 7-730pm it’s getting dark fast

What/who do you think of last before you go to sleep?

every damn thing imaginable :| insomnia and multiple mental illnesses are a greaaaat combo for sleep!

AC or fan?

ALWAYS BOTH 24/7, 365! yes even through winter! due to a medical condition, one of several, I overheat very easily and for long periods of time to where even both of these can’t even make a dent to cooling me down...

Do you wear braces?

no, did in the past at one point for about a year

Can you do a hand stand?

I used to be able to when I was a young kid in gymnastics and dance, but haven’t been able to since

If you were the opposite sex, how would you style your hair?

hmm...probably a slightly longer tousled look that you just wanna run your fingers through

What level English are you in?

I’m not in school but when I graduated I was in honors level English Lit 2

Jessica Simpson or Alba?

neither really, never been a big fan of either

Which subject is worse, English or Math?

Math for sure...used to ace it and love it till I moved around so much I fell so far behind everyone else, repeated the same level three times, and then was violently skyrocketed up to honors level of Algebra 2 which damn near STOPPED me from graduating that’s how bad I failed cause I couldn’t grasp anything we were learning anymore...I skated by with that one and still managed to graduate with honors but it was hell to manage that

What’s one thing you really want to do this very moment?

get violently black out drunk again..being and staying sober fucking sucks :(

What movie are you embarrassed to admit you’ve watched?

Penelope with Christina Ricci...it had its wholesome moments for the message, and I fuckin love her to death in anything she’s in but she’s the only reason I even watched it. otherwise the movie itself just...dear god what did I do...lol

CD player or iPOD?

ohhhhh iPod/iPhone now obviously, but if I’m handed a CD player you know I’m tripping hard on nostalgia with it!

Would you rather spin upside down going 30 miles or drop 400 ft. into water?

neither sound real good for me considering certain reasons...but if I had to pick, spin cause my luck the damn drop would either kill me or I’d break damn near everything in my body. haven’t you ever heard hitting water from a certain height is equivalent to hitting concrete??!

Whats your favorite shape?

hmm I’d say stars

What do you have planned for the weekend?

nothing so far, gonna see if we’re going to my fiance’s parents house for Easter dinner we haven’t seen them since early last year cause he’s barely ever home due to work

Have you ever gone ice skating?

yep

If you were put in a room with nothing except for a pencil and paper, what

…what?

Is it always easy finding your remote every time you want to watch TV?

oh dear fucking god XD noooooo! we’re constantly losing one or two together all the damn time it’s bullshit!

How was your day?

meh, bored as all hell but it’s Good Friday which means my fiance had off today so there’s that :D

Do you grow your nails, bite or cut them?

grow till a certain point then I’ll clip em, rinse repeat...usually the max point before I clip em is when I’m typing with fingerpads rather than fingertips cause my nails are in the way lol so it’s harder to type (not terribly long, just long enough past the fingertip)

Describe your handwriting:

I’ve always been one to change a few things up every now and then when I get bored of my handwriting lol but more on the rushed, a bit sloppy bubbly side overall I guess you could say

Do you consider yourself a stalker?

hell no that’s creepy

Do you bruise easily?

yep always have most of the time I never even know how or when the hell I got said bruises they just show up lol

There`s nothing on TV except Barney and Japanese news what do you do?

Roku is your friend!

Do you know more then 3 myspace codes?

no I wouldn’t even remember at this point how to even make a profile or post or anything it’s been too long

You got a essay due, you either can type or write in pen, which will it be?

type, unless specifically asked/required to write it...doesn’t really matter to me

Do you wear jeans to relax at home?

I LIVE in jeans dude XD

Describe yourself using three words.

Smart, loyal, stubborn

Do you use deodorant?

yep

Do you like ice in your drink?

yeah but I need to be careful given highly sensitive teeth

#survey #bored #random #about me

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chkinpotpie · 2 years

Text

How Hip Hop Saved Me

I stood at my locker, trying to find my algebra book. My constant nervousness was causing my long legs to shake. It was my first day at Meyzeek Middle. A white Jewish girl bussed to an inner city school. For once in my life, I was the minority.

A boy approached the locker next to mine. His name was Jermel Van Moon. He looked at me and smiled. My nerves calmed slightly. Jermel and I saw each other every day after that, rushing to our lockers to get our books for our next class. We would say hello to each other but that was about it. One day, he handed me a cassette tape, in an unmarked white case.

“Take this”, he said quietly, “It will change your life”. I quickly put the tape in my backpack. I felt, special. “Thanks”, I said to Jermel.

I couldn’t wait to get home that day. When I did, I ran straight up to my room. I locked my door, pulled out my jam box, popped in the tape and hit “play”. The words and music flowed out of the jam box, and into my head.

Yo EMD Yeah, what’s up man? There goes that girl they call Roxanne. She’s all stuck up Why you say that?

Cause she wouldn’t give a guy like me no rap.

She was walking down the street so I said “Hello I’m Kangol from UTFO. "And she said "So?”

I played it over and over and over again. The whole tape. Songs like “Bite It” and “Fairytale Lover” filled my ears. Made me want to dance.

That is how my love for hip hop began. I listened to songs by LL Cool J, Run DMC, Newcleus, The Fat Boys, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, NWA, Luke Skywalker and the 2 Live Crew, but Roxanne, Roxanne was my favorite. I even convinced my two best friends to learn the words as well. We spent hours playing the song, writing down the lyrics, play, rewind, what did he say? We finally got it. We practiced all the time, until we had it down perfectly. Most people looked at us like we were nuts, but we didn’t care.

As I got older, I continued listening to hip hop. It became more popular and more mainstream. It was more than just ear candy to me though. Hip hop represented strength. It represented struggle. It was raw, real and had a beat that touched my soul. I do not know why it touched me so deeply. It just did. That is the funny thing about music. It is a living, breathing entity. Just like people. You will like some, you will hate some, and some will take hold of your heart and never let go. That was me, falling in love with a new genre of music that I connected with on a deep level.

I had just turned 40 years old. My two best friends threw me a killer surprise party, complete with tequila shots, dancing til our feet went numb, lots of laughter and shenanigans. A night to remember, for sure.

After a few days of recuperating and resting, I decided to workout and lift some weights. As I lifted my arms above my shoulders, pushing the weights into the air, I felt a strange lump in my left breast. I decided to finish my workout and check it later.

When I got home, I peeled off my sweaty shirt and did a self breast examination. Yes, definitely a lump. It was about the size of a golf ball. Probably another cyst, I thought. I had been to the doctor at least 5 times worried about a lump in that same breast, and every time it had been a cyst. Apparently I was prone to them. I hopped in the shower and quickly forgot about the cyst. I didn’t have time to worry about it. I had too many other things on my plate.

Several months went by and the cyst seemed to grow. I still ignored it, convinced that it was nothing to worry about. One day, however, I was standing naked in front of the mirror and noticed that my left nipple was sunken in. So strange. It was concave. I immediately grabbed my laptop and googled “sunken nipple”. Two words I never thought I would be googling. Many sites popped up and all of them advised to see your doctor immediately. Shit. I was terrified.

I sat in Dr. Runk’s office, after a mammogram and ultrasound, waiting for her to come in and give me the results. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. My heart was pounding, I was fidgety, I could barely breathe. I knew before she even came in that it was bad. I just knew. I think I knew the first time I felt the cyst in my breast. I was just too scared to do anything about it.

The door opened. Dr. Runk entered the room with a blank, but serious look on her face. In that moment, time slowed down. The distance from the door to me was only about 12 feet, but it seemed to grow to about 50. Her mouth began to move. “You have breast cancer”, she said.

Long pause. I was unsure if my heart was even beating at that point, it was so fast. I felt the need to be very calm, like it was no big deal. Like being told I had cancer was an everyday occurrence for me. “Okay”, I said. She put her hand on my leg to comfort me. I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of appearing calm. “How bad is it?”, I asked, my voice trembling. “I want to do a biopsy to confirm, but in my years of experience I already know it is a cancerous tumor. There are more than one, actually. The largest is the size of a grapefruit. I also see some activity in your lymph nodes. That puts you at a stage 3”, she replied. Stage 3?! That was bad. I know because I had a dear friend pass away from stomach cancer a few years back. He was a stage 3. Holy shit. From that moment on, I was operating on auto pilot. I was a robot. A robot with cancer. In that moment, everything changed.

The biopsy confirmed that I did indeed have stage 3 ductal lobular ER PR positive HER2 positive invasive grade 2 breast cancer with lymph node involvement and a splash of lime. My therapy regimen was to include immediate chemotherapy, in hopes of shrinking the tumors, a single mastectomy, to remove the cancerous breast and lymph nodes, radiation, and by my choice, another mastectomy as a preventative measure. I decided early on, actually, three days after my diagnosis, that I was going to kick cancer’s ass. I allowed myself three days to scream, cry, pray, scream some more, and then I went into action mode. I am the mother of a beautiful 9 year old daughter, and I do not have the luxury of being sick or dying. That was not and is not an option for me.

My first course of treatment was 6 rounds of intense chemotherapy. It is kind of like having the flu times 10. You are so weak you can barely move, and sometimes are not sure if you are even alive. But I made myself get out of bed everyday, even working through treatment. I think I missed a few days when I had a few really bad spells. But overall I was able to push through the pain and find strength I never imagined I had. I came out bald and tired, with a new appreciation for my wonderful life, family and friends. I had to do a less intense form of chemo for another 18 months. That cycle was like being in a fog, having just run a race and getting hit by a truck. I got used to be exhausted and still functioning. I look back on that time and cannot believe I made it through.

People I hadn’t heard from in years were reaching out to show me their support. It was quite incredible. I honestly could not have gotten through my treatment without the love and concern of others. There were days when I just wanted to lay in bed forever. It was my friends who would give me a reason to push myself, my family and most of all, my daughter.

One day, a week or so before my mastectomy, I got a phone call from an old college friend. He had heard about my diagnosis, and wanted to chat. He had recently put some pictures on Facebook of him and Doug E. Fresh, one of my favorite hip hop artists. I asked him what was up with that. He said that he was doing some work on the side in promotions. We talked old school hip hop for awhile. He was a fan just as much as I was. He said he was going to have someone call me the night before my surgery, someone special.

My surgery date crept up fast. The night before I was packing, trying to figure out what one needs when they are about to get their boob chopped off. I was nervous. Normal nervous. Okay, terrified. But I wasn’t letting anyone know. I wasn’t scared of the surgery. I was scared of not waking up from the surgery. I know that doesn’t happen very often but I was convinced that was going to happen to me. After everything I had been through, I would just die on the surgical table. Okay, not much I can do about it except distract myself. The phone rang. Good, I thought, perfect distraction. The conversation went like this.

“Hello?”, the deep voice on the other end of the line exclaimed in a questioning tone.

“Yes”, I replied.

“Is this Michele?”, deep voice asked. I was beginning to wonder if this was like a cancer gram or something.

“Yes, this is she”, I said.

“Oh, good. Hi Michele. This is Kangol Kid. Your friend David gave me your phone number. He told me that you were having surgery tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind, I wanted to call and see how you were doing”, the deep voice said.

I couldn’t breathe. Heart pounding. Is this a joke? I wondered. No, i don’t think it is. What? Kangol Kid is calling ME! THE Kangol Kid who sang Roxanne, Roxanne, my all time favorite jam that I have been listening to since I was 12 and know every word. Shut the front door!

I am not sure what I said after that. I think a few screams and then I regained my composure.

“Wow”, I said, “Thank you so much for taking the time to call me. I cannot believe this is you. Can I tell you something? I have been listening to your music since I was 12 years old. I know EVERY word to Roxanne, Roxanne. Oh my gosh, I love you!!!!”, I shouted excitedly like a teenager.

Kangol laughed. Then he said, “Well if you know EVERY word to Roxanne, Roxanne, let me bust out a line and then you give me the next line”.

“Bring it”, I said, confidently. “Cause I can sing, rap, dance in just one show”, he rapped.

I proceeded to sing the rest of the song, word for word. Kangol was impressed. I was on cloud nine. We talked for awhile. He was (and is) a very nice, smart and sweet guy. I discovered that he was co-founder of an organization called The Mama Luke Foundation, which raises funds for breast cancer research. Amazing. Kangol said he would call me in a week to check up on me. I hung up the phone and started running around the house screaming. My Dad, who was spending the night to take me to the hospital at 5 a.m., ran up the stairs with a concerned look on his face.

“WHAT WHAAT?”, he yelled, “Are you okay???”.

I ran up and hugged him, rapping “Kangol Kid just called me, Kangol Kid just called me, holy fuckin shit, Kangol Kid just called me” to the tune of Roxanne, Roxanne.

My Dad took a breath of relief and said “Who the hell is Kangol Kid?”.

I forgot about my surgery. I forgot, for the first time in a LONG time, that I had cancer. I called all my friends and told them about the phone call. I couldn’t sleep. I was back in my room, 12 years old, playing that tape, not a care in the world.

My surgery was picture perfect. They got out all the cancer and I had clean margins. I got through radiation and my second surgery like a champ. Throughout the whole process, Kangol and I talked often.

Somewhere in the middle of my treatment, I met Kangol at a breast cancer walk in Cleveland. We spent 3 days together, along with legends of hip hop Rahiem from Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and Paul Anthony and Bow-Legged Lou of Full Force. I went with them to radio station interviews, book signings and performances. It was pure bliss. I recall one moment, watching Kangol singing “Roxanne, Roxanne” on a stage in a bar in Cleveland. I was standing in the crowd. I was bald, dark circles under my eyes from the exhaustion of my cancer treatment, overweight from the hormone therapy I was taking, never looked worse in my life. Kangol smiled at me. I was dancing. To my favorite jam. Sung by my FRIEND. I never felt more beautiful and more alive in my life.

Kangol and I stayed friends for many years after that. He called me on my birthday every year and sang me Happy Birthday. He called my daughter his “niece”. We were lucky to spend more time together over the years. He was always a bright light in my life, a source of love, strength and comfort. A reminder that life is magical, the unexpected can and does happen, and angels walk amongst us. My sweet friend got colon cancer in 2021 and lost his battle on December 18, 2021. He left behind 3 sons and a daughter. They will carry the torch and ensure his legacy of love, light and music never dies. I will always remember him and the impact he had on my life. Rest in power Kang. Love always.

#hiphop kangolkid fcancer

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

okay but imagine waking up next to soft!dom harry in the middle of the night and snuggling closer to him because you had a nightmare or you just couldn’t get to sleep well and he just kisses you, whispers sweet nothings and holds your hand as he helps you back to sleep

SCAREDY KITTEN Y/N, CLINGY AND MELTING OVER HARRY ALWAYS GONNA BE MY FAVE

Wednesday’s are most tiring for Harry. Shit tons of paperwork, shipping and unloading and then being a visible leader at the workplace to make sure the gang runs efficiently.

Weary and knotty in his muscles Harry dragged himself all the way to the threshold of his house to his room, his comfort space for many reasons— it smells incredibly sweet of his lovie, it’s cosy and the blankets are always toasty with her warmth and the room temperatures's the perfect chilly against your skin, akin to whole house.

“Hi Mushy,” He greets her coarsely, ducking down and a bit to the left of her gaze when she busily mumbles a ‘hi!’ Back with her head stuffed into her books, crossed legs on the chunky silken duvet and blankets.

“No kisses, pretty?” He asks, patting her head gently and she looks up at him. Equally tuckered out and bushed, she’s been trying to solve this stupid stupid algebra and it seems like algebra solved her and kicked her in arse telling her to do this nonsense with someone other.

“Sorry.” She sighs, scurrying to her knees and lifts her bum to plant a soft kiss to his lips instead ends up smashing a sloppy peck to his chin making both of them giggle.

She really thought she was about to get a good sleep, after having a tummy full dinner, doing her night routine with Harry and cleaning the little mess around her room because it keeps on irking her the whole night of otherwise --- she really hoped.

Her hopes were crushed brutally with a bulldozer when Harry knocked out the moment his floppy head hit the pillows, his embrace's homey and his breath melting into her skin makes her wants to learn the pattern mentally and sleep to it— she did.

She almost lulled herself into a light slumber when their whole house shook, the windows squeaked and their bedhead banged against the wall ever loudly from the force of her jolt due to the peal of unexpected thunder.

Y/N hates thunderstorms. It hyperventilates her badly and she’s never able to sleep during them, she might ends up crying or trying to make a clever run god knows where. She’s a science student still her silly and scared brain convinces her that the lightening will fall on them and burn them to ashes.

For a moment it didn’t happen again, replaced with calming patter patter of rain and she was glad she hasn’t woken Harry up. Who’s snoring softly into his pillow, his arms lax around her body and his facial features placid and soft.

There’s an ominous roar again in the sky and this time it fucks her up properly. She whimpers like a puppy shrinking into Harry’s side, eyes bolted shut as she feels her heart pumping in her ears – thumping eerily against Harry’s chest and she gasps, her knees knocking against Harry’s lower abdomen when there’s furious amount of non-stop thundering. Quite funnily he only mutters something incoherent and tucks her further into him.

Y/N’s sleepy, loggy and her scary surroundings doesn’t makes any sense to her and she doesn’t want to wake up Harry.

She’s feeling awfully, small and little and skimpy.

Terrified her eyes blows away when she sees the light-flashing outside scarily bright, “Daddy!” She cries out, latching her elbows around Harry’s neck and her thighs around his waist -- practically haggling the dude into a bendy doll.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy. . .” She mumbles unremittingly into his throat, her tears soaking the crew neck of his shirt -- tummy jolting against him and it stirs Harry, trying to take in his wear-bouts— knuckling the blurriness away from his eyes, he looks down at his lovie in haziness worried something bad happened because last he remembers she was good and about to drool over him. His warm palm gliding up her back, the fabric of her pyjama top bunching in his hold.

It doesn’t took him long to realize why his lovie’s so rucked up, clinging onto him like she depends on him for dear life when another wave of thunder-clapped and she was shoving herself into him with a frightened sob.

“Hey, hey . . Poppy. Daddy’s here. Not g'na let anything happen t’ya, sweet girl.” He whispers, cupping her face with both of his hands and tilts it up gently to look into her scared eyes, he sandwiches her shaky hands in-between his thighs and brings her impossibly closer to him – stroking his thumb over her wobbling wet bottom lip.

“We're gonna die!” She stutters a whiny sniffle hating that this awful thundering wouldn’t stop. Her outburst quirks Harry’s lips into a small smile, his heart oozing with overloaded infatuation for his love who’s just too innocent and cute for her own sake.

He gives her an eskimo kiss, pecking the corner of her salty lips then kissing her mouth tenderly and lovingly, “Said the same thing last time baby.” He calms her down. Rubbing her back, halting at the dip of her hip to massage the soft spot gently.

“Shh, shh, ‘s okay . . . I know it scares my darling so much, hate tha’, wouldn’t want my little’s poor heart to suffer this much would I?” He says groggily, tone coy and affectionate. He brushes the frays falling over her eyes out of shakiness, behind her ear and smooches a kiss to the side of her temple.

A surreal quietness blanketed them, her timid voice breaking through it and Harry smiles foppishly and lazily down at her hands still covering her ears. He tuts caringly when she blinks and glistening moisture collects under her eyebags.

“Sorry, didn’t wanna wake you,” She skootches impossibly closer into him, nuzzling her face in his strong healthy rising chest and he shakes his head petting her hair, “Would’ve been bummed if you didn’t,” He hugs her securely, and she relaxes taking a nourishing breather. Something so protective, safe and warm his huggies makes her feel.

Harry himself is the definition of tenderness, for her.

“Good?” He inquires, pressing his lips to where her neck and shoulder meet—- rubbing his hands up and down her arms smiling assuringly when Y/N hums in meekness.

His head perks up, brows shooting up nonchalantly when Y/N groans again upon all of it starting again and he coos, tightening his hug more compassionately screwing his mind too think of any idea to distract her.

“Would my baby like to keep me inside her, keep daddy warm?” He cuddles her chuckling softly when she buries her face in his neck, fisting the waistband of his joggers out of shyness and quick to bob her head timidly as Harry showers her in tiny sloppy wet fond kisses.

“Hmm. My soft little one.” He murmurs, hooking her panties away and spitting in his palm to squeeze it around his girth and gives himself few pumps before lubricating her with his own precum and eases carefully inside, not to hurt her.

Their temples falls against eachother, whimpers mingling as Harry bottoms out inside her. Balls snug against her bum, his eyes glassy as he nudges her playfully, “Now if we get stoned to death . . atleast it’d be with me cock inside ye',” His belly does a loopy loop upon earning a shy giggle from her (he takes pride in making his lovie laugh) and she moans breathily when he squishes her bum cheek grumbling disgruntled.

“Not letting them see yer bum thou,” She hiccups a giggle, feeling ticklish from all the raspberries he’s blowing at her skin and lapping the sensitive spot then, teasing it dry.

“You’re s’nice to me, I love you.”

“I love you too, my little one.”

Harry’s forever and always gonna be her comfort person.

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asscandles · 3 years

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hi!! can i request baji with an adoptive sister that’s like the completely opposite of him (they’re also the same age but baji still acts like a big brother😑👎🏼) and how the daily life would be like? thank you sm!!

of course, you can, love! i tried to make it as realistic as possible. i hope that it's satisfactory. my apologies if you don't like it!

you and baji are like light and dark. the natural and almost comedic vibrance created by the stark contrast in your personalities cannot exist without the other person, just like how darkness cannot breathe without the presence of light.

where baji is combative and foul-mouthed, you dislike violence and feel guilty when swearing. where you are academically astute yet somewhat naive, baji possesses the ability to unveil a person’s true intentions but cannot do algebra for the life of him.

your differences were noted when you first arrived in baji’s household. your and baji’s mother worried that your polarity would cause you two to repel each other, and initially, it did.

he was probably that one kid that would throw punches that fall an inch short of connecting with their sibling ONLY because he knows it upsets them

one thing that you always disagreed about, from the day he joined to today, was his place in a gang. you already despised violence enough as it was, so when you found out that he willingly put himself in a position where he was engaging in brawls and spilling blood himself, you were equal parts livid and terrified. you knew that baji was capable of protecting himself, but you just couldn’t shake the tiny voice in the back of your mind that chanted, “what if? what if? what if?”

what if he didn’t come back? what if he missed someone creeping up on him with a weapon? what if he ended up in the hospital? what if he died?

at first, baji was perplexed. he knew that you weren’t a fan of violence, but he didn’t know why you were so angry. by the time it was all set and done and you explained your side of the story, baji agreed to try to take it a bit easier. but at the time, he mostly just said it to get you to stop talking. he still gets into fights, which pisses you off, but you never turn him away when he returns home covered in scratches and blood. in fact, you’re adamant about disinfecting and bandaging his wounds, even displaying a bit of force as you shove him onto the couch and scurry off to retrieve the first aid kit in the kitchen.

he usually tries to resist, insisting that it’s not that bad and it isn’t even his blood (*cue horrified look from you*). but, this rebellion stemmed from a developing inferiority complex. ever since you first joined the family, baji has always held a bit of insecurity about his place. it’s not that he thinks that your mom doesn’t love him. it’s because he’s supposed to be the protector of the family, the “man of the house” of sorts, the one you and your mom lean on during hard times. but even though you weren’t as strong or physically capable of offering protection as he was, you were always ten steps ahead of him in terms of maturity and the level of responsibility your guys’ mom entrusted you with. you were surpassing him, and at the time, he hated you for it.

however, the one thing he would always be better at was fighting. it was a major reason he decided to become faster, stronger, and sharper. he learned how to read people, to connect the dots when something didn’t add up, and how to trust his gut feeling. he pushed himself to be better--to compete with you for a spot that he believed should’ve been his to begin with. he neglected school in favor of honing his skills, tumbling further and further down a dark, unhealthy path that became thornier and narrower with each passing day.

he needed to be the “big brother.” if he wasn’t, then what was he? your little brother? him? he might as well just tag “inferior” onto the end of his name.

things came to a screeching halt about six months later when you slapped the fuck out of him. oh, yeah, my mans saw white. shit hurt like a mf. he went to punch you, only to freeze when he noticed your expression. there were tears streaming down your face, but you looked more pissed than he's ever seen you. you screamed at him, shouting in his face about how upset your mom was with his behavior, how you hated your relationship with him, and how he needed to get it the fuck together.

baji was shocked.

never once in his life had you hit him, and never once had you cursed so freely without apologizing.

you two had a much-needed heart-to-heart. you two sat for hours, crying, yelling at each other, apologizing, hugging, shoving each other, throwing punches, and whatever else you needed to do in order to vent the pent-up stress that had been unraveling both your minds for the past six months. it was shaky and confusing at times, but you two finally laid your souls bare, placing your hearts in the hands of the other and allowing them to stitch together the splinters and cracks that wept silent tears that neither of you ever showed to anyone before.

baji learned that you were just as insecure as he was, and that the only difference between the two of you was that you were able to mask your feelings better. you both discovered the insecurities and struggles of the other; and, soon after that, you realized that your strength was the other’s weakness, and vice versa. with this mental clarity and new boundaries that have been set, you could be stronger together.

over the next few years, you two developed a close sibling bond. it was a bit rough at first, and sometimes, you two would take one step forward and two steps back. but you eventually managed to clear the suffocating press of the forest and step from the treeline into the warm sunlight awaiting you both. the friction between you gradually decreased, and fights became less and less frequent.

he stopped resisting when you tended to his wounds, and you stopped pretending like you weren’t stressed out by the expectations that naturally accompanied your reputation. y’all still get on each other’s nerves, though.

“hey, baji, do you want to--”

“ayo, get the FUCK out of my room!”

“fine, forget you,” cue you smacking a water bottle off his dresser and turning off the light on your way out

it isn’t uncommon for you to open your bedroom door and find baji sitting criss-cross on your bed, one of your more ornate and unfortunately expensive hairpins clipping his long locks out of his face while he munches on a bowl of lucky charms.

“what are you doing?”

“nosy.”

“hello? this is my room?”

as irritating as baji may be at times, you still spend copious hours tutoring him. this is where your virtue of patience comes in handy, because not only does he seriously struggle with the material, but he would also rather do literally anything else other than study. however, you’ve resolved to prevent his failure at all costs. you can’t even count the numbers of all-nighters you powered through on both your hands. but, the proud grin baji greets you with as he hands you a test with a 82% makes it all worth it. the first time he got an A on a writing test, you actually cried.

baji genuinely appreciates all the effort you put into tutoring him. he may lowkey be a dumbass, but he knows that you’re sacrificing quite a bit for the sake of him being able to brag to his comrades and elicit a tear of joy from your mother. you always smile and say that you’re okay, but your bloodshot, dark-rimmed eyes and occasional missing assignments say otherwise. so, he plays dumb whenever you find an energy drink on your dresser or your favorite snack lying around, or whenever he offers you a ride to and from your favorite restaurant

baji would absolutely beat someone’s ass for you. in return for the kind acts he nonchalantly performs even when you haven’t done anything and him steering you away from any fights that spontaneously erupt, you turn to him for help when it comes to other people bullying you. you don’t mind him threatening others, but you warn him against inflicting too much damage on those who pick on or bother you. baji is so quick to take you up on your requests for his help. he’s so excited omfg please

but before long, you seek him out less out of obligation and more simply because you trust him. he notices the change in your demeanor and voice when you make the shift, and although he would never say it, it makes him so happy. you trust him. you actually trust him like an older brother.

he highkey chases off all the boys that wish to court you. it annoys you, but he always justifies his actions by claiming that all men except for him and, like… chifuyu are predators.

ah, yes. keisuke “if you so much as look at my sister, i will be legally allowed to hunt you for sport” baji

whenever you show interest in someone, baji puts them through the fucking wringer, my dude. he’ll force them through all types of stupid and lowkey mentally exhausting scenarios in order to assess what type of person they are and whether or not they’re good enough for you. he knows he might be overstepping your boundaries at times, but he doesn’t want to accidentally let someone who will hurt you into your life.

with how hard you’ve been working over the years, he knows you deserve better than that

you're his little sister, after all. he has to protect you.

baji knows that you hate when people fight and curse so casually, so he does his best to prevent such situations whenever possible.

but… okay, so, baji means well. he really does. but, his method of getting people to stop fighting and yelling swear words is to fucking deck them in the face and shout, “STOP FUCKING FIGHTING, YOU GODDAMN PIECES OF SHIT! MY LITTLE SISTER DOESN’T LIKE IT, SO YOU BASTARDS ARE GOING TO STOP BEFORE I KICK YOUR MOTHERFUCKING TEETH IN. FUCK.”

then he’ll look back over his shoulder with a grin of approval and give you a thumbs-up, genuinely expecting you to be proud of him

he’s trying. he is, i swear

he tells you a lot of stories about toman, but he does it at the strangest times.

you’ll be sitting in bed doing homework while trying to ignore your brother, who is currently flexing shirtless in your mirror simply because you told him to get out; and all of a sudden, he’s like, “did i ever tell you about the time mikey and kazutora helped me wax my ass with melted crayons?”

or you’ll be in a convenience store paying for food while baji hums idly behind you, and in the middle of the cashier bidding you farewell, baji will bump you with his shoulder and go, “hey, i have to tell you about this one time when pah-chin got his head stuck in a staircase railing. we had to slather him in lotion and butter, and he popped right out like that newborn fawn i saw on animal planet--the one that got eaten right after it was born. you remember that episode, right?”

you’ll just close your eyes and sigh deeply, already well-aware of the disturbed, slightly panicked stare of the employee. “i’m so sorry, sir.” you say reflexively. you turn on your heel and seize baji by the shell of his ear, exiting the store with your brother in tow while he gripes at you to release him

baji probably talks about you a lot to chifuyu. usually, all he does is talk about how much of a wuss you are. but there are times where he does brag about you. he’ll gloat about how smart you are, and he’ll scoff whenever there’s a problem, mumbling, “(reader) would’ve figured this out already.” he forced chifuyu to vow to never breathe a word about it to you, though. you’ve already caught him in a hundred different embarrassing situations, which means you have enough blackmail to order him around for the next seventeen years. he’s not about to give you any extra ammunition

but secretly, he is proud of you :D

despite his awareness of your aversion to violence, he does want to introduce you to chifuyu, mikey, and the rest of his inner circle. the first thing the toman founders notice when they meet you is that baji is remarkably more mellow in your presence. it’s as if he doesn’t want to startle you, instead wanting you to undergo a smooth integration into the group. they also notice that whenever you seem a bit fidgety or nervous, you relax a bit when you feel baji’s hand touch the top of your head or your shoulder, a clear sign of trust and safety

baji takes pinky promises seriously (as he should). you could be looming over a corpse holding a bloodstained knife and tell baji, "it wasn't me. pinky promise" and once you two have intertwined pinkies, he will wholeheartedly believe you

this man will defend you against anyone. he doesn't care if they're a seven-foot-tall bodybuilder, he doesn't care if they're heavily armed and pointing a loaded gun at his chest, he doesn't even care if they're the fucking president. big or small, armed or empty-handed, he won't hesitate to uppercut their shit. it doesn't matter if the whole world is against you. he will be right at your side. family is really important to him, and he cherishes the special bond.

you’re in charge of waking baji up in the morning, though. mans will deadass either sleep through every alarm he sets, or will accidentally demolish the alarm clock in his sleep until it ceases its incessant ringing

now that you’ve become a more active part of his life, he’s started going to school more. he’s cool with taking you to and from school on his bike, but you have to wear his helmet since he doesn’t have a second one. it’s non-negotiable.

he bitches and whines about every little thing in the school, from the food to the squeaky door of the math room. you just smile and listen, because his complaints are proof that he’s actually paying attention. baji is doing better, and you’re thrilled

during classes you have together, he sits in the desk next to you with his head on the wooden surface, squinting at and mean-mugging random-ass people for a reason unbeknownst to you. you’ll be minding your own business when he suddenly leans over to you, subtly jerking his head in the direction of some girl neither of you have ever spoken to. “i don’t like her,” he’ll mutter, dropping his chin back onto the desk.

“what—why?” you’ll whisper back.

“i just feel like she’s mean.” baji cuts his eyes at her a second time. “i can feel it in my spleen. just trust me.”

you do. then next week will roll around, and you’ll hear through the grapevine about how she maliciously used some poor girl’s arm as a makeshift ashtray. you and baji will exchange a knowing look and a nod.

you and baji fuel each other to do better--to be better. and although it had seemed like a one-in-a-million chance, a trusting, close-knit bond arose from your tumultuous, overly competitive pasts. now, there’s nothing that can separate you :)

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers baji #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers keisuke #tokyo manji gang #keisuke baji #baji scenarios #baji imagines #baji headcanons #baji tokyo revengers #baji keisuke #tokyo revengers manga #tokyo revengers anime #tokyo revengers #baji x reader

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hellboundhimbo · 2 years

Text

okok im having Thoughts tonight and i usually save these for my notes app but ill post this one i think

i know the whole schtick with giorno is like oh hes dio but good (i am aware of the fact that is a very bare bones explanation of his character but bear with me its late,) but honestly he has the potential to be fucking terrifying.

i both love and dislike fanon portrayals of him leaning more toward morally grey, cuz on one hand that is so cool but also hes not fully, like that i guess? at least i think so personally.

in golden wind he reads more as an aloof, kind of weird kid with a big heart and deadly ambition, and doesnt really start shedding that persona a bit until the end, when hes faced with the death of his comrades and the weight of surviving. then we get into phf, and hes acting like dio suddenly?

not fully, but like the library thing felt like a pretty clear callback to dio's personal library yknow? like some parallels were being put in place. then at the end of the novel, the kinder parts of his personality start to shine through. this might sound weird, but while i was like "fugio rights slay" i was also kind of unsettled by giorno in a way?

like he seemed so ethereal, almost like a fucking god with his presentation (which may be a symptom of fugo being a bit of an unreliable narrator.) it made me go back and forth of whether or not giorno was really a good of a person as VA made him out to be.

honestly, i think it may be a trauma response on giornos end. he always seemed to float above it all, even in late golden wind, but i think we as a fandom forget that hes still a kid, sometimes (especially. some groups.)

from how he spoke and acted at the end of VA, you can tell hes a different person than he was at the beginning, and while I do really have my gripes as to giornos role as a protagonist that is a post for another day.

giorno learns what leadership truly entails and is subsequently scarred by the expirence, and i think thats most notable in his infamous monologues. in early VA, theyre usually charged by some kind of ambition, or hope for a noble change, but in PHF its moreof musings on humanity itself (if that makes any sense.) it's definitely different to dio's, giorno providing mostly words of wisdom and affirmation along with his funky little psychoanalysis

hes also scarily perceptive, which like he always has been, but when paired with his more serene presentation in phf, it gives the illusion that hes somehow omnipotent or something, like he knows everything about you (or like. fugo in this scenario.) i think it may show how his idea of what it means to lead has changed since the beginning, that while he does want to do the right thing he also has it in his head that tragedy along the way is not only inevitable, but expected.

this is what I mean, like hes definitely a bit morally grey but hes not like "ooh fugo im so fucked up the ends justify the means ooh imma kill people to stop drugs ooooooh" but hes also not a saint by any means. hes deeply traumatized and has effectively numbed himself to the concept of death his entire life, and i dont think his evolved stand and chosen career path much helped with that.

like. i guess the conclusion of his absolutely incomprehensible rant is that while giorno is still the person he was before VA in terms of his kindness and compassion, but his experiences in canon changed his world view immensely. he can be scary naturally, yes, but the way i see it? giorno is 100% dealing with some kind of trauma, and while the expirence of VA did help him grow, it also Fucked Him Up. consequences of skipling algebra 1 and joining the mob ig. or maybe it doesnt mean anything at all and I'm just dumb and tired.

ig this sounds kind of weird from the guy who will die on the hill that giorno as a character was kinda wasted on VA, but hes rlly interesting to think about i think.

#giorno giovanna #i am so tired #jjba #this is incomprehensible

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eli-my-beloved · 2 years

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So like someone said one the discord about me being like a child and the iaptbap boys becoming like a adopted brother and it seem like a pretty cool au what are some headcannons you can think of?

NOOO THIS IS SO CUTE, all the platonic fluff you could make with this au <333 also, someone please send me a link to the discord, i searched everywhere but couldn't find it, maybe i need glasses 😭😭😭😭

anyways, onto the headcannons!

Winter White would be at first pretty reluctant to take care of a young mc. if i remember well, violet said in the QnA that winter didn't like children very much— that, or he didn't want to have kids with mc, so i'm just gonna assume that he just doesn't like children lol.

quickly though, you'd grow on him, and he'll start to get very protective of you, kind of like a big brother. he'd bring you to theme parks (modern au okay-), would buy you ice-cream, and would just be a very cool cool big brother. there would be many slip-ups, such as him sometimes letting you do things that children are NOT supposed to do. like, watching a horror movie or carrying a knife around. i rate winter white a 7/10

Beau would be a great adoptive big brother! he'd read you bedtime stories, spend a lot of time with you, and educate you on many topics. with him, you'll become a nerd kid. /lh

if you don't know how to read already, beau would love to teach you how to read! :]

he'd turn the boring school lessons into more interesting stuff, if you want to. and if you're struggling with homework, rest assured, he'll help you asap on it.

okay, sometimes he can be a bit boring... not every kid wants to learn algebra every day. but he's trying his best to be a good big brother to you, and that includes making you a smart kid!

9/10 for beau!

Tyrian would be an excellent big brother. he's kind of a mix of beau and winter (teaching you stuff and letting you have fun at parks) but he'll also cook you the best meals ever! tyrian would spend most, if not all of his time taking care of you, making sure you're happy and healthy. he'd take you around new-orleans, making you visit the city until you know where every street leads, where the best restaurants are, etc.

not only that, charlie would often come and help tyrian into dressing you up like a pretty little princess! you'd always have the most classy, cute and colorful clothes!

an absolute 10/10 for tyrian. amazing, spectacular.

okay, when im saying that he's trying his best, i mean that Rampion has absolutely no idea of how to care for a kid, but he's still trying.

mc wants to eat a tide pod. rampion doesn't know if he should let her eat the tide pod. ten minutes later they're at the hospital.

rampion would also read you the quite traumatizing books his father read him when he was a child himself— but would quickly stop when you start crying because damn that's terrifying.

ok, so rampion doesn't know how to look for a kid. however, i believe he'd be great at styling your hair! everyday, you'd have a different but still amazing-looking hairstyle. thanks, ramps!

overall, rampion is a 6/10. please do not let him look for your siblings or kids.

Sen also has no idea of how to care for a child! he'll try to teach you his knowledge of the forest, such as hunting, talking to animals, etc, but you, being a seven year old kid, are absolutely terrified of the giant wolves and boars.

speaking od hunting, the moment he lets you in front of a tiny animal with the instruction to kill it, you start to cry and refuse to do it. he doesn't understand why and that angers him so he might accidentally yell at you, making you cry even more.

however, i guess sen would eventually come around and understand that kids like you aren't meant for hunting live animals and eating raw meat. so, reluctantly, he'll get you your own food (he would've preferred it if you were the one to get it) and would cook it for you.

also, your hygiene is at risk with sen. my man never washes and smells like the foulest rotten food, so if you stay with him, you won't stay clean for too long.

3/10 for the wild wolf dude.

hope you liked these headcanons! it was so fun to write them, maybe i'll do a part two? who knows hehe...

#iaptbap #🥢: vivaldi answers #rampion iaptbap #iaptbap au #tyrian iaptbap #beau iaptbap #winter white iaptbap #sen iaptbap #child mc au

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axwalker · 3 years

Text

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my FC.

Words: 4,110

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!!

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?”

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack.

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent.

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?”

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.”

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up.

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony.

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence.

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done.

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.”

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long.

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me.

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality.

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.”

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was.

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right.

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me.

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.”

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.”

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion.

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.”

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—”

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me.

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City.

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.”

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…”

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along.

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper.

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

Drake

What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me.

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.”

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.”

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.”

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

“I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.”

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly.

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand.

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.”

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“How long do we have?”

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead.

“Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?”

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway.

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine.

“I can’t just leave, can I?”

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?”

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?”

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.”

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.”

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything.

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

#tw domestic violence #toxic relationship #tw bullying

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