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cherubispunk · 1 day

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NEPHILIM: THE FALLEN - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: fallen or damned? who's to tell when it's joel miller?

a note from Lucy: DONT HATE ME I KNOW ITS BEEN A LONG TIME!! Not entirely happy with this but it's been sitting in my docs for months now and i had to get it out there to give me some peace of mind so please be aware it may well be riddle with grammatical mistakes and typos galore. as always like, comment and reblog to save a sinners sanity!

playlist | moodboard + poem

wc: 2755

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! Jackson era!post outbreak!Joel, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, yearning, idiots in love, angst angst angst!!!!!!, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, oral sex (m! receiving), rough oral sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit) - Lucy crying over a bloody google doc :)

series masterlist | m.list

Ephesians 2:3 Among them we too all formerly lived in the lusts of our flesh, indulging the desires of the flesh and of the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, even as the rest.

The sky was bruised. It was like God– or whatever resided up there– knew. The grey clouds, and the garish yellow of the setting sun, and the deep blue that ebbed into purple…they all knew. Your heart ached too. Bruised. It seemed to crack a little more each day. What started as nothing more than a hairline fracture had split into a gaping, weeping slice. Why? Because Joel was always quiet. For such a large man he had a ghostly habit of creeping into a room without notice. Creeping into your heart too through your hollow ribs. You could feel him behind you now though. His breath thick on the nape of your neck and it cooled the thin sheen of sweat on your skin. Soothed your burning flesh while saving it from the inferno. The tension became bearable. These little spaces of empty matter between all else. That slight awkwardness about his usual stoic yet confident demeanour…it was endearing now.

You were easing into the silence, content with watching the bruise darken from purple to midnight blue. The sky would turn on its bright little stars, and the moon would slice through sapphire as the early evening aged. The sun was going to rest now, the greying moon taking its post to watch over the town. You should follow the sun’s direction. Close your eyes so as to not have to witness his all too soon departure.

His fingers, so gentle, so strong, gently traced the curve and divot of your hip under the covers. It was strange to think just moments prior they had been inside you. Making you feel boneless in bed.

“Bambi?” He asked, tentative and uncharacteristically uncertain. He loathed it; the change in him.

“Mhm?” You hummed lazily, your hands tucked under the pillow to keep them warm, knees curled up to your chest. But no answer nor following question came. You knew what it was. He was cramming something back down his throat before he had the chance to say it for fear of being out of line. One day it shall choke him blue. He was strung so tightly. Tension in his shoulders that made them rise uncomfortably. And you noticed this when you turned to face him. Neither of you spoke for a moment, as if you were fooling yourself into believing he might continue. Your heart cracked a little more when he turned to face the wall,

“Never mind. It’s nothin’.” He had no reason to be weary of you. However in the past few weeks, coming up to a month, there was subtle, almost imperceptible unease that lingered. And festered. Palpable. Tangible. You could feel it when you reached out to touch his skin. So warm and gorgeous. Golden like ichor in this setting sunlight. You dared to press your lips to the wing of a shoulder blade, skin mangled with scar tissue where you liked to imagine wings once resided, and felt him flinch under your featherlight kiss. “Don’t, Bambi.”

“Joel-“

“I said: No.” His voice was firm, and didn’t give much leeway for convincing. “It’s not somethin’ you know how to fix.” But you were stubborn now. You’d found your feet. You stood your ground more, imitated behaviour. Before he could turn away again you reached to right him, set him flat on his back upon the mattress and splay your hand over his soft stomach under the covers. His throat tightened when your hand ventured timidly south. Then his breath tangled in his throat when it wrapped loosely around his half hard cock. Gently stroking it until it stood to attention in your palm. “Let me help…the way I know how.” You whispered into his ear, running your tongue under his earlobe to bring it between your teeth. Voice like honey, so sweet, and smooth, and slow pouring enough to get stuck in. Jesus Fucking Christ, he hated himself for even entertaining the idea of letting you do this for him. For being the one to help you find your feet. For being the man who tarnished innocence. It seemed all he did these days was ruin what little good there was left in the world. He’d taken an entire inkpot to a pristine sheet of paper, splattered black all over it without a care in the world until now. He felt like the space between you was stygian and reeked of his own sin. It simmered and spat and writhed and any moment now I would boil over the second you came to terms with the fact you were too good for him.

His nostrils flared with the thought but with a twist of your wrist he melted. Because at the base of it all, the very depth of his humanity, he was a selfish, selfish man. You watched a swallow pass down the thick column of his throat and rested your head on his shoulder while your hand dragged up his thick, full shaft, thumb smearing a bead of precome over the delicate flushed skin of its head. Joel watched the ceiling and wallowed in pathetic self pity as you kissed your way down his navel, lips moving in a mumbling of words he couldn't quite hear. He let out a breathy moan when you wrapped your lips around the tip, pressing your tongue flat to the underside to let the taste seep onto your tongue. He then closed his eyes trying to imagine anyone other than you between his legs. Another mouth. Another tongue. Someone else's voice.

It was no use because it seemed your eyes, the shade, the shape, were printed to the back of his lids. He gave up. He was too old to try to partake in sisyphean tasks.

Joel sat up and you moved between his legs as he threw the covers off to watch you. His back to the headboard, your warm mouth inviting him deeper, he hesitated to press a hand to the crown of your head, but when you pulled off to lick a flat tongued strip from base to tip, he found himself taking a fist of your hair and righting you over the head completely, pushing down so he slipped into your mouth. Muscle memory had the twitch of a smirk forming at the corner of his lips. The sight of you was enough to have his hips begging to buck, chasing the back of your throat, attempting to find that reaction again.

What you couldn't take of him you wrapped loosely in one hand and the other cupped his balls, adding the slightest pressure that had a dirty cuss passing his chapped lips. Deep inhales billowed in his nose, nostrils flared slightly as he dragged your open, salivating mouth up and down on his length. What he would never understand is how much you hungered for this every time. There was a pain in wanting him like no other, and a reward this great sowed the seed of pleading. You didn’t mind yearning for him because, to you, being hungry was quite a satisfying feeling. It feels nice to want something. To yearn. To have a purpose. You imagined he felt quite the same with the way he could hardly keep his hands from your cunt or your mouth when you passed his front door’s threshold.

“Look at me, Bambi.” He grunted, and your eyes fluttered slightly before the hue of them locked on his through your tear clumped lashes. “I’d like this mouth a whole lot more if it didn’t say such pretty things to me.” He almost lamented, and you felt a tug at your heartstrings. “Makin’ a man hope again.”

Joel sighed, eyes closing for the briefest second. His large hand was still pushing your head with the gentlest of force back down, then his fingers gripped at your hair, dragging you again so the warm, silken touch of your lips and tongue made the fire in his belly start to burn. It was aching, and deep rooted, and had a slow simmer to it. One he begged to hurry along. Joel wanted nothing more than his release so he could set you free again. Set the bird free of its cage. So he threw caution to the wind, and soon you felt the tip of his thick cock reach the back of your mouth again, your throat constricting. “Why won’t you hate me, huh Bambi? What did I do to deserve this?” He asked. If you knew no better you’d have thought his tone implied he hated it. His teeth gritted, words seethed between them. He spat it out in a way that made him seem unworthy of your attention— or the very taste of the thought disgusted him and made his stomach pull up in a wretch. Joel bit down so violently on nothing he swore his molars might turn to dust and clag in spit with the way he was salivating over the sight of you; Puffy lips, bloodshot watering eyes, messy hair. Bent over him and sucking on his cock like it was your only goddamned purpose in life.

You wanted to reply, splutter out the words, but he silenced you. The tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat, and causing your stomach to recoil, tensing as you gagged. Retching slightly as he grimaced at the sound. “You know I can’t love y–” he stopped mid sentence as the ache bloomed into a deep burn. You were oh so grateful because it meant you wouldn’t have to hear what you yearned not to. What you buried deep beneath your stomach and above your diaphragm— that slow, blooming ache. The feeling would never see the light of day. You’d rather die than come to terms with the fact that Joel would not be yours. He belonged to the world. The mass of nature that befell you. That which kept you human and incompetent. He was large, untamable, and oh so delectable in all ways other than matters of love. Joel Miller could not love you.

“Fuck- gonna come, Bambi.” He choked out, head falling back. You looked up at the sight of him through your lashes, lips parted, his brows creased gently in the space between them. Just as you yearned for him to love you, you yearned to be destroyed by him. Coated in him, broken down to pieces by him. Joel Miller could quite literally break you in half, then half again, and again— to the point where nothing was discernible— and you'd get on your knees to thank him for it all. Maybe loving him and being destroyed by him were two in the same?

In the months you’d known him you’d grown to learn that this was as close to a purpose as you’d get. The world robbed you of one, so you searched for it. Selfish enough to keep digging to find one. Only it had no purpose. It has a pattern now, and patterns trick and deceive people into believing in divine intervention. Joel was your divine right. Your purpose. That was what you believed. What you thought about each night. What you thought about now as you took his cock down to the base, the head of him brushing the back of your throat and folds soaked– drenched in the essence of your own arousal. All of which was emphasised by the ache you felt between your thighs that ebbed a little deeper with wanting. A ghost of the pleasure you felt when he was inside you. You entertained it with two fingers slipping between your thighs, teasing your clit. “God— Bambi…” He groaned, eyes rolling back in his head as he let go. Hot ropes of his release flooding your mouth with their heady, salty taste.

You pulled off his shaft, now wet and slick in your own saliva, swallowing a mouthful of his release. His eyes never left you, honing in on the ripple of your delicate throat as you swallowed his come down. Joel couldn't help but hook a thumb into your mouth to unhinge your jaw— to see if anything was left. Nothing was. There never was. Like him, you were too selfish to leave anything.

He should have known better. You never disappoint. “Bambi, you’re too damn good for me.” he panted, skin sweat slick and flushed.

“I promise I'm not.” you whispered to the skin of his lips before he wrapped a large, steadying hand around your arm and pulled you up to his chest. His face met yours and when you looked into those hickory eyes you could have melted on the spot; For the hue of them was nothing like you'd ever seen before, and could command nations to their knees. And if not nations then it could certainly do so to you. “I’m just as damaged as you.`’

The words had his gut in knots because they were akin to holding up a mirror to his visage. And holding his head in place. Holding it still so he was forced to look himself in the eyes and reflect. Reflecting on the monster he’d become. The monster he would always be.

“I’m not asking you to love me, Joel.” You spoke, your voice quiet, slight and timid. Uncertain of his reaction. The way your eyes met his was proof of that. Wide like a foal, wide enough to register the unjust curl of a lip. “ I’m just asking you to stay…”

The words had been burning the tip of your tongue red raw. Each night as he lay beside you, the same questions— words made up of nothing but consonants that had a profound effect on you– would hardly let you rest in his arms. They tortured you instead; Mocked you. It was the equivalent of hanging. You could feel the ghost of a noose around your neck. It might as well have been His hands. It was as rough as them after all.

What is wrong with you? What is so repulsive about you that warrants his departure? Was it the curve of your hips– their dips? Or even the bump on your nose– how dare it not have the perfect influxing curve! The slant of your eyes? The jagged stretch marks on the inside of your thighs! Not only had they the nerve to exist in their silver, shining mockery, posing as a diamond, but they had the fucking nerve to sit where others could see. Fuck them entirely and their very existance. Were those very thighs plump enough? Too plump? Why was there no gap between? Was there too much of a sag to your breasts? The colour of your nipples– why did they have to be that colour? Were the lines on your forehead marring your skin? What on you– about you– detested him? Because if you knew you'd cut it off. You'd change it. You take a knife to your nose and cut it off even if it was just to spite your own face. Now, laying here with him, you wish to be anyone but yourself. Yourself was the woman that disgusted you. It would always be the woman that disgusted you if he didn’t fall in love.

“That's jus’ the thing, Bambi.” He sighed, his mouth moving in a slow hushed mumble. His wind chapped, weathered lips grazed the shell of your ear, “I already do.” Followed by silence, and then: “An’ I ain’t no good at it, I’m afraid.”

That was the problem. Joel thought it had to be a life lived in an entirety of carolling laughter for you. A warm, joyous time. The kind of peace the world seldom granted anyone anymore. Not bound to him by the twine of his selfish nature. In the wrong man’s bed. If the world had told him anything before it was that he deserved to be alone. First Sarah. Then Tess. Ellie too. It was only a matter of time before you left too. He had no clue that what you wanted was just to be held. To be kept. He didn’t have to carve out a hole in himself to accommodate you. Nor give an arm or a limb. He just had to stay. Exactly where he was now. Exactly as he is. But selfish men believe in selfish things. And Joel Miller was a selfish man.

Maybe he wasn't. Humans are, after all, selfish creatures. If we are innately selfish does that make us selfish, or just human. Regardless– Joel was selfish. Yes. But more importantly: He was the damned, the scrutinised, the beggar. All of the above.

Joel Miller was, and forever will be, the fallen.

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needylittlegirl · 1 month

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if you dont “believe” in aftercare you deserve to get run over by a bus btw

#tbd #saw a crazy tweet now im just thinkin abt how many people dont think aftercare is necessary #my ex didnt think it was needed ever #he would do crazy things specifically to avoid anything that could be taken as care or intimacy after sex #and it did awful things to my brain!!#i have such a weird relationship with sex now because i’ve never experienced aftercare #its crazy that people think its an absolute necessity #i remember one time he left immediately like he always did #so obviously i started crying cause its very confusing to have sex and then the person just walks out not even 5 mins after!!#especially for how young i was it was Confusing #and he came back cause he forgot his wallet or something so he saw me crying #got mad at me it become an argument etc etc cause i told him why i was crying #and he said to me and i Quote #‘expecting a guy to care about you after sex is idiotic and immature-#‘you should be glad you’re even getting laid in the first place so take what you can get and stop expecting guys to care abt anything else’#which is an insane thing to say and i Believed it for years #the fact i was sitting there crying and i told him it was bc he made me feel like he hated me and i was awful and a worthless girlfriend??#and that was his response ??? how crazy do you have to be #anyways. aftercare is always necessary and if you dont provide then one of you is gonna be suffering

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yellowocaballero · 25 days

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Been a fan of your fics for YEARS. I was just telling my friend how despite how much I read fics I never actually love them, with some of your fics (especially TMA) as the exception. Felt the need to reread some of them and saw you reblogged some ISAT fanart. So. Any thoughts on ISAT you'd like to share?

Hope you have a wonderful day!! So happy I found your fics again!!

I avoided answering this for a while because I was trying to think of a way to cohesively and coherently vocalize my thoughts on In Stars and Time. I have given up because I don't want to hold everybody here all day and I have accepted that my thoughts are just pterodactyl screeching.

I love it so much. I have so much to say on it. It drove me bonkers for like a week straight. I have AUs. It's absolute Megbait. They're just a little Snufkin and they're having the worst experience of anybody's life. Ludonarratives my fucking beloved.

I am going to talk about the prologue.

The prologue is such a fascinating experience. You crack open the game and immediately begin checking off all of the little genre boxes: mage, warrior, researcher, you're the rogue...some little kid who's there for some reason...alright, you know the score. You're in yet another indie Earthbound RPG, these are your generic characters, let's get the ball rolling.

Except then you realize that these characters are people. You feel instantly how you've entered the game at its last dungeon, at the end of the adventure. They have their own in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They get along well and they're obviously close, but not in a twee or unrealistic way. They have so much chemistry and spirit and life. I fell in love with them so quickly.

But Sif doesn't. Sif kind of hates them, because they will not stop saying the same damn thing. They walk the same paths, do the same things, make the same jokes, expect Sif to say the same lines. They keep referencing a Sif we do not see, with jokes we never see him make and heroic personality he never shows - they reference a Sif who is dead - and Sif can't handle that, so he kills them too.

They become only an exercise in tedious frustration. Sif button mashes through their dialogue, Sif mindlessly clicks the same dialogue options, Sif skips through the tutorial, Sif blows through the puzzles. Sif turns their world into a video game. Sif is playing a generic RPG. Sif forgets their names. They are no longer people with in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They're the mage, the warrior, the researcher, and...some random kid.

I did not understand the Kid's presence at first. I had no idea what they contributed to the game. They didn't do anything. As a party member in a video game, they're a bit useless. Why is the Kid there?

Because Sif's life isn't a video game. Because the kid isn't 'the kid'. They're Bonnie. Bonnie, who the party loves. Why is Bonnie there? Because they love them. There is no room for Bonnie in the boring RPG that Sif is playing. And then you realize that Sif is wrong, and that they've lost something extremely important, and that they'll never escape without it.

Watching the prologue before watching ISAT gave ISAT the most unique air of dread and horror, because you crack open ISAT and you see the person Sif used to be. You realize that Sif used to be a person. Sif used to be the person who made jokes, who gave real smiles, who interacted with the world as if they are a part of it. And you know you are sitting down to watch Sif lose everything that made them a person, to lose everything that made them a member of this world, and turn them into a character in a video game who doesn't understand the point of Bonnie at all.

At the climax of the game, when the others realize that something is deeply wrong and that Sif physically cannot tell them, they realize that there is nothing they can do. So Bonnie declares snacktime. And for the first time they have snacktime.

What is snacktime? Classic JRPGs don't have snacktime. There's literally no point to a snacktime - not in a video game, and not in Sif's terrible life. It's not fixing this, because nothing can fix this. But Bonnie gives Sif a cookie and Sif eats it.

It's meaningless. It's a cutscene. It didn't save Sif and it didn't change a thing. It will make no difference in the end.

But it did make the difference. It made all of the difference in the world. Bonnie is a character who you really don't understand the point of before you realize that Bonnie was the entire point.

ISAT is about comfort media. Why do we play the same video games over and over again? Why do we avoid watching the finale of our favorite shows? What is truly comforting: a story with no conflict, or a story where you always know what is about to happen? Do you want to live in a scary, uncontrollable world, or do you want to play Stardew Valley? Do you want a person or a character?

When I beat Earthbound for the first time (and if you don't know, the prologue/ISAT battle system is just Mother) and watched the ending cutscene where the characters part ways and say goodbye...I felt a little bit sad. I wanted them to be together forever. But that's something only characters could ever be.

#these aren't deep or unique thoughts they're just the specific aspect of ISAT that made it one of the most interesting gaming experiences #i actually like the prologue much more than ISAT for just this reason #its honestly a video game art piece that's created to give the player a very specific experience #that makes them an aspect of the narrative that is told #it's. incredible.#in stars and time #start again start again start again #start again: a prologue #isat #god and there is so so so so much more to say here #what a rich and complex and fascinating game that made me cry like a baby #i dont even kin sif. we arent similar at all.#i cant imagine how devastating this game would have been if i did #but I do have a deep relationship with escapsim #and i write about it a lot #and video games about being video games are wonderful #as are stories about being stories #and why we consume stories. how we use them. how they save us and hurt us.#never played a video game that used its medium so well #i bet undertales also pretty good at that but this is more so i think #stories about stories have to be about why we love stories #and im not an artsy person and i roll my eyes a bit when people talk about the spiritual neccesity of art #i think people need stories because the world is sad and hard and boring and we want to think about something else for a while.#some people need to be anywhere but here #and sometimes if you're Lil Depressed-Ass Snufkin that looks like being here forever #baby cringe-ass snufkin big hat idiot

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caffeinatedopossum · 1 year

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I feel like I have an unacceptably low level of control over my body. Like obviously there are some things that no one can control but I have like actual big problems because of it. I'm not really sure how to describe it but it's not just me being really clumsy (although that is an effect of it) or even the tics I have.

It's like I can feel my body moving wrong constantly but I can't correct it and it hurts and it sucks and I'm tired. I'm tired of hurting myself, making mistakes, breaking things, acting like it's fine when in reality I'm constantly afraid of how much any movement I make next could hurt me. I need to move to stay sane, I want to workout and get stronger and go on walks with my friends. I wanna get better. I can't even roll over in bed without pain and I'm just so tired.

#opossums chronic illness rants #seriously though this sucks so much and idk if theres anything i can do about it but i wanna try #its probably a combination of a lot of different things #like muscle weakness and instability from ehlers danlos syndrome both making each other worse #along with the poor proprioception from autism the dizzyness and weakness from the dysautonomia #the fact that i cant really see and even possibly inner ear damage (thats a new one that ive been suspecting more and more recently)#im not sure if the ear damage would be just from built up ear wax or maybe or something else #but im really not having a good time because it brings back bad memories #when i was a kid (8 i think) my mom was convinced i had compacted ear wax but given that she refused to ever #take me to doctors she decided she had to fix it herself #which led to a lot of excruciating trials where she stuck wires and que tips stripped of their cotton into my ears #and tried to scrape out whatever she could. even though i wanted her to stop because it hurt so bad i would start crying everytime #im also mildly suspicious that might be what damaged my ears in the first place... but i really have no way to know that at the moment #all i know is i dont want anyone looking in or putting things in my ears ever again #it doesnt even matter how much i trust them because now anything put in my ears hurt #like even when im just regularly cleaning them with que tips it hurts and im reminded that might not be normal #idk if you read these tags let me know if cleaning your ears is supposed to hurt i guess?#im honestly not sure. like i just always assumed i wasnt being gentle enough or something but it doesnt matter what i do #its not super painful either just a little bit so i ignored it because i assumed it was normal #since a lot of 'normal' things hurt for me. which i now know to my surprise isnt normal at all but i didnt figure that out #until i actually got people to believe that these things were hurting me #apparently its very hard to find anyom #who believes that opening bag clips or trying to lift a jug of milk are actually quite painful for me #they usually just say im way overreacting and when i was a kid i just believed them i guess

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sprinklethetangerine · 3 months

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In some other universe, I would be playing piano or violin or guitar or the drums.

In some other universe, I would be doing martial arts or ballet or archery.

In some other universe, I would be a scientist or an author.

But in this universe, I am an artist, and I wish I was in another fucking universe.

#HA did you think i was aboutta say some deep shit about how “theres nowhere else id rather be”#bitch i wish i was anywhere else BUT HERE #like im crying at a blank fucking page do you think this is what i wanted to be doing with my life?#but in all seriousness i would not survive if i didnt have art #i mean sure i wish i coukd fix my broken violin and start lessons again #or do something of the sort idk #but without my art i dont know where i would be #if im feeling sad my art is there to help me #if im happy my art will be there too #if im angry or upset or scared or anything my art will always be there and shit #its been with me throughout my whole life like a guiding light #and i dont really know how to conduct myself and my emotions through myself and my words so my art helps #with my art i can help others understand me #its like placing a part of myself onto a blank page #it fucking sucks sometimes and i hate it #but i wouldnt trade it for the world #okay thats enough this was just supposed to be a joke how did we fuckin get here

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snekdood · 5 months

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anyways tired of this mean spirited ass website

#maybe im the only trans person who actually hates being reminded of my anatomy idk #its fine if a trans girl says 'you just want a penis!!' but if i say the same thing but w vagina im sure i'd get a million ppl yelling at m #hmmst.#i kinna just think we let ppl slide by w that shit toward transmascs too much. everyone else can be transphobic #towards us directly or even indirectly but if i inched anywhere near the same shit yall say suddenly its an issue #its the same shit w the fucking theyfab shit. doesnt matter if it negatively effects transmascs to some ppl at all apparently #but if i start goin around calling people femmab we'd prolly have issues huh?#can we explain this? are we just doing the whole reversing gender roles to feel woke and Not transphobic #bc its not any better just saying trans girls are the uwu ones who need to be protected and you cant make them cry instead of having that #thrust upon us- ya dont just get to reverse them and act like you're Doing something #anyways you dont get to protect trans girls from any perceived harm and then leave trans guys in the dust sorry idc #fuck off and die ig idk. or be better.#and no- obligatory: im not saying trans women oppress trans men.#if me critiquing your actions = me saying you're 'oppressing me' every time then you're #probably an insufferable person to be around anyways. but assuming good faith from some of the ppl possibly reading this #and whom i wish would assume good faith on my part as well- i do think we let trans women get away w shit that if trans men #did the same shit in reverse everyone would get in a pissy fit about it #and i dont think the solution is to let us do it too i think the solution is some of yall need to check yourselves and internalize the whol #'would you like it if someone said that to you' shit and changing things where it applies like. would you like it if i said to you that #'you just want a vagina'? probably the fuck not! so maybe fuckin check yourself and you wont lose transmasc friends.

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palettehao · 2 years

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It is actually so vile how they put the van scene 18 minutes into episode 8 because I sat there thinking about it the entire time and couldn't get Will crying out the window out of my head. I'm so serious when I say I would think about it when the Russia plotline came on (cause it was going for too long and I stopped caring) so my mind would wander back to Will and that damn scene and I started bawling my eyes out to the point I had to pause the show cause I couldn't see anything.

This happened a few times like why would they do that to me 😭

#im so sensitive whenever it comes to Will #i cannot even think about everything he's been through without tearing up #and then i have to start thinking about something else so i dont cry about it #its mental illness luv #i don't ive ever been this emotional over a fictional character #byler #byler tumblr #will byers #mike wheeler #byler season 4

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mummer · 2 years

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#i have been doing incredibly bad mentally :-) and idk what to do #my journal entries are literally unreadably cruel to myself lol......... haha 🤙 its fine #im somehow even lonelier and more convinced of my unlikeability than ive ever been which is fucking saying something #keep getting litmag rejections and absolutely no indication or encouragement that i actually have any worth at all #further discouraging me from actually writing or editing anything or even reading because it just makes me depressed #downloaded a dating app and had a panic attack #had a huge fight with my dad and was clearly just in the wrong and mean but our relationship has always been fucked so i cant bring myself #to even start thinking about that when even talking to him about mundane things makes me want to crawl in a hole and die #personal #just not good dawg. so isolated so numb what else is new.#im also doomscrolling really bad bc of the shooting and feeling just incredibly bleak and awful on top of it all.#maybe i should ‘give myself a break’ but i feel like ive been doing that for 6 years #at least i dont have that thing where i cant look in mirrors without crying anymore.

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scattered-winter · 2 years

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hoo boy today was a Bad Day huh :]

#im so fucking tired #apparently i cant fucking be a good sibling to my brother like. at all #because apparently he thinks i HATE him?!?!?!? im just. really really upset about that rn #because my siblings are the only people on this planet who i KNOW i would jump in front of a bullet for #i fucking. i cant even form words on how much i love them #and the thought that one of them thinks i hate him genuinely distresses me so much ive been crying for the past half hour #hhh and now i feel like im just being Dramatic #i want to stop feeling emotions <3<3 #i need to talk to my brother and work this out but like.#talking about emotions is something my family Doesn't Do. we never have and never will #there's a reason why i relate to the batfam btw. like. a legitimate reason.#but yeah i need to figure out how to Not lock everything im feeling down and have a chat w my brother #and somehow put into words that he (and my other siblings) are the only people i love more than anything else #like. i love my friends and mutuals ofc #but for my siblings it's...Different #i love them with everything in my fucking soul #and i cant SAY that because i dont know HOW when nobody in my family has ever talked abt emotions to each other #my dad told me he was proud of me today and i legit almost started crying #thats the first time i can remember where he's said that #my family is just like the batfam fr [derogatory]#anywayyyyyyyy #gonna cry myself to sleep and then completely shut down everything emotion-based in the morning like always ✨✨✨#winter speaks

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drchucktingle · 4 months

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my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great.

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is.

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned.

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’.

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept.

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual.

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

#actually autistic #chuck tingle #tingleverse #buckaroo lifestyle

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bratphilia · 6 months

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overtime (m. schmidt x reader)

request: "Hey ! Just discovered your account and I love your writtings ! I was wondered if you could write a smut and romantic thing with mike ? I dont have any specific context and all its up to you ! <3"

note: ty sm for showing love to my work and for requesting!! i finally was able to write something actually sweet with mike for the first time lmao.

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

tags: small age gap, fingering, missionary

after putting abby to sleep, you fell asleep yourself in front of the tv. you couldn't help it! it was a long night of cooking spaghetti for abby (and ordering pizza, per her request), helping her build a fort, and coloring with her inside it. abby's a sweet kid, but babysitting has always tired you out in general. plus her older brother, your boss, started working the graveyard shift at his new job, so it would be unfeasible for you to not go to sleep during your time spent over there.

you woke up to the chair next to you being shifted in, and open your eyes to see mike sitting there, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. you feel embarrassed that you fell asleep on the job and quickly explain yourself. "i'm so sorry for falling asleep, i was just—"

he looks at you. "no need to apologize. i don't expect you to wait all night long for me."

awkward silence fills the air. well, that settles that. god, he's so cute, you think, even all stressed out and with bags under his eyes. he's also been nothing but kind to you since the two of you met. always concerned with how you're doing, how school is holding up, and just generally about your wellbeing. you try to do reciprocate as it's obvious mike doesn't have a lot of people in his life doing the same for him.

you're the first to break the silence. "uhm, there's leftover pizza in the fridge... you know, in case you want any..." you comment, not quite sure what else to say to him.

"oh! thank you," he says. "did abby ask you to..."

"make her spaghetti and order pizza? yes, she absolutely did."

both you and mike laugh. "i'll make sure i can pay you back for that. you really didn't have to—"

"mike," you interrupt, "seriously, don't worry about it. i understand your situation and i want to help you."

mike looks at you gratefully, almost lovingly.

"y'know—"

"so, i should really—"

the both of you talk at the same time. "oh, sorry, you go."

you smile gently. "no, you go. i was just going to say i should hit the road."

he runs a hand through his hair again, eyes darting across the room bashfully. "well i — uh, i just wanted to say thank you for all you do for abby... and for me. it means a lot. you're very... kind."

your smile widens at his awkward choice of words, but it deeply touches you that he appreciates you. you place a hand on top of his. "of course, mike. i'm always here for you."

mike looks at your hand and inhales deeply through his nose. "will you — will you stay for just a little while longer?"

before you know it he's on top of you on the couch, slamming his middle and ring finger inside you while you bite back moans. "gotta be nice and quiet for me, sweetheart. can't wake abby up, okay? or else i gotta stop and neither of us want that," he whispers to you sweetly.

instead of letting you respond, mike presses his lips against yours in a deep kiss while he continues to finger you. you break apart to quietly call his name, letting him know that you're close.

much to your dismay, he pulls his fingers out before you can come. "mike, please," you whisper.

"please, what, honey?" he teases.

you squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve the tension in your core. "please fuck me already."

mike presses his forehead against yours, breathing sharply as he slowly pushes inside you, inch by inch. you bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out as your pussy swallows his hard length.

as he begins to move, he also clearly struggles to keep his noises to a minimum. as a solution, he envelopes you in a kiss as he moves inside you. his pace gradually increases from gentle to faster. the feeling is absolutely delicious.

he can feel your pussy spasming around him and his own dick pulsing too. he uses the hand caging you in on the couch to hold yours as he continues to fuck you.

"feel so good around me, baby," he whispers hotly. "you have no idea what you — ngh — do to me. every time i see you i always think about fucking you like this."

"mike," you moan quietly. his words only encouraged you.

his name becomes a whispered chant falling from your lips as he fucks you through your own orgasm. he's sure to pull out and come on your stomach while he pumps himself.

mike wipes the sweat off of his forehead and sits up so your legs lay over his lap. "sorry for pushing you into overtime," he jokes.

you give a small laugh. "no worries. it was my pleasure."

mike shakes his head at your dumb joke. then his smile fades and he looks at you seriously. "is it... too early to say that i love you?"

you lean up and meet his lips in a kiss as your answer.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader

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swagging-back-to · 1 year

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had an apocalypse dream last night. a super long and detailed one too. havent had one in a long time.

#it started in a backrooms version of my old schools all conjoined into one #and i was terrified #i was sobbing and crying #and i was so distraught #and then it was in the basement labrynth like a lot of my recent 'dreams' have been #then i was back at my childhood house in the apartment fendingoff something.#next thing i remember i was out in the front yard pulling things i needed to take with me into a truck while looking over my shoulder #i loaded up all of my animals and then we hit the highway.#i was on the run for a long time to the point i made an entire house in the truck #and then when i bunkered down behnd this house one night (it was my childhood house but i think thats just because i know what it looks lik #these things just come out of nowhere and give me an entrie speil about how they just want to go home and dont want to be on earth #so iwas like oh shit can i help you get back then? i dont want you here either #she was like ''oh yes we think youll be perfect for helping us.''#and then it cut to me being forcibly impregnated (not by sex dont worry t was like an injection) and being forced to be #an incubator with one of the males i was talking to all the way back in the very beginning of the dream. (as in he was also an incubator)#i woke up before anything else could happen because im that tokophobic lol

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lizzobetumblin · 24 days

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Melissa hated her feelings.

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings.

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name,

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list:

1.) Don’t cry.

2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking,

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion.

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry.

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow.

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong.

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that.

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again.

She carried that.

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her.

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’

She cried.

She escalated.

She took it personal.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music.

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose.

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too.

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow.

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks.

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified.

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power.

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her.

And she finally loved them back.

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mrfoox · 1 year

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Oliver freaking tf out when im crying as we talk is an favorite thing

#miranda talking shit #'what the fuck miranda what did i say? Why are you crying? What happened?' one would think he'd have learned by now #But nope... Still have to stop everything and ask. Buddy my dude... This is how i am... Idk what to tell you #My tears start coming before i even have time to think sometimes. They just ... Come i cant identify why half the time #We talked about ambitions and shit again and thats always an hard one for me bc... My only dream/ambition #Is to... Be comfortable with myself and accept myself plus share life with someone #I don't have a dream job or something... I just ... Wish to do something i wont dread and hate #Meanwhile hes like bro...i wanna be rich lol. And hes trying to challenge me and im like... Dude...#And i know i still have it so ingrained in me to do everything everyone else wants of me... Im trying to be my own self #But like... How do you undo 20 years of always filling others wants and needs? I have come up with this dream just a few years ago #Genuinely before that i had nothing. I know im weak and pathetic and not my own person but im trying to be but its not easy #Its why i dont ever feel ill be good enough to date anyone. Bc i dont have grand ambitions and I'd never be able to give someone #An good life in that way. I just want to live and share boring normal things with someone who loves me and if they have an ambition id help #Support them. But it's ... Pathetic and probably very unhealthy but thats what i genuinely think i want. A gentle life and love #I am always told im so passive and not strong willed enough and its like yoo i know! Bc i started to develop my personality to be #As passive and adjustable since i was 4 so i would be less in danger and then i just kept it up until i became an adult...#'youre such a deep (feeling) person. Its sad you dont WANT more' yeah i know... Tryst me i wish i was more solid in my opinions and thought #But thats probably gonna take me many years...#Negative #????

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miikapie · 4 months

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just thinking ab Geto with a crybaby s/o (nsfw)

hi, this is my first time posting on here :33 idk if it'll be the last. i js wrote this when i got bored while studying. i love geto sm guys hes such a sweetheart

warnings:.. dacryphilia (reader cries during the deed), a little bit of infantilisation?, sweet geto hehehee,also slightly out of character geto? idk, missionary, really bad fuckin grammar dont come at me... anything else to put here uhhh js tell me //mdni.// NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

"mmm...missed this..i missed you.."

his hips rolled slowly into you, his hands smoothing over your thighs he hiked onto his shoulders. at this point, you guys have been going at it for a long while; you've orgasmed more times than you care to count (5 times) but ofcourse, because of geto and his crazy stamina, youve been folded on the bed for atleast an hour. he came home from a particularly long and difficult mission and just..needed you. so bad.

he coos sweet nothings into your ears as he always did, kissing at your neck with the occasional groan. the pace he set was so gentle, his tip kissed your cervix with every languid push and pull through your walls.

"you're so sweet...so good to me baby.." he whispers, the sticky noises of your arousal filling the quiet room

you always found moments like this with suguru to be perfect. just him and you, together, where the rest of the world didn't matter. but for some reason today, just something about it all was just so sensual and at the perfect pace..

with his head buried in the crook of your neck, his hand travelled from your waist to your cheek. what he didn't expect to feel was a trail of ..tears?

funny thing is you didn't even realise it. you had your eyes closed and your head buried into the silk pillow beneath you. you were completely immersed in the pleasure, and didnt notice the fat tears rolling down your face.

his pace slows to a stop and looked into your eyes. you thought the way his long hair cascaded over his shoulders made him look so beautiful..especially now. you looked up at him through teary eyes. he looked worried

"hey...is everything okay?" a frown was shown on his face, as he cupped your cheeks and wiped away your tears. "did i hurt you? you're cryin.."

you sniffled subconsciously, your hands placed over his. you smiled sheepishly and look away. "i.. I didn't even notice" he kissed your forehead sweetly, his facial expressions show he finally understood what was going on.

with one hand on your waist again he started rocking his hips, earning a soft cry of satisfaction from you. "fu-fuck.."

"you feel so good you're crying? ..baby.. you're flattering me..." his coy smile appears as he looked into your eyes, watching your expression twist and turn. it was, almost sinister "i wanna see this expression more often....such a crybaby.."

there was something about that new petname he gave you, the way it rolled of his tongue so sweetly, that made your walls flutter around him. he groaned a little, his pace slow and unfaltering. he gripped onto your waist. " you like that? being called a little crybaby?"

your hips bucked into him and you mewl, loudly. "s-stop, dont embarrass me..suguru.." his hips began snapping into you faster as a response.. another tear falls down your face but this time he kisses it away.

" 's not embarrassing..im into it. keep crying. in return ill keep you all nice and stuffed, how about that?"

thanks for reading HAHA

#geto x reader #geto smut

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