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roseykat · 4 months

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TITLE: Play Right

SUMMARY: The aftermath of the events that occurred at Hyunjin's apartment begins to unravel and sprout into things that are unsuspecting of Hyunjin and Jisung. While Jisung is under the disturbance of a text message he sent to Chan from your phone, he decides to turn to his friends to spill the beans.

TAGS: porn with plot, solo male masturbation, ruined orgasm, swearing, handjobs, soft moments, depictions of sexual intercourse, kissing, cum eating, orgasms, mainly m x m themes, alcohol is consumed (but nobody is drunk)

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSWF SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

PART 1 + PART 2 - MASTERLIST

🏷️LIST: @chillichillicrabcrab23 @broken-glowsticks @ihatemen55 @boi-bi-ahaha @galamxy @weareapackofstrays @anglerfishiey @elizalabs3 @fr34k4c1dr41n @stayconnecteed @imnotjjini0325 @twinklix @meilix @livsposts @dawn-iscozy @princejisung @groovygroovyhyunjin @valibals @oiikaro @/itsthatbri @leftkittenface @/20minsat180degrees (if you want to be removed from the taglist going forward with this series, lmk!)

A/N: listened to Cigarettes out the window by TV Girl when I wrote most of this.

DISCLAIMER: before you read, this is a series so things are building up. There is a plot, so whilst this isn’t reader x member heavy based as the rest of the parts so far, that doesn’t mean to say that it won’t be in the future. Reader and Chan will get their time, don't worry, just want things to develop. This piece is more Jisung and Hyunjin focused iykwim x

“The weather forecast for the upcoming week is predicted to be hotter than usual-“

“Ngh- fuck, right there...”

“-with temperatures expected to rise above thirty degrees. Weather Watch is also alerting citizens-“

“S-So good, baby…Y/N…”

“-in the city to prepare for the possibility of yet another monsoon-“

“Gonna…cum, gonna cum so hard for you…just like that…”

“-other regions of the outer city should also expect showers and hot temperatures-“

“Fuck’s sake!”

With an angry groan and grumble, Hyunjin’s right hand stills over his slick, hard cock. His other hand yanks a pillow from his side and pelts it straight at his door to slam it right shut. Pathetic white strings of cum shot from his dark pink tip and land on his abdomen, some as far as his shirt that he had pulled up to his chest to avoid staining it.

It’s been impossible for him to jerk off while the six o’clock weather is playing in the background from his lounge. The talk of monsoons and hot weather threatens the disappearance of the mental images he has of you in his brain, used as vital motivation to get himself off - a recurring activity that has been happening for the past two weeks.

Summer doesn’t make it any better either. His body is sticky, sweat beading over his forehead from the disgusting, muggy heat that rivals the air con blowing throughout his apartment. Then the rain that lashes harshly at his windows is enough to drown out his own moans. It was a useless feat, just as useless as his own ruined orgasm that now put him in a bad mood. He had to satisfy his needs somehow.

Instead of turning to porn, Hyunjin had something even better; you. The vivid images of his cock plunging fluidly into your wet pussy. The erotic sounds he extracted out of you with each thrust, that is when you weren’t choking on Jisung’s dick. He just wishes he could’ve seen your face when he made you cum.

Hyunjin sighs and presses his head back into the pillow. Before he gets to think about jumping in the shower, his phone rings from the nightstand. He picks up the device to see a very flattering drunk photo of Changbin appear on his screen.

Hyunjin answers, “hey.”

“Hyunjin, what are you doing right now?” Changbin asks.

“Watching the news,” he sniffs, he might as well have been watching the news.

“Boring. Did you not see the group chat messages?”

“No, not yet. Why is something wrong?”

“No, nothings wrong. Minho booked a table for hot pot and barbecue tonight. Figured you weren’t doing anything important so we’re all meeting up in half an hour,” Changbin explains.

Barbecue and hot pot sounded nice. Surely it’ll be a method to dry out Hyunjin’s damp mood a little bit. That and a cold shower to freshen up.

“Okay, yeah sounds good. Can you text me the details then?”

As Hyunjin hung up and decided to start getting ready, it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen his friends in a couple of weeks, with a strong reference to you and Jisung. You had both been active in the group chat so he didn’t necessarily feel awkward about seeing the guy he had a threesome with. As for you, he really doesn’t know.

You’re sweeter and easy to be around. Something about that just turns the entire situation on its head. Not that Jisung isn’t sweet or easy to be around in Hyunjin’s opinion, with you it’s different. Although, as he’s been mulling over the past couple of weeks, he’s discovered a few things about himself and Jisung.

Dressing according to the weather, Hyunjin takes his umbrella with him on his way out in the hopes the rain won’t continue when he leaves the restaurant later on. After receiving the address from Changbin, thankfully just one subway stop away, Hyunjin heads off into the downfall and arrives fifteen minutes later.

He was wrong to assume that he wasn’t going to feel awkward around Jisung, and now as he spots him at the table, engaging in a riveting conversation with Jeongin, all he feels is awkwardness. He waves out to him from down the way, ushering him to come over, lulling Hyunjin out of his own mind for a minute.

“Hyunjin!” Jeongin called out cheerily, patting a spot beside him to come and sit.

“Already started drinking Innie?” Hyunjin slings his arm around his younger friend's shoulder.

“I couldn’t wait, sorry,” he responds and pours Hyunjin a shot of his soju. “Long day.”

“Did you eat before?”

“Not since lunch,” he replies.

Hyunjin shakes his head and warns, “Innie, you know it’s bad to drink on an empty stomach, right?”

Jeongin shrugs, “like I said, long day.”

Hyunjin picks up his shot glass, downing it in one go before setting the glass back down on the surface again. As he does, his eyes meet Jisung’s who stares intently at him from across the table. He shoots a cheeky wink at Hyunjin, forcing a deep red blush to emerge through his cheeks.

Hyunjin knew what that meant.

Suddenly his mind races back to that night at his apartment; making out with Jisung, remembering suddenly the thought of what sort of tricks that mouth of his possesses, watching you suck him dry. He wasn’t going to be forgetting it any time soon, not when it fuels his jack off sessions at home.

After the few lingering moments where the pair were still locking eyes, more of their friends started to show up. Seungmin was accompanied by his new girlfriend, glued to his hip who greeted everyone shyly. Hyunjin hadn’t actually properly met her, let alone talked to her yet, but she seemed nice. Once they had taken a seat on their cushions, Changbin rolled in with Felix and Minho in tow who was stuffing his keys into the pocket of his pants.

“You guys are here early,” he says with surprise.

“You were the one who organised it,” Jisung pointed out.

“That I did,” Minho nods, sitting down with everyone else.

Felix groans as he flops next to Changbin, “I’m hungry, it's not even funny.”

As everyone settled down, trays of fresh veggies, assortments of meat, and other items were brought to their table for them to cook. Minho decided to get started on grilling while Seungmin opted to bring the hot pot on the table to a boil. The smell of the food made Hyunjin almost forget why he was slightly nervous about going out in the first place.

He got back to talking with Jeongin, asking him how work has been treating him, what he’s been up to since they last saw each other, and even planned a time to hang out in the future.

“What about you, Jisung?” Jeongin asks with a mouthful of bossam. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Been up to anything interesting these days?”

Jisung finishes slurping up some of the rice noodles Felix had cooked for him from the hot pot, “here and there. Mainly just working now.”

“Ah,” Jeongin nods in understanding. “You always work so much. No wonder why it’s hard for you to hang out with us sometimes.”

That’s when it hits Jisung, causing him to pause and realise that something isn’t right. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realise it when it’s right there in plain sight.

“Where is Y/N and Chan?” He questions.

“Mm! Gonna…gonna cum all over your cock, wanna cum for you so bad,” you strain out. “Makes me feel so fucking good.”

Chan looks up at you, a deranged and desperate expression paints his face as you ride his dick, “don’t stop riding me then. Need to see that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Minho flips over pieces of meat on the grill, “Chan is out of the city with his family at the moment. They flew in a few days ago.”

“You’re creaming so much around me baby,” Chan growls, nails digging painfully into the skin over your hips. “This pussy is all mine.”

“And Y/N’s still at work,” Minho continues, plating some of the veggies he had been charring on the side too.

Moans erupt from your chest, projecting out into Chan’s lounge, “C-Channie, so good, make me cum, please-“

Jisung nods. It’s not suspicious at all to him that neither of you are here. The two people to an unwanted jigsaw puzzle that he had been piecing together just so happened to be ‘missing.’ Of course, none of the other guys truly knew why. At least he doesn’t think.

Maybe you two really are in separate locations - not that he believes it. The one thing he knows for absolute sure to be the cold, hard truth, is that you and Chan are most definitely seeing each other casually - fucking behind everyone’s backs. Then again, so did he and Hyunjin in some sense.

Nonetheless, for the past couple of weeks, Jisung was storing that message he received on your phone from Chan in the back of his mind. It affirms a glimmer of a suspicion that Jisung held about Chan previously; that he was seeing someone.

“Well, that just confirms everything then,” Jisung mutters under his breath, concluding his answer there and then in his mind.

“Confirms what?” Minho questions, his hawk grade hearing picking up on his undertone.

“Nothing, just a theory that I have,” he says smartly. “I was just thinking about it and...”

“And what?” Minho presses.

“And whether I should be sharing it or not,” he replies, unsure of his own answer.

“Well you have to now since you brought it up,” Felix exclaims.

“It’s nothing,” Jisung brushes it off, making everyone at the table wonder what the hell he’s on about.

“Nah, it has to be something,” Seungmin shakes his head and begins wondering what it is. “If it wasn’t important, he’d just say it. But he’s not.”

Is it even Jisung’s place to tell everyone? No. Should he still do it? No. But that’s what friends do. They talk and speculate about who they think are the perfect matches in the group or who out of everyone would marry if they had no other option. Topics as such.

In this case, it’s whether you and Chan are sleeping together or not, which Jisung already has the answer to. Whether he decides to tell the truth would just be speculation to the others since they never saw what Jisung did. They can decide to believe it or not.

However, does he trust his friends with the truth and to not say anything? Without a shadow of a doubt. So with that sliver of comfort in his mind that makes him think he’s not doing the wrong thing, Jisung chooses to divulge.

“Y/N and Chan are fucking.”

Everyone’s heads at the table fixes onto Jisung. Not a single mouth moved out of surprise as the silence threads its way around. It makes him feel terribly awkward.

This is news to everyone, particularly to the person sitting opposite him; Hyunjin. Someone who, upon hearing what just came out of Jisung’s mouth, didn’t believe it for a second - did not want to believe it.

“You’re lying,” Seungmin accuses immediately from the other end of the table.

“That’s your theory?” Changbin questions. “That Chan and Y/N are together?”

“Not together, together,” Jisung makes haste to correct him. “I just have reason to believe that they’re seeing each other casually is all.”

“I don’t believe you,” Seungmin responds, letting his strong opinion be known. “What is that reason anyway?”

“I swear on everyone I know, I saw a text message proving it on her phone,” Jisung mentions before his blood starts running cold. He almost gave away more than he should’ve.

Without context of the night in question, none of them know. Not even Hyunjin, who was a third party to it all, didn’t exactly know. He can only guess if what Jisung is referring to is the dirty text message that was sent off of your phone to Chan during the game of truth or dad. Then again, it’s not a thought that he even remotely considers when his mind has been stuck on the fact that you and Chan are potentially hooking up.

“What the hell are you going through her phone for?” Felix asks defensively.

“Yeah, that’s not okay,” Jeongin adds.

“N-No! I wasn’t going through her phone, I just…saw them, by accident,” he responds out of desperation.

He doesn’t want to disclose that night to his friends. Sure they’re all mates and share everything with each other, but that’s just Jisung. Hyunjin keeps aspects of his life relatively private and Jisung is sure that you wouldn’t appreciate him going around telling everyone what happened. But at that thought, he starts second guessing himself and what he just did. If he thinks you wouldn’t be okay with him sharing information about that night, how is it any different from him saying the same thing about you and Chan?

It doesn’t take long for Jisung to feel regret and guilt for ever bringing it up.

“Even if they are, who cares? Good for them, and if they start going out - even better. Y/N’s a massive upgrade from that chick he was seeing before,” Minho explains.

“That’s probably why they’re messing around,” Felix theorises.

“I still don’t reckon they are,” Seungmin puts in his opinion again.

“Why?” Felix asks.

“I just don’t see it,” he shrugs. “Chan seems like the type of person who wouldn’t sleep around because he only wants to be with someone that he really, really likes.”

Those words do not sit well with Hyunjin.

“And Chan told you that himself, did he?” Minho snickers. “If that’s your reasoning, then it sounds like they’re already going out.”

Hyunjin and Jisung’s eyes immediately lock onto each other in horror.

“I don’t know if you heard the word ‘seems’ in my sentence, implying that I’m only guessing but okay,” Seungmin bites back, earning him a finger flick to his arm by Jeongin for talking back like that to their older friend.

“Ten bucks that they are,” Minho says on a different topic. “Ten bucks that they aren’t,” Seungmin counters.

“A-Are you saying that none of you believe me?” Jisung whines.

“We’re saying that we don’t have enough evidence – any of us, not just you since you bought up the topic,” Minho replies.

“What about tonight? Neither of them are here, where do you think they might be?” Jisung attempts to raise a good point, but Changbin spots the obvious loopholes.

“We already told you. Chan isn’t even in the city since he’s spending time with his family, and Y/N’s still at work,” he answers. “And we know that because Chan messaged the group chat to tell us that he wasn’t going to be coming to dinner and we know Y/N doesn’t finish until six thirty.”

“They could be lying,” Jeongin conspires.

“That’s only for tonight though. I know he’s been acting shady lately so I reckon he is,” Felix announces.

“Hyunjin?” Changbin pokes him in the arm, trying to prod an answer out of him.

He responds quietly but honestly, “I-I don’t think they are.”

“That settles it then,” Minho begins instigating once more. “Two of you bet that they aren’t and the rest of us bet that they are.”

“We are not betting on our friends right now,” Jisung tries to calm the masses.

“Mm! How about losers have to pay for a day of food when we go to Jeju?” Jeongin suggests.

The majority of the table begins to erupt in agreement, making it impossible for Jisung to rewrite something he just initiated. Everyone immediately starts talking details about what food they would request if they won the bet, then would eventually return to the topic of you and Chan.

Hyunjin didn’t really want to hear another word of it. Instead, he pours himself another shot of Jeongin’s soju in the hopes his thoughts about the situation start to melt. Until he gets to that stage, it’s easy for him to wallow in his feelings. A selfish part of him wants whatever connection there is between you and Chan to falter to the point of no return. Then the other half scolds his mind for wishing such a misfortune on his friend.

But nobody knew. Nobody knew that Hyunjin had feelings for you nor did he want anyone to know. He’d rather die than tell someone he likes them for fear that they won’t like him the way he does. It’s almost like he’s saving himself from the pain and hopes that it’ll pass. However, there was also ‘instigator number two’ sitting across from him who had been making regular appearances in his brain since that night. Hyunjin doesn’t know what it means, if it even means anything for that matter.

So by the end of the dinner, everyone had their bets placed.

The whole lot of them lingered outside the restaurant after some filling meals as some of the others waited for their rides back home. All aside from Felix and Jeongin who decided to go bar hopping for more drinks. Changbin and Seungmin were laughing away at something they were discussing while Minho was chatting to his friend's new girlfriend. Hyunjin on the other hand stood away from them, up against the wall of the building as he scrolls aimlessly on his phone.

“Hey,” says Jisung, emerging from the restaurant.

Hyunjin turns to his friend, realising it’s the first time they’ve directly spoken to each other in a while, “hi.”

“You know it feels like I haven’t seen you since-“

“That’s because you haven’t, Jisung,” he cuts him off sharply, having already foreseen what Jisung was about to say after the word ‘since.’

He smiles sheepishly, “right. So, what are your plans now?”

Hyunjin doesn’t think and shrugs, “gonna go home, paint, watch TV or something.”

“Cool. I’m coming with you.”

Hyunjin didn’t have any say in the matter. Jisung was going to follow him home like his own shadow whether he liked it or not. It dismissed Hyunjin from grovelling in his feelings and mind after hearing the situation between you and Chan. One half of his heart yearned to cry while the other wanted to punch Chan in the ribs. He doesn’t know. He’s conflicted. But they are aspects that remain undetected to Jisung as they sat next to each other quietly on the subway back to his home.

The pair walked under Hyunjin’s umbrella for a few hundred metres until they were under the shelter of the apartment complex. He doesn’t mind accommodating people at his place since he spends the majority of his time in voluntary solitude. It allows him to fully recuperate from social settings in order to go out again. This time, with less company, it’s still equally welcoming. So after Hyunjin unlocks his front door for both of them enter, take off their shoes, and store them neatly.

“Ah~” Jisung sighs with relief, stretching out his arms and stands right underneath a device mounted to the top of the wall. “Air con!”

“Don’t you have one? I thought you did,” Hyunjin mistakenly thought.

“It broke,” he mumbles, revelling in the cold artificial breeze. “Been waiting three weeks for it to be fixed.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything after that. He lets Jisung do whatever he wants while he heads into his room to change from his clothes to a black tank top and a pair of shorts. In his spare room that he’s been slowly transitioning to an art space, he goes in and collects some of his unfinished art, paints, and brushes. After, he returns to the lounge, he sets everything down on the coffee table and pulls up some floor cushions for him and Jisung to sit on.

“Oh, tangerines,” he suddenly remembers as his eyes clock onto the silver fruit bowl on his kitchen counter while Jisung takes his jacket off and hangs it up.

“Tangerines? In summer?” Jisung asks as he goes to sit down.

Hyunjin places the bowl of the fruit between him and his friend as he lowers down too, “why not? I got them fresh from the market the other day.”

“I can only eat them in the winter.”

“Alright then,” Hyunjin shrugs and starts peeling one for himself as Jisung reaches for the remote and turns on the TV.

For a while, they sit together. Hyunjin switches between picking up his paintbrush and pieces of fruit whereas Jisung’s eyes are glued to some hot drama playing across the screen. It’s nice to just be in the same room with someone and to not have a full on conversation that ends up being draining on their social batteries. Both of them are the perfect introverts for thriving in those types of environments. A peaceful comfort.

Time seems to pass in their space as Jisung nears the end of the episode and Hyunjin is rounding off one area of his painting. By that time, Hyunjin had eaten five tangerines then opted to bring some more. He offered to Jisung if he wanted something else to eat or drink, but the man was so hooked on this drama that he didn't even hear Hyunjin ask.

He found it…slightly…endearing. Just a bit. But then he went back to his work and all was forgotten until Jisung finally started speaking again.

“Hyunjin,” he starts in a low voice, still staring at the screen.

“Hmm?”

“Are we gonna talk about the other night?” Jisung mentions.

His hand freezes over his canvas, a small dollop of paint drips from the end of his brush and onto his work. Hyunjin wasn’t exactly expecting to hear that question, yet at the same time, he should’ve seen it coming.

“W-What about it?” He responds awkwardly.

Jisung leans back, both of his hands propping him up from behind as he looks up to the ceiling, “the fact that we kissed, well… made out mainly.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, unsure of what to actually ask him here. “Do you…regret it?”

“No! No way!” Jisung exclaims rather quickly before he calms down. “No, I don’t. In fact…it was…actually really good.”

In the back of Hyunjin’s mind, he can almost predict what’s about to happen. Jisung wouldn’t have brought up the subject unless it was really affecting him - unless he was dying to get it off his chest. Otherwise he would’ve let it simmer down, but taking into account that it had been two weeks and he wants to unpack everything, there was clearly something irking him in a way that only Hyunjin seems to understand.

“You looked…good that night,” he adds then corrects himself. “You do look good.”

Hyunjin peers up from his work. What’s he supposed to say to that? Is he supposed to divulge the fact that he thinks the same of Jisung? He doesn’t even know entirely what he feels, having just accepted that he slept with his two friends and sort of went on with life.

“What did you follow me back to my apartment for?” Hyunjin gets straight to the point.

His friend sits back up and looks him dead in the eye, “let’s just say I didn’t follow you back to eat some fruit and watch TV.”

“Then what?” Hyunjin urges impatiently even though his and Jisung’s faces slowly draw towards each other.

Jisung’s eyes drop down to Hyunjin’s lips, and says in a quiet voice, “because I wanted to kiss you again.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know when, but it happened. One second he had his gaze set on Jisung’s soft expression and the next his eyes were closed, allowing his brain to focus on what’s physically happening. Their lips meet for the second time since the first, this time a little slower and tender.

As the TV plays in the background, all the two of them can hear is the sound of their mouths moving - breaking apart for a couple of moments even though their noses still touch, tilting their heads in different directions to see what’s the better angle.

The sweet, citrine aftertaste of tangerine lingers in Hyunjin’s mouth, a pleasure to savour when Jisung is able to explore it with his tongue. In Hyunjin’s left hand, the paintbrush slips from his grip, its tip smearing more paint onto his work. But there is a great distance between him and being bothered about it. He worries more about the reaction, that after minutes of kissing, stirs in his pants when Jisung’s hand finds its way onto his lap, barely caressing his thigh. His cock has started filling out.

He doesn’t notice it until slowly yet surely, Jisung’s hand inches closer to the ever growing, obvious bulge in his friend's shorts. The second he makes contact with Hyunjin’s clothed dick, a moan shoots through from his mouth and into Jisung’s. He pulls away for a second, staring at his lips.

“You really are a good kisser,” Jisung breathes.

“Jisung…” Hyunjin struggles, his forehead comes to rest against Jisung’s as he stares down at his hand. It palms slowly, agonisingly slow.

“You’re so hard for-“

He cups Jisung’s mouth before he can complete the rest of his sentence, “shut up, I know,” he cuts him off bitterly.

A chuckle reverberates through his hand as Jisung takes it away but decides to continue holding it, “let me help you then.”

It’s not difficult for him to read the room. He knows what Hyunjin wants and how obvious it is that he needs it. His cock silently screams for touch, to be relieved. So at the perfect moment, Jisung reaches into Hyunjin’s shorts and past his boxes.

A quiet hiss issues from his mouth when the entire length of his dick is free from restriction. His cock is beautiful. Jisung never managed to get a good look at it since it was either in your mouth or drilling your pussy from behind.

Jisung licks his way into Hyunjin’s mouth, his tongue dancing across his plush bottom lip before he breaks away for a moment. Excitement surges through him now that he finally gets to feel what he’s been wanting to since that night two weeks ago. He stares down at Hyunjin’s cock, pre-cum beads at the tip, some had already leaked down his length.

For Jisung to have him so aroused, so desperate for touch, proves the effect his friend has on him that he suspected was present. Hyunjin had an inkling of it when you all slept together, but nothing other than that. A pang of realisation maybe, that his friend was attractive and alluring in a sense, and it was obvious that Jisung felt the same.

He takes a soft hold of the top of Hyunjin’s cock, the pad of his index finger swiping over his tip and pulling away. He watches the thick string of glimmering pre-cum connect him and Hyunjin, forcing a wave of embarrassment to come crushing over him. It wasn’t embarrassing to Jisung. It was hot. So fucking hot.

Seeing the impact of his own actions on Hyunjin’s body gave him a sense of power so to speak. It made him want to see more as he started tugging gently at his dick. He trusted that Hyunjin’s pre-cum would act almost as a lube, and sure enough with more strokes, his cock was sticky with it. Nothing but slick sounds and tiny, barely there whimpers from Hyunjin’s mouth fill his lounge, drowning out the next episode of the drama that was still playing.

“Mm…it…mmm.”

“Don’t be shy Hyunjinnie,” Jisung prompts him to become more vocal, to express what he’s feeling however he wants. “We’re friends, since when have you ever been quiet around me?”

Hyunjin replies breathlessly, “friends…d-don’t get each other off.”

“Hey, you haven’t gotten me off yet,” Jisung reminds him.

Yet.

In his mind that starts to slip through his fingers like sand, Hyunjin was no longer able to tell if that was an empty possibility or a very real chance of it happening. For the time being, he chooses to focus on pleasure. The satisfaction of having something wrapped around his cock to relieve him, and the divine pressure that begins to store at the base of his cock from Jisung’s long strokes.

“Feel good?” He asks.

The question alone is enough to make Hyunjin lower his head and close his eyes, too shy to meet Jisung’s ardent gaze. Instead, he gives an affirming nod.

“Good,” Jisung mumbles quietly, then finds Hyunjin’s lips once more with his own to kiss him.

God he can’t stop kissing him.

The way they melt into each other is almost like they’ve done this a hundred times prior. Jisung tugs and strokes Hyunjin’s length so attentively, greedily drawing out every single reaction he can possibly get. The hushed moans that transmit from his mouth as Jisung’s tongue moves lazily to explore. Very abruptly however, Hyunjin breaks away from the kiss.

“G-Gonna make me cum,” he swallows hard.

Jisung’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head just hearing that. To him, those words are not only a specific type of praise or reward, but it’s coupled with the way that Hyunjin sounds right in his ear. His tense, high pitched whimpers become more frequent and stressed as Jisung has been building him up to the height of his orgasm.

“Cum for me then,” Jisung whispers to him.

Suddenly, the air snags inside Hyunjin’s throat. His head drops and all the attention gravitates towards his cock, shivering as he starts to orgasm.

“Ngh - ‘sung…cumming,” he strains out, breathing deeply but staggered.

Jisung catches his seed in the cupped palm of his hand as he manages to stroke the tip of his length at the same time. He looked so beautiful when his mind and body writhe under his touch. Hyunjin’s moans complete the satisfaction Jisung feels to have unravelled his best friend like that. To see ribbons of his white warm cum in hand makes him struggle against the unhinged part of his brain that needs to taste it for himself. He can’t help it when the base of his palm reaches his mouth-

But it doesn’t stop Hyunjin’s face from twisting and screwing into an expression of revolt.

“Jisung,” he says with a tone of warning.

He hastily tucks himself back into his clothes, springs up from the coffee table and heads to the kitchen to grab a paper towel. After soaking it a little bit in some warm water from under the tap, he returns to Jisung and cleans his hand. Hyunjin didn’t want to make a note of the fact that most of Jisung’s palm was covered in cum and when he returned, it was almost like it was never there. Still, he did him the decency of helping clean him up.

“Maybe wash your hand too,” he suggests with a concerned look still clouding his face.

“Don’t look so offended, Hyunjin,” Jisung chuckles airly. “You taste good.”

“Shut up, please,” is all he can come back with, then looks up to not only see that cocky, arrogant grin of Jisung’s but to also notice that there’s still a trace of his cum smeared a little bit on his bottom lip. Hyunjin reaches towards his friend’s face, thumbing the excess away.

“Don’t waste anything,” Jisung scolds him.

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes, done with the mortifying humiliation and stands up again to return to the kitchen with the dirty paper towel to chuck it away.

“Wait, come back! Kiss me one more time and I swear I’ll stop embarrassing you!” he calls out to him.

Hyunjin stops listening to Jisung and all the whiny complaints he propels from the coffee table. Instead, something else suddenly occupies his attention. The one thing that threatens to unbalance his mood once more.

“Jisung,” Hyunjin says. “Is it true? About Y/N and Chan?”

“Huh?” He answers, “Oh, yeah. It is.”

Hyunjin’s gaze falls to the floor. That answers that then.

Jisung then continues, “I didn’t want to mention how I saw the message though. If I did, it might’ve put you and Y/N in the spotlight about that night we had when you probably didn’t want to. Plus, they’re like jackals. They would’ve torn you to shreds just to get an answer.”

Hyunjin nods, appreciative of his friend's move, “thanks. But should you have told them about Y/N and Chan anyway?”

Jisung did realise at one stage that he told their friends about you and Chan, but didn’t apply that same energy towards bringing up himself, you, and Hyunjin. There wasn’t that much of a difference when he looks at it now since he’s also messed around with you both, similar to the way Chan is currently messing around with you.

But Jisung knows for a fact that he didn’t bring it up because he wanted to save his own skin or divert any suspicion or attention away from himself. It was just so scandalous to find out that the two least suspecting people on his radar of who in the group would be fucking, is you and Chan.

“They said they weren’t going to say anything,” Jisung responds. “I trust them that much, not that I should be making a big deal about it, but I want to go see Chan. I know that they’re not, but I want to make sure that they aren’t actually dating, otherwise-“

“We’d have to tell him,” says Hyunjin.

“Exactly,” Jisung agrees. “Again, I don’t think that’s the case. Chan said so himself that he’s done with dating and relationships, and I trust that wholeheartedly too.”

Hyunjin gives a nod and decides to hold out onto hope. Hope that you’re not seeing him and that it’s just something that turns out to be a stupid rumour. In the meantime, he needs to figure out his feelings.

Too tired to make the commute back to his own place, Jisung ended up staying the night at Hyunjin’s. He could’ve well and truly slept on the couch but for what it was worth, he was invited to sleep in Hyunjin’s bed. It’s not like they’ve never slept next to each other. But for some reason, it means something a bit more. Something hazy that exists in a twilight zone that Hyunjin only hopes clears up so he can decipher what he feels towards Jisung.

The thought floats around in his mind before he drifts off, sleeping comfortably, only to wake up the next morning tangled in each other’s arms.

Neither of them were bothered about it.

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut #felix smut #hyunjin smut #i.n smut #changbin smut #hyunjin x jisung

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miioouu · 6 months

Text

Studying with Captain Price

I wrote this while studying for my midterms and wishing Price would offer me incentives for every chapter I finish.

Tw: smut, age gap, a bit of dumbification, mention of marriag, f!reader

Imagine you're sitting, eyes glued to your laptop's screen, chewing at the end of your pencil as you scan through the thousands of useless words to find the overall important idea. Another huff from you as you see that you still have more than seventy pages to go through, made John tut and crack his knuckles as he gets off the couch and makes his way to you. Without a warning, stealthy like a fox approaching its prey, his hands wrap around your waist, lifting you up just barely so he could slide under you and sit you on one of his thighs. "You're being fussy, baby. Stop complaining, you need to study and get that degree so i can put a ring on that finger" he reminds you. His fingers lace with yours before leaving a soft kiss onto your knuckles. Encourages you to keep studying, pressing open mouthed kisses on your neck every once in a while, pinching your thighs at every complaint you let out, and when he sees you reaching for your phone for some distraction from the two billion pages chapters, his hips would thrust up, reminding you of what you should be doing.

And really, it should be encouraging, it should keep you focused, the promise he made about making you his after you finally graduate. But it doesn't. Instead your mind is filled with ideas. They began sweetly, thinking of the ring he'd get you, the songs that'd be playing, the night of as he peels the white dress off of your body. You hummed at the thought, staring dumbly at the bright screen of your laptop, it didn't go unseen by the big man. He chuckles, lips on your neck again, renewing the hickeys he left a few days ago. "Pretty baby, what's distracting you, hmm?"

Why was he even asking? it's obviously his fingers slipping the hem of your nightgown up, only to start thumbing at the elastic of your cute cotton panties. It's obviously the way his teeth are grazing the tender skin of your throat when you roll your head back. It's obviously how he pushes you off of him slightly to release his aching cock, only to bring you back down, moving your panties to the side so he can settle into your warm walls. "Come on, study well baby. I need to show you off. Make all the other boys jealous of my pretty, smart, kind girl, yeah?"

And you'd whine and whine and whine, whimper with each of his thrusts. He's so mean, making sure to go even deeper whenever you'd finish a slide or a page, making sure to still his hips whenever you'd take too long. He's so mean, making you cockwarm him, scolding you when you'd start to move your hips, threatening to leave you all alone in your misery. He's so gentle when you'd start to really get frustrated, tears pricking your eyes, even you're not sure if you're irritated at him or at that stupid course. He hushes you "Alright baby, need a small break?" He doesn't wait for your answer, pushing your laptop and notebooks aside, lifting you up and softly pushing you against the table, pressing your chest to the cold wood. He's palming at your hips and waist as he sets up an agonising slow pace. Is he teasing you, punishing you, or trying to calm you down? Whatever it is it doesn't last long, a plea escaping your lips is all it took for him to pick up the tempo of his movements. His pretty tip would nudge your cervix with each of his thrusts, his chest would brush against your back when he'd kiss your nape. And soon enough his sweetness would dim only to be replaced by an animalistic instinct. Your skin would bruise under his tight hold, your voice would echo loudly in the room, across the house. And soon enough, his warm praises will turn into dirty ones "So good for me. Such a good slut, taking all of me like that. Such a good slut, doesn't like to use her mind for anything other than thinking about my dick, hmm?" Oh he's so right, he's so right! How are you supposed to focus on your studies when his arms circle around your waist and push you back up, making him delve even deeper in your spongy walls? How are you supposed to focus on your studies when he's making you see stars, when he's making you scream his name like a mantra, when he's making your legs tremble from the intense orgasm? How are you supposed to focus on your studies when he keeps going, not even slowing down, even when you beg him to, not until he's satisfied, not until he paints your inside white, and make drip on your notebooks for you to remember later when he forces you to get back to studying, you want that ring right?

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price smut #captain john price #john price #captain price #captain price smut #smut #cod smut #cod x reader #female reader

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tuulikki · 5 months

Note

I really appreciate that in your response to the Spotify wrapped post, you didn’t just put, “you are not immune to propaganda”, but actually followed that up with thought-provoking questions that help clarify what that propaganda can look like. That’s really helpful and considerate and I really appreciate how kind and thoughtful your response was. It really helped me recontextualize my experience of and reaction to the misinformation post when it went around. Thank you so much

You're so, so welcome. I'm really glad it helped. If you ever have any follow-up questions or just wanna chat, hit me up

I've fallen for misinformation, propaganda, and conspiratorial thinking in my life. Probably everyone has, to some degree. But I've also been kinda obsessed with the study and analysis of it ever since, so I feel like I'm obligated to try to help people to the degree I can.

I will say, it also "helps" that I have the privilege of not being in anyone's crosshairs and not having a personal connection to the issues, other than the basic moral concerns any decent human being would have. A lot of people don't have that luxury. When people are scared and hurting, it's inhuman to demand that they overcome that and put more energy into fact-checking than do those of us with less pain.

So I guess I'll try to condense some key ideas:

Reblogging ("keep talking about this!") is harmful if it isn't accurate. Inaccuracy contributes to the fog of war, causes agony to people directly involved (they see you on social media: the internet is global!), and discredits the legitimacy of a movement.

Misinformation/disinformation blends truth with lies. Seeing one thing you know to be true next to an unverified statement will make you trust that statement.

Crises make us feel helpless and small. But it is privileging your discomfort over the pain of victims if you shy away from tackling complexity.

Sometimes it feels like a betrayal to reserve a space in yourself for doubt. But disinformation trivializes important issues. If something really matters to you, then you will want it to be accurate.

People will make good-faith inaccuracies. I will. You will. Governments/organizations will. People on the ground will. No one is omniscient. Don't double-down in support of the mistake and don't let one mistake discredit a good source.

People in pain will be duped, lie, or exaggerate. Many are seeking meaning with a greater need than you are. You must find compassion for them.

Our best instincts (justice) and worst instincts (self-righteousness) will be manipulated.

Responsibility for fact-checking falls on those of us whose distress is moral, rather than personal.

Everyone is biased. Humans always care for some people more than others. Find two opposing sources and read both: you'll find the truth somewhere between them.

Truth is a hill worth dying on.

Sorry this is a long post and maybe it's useless but I thought it was important to try

#conspiracy theories #disinformation #israel #palestine #propaganda

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carionto · 4 months

Text

The duality of Man, or triality? quadrality?

Alien to Human about New Human: Correct me if I'm wrong, but they appear abnormally large for your species?

H: Yea, he's a biggun alright, even without the EV suit I'd say... 7'3'', 310 pounds, bet he power lifts.

A: Umm... not to be rude, but, uhh... he seems, well... how should I put this...

H: Intimidating? Terrifying? Evil? Yea, if this station didn't have high screening standards I'd be totally pissing myself if he started walking towards me. The mohawk and eye tat totally make me believe he could snap me in two with a single glare.

A: I feel ashamed that my instincts are telling me to flee. I wish nature were easier to change.

H (shouting at NH): Hey buddy! Could you come over here for a minute please? You look awesome by the way!

A (whispering nervously): what are you doing?!?

H: Gotta overcome those fears somehow, I believe the best way is a direct confrontation.

NH approaches, somewhat slowly, looking around at all the other aliens in the station that are chatting, waiting around, or doing some work. He finally approaches A and H, and in a very deep and husky voice says: Um, hi, hello. T-thanks for the compliment, I, uh, was a little worried I would stand out too much here.

H: Oh you totally do, my friend over here is practically about to pass out from how much like a gothic viking of death metal you look.

NH: Oh no, I'm so sorry, I-I just grew up in Sweden-Delta and both my parents were huge into classic local music, so I just, uh... it's complicated. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare anyone.

H: Hey, relax pal, we're all good people here. Anyway, what you here to do? I'm planning on starting a bakery, still testing out what kind of flour most species here can actually stomach. My friend here is on the team working on Moon theft preventative measures.

NH: Oh, that's cool. I'm here as an exchange student with the department of applied astrophysics. If all goes well, I can finish my Bachelors degree remotely and stay here as an intern with the head researcher.

H: Oooh, that's cool. (so cool yea that you're apparently half my age but oh well guess I'm a big fat time waster like my father before me and oh god change the subject before I get depressed in front of strangers) That's a real big bag you got there, carrying some super secret science things, eh?

NH: Oh, that... uhh... guess it can't hurt to tell, security vetted it already anyway.

NH proceeds to unzip the bag and hold up a large white piece of clothing with light blue rings and accents, alongside a strange white cap with what looked like small fins, and a curious little backpack.

NH: It's uhh... um... my... Ika... musume... cosplay.... (oh gods I can't believe I said it out loud again)

After a moment of awkward silence, NH slowly puts on the backpack and presses a button on it's strap, and suddenly numerous light blue colored tentacle-like appendages sprout out from the backpack and move in line with NH's movements.

NH: I, uh..., got my engineering friend to make them articulate and interface with my contacts. I can make them do all sorts of things, like make various shapes and animals with them, though works best as a shadow theater.

H:...

NH:...

A now frozen out of confusion than fear:...

H: That's so

NH: (oh I know it's so lame, but I love that show)-

H: COOL! I don't know what a ika musume is, but those things look amazing. You said articulate? How precise can they be? I'd love to have something like that instead of my useless assistant. Poor lad can't make a piece of toast if his life depended on it...

NH: Y-you like it?

H: I LOVE those things. My daughter does cosplay too sometimes, but she makes her Dreadnought suits herself from scraps. One time the military came to our house and installed a limiter on the gauss cannon she found in a crash site, said it would otherwise start to generate small doses of radiation if used too frequently. But she replaced it with a handmade rail gun before the next convention. Do you go to those? Did you see a 7 meter tall hulking metal monstrosity with a bunch of candles all over? That was her.

NH: Oh, I think I've seen video of that, but no, not in person, I go to smaller events. I don't really like big crowds.

H: Oh yea, I get ya, you do seem a bit on the shy side now that we've been talking for a bit. Hey, no worries, like I said, we're all good people here.

NH: T-thanks, but I think I should be going now, the teacher is calling me over.

H: Oh yea, go ahead, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Have a fun stay and I'm sure you'll ace that paper or theory? Or whatever astrophysicists do, you seem like a solid kid.

NH: Oh, uh, thanks. Good luck with your bakery. And you with stopping those weird people from stealing more moons. Bye.

H: Bye bye, come visit, don't be a stranger now, I'm set up just a short bit from the main lift on floor 14.

NH: R-right, I'll, uh, be sure to stop by soon.

A is finally able to process what they just heard and says: What was all that just now?

H: What? Just a friendly chat with what is apparently basically a kid. Man, this kid's got so much going on, while I'm almost 50 and I have an oven. Life, man, it can go in so many ways. Anyway, let's go grab a drink, I'm parched.

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s-4pphics · 11 months

Text

let the rain sing. 2 (a.a)

wc;cw: 4.1k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap (oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi <3, SMUT MDNI, nipple play, eating out no bbq, strap ons, fingering, mating press😳, dirty talk, squirting, dumbification, slight dubcon, choking, mult. orgasms, abby’s so pussy drunk soo real, angst :(, mentions of grief and loss, dassit me finks

You were going to kill somebody. It’s been declared.

Your latest lecture was, by far, the worst you’ve ever had, and you were feeling vengeful. On your instructor, your classmates, everyone.

You seethed in your seat, smoke nearly wafting off you and suffocating you in the tight space of your car. You prayed that you wouldn’t get a speeding ticket from how hard your foot pressed on the gas pedal. The familiar sluggishness that overtook your form was making you hunch over the steering wheel, your worn eyes burning from tears as you recollected the pure devastation you felt when you saw terms on the screen that you weren’t familiar with yet just an hour before.

You’d brought the wrong notebook to your last class, making the lecture completely fucking useless because you had nothing to reference. There were so many systems listed that you hadn’t memorized, terminology you didn’t remember from your books. And you were going to fucking… kill somebody.

You’d been so fucking embarrassed. Nobody around you even knew or cared about your slip up, but you still searched around the room, waiting for someone to ridicule you for fucking up this late in the game. You were about to graduate, and you still were behaving like a fucking rookie. A first year. Maybe you weren’t ready for your fucking degree.

You’d scrambled to get as many notes down as you could without snapping your hand clean off your wrist, but it wasn’t enough to jog your memory.

Your vehicle came to a halt when you reached the now all too familiar neighborhood, and you put your car in park in front of the residential mailbox.

You hadn’t realized that you took the backwoods route that led to Abby’s neighborhood. You were parked right in front of her home, and you thanked god when you saw her car parked in the driveway. You never came to see her without warning, but you were so desperate for a distraction that you hadn’t bothered to text her. You need anything to ease the tension in your body from today, even just for a little bit.

You exited and locked your car before booking it across the street and up the stairs to her porch, knocking on her front door with urgency; The pounding on the wood made your headache worse.

It took only a minute for her door to pull open, and you were instantly swallowed up by the smell of flowers, her scent surrounding you and easing the tension in your shoulders. She looked so comfortable, only clad in sweats, a tank top, and slides, her soft hair framing her face. The tension in your shoulders eased a bit.

She smiled at the sight of you, the lines of her eyes creasing, but it dropped when she studied your expression, “Hi, you okay?”

You shrugged. You don’t think you were. You weren’t sure anymore.

Your breathing shuddered, your anger from earlier shifting into want when you saw her, “Um… sorry for coming without notice— “

She shook her head gently, “No, no, it’s alright. I was just reading, come in.”

She moved to the side and allowed you entry, shutting and locking the door behind you.

Her angelic voice came from behind you as you threw your purse on her couch, “Would you like some tea? I just bought this new flavor! It’s mint and chamomile and it’s so good. I usually don’t drink mint things because my teeth are sensi— “

“Abby,” you cringed at the tone you used to cut her off.

“Yes?”

You spun to look at her, “I don’t want tea.”

“… Oh. Okay.” She looked around awkwardly, her eyes downcast.

A moment of silence passed before she spoke, “Wanna go upstairs?”

You're glad she understood. You nodded with persistence.

“Please.”

You trapped Abby against her bedroom door, slamming it shut as you shoved your tongue in her mouth.

The kiss was eager and desperate, your hands grabbing everywhere they could on her body. You attacked her hair, tits, thighs, anywhere you could reach as you pressed up against her. Hers were on you just as much, but much more calculated, tightly grabbing at the plush on your hips, her nails digging through your sweater. She grabbed your ass through your jeans, spreading the cheeks as much as she could through the fabric.

Your mouths were smacking together, spit coating the outside of your mouths as your teeth clanged together. It was wet and sloppy, and it made you drip in your underwear. Her strong arms came up to wrap around your hips, and she led you both over to her perfectly made bed.

You detached your mouth from hers to yank her t-shirt off, her arms coming up so you could toss it somewhere. You eyed her bare chest before reconnecting your lips. You brought your hand up to her chest to squeeze her tits, tweaking her nipples with precision. She hummed in your mouth and kissed you deeper, her hands traveling to pull at the hem of your sweater.

You raised your arms up so she could remove the fabric, but before you could pounce on her again, she pushed you onto her cloud-like mattress, looking down at your laid-out body from where she stood above you.

But she didn’t move on you like she usually did; she just stared, her eyes wandering over your body. You watched her take in your bra-clad chest, wandering down to your stomach and belly button, only to come back up to eye your chest again. She was digesting you with such patience that it made you insecure, but you didn’t move from your position. Your heart matched the pounding pulse of your cunt.

She brought her hands up to your torso, right under the hem of your bra, laying her palm flat against the bare skin. Your breath caught in your throat when her nails dug into you, and you arched into her touch; you needed her closer. Her hand slowly dragged down your body until she reached the button of your jeans.

She didn’t undo them, dragging her hand back up your body until she reached your tits, grabbing at both with one hand before her other hand coming to join her massages. You watched her face shift as she touched you; her eyes were hungry but… fragile as her cheeks glowed in the dimly lit space.

Her hands slipped under your bra, her fingers immediately playing with your nipples. Your core clenched with every pull she gave them, your body shuddering under her precise attacks. Your back arched into her touch as your eyes fluttered.

And then you heard the ripping of fabric.

You looked down in shock as she tore at your bra, completely ripping it to shreds and tossing the flimsy strands behind her and onto the floor. You couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your face at her desperation. She giggled when you shook your head at her.

She leaned over you, her head ducking down to suck your nipples into her mouth; She moaned into the skin as her tongue swirled around you. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch her lath at your chest, coating them in her spit as her tongue flicked on your buds.

Your hips twitched under her body, “Fuck me, Abby, please— “

“Needa get you wet first, baby,” she hummed around your nipple, her words shaking the sensitive skin. You jerked, your legs twitching next to her hips.

“I’m so fuckin’ wet already, c’mon, gimme what I want— “

Your words were cut off by her soft lips as they molded against yours. You made a small noise, your eyes slowly fluttering shut at the feel of her pillowy mouth. She kissed you with so much care and affection, and it made you squirm, your thighs squeezing around her waist.

You were pulled out of your trance when you felt her hand on your cheek, her thumb softly caressing your face. You instantly stiffened; She was so sweet, too fucking gentle, and it your heart pound at an alarming pace, anxiety suddenly swirling in your stomach as you cringed.

You gently pushed at her shoulders and looked at her, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“You alright?” She checked in softly.

You nodded quickly, your pussy squeezing at her tone. “Um… yeah. Just— can we, like— “

She shuffled off you and stood at the side of bed, awkwardly grabbing at the back of her neck as she apologized, “Yeah! Um, I’m sorry. I kinda just— “

“Don’t apologize! I’m just in a,” Lie. Just fucking lie! You looked off to the side, “… kinda in a hurry.”

You sounded like such an asshole. You had nowhere to fucking be, but you always felt terrible whenever you were forced to shut down her intimate gestures. You had no choice but to be stiff with her; She knew what this was between you two, and it could never go beyond that.

You watched her back muscles flex as she rummaged through her drawer, pulling out her strap and some lube. She undressed quietly, only clad in her boy shorts as she stepped into and adjusted the thick dick on her waist, securing it before turning around to look at you, returning to her previous space between your legs.

You shivered with want, moving to unbutton your jeans, but she slapped your hands away to do it herself. She moved hastily, ripping your pants and underwear down your legs, and tossing them to the floor.

Your bare pussy throbbed as you held your legs open so she could ease into your cunt, but she yanked you to the edge of the bed, your ass hanging off it and dropped to her knees.

She shoved her tongue inside your pussy without warning, her wet muscle wiggling around, massaging your walls as your clit pulsed. Your head dropped onto her sheets as you sighed, her tongue swiping up from your entrance to your twitchy bud. She spat the wetness she collected from inside you onto your clit and you groaned.

She sucked it into her mouth, and you cried out, your hands flying down to her soft hair to pull at it.

She was licking into all of your spots with enthusiasm, and your hips bucked into her mouth as your orgasm quickly built in your stomach. She took time to learn your body in a way that no one else did and it always shocked you how fast she made you cum. You could already fucking feel it with every quick flick of her tongue on you.

You bucked in shock when you felt two of her thick fingers slip past your entrance, curling up to hit that spot inside that made you see white. She was hitting it with obscene accuracy, your pussy practically melting around her fingers with every plunge into you. You were about to see god, she was going to make you squirt—

“Fuckin’—ah fuck!”

Your orgasm was going to be big; you felt it and it was so fucking close—

You need to cum, you need it you need it! “Abby, fuck, s’coming— “

Your hands shamelessly flew behind your knees to hold your legs up, your shouts of your orgasm increasing in pitch. You craned your neck and you forced your eyes open to look down at her, finding that she was already staring up at you, watching you lose it on her tongue.

“Feels s’good, fuck— “

She grinned on your pussy, “Then cum in m’fucking mouth, baby, needa swallow it— “

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your walls crushed her fingers, your orgasm building and building and building—

You couldn’t even understand your loud babbles as her fingers dug into you, milking your spot and forcing your cum out of you and onto her tongue. Your eyes fell shut as your body wracked in pleasure. You shouted obscenities and her name and demands of fuck me harder! The splashes of your wetness coated your thighs and her blankets and her.

You could hear her slurping at your cum as it poured out of you, her tongue shoving in alongside the grind of her fingers. She was moaning against your pussy like she was cumming, and it made you cum harder.

You felt her pull away and out of you, the cap of a bottle opening and sloppy wet sounds filling your ears. You nearly screamed when her dick squeezed in between your still clenching walls. Pure pleasure and shock rushed through you, prolonging the last bits of your orgasm.

You felt a soft hand grab your chin as she allowed you to recover, your eyes fluttering open to meet her serene ones.

“Okay, honey?” She cooed at you.

You blinked dazedly as your walls clenched harder on her, and she chuckled, slowly pushing deeper into you, “Yeah? Missed me, baby?”

Your pussy clenched in approval, and you nodded thoughtlessly. Her nails dug into your jaw as she grinded into you, “Missed this tight fucking pussy. Always thinkin’ about it.”

You brokenly moaned her name. She pulled out and fucked back into you harder, making you squeal.

She released the soft grip she had on your face, tightly grasping the back of your knees, and pinning them to your chest. You gasped sharply as she slid deeper, hitting where you couldn’t reach, right where you needed her. You could already feel another orgasm building in your toes, your eyes watering from the quick snap of her hips.

You couldn’t think or talk coherently as she used you, rendering you completely brainless every time her fat tip hit your g-spot. All you could do was grab at her hips, her thighs, her sheets, and wail at the top of your lungs how good it felt. The wet sounds of your pussy drenching her dick made your toes curl.

You were going to sleep so fucking good.

“You’re so fucking sexy, holy fuck— “

Your stomach was in tight knots as her skin slapped against yours.

“Can’t think with this dick inside you? Huh?” She sounded so cocky with every sneer she sent you, your eyes shut tightly. It’s right there, right there right there—

“This is all you want from me? Need me t’take care of this nasty fucking cunt?” She spat at you.

You hated it when she said things like that aloud, when she made your indifference towards her known; It crushed your heart, but how could you express your grievances when she was this deep in your guts? You were awful and selfish, and she didn’t deserve to be used like this, but you needed it. Needed her to do this for you. It made you feel sane, every thought in your head silenced and replaced with her her her—

You babbled nonsense warnings of how hard you were about to cum, and you felt her large hand clutch your throat. You wheezed out begs, pleading her to keep fucking you there, make you cry. Please, please, please, I need to sleep, Abby, please!

“Shhh, I gotchu, baby. Such a good girl.”

Your orgasm shocked you and her. You couldn’t hold back the scream you let out when your eyes shut, —even with her choking you out—your brain rattling in your head as your body attempted to jerk away from the intense pleasure she gave you.

But she held your legs down, keeping you still as she fucked you through it. You heard her moaning over your sobs and keens, only making out so fuckin’ hot and gonna make me cum so fucking good, and it threw you right into another orgasm.

Your walls squeezed around her with such constriction that she could barely move, but she managed to pull out and you almost cried at the emptiness, your orgasm slowly dying. She grabbed your hips and eased you higher up the bed before climbing up, pressing against and looming over you.

She hooked your knees into the crevice of her elbow, popping her tip into you with no hands, slowly pushing in so you could feel her. The details of her dick were catching on your walls and the feeling was making you tear up. She eventually sat fully inside you, grinding her entire length in so her tip nudged your spot, and you were about to fucking cum—

You were completely limp under her, relishing the kisses and sucks she gave your neck. She slid out slowly until just her tip was in you before dropping her hips, fucking her cock back into you. You thought you screamed but no noise left you as she pounded your cunt. She was hitting you so good, rotating between moving with her dick fully lodged in your guts and thrusting as pretty moans filled your ear.

You came so fucking hard, only having strength to pull at her sheets and sob, squealing her name and trembling as she sent you to space. She was somehow louder than you were, and you knew she was cumming. You had no energy to move, to stop her, to do anything. You just laid there and took what she gave as your body melted into the memory foam, relaxing completely as she rode out her pleasure inside you.

Your walls were still contracting around her dick, hugging like they never wanted her to leave, wanted to cling onto her forever. Her movements eventually came to a stop as she whined in satisfaction into your neck. She plopped against you, your sweaty, heaving chests pressed together.

The last thing you remember before knocking out was her soft kisses on your skin.

You woke up to blinding sunshine. You forgot to shut the fucking blinds again.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shoving your face into the plush pillow under you. You inhaled deeply and immediately stiffened.

Flowers. Fucking flowers, what the fuck—

You never left Abby’s last night.

You quickly sat up as your head rushed, looking over to see the vacant, mussed spot on her bed. You could hear the shower running and quiet hums coming from the master bathroom, and it made your heart race.

You threw the covers off you and stood quickly, walking over to where your clothes were neatly folded on her dresser. You saw the remaining strands of your bra balled up near her mirror. You hated how your pussy clenched.

You grabbed your clothes and dressed in urgency, nearly tripping over your stubborn pant leg.

The clattering of your phone falling from your pocket shook you. You bent down to grab it, the bright screen reading 12:34 and showing six missed calls from your parents. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

The running water shut off and you tensed.

You shoved your phone in your back pocket as your flight senses tingled. You would feel awful if you left her place without warning, and she would probably never talk to you again if you did. You were guarded around her enough as it is, and the last thing you were going to do was embarrass her further.

You stood by the dresser, awkwardly playing with your fingers until the bathroom door opened.

A dripping Abby walked out, clad in a towel, her wet hair wrapped in another as steam left the bathroom.

She shut the door gently before turning to face you. She looked bright, but it dimmed when she took in your frazzled appearance. You needed to leave. Now, now, now—

“H-Hey, um… are you leaving?”

You nodded stiffly, voice monotone, “Yeah. I didn’t wanna leave without telling you, though.”

Her hand on the doorknob dropped to her side as she sighed in exasperation. She scoffed, “That’s surprising. I thought you would’ve taken any opportunity to leave.”

Your eyes squinted at her suddenly snarky tone. You two never argued: there may be tension or words left unsaid after you leave her, but you never fought about your relationship, “What the hell are you talking about?”

She looked at you in shock, “Really? You’ve been acting like being around me is a chore this entire time! We… We don’t even speak— “

“What is there to talk about?” Your voice rose to match hers, your arms flailing around. “We both know what we agreed to when we started this!”

“I know we did! But you…” she looked so hurt and her voice was cracking, and it was making you uncomfortable. “You just treat me like I’m— “

You didn’t want to hear this anymore. You interrupted her harshly, “I'm not treating you like anything! We’re behaving exactly how we’re supposed to be! If anyone were to find out about what we’re doing, we’re fucked! That’s… that’s just how it is now!”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth and sniffled. She nodded and looked down at her bare feet before meeting your eyes again. Hers were teary, and it sent a painful jolt from your chest to your head, your heart filling with remorse. You needed to lay the fuck down.

Her voice shook as she spoke, but it was stern.

“Fine. You… you can let yourself out.”

Your shoulders dropped and your tone softened, “Abby— “

She shook her head, hers spiteful. “You know where the key is. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

You couldn’t get your apologies out before she pried the bathroom door open, walking inside and slamming it shut behind her. You flinched as it echoed in your skull.

The ringing of your phone blared through her four walls. You resigned, leaving her bedroom and gently shutting the door. You walked over to her staircase, pulling your device out to answer your mother’s call.

“Hey,” You leaned against the stair railing, trying to ignore Abby’s quiet sobs coming from her room. Your eyes shut, guiltily picking at the skin on your lip.

Your mom’s angered tone blasted through the speakers, “What the hell do you mean hey! Where have you been!”

You descended the stairs, sighing when you reached the bottom, “I… was at my friend's house! We got caught up, my bad.”

“Yeah, well, when you get caught up, you better tell m— “

Your mom’s voice was suddenly cut off by your father’s distant laughter. You heard her shout gimme my phone before your dad’s cheery tone rang through the line.

“Heyyy, sweetheart. Ignore your mom, when are you comin’ home?”

You couldn’t help the tears that jerked in your eyes at his voice.

What the fuck were you doing.

You cleared your throat before speaking, “I’m, uh… I’m leaving my friend's place now. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, baby! Take your time,” You heard your mom yell out don’t tell her that!

“I love y’all,” You did, you loved them so much.

“We love you so much more. Drive safe,” You heard your mom’s shout and your father’s laughter, and more tears jerked in your eyes.

When the line went dead, you propped yourself over the back of Abby’s couch and cried in silence. You tried to keep your small breakdown short; You still had so much editing to do for your thesis. But you couldn’t stop your flowing tears.

The drops slid down your face and onto her soft lounge pillows. You never cared enough to inspect her living space since she invited you in the first time, but you couldn’t help your wandering eyes as you digested her living room. The area was quaint and serene: there was a small fountain propped on a small table in the corner of the room, crème and black walls littered with framed artwork, decorative tables holding vases filled with fresh roses, her coffee table that still held the half filled, rose-littered mug with a tea bag string hanging out of it, her reading glasses. A framed photo of a smiling Abby carrying her just as happy baby girl on her back in front of a lake.

And a marked book titled Working Through Grief right next to it.

It forced a loud sob out of you, your hand flying over your mouth to hush any noise you might’ve made.

You fucked up. You fucked up so bad, and you still had the audacity to be in her safe space. You needed to go; you couldn’t fucking breathe.

You snatched your purse off the couch and booked it for the front door, almost forgetting to retrieve the key to lock it behind you. You secured it and hid the key in its designated spot before rushing across the street to your car.

You grabbed your keys from your purse and unlocked it, pulling the driver's door open before flinging yourself inside. You slammed the door and your heavy head dropped onto the steering wheel. You took some deep breaths, trying to calm the nausea that hit you out of nowhere. Sobs wracked through you as you shook in your seat.

You were so fucking selfish.

daaaamn wassup y’all

writers block tried to get me omg y’all seen that shit😳😳 I FOUGHT BACK THO

taglist y’all know wassup omg love y’all @saturnsellie @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit

kissies mwwwwAHHHHH

prologue. part one. part three. interlude. part four.

#abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby anderson angst #abby anderson au #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby tlou #dbf!abby #works 𖧧࣪#𓈒∘☁︎let the rain sing☁︎∘𓈒

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doublekanble · 21 days

Text

Ghost in your home.

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 8.5k

or, ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand or to fix you only ever serves to widen the distance. (have you ever love someone who died and came back so much you try to forced them into the mold of who they used to be without considering the fact they're no longer the same person? instead of learning to love them again? well have i got good news for you.) tw: toxic relationship (what's new). 2-4 have a progression of injuries and gorish talk. semi unreliable narrator alastor

1. His house is always at a pleasant 20 degree Celsius, but it always feels like 0.

“Now, I’m sure this is a bit upsetting, yes. But I assured you it’s for the better— “

Sharp yellow teeth grinded against each other, Alastor do his best to keep his own temper in check when another pillow hit his chest. The sounds of radio dials going haywire blares out for a second before evening itself out and turn to a low frequency hum. He picked these because he knows you would’ve love them, seems your tantrum triumph your love for the colors, after all. Standing a respectable distance away from you, at the door, he simply tries to focus on the positive.

“Shut the fuck up!” you roared, whipping your head around to stare into his eyes from where you’re hunching over, he would try chiding you for your nasty mouth, but that can wait until he’s sure you won’t rip the carpet apart. “What are you even trying to do?! Was killing me before not enough for you? You just have to hunt me down and make me lose my job— “

“—An extremely unnecessary and useless job that you’ll never have to bother with ever again!” when he starts to walk towards you, arms open and still trying to put you above himself, your snarled at him and lowered yourself, as if ready to lung at any minute. It wasn’t until you bring your hands up that he realized what you were doing, your fingers clutching the duvet below you tightly. Almost like a wounded animal retreating into its hiding spot before choosing to fight, you sat on your knee with sharp fingers, and in a single tug, you tear it into two.

“I wanted that job, Alastor! That was my job!” bellowing out at him with a fury he have never seen in you while bunching however much of the useless cotton that can fit in your hand, you tried to throw it at him again. It fell just below his feet and bloom open instead. Alastor doesn’t bother kicking it off to the side, opting to step over it and the other mess you made in your room. “You go and get yourself one that can guarantee you decent rooming and livable wage in this hellhole without selling your soul you dog!”

His shadow covers your figure as he look down at you with what he hoped is a more than amicable smile. That duvet and the torn books, the lamp and the drawers, everything, was picked out just for you. Now it’s all on the floor, even before he got to your room. He laughs.

“That’s absurd, love! Are you really trying to justify working in that pigsty for nickels and dimes? And even so,” Judging from the way you cowered and the interference in his voice, Alastor made a wild guess that he failed, but there’s no need to dwell on the specific. Light escaped to the corners when statics runs through the air before cutting off completely and red stares back at him from the bottom of your irises, you grow just a tad smaller in his eyes. “There is absolutely no need throwing such fits over minor disagreements. We’re both decent folks raised right, aren’t we?” you winced visibly when he cranks his neck to a sharp ninety-degree, he almost feels bad for you.

“It’s not ‘minor’, everything I worked for is gone. You scorched them like they’re nothing…” You grumble out and break the eye contact, tone spiteful but small. There’s a tinge of cautions in it now, like a dog with tail in between it legs, still growling from it belly but caution of the fight.

“I wouldn’t have burn anything that meant something to you, love,” Cooing at you, he can feel his bones shifting back into place as Alastor reaches out a hand to smooth out your hair, finally able to frets over your messy and unkept state from the morning outburst. You keep absolutely still under his hold. “All those frivolous rubbish you kept in that tiny living quarter of yours combine won’t worth half as much as a single item in this room! And look at where they all ended up…”

“They meant something to me, Alastor.” He glances down at his hand, your sudden grip on it was tight, with the nail on your thumb pressing right at his vein as a warning. He can tell when someone’s doing something to scared him, this isn’t that at all. You seem to almost be unaware of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alastor finds the notion of you needing to know how to do this —or the fact you’re even doing it out of habit— wholly annoying and unpleasant. “I like them, and I worked to buy them with my own means.”

At that, he smiles, such a messy little thing, you always are. Awfully sentimental and always get caught up on the wrong thing. Alastor gets it, he really does. He gets sentimental over stupid, silly little objects and items too. The rock he picked up somewhere when he was five, placed in the corner of the drawer that he threw out once he found it again as an adult. His first tailored suit that he worked day and night for, collecting dust in his closet by the time he looked back. That letter of acceptance kept in a box, the one he burns the day that lousy owner of the radio station was discovered at a bottom of a creek and got replaced with someone much more pleasant.

Alastor has things he treasured too, and unlike you, he knows when to let something go and when to take a hold of it. That’s why your old place stand as nothing more than ashes blowing in the wind. You always have a knack for frantically holding onto your romanticism and the nonsensical. He honestly would rather be giving you more time to adapt, but not only are you horribly fussy about it, Alastor now has his good grace thrown in his face.

“Well then, if you’re so hung up on them, then you’ll feel more than at home to work for everything you’ve wrecked today, yes? Afterwards, we can get talking about getting you something else.”

You’re a terribly lucky thing, still able to even breathe where Alastor maimed so many for much less. He thinks you know you are, that’s only why you’re so insistent on being so difficult, glaring up at him with hate in your eyes and a such a rotten attitude.

“Get out,” your voice was small, but far from scared. With fingers curling around his wrist uselessly, you all but snarled, “Get. Out.”

“They’re awfully expensive, as you already know. They’ll do good to motivate you too. One stone two bird, as they’d say~” ignoring your silly attempt to provoke him into losing his temper again, Alastor wrapped his free hand around yours, and with what he thought was a gentle tug, pulls it from his wrist. He releases it when you winced, almost caught surprise by the change in the way you sit. Slightly hunching over, you held your hand close to you. His index nicked your wrist, and a bead of red ran from it.

Although it was no more than an accident, he knows you’re more than familiar with the ensembles of screams and cries running from the radio he placed in your room. You don’t need to know he will never let you join in with the harmony, but it’s nice to keep you on your toes sometimes.

“Stay good for me. Will you, darling?”

2. He gives you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more than you could ever need. He remembers your rapidly cooling body underneath him.

“Dearest,” sweetly, he calls out for you, gripping onto your shoulder, “Why are all the books in your bathtub?” he can tell it’s hurting you, but you keep your gaze far beyond the window and into the cityscape.

It wasn’t only the books, all of your lovely stationaries and art supplies and music sheets and what-else swims in that damned bathtub like a bloated corpse. Your room, although not as clean as it was before your little fit, it’s still a substantial improvement. It also gives you little to nothing in terms of fun aside from the lonely cacti sitting silently on a table with scratch marks, you’d refuses to step foot outside unless he needs you at the dinner table. Say whatever you want, Alastor is everything but heartless when it came to you, so he starts coming up with ways to give you some fun in your life.

He thought it’ll be the right thing to do, gifting you something for you to spent your times on and make a home out of your room. Which, in turns, might be the first push he needs for his home to become yours, too. He couldn’t really give himself too much credit, though. If anyone were to pay attention, they would all come to the same conclusion about you. Terribly restless and honest little thing, always on the move, always doing something. That’s what he loves so much about you, you can’t hide a single thought from him with how you can barely keep yourself together at times. Anything you feel always came up to your face. And if you were to dislike someone, he will know.

Even by the end, where you eventually grew quieter and more muted, looking behind your shoulders and fretful over invisible shadows hiding in the dark; your heart still stays so comically beautiful and kind. So lovingly, you still use the same fountain pen he gifted you. You were still you. So when he got you those things, Alastor was somewhat hoping to see just what you can come up with to further antagonized him. He’s not delusional as to hot-blooded and petty you are. You can hate him in this moment, but he knows you well enough to know you’ll never be like him. Always the kinder of the pair; you were never one for outright belligerent.

“I don’t know,” your voice was airy and light, then, “I don’t like any of them.”

But now, without him noticing, your eyes somehow carried the same glint as he does.

Down here in Hell, the day always been just a little bit brighter than the night. Obnoxious red always painted the sky, it’s really the furthest thing from the scenery back on Earth. Even then, the evening shade reflected in your eyes almost reminded him of the lovely days of being alive. With his red thumb practically piercing your collarbone with how hard he’s pressing down on you, sitting on the only chair in the room that’s still intact, by your half clawed-up desk, face sitting all neatly in the palm of one hand; you can almost be considered graceful like this, body lax and a wistful gaze. Alastor can almost be taken by the sight. Almost.

Although Alastor was only trying to turn you towards him for yet another scolding, for a second, he’d forgotten just how easy it is for his claws to tear. One moment, you were on the only chair left in the room, staring out a window and paying no mind to his growing ire. Another, you crumbled on the floor, hand replaced his. Slightly dazed from what just happened, he stands and watches on while you clutch at the bits of tendon and bones showing through skin, trying to squeeze the opening together with shaking hands. Red streams through between your fingers without a care as the familiar smell of metallic fills the room. You now faced towards the floor, frozen stiff like a scared little fawn. Alastor couldn’t bring himself from the sight. Right, you’re made of flesh, too.

He clenched the hand that touched you once to get rid of the ache soaking itself in his bone marrow, opens it, then twice, as if testing out the way your blood settles on his blackened palm. Shaking himself awake, he can almost feel the hunger clawing through his throat and molding itself into the will to bite. You really are lucky, if you were any old Joe, you wouldn’t even have a shoulder to rest that stupidly stubborn head of yours on.

“Darling,” a knee touching the floor, he kneels at his spot and reach a bloody hand out, moving the tip-over chair out of the way with another. An apology on the tip of his tongue, he bites and swallowed it when you inched yourself back just a bit with eyes still glued to the stained carpet. You wouldn’t really deserve one anyway. Long, heavy breath seeps through your bared teeth, your hold on that obnoxious gash tightened while the floor beneath you catches the blood that fell in droves. He sighs. “Come now, I’ll help clean you up.”

He can hear the sound of your heart, still frantically beating as you refused to answer or take his hand. Through the curtains of your bangs, he spots wild eyes darting to the door, before settling on his patiently waiting red claws. The moment you looked as if ready to bolt away, Alastor decides that he have been more than patient with you – seizing you by the elbow and dragging you up, he took you to his room for the day. You made a weak attempt at fighting out of his grip before giving up entirely. When your footstep slowly catches up to him, he thanked Lucifer.

In his well-decorated and tidy bathroom, over your humiliated protest and pitiful whine, Alastor forced a proper apology from your mouth while he scrubbed away the urge to sink his teeth into something and the crusted brown clinging to your flesh with a sponge and a grip too tight. You couldn’t complaint, too focused on what must be one of the worst pain you’ve felt since the day you were reborn. There’s nothing he can do for you, he thought to himself – you can handle a little more pain, you were so insisted about being so unfairly difficult despite his multiple humbling attempts at a peace offering or at least a truce. A brat until the end of time, no matter the length he’d go through for you.

Alastor would’ve wondered over and over to himself about just what was it that makes you so incredibly indispensable to him, but he knows why already. Standing by his window after patching you up and sending you back to your room with a “gentle” warning, leaving the bathtub ordeal to be dealt with tomorrow and having nothing else to do, he let a familiar tune plays from the neglected microphone leaning on his bed.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. Everything he does since the day he buried his bastard of a father below the soil of the earth have been mark and marred with several distinct goals in mind. So that his mother can finally live the life God owed her, so that he can live the life he deserves, Alastor cheated and lied his way through life and climb up the social rank. With bloody hands and a silver tongue, he bought a house in a nice neighborhood and became well known amongst the community for his charm. And somewhere along the way, with dirt caked under his nails, he finds you in his life and you stayed until the day you died.

Life in New Orleans was always colorful, even when he was surfing through the night alone. But with you, it’s like getting to live through the good part twice. The day you died, a part of him died with you on the forest floor. Blooming under rotting leaves and buried below the rocks is the one other person that Alastor dare entrusted with his heart. It rots too, along with you, but he never really minded it all. Alastor knows you; he knows why you’re utterly indispensable to him.

As a person, Alastor knows not of regrets. But as Alastor, he finds that thoughts and daydreams can never talk and laugh like you do. In your absence, his thoroughly decayed heart only grows fonder of the you he remembers. When he came down here, he wasn’t able to bring a single thing of you with him. When he finds his way back up there, everything of yours was burnt and destroyed. So for the longest time, Alastor lives on with the thought of you in his mind and your warmth in his heart.

It's awfully painful, he quietly admitted to himself, it’s awfully painful how, even though you’re just a walk away now, room set right next to his, divided by thick wood; Alastor has never felt so much further away from the life he envisioned. His claws, clean of your blood, dance on the windowsill as he hummed along to a tune from the older days, the better days. He’s willing to wait, however. You surely will come around, you have to, and when you do, you’ll laugh about your stubborn streaks and poke fun at his willingness to let you trampled all over his ego like this. Surely.

For now, for the rest of the night, Alastor sat and stare out the window with nothing in mind. He hopes this feeling of fulfilled emptiness can leave before it takes roots in his heart.

3. The AM radio frequency only read white noise. He can’t hear your voice.

Your miserable sobs don’t get any quieter, even when he slammed the door closed.

Leaning against it with a huff, Alastor brushes off the familiar and unwelcome fatigue settling in his mind and adjusted the collar of his vest with one hand. There’s no use in going in there again for the night. If there’s one thing he can ever be sure of, it’s that you would throw yourself out the window the moment you see him again and made an even bigger mess for him to clean up. It’s shameful to admit he ever lose control over himself like that. In a perfect world, nobody should know the exact buttons to push like you do, no word should ever get to him like yours does. But Alastor long since accepted that if you were to ask for his heart, you’ll have it on a silver platter. You’re very firm on taking the stand of martyrdom before you ever ask him for anything, but he likes to think that he’s working towards that.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastor started towards the kitchen. He hasn’t cook anything for the day yet, and he’s sure that the first-aid kit was still in there from your last tantrum. All this trouble, and he can’t even make a roast out of this. He knows you’re not too fond of meatloaf – or anything he made for you nowadays – but it’ll have to do, since you’re so keen on wrecking his schedule with your childish attempt at a spat and your nonsensical sentimental for that useless life you kept insisting you want back. Despite all of it, he does feel just a tad bit of pity for you. You, and your right arm, the one sitting silently in his left, bleeding all over his carpet floor. Hopefully this will teach you to stop moving around so much next time, you’re not unfamiliar with a broken wrist, but you just kept writhing and clawing at his hands, and his slipped.

Quite frankly, this is still a much better life than for you to be in the same room and so close to those revolting roughnecks and floors stained with Satan-knows-what. He can’t even fathom just why you’re still clinging onto it so tightly when there’s so much for you here. When he’s here.

He stills remember the sinking feeling in his chest when he makes his way to a figure quickly retreating behind the counter, under the dim lights and the rowdiness of a dingy café that barely qualifies as one. He wasn’t sure at first – Hell has a way of masking one’s appearance with a roulette game, and despite his growing contracts and connections, information might just be wrong. You could’ve been exorcised, or even worse, managed to wrangled your way into Heaven somehow and left him down here alone. But he placed his confident in a good friend, who promised him that if this isn’t you, then nobody else can be.

Bless the Christian God himself for his mercy, the moment he let that familiar name fell from his lips again after so many years of living without it, Alastor find himself staring into the same gaze that haunted his waking days and sleepless night. Holding onto you with a bruising grip, when you finally bring yourself to stare back at him like a deer in front of head light, his rotting heart comes alive with a fervor and he knew you’ll never be separated from him ever again. Back in his arms and under his wings.

Despite the time it took and your less-than-ideal reunion, he was more than thrilled to show you he finally made good of himself down here, just like he said he would. As Alastor lead you back with a smile splitting his face open, he tells you all about what he’s been doing. In his house is a room prepared just for you with everything you’ve ever love that he can get his claws on. It used to sit there and taunt him in the night where the silence stretches on and on and nothing in the underworld can distract him from the idea of your separation lasting until the end of time and the end of his life, that for all his preparations to make sure you two will never parted, he managed to miss the one chance he had with you in life. His halls echoed a voice that he barely able to recalled while he chased a shadow he desperately tries to remembers in whatever he can remember of you. The passage of time and his work might take your lovely voice and visage from him, but it will never let him forget how you feel about dark coffee or your favorite composer.

The time he lost being far away from you, the time you both lost being away from each other, Alastor was ready to make up for all of it. With good food, good wine, a good home and a good life. Finally, nobody will ever be able to turn their nose up at you both. If they do, he has more than enough means to fix it. His broadcast station no longer stays dependent on some white hotshot he needs to keep in a good mood at all time, it now plays only the things Alastor wants it to, forever. And now that you’re back, it’ll plays whatever it is you want too. All of it, just for yours and his sake alone. And then you turn your nose up at him, demanding for your old pathetic life back.

Ever since Alastor found you and took you home, you’ve been nothing but ungrateful, unpredictable, and downright hazardous to yourself and his furniture. Nothing like the darling he cared for from way back then. All bites and no barks, that’s what your silly threats and your mischief used to be in life. It’s nothing here, too, but he can only get so far restraining you to your bed until you learn how to break your own hands and slip it through the cuffs. You were always a lot of things, but this vindictive side of you still are so incredibly off-putting to him.

And yet, even with all of this, Alastor’s eroding heart breaks for you. Recently, he discovered an old book, one he took with him from the burning pile of your apartment and kept in his overcoat for a long time. It was a book that you shared with him when you both were alive, he was more than elated once reminded of the fact. Stained with black on the cover and slightly misshapen, the book must’ve gone through so much, considering your occupation at the time. Alastor remembers just how hard it is to get used to the disrespectful crowd down here, even for someone like him who can simply waved his hand and turn them into red paste on the filthy streets. You must’ve been so confused and scared, having to re-familiarized yourself to a new and much more unwelcoming world, making your way through an utterly horrific landscape without him there to help you with.

Naive, kind hearted and gentle you, even when you’ve killed before, you’re an easy prey in an awful, awful world. Mother always reminded him that wounded animal takes time to trust and they bite and clawed their way out of hands that moves too fast, so he need to make good by her words and keep on giving you just that, time. No matter the fact you barely improve, no matter how much time he gave you, or the fact it was him who clawed off your arm in the first place.

So, with a bright attitude, Alastor strides to your shut door with the sounds of your hysteria long gone. He knocks three times and calls out to you, then leave you alone with the first-aid kit. He’ll give you until midnight to do it yourself.

4. Love and hate are a hair away, he realized he hates loving you at times.

You’ve been improving, day by day. You stop biting back so much and starts to listen more, you sit when he asked you to and learned not to talk so brazenly while you’re at it, too. You don’t ever smile, yes, and his hallways still feel so cold at times. You walked as if you’re on eggshells, and you sleep with your body huddled under the blanket, as if there’s something hiding in the dark that will take you away if you dare peak out from it. You stacked books and boxes underneath your bed, too.

At times, Alastor felt like he’s having a guest staying over, maybe it’s because you’re acting more and more like one. Someone whom he knows well enough to accommodate their every need, but there’s an air of unfamiliarity, of the fact they’re not a close enough friend to stay over for so long, and their every decision needed checking. The thought itself is beyond ridiculous, he knew you for years before you died. He’s the closest friend you have, alive or death. He knows how you like your eggs; he memorized your voice; he knows when you need to sleep and when you like to wake up. But he digressed. Progress is progress, you’re getting better day by day, and he only ever have to threatened you a bit at times.

Which must’ve been why it felt so wrong, holding you like this.

He can only hope you won’t be able to discern his heavy panting over your own growing panic. Alastor could’ve sworn that he’s a better man than this, that he has more patience and more tact, already lived through a childhood with his head down and a smile stitched neatly on his lips. But he rationalized the way his pointer and thumb pinch together with the same compassion he have for a stray dog, separate only by your tongue, slowed and unmoving only by his own desire to give you another chance to explain yourself and take back your word and let him returns to his days of thinking you’re getting better, never minded the fact he’s not hearing anything out of his good ear right now. It’s not that he’s drawn to the way your pupils dilating and turned pinprick as your near incoherent pleading slowly cut itself off, realizing this might not end well. It’s not that he’s intently observing the trickle of blood running into the back of your throat, or the way your hot breath hit his hand, unable to close your jaw from the grip he has on you.

From the first dawn of this day until mere minutes ago, things were just lovely. Alastor managed to hold a ten-minute conversation with you in the morning, and by noon, able to coaxed you out of your hiding spot and onto your seat at the table with the promises of getting you whatever else you requested, as long as you keep your manner in check. You raised an eyebrow at the unusual and grand display of dishes for what you must’ve thought was a normal meal, but you stay silent. The four walls in your room had to be decorated by his own hands, and anything you refuses to keep, you throw into the toilet or buried under your growing number of plants out in the garden he’s not allowed to step foot in; thusly, there’s no longer a calendar in your room for you to keep tracks on dates.

When he pulls out a bottle of wine – full bodied, his favorite from when he was alive, it feels like blood sliding down his throats at times – you look at him, your eyes tells a world of distrust as he smile at you and pour it into two glass and hand you one. Alastor could’ve cried true tears of joy when you accepted it without making a fuss and simply placed it by your left, picking up a fork with your dominant hand. You waited for him to say something, before quietly thank him for the food and starts to eat.

For most of the meal, you work away at your own plate while he talks for the both of you. Alastor doesn’t mind, the fact you bothered to pay attention is good enough, occasionally nodding along or giving him a small huff or two. You’ve been doing a great job at staying in line ever since a year ago, especially once you learned you’re also made of flesh, just like the rest of the voices stuck in his broadcast. Alastor would’ve gladly taken this, if not for how you’re glancing off every now and then, contemplating something.

Particularly, you’ve been holding onto your glass for an awfully long time now, drifting off in the middle of him relaying an encounter he had the day before. Alastor pauses when you take it near your face and cleared your throat.

“…It’s not your birthday today.” You said, nonchalantly staring into the bottom of the glass, spinning it to and fro between the middle of your pointer and thumb.

“I’m glad you still remember my birthday, dear. But yes, it’s not! It’s surprising you can even tell what day it is!” he laughs.

You only glance up, before letting out a deep sigh, “You’re way more eager on your birthday.”

“Well then love, would you care to enlighten me on how I am today?” Alastor leans over the table with a smile, mood light and hoping you stop with the implications. You look angsty, however, gently lifting the glass up to your lips and take a small gulp. When you finally look at him again, Alastor felt his smile strains, he knows what that look means.

“What day is it?” with a clink, the glass landed on the table and stay there, “It’s not my birthday, nor is it yours. It’s not a holiday, too, far as I know. “

The corner of his lips pulls taut, his half-lidded eyes stare straight into yours. The sounds of something sharp pulls through the radio, but you refuse to back down. Alastor caved and took his own glass into his right hand.

“I was going to keep it a secret until we finished with our meal, but if you’re so insistent on spoiling the surprise—“ taking a long sip before continuing, if this goes south, he might need something stronger, “—It’s been a year since the day we reunited, right on the dot. I figured we should do something to celebrate, but you’ve always been such a stick in the mud about your past. So, I was going to have us finishing the meal first— “

The clanking of silverwares being drop onto porcelain plate was the first thing he catch, the ear-grating sound of your chair scrapping harshly against the kitchen floor’s the second. With both hand bracing against the table, you look half ready to launch yourself over it and kill him with your bare hands, but you breathe in, back straight, and simply look at him.

“Your mother would be livid if this is the you she knows.”

You looked as if you still have something else to say, but in a second, he have your face in his hand, grinning down at you while the base of his horns itch and creaks.

“Apologies, dear. I think I’ve heard something wrong,” the lights in the room flickered, in between the burning bright and the cold dark, he can only see red, “Do you want to try and repeat that for me?”

“Your fucking mother would’ve hated you.” Over the radio static bursting his own eardrums and your lovely voice spewing utter putrid, he tucked a thumb in before you can properly close your mouth, you clamped down onto it and grinded your teeth. He laughs.

“Oh~ you think you’re so incredibly brave, aren’t you?” sticking in another thumb, Alastor slowly pried your mouth open, the more he does, the quicker your attitude change, “So strong and so special. You can handle yourself just fine without me, can’t you? nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

“Al—waih—“ you choked out, desperate. But he’s not having it today.

His pointer and thumb pull on your tongue.

Alastor swore up and down, he was raised a tactful and patient man. He followed his mother‘s word very carefully and tries his best to be charitable with you.

With eyes glued onto the trail of his blood, quickly drying on your chin, then to your tongue, with increasing pressure, he can feel his smile splitting open his own face, but there’s no joy to be found in his woeful, heavy heart.

It feels so wrong, holding you like this. He feels so wrong, looking into your eyes. You almost certainly accepted your fate by now, he feels a bit bad for you. So utterly helpless in his hold, realizing just how little power you truly have without his generous love, giving into you and letting you plays out your fantasy, even after everything you did. He knows you’re still getting used to this, he knows you needed more time. Alastor would almost consider this a lesson learned, but the statics blinds him to your pain, and for a moment, all he knew was that he wanted you to feel the same pain as he does.

So, because he loves you so much, because you want to hate him so badly, he ignored your hysterical cries as he pinches down on your tongue, then in one motion, he rips it from your nasty, bitter mouth.

5. Before he realized it, you weighted 21 grams.

It’s almost like he’s haunted, at times. The thought would’ve been amusing.

Humming a tune and walking up the three steps leading to the front door, Alastor eyed the Ficus sitting on either side of him, a brown leaf fell from the lulling branch while he fetching the keys from his pocket with one hand. They’re wilting faster than he can water them. What a shame it really is, not only have you lost your will for everything, you also lost the mood to take care of tacky house plant decor. Maybe he should try for some Begonia next?

“I’m home, love!”

Alastor is greeted with an empty corridor and a faint melody dancing through the air. He can only sigh and step further into his home, heading for the kitchen. Every day he hoped something would magically change, and every day Lucifer laughed at him from the top of his luxurious throne.

You can hear him, he knows you do. You managed to crawl all the way into the studies just to put on a song the moment he steps foot outside the house, after all. It’s a blessing, how you haven’t bolt right back into your room the moment you hear the door opened, you must’ve been in a good mood. He hopes you can stay that way until tomorrow, but it’s fine if you don’t, as long as you’re willing to eat whatever he puts in front of you. He peaked into the spotless kitchen, and with nothing out of place, he stepped inside.

Setting the groceries down, he pulled out everything he needs for dinner. Already with a dish in mind, Alastor whisked out an iron cast pot and set it on the stove. He shooed his shadows off and away, he can prepare for this recipe himself, and he want to be alone for a while anyway. He prepares all the ingredients before getting to the rice. The music flows from upstairs as he works in silence, mindful of his own microphone and keeping it off.

He doesn’t remember this song, it must’ve been one of the newer ones Rosie gave him to give back to you, assuring him you “just need more fun things in your life, then you’ll get to talking again”. Alastor wasn’t sure if you would’ve like it enough for him to keep it, but he wasn’t going to bother fighting with Rosie.

Turning the fire down, he closed the lid and set the kitchen timer to twenty-two on the dot. It should be enough time for him to make the roux, but he can check the rice early. Pouring oil into a pot to his right, he turned the fire up to max and began whisking the flour into it, when it turned brown, he drops the onion in and lower the heat to medium.

If not for him constantly reminding you, you would’ve ignored the needle-like pain in your stomach. Granted, you ignore it even when he did remind you, so he took to just make things and leave it in your room until you’re in the mood to eat. It’s been going on for two years now, enough time for him to regret playing into your hands and losing his temper. Alastor had hope that if he were to deprived you of everything he’s willing to give you for some times, you would finally get it through your thick skull that he only ever wanted good for you. Only, the you that greeted him after three long month was silent and still, lying on your bed with close eyes. The only sign you’re still alive in the first place was your breathing, almost invisible to the common eye.

He remembers hovering over you, a finger set on your chin and pulls it down. With an odd lump in his throat and a heaviness he rarely knows of, Alastor let out a weak chuckled, watching as a reformed lump of meat pulsates and weakly twitching in place of your tongue. Turns out, without the correct nutrients, the citizen of hell could only pray that whatever injury they obtained will kill them faster than they can heal it. And just as fate would have it, you’ve been holding onto such a thing ever since he locked you in.

Maybe that’s why your eyes haven’t change since, maybe that’s why you refuse to talk, maybe it still hurts, and maybe you afraid of getting used to the comfort he provides you. Or maybe you hated him for it, he wouldn’t know, you never really made yourself clear since that day. It’s the longest you’ve ever gone without anything that he gave you, and he’s trying his best now to make sure it’ll stay the longest you will ever go without anything ever again.

The roux turned a dark, shiny brown. He added almost everything else and stirs it for five minutes sharp. Quickly checking the rice once the timer calls for his attention, Alastor turned off the fire and reaches for the tomatoes and stocks. The music from upstairs come to a halt.

It’s became synonymous with you now, silent and stillness. Somewhere in the middle of an evening, Alastor came to the oddly upsetting realization that you just as well never return to the same you that he was trying so hard to recover.

Throwing in the two ingredients, he raises the heat back to high. When it began to boils, he puts it to medium and let it simmers for six minutes. A shadow came by and whispered winds and chimes into his flickering left ear, you’re back in your room with the gramophone.

When he was alive, every moment spent with you was bright and different. You were a wild spark of fire in the cold city, silently chasing after dreams with a caring and delicate heart. Your shared mirth used to fill the room as you talk over jazz and the constant chattering from loudmouth patrons. Those days became the only thing he held onto in the midst of his busy life down here.

Then one day, within his first few years of working his way up the ladder, still without your shadow haunting the empty room in his house; Alastor looked back on those days, the better days, and realized he can’t remember the exact note of your voice, he can only recall that you were happy. So he hunts down every corner of hell in a rush, afraid that the rest of you will slip away again. He laughs silently to himself; a meaningless thought crosses his mind. Is there even any of you left to fall through his fingers?

Putting the heat to low and adding in butter, he stirs until it blends and throws the shrimps and scallions in and something else hit him. He hasn’t been able to pin down the exact note and tone you tend to laugh in yet, nor have he able to watch any of your painting comes to life. He kept on stirring, after three minutes, he added seasoning. He catches a faraway song, barely making out the notes, he thinks that’s your favorite.

For weeks now, he kept going over everything he could’ve done wrong. Although he tries to ignore it, the animosity you shown since the second you saw him in Hell, maybe even before you’re dead, it might’ve stemmed from before he chased you down in the woods. But you know what he can do even in life, and you should’ve known Alastor would never hunt you down just to lock you inside the cacophonies he broadcasts on the daily. Alastor can at least understand that he struggled between giving into you and maintaining control. Perhaps that’s where your path diverts, perhaps you’re not meant to be by his side after all, ever since the day you die. Maybe you died before he even got to buried you, but Alastor can no longer pinpoint since when you died because he doesn’t know since when you started to play along with him. All he knows is that if he were to stops your breathing today, you’ll wake up tomorrow with no faith lost in him. The thought sits in his stomach and made itself home. But that’s alright.

Alastor rather stomached the idea of breaking you, the alternative was worse. If a life time of chasing your shadow only resulted in endless hate, that’s alright to him. As long as you’re still breathing and by his side, there’s surely a place for him in your heart. Surely.

His microphone sudden sparks up to life and died again. Right, the food, dinner. He gets to setting up your plate.

Having lived for this long, Alastor’s used to playing along and getting along with the oddest of crooks. He’s unsure of how to ever get along with you, though. You have been nothing but nasty and callous before, but at least you talk and react. Now, you walk at a slowed pace, no longer making any sort of distinguishable noise as you do. Less of a guest, and more of a transparent image of someone he barely able to call himself an acquaintance to.

Or more precisely, it’s as if he’s fostering a ghost in his own home, and now he’s going through all the troubles that came with one. At first, the ghost thrashed and trashed everything, confused and in pain and determined to hurt. Then, the ghost calmed and it starts making compromises to try and look for a way out. What he have now, Alastor muses as he plated your meal and ready his heart, is the melancholy of the ghost. When the grieving and the anger and the bargaining and the hurt passes on and left the shell behind, there’s only ever the emptiness lingering.

The stairs creaks under his shoes, shadows hanging around the corner and slowly melts back under Alastor as he walks by. One in particular waits on your door and chirps when he stepped towards it, seemingly in a good mood, its laughter akin to windchime as it reconnects itself to him. He ignores it and knock three times to give you time and hide away whatever it was you’re working on. The music kept on playing, a vulgar but joyous song burst through the door the instant he opens it, Alastor swallowed his disdain and step inside with a smile.

“Lovely tune, dear. Is it one of Rosie’s discs?” facing out the window, you sit at your desk, long void of the marks from your first tantrum. From here, he can see your index finger tapping gently to the beat, you must’ve memorized it. “Certainly interesting taste you both shared…but I’ll make sure to ask her for more.”

Living with the melancholy of the ghost means you know there’s something there, behind the peeling wallpaper and below the hollowed floorboards. You talk to it every day. You tell it about the dreams you abandoned on the sidewalk since you were a child in favor of carving out a path for yourself, you tell it about your day. You whispered words heavy with affection in the morning and practice your apology to it in the night. You do all of it, knowing it doesn’t have the vocal cord to formulate words, knowing even if it does, it won’t talk to you anymore. But you have hope.

Akin to whispering into an empty seashell, he supposed, there’s always the sounds of the waves hiding deep inside, but there’s no voice. He should get you some seashells, maybe that can give you some joy.

“I figured you’d like something a bit more filling, so shrimp étouffée it is! I met sir Vox on the way to the grocer, and we have a rather pleasant chat. He mentioned some talkies I think you’d quite enjoy, too.” he laugh, standing behind you. Alastor catches the charcoal line on white paper, knitting together to create a familiar figure that he just can’t quite put together yet, more taken aback by the fact you haven’t bothered to cover it up at all. He divert his eyes and place the plate down, right by your left hand. “But you wouldn’t ever be in the mood for it, and it sounds far from my taste, so I turn down the offer to go with him.”

Living with a ghost means you see shadows in the corners of your eyes and hear your familiar home echoes a thousand scream at night, but living with its melancholy means plunging deep under the ocean floor and hearing nothing but the silent of the water. Where there’s supposed to be sound, there’s only the slight echoes of one, barely reaching your ears under the blue. You learn to embrace the silence and linger in its weightlessness.

His ears flickered twice when a sigh escaped your lips, barely audible under the belting of a jazz singer. Alastor let his right hand lingered by your shoulder, you shrink a bit under his touch, he doesn’t move.

“The Ficus died. I was hoping they last longer than the roses would, but you were right,” Leaning in just a bit closer, Alastor laugh, “I never really have a talent for cultivating plants, it seems.”

And then one day, you look back, and maybe you’ll finally see that there was no ghost. And you’re all alone in a house that used to be a home, with dirt under your fingernails and blood leaking under your door. And while you drag a corpse to its final resting place, you hear dogs barking and feel rows of sharp teeth bit into your arms, there’s a familiar clicking sound. When you look up, the world embraces you in a white and burning pain for a single tick of a second. And then you came back to life, just as new. In a new house, in a new world, you do it all over again, you go and look for the ghost.

But a ghost is see-through and rigid cold and it held onto regrets it can never fulfill with cold hands and misty eyes. You’re warm and tangible and alive under his hands even after everything but he’s not sure if you still have any regrets you haven’t given up on, other than meeting him. Having a ghost haunts him would’ve bring less heartache, too.

Ever since you came back into his life, you came back wrong. And every attempt to understand you, to bring back the old you, the you he adores, the you he longed for, only ever serves to buried that you six more feet under the ground. He hates to admit defeat, but he thinks you won’t ever be the same anymore.

“I’ll think I’ll get some Gardenia and Begonia tomorrow for the front porch, but you should keep some in here. It must be boring only seeing the same five things a day, love.” With that, he slinks back out the hallway. Taking a final look of you, he closed the door without a goodbye, he never felt well saying such a thing to you anymore. As Alastor walks back down to the kitchen, another song plays out from your room.

Like the rest of the plants Alastor inevitably rots but refusing to stop holding onto, you also rot. His dinner table is set for two, and one of them is for a corpse. For the rest of the night, like every night, he drowned out the sound from your room with a bottle of whiskey and the thought of a you he can barely recalled. Without knowing what he’s holding onto, Alastor came to an oddly hallowing realization that he might've never know you at all.

He hoped you won't know, but maybe that's why you let him see your sketchbook.

(if he’s a ghost, will you let him hold you again)

#alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel oneshot #hazbin hotel oneshots

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sanzaibian · 2 months

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The last few people who were on break were now back in their seats. We might not be a lot in this meeting room-like conference room, but for a seminar of linguistics and philosophy, I guess we’re in good numbers. It’s only the second seminar like that that I’ve attended, having merely started my master’s degree, but even though not everything was in my area of interest, it still seemed interesting… if I understood what those researchers were saying correctly…

“So, welcome back everyone to the second session of the seminar ‘Identity in Language and Thought’, this afternoon we welcome Matthew Zubair from the University of Southern California who will talk to us about Identity, Identification and Coreference.”

As the speaker stopped, a great-looking young man in suit took place at the center of the room. He really came in overdressed, as if he was at a business meeting, not a seminar in a small city…

As he took place, sitting on one of the tables, he started :

“So, I guess we’ll start !”

He has a slight Indian accent, but most importantly the demeanor and tone of a business promoter. I guess even researchers in philosophy of all thingscan look cool, unlike skinny me with my short hair… Even an afro I can’t style it...

“We talked about this morning about copular sentences, so sentences with a copula, in English ‘be’, a word that has no meaning besides putting in relation the subject and the object, and more precisely, ascribing a property to the subject. We also saw that there are multiple types of copular sentences, Predications like ‘John is an actor’, Specifications like ‘The best candidate is John’, Identification like ‘This is John’ and Identity like ‘Superman is Clark Kent’.”

Matthew’s currently only retreading what we talked about this morning. I guess he finds it important to go back to the basics…

“My area of interest are the Identity and the Identification sentences. So, before anything, a bit of history. Frege is the first one to ask questions about these kinds of sentences. He enunciates two puzzles, which look at sentences which are virtually identical yet are received quite differently. For example, if I say ‘Matthew Zubair is Matthew Zubair’, it seems like a useless sentence. Yet, it’s identical in structure to ‘Matthew Zubair is Matt Zubair’, which is informative.”

I nod. What Matt’s stating might be obvious, yet it means that there is a difference under that.

“So, what’s different between those two sentences so that we find the second good, but the first bad ? In both circumstances, we are talking twice about the same person. Yet, in the second sentence, we are actually talking about two modes of presentation. In short, while in both sentences we are identifying a same referent, in the second there are actually two references. ‘Matthew Zubair’ and ‘Matt Zubair’ are two references that are distinct, but they point to the same person – me. Therefore, the second sentence is informative because we are learning that two references are actually references to a same referent. Therefore, an identity sentence is a sentence that shows that two references belong to the same referent.”

It might be a bit finicky a definition, but it’s actually logical. Basically, someone might be known by different ways, and while it’s useless to learn a name we know, it’s useful to learn a name we don’t.

“However, you might know that a name is not the only thing someone is. Indeed, a name is only a property that someone possesses, and we can possess others. For example, ‘Matt Zubair is cool’ is also an identity sentence.”

Everyone chuckles. But he’s right, cool is indeed a property Matt Zubair possesses !

“But then, something very interesting happens. The properties don’t actually attach to the referent, they actually attach to the reference. This means that we might even attach some properties that are contradictory to two references, while they’re actually referring to the same person. Say you have a stage name, and you’re well known. People who know that stage name may say ‘That person is cool’, but when they see you in real life, they might say ‘That person isn’t cool’, even though they are sane and don’t tend to contradict themselves ! Yet they just said something illogical, and that’s because they attributed qualities to your references, not to you yourself.”

Yeah, I guess there are aliases I’m more well known with. Back in my day, I wrote some stories that were actually well-liked, you know. People might even have thought that I was cool – though it’s obviously untrue.

“Now, what are these references, or modes of presentation ? How are they structured ? If we go to the root of concept, we find that by someone’s identity, we actually mean someone’s role. Therefore, everybody is a conjunction of multiple roles, names and properties, that we regroup in what we call a ‘mental folder’. A mental folder, in this view, is an amalgamation of multiple traits that someone has, and you may open folders when you hear of a new individual that you meet. However, this is not entirely true, as an amalgamation of properties and roles can actually fit multiple people. Say you’re cool people. If there was a mental folder with only the property ‘cool’, it could be referring to any of you, which goes against the very fact that a mode of presentation anchors to a specific person. Therefore, a mental folder is an actual thing who’s linked to an actual referent, and it’s that link that defines it.”

It’s logical, everyone of us can be considered cool, yet we’re all very different. If someone only knew one of us by one of our aliases, they could theoretically mistake for example me for the one sitting to the right of me, yet it doesn’t happen.

“The reality of the mental folders can be explained by the fact that identical folders can actually exist. For example, take a slow night in which you just wander on Tiktok. You see a video from a content creator that you really like, but for some reason you forget to save it. After a good while, you forget everything about that content creator, except that you really liked that one video, and then you stumble onto another of their videos that you really like. You open another mental folder, and, same thing, you forget most of the things about that video, except that you really liked it. Now, you’re left with two identical folder, that refer to the same person, yet you’re certain that they are two content creators.”

Yeah, I guess I can imagine that. I’ve spent way too much time on Tiktok, and don’t really bother liking the videos… I look around, and the one on the left of me is looking at his phone. When I nudge, I see Tiktok. Should have guessed.

“Therefore, mental folders are identities, someone that exists in the eyes of another. We may even go further and say that the only way someone is aware that there are things of interest is through mental folders. Every time a new item of interest is discovered, a folder is opened for it. However, even though those folders can be redundant, it doesn’t mean that those two folders that have been opened with the same referent aren’t two complete identities. In fact, quite the opposite. You all have multiple identities, and therefore are seen as multiple people by some others. Therefore, there is your cool stage name identity, and your normal regular person identity, which are both real people in the eyes of those who have two different mental folders.”

Yeah, that’s for sure. The one I am on Tiktok is very different to the one I am in real life. That’s why I don’t really show myself in what I produce. I don’t want people to associate me with my real self and harass me…

“But, now that we have the mental folders sorted out, let’s go back to the very beginning and talk about identity sentences : what happens when one learns that two mental folders are the same ? In theory, anything could happen, but Strawson is kind enough to tell us that two mental folders who refer to the same subject must merge.” Everyone has a small laugh. “Therefore, when one says ‘Superman is Clark Kent’, it is a sentence that means ‘The mental folders of Superman and Clark Kent should be merged’. This is what, deep down, identity sentences are, an invitation for a mental shuffling. It also means that we can finally thoroughly prove why ‘Matthew Zubair is Matthew Zubair’ is an ill-formed sentence : it invites us to merge two mental folders which aren’t separate, therefore to do nothing, which is not informative.”

I guess it’s quite fucked up how I maintain that difference between me and that identity on Tiktok, I’m not being very truthful… I should really be clear and honest with all my followers…

“So, now, how do the two mental folders merge ? There are multiple ways to imagine it, and we are reaching the limits of our knowledge, here. Either we create a new mental folder that encompasses both of the old mental folders, or we make it so that one mental folder is subsumed into the other. I’m more partial to the second option, because the first option means that we create a new folder that doesn’t have any direct reference to its referent, which to me goes against the very foundation of the concept. However, the second option also means that there is a ‘true’ identity, which is theoretically dubious.”

I push back my dreadlocks. Even though I wasn’t sure when I decided to wear them, it’s become my best decision ever. Yeah, I might be a bit of a different person outside the camera, but I feel like I’m showing my real, goofier self on rather than off…

“Let’s finish this talk with Coreferences. These are a topic our linguists friends might be more familiar with, but basically, it’s the phenomenon in which two different words refer to the same object. Basically, I could talk about ‘a Tiktok celebrity’ and then talk about ‘you’, and even though they are two different expression, they are referring to the same referent. To formalize it with the mental folders, a coreference is when there are two expression that refer back to the same referent, or to be more precise, two modes of presentation. Therefore, in identity sentences, we are making a coreference of a single referent, that refer to two different mental folders in the listener. Say a listener has ‘the philosophy lecturer’ and ‘my agent’ as two different mental folders, but I say ‘The philosophy lecturer is your agent’. I’m making a coreference out of the philosophy lecturer and your agent, therefore showing you that they are the same referent, therefore urging you to merge the two folders.”

As I saw my agent finishing his lecture quickly, talking a bit about different kinds of coreference, he asked us if the lecture was good enough for his class next week, and I held my finger up – I love doing that, it flexes my forearm just right – though the others mostly stayed dumbfounded. You know, I started my career with writing help, so these kind of discussions weren’t that rare. Back then, I didn’t even show my face, how ridiculous I was !

“Matt, ya good now, can we finish that fucking business meeting ? I wanna visit our new content mansion, bro !” Said someone with big fluffy hair. I somehow feel like they were the speaker… yeah, of course, the best lip-sinker !

- Don’t worry, you’re going to make a lot of money, you lot ! I’m investing in you ! Now, do you want to take a group photo to commemorate the event ?”

Everyone cries of joy, as we gather in front of the meeting room. The big life we all worked for so long is finally at our doorstep ! We all posed, I did my special grimace, and we posted that photo on Instagram.

The #IdentityHouse is finally #opening ! Come watch our #live on our #Tiktok !

#male transformation #male tf #nerd to jock #douche tf #tiktok tf #mental change #reality change #mass tf #transformation #tf story

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martha-autie · 11 months

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Levels are important and so is using them correctly.

There is a misunderstanding about levels that borders on abelist. Some of you may have seen others say "levels are harmful to low support needs autistics" or "some days I'm level 1, some days I'm level 2 and some days I'm level 3".

These statements are harmful for an assortment of reasons and I plan to discuss some of those today.

First:

Levels are not inherently harmful to lower aupport needs autistics the idea that level 1 means no support needs, is not built into the level system. Level 1s require support, level 2s require moderate support, level 3 requires a lot of support. Instead of attacking the level system, the focus should be on addressing the incorrect belief that level 1s don't need any support. For moderate and high support needs people, levels can be invaluable. It can be very difficult for me, a level 2, to explain how my autism effects me. Being able to tell my doctors and the government, that I am a level 2 takes the pressure of trying to verbalize how my disability impacts me. If you can explain how your autism effects you that's great but many of us cant and that is why levels are important. It is shorthand for low, moderate and high support needs people who cannot put into words how autism impacts them.

Some may say that level 1s will be denied services due to misconceptions, this could be possible, though I know level 1s on SSI and such. However, the diagnostic criteria notes level 1 autistic people need supports as well. The level system is very beneficial for many moderate and high support needs people and the problem that some level 1s bring up are the fault of misconceptions of the level system that would be better addressed by educating those who think level 1s don't need support, than by attacking the level systems.

Second:

"Some days I'm level 1, some days I'm level 2 and some days I'm level 3".

Is a perplexing and disturbing saying. Many people, often level 1s, use this phrase to refer to their bad days and in argument against the level system. Some will say levels are useless because "some days I'm level 1, some days I'm level 2 and some days I'm level 3". They are referring to how stressful, difficult, or painful a particular day is and conflating it with levels , not referring to an actual level change.

This is problematic because that isn't how levels work. It is also insulting because it implies that level 2 and 3s are always having bad days and that our level is a state of a bad day. It also implies that if level 2 and 3s had better days or better environments they would become level 1s. This gives an unrealistic impression of how varying degrees of autism works and contributes to misinformation that can harm the autistic community.

I would like to share an example of something a low support need autistic person said about high support needs people "they have tricked everyone into thinking they can't do more so everyone does everything for them". This horrible statement is fueled by the idea that levels are just a measurement of good and bad days. I am a level 2, I am not the imbodiment of a moderately bad day, I am autistic person who needs moderate support. Please think hard the next time you say "some days I'm level 1, some days I'm level 2 and some days I'm level 3". And ask yourself, what that statement really implies.

#autistic women #autistic experiences #autistic adult #autism #actually autistic #late diagnosed autistic #autism level 2 #neurodiversity #neurodivergent #asd #autistic #actuallyautistic #spicy autism #autism diagnosis #autistic spectrum #autistic problems

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cerastes · 3 months

Note

Hey how come you making flippant comments in regards to your own self-improvement fetish is so enlightening in regards to mental health things is this the whole 'professional' thing at work.

I would like to think so! When we think of "psychology", most people might have a very Freudian image of it: A therapist solemnly but very comprehensively taking notes as a patient lies on a couch and spills their guts, only interjecting once or twice in the hour-long session and then charging you. Psychoanalysis, the Freudian technique, I don't think it's useless, but it's definitely just one of a myriad of techniques and methods with which to carry out therapy (and one I myself am trained in and do not like). I myself am more of systems theory of psychology kind of guy (Humberto Maturana, Ludwig von Bertalanffy, Gregory Bateson, among others), and systems has a very input-output sort of view (if you want to learn more, you can also look up second order cybernetics and radical constructivism).

Where I am going with all of this is that if it may seem like I'm making flippant comments, then that means I've synthetized my own self-care mind palace to such a degree that it has simply become part of my discourse, my lingo, my poise, if you will, but that in itself took a lot of introspective work in a way that was tangible to me, or in other words, in a way that my brain accepted it. Ultimately, it's the role of the psychologist to lead one to something rather than to reveal any sort of secret to wellness. Using myself as an example, as someone that had suicidal depression at one point, being told to "think positively" didn't do a damn thing, because if it was that easy, then depression wouldn't exist. Instead, I more or less had to trick my own brain into giving it reasons as to why it should think positively, because it makes sense to do so, and in the same vein, I had to give it reasons as to why thinking negatively was dumb. Because that sort of logic works with me. So it's less "hey, think nice things :)" and more "okay but does it have to be like this? Does everyone else have this crushing sadness as their normal as well? I don't think so, so maybe what I'm feeling isn't normal. Why am I thinking that way? What do they have that I don't? Oh, thing A and thing B, yeah, makes sense, and do I want these things? Mmm thing A doesn't really matter to me, but thing B, I'm loathe to admit, is something I desire, how about I work towards having thing B for now as a goal and then see if that is good enough or at least improves my mental state? Are things really as hopeless as I think they are and am I enlightened by my grim outlook? Probably not, so why am I hopeless and why are they not? There's something I don't have or don't know, let's see what that is, and put these shit thoughts on hold until I can ascertain these things". This is a summarized version, of course, but you know what I mean.

But where I'm going with this (again) is that once you grab onto your own internal logic (which is where the introspective work leads to!) and know what makes you click and how your own metrics and parameters of motivation work, it becomes much much easier to have a healthy mental state and keep it healthy. This, in my opinion, should be the long term objective of any good therapy: To at least start your user (I don't really use the term "patient") on this road. I'm making it sounds all sunshine and rainbows, but introspective work worth having does entail having to look at the uglier parts of yourself and acknowledging them, hence why not a lot of people see it through. It takes commitment and guts because you very much do reach a point where you need to look at these things that are awful and be like "yes, this, too, is me" before you can start going into how to turn these into advantageous things instead.

Likewise, the therapy I do tends to have this as goal: Let's work this shit together so we can organize it in a way that's easier to handle for starters, and then you can have a very good grip on the reins of what makes you feel good and what makes you feel bad, and so can easily dispel the brain fog by simply consulting your inner blueprint. Each user is a whole different journey, and it's part of what makes psychology such a beautiful field.

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topazy · 9 months

Text

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Shane Walsh × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injury and blood

Chapter: 2.05

You smile at Carol as she hangs up clothes on the washing line she set up next to the tents the rest of your group were sleeping in, only a short walk from the Greene’s farmhouse. Earlier that day, you’d offered to help her prepare dinner for Hershel and his family, but Carol insisted you didn’t need to help since your hands were full with a newborn. Although her intentions were good, it still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Neither Rick or Shane would allow you to help search for Sophia, and none of the other women wanted your help with any household chores. You felt useless.

Scanning the area for Shane, you finally spot him leaning over the hood of a car, scowling as he circles different areas still to be searched. He had left the bedroom before you awoke to get an early start. Sensing someone walking behind him, Shane looks up, his facial expression softening, and says, “Morning, darling, how’s our little guy today?”

“He’s been babbling away all morning.” You place your hand on his lower back and say, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

He nods.

In spite of his dishonesty about what happened with Otis at the school, Shane was the only person you could confide in without feeling as if you were crossing a line. “There aren't a lot of walkers around here.”

“That’s not a question,” he laughs.

Rolling your eyes, you continue, “I think I’ve seen maybe two or three walkers since we’ve been here, and Hershel and his family don’t seem like the type of people to put a walker down. What do you think is happening to them?”

Shane Rubs at his jaw, thinking over what you just said. “You’re worried about the lack of walkers?”

“No, I just don’t understand why there are so few. It’s as if the dead cross this invisible line and just disappear.”

“Do you think we should trust them?” He asks, looking over at the farmhouse.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “They are good people; they saved Carl; they let us stay on their land; they let us into their home. The Greenes are kind people. But regardless, I am worried a horde of walkers is about to crash those fences at any minute.”

“Maybe they are getting picked off one by one before they reach the fences. But if not, it’s still not something you need to worry about.”

His comment irritates you; why the hell wouldn’t it be something you need to worry about? You frown. “Why wouldn’t I worry about it?”

“Because I’m here to protect you, aren’t I?” He snaps.

You didn’t understand why your question had gotten him riled up, “Shane?”

“Keeping you and Jace safe is the only thing I care about. If a horde comes crashing through the farm, then we go; we’re not risking our lives or our sons lives to save anyone else.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He scoffs, “Trust me, I do.”

“What about Carl and Rick?”

“Rick can look after himself.”

“We’ve been over this before; I’m never leaving my brother or nephew behind. And after all we’ve been through, I wouldn’t leave anyone else behind either, not when they have risked their lives to keep me and Jace alive.”

“That’s just your baby brain and hormones talking. If you were thinking logically, and in survival mode, you’d think differently.”

You open your mouth to argue but stop when T-dog and Andrea walk by. You fake a smile and wave to them, all while giving Shane a knowing look. When they are out of earshot, you quietly ask, “You know what scares me more than the dead?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “What?”

“Losing my humanity That’s the only thing that keeps us separate from the dead.” Knowing the conversation wasn’t going to change, you walked away before either of you could say anything else. It scared you that after all this time, Shane still didn’t know you well enough to understand that you’d never leave your brother or nephew behind.

—

“I told him, alive or not, Sophia only matters to the degree in which she doesn’t drag the rest of us down.”

Sighing, you listen to Shane as he rambles on about his ‘long talk’ with your brother while they searched in the woods. Rick had already told you how Shane wanted to stop searching for Sophia. You could see both men’s points, but we’re refusing to get in the middle of them. If it was Jace, you’d never stop looking.

“It’s a heavy burden for Rick to make that call; just give him time.”

As Shane continues to ramble on about Rick not stepping up from his space on the bed, you ignore him, only focusing on trying to get your son to calm down. His scrunched-up face was bright red from screaming and crying so much, and nothing you tried seemed to calm him down. It was moments like this that you were even more thankful the Greenes let you stay inside their farm house because outside, any walkers lurking in the area would be attracted by the crying.

“Give him to me.”

“What?” Shane walks towards you with his arms outstretched, willing to take Jace into his arms, but you’re reluctant to hand him over. Maybe Shane’s comment early in the day really pissed you off, or you took solace in being able to comfort Jace.

“Give him to me,” Shane repeats, his tone softer.

Hesitantly, you hand him over, but smile when Jace momentarily stops crying to stare up at his father curiously before the crying starts again. Poor boy. You wished you could take whatever was bothering him away.

Shane sits on the edge of the bed, rocking Jace gently. “Why are you still standing by the window? Are you waiting on something?”

“Everyone has come back except Daryl.”

“So? He can take care of himself.”

Shane's lack of concern for others was really starting to become a concern. The same question kept gnawing at the back of your mind: how king will it be until Shane starts to turn on your small group?

—

As you approach the RV, you overhear Glenn asking Dale a question that makes you cringe on the inside and outside.

“Uh, Dale, do you think Andrea’s on her period? I’m only asking because it’s like all the women are acting really weird. And I read somewhere that when women spend a lot of time together, their cycles line up and they all get super crazy hormonal at the same time.”

“I’m going to advise you to keep that theory to yourself,” the older man says.

You swing the door open and say, “Yes, keep it to yourself. The next man who mentions the word hormonal to me will meet a grisly end.” You put a small plastic bag full of clothes, blankets, and towels that needed repairs on the table with your free hand before sitting down. “Now, who else is acting crazy?”

Glenn looks slightly sheepish as he sits down across from you, “Maggie.”

“Ahh, Maggie,” Dale smiles.

It was obvious to everyone that Glenn had developed a crush on the brunette. When Jace starts to gurgle, Glenn gives you a look and holds his arms out, silently offering to take Jace from you. Without thinking, you remove Jace from the makeshift sling and gently lay him in the man’s arms so it’s easier for you to start sowing. It gives you pause when you realize that you’re more comfortable with someone else holding Jace than his own father.

“So what did the lovely Maggie do that was weird?” You ask, continuing the conversation.

“She started off being mean to me, then she wanted to have sex with me, and now she’s being mean to me again. And I don’t even want to know what’s going on with Lori.”

Guilt you suspected.

Dale's brows raise. “What’s going on with Lori?”

“Nothing be. I don’t know.”

You had a suspicion. Glenn knew more than he was letting on, but you decided not to press him on it and changed the subject. You weren’t one for gossiping, but you needed the distraction. “How did you know Maggie wanted to have sex with you? Did she tell you?”

Glenn smirks at the question, alluding to the fact that they have already done the deed. You snort, “I hope you used condoms.”

“This isn’t funny,” Dale says in a serious tone. “Did it ever occur to you how her father might feel about this?”

“She’s twenty-two,” Glenn says.

Although he had made a good point and Maggie was an adult, you get the impression that not much happened on the farm without Hershel’s permission. Not wanting to hear anymore lectures from Dale, Glenn gets up and quickly steps out of the RV, with you hot on his tail. “Uh, excuse me, Glenn, my baby?”

“Oh, I wasn’t going far, just sitting outside,” he says, pointing to the swing chair right outside the RV. “I wasn’t going to kidnap him, I swear.”

“I know, I just like to see him at all times,” you smile. “I’ll just grab the sewing kit, then join—”

Andrea cuts you off, yelling, “Walker, walker!”

Glenn hands you Jace before rubbing his hands to grab a weapon. Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Glenn all rush out to the field the walker is walking through with silent weapons. It worries you to see Shane still limping and struggling to keep up with the other men. Hearing the click of a gun, you look up at the roof of the RV to see Andrea aiming her rifle. “Don’t! You could miss the shot and kill someone.”

“Back off, Lily.”

You grabbed a pair of binoculars to see what was going on, because from a distance, it looked as if everyone had stopped running. When you're able to see clearly, you make out the walker is a living, breathing person. “False alarm—”

You jump upon hearing a loud bang, and surpassingly, Jace didn’t seem startled by the loud noise. You glared up at the blonde. Andrea had taken her shot. She was pleased with herself until your brother started to scream.

“You’ve hit someone!” You hand Jace to Dale and take off in the direction the group is in the field. When you get closer, you make out the shape of a body on the ground. You're relieved to see it’s not your brother or fiancé but scared to find out who was possibly dead. You stopped running to catch your breath just as you reached them and saw blood coming from the side of Daryl’s head. “Oh my god, is he alive?”

When Rick and Shane pull Daryl to his feet, he mumbles, “I was kidding.”

You stand in front of Daryl just as he passes out from shock, brushing his hair to the side and saying, “I think it’s grazed the side of his head.” Your eyes travel down, and you notice he’s wearing a necklace of Walker ears. You rip it from his neck, tossing it to the side. “Nobody saw that.”

“Guys, isn’t this Sophia’s?” T-dog asks, holding up a doll.

Shit. Sophia leaving the doll that she clung to behind wasn’t good.

—

“Are you going to do something about Rick and Shane?”

You turn from the sink to look at Lori. “What makes you think I can do anything? They always butt heads. Falling out, then making up. They are worse than teenage girls.”

“This is different from all the other times.”

Looking over your shoulder, you smile at Patrice as he finishes wiping down the extra table they brought from another restaurant so everyone could eat in the dining room since there were too many to sit around the main dining table. The meal Carol cooked was delicious with fresh vegetables that had been grown on the farm, but with tensions within the group, the atmosphere during dinner was uncomfortable. Since you had to excuse yourself to feed Jace, you missed most of the group meal, only coming back down to the kitchen to help clear up.

“They are both stubborn and headstrong, and neither of them will change their minds,” you whisper. “As of now, the search for Sophia is still happening, so there is no need to make this a big deal.”

Lori asks, “How’s Shane coping with fatherhood? I remember how freaked out Rick was when I was pregnant. God, I can only imagine how Shane would have been finding out before the world went to shit.”

You shoot her a look. Hearing Lori say his name sets something up inside you. You had been trying your best to keep what happened in the past, but you're only human, and your pushed-back emotions were starting to bubble over at the surface. “I’m civil for the sake of Rick, Carl, and everyone else, but don’t push it by asking about Shane.”

“Understood.”

You feel guilty seeing her become teary-eyed before walking away, but it was hard enough without being reminded daily of what happened between them.

—

You pushed the door to the bedroom Daryl’s in as quietly as you could, in case he was sleeping. It was late, and everyone else had called it a night. Once you settled Jace down, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease and put it down to worrying about the recently injured members of your group.

“What the hell are you still doing?”

The bluntness makes you chuckle, and you use the sleeve of your jumper to stifle the sound. “I just wanted to check on you. You know, since you almost died and all.”

“Oh, that. I almost forgot until you mentioned it.”

He shuffles over so you can sit on the edge of the bed. Dark circles hung under his eyes; poorly washed-off dirt and blood covered most of Daryl’s face. It was admirable how invested he was in searching for the little girl. “Whatever happens, Carol will never forget how much you’ve done for her daughter.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m just doing the same as what Rick and Shane are doing.”

“It takes a brave man to do what you did.”

Daryl looks away from you, grunting, facing the wall. He didn’t like hearing kind things said about himself. You lean down to kiss him on the cheek, and at the same time, Daryl rolls back around, causing your lips to lightly brush together. Clearing your throat, you sit upright again and notice how flushed his face has become. Bypassing the awkwardness, you sigh, “You’re a good man, Daryl Dixon, even if you don’t want to believe it.”

#the walking dead #shane walsh/reader #shane walsh #shame Walsh/you #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead rewrite #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanfiction #tomorrow’s promise #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #daryl dixon x reader #Daryl Dixon #shane walsh fanfiction

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mamayan · 7 months

Note

I was wondering if possible for the Russian roulette prompt we could get feral Gojo with the prompt of 1,21,96,58 a slight predator prey if you will 🤭🤭( I truly hope I did it right)

Bang! … No bullet was shot—

Gojo Satoru

“I’ll make you fucking sorry.”|| Lesson || Late autumn walk || Edging/Overstimulation

tw: NSFW • Dubcon • Suggestive Themes • Overstimulation/Edging

wc: 790

“Where are you going?”

Four simple words make your blood run cold.

He watched you turn slowly, recognition obvious in the way your body tensed and trembled, eyes looking dreadfully guilty as you realized his own were out and clearly trained on you.

You took a step back, lips opening but no words coming out as he moved with a smile painted on his lips and his hands shoved casually into his pockets. He liked using his superior height to look down at you, and enjoyed making you feel small under his clear gaze.

“I’ll ask again I guess… where are you going?” His facial expression doesn’t change, but his tone drops several degrees and it chills you more than the temperature outside.

It’s late. You were just going for a walk in the park close to home, and you certainly didn’t think he’d somehow track you. You needed to check your electronics, a full raid of your home again because he liked planting toys which brought you endless anxiety.

“A walk…?” You didn’t mean to sound so defensive nor phrase it like a question, but his energy seemed to radiate his irritation which threw you off.

“A walk, hn?” He acts like he’s contemplating something, making a show of cupping his chin and rolling his eyes around as if some piece of the puzzle just doesn’t fit. When his eyes settle on you again, it’s unnervingly terrifying. Goosebumps prick your skin as his smile falls, his full attention something the masses cry and crave but it feels like ants are crawling beneath your skin when he gives it to you now.

You’re scared and doing your damndest to hide it, but it’s useless against his abilities.

“I remember a long conversation though… correct me if I’m wrong but, weren’t you told to be good and stay home the next few days?” You visibly recoil at the reminder, you’d been “grounded” so to speak by the school, but it offended you that you needed to sit at home like some house pet on a leash.

You grit your teeth, ready to retort despite this sorcerer putting a level of fear into you which made no sense for a colleague, but his slow forming grin stopped you.

“I was told I could punish you according to how I saw fit should you disobey the order, and I was even on my way to grab you dinner for being such a good little dear but…” he didn’t looked upset at all, his canines on full display in his happiness, “Don’t you think punishment is in order now?”

He leans closer, so much you can smell his cologne, “I’ll tell you what…,” you wish he’d stop, “I’ll give you some choices, and you can choose whatever evil you’d like.” You should know any deal made with him would be like making a deal with the devil. Those blue eyes are less reminiscent of water and more like the blue of a flame so hot it’d cremate you.

“Satoru—!”

You looked pathetic.

Your lips parted, drool running down your chin as you desperately cried for mercy of any kind. He’s delirious with glee as you writhe against him, your tear stained cheeks adorably puffy as he forces another climax from your exhausted body.

“I’m sorry, please, no more—!” It almost makes him feel sorry for you, how desperately you plead. He chuckles, groaning at how tightly you hold his cock within the confines of your little hole, each orgasm he pulls brings him closer to his own end. He won’t move, having turned you into nothing more than a glorified cocksleeve sat on his lap with your back against his chest. He has your wrists tied behind you, unable to bat his hand away as he continues to hold the vibrator on your sex while you thrash.

“Remember what I said earlier when you chose, hn?” You can’t understand him, too dumb from pleasure and his cock to function anymore, and he loves it. You walked right into a trap and you should’ve known better, though he admits none of his choice punishments would’ve ended much differently than this.

“Please, I’m coming—hah,” he keeps an arm anchored around your waist to prevent you from falling forward, grunting as you cum and making a mess of your lower halves, soaking his cock with your fluids while moaning so cutely for him.

“Pay attention,” he snaps cruelly, patting your cheek and forcing you to look at him despite how tired and far off your gaze was.

“I told you,” he coos, his smile saccharine despite the thrust he gives anything but, loving how your eyes roll back and you come again.

“I’ll make you fucking sorry.”

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

#500 Event #JJK #jjk smut #gojo satoru #Gojo Satoru smut #Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk Gojo #jjk Gojo smut

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hoebiirama · 9 months

Text

✑ Anonymous sent : "Hey, Anli! I hope you're doing well <3 if ok with you, can I request some hcs for Madara and Tobirama with a fem friend who has Kamado Tanjiro's personality (from Kimetsu no Yaiba tho if you haven't watch it yet then someone who's just really kind, innocent in some way and respectful) some friendship hcs would be interesting. Thank you in advance if you accept my request! Take care 💙" ✑ Anli's useless comment : I am indeed unfamiliar with Kimetsu no Yaiba so I went off of the description you gave me, so I apologize if I didn't go in depth enough ! 😭😖 Thank you so much for requesting though 💚

Masterpost | Rules | Send a request | Works in Progress

うちはマダラ • Uchiha Madara

SFW

↳ Madara would be concerned for you. I don't think he sees all types of kindness as weakness (showing mercy to your opponent is the type of "kindness" he considers weak), but in your case, it's different. The fact that you always assume the best in people deeply unsettles him, and he's always worried that someone will take advantage of you one day because you're too friendly. Your willingness to help others is both your strongest and weakest asset. He doesn't like that.

↳ I feel like he would scold you like a strict dad. A lot. Because he grew up being told to constantly hide his emotions, he never learned how to properly express them, so it often comes out as anger or frustration. Is the scolding annoying ? Yes. Do you understand why he's like this ? Also yes. You wouldn't have a problem telling him off, but this man invented the concept of being stubborn, so your words would have virtually no effect on him.

↳ It's a different story entirely when that kindness is directed towards him. Madara is used to people feeling extremely intimidated by him, never looking him in the eye, never approaching him unless it's absolutely necessary, and being overly polite out of cautiousness and fear of summoning his wrath. And I feel like your kindness and positive attitude towards life would both feel like a breath of fresh air and very unnerving (definitely at first). He probably wouldn't know how to deal with that.

↳ But that's also the reason he came to care about you, because no matter how much of an asshole he was to you at first, you never reciprocated the sentiment. You were always nice to him. You never took anything he said personally because you understood why he was so guarded all the time and that alone was enough to make you special in his eyes. Madara has never received any form of empathy from someone other than his brother.

↳ Your kindness is pure, and he would feel it. You're not nice to him out of caution. You don't show him respect because you fear him. It's genuine. It's something you can't fake. And while he'd definitely be thrown off at first, he'd warm up to you and eventually come to deeply care about you, even if he has strange ways of showing it.

↳ What I'm saying is, Madara is biased. Showing him kindness and openness is fine. Encouraged, even. But towards others ? Hell no. That won't pass. And yes, it is partly due to his possessiveness. Because if you think that's just something he'd display with his s/o, you'd be deadly wrong. Whether you're his friend or his lover, you're still his, period. He'd be able to put up with it without too much complaining if it's with Hashirama, but with strangers and Tobirama especially, he won't stop himself from making some kind of comment about how they (read : Tobirama) don't deserve you being nice to them.

↳ Pro tip : a good way to shut him up if he starts lecturing you again is to tease him a little and tell him "well, I have you to protect me, don't I ? Why should I worry about these things when you're there ?" and his brain might just stop working for a hot minute, lol.

千住扉間 • Senju Tobirama

SFW

↳ I feel like Tobirama would share some similarities with Madara, but not even nearly to the same degree. He'd also be a lot more comfortable expressing his feelings through words, so he wouldn't get frustrated the way Madara would. It's just that sometimes he thinks you're being too trusting with people you should absolutely be wary of, or going too soft on people who don't deserve it.

↳ Thankfully, Tobirama is always ready to defend you from anyone who tries to imply that you're naive or easy to manipulate, because he knows it's far from the truth. You're no pushover; unfortunately, in the world you live in, it is often seen as a bad thing to be kind. Tobirama would have no qualms telling people off for you if need be, and by that I mean that even if you can stand up for yourself, you're not as harsh on people as he thinks is necessary, so he takes it upon himself to finish the job, lol.

↳ This one is obvious but I still have to say it : he'd also absolutely hate seeing you being friendly with Madara. I feel like all of the concerns Madara has in general would apply to Tobirama in this specific scenario. He'd be worried sick that the man would end up hurting you in one way or another (he feels the same way about Hashirama's friendship with Madara). Tobirama knows better than to straight up just tell you to stop talking to him, but if he catches you with Madara, he'd probably find any excuse to pull you away from him.

↳ Your friendliness and kindness also reminds him of his brother, and he'd definitely have a soft spot for it. I feel like he'd ask you a lot of questions to try and figure out why you're this way and how the world you live in hasn't seemed to completely ruin your innocence. It would be such a wild concept to him, and as the curious mind he is, he'd definitely try to understand your point of view.

↳ He would definitely come to you for personal advice if you're close enough. You'd be easier to trust than most people and not as biased as Hashirama would be (and, let's face it, if Tobirama comes to you with a personal problem, 99% of the time Hashirama is somehow involved in it), and you'd likely be one of the few people who could make him genuinely laugh. (Making him smile is easy enough. Just look at any picture of him with his students when they were children. Or how he was looking at Sasuke while fighting alongside him during the war. Man's not as stoic as people think he is — but you have a better chance at beating him in a footrace than you have at making him laugh.)

↳ Tobirama would love having you around, tbh. You're not as blindly optimistic as his brother is, but you're still the kind of positive presence he desperately needs in his life. He wouldn't fear negative judgement from you, and he knows you always mean well. You're probably the only person he can talk to about his students who'll get just as hyped as he is and not make some comment about how it's "unlike him to be so soft" and ruin the moment.

↳ 12/10 friendship, would recommend. For his sake. Please. The poor man desperately needs a friend.

#madara uchiha #madara headcanons #madara x reader #tobirama senju #tobirama headcanons #tobirama x reader #naruto headcanons

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callsign-magnolia · 4 months

Text

I Hope You Dance // Ch. 54

MATURE CONTENT (18+)

A/N: This is cross posted to my Wattpad, so if this seems familiar that is why!

TW: Mental abuse, emotional abuse, slight physical abuse, death and loss.

Description: When Caila meets Rooster, sparks fly. But, she's already married, to a man who she thought loved her, and won't let her go. Rooster will fight for her, he just has to convince Caila to fight for herself.

Word Count: 5.9k

Chapter 53 | Masterlist

June faded into July and Independence Day came fast. Bradley was tired but still wanted to celebrate so we managed to put together a barbecue for mid July. “Can I help you honey?” He asked as I set the ribs up to marinate. “Roo, I’ve got it.” I said and he sighed. “I just feel like I’m useless.” He said and I gave him a sad smile. “Well, you’re not useless. In fact, I know how you can help me.” I said and the left side of his lips twitched up. “And what would that be?” He asked. “Come snuggle on the couch with me. I’m freezing.” I said and he looked at me confused. “Freezing?! It’s literally ninety-seven degrees outside!” He said and I shrugged. “And it’s seventy-six in here and I’m freezing.” It was true. Since I came home I’ve been in one of his old hoodies and leggings. I smiled and grabbed his hand, pulling him from the counter and towards the couch. “Well, you have lost quite a bit of weight.” He said and I turned and smiled at him. “You think?” I asked and he nodded. “Yeah, you probably weigh less than ten pounds now, so that means I can lift you!” He said and acted like he was going to pick me up but I just laughed and stopped him. We laid on the couch, my back to his chest and he kissed the back of my head. “If we nap now we’ll never sleep tonight.” He said and I nodded. “Yeah, but we’ll be up late tomorrow so tweaking our schedule for one night won’t hurt.” I said and it wasn’t long before I heard him snoring.

The next day I managed to put Bradley to work setting up the table outside with a tablecloth and some decor I bought. He finished that quickly and around noon the doorbell started ringing and Rooster was more than happy to get up and answer it. “Hey Mav.” He said and immediately Mav stepped in and hugged him tightly. “Good to see you, Rooster.” He said and pulled away, allowing Penny to hug him. “I managed to talk him down from tackling you. How are you holding up?” She asked as she let go of him. “I’m okay. I get tired easily so Mags has me doing simple things.” He said and she chuckled. “Well at least she’s not coddling you.” She said and he nodded. “Hey Rooster.” Amelia said, stepping past him and heading for the dogs. “Hey kid.” He greeted back, making the teen roll her eyes. Mav stayed in the living room with Rooster and Penny joined me in the kitchen. “I brought the pie.” She said and I smiled at her. “Thank you! I was glad everyone else offered to bring sides. Makes this a lot easier.” I said and she agreed. “Wow, you really have lost weight.” She said and I smiled at her. “I know! I feel the best I’ve felt in a long time.” I said. “The only downside is I’m constantly freezing in this house. I’m glad Rooster is like a heater in bed or else I’d freeze.” She chuckled at me just as Coyote came in with a huge bowl. “One order of nana’s potato salad!” He said, setting the bowl down next to me. I pulled the lid off and moaned. “Oh my god that smells divine.”

Soon everyone arrived and we got everyone to the table outside. Most everyone had a beer besides Bob, Penny, Rooster and I. Rooster wanted one but he can’t with all of his medications and if he can’t then I won’t. “Hey guys.” Rooster said standing and everyone looked at him. “I just want to say how much I appreciate you all doing the things you have done for us, not just during this, but during everything else too. Staying with Mags while I was gone, looking out for us-” “Yeah yeah, we get it! You love us and we’re amazing!” Payback interrupted and everyone chuckled, including Bradley. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I was trying to say.” He said and I laughed as he sat next to me again. Soon we all dug into the food, just enjoying being around each other. But soon the food was put away and most of the team made their way out to the beach behind the house while the rest of us dragged some chairs into the sand and watched. Penny, Amelia, Nat and I were talking before I turned to Rooster. He was leaning on the armrest of his chair with his head in his hand.

“Roo, honey? Are you okay?” I asked and he sighed. “Yeah.” I gave him a sad smile. “You want to go out there?” I asked and he nodded. “I do. But I know that’s a bad idea.” He said. “I’m sorry, Roo.” I said and he shook his head. “It’s not your fault. If I wasn’t at risk of popping a stitch then I would.” He said and I hummed, running my fingers through his curls. “We’ll do another get together to celebrate you getting better and then you can kick their asses when we play.” I said and he chuckled. “Yeah, I think Hangman needs to be taken down a notch.” He said and I chuckled. The day was peaceful and soon everyone went home, and poor Rooster was falling asleep on the couch when Mav and Penny went to leave. “Well, we better go. I think we’ve almost overstayed our welcome.” Penny said and Mav agreed. “Yeah, he’s been fighting sleep like a toddler.” Mav whispered and I chuckled. “Yeah, I better get him to bed.” I said and he nodded. “Goodnight, Magnolia.” He said as they walked out. “Goodnight.” With that, I shut and locked the door before turning to Rooster. “Bradley.” I said and his eyes fluttered open as he hummed. “Everyone is gone. Let’s get to bed.” He groaned but soon I managed to pull him up and we made our way upstairs where I helped him strip and he laid back in bed. “Snuggle Mags.” He said, making grabby hands at me and after a minute I managed to strip myself and crawl in bed next to him. “Did you have fun today?” I asked and he hummed. “I’m glad I lived to see it.” He muttered before drifting off. “Me too, honey.”

A few more weeks went by and we were now in early August and officially five months away from the wedding. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" I asked Bradley as I buttoned my khaki pants. I made a mental note to get new pants since these are getting so loose. "Mav said I could have off any time I needed for your doctor's appointments." He just smiled up at me from his spot in the bed. He had grabbed my pillow, tucking it under his chin as he laid on his stomach long ways on the bed. "I'll be fine, honey. Penny said she'd drop me off and pick me up. I will call you on your lunch break to tell you what the doctor says." I sighed as I sat on the bed and put my socks on. "It's not that I don't want you there. I’m hoping that before I come back and after I'm cleared we could take a trip somewhere." He said as he wrapped his arm around my waist I turned to him excitedly. "Really? Where to?" I asked and he chuckled, placing a kiss on my arm. "Anywhere you wanna go, pretty girl. Why don't you think on it?" I nodded, kissing him. "Okay." I said, excitement seeping out in my words. I finished getting ready as Rooster went downstairs and made my coffee. "You will call me, right?" I asked as he met me at the door. "Yes, honey. I promise." He handed me my coffee and kissed me. "Have a good day!" He said as I started for my jeep "I love you!" He yelled out as I opened the door. I blew him a kiss and smiled widely at him before climbing in. The drive to base was uneventful but as soon as I parked Mav had me in his sights. "What are you doing here? Isn't Rooster's doctor appointment today?" I nodded, slightly annoyed at being questioned so early. "Yes, but he said he was fine with Penny dropping him off.” He wants me to save my PTO because he wants us to take a trip before he comes back." He stopped but nodded.

"Will you tell me what the doctor said?” I nodded. "Of course, Mav. We'll always keep you updated. He smiled and nodded before leaving me to put my things away. We spent all morning in the classroom, and I was feeling anxious. I knew Bradley would be fine, but I knew he was getting frustrated being at home all the time. After what felt like a lifetime it was eleven and time for lunch. We were walking out when Mav turned to me with a smile. "Magnolia. Someone wants to talk to you." Mav said as he walked into the hangar. I walked inside to see Bradley standing there, a large bouquet of roses and baby's breath and a bag of food from my favorite deli. "What are you doing here? Were you released to drive?" I asked as I rushed over, gently hugging him and kissing his cheek. "Doctor released me to drive, and I missed you so I wanted to have lunch with you and bring you some flowers."

My bottom lip jutted out as I took the roses. "You're amazing." We walked down to the cafeteria, joining the team who was so happy to see Bradley. Soon everyone got up and I was eating up every last second I could. “So, I have another doctor’s appointment in the morning.” My eyes widened as I looked at him. “Wh-what?” I asked, growing nervous. “It’s a urologist appointment. To check my sperm count.” I blinked at him for a second before tearing up. “Oh, honey. I wasn’t trying to make you cry.” He said, pulling me in so he could kiss my forehead. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” I said. “Maybe because we might get answers?” He asked and I nodded. “Yeah. It’s just crazy to me that we went so long without any form of protection and I didn’t get pregnant. I just want to figure this out so that way, after the wedding, we’ll know what we need to do.” I said and he nodded, kissing my head again. “Me too. Now go, Mav will kill me if I hold you up too long.”

The next morning Bradley drove us to his appointment and he was so excited to drive. It's a freedom he felt like he lost for a while. Once there, we got him checked in and waited. I noticed he kept rubbing his palms on his jeans. So I reached out, taking his hand in mine. "Hey." I whispered. "What's going through your head?" I asked. My free hand reaching behind him and rubbing his back. "What if something is wrong with me? What if i'm the reason we can't have kids on our own?" I could see the fear in his eyes. "Look at me." I said. His warm brown eyes glistened with tears as his gaze met mine. "I will still love you no matter what." I told him. "Bradshaw?" A nurse called. He squeezed my hand as we stood and didn't let go as we were led into a room. The nurse took his vitals before pulling vials from a drawer. I watched Bradley who watched the nurse and he jumped when she pulled out the needle. "Woah!" He said as she turned towards him. "She has to get blood work, honey." I said, squeezing his hand that still held mine. He took a deep breath before turning towards me and squeezing his eyes shut. "Just do it." The nurse chuckled and stuck him. After a second his face relaxed. "Have you done it yet?" He asked, "I'm getting the last tube now." After a minute she was done and wrapped his arm up. "Alright, now we need a semen sample.” She said and grabbed a cup. "Here's the cup, do you need magazines or anything?" She asked and he blushed. I could tell he was flustered by the way he looked at me. "Um, n-no thanks. I have pictures and videos of my wife."

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh at him. He just squeezed his eyes shut, questioning everything he said. The nurse held out her own laugh. "Many men prefer pictures of their wives over magazines." He just swallowed, nodded and she led him out of the room. After a minute she came back. “I love when they get flustered, it's hilarious." She said, making me laugh. "As soon as he's done I'll bring him back to you." With that she left. After a couple minutes my phone dinged with a text from Bradley. 'Help me out here?’ He asked. I bit my lip, still scared that someone hacked my phone. But I decided to say 'screw it’. I double checked that the door was closed before I quickly lifted my shirt and snapped a picture, sending it to him. Another few minutes pass by before the nurse brings him back in. "How do you feel?" I asked, smirking at him. He sat next to me and crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven't had to do that since we got together.” I just giggled at him. “Not even on deployment?” I asked. He just shook his head "Didn't want to. I just wanted to wait till I got home." Now, he finally turned to me, tossing his arm around the back of my chair.

“But it makes me think about all the ways I'm going to ruin you once I can get you in our bed." My face flushed, but we jumped apart when the door opened. "Mr. Bradshaw?" He asked, holding his hand out to Bradley. "Yes, sir. "He shook his hand before turning to me. "Mrs. Bradshaw." Neither of us made a move to correct him and honestly, it made me feel giddy to hear someone call me Mrs Bradshaw. "I'm Dr. Evans." He said as he sat across from us. "Nice to meet you." I said, my fingers intertwining with Bradleys. "You as well." He said, nodding at me. "All of your blood work looks good." We nodded. That was something we already knew. With all of his doctor's appointments recently, we were well in tune to his current health state." It will be about twenty-four hours before we have the results of your sperm count. So tomorrow, we'll give you a call with your results." We both nodded. "So what should we do next if everything is normal?" Bradley asked, squeezing my hand. "The next steps I would suggest would be for Mrs. Bradshaw to find a gynecologist. Our next steps for Mr. Bradshaw would be some ultrasounds. But if we don't find anything, then you'll still need more testing Mrs. Bradshaw." He said and I nodded. Bradley squeezed my hand, kissing my knuckles as he did. "Thank you, Doctor." With that we checked out and left. "Do you think Mav would be mad if I stole you for a breakfast date?" Bradley asked as we got into the elevator. I smiled up at him, tossing my arms around his shoulders.

"For all he knows, we waited forever." I said and he raised an eyebrow at me." You'd lie to your superior?" He asked and I nodded. "If it means I get to spend more time with you. I will." I pulled him into a kiss, his hands falling to my waist. The elevator dinged and it took us a second to pull away. An older gentleman stepped on, giving us a soft smile. We stood in silence for a moment before the man spoke up. "Can I give you some advice?" He asked. I was tempted to say 'no', not really wanting a stranger to advise me on my relationship. But he didn't wait for a response. "Never stop kissing her." He said to Bradley and we both visibly relaxed. "Because one day she won't be here." My heart clenched at his words. "My wife died at forty-three. It's been twenty-two years since she passed. Not a day goes by where I don't wish I kissed her or held her more." With that the elevator doors opened. "You two have a nice day.” With that he smiled at us and walked out. Bradley and I managed to get out a ‘you too’ before he was gone. “Damn.” Rooster muttered. "What?" I asked, looking up at him. He continued to stare out of the doors the man exited through. "He just reminded me of my mom. She used to say things like that a lot." Tears filled his eyes and I wrapped my arms around his waist. "You okay?" I asked him and he nodded "I'm great.” He said. "Now let's go have ourselves a breakfast date." Our date went great, and I showed up on the tarmac later than I planned. The next day I was antsy. Rooster should be hearing about his results today and I was dying to know. But he didn't mention it during any of our conversations throughout the day.

I drove home in silence, my mind racing with thoughts of what his results were. What if he was totally normal? Then that made me the problem. I knew that Bradley wanted kids just as much as I did, and I hated being the reason he couldn’t have that. Once I got home, I slowly climbed out of the jeep, grabbing my duffel bag and making my way inside. As soon as I opened the door I was shocked. “Roo?” I yelled out. I could smell something from the kitchen and the house was absolutely spotless. “In here, honey!” I set my bag down, walking back towards the kitchen. “Hi honey.” He said as I walked in. He placed the lid on a tupperware container and slid it into the fridge. “What are you up to?” I asked as I leaned against the doorway. “Just marinating some steaks for dinner.” He said, walking over. “Oh so you’re cooking dinner?” I asked and he nodded, grabbing the top of the doorframe and leaning over me, his big brown eyes looking down at me. “I am. Think of it as my way of saying thank you for taking care of me.” He said and I shook my head. “You don’t have to thank me, Roo.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his chest so I could look up at him. “Yeah, but you deserve it and I won’t take no for an answer.” He said and I giggled. I opened my mouth to ask if the doctor called when he stopped me.

“Why don’t you go relax and shower. You stink of jet fuel anyway.” He said as he scrunched his nose in disgust. I scoffed and smacked his stomach. “You love it.” I said and he chuckled. “Why don’t you join me?” I asked, my fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “Oh, that is so tempting.” He replied, leaning down till his lips were close to mine. “But I can’t.” He said and I furrowed my brows in confusion. “Why not?” I asked. “The doctor hasn’t released me for physical activity yet. So I can’t fuck you like you deserve.” He practically had me melting into a puddle. “It’s so hard to resist when I have you in the shower, but another two weeks and the doctor should release me to live my life like I was.” He said before he pulled me flush against him. “And trust me, I won’t let you leave our bed as soon as I get the all clear.” He said and I grinned at him. “Trust me, I cannot wait.” I said. “So go shower and by the time you get out I should be putting the steaks on.” He said, turning me around and smacking my ass, making me squeal.

So I decided to listen and go take a shower. I took my time and slipped into one of his old t-shirts when I got out, forgoing panties. I put my hair in a clip before walking downstairs to find Bradley in the kitchen seasoning asparagus and mashing potatoes. “Oh, so you can do more than make a reuben?” I asked and he chuckled. “You haven’t properly given me an opportunity to show off my cooking skills.” He turned to face me and he groaned, his head falling back. “Honey.” He whined. “What?” I asked, stepping closer. “You’re killing me.” He said and I smirked at him, pressing myself against his arm. “That was my plan.” I whispered in his ear. “So, do you need help with anything?” I asked and he shook his head. “You can help me by sitting on the counter and looking pretty.” He said and I couldn’t help but giggle and pull myself up onto the counter next to the stove. “It’s the one time I will sit still and look pretty for you.” I said and he chuckled.

While he made dinner I kept trying to bring up his test results but he always changed the subject and by the time we sat down I was frustrated. “Just tell me what the doctor said.” I blurted out and he looked at me with wide eyes. “Sorry, It’s just been driving me crazy all day!” I said and he nodded before swallowing his food. “The doctor did call.” He said, sitting back in his seat. “And?” I asked. He gave me a small smile and held his hand out for me to take. I returned the smile and took his hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “He said everything was normal.” He said and I could tell by the look on his face that there was more. “What else?” I asked and he sighed. “He said things are actually better than normal and that if everything was fine, you probably would’ve been pregnant a long time ago.” He said and I stared at him for a second before taking a deep breath. “O-oh. Um, well that’s good that everything is, um, fine.” I stuttered out, fighting back the tears. “C’mere pretty girl.” He said, tugging on my hand so I stood and walked over to him, straddling his lap as he pulled me against him tightly.

He hugged me to him and the dam broke. Tears soaked the back of his shirt and I’m pretty sure my cries were making his ears ring, but he didn’t care. I knew he didn’t. He just held me against him and rocked us back and forth until I finally calmed down. “I’m sorry.” I said as I pulled back and wiped my eyes. “Don’t apologize. For crying or for the fact it hasn’t happened yet.” He said. “I knew you’d put the blame on yourself and I was trying to think of a way to tell you without making it seem that way. But the truth seemed best.” He said and I nodded, sniffling. “This is not your fault in any way. It just hasn’t happened yet. No one has said it’s impossible, just that it may be a little harder for us, okay?” He asked and I nodded. “Okay.” I muttered. “I love you pretty girl. I hope you know that.” He said and I nodded. “I do.” I said and he kissed me gently. “I love you, even if we’re a family of two or a family of twelve.” He said and I laughed quietly. “Who said we were gonna have that many babies?” I asked and he laughed. “You said you wanted as many as we could get.” He said and I rolled my eyes. “There will eventually be a cut off.” I responded and he chuckled. “I thought we were going to replace the Phillies team.” He said with a sly grin. “No,” I responded. “And if we were to replace any baseball team it would be the Braves. We’ve had this conversation before.” He just smiled and kissed me. “I love you, Mags.” I smiled and hugged him, feeling a lot better in his arms. “I love you too, Roo.”

The following day I called my gynecologist and scheduled an appointment in hopes we could get more answers. “Have you thought about where you would want to visit?” Rooster asked and I looked at him, confused. “Visit?” I asked. “ Yeah. Remember? I asked if you wanted to take a trip before I came back to work.” It was like a lightbulb in my brain went off. “Oh yeah!” I said. “I forgot about that.” I told him, going back to brushing my teeth before bed. “Well, have you thought of any place in particular you wanted to go to?” He asked and I shook my head. I finished brushing my teeth and cleaned my face before making my way to the bed. “No, my brain has been a little preoccupied.” He smiled at me, holding the covers up for me to slip under them. “Well we need to think of something fast, I’ll be back at work before you know it.” He said and I grinned, sliding closer to him and wrapping my arms around him. “And I can’t wait.” I said, kissing his cheek. We laid there in the dark and I was slowly drifting off when he spoke up. “What about Tennessee?”

I furrowed my brows and looked up at him. “Well that’s vague.” I said and he chuckled. “You said your grandmother has land out there.” I nodded. “Yeah but that’s all it is, just land.” He hummed. “We could drive out and take the airstream.” He said but I shook my head. “It'll take us 3 days at the earliest to get out there.” I responded. “Well, what if we flew and stayed at a hotel?” He asked and I thought. This was in a tiny town in the middle of the smoky mountains, it didn’t exactly have a Hilton. “There is a little Inn in town. I can call tomorrow and see if they have anything available.” I said and he nodded. “Why don’t we go two weeks from now? I’ll be free to do anything and everything I want.” He said, his voice going an octave lower as he pulled me close and nudged his nose against mine. “I’ll call tomorrow.” I said and he nodded before pressing his lips to mine.

“Hey, where are you going?” Bob asked as I got up from the table we were eating at. “I gotta make a call.” I said as I walked outside. I found the number for the Inn and pressed the call button. “Black Bear Inn, how may I help you?” A thick feminine southern accent answered the phone. “Hi, I was wondering if you have any rooms available for the night of the nineteenth and twentieth?” I said as I crossed my free arm over my chest. “Let me just look.” She said and it was quiet. “I have our sunset room available. It’s got its own balcony and you get the most beautiful view of the sky up there.” She said and I nodded. “We’ll take it.” I said, a grin growing on my face. “Alright and how many adults and children will be with you?” She asked. “Just me and my fiance. No kids.” I replied. “Alright, the total for two nights is two hundred and eighteen dollars. I’ll just need some info and a card number. I gave her the info and made my way back to the hangar. Lunch was over now and I knew everyone was headed back there.

“Where did you disappear to?” Hangman asked as he slid up next to me. “Just booking a trip for Rooster and I.” I said and he chuckled. “Where to? If he has anything to do with it, it’ll be Hawaii.” He said and I chuckled because usually, he’d be right. “No actually, we’re going to the Great Smoky Mountains.” I said and he furrowed his brows. “Wasn’t that where your grandmother lived?” He asked and I nodded. “Yeah, the house burned down not long after she died. But it’ll be nice to go back out there for a weekend.” I said and he nodded as we walked in. “Hey Mav.” I said, walking over to him. He turned to me and smiled. “Ready for your hop?” He asked and I nodded. “I am, but I’m going to need next Friday off.” I said and he raised a brow. “That’s a little short notice isn’t it?” He asked and I nodded. “It’s the trip Rooster and I are going on. We’ll just be gone for the weekend.” I said as I pulled my helmet from its bag. “I’ll see if I can swing it.” He said with a wink. “You better. I just paid for it.” He just laughed at me. “If you can beat me in the sky, I can guarantee it.” He said and I held my hand out for him to shake. He stared at it for a moment before grasping my hand and shaking it. “You’re on.”

“You really beat Mav in a one on two?” Bradley asked as I reheated some leftovers. “You say that like you’re surprised.” I gave him an angry look as I turned to face him and put my hand on my hip. “What?! No! No, honey I know you can do these things I was just… just…” I started laughing at his stuttering. “It’s okay, honey. I surprised myself too.” The panic washed from his face and he visibly relaxed. “Don’t scare me like that.” He said and I giggled. “Oh come on, it was fun!” I said and he shook his head. “Yeah, for you! I was scared!” He said, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “Oh but I did get the nineteenth off and I booked us a room at the Inn in town.” I said and he grinned at me. “Then I will book our flight.” He said and I turned to face him, my arms going around his shoulders. “And I will call Penny and see if Amelia can watch the dogs while we’re gone.” He nodded and kissed me before disappearing from the room.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Penny’s number. “Hello?” She answered. “Hi Penny.” I said as I grabbed some spices from the cabinet. “Hey! What are you up to?” She asked. “Making dinner.” I replied as I sprinkled some seasonings on the brussel sprouts I was putting in the oven. “Me too.” She responded. “So I called with a question.” I said and she chuckled. “Shoot.” “Bradley and I are going to Tennessee on the nineteenth and we’ll fly back on the twenty-first, and we were wondering if Amelia would be free to watch the dogs?” I asked. “I think so, but I’ll double check with her. Can I get back to you?” She asked and agreed. Soon we said our goodbyes and dinner was almost ready. I quickly finished it up and Bradley came to join me at the table. “So can Amelia do it?” He asked and I shrugged. “Penny is going to ask and get back with me.” I said and he nodded, pulling my chair out. “What if she can’t?” He asked before he grinned at me. “We could let Coyote stay with them.” I glared at him after I sat down. “I love Coyote. I do. But the man does not know the first thing about taking care of two dogs.” I said and he chuckled. “Yeah, he always struck me as more of a cat guy myself.” He said and we laughed because it wasn’t true. “We could ask Bob to do it, or Nat and Hangman.” I suggested and he raised his eyebrows at me. “I do not want those two fucking in our bed.” He said and I rolled my eyes. “We do have a guest room, you know.”

Penny called me the next day so I wandered over to Nat and Hangman. “Can I ask y’all a favor?” They both turned to me with a raised brow. “I don’t know. I’m not one to do favors.” Hangman said and I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Bradley and I are going out of town next Friday and we’ll be gone all weekend. Amelia usually watches the dogs but she can’t this time so I was wondering if y’all would?” I asked and they immediately nodded. “Of course.” Nat said and I smiled at her before yanking her into a hug. “Thank you!” I said excitedly. Now that I knew everything was taken care of I was getting excited about our trip. After an exhausting day at work I showered and went home to Bradley. As soon as I hit the door he turned and smiled at me from his spot on the couch. “Welcome home.” He said. He was lounging on the couch in only his boxers and he opened his arms for me and I slowly laid on top of him. “How was your day?” He asked before kissing my head. “Exhausting.” I huffed and he chuckled. “Do you need a nap?” He asked and I nodded against his chest. “Yes, now don’t move and snuggle with me.” I demanded and he just chuckled, holding me tightly to him.

I woke up about half an hour later and didn’t dare move. I was comfy and didn’t want to let him go. So I laid there, fighting to keep my eyes open until I felt Bradley hand rubbing my back. “You awake?” I asked and he hummed. “Do we have to move?” He asked and I shook my head. “Nope.” I said and he chuckled. “Why don’t we order pizza for dinner?” He asked, grabbing his phone. “I love that idea.” I said as he put the order in. “Oh, Amelia can’t watch the dogs so Hangman and Phoenix will.” I said and he sighed. “They’re sleeping in the guest room.” He said and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, they know that.” I said and he chuckled. “So I guess that means we should get packing because we leave at seven in the morning next Friday.” He said and I sighed. “You mean I still have to be up at the crack of dawn?” I asked and he chuckled. “You can sleep on the plane and in the car.” He said and I raised a brow at him. “You’re not driving from the airport.” I said and he raised a brow at me. “I’ve been released to drive!” He said and I huffed. “I know, but it’s a two hour drive to town from the airport and it’s all back roads.” I said and he sighed. “It’s just easier if I do it.” I said and he loudly sighed. “Fine! I guess I’ll let you drive even though you should be passenger princess.” He said and I laughed loudly. “I’m the passenger princess here at home, I can handle driving for a weekend.” I said and he chuckled. “That’s okay, you’ll be at my mercy in the hotel room.” He said, kissing my neck. “Oh god, I can’t wait.” I moaned, melting into a puddle as I lay on him.

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